Young Master You spent the entire drive back from the police station on edge. Every gaze that slid past outside the car window seemed to be pointing at him, recognizing his face and condemning it with tongues sharp enough to melt metal and grind bone to dust.
Mai Yunliang was, after all, a celebrity. This scandal had already become something known to men, women, children, and random passersby alike.
Ancient pines and cypresses stretched their powerful branches over the mountain like enormous dragons extending claws through the gloomy, rain-dripping sky, ready to sweep away every manner of demon and monster in the human world. The vermilion temple gate stood against a backdrop of cold wind and yellow earth, glaringly vivid as blood and making anyone burdened by the remnants of old sins feel all the more fearful.
When You Haodong stormed across the inner courtyard threshold and into the monks’ quarters, scattered raindrops swept indoors with his footsteps and skittered across the cold floor. His father sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion, pale-faced and staring blankly ahead. He had only just ended a phone call.
“Dad, someone’s been planning to ruin me this time. They put that video online on purpose… Can we find someone to delete the posts? Wipe all that crap off the internet?” Young Master You was accustomed to handling everything through force. Even now, his first instinct was still to dam the mouths of the public by brute strength—wherever the flood burst through, pile up sandbags and block it.
“Everyone who needed to see it has already seen it. What use is deleting posts and damming the flood now?” You Jinglian’s voice was hoarse.
Young Master You was young, hot-blooded, and desperately protective of his pride. This time his reputation had been dragged through the mud, yet he refused to admit defeat. “Who the hell did this? Who was plotting against me back on that ship, on the island? Was it Watanabe Yangshan, or was it Yan Xiao?!”
You Jinglian’s eyes were like a bottomless abyss. He shook his head at his foolish son, who was still completely in the dark. “Dongdong, with that simple head of yours, do you really think this is nothing but a dirty video? Someone lit the fuse with it because they mean to burn down our whole family. Mai’s death is going to be dumped entirely on your head.”
Veins bulged along You Haodong’s neck as he argued furiously. “How the hell can they dump it on me? I didn’t kill anyone! Jian Mingjue was obviously the one who did it!”
You Jinglian said in a hoarse, trembling voice, “But everyone outside is cursing you. Everyone is calling you the ‘killer’!
“Dongdong, did you really think Mai Yunliang was just some powerless, rootless, third-rate little celebrity? He wasn’t. There was someone behind him too—a very important person who paid his expenses and fed him money, someone who had kept that high-class pet of elite society for more than ten years. Most of the time, he was simply raised to be displayed and played with, summoned for favor only occasionally. Normally, you people could disrespect him, use him for amusement, fool around with him however you liked. But now you’ve played to death a bed pet someone spent over ten years carefully keeping! You think that can simply be swept aside? It can’t…”
You Haodong stared at him in shock. He had spent all these years fearless precisely because he knew nothing. He had never heard of the twists and turns behind any of this. Even in his panic, he secretly weighed the implications of his father’s words, still clutching at a trace of hope and unwillingness as bloodshot threads spread through his eyes.
What kind of powerful figure could it be?
Was someone of that stature even within reach of insignificant minnows and shrimp like them?
Secrets that had fermented for years inside huge wine jars until they had long since rotted beyond recognition were not things a younger man of You Haodong’s age could possibly know. But some people did know. You Jinglian knew such a “circle” existed—and he had done far more than merely know about it. Fifteen years ago, he had only been a lowly section-level functionary in another province. How had he climbed the ladder so rapidly and risen to rank and privilege? Naturally, by exhausting every possible method to send money and “tribute” upward. He had done things against his conscience too—had even ruined someone else’s child and presented that child as an offering in exchange for advancement… Guilt. Sin.
Now that this disastrous mistake had been made and the fuse lit, You Haodong was like the dot at the center of a target, a piece of fish laid on a chopping board. To those who truly possessed power and status, destroying him—crushing the few members of the You family—would be as easy as crushing a handful of ants. All they had to do was give the slightest signal and send an inspection team of broad-daylight demons down to Jinmen for a stroll. His household could be confiscated and his entire family destroyed.
“I figured out a long time ago who stirred this up, who wants to trap you, who wants to destroy our whole family…” You Jinglian’s gaunt yellow face turned ashen. He cradled a white porcelain Guanyin statue as though holding a fragile newborn child—or more like clutching his own lifeline. At that moment, he desperately wished he could travel back fifteen years, to before he had taken those desperate risks, before he had grown rich and powerful, before the luxury and indulgence, before he had reached this wretched point where there was no path back… Now he could only beg Guanyin to help him survive the calamity.
You Haodong refused to believe it. “That fake Japanese bastard Watanabe Yangshan? Did he record that video on the island to blackmail me?”
“Watanabe Yangshan already has one foot in the grave. He’s nothing.” You Jinglian’s face was gray as he murmured, “It’s the eldest young master of the Ling family. It has to be him. Ling He has come back for revenge.”
You Haodong understood none of it. He had met Young Master Ling only twice. How had he offended him? Why would Ling He relentlessly scheme against him?
The thought of those humiliating videos, of the flood of public condemnation whipping him raw, of his reputation being ruined so completely that he would never again be able to hold his head high in public, made Young Master You grind his teeth. “That male demon hanging around with Yan Xiao?… I’ll skin him alive!!”
You Jinglian sprang up from the cushion and grabbed his son. He had already made preparations and formed a plan, pulling a stack of false identification documents and ferry tickets from his suitcase. “Dongdong, stop looking for that demon and stirring up trouble. That man is a venomous snake! You—you leave tomorrow night. Here are the tickets. They’ll definitely have people watching the airports and customs, but the sea routes are looser. We have special access through Linwan Port. Take this ship to Yokohama first, then transfer to Vancouver. Our family still has several properties over there…”
“Dad!” The golden dome of You Haodong’s shaved head seemed almost to shine in the dark room, while a fierce raptor-like light flashed in his eyes. “If I run, what are you going to do? Am I some cowardly piece of shit who bolts the second disaster hits and only saves himself? I’m not running. I’m not letting them get away with this!!”
…
You Haodong and Jian Mingjue were entirely different kinds of men. Faced with an enemy on every side, Young Master You actually managed to summon a measure of toughness and bloody-minded courage. He would not flee before a fight. He wanted revenge too. Why did you set such a vicious trap and frame me? I’m going to drag that Ling bastard back here and demand a clear answer.
Fine rain pattered against the vermilion temple gate. The droplets slid down the wood like tears, falling in strings of bright red blood.
Young Master You took seven or eight bodyguards and drove straight for Yan Xiaodao’s villa in Linwan New District.
Mr. Yan’s address was hardly a secret. Anyone who genuinely wanted to find it could do so easily enough. You Haodong was not there for Yan Xiaodao. He had come specifically to seize Ling He.
As fate would have it, Yan Xiaodao was not home.
Yan Xiaodao was still trapped in the evening traffic between downtown and the waterfront, inching slowly through the sea of cars headed home from work. Red and green lights blazed painfully before his eyes, leaving him weary and numb. Their glare blurred silently across his retinas before dimming beneath the rain-streaked sky. His phone rang twice, but he ignored it. He did not want to hear Fengfeng’s annoying mouth reporting, There’s another huge scandal online.
Gunshots rang through the residential district.
At first, You Haodong could not even get through the front gate. In his burning impatience, he pulled out a pistol and fired twice at the electronic lock, but failed to break it. The people inside the courtyard immediately returned fire.
A blatant provocation like this had already breached their own stronghold. How could Yan’s men allow their territory to fall? That would humiliate their boss beyond belief.
The alarm by the gate shrieked. You Haodong emptied a burst of rounds across the villa’s white marble exterior wall, spraying chips of stone and sparks into the air to bolster the courage of his own people.
This was the densely populated Linwan New District. Police could arrive at any moment, and Young Master You had never actually come here intending to murder people or burn down a house. He habitually kept a gun case in the trunk of his private car. Shooting a few “I was here” marks into Mr. Yan’s wall was mostly provocation and venting. Precisely because no idiot inside the courtyard was standing out in the open to serve as a living target, he dared fire so brazenly.
He had also realized Yan Xiaodao was not home. This was the perfect chance to strike at the root and take Ling He.
Kuanzi and several of the others guarded the main entrance. A precise burst struck the stone bollard just outside the gate, forcing Young Master You temporarily back behind his car. Yang Xifeng made several frantic calls, but his boss simply would not answer!
Fengfeng was sharp enough to immediately remember that Young Master Ling was still staying in the basement. The couple might have fought, but who knew when the clouds would clear and they would make up again? Sooner or later Ling would probably be moved back upstairs into the master bedroom. He was still the person their boss treasured.
Yang Xifeng grabbed a heavy baseball bat and, brimming with determination and loyalty, prepared to serve as Young Master Ling’s personal bodyguard.
The moment he opened the narrow basement door, he nearly toppled backward and slid down the stairs in fright.
Behind the door stood Ling He’s tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged figure. The small basement lamp cast his enormous shadow against the wall beside the stairway, like the silhouette of a great cat climbing upward. That was what startled Fengfeng so badly—he thought another person had suddenly appeared in the house. A ghost.
Ling He’s face showed no trace of anxiety. He remained perfectly composed, two tiny glints in his eyes keen and precise as he surveyed the living room. Yet he was still hindered by his injuries. Supporting himself against the wall, he climbed one step, then another, slowly and carefully working his way upstairs and out of the basement.
Ling He heard the gunfire outside and lowered his gaze to Fengfeng’s frantic, foolish expression. There was a considerable difference in height between the two of them. Ling He had always been seated before, so the people around him had rarely realized how strong that contrast could be—or how intimidating it made him.
“It’s that You bastard! He’s outside shooting at our house! I’m worried he’ll get in…” Yang Xifeng was just about to take credit by saying, I’m worried he’ll get in and hurt you, Young Master Ling, so hurry back into the basement and hide in the corner while I protect you, when his eyes slid down to Ling He’s long legs. Every fussy word jammed in his throat at the impossible sight before him. His mouth fell open wide enough to swallow his own fist. This time he really had seen a ghost.
“What are you carrying a baseball bat for?” Ling He flicked a glance at him. “Planning to beat You Haodong with it?”
Ling He swept his gaze over the living-room windows, then glanced upstairs. “Your Mr. Yan owns guns.”
Yang Xifeng was still submerged in shock. He desperately wanted to call Kuanzi and the others over to gossip. What in the world—come look at this man!
There were definitely guns hidden in Yan Xiaodao’s house. That much went without saying.
Fragments of memory slid through Ling He’s mind, scenes he had chewed over and savored countless times. Remembering a small, insignificant incident on Yilu Island, he ordered directly, “Go get your boss’s hunting rifle.”
Yang Xifeng: “…”
Yan Xiaodao arrived only one minute later. The abnormal crack of gunfire struck his eardrums just as he turned into the residential district, catching him completely off guard.
To an ordinary person, the sound might have been nothing more than several firecrackers going off at an odd time of year. Most people lacked the experience to think of anything else. But the sharp shots were coming from the direction of Yan Xiaodao’s home. He snapped awake to what might be happening, and his car tore through the landscaped greenbelt and shot onto the private lane leading to his villa.
He wrenched the steering wheel, sending the car into a ninety-degree sideways skid under its own momentum. Like a wild horse breaking its reins, it slammed crosswise into the second car attacking his gate. The black vehicle was rammed from behind and shoved forward through a shower of sparks before burying its nose in a neatly trimmed hedge.
The cars’ plates had all been covered, yet the imported luxury emblems still betrayed the deep-rooted class consciousness of their owners. Even for work like this, they could not bear to drive cheap cars. Yan Xiaodao spotted Young Master You at once.
The next second came an explosive bang!
A graceful plume of bluish smoke rose from a second-floor window of his villa, drifting slowly away on the breeze.
Yan Xiaodao was startled. Still in the driver’s seat, he instinctively ducked.
When he raised his head again, the front tire of Young Master You’s car had undergone a perfect demolition, bursting into mangled metal and shredded rubber. A thick acrid smell of burning material drifted outward, reminiscent of the old-fashioned street popcorn cannons once common in the old city.
A hunting rifle round carried tremendous force, enough to punch through a car body, but it had not been aimed at a person. One precise shot had blown the tire and sent the attackers diving behind their vehicles in panic. They must have felt deeply that this expedition was cursed. Clearly they had failed to check the almanac or pray to Guanyin before setting out. Wasn’t Mr. Yan supposed to be away from home…?
Yan Xiaodao could not see the figure concealed behind the drifting smoke. Who had fired that shot?
But everyone inside his villa had seen it clearly.
Ling He had climbed to the second floor without anyone supporting him, enduring the stabbing pain in his ankles as he found the best possible firing angle: the guest bathroom window, which looked directly toward the intruders outside the gate.
He had once sat beside the sink in this little room, shamelessly ordering Xiaodao around and making him wash his hair. Back then, his supposedly paralyzed legs had been a wonderfully useful shield. He could cling to Xiaodao, act spoiled, and make unreasonable demands to his heart’s content. Unfortunately, that excuse was gone now. Given both men’s personalities, neither of them would normally cling to anyone or act spoiled in the first place.
Yang Xifeng braced both arms, vaulted into the top-floor attic, and rummaged through the dusty crawlspace until he found the rectangular gun case his boss had hidden there. He did not even know how to load the magazine, so he nervously handed Ling He both gun and ammunition.
Ling He tied his long hair into a neat ponytail and positioned himself beside the bathroom window, half concealed. Yet when he lowered his head, a lock of hair escaped the tie and fell diagonally across his narrowed eyes. No matter how well he had pretended, his healthy body could not conceal the vigor accumulated beneath the surface when danger came. Even every strand of hair on his head seemed ready to leap into action.
Ling He’s lips were thin. When he aimed, he instinctively sealed them together without letting out the slightest breath, still as sculpture. His long, powerful frame drew taut with cold killing tension in an atmosphere quiet enough to hear a needle hit the floor.
The sight passed disdainfully over Young Master You’s blue-green shaved scalp. Ling He aimed at the front tire of the expensive car and fired once.
Then he shifted horizontally and aimed at the rear windshield. Before firing, Ling He deliberately lifted his head for one more look to confirm that no one was sitting in the back seat. His beautiful eyes rose slightly like brushstrokes in a painting, his lips wearing an almost tranquil expression. He lowered his head again, took aim, and shattered the rear window with a second shot.
…
This was using an ox-cleaver to kill a chicken.
It was a high-end semiautomatic hunting rifle firing .31-caliber rounds, the sort of weapon one could carry into the African bush to hunt jackals, wolves, tigers, and leopards.
The two cars turned around at once, dragged themselves back out of the hedge, and fled in disorder.
Ling He lowered the long rifle and lightly shook out his stiffening arm. He had spent two months cooped up indoors without walking or exercising. A large-caliber hunting rifle had genuine weight, and holding it up had tired his arm.
Yang Xifeng received the gun again with both hands, his body leaning slightly backward as he stared upward in worshipful astonishment like a clay statue.
“Not a bad gun. Tell your boss it needs cleaning and oiling.” Ling He glanced calmly at Fengfeng from behind the fallen lock of hair and explained as though discussing something utterly ordinary, “I once lived in a little town at the foot of the Rockies where it snowed most of the year. I shot several bears there. A bear’s skull is extremely thick, and the bone structure of the head slopes backward, so from more than a hundred meters it’s difficult to put one round straight between the eyes and kill it. Sometimes you need five or six shots in a row, until the animal is coughing blood and completely unable to move. This gun is enough for almost anything. Using it on that beaten dog really is a waste.”
“…”
What left Yang Xifeng speechless was far more than the marksmanship.