Elio’s Notes: The chapter title alludes to the Chinese idiom of going alone to a dangerous meeting with only a single blade, implying knowingly entering peril without an entourage.
That evening, Yan Xiaodao received an ordinary message from Qi Baoshan asking him to come into the city the following afternoon. Yan assumed his godfather probably wanted to question him again about the gossip surrounding Mai Yunliang’s case or give him some other instruction. His godfather had always lectured and ordered him about this or that. There was nothing unusual about it.
Around noon, the police released an official case-closing statement through their social-media account. Its contents were more or less consistent with what Yan Xiaodao already knew. Naturally, the various platforms erupted again with grief, outrage, relentless denunciation, cries mourning the dead, and doubts about the police conclusion all mixed together. The noise would not settle for a while. But after a few days, even this excitement would inevitably die down and everything would return to its proper course. The anger ordinary people had accumulated for years toward the privileged class had been given somewhere to escape. Eventually, the weak tea left on the table after the dead man’s departure would cool, and fewer and fewer people would mention his name.
Yan Xiaodao ate something casually at noon. Passing an old shop in the city, he bought a bag containing ten steamed buns. Then the tempting smell of sugar-roasted chestnuts drifted from the window next door. Remembering that his godfather loved the soft sweetness of chestnuts, he stood in line and bought a bag of those too.
Yan himself felt only so-so about sugar-roasted chestnuts. He preferred a little liquor accompanied by lightly seasoned seafood, such as the ginger-and-vinegar clam meat and dressed jellyfish Qi Baoshan used to make for him.
Qi Baoshan was not the only person who liked chestnuts. A certain overseas-educated student also enjoyed chestnuts roasted in the old-fashioned way. Thinking about his beloved Mr. Ling, Yan Xiaodao carefully peeled several chestnuts. He pretended he was peeling them for Ling He, then ate them on Ling’s behalf.
When he reached Qi Baoshan’s residence in the old foreign-concession district, Yan knocked and discovered nobody was home. He let himself in with the spare key he carried. Strangely, the entire house was empty.
His godfather had an amusing way of doing things. On the little Eight Immortals table in the living room—the one where he normally listened to crosstalk, adjusted the radio, peeled chestnuts, and picked meat from razor clams—he had left Yan a handwritten note in ordinary fountain-pen script. It said he would return around dusk and instructed Xiaodao to clean the several tubs of seafood under the veranda first. That evening, his godfather planned to cook the banquet personally.
You called me all the way out here specifically to clean seafood for you?
Yan Xiaodao did not mind contributing some muscle to his godfather’s household, but anything related to cooking became hopelessly inefficient once placed in his hands. Even Kuanzi or Fengfeng would have done better.
The veranda was far too quiet. Had even the drivers and bodyguards been sent out? Yan Xiaodao sat on a small stool and waged an arduous battle against a dozen fiercely living lobsters and crabs, increasingly certain something was wrong today. Master Qi had dumped him here. Where had he gone?
Yan pulled out his phone and looked at the date. It was the seventh day of the month.
He flipped through his calendar. There was nothing special marked.
He had no idea how to clean a lobster. Finally giving up, he called the only man back at his own house who was remotely competent in a kitchen. “Hello, Kuanzi?”
Yang Xifeng answered Kuanzi’s phone instead. “Ah… Boss.”
Yan Xiaodao said, “Huh? You? What are you doing?”
Yang Xifeng said, “Nothing. Playing with the dogs.”
Yan Xiaodao said, “That bored? Where’s Kuanzi?”
Yang Xifeng said, “Uh… Boss… he went out.”
With Yan Xiaodao’s sharp instincts and Fengfeng’s complete inability to conceal a lie, Yan immediately heard something wrong. “Where did Kuanzi go?”
Yang Xifeng actually turned the question back on him. “Boss, what did you go to Master Qi’s place for today?”
“I’m asking you a question!” Yan Xiaodao complained. “Master Qi told me to sit here cleaning seafood for him. What am I supposed to do with these damn lobsters? Knock them unconscious with the back of a knife first?”
Yang Xifeng ground his back teeth and reluctantly explained. “Boss, Kuanzi was just taken away by Master Qi. That’s why I’m confused too. I thought you were with the big boss. But right after you left, the old man showed up with a whole lot of people!
“They never came inside. From the window, I could see the lead car in the distance. I’m pretty sure the big boss was sitting inside. He called Kuanzi and two of our other brothers over, and they left with his convoy.
“Before leaving, he made them leave their phones behind. Nobody was allowed to take one. That’s why I answered yours.”
“You little bastard, why the hell didn’t you tell me earlier?!” Yan Xiaodao exploded. A line of blood seemed to flare scarlet across his scalp.
“They told us not to say anything, Bro, so I didn’t dare…” Poor Fengfeng found himself caught between both sides yet again. Every time this happened, he felt like dropping to the floor, doing fifty push-ups, then eating the two bowls of dog food in the corner. He truly envied Master Bear and his wife. Those two spent every day pretending to be stupid and cute, eating and sleeping without worrying about anything.
Yan Xiaodao dropped the phone and understood instantly. He kicked the seafood tub, splashing half the water across the veranda.
Something was seriously wrong.
Master Qi had taken every guard and available man from the residence, probably brought people from inside the group as well, and even privately borrowed Kuanzi from Yan’s side.
The three men Master Qi had temporarily taken were the best fighters around Yan Xiaodao.
And all of it had been hidden from him. His godfather had deliberately sent him away in advance and sat him here peeling and cleaning seafood, timing everything precisely to waste his afternoon.
They had even been forbidden from carrying phones. That was how one handled serious business: too many people meant too many mouths, and phones made leaks easy.
But after all these years, what kind of job would Master Qi need to hide from his own godson?
Never. Not only would he normally have no need to hide it, anything involving fighting would usually be handed directly to Yan Xiaodao alone. At minimum, Yan would be in the lead car and make the first strike.
Yan Xiaodao dried his hands and put his suit back on, his fingers unconsciously brushing across the row of blades at his waist. His face darkened like a vast bank of clouds pressing downward from the horizon. The feeling of being deliberately kept in the dark and manipulated made him furious.
Of every possibility he could imagine, there was only one reason Qi Baoshan might take so many people out on business while hiding it from him and absolutely refusing to bring him along.
Ling He.
Yan Xiaodao’s car tore into the endless river of traffic. The sun ahead of him slipped behind a layer of cloud through the windshield, hiding its glow like a child playing hide-and-seek, yet leaving one stubborn corner exposed as though struggling to conceal the truth.
Master Qi seemed deliberately unwilling to answer his phone.
Yan Xiaodao had no idea where to search. He drove aimlessly around every place he could think of and suddenly realized that he did not even know where Ling He might appear or whether anyone was currently protecting him.
He crossed a line and pulled into the emergency lane of the elevated bridge leading toward Linwan Economic New District. His palm slammed hard against the steering wheel, followed by a furious curse. Countless cars roared past on his left, crushing the turmoil born of worry inside his chest.
Yan Xiaodao believed his deduction was correct, yet he had no idea what to do.
He pulled out his phone and checked the calendar again. Unfortunately, he had always lived roughly and depended on his memory rather than careful scheduling. For security reasons, he deliberately avoided recording detailed itineraries that could later be used against him. Now he could not think of anything special about this ordinary date that would explain why Qi Baoshan had taken so many people somewhere. Had Ling He secretly arranged a showdown with his godfather behind his back?
Yan Xiaodao merged into traffic again. The right lane had been occupied by several groups of villagers performing funeral rites. They carried white banners and wailed mournfully while scattering paper money, apparently unconcerned about the danger of walking among speeding cars. They even showered the river beneath the elevated bridge in a very disorderly imitation of celestial maidens scattering flowers. After another two glances, Yan realized it did not look like a funeral procession after all. It was the local countryside custom around Qingming Festival: entire extended families, old and young, riding in cars and carrying sedan chairs toward the hills by the sea to sweep the graves of deceased relatives.
Qingming again. Time to accompany his mother up the mountain to pay respects to her two dead, paralyzed husbands and her unfortunate disabled younger brother.
Large circular sheets of spirit money floated through the air. There were even imitation U.S. dollar notes for the dead printed with phrases such as “Treasure of the Netherworld” and “Bank of the Underworld,” stacked in thick bundles and burned along the beach. Men and women, old and young, carried long strings of gold-and-silver paper ingots made from foil while singing local folk tunes along the asphalt road leading to the shore. Nearby was a famous port landmark called Chaotou Reef, an enormous dark-blue-black mass of rock rising from the shallows and breaking the incoming waves. The whole scene looked extraordinarily familiar. When had he seen it before?
White funeral streamers fluttered beside the sea. The spirit-summoning procession openly monopolized the cityscape during this annual season, wailing like ghosts as it marched through the streets. Yan had seen exactly this last year. Around the same time, he too had taken this road toward the coast. What had he been doing then?
Yan Xiaodao finally remembered.
Last year, around the same season, he had accompanied Master Qi to a hillside by the sea. It seemed to have been the seventh day of the month as well, and the itinerary had been extremely secretive. Qi brought only him and one driver. That day, Yan parked near the tunnel exit by Chaotou Reef while Master Qi went alone into an old building above the rocks to meet supposedly extremely important guests. He was not even allowed to bring an attendant inside to pour drinks. Qi Baoshan remained in that building for a full four hours and did not emerge until deep into the night.
In the past, Yan Xiaodao had never tried to analyze or calculate anything his godfather did. He took things at face value, served as a loyal subordinate, and did not meddle in matters that did not concern him. That was the most basic rule when working beside a major boss. Ask too many questions, talk too much, and you would not keep the job long.
But many things were different now. Yan himself had become sensitive and suspicious. Once his heart belonged to someone, he had eventually begun guarding against Master Qi as well. Qi Baoshan actually came to the seaside around this date every year to meet people, but in previous years he brought only a close bodyguard. He never arrived waving banners and dragging along his entire armed household. Today’s formation looked practically large enough to fight the Pingjin Campaign.
Yan Xiaodao sped off the elevated bridge, took a shortcut, and headed straight toward Chaotou Reef.
The day was cloudy and overcast. It looked as though night would arrive with moon and stars alike hidden behind thick clouds. Dark clouds rolled toward the line where sea and sky met, while waves across the ocean churned in a suffocating shade of black.
Yan Xiaodao intercepted Qi Baoshan’s convoy near the tunnel entrance.
He was alone and driving fast. Master Qi had probably been delayed while assembling people and discussing the plan somewhere else. He plainly had not expected Xiaodao to catch him here.
Yan chased the convoy. He knew every vehicle belonging to their own group on sight. Not one of them was going to hide from him or drive over him today.
His car charged like a maddened horse with broken reins, exhaust mixed with furious sparks. He aimed directly at Master Qi’s vehicle, swung his own front end across it, and committed an outrageously audacious act that absolutely deserved a beating—he cut off his own godfather’s car.
Several accompanying bodyguards immediately reached inside their suit jackets for weapons. Through the window, Qi Baoshan’s face stiffened like a black reef in shock, while outside Yan Xiaodao stood with both hands braced against the car door and the cold, desperate posture of someone ready to risk his life.
Qi Baoshan stopped the guards with a look. He had always cherished his godson and was unwilling to use violence against him.
“What’s this about?” Qi Baoshan got out himself. “Whatever you want, say it, Xiaodao.”
Yan Xiaodao knew he was in the wrong, but he refused to yield. “Godfather, where are you going today? Can you not go?”
Qi Baoshan stared at him in astonishment, his thoughts wavering in both directions. Does Xiaodao know something? How much does he know? How much truth did Ling He reveal after breaking our agreement?
Without betraying anything, Qi Baoshan said, “I’m going to the seaside to meet several people. Why are you blocking me like a madman?”
Yan Xiaodao pressed, “Who are you meeting?”
Qi Baoshan’s expression cooled. “Xiaodao, you’re going too far.”
Yan Xiaodao said, “Can I meet whoever you’re going to meet in your place?”
Qi Baoshan: “…”
Yan Xiaodao’s posture and momentum made his intention obvious: he was absolutely not allowing his godfather past today. He also understood that if he could stop Qi Baoshan, the rest of the men naturally would not be able to do anything either.
Standing directly in front of the car, he pointed at Kuanzi and the other two brothers sitting inside one vehicle, then at the other men. His meaning was perfectly clear: None of you moves today without my permission.
The group exchanged looks. They truly did not dare disobey Yan Xiaodao, but neither could they openly defy the big boss.
Qi Baoshan’s eye sockets suddenly seemed to sink inward, making his eyes bulge slightly. A faint trace of savagery appeared beneath his ordinarily gentle, refined face. “Xiaodao, are you fucking rebelling against me today?!”
Yan Xiaodao had been sleeping badly recently and looked exhausted, two dark circles beneath his eyes. Even in a state of deep physical and mental fatigue, he held himself upright. A violent gust rushed past the tunnel entrance, but his strong body remained planted in the wind without moving. He shook his head. “Godfather, I’m afraid you’ll be in danger if you go out today. I don’t want anything happening to anyone… Whatever you need done, I’ll do it for you. Whoever you need to meet, I’ll meet them for you.”
Qi Baoshan stared at Yan Xiaodao in surprise, trying to judge whether the words came from sincerity or deception. Was Xiaodao speaking out of genuine concern for him, or because of… someone else?
Master Qi truly did expect danger today and had no intention of putting himself at a disadvantage, which was why he had assembled so many men. But even he could not tell where the danger would ultimately come from. Did Yan Xiaodao know something he did not?
The seventh day of the month was the date Qi Baoshan and several old sworn brothers—men of different surnames who had struggled up from poverty together, bowed their heads in brotherhood, shed blood, and made fortunes side by side—had agreed to meet every year. The four of them rented Tide-Watching Villa for this one night each year and met privately. No outsiders were told. No entourages were brought. Their dealings with one another remained deliberately low-key and mysterious. They would meet, confirm that everyone was still alive and well, and reminisce about old times.
Fifteen years already.
Year after year, as days marched and months passed, the so-called “brotherhood” originally formed through mutual profit and shared corruption had long since failed beneath the erosion of time. It could not withstand the sudden exposure and fermentation of an old crime after fifteen years. Now each man possessed rank and wealth, vast family fortunes, wives, concubines, children, and grandchildren surrounding him. The boldness, loyalty, and nerve they once possessed were gone. Instead, the darker elements of their personalities—treachery, secrecy, sensitivity, suspicion—had slowly simmered upward over the years, dividing their old bonds and destabilizing their minds.
Qi Baoshan and You Jinglian had reached precisely that state of mutual restraint, fear, suspicion, and false harmony. One Ling He had been enough to completely disrupt their composure.
Qi Baoshan had spent half a lifetime acting cautiously and would never willingly take reckless risks or place himself in danger. Today’s gathering was very likely a trap or ambush, and he had not wanted to attend in the first place. He trusted no one—not Ling He’s promises and not the other three men who guarded the old secret alongside him.
Qi Baoshan spread his arms and restored his usual gentle expression. “Xiaodao, come here. Come home with me. Neither of us is going anywhere today.”
Yan Xiaodao remained planted where he was. “I’ll go in your place. Tide-Watching Villa at Chaotou Reef, right?”
Qi Baoshan’s brows abruptly twisted together. “Nobody’s going! Xiaodao, come here. We’re going home!”
Qi Baoshan extended a large hand toward him, but Yan Xiaodao took several long steps backward and turned toward his car.
Then he suddenly remembered something. He went back, opened the door of Qi Baoshan’s vehicle, and took the royal-blue cotton Chinese jacket his godfather wore most often from the rear seat. He removed his own black suit jacket and put on the blue one instead.
Qi Baoshan was genuinely alarmed. He truly loved and cherished Xiaodao. Yes, he had selfish motives and fears of his own, but between his biological son and his godson, Yan Xiaodao was the only close and dependable person he had left in this life.
Qi Baoshan rushed forward to stop him and shouted, “Xiaodao, come back! What the hell are you doing?!”
Yan Xiaodao climbed into his car and started the engine. His gaze was resolute. With one hand braced against the edge of the open window, he said, “Godfather, don’t worry! There’s a bag of Zuixiangyuan sugar-roasted chestnuts on the table at your place—the kind you like best. I bought them just now. Put them in the oven and warm them up and they’ll soften again. Go home…”
Qi Baoshan’s heart jolted. He stared, speechless, as Yan Xiaodao sped away. Then he turned in a furious circle and kicked the granite wall beside the tunnel entrance. He feared the day his godson learned the entire truth, but neither could he bear to watch Xiaodao walk knowingly into danger.
…
Deep inside Yan Xiaodao’s heart were two people he could never stop worrying about and absolutely had to protect. Whether it was loyalty and filial duty toward Master Qi or romantic devotion toward Ling He, both were debts of feeling he carried on his back. No matter what, he did not want those two men to have any opportunity to meet today. He had to put himself in the middle and “cause trouble.”
He immediately called Ling He’s number. As expected, Ling refused to answer.
Yan sent a text and demanded bluntly: 【What are you planning to do to Master Qi today? What are you trying to do?!】
Then he sent another: 【Can you stop?】
They were two deliberately severe probes. If he had guessed wrong, Ling He’s temperament would never allow him to swallow the accusation. He would immediately curse Yan out.
But Ling He did not respond. Not one word.
Yan Xiaodao took the silence as proof that he had guessed correctly.
No matter who the mysterious important guests were that Master Qi met every year at Tide-Watching Villa, the person he was going to encounter today at Chaotou Reef had to be Ling He. And these people had to share some connection that Yan still did not understand.
Elsewhere beyond Yan Xiaodao’s sight, the inspection team wielding its figurative imperial sword began its swift closing operation that same afternoon.
Several unfamiliar men in formal suits abruptly appeared inside an internal government meeting, their faces grave as they blocked every route through the doors. Officials preparing to read from prepared speeches and low-level employees drinking tea or dozing below all froze in place. Nobody dared make a sound. Panic spread through the room. Ignoring attempts by security to stop them, the inspection officers walked around once but failed to find Deputy You.
One investigator asked, “Did he take leave today?”
The top official nodded carefully, barely daring to meet his eyes. “No. He didn’t request leave. He was supposed to attend the meeting.”
The investigator pressed, “Where is he? At home?”
The official’s eyes turned as he calculated. Then he leaned close and quietly informed on his colleague. “There’s a very popular Tanju Temple in the outskirts. I heard he rented quarters there and even took a Buddhist Dharma name. You might try looking there.”
The inspection team took control of government offices, sealed records for investigation, and spread its net outward. Their black-and-white reapers immediately headed for the secluded Tanju Temple. Yet after reaching the monastery and thoroughly searching the lay disciples’ living quarters, temporarily detaining several people for questioning, they still failed to find You Jinglian. The man had fled.
A wooden fish, Buddhist robes, daily necessities, and the shattered pieces of a white porcelain Guanyin statue lay scattered around the room, all revealing how frantically he had departed, like a beaten dog.
…
At the same time, the passenger terminal near Linwan Deepwater Port continued swallowing and disgorging streams of travelers as dusk approached. Lights came on atop the towering poles lining both sides of the pier, illuminating the road toward the vast dark sea. At least two passenger ships were unloading their passengers. After a quick cleaning, they would fill up again and set sail for Yokohama across the ocean.
No rain had yet begun to fall, but inside the hearts of certain fugitives startled like birds by the mere twang of a bowstring, the world was already filled with bitter wind and cold rain, no matter how calm and strong they pretended to appear.
Along the long road toward the passenger terminal walked one man who had deliberately avoided using a car. To escape attention, he relied entirely on his own legs for the long distance. Years spent sitting in an office had left him with rich-man ailments such as nervous exhaustion and hardening arteries, problems that neither prayer to Buddha, worship of gods, nor switching to vegetarian food could cure. The walk was punishing. Everything he had accumulated over all these years—status, appearance, capital—had been destroyed by this one flight.
But if he did not run now, the entire family was finished.
The man wore a long rain poncho that concealed his head, face, and body. He carried a cheap woven laborer’s bag and dressed with the shabby anonymity of a dock cleaner, yet tightly clutched in one hand was a first-class sleeper ticket.
The crowd ahead gradually thickened around the ticket gate, forming at least three crooked branches of what passed locally for a queue as passengers pushed and surged together. The first-class traveler hidden beneath the raincoat hesitated and frowned in distaste, yet had no choice but to let himself merge into the moving crowd. How many years had it been since he had stood in a line? Locally, no matter what he wanted to do, he never had to queue. A dedicated car and driver collected him everywhere, and leadership entrances carried him directly inside. What did he know about standing in line?
Why had he spent all these years clawing upward, currying favor, accumulating wealth, and pocketing money? Was it not so that one day he could finally rise above everyone else?
He was unwilling to lose it. Truly unwilling.
Before he even reached the ticket window, a man dressed as a terminal inspector placed a hand on his shoulder and blocked his path. “Sir, may I see your ticket?”
The person beneath the poncho had only begun reaching toward his pocket when the man shoved a hand directly inside and rudely snatched away both identification and ticket.
The “inspector” sneered. “Sir, the photograph on this identification card is yours, but the name, birthplace, date of birth, and home address are all wrong. Which police-station clerk took a bribe to make this fake ID for you?”
The fingers beneath the poncho froze. A chill crawled upward from the soles of his feet, along his tailbone, and all the way to his scalp.
The inspector said, “Secretary You, where are you going? Your real destination isn’t Yokohama. It’s Vancouver, Victoria, Oak Bay Heights—such-and-such wealthy neighborhood, such-and-such row, such-and-such detached villa. Am I right?”
You Jinglian’s eyes widened in shock. His lips trembled, but no sound emerged. He had not even escaped the border, yet the other side already knew exactly where his foreign property was located. His European bank deposits had undoubtedly been traced as well. The money and houses were gone. What was the point of running? Even if he made it overseas, he would immediately become one more fat fish unable to escape the net on an international list of wanted corruption suspects.
His dark-green poncho had originally been camouflage meant to hide him from public attention, but now it ensured that no matter how much he cried to heaven or earth, no one answered. Travelers hurrying to catch their ferries failed to notice that one person had suddenly vanished from the queue. Several unidentified men covered You Jinglian’s mouth and nose, lifted him between them, and dragged him away. Without anyone knowing, he disappeared from the port just as scattered raindrops finally began falling.
Finished.
Had the inspection team descended like heavenly soldiers and launched a surprise attack on Linwan Port? Was it those man-eating green-faced demons and black-faced Judge Baos who would swallow him whole, dig three feet into the earth, and tear every confession out of him?
You Jinglian wore a black hood over his head and was soaked with rain when someone suddenly threw him onto old wooden flooring scented faintly with agarwood. He was still completely blind and disoriented, unable to tell where he was. He assumed he had been dragged into an interrogation room belonging to the investigation team.
His hair stood up like a ridiculous chicken nest. All traces of powerful-official arrogance had vanished from his shoulders. He looked around in terror as a brass Russian-style chandelier above him suddenly came alive, sending a beam of light straight down onto his head and leaving the little ghost hiding in darkness nowhere to conceal itself.
You Jinglian finally understood what he was seeing. This was wrong. This was not an investigation-team office or some Ministry-of-Punishments yamen. Wasn’t this the top floor of Tide-Watching Villa, the old Republican-era residence on Chaotou Reef?
Today was the seventh day of the month. He knew that perfectly well. Tonight had originally been the annual private gathering of those few old ghosts, but how could he possibly have dared show his face now?
Who had kidnapped him here? Qi Baoshan? Or…
From the upper level, a tall, elegant man emerged at an unhurried pace. Half his body remained concealed in shadow at the top of the spiral staircase, leaving his face unclear, but his long black hair was tied neatly behind his head. His bearing was exceptional, and he wore a suede vest, riding trousers, and long boots.
The graceful hunter did not speak with savage rage or bare his teeth. On the contrary, his voice was elegant and deep, gathering beneath the massive stone vault of the Roman-castle-like ceiling and carrying its own deafening echo.
The beautiful man said leisurely, “Lord You, it’s been many years. Who would have imagined we would meet old acquaintances again today inside Tide-Watching Villa? Heh. The four of you seasoned old jianghu veterans really knew how to choose a location. So all these years, right here on beautiful Chaotou Reef facing the sea, you’ve been sneaking around behind everyone’s backs, meeting in secret to scheme together, snakes and rats sharing one nest and wallowing in filth! Today, after all your calculations, I finally raided your den. Lord You, how do you plan to lift the lid on those old events and sit down over a pot of tea with the son of an old acquaintance to reminisce?”
The tall man lowered his chin slightly, both hands holding a metal firearm as he looked down at You Jinglian from above, the muzzle aimed directly between his brows.
Beneath the gun, the yellowish color drained instantly from You Jinglian’s face. His cheeks visibly hollowed and collapsed, changing his entire appearance. Yet he successfully recognized the man before him. Ling He.
When Ling He stepped from the shadows, his features were extraordinarily beautiful. The mixed-ancestry lines of his brows and eyes were delicate and handsome, every strand of hair perfectly in place. Half his profile beneath the gently swaying chandelier light possessed the perfect contours of a Renaissance sculpture. His phoenix eyes naturally held the sort of languid beauty that could entrance a viewer, yet at this moment there was nothing seductive about them. Instead, they shot downward with an oppressive, condemning force, while the sharp lines of his nose bridge and mouth gave his entire face the aura of prosecution.
Even now, You Jinglian probably still did not understand how Young Master Ling had known his escape schedule and route in advance and timed the interception at the port so perfectly. He and his son had arranged to leave one after another aboard two different passenger ships, believing they had concealed their movements flawlessly.
The ferry ticket had been quietly “offered” to him several days earlier by a business “boss.” Yet You Jinglian had failed to consider something simple: with the You family reduced to this state, others could not flee from them quickly enough. In the past, people gave him money and favors as exchanges of interest. Now that the great tree had fallen, who would still worship a clay Bodhisattva incapable of saving itself?
The person behind the ticket was the very man now holding him at gunpoint inside Tide-Watching Villa and preparing to judge him.
If Boss Ling had wanted to let the man escape, he could have allowed him to flee tonight. If he wanted to stop him, he could stop him whenever he pleased. You Jinglian’s movements—and the whereabouts of his precious only son—had remained inside Ling He’s grasp from beginning to end.
“Lord You, does this staircase look a little frightening?” Ling He watched the terror bleach You Jinglian’s face and smiled with the clean satisfaction of striking directly at his enemy’s vital point. “Don’t be afraid. Why don’t we talk about how you spent all these years climbing through official ranks, rising step by step, summoning wind and rain wherever you went—only to end up with your entire household confiscated and nowhere left to flee?”