"No," Zhenlan repeated with a shake of his head, and the single word carried absolute finality.
There was movement in my peripheral vision as Chenghai appeared from the side hallway. His posture shifted into something combat-ready without being overtly aggressive. It was a subtle change as he watched Jian Yuche with focused attention.
He didn't say anything, didn't draw a weapon of his own, just positioned himself where he could intervene if necessary and waited for someone to make the next move.
I stayed on the couch, my phone still in my hand, watching the confrontation unfold with the same detached interest I might apply to a television show or a news report about something happening to other people in other places.
This wasn't my problem, not really. Jian Yuche was desperate and dangerous and operating from a place of survival instinct that I understood intellectually even if I didn't feel particularly concerned about it.
