Yuyan arrives at eleven PM. He did not call ahead. He does not
need to — Zhifan's building knows his face now, the way
Zhifan's building knows the faces of people who have been
present long enough to become part of the furniture. The
elevator opens directly into the apartment. He steps out.
Zhifan is at the window.
specific way — looking at the city the
way you look at something when you are not actually seeing
it, when the looking is just something to do with your eyes
while the rest of you is elsewhere.
Zhifan doesn't look up immediately when Lin Yuyan enters the room.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, stripped of its usual charisma. "I didn't hear from you for four hours."
'I wasn't sure you'd come,' Zhifan says.
Yuyan steps closer, the ambient light catching the flawless, manufactured angles of his face
Zhifan lets out a shaky breath, finally lifting his gaze. His expression is a perfectly crafted mask of exhausted anxiety. "Maybe you just had bad service. I tried to tell myself that.
But I sat here, pacing, wondering if you were dead somewhere. You didn't check in. You didn't share your GPS. It makes me wonder if I'm doing this all alone, if you even care what that kind of panic does to me."
Zhifan looks at his hands.
'I keep — '
He lets the guilt settle heavily in the room, watching Yuyan's subtle reactions, making sure the emotional hook is secure before he pivots to the real issue.
"And on top of that..." Zhifan's fingers brush the edge of a folder resting on the desk.He touches it lightly, as if it physically pains him.
"I found it,"Zhifan says, the words scraping out of his dry throat. He shoves the folder across the mahogany desk. "The leaks.... I found out where the leaks are coming from. The sabotaged contracts."
He looks away, his jaw tight, slipping effortlessly into the role of the wounded, noble leader. "It's Chen."
Silence thickens between them.
"I trusted him," Zhifan whispers as he lower his gaze , his tone
dejected .
"I just don't know why he'd do this to me. I've always looked out for him. He probably had a good reason... maybe he's in trouble and felt he had no other choice. It's ruining my reputation , yes, and it hurts... it really does. But I think it's okay. We'll just have to absorb the losses and forgive him."
He leans back, closing his eyes
. He doesn't need to ask Yuyan to make the calls. He doesn't need to order him to crush Chen. He just needs to play the bleeding saint so perfectly that Yuyan feels an overwhelming, violent urge to destroy Chen on his behalf.
But Yuyan doesn't reach for the folder. He steps closer, the ambient light catching the flawless, manufactured angles of his face.
Silence.
Then—
He glances at the file, then back at Zhifan.
Are you still like this?" Yuyan asks. His voice is smooth, entirely devoid of the guilt or righteous fury Zhifan was trying to harvest.
Something in his tone—
*Wrong.*
Zhifan's expression hardens. "Like what?"
"Using others to do your dirty work for you under the guise of forgiveness?"
Zhifan's eyes sharpen.
A heavy pause stretches between them. The air in the office seems to drop .
Yuyan finally steps forward. He leans over the desk, his presence suddenly suffocating, and taps a single, elegant finger against the manila folder.
"And when did you become so desperate to believe the simplest answer?" Yuyan's tone drops,"I am disappointed, Zhifan."
"...If it's not him," he says slowly, "then who is it?"
Yuyan finally looks back at him.
"What do you mean?" Zhifan snaps, irritation piercing through the brain fog. "The money trail is right there. If not Chen, then who?"
Zhifan stares at Yuyan's eyes — dark, devoid of anything, uncanny. He realizes immediately: his own pupils constrict. He freezes for a moment. Yuyan stares back at him just as intently.
Sweat forms on Zhifan's palms. The silence is suffocatingly dense. Yuyan isn't smiling as he usually does. Minutes pass as they wordlessly study each other's faces.
Suddenly, Zhifan throws the folder aside and vaults over the back of the sofa.
He calculates the distance to the door.
*Two seconds.*
Almost, instantly , he turns and lunges toward the unlocked door.
But his hand barely extends a few inches, his fingertips not yet touching the metal handle.
Yuyan is faster, moving with a cold, practiced efficiency. A hand fists into the collar of Zhifan's custom shirt, jerking him backward. The momentum spins him around, and Yuyan slams him hard against the heavy oak of the study door. The impact rattles Zhifan's teeth.
Yuyan grabs his ankle. Zhifan kicks him hard across the face with his free leg. Yuyan lets go — but only for a moment.
Before Zhifan can escape, Yuyan rushes in and grabs his waist, pulling him to the ground again. As Yuyan tries to pin his arms, Zhifan knees him in the abdomen, causing him to double over but not let go. He claws at Yuyan's neck and arms, managing to break free, only to have Yuyan seize Zhifan's arm with an iron grip. It feels like he is tearing his arm from its socket. Zhifan slams his fist, grabs a nearby object and slams it onto Yuyan's hand. Yuyan lets out a low groan, staggering back.
Zhifan's chest feels like it is about to explode. His whole body trembles with adrenaline.
Zhifan rushes and opens the door — he feels a dizzying sensation, followed by his face slamming into a body, hard as iron. But before he can react, a hand grabs his hair, yanking it painfully, dragging him away from the door and forcing him onto the ground.
He is pushed back into the room. The door closes behind them.
Zhifan gasps for breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
Zhifan doesn't have time to rage. As he tries to stand, a kick to the back of his knee sends him sprawling to the floor.
He involuntarily groans, his back arching, his whole body curving upward and trembling, gasping for breath.
"Hold him," Yuyan commands.
The bodyguard approaches.
As Yuyan settles onto the sofa, his clothes is disheveled, his sweat-dampened hair clinging messily to his forehead, veins bulging at his temples and neck, his jaw muscles clenched, his face flushed, the muscles in his shoulders and back tense, his arms trembling intermittently.Chest heaving, watching Zhifan from above.
"..."
The bodyguard drags Zhifan across the floor closer to Yuyan and forces his head onto the ground.
He climbs onto the back of his hips and presses down hard on the back of Zhifan's neck, pinning him , locking him firmly in place. Zhifan can't breathe. He struggles, but it is as if all his energy has been drained from him.
There is no point in resisting now.
*How Yuyan knew so much about him. Why he has been so meticulous.* It was all because he had collaborators. No — calling them collaborators isn't right. Yuyan has been prepared from the very beginning. He has been utterly defeated.
For now, there is nothing to do but endure until his hands are free or the situation shifts. Revenge requires patience. He will pay Yuyan back — tenfold, a hundredfold, with interest.
Patience is not difficult for him. He can endure the current humiliation. He can endure Yuyan's betrayal. Yuyan is now simply another despicable enemy. But there is something he needs to know. One answer he has to obtain. No matter how much he thinks about it, he can't figure it out.
*Why? Why him? Out of all the people, why did it have to be him?*
With Yuyan's involvement, he now knows they have been targeting him from the very first day they met at the gala. He is curious about that. Without knowing anything about him or having any grudge, why destroy him? Why has Yuyan gone to such lengths to break him from that day onward?
He needs that answer.
Yuyan doesn't move. He sits on the sofa, watching him. Zhifan speaks first, growing impatient.
"Are we just playing a biting power game?"Zifan can barely speak, managing a strained whisper.
Yuyan shakes his head.
"It's not like that. Power games are between equals."
"....."
"This is a hunting game. Now you are the prey."
"We are not equals? That's cute. And disappointing. So, that's it?"
"Why." The single word scrapes out of Zhifan's throat, hoarse and raw. His head is pinned hard against the floor, but his ferocious gaze stays fixed on Yuyan sitting above him on the sofa.
Yuyan finally looks at him.
Yuyan lets out a mocking chuckle, but his eyes hold no human emotion — only an overflowing madness and desire, like a demon crawling out of hell.
"Do you remember the fire?" Yuyan asks.
Zhifan's blood freezes, an unprecedented absurdity creeping into his heart.
Zhifan doesn't react immediately.
That, more than anything, confirms it.
"...What about it?"
"You told me," Yuyan continues, his voice almost thoughtful, "that if I loved you, I would prove it."
A pause.
The room feels smaller.
Zhifan watches him now — fully alert.
Yuyan says. "Do you remember that part? Or did you forget everything that wasn't entertaining to you?"
"That was seven years ago," Zifan pants, his breath ragged.
"Yes."
Yuyan leans forward slightly.
Silence stretches.
Then—
"I went to find you," Yuyan says. "When I woke up."
Zhifan's brows pull together, just slightly.
"I thought..." Yuyan's voice falters — not weak, but thin, like something stretched too far. "I thought maybe you were hurt. That's why you couldn't come."
Zifan stares at him in disbelief.The utter absurdity sends chills down Zhifan's spine.
"What does that have to do with me, you moron? It's your fault for being so stupid!"
"You lunatic," Zhifan almost screams.
Yuyan does not react immediately. Silence fills the room.
Yuyan lounges back comfortably on the sofa, looking at Zifan.
Then something happens.
He wrenches upward instinctively.
Yuyan squats in front of him, and the bodyguard eases the pressure on Zhifan neck.
Yuyan raises his palm. Zhifan stares at the lifted hand, blankly, for just a fraction of a second.
*"Smack."*
The slap cracks across his face.
Zhifan's head snaps to the side. Blood floods his mouth, spilling down his throat. His head spins. Zifan loses all sensation. Only his cheek burns as if it has been branded.
*This night is just like that night.* The devil shows no mercy or compassion — only cruel, calculated manipulation. And Zhifan is no innocent.
Yuyan's expression doesn't shift, but his eyes turn bloodshot, His hands tremble slightly, then clench tightly, his voice low and hoarse.
"You think this is just about the fire? You think leaving me to burn while you laughed with your friends was the worst thing you did?"
Zhifan scowls, genuine confusion flickering across his features. To him, the fire had been the punchline. What else was there?
"I woke up wrapped in gauze," Yuyan says, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "My skin was gone. My throat was scorched raw. But the pain wasn't the worst part. The worst part was listening to the nurses whisper. They didn't talk about a boy who nearly died saving someone he loved. They talked about a pervert."
Zhifan stops struggling. His breath catches.
"You couldn't just take the bet money and walk away," Yuyan continues, leaning closer until Zhifan can feel the ice in his words. "You had to make sure no one would question why you left me in that hospital. So you spread the rumors. You told the police, the school, the press, that I was a stalker. That I'd tried to assault you. That the fire was my fault."
"It was PR," Zhifan says quickly, his mind scrambling for an angle. "It was just damage control, I—"
"My mother had a weak heart," Yuyan interrupts, his tone absolute zero. "She couldn't bear to see her son destroyed like that."
He swallows. The taste of rust and old blood coats his tongue.
"She had to turn on the television and hear the world call her mutilated son a predator. The shame and the shock stopped her heart before they even took my bandages off. Before I could even speak to tell her the truth."
Silence stretches between them — suffocating and absolute.
"She had spent the last of our savings," Yuyan continues, his voice barely above a breath, "to buy you a gift for your birthday. Because she thought you cared about me."
Yuyan presses his palm against his eyes hard. "I was such a foolish scoundrel! Mom... I am sorry, Mom!"
He sinks to the ground, his breathing turning ragged and heavy. He holds his head in his hands, his eyes red like a devil's, and murmurs to himself, "I was wrong... Mom... I was wrong..."
He is like a child who has made a mistake, feeling wronged and helpless.
The voice echoes intermittently in the air, filled with self-reproach so intense it wishes for immediate death.
"You... you shouldn't have given birth to me... you shouldn't have let me out..."
"I'm the one who killed you..."
"I am a murderer..."
Intermittent groans and sobs escape through the cracks — endured, suppressed, yet still breaking through every restraint, leaking out.
He had murdered her as a joke. That is why he is a monster now. And he should atone for his sin.
They must all atone for their sin.
---
Zhifan stares at the man on the floor.
For the first time in his life, he realizes he has completely miscalculated the board. He thought he was playing with a victim. He didn't realize he had created a monster.
Yuyan rises, letting his hands fall to his sides. Stripped of support, Zhifan slides down the polished wood of the door, his knees meeting the floor.
"You killed the only thing that made me human," Yuyan says, looking down at him — not with anger, but with absolute ownership. "So I built this face. I built this cage. I bought your therapist, your staff, and every single piece of your life."
Zhifan looks up. The charismatic facade is stripped away entirely, leaving only a hollow, cornered shell.
Yuyan lets out a soft, mocking chuckle — but his eyes hold no human warmth. Only an overflowing madness. Only hunger. Like a demon hauling itself up out of the dark.
"You have no money. You have no reputation. You have no friends. You have nothing, Zhifan."
"No one would bother to look for you if you disappeared now."
A beat.
"And that is your retribution."
Zifan looks at him in horror .
"What ..what do you mean?"
"You insane bastard!"
"What are you going to do?"
Goosebumps rise all over Zifan's body.
Then the bodyguard strikes the back of his head.
A wave of dizziness washes over him without warning, and his shoulders tremble.
Everything goes dark as he loses consciousness.
---