The storm on the internet came as suddenly as it had vanished.
Lin Yang tried his best not to think about the immense power and deep implications behind Li Chenzhou’s remark about “purifying the online environment,” forcing himself back into a daily routine. He resumed studying scripts in the apartment across the hall, even though he didn’t know if he would ever have the chance to use them; he went out for walks every day, though an invisible gaze seemed to follow him; he even began learning to cook simple meals for himself, though the results were hit-or-miss.
Life seemed to have returned to a semblance of a calm orbit, if one ignored the nightly “knocking to borrow things” routine from Li Chenzhou.
One afternoon, sunlight spilled through the window, forming warm patches on the floor. Lin Yang sat on the carpet, leaning against the sofa, absentmindedly flipping through a book on film theory. His old phone lay beside him, its screen occasionally lighting up with trivial industry gossip from Sister So or a funny anecdote from Su Yan.
Su Yan seemed completely unaffected by the recent scandal. He remained sunny and cheerful, occasionally messaging Lin Yang to ask about acting or to share a silly panda-head emoji. Looking at the goofy bear on his screen, Lin Yang’s lips quirked up for a moment, then quickly flattened again.
He opened his WeChat Moments and scrolled aimlessly. Most posts were promotional announcements from industry peers, retouched selfies, or displays of luxury lifestyles. Feeling bored, he was about to exit when his finger accidentally brushed past a name he had almost forgotten—Zhou Shihong.
The playboy who had humiliated him at the cafe.
His last update was from over a week ago: a photo of him in a nightclub private room, arm around a woman with a generic “influencer face,” holding up a wine glass. The caption was arrogant and crude. But now, beneath that post, were several comments from mutual friends posted a few days ago:
“Young Master Zhou, what’s the deal? Is your account gone?” “Calling Young Master Zhou! Come out and play!” “I heard something happened to his family? Is it true?”
Lin Yang’s heart skipped a beat. Something happened?
He instinctively clicked on Zhou Shihong’s profile. The page showed: “Friend only displays the last three days of Moments” and beneath that was a complete blank.
This was wrong. Given Zhou Shihong’s extreme vanity and his habit of posting ten times a day to show off, how could he have no updates for three days? And those comments…
A peculiar feeling surfaced in Lin Yang’s heart. He exited Zhou Shihong’s page and, driven by an impulse, clicked on Su Yan’s profile. Su Yan’s feed was active, full of behind-the-scenes clips, photos of the sky, tasty snacks, and the general breath of life. His last post was from yesterday: a bright, smiling face making a peace sign in a gym. The caption read: “Work hard! Getting ready for a new challenge!”
Everything looked normal. Yet, Lin Yang felt something was off. He recalled Su Yan messaging him yesterday to discuss a film clip; his tone had been the same as usual. But… a new challenge? What challenge? Sister So hadn’t mentioned any new work for Su Yan.
He exited the app, but the feeling of unease wouldn’t dissipate. After a moment of hesitation, he opened his chat with Sister So and sent a message:
“Sister So, any news on Su Yan lately? He mentioned a ‘new challenge’?”
Sister So replied almost instantly, her tone as gossipy and excitable as ever:
“Oh! I was just about to tell you! You mean Little Su? He’s struck gold!”
Lin Yang’s heart thudded. “What happened?”
“He’s incredibly lucky! I don’t know who his connection is, but he’s been selected for a massive multinational collaboration project!” Sister So’s text was dripping with envy.
“What project?” Lin Yang pressed, his anxiety growing.
“It’s some… Polar Research Volunteer program! Yes! An Arctic Research Volunteer! It’s a collaboration with several top foreign universities and research institutes. I heard it’s a prestigious addition to his resume!”
An Arctic… research volunteer? Lin Yang stared at the words, almost thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him. Su Yan? The bright, sunny boy who was a bit afraid of the cold and only had average athletic ability? Going to the Arctic? For research? As a volunteer?
This was even more unbelievable than hearing Li Chenzhou was going to cook!
“Did he want to go?” Lin Yang typed with difficulty, his throat feeling dry.
“Of course he did! How many people would kill for an opportunity like that? Even though it’s a volunteer gig with no pay and lasts for a year, the experience alone is worth a fortune! It’s huge for his future development. I heard the confidentiality level is quite high; he’s leaving soon for closed management, and he won’t be able to contact the outside world during that time!”
Sister So’s tone was absolute, as if this were the most reasonable thing in the world.
A year of closed management? No contact? Lin Yang’s fingers grew cold as he held the phone.
“And… Zhou Shihong? I heard something happened to his family?” He typed the next question mechanically, a terrifying realization taking shape in his mind.
“Oh, that annoying brat!” Sister So’s tone turned to contempt and a hint of schadenfreude. “Karma! I heard his family’s company had major tax issues and got targeted. The investigation is brutal! His father almost ended up in the hospital, and the whole family is a mess. Zhou Shihong used to be so cocky, but now he’s probably hiding and crying somewhere!”
Tax issues? Targeted?
Sister So continued to babble via voice messages about “heaven having eyes” and “evil having its reward,” but Lin Yang stopped listening. An icy chill climbed up his spine and flooded his limbs, making him feel as though he had fallen into a frozen lake. His fingertips were trembling.
Zhou Shihong, the man who had insulted him at the café was suddenly erased from the scene by a tax investigation.
Su Yan, the sunny boy who had spent a day filming with him and shared a harmless scandal was suddenly whisked away to the ends of the earth by a bizarre “Arctic Research” project for a year.
One punished, one “rewarded.” One silenced, one “honorably” exiled.
Both events happened back-to-back, and both had direct or indirect ties to Lin Yang. Was this really a coincidence? There was no such thing as a perfect coincidence.
The invisible hand had appeared again. It was clearer, more concrete, and more terrifying than the acquisition of the production company or the suppression of the trending topics. This time, he hadn’t even targeted Lin Yang directly; he had precisely removed the people around him who “shouldn’t be there” or “might bring trouble.” He did it with an absolute, unquestionable force, in a way that even made the victims feel “grateful.”
Lin Yang stood up abruptly. Because he moved too fast, his vision went black for a second. He gripped the sofa to steady himself, his heart thundering against his ribs. He looked around the beautifully decorated apartment—everything tailored to his tastes—and although the sun was warm and the environment comfortable, he felt no warmth. The air felt thick and cold, as if countless invisible eyes were watching him from the shadows.
He could give him the best material comforts and clear away all “troubles,” but he refused him the one thing he wanted most: freedom. He wouldn’t even allow any person or thing he hadn’t approved of to approach this glass cage.
Li Chenzhou… what exactly do you want? What do you take me for? A precious collectible that needs to be meticulously maintained, isolated from all risks, and kept firmly in your hand?
Fear, like a cold vine, wrapped around his heart and tightened. He felt a suffocating difficulty in breathing.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Ding-dong, ding-dong!
The crisp sound in the silent apartment was jarring, like a death knell. Lin Yang’s body shuddered violently. He turned his head toward the door, his pupils contracting with fear. Who would it be at this time? He didn’t even have to guess.
His legs felt like lead, but he forced himself to move toward the door. He looked through the peephole as expected. Li Chenzhou stood outside. Today, he held what looked like architectural blueprints, his expression as indifferent and cold as ever.
Lin Yang’s hand rested on the doorknob. His fingertips were icy and trembling. For the first time, he felt a powerful resistance and dread toward opening this door and facing the man outside.
The doorbell rang again, steady and patient. Lin Yang took several deep breaths to suppress the sob in his throat and the shaking of his body. He couldn’t show weakness; he couldn’t let him see that he had realized what was happening.
He turned the knob and opened the door.
Li Chenzhou’s gaze fell on his face, his deep eyes like a cold, bottomless well. However, he seemed to pause for a fraction of a second, his eyes lingering on Lin Yang’s pale face for an extra half-second.
“Property management issued a new community planning map,” he said, holding up the blueprints. His tone was flat, his usual excuse. “The elevator maintenance schedule might be adjusted. Take a look.”
His voice was deep and pleasant, but to Lin Yang, it sounded like a cold snake slithering into his ear.
Lin Yang didn’t refuse or respond coldly as he usually did. Instead, he looked directly into Li Chenzhou’s eyes, trying to find a single crack in that bottomless ice. But he saw nothing. Only a cold calm and the indifference of total control.
“…Fine,” Lin Yang heard his own dry voice say. He reached out and took the blueprints, which felt as heavy as lead despite their lightness. His fingertips inevitably brushed Li Chenzhou’s hand. The other man’s body temperature was higher than his own, but the touch made Lin Yang pull back instantly, as if he had been burned.
Li Chenzhou’s gaze seemed to darken.
“Is there anything else, President Li?” Lin Yang lowered his eyelashes to hide the turmoil in his eyes, his voice carrying an almost imperceptible tremor.
Li Chenzhou looked at him silently for two seconds, those sharp eyes seemingly capable of piercing any disguise.
“Nothing else,” he finally said, his gaze shifting from Lin Yang’s face to the empty entryway behind him. “Get some rest.”
With that, he turned and left composedly, just like every time before.
Lin Yang stood there, clutching the cold blueprints, watching the tall, powerful figure disappear behind the door opposite. He slowly closed the door, leaned against the cool wood, and slid down to the floor. The blueprints slipped from his weakened grip and unfurled on the floor, the dense lines and markings looking like a massive, inescapable net.
The Arctic winds, the tax audits, the humiliation at the cafe, the online slander, the recast role, the blocked rental path, all clues eventually led back to the same source.
The expressionless man who knocked on his door every night.