On the sixth day of the trading suspension, news from Old Chen finally reached the apartment.
The delivery method was carefully concealed. He had found an unfamiliar young man to ride an electric scooter and leave the package in the Fengchao locker downstairs.
When Su Ran opened the parcel, she found two jin of oranges with leaves still attached inside.
Beneath the oranges lay a folded dry-cleaning receipt, the front printed with a pickup date from three months ago.
Flipping it over, she saw a crooked line of small handwriting:
“Someone is investigating a person with the surname Ma. The investigator is Liu Fang, legal counsel of the Bai family. They’ve been looking for two days and found nothing.”
Two days.
Zhou Zhe had obtained the fake information about President Ma and passed it to the Bai family within forty-eight hours.
The Bai family had immediately mobilized their legal team to verify it.
The entire chain of evidence was now complete.
Fu Yechuan stood in Su Ran’s room, holding the receipt, his fingers tightening until creases formed along the edge of the paper.
Old Chen never made mistakes.
“Do you believe it now?”
Su Ran sat cross-legged on the bed, peeling an orange with her fingertips.
The citrus was so sour it made her face tense, yet she still popped a segment into her mouth.
She needed the vitamins.
Fu Yechuan folded the receipt and slipped it into his pocket without answering her question.
“We’ll deal with Zhou Zhe after trading resumes.”
“How?”
“Let him keep passing information. What he passes will be decided by me.”
Su Ran narrowed her eyes as she chewed on the sour pulp.
“You’re going to use him as a mouthpiece?”
“A double agent.”
The two words were crisp, as sharp as a blade striking ice.
Su Ran thought it over while chewing.
This move was far more clever than simply cutting Zhou Zhe off.
A known hidden line was always safer than an unknown one.
Once they knew he was a traitor, they could feed false information to the Bai family through him.
“Alright.” She spat the seeds into a tissue.
“But you need to control the balance. The information can’t be too fake or too real. If it’s too fake, he’ll realize something’s wrong. If it’s too real, the Bai family benefits.”
“I know.”
“And you’ll have to act.”
Su Ran looked up at him.
“In front of Zhou Zhe, you have to trust him just like before. Can you do that?”
Fu Yechuan reached over, picked up the last orange segment on the table, broke it apart, and tossed it into his mouth.
After chewing twice, his brows knit tightly.
“This orange is just like you.”
“Sour?”
“Hard.” Su Ran was momentarily speechless.
“I’m asking if you can act. Why are you talking about oranges?”
He tossed the peel into the trash and brushed his fingers against his pants.
“I can act.”
“Good.”
Su Ran swallowed the last segment and was about to speak when her phone vibrated.
A text message from an unknown number.
Her fingers paused over the screen.
“Lawyer Shen Zhixing has a document that must be handed to you in person. Tonight at seven, North City, No. 4 Wangjiang Road, Jin’an Tea House, second floor. This number will be destroyed after reading.”
Shen Zhixing. It really was him.
Without moving her eyes, she glanced sideways at Fu Yechuan by the window.
He was looking down at his phone, unaware of her reaction.
Su Ran made her decision instantly.
She would go. And she couldn’t let Fu Yechuan come along.
It wasn’t a matter of distrust.
Shen Zhixing had specifically asked for her, not Fu Yechuan, which meant he was wary of him and believed meeting him directly was too risky.
If she brought Fu Yechuan, Shen Zhixing would most likely disappear.
That escape route would be cut off.
“What is it?”
Fu Yechuan’s voice suddenly broke the silence. He looked up, his gaze settling on her face.
Su Ran turned off the screen and placed the phone face down on her lap.
She had done this before on the subway.
Fu Yechuan remembered. “Another unknown message?”
Su Ran chose a half-truth.
“Shen Zhixing.” There was a faint pause in Fu Yechuan’s shoulders.
“He contacted you?”
“Yes! He asked to meet tonight and said he has a document for me.”
“Where?”
“Wangjiang Road in North City.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No.” Su Ran shook her head.
“He specifically asked for me because he doesn’t want to see you. If you show up, he’ll run.”
Fu Yechuan’s jaw tightened into a hard line.
“You’re going alone to meet the Bai family’s lawyer? The last time you went alone to the recycling station, what condition did you come back in?”
“That was different. Bai Jingshan is an enforcer, Shen Zhixing is a lawyer. Lawyers use words, not fists.”
“The Bai family stands behind that lawyer.”
“If he were still working for them, he wouldn’t be contacting me secretly.”
Su Ran spoke a little faster.
“He went around the Bai family to reach me, which means he wanted to jump ship. If you pressure someone like that too much, they retreat. Then whatever document he has, we’ll never get it.”
“What document?”
“I don’t know, I’ll know when I see him.”
Fu Yechuan said nothing.
The room fell silent for over ten seconds.
From downstairs, the loudspeaker of a small convenience store drifted up, advertising a buy-one-get-one-free yogurt deal.
Su Ran waited for him to relent.
She knew Fu Yechuan had a strong need for control, especially over people tied to him. He wouldn’t give in easily.
“Take your phone with you,” he finally said.
“I will.”
“Send me your location when you arrive.”
“Alright.”
“If I don’t hear from you within an hour—”
“You’ll come find me, I know.”
Su Ran finished his sentence. Fu Yechuan looked at her, his gaze heavy as if weighed down by stone.
“What happened at the recycling station won’t happen again.”
She heard the weight behind his words.
It wasn’t an order. It was something else.
She chose not to dwell on it. Thinking too much would affect her judgment.
“I’ll be careful.”
Fu Yechuan turned and left the room.
His footsteps echoed down the hallway, stopping at room 517 before a door opened and closed.
Su Ran exhaled, took out her phone again, and reread the message.
No. 4 Wangjiang Road, Jin’an Tea House.
She opened the map to search for the location.
It was in the old district of North City, not far from the teahouse where she had met Old Chen before.
Wangjiang Road was an old street, lined with 1990s-style arcades. Tailor shops and traditional medicine stores occupied the ground floors, with residents living upstairs.
The tea house sat on a corner, with a rating of 3.8 on the map and very few reviews.
A quiet place, perfect for meeting someone who didn’t want to be seen.
Su Ran closed the map and changed her clothes.
She only had two outfits. One was the dress and high heels she had arrived in, no longer wearable.
The other was a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt she had bought later.
After getting dressed, she glanced at her reflection in the window.
The original owner of this body was quite attractive.
Peach blossom eyes, a straight nose bridge, and well-shaped lips.
After the past few exhausting days, her face had grown thinner, her chin sharper, and the dark circles under her eyes rivaled Fu Yechuan’s.
Su Ran looked away. She left at six.
Bus to subway, subway to walking. By the time she reached Wangjiang Road, it was 6:48.
The old street was even more worn than she had imagined.
The streetlights were old incandescent bulbs, casting a dim yellow glow that barely reached far.
The road was paved with stone slabs, moss growing in the cracks.
There were few pedestrians. Occasionally, an elderly man rode past on a bicycle, vegetables piled in the basket.
Jin’an Tea House stood at the corner.
There was no prominent sign, only a wooden plaque above the doorway with neatly brushed handwritten characters.
Su Ran pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The first floor was a small hall with four square tables.
Two were occupied by elderly men playing chess, another by a middle-aged woman drinking tea and reading a newspaper.
“Upstairs.”
A young attendant in the corner tilted his chin toward the stairs.
Su Ran climbed the narrow wooden staircase.
It creaked under her steps, each one sounding like she was stepping on old bones.
There was only one private room upstairs.
A bamboo curtain hung half-rolled, warm light spilling out from within.
She lifted the curtain and stepped inside.
A man was already seated there. Early thirties, tall and thin, wearing silver-rimmed glasses.
His hair was neatly cropped, his light gray shirt buttoned at the cuffs.
A cup of tea sat beside him, the liquid pale, as though it had been steeped four or five times.
He had been waiting for more than just a single cup.
“Miss Su Ran?”
He stood and inclined his head slightly.
Polite, but not servile. It was the kind of composure trained over years, natural rather than forced.
“Shen Zhixing?”
Su Ran remained standing.
“Please, have a seat.”
She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, placing her phone face down on the table.
She had already sent Fu Yechuan her location on the way. The timer started now.
One hour. “You sent the message.”
Her tone was declarative.
“Yes.” Shen Zhixing’s voice was steady.
“My apologies for contacting you so abruptly.”
“Did you dispose of the number?”
“Used once and discarded, for safety.”
He adjusted his glasses. Su Ran studied with him.
The novel had barely described Shen Zhixing’s appearance, only calling it “plain.”
Seeing him in person, she realized it wasn’t plainness.
It was a deliberate understatement.
Well-dressed but not eye-catching, restrained expression, upright but relaxed posture.
The kind of person you would forget at a glance in a crowd.
But you shouldn’t. “Why did you come to me?”
Su Ran went straight to the point.
Shen Zhixing picked up a large manila envelope from beside his chair.
A4-sized, sealed with tape, completely unmarked.
He placed it on the table and pushed it toward her.
“These are partial pieces of evidence of the Bai family’s illegal operations during the liquidation of the Fu family.”
His tone remained even.
“They include tampering records of three contracts, the true flow of two asset transfers, and abnormal fund movements in Bai Weiwei’s personal account during a specific period.”
Su Ran didn’t touch the envelope.
“Why give it to me?”
Shen Zhixing removed his glasses and wiped them, though there was no dust.
What he was wiping away was his hesitation.
“Because if I give it to Fu Yechuan, he’ll kill me.”
Su Ran paused for half a second. Then she understood.
As the Bai family’s lawyer, Shen Zhixing had handled the entire legal process of the Fu family’s liquidation.
Whether or not he had intended wrongdoing, objectively, he was one of the people Fu Yechuan hated most.
If you handed a knife to your enemy, the first hand he would cut would be yours.
“And you think giving it to me is safe?”
“Not safe.”
Shen Zhixing put his glasses back on.
“But at least you have a choice. You can choose to give these to Fu Yechuan, or not. You can choose to tell him where they came from, or keep that to yourself.”
“You’re asking me to take on your risk.”
“I’m giving you leverage.”
Shen Zhixing corrected her, his tone completely steady.
“You and Fu Yechuan are partners now. What do partners need most? Bargaining chips. What’s inside this envelope is exactly that.”
Su Ran stared at him for several seconds.
This man was calculating. He knew exactly what she needed.
She needed to maintain her value in front of Fu Yechuan.
Once her “foresight” began to fail, she would need a new source of information.
Shen Zhixing was that source.
“What do you want from me?”
Su Ran asked the most important question. Shen Zhixing fell silent for three seconds.
During those three seconds, his eyes, behind the lenses, remained fixed on her, as if making a final assessment.
“The Bai family wants me to do something.”
He finally spoke.
“Before next Wednesday, I am to fabricate a chain of evidence accusing Fu Yechuan of commercial fraud. Once it’s done, Bai Weiwei will submit the materials to the prosecutor’s office.”
Su Ran’s back stiffened.
“Fu Yechuan currently has no company and no assets under his name. How would a commercial fraud charge even be filed?”
“A bad check.”
Shen Zhixing spoke four words.
“That five-million bad check. Bai Weiwei’s original plan was for Fu Yechuan to use it to cash out or negotiate business deals, then have him arrested for fraud. The check was torn up, but she left herself a fallback. She still has the original issuance record and a signed receipt from Fu Yechuan.”
“A signed receipt?”
Under the table, Su Ran’s fingers clenched into a fist.
“Fu Yechuan signed something?”
“When the intermediary handed the check to him, he had him sign a receipt.”
Shen Zhixing glanced at her, his precise wording sending a chill down her spine.
Su Ran’s mind buzzed.
When the intermediary gave Fu Yechuan the check, he made him sign a receipt.
This detail had never appeared in the book.
But it made perfect sense.
With a signed receipt from Fu Yechuan and the issuance record of the bad check, a complete chain of evidence could be formed. Even if the check had been torn up, the receipt was still in Bai Weiwei’s hands.
“So what Bai Weiwei asked you to fabricate isn’t evidence.”
Su Ran’s voice turned cold.
“She wants you to fill in the missing link, the record of the check being cashed. Since the check was never cashed, she needs a fake record to match the receipt.”
Shen Zhixing did not deny it.
“Have you done it?”
“Not yet. The deadline she gave is next Wednesday.”
“You don’t want to do it?”
“Miss Su Ran, I’ve been a lawyer for eleven years.”
For the first time, a faint ripple appeared in Shen Zhixing’s voice, like a slight disturbance on still water.
“I’ve handled cases in gray areas and done things that skirt the line, but fabricating evidence to send someone to prison is a line I have never crossed.”
“You’re afraid?”
“I’m afraid of going to prison.”
Su Ran almost laughed.
Not out of mockery, but at the absurdity.
Everyone was living in this muddy mess, driven forward by fear.
She feared death. Fu Yechuan feared betrayal.
Bai Jingshan feared being used by his sister.
Shen Zhixing feared prison. Each person was pushed forward by their own fear.
“I’ll take the envelope.”
Su Ran picked up the manila envelope without opening it and slipped it straight into her bag.
“But I have conditions.”
“Please go ahead.”
“First, stall Bai Weiwei. You can work on the fake evidence before next Wednesday, but do it slowly, and make mistakes. Buy us time.”
Shen Zhixing nodded.
“Second, from today onward, all communication between us will be on my terms. No more random text messages. Use a new number each time, keep calls under thirty seconds, and I choose the meeting locations.”
“Agreed.”
“Third—”
Su Ran stood up, the chair scraping dully against the wooden floor.
“When this is over, Fu Yechuan will not touch you. That’s my promise.”
For the first time, Shen Zhixing’s expression shifted noticeably.
Not to joy. But like muscles that had been tense for too long finally loosening slightly.
“Can you make that promise on behalf of Fu Yechuan?”
“I can’t.” Su Ran picked up her bag.
“But I’ll make him agree.”
Shen Zhixing watched her back.
She paused in front of the bamboo curtain.
“Lawyer Shen, one last question.”
“Go ahead.”
“You said Fu Yechuan signed a receipt. That receipt is currently in Bai Weiwei’s hands?”
Su Ran turned her head slightly.
“Do you have a way to get it?”
Shen Zhixing was silent for a moment.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“That depends on when Bai Weiwei makes a mistake.”
Su Ran didn’t press further.
She walked down the creaking wooden stairs, passed the quiet tea drinkers on the first floor, and pushed open the door.
The air on Wangjiang Road was damp and warm, carrying a faint fishy scent drifting from the river.
She took out her phone and sent Fu Yechuan a message: “I’m on my way back.”
The reply came instantly: “Which line?”
Su Ran paused. He was asking which subway line she was taking.
Why?
A second message followed: “Tell me which station you’ll get off at.”
Standing under the dim streetlight, the yellow glow made the screen slightly hard to read.
She typed two words and sent them: “East City.”
“I’ll come pick you up.”
Su Ran held her phone, staring at those four words for a long moment.
The night breeze swept through the old street, carrying the damp scent of moss from the cracks in the stone pavement.
In the distance, someone was playing the erhu under the arcade, the tune broken and intermittent, like someone talking to themselves.
She slipped her phone into her pocket and walked toward the subway station.
The manila envelope in her bag felt heavy.
Not because of the paper. Because of what it represented.
Bai Weiwei was fabricating evidence.
Next Wednesday was the deadline. Qiming Technology would resume trading in four more days.
The timeline fit together too tightly, like a blade pressed against her throat.
Su Ran quickened her pace.
Her flat shoes made soft sounds against the stone pavement, swallowed by the sound of the erhu.
East City Station exit.
Fu Yechuan stood outside Exit D, hands in his pockets, leaning against a pillar. Beside him was an old man selling roasted sweet potatoes, white smoke rising from the stove on his cart.
When Su Ran came out of the turnstile, he gave her a quick glance from head to toe.
One second.
Confirming she wasn’t hurt and nothing was missing, he took two roasted sweet potatoes from the old man, wrapped in newspaper, and handed one to her.
“Eat.”
Su Ran took it. It was scalding hot.
She shifted it between her hands, hissing softly.
“What did Shen Zhixing give you?”
Fu Yechuan asked as they walked.
Su Ran took a bite. Soft, sweet, the flesh inside a deep orange.
“Evidence! Proof of the Bai family’s illegal operations during the liquidation of the Fu family’s assets.”
Fu Yechuan didn’t change his pace, but his breathing faltered for half a beat.
“There’s something else.”
Su Ran swallowed the bite.
“Bai Weiwei is fabricating a new chain of evidence to send you to prison.”
This time, Fu Yechuan stopped. “What evidence?”
Su Ran repeated everything Shen Zhixing had said, word for word—the bad check, the receipt, the fabricated cashing record.
Under the streetlight, Fu Yechuan stood still, the sweet potato in his hand untouched.
“I remember the receipt.”
His voice was dry.
“She had me sign it, and said it was just a formality.”
“You didn’t suspect anything back then?”
“At that time…”
He paused. “At that time, I trusted everything she did.”
Su Ran didn’t respond. There was nothing to say.
Hindsight was cheap.
“Shen Zhixing said he can get the receipt.”
Su Ran pushed the conversation forward.
“But it will take time.”
“Why is he helping us?”
“He’s not helping you.”
Su Ran looked at his profile. The streetlight split his face into light and shadow.
“He’s saving himself. Bai Weiwei is forcing him to fabricate evidence, and he doesn’t want to get dragged into this mess, so he needs a way out.”
“What’s his way out?”
“Me.” Su Ran took another bite of the sweet potato.
“He’s betting that I can speak for him in front of you.”
Fu Yechuan turned his head to look at her.
They were standing very close.
Close enough for Su Ran to see that the bruise on his cheekbone had faded from purple to yellow-green, slowly healing.
“You do have a say in front of me.” He said.
Su Ran’s chewing slowed for half a second.
“What did you say?”
“I said a fact.”
Fu Yechuan looked away and continued walking.
Su Ran followed half a step behind him.
She bit into the sweet potato, staring at his back.
The black T-shirt clung to his shoulder blades, the muscles shifting smoothly with each step.
She looked away and focused on the road.
Streetlights passed overhead one by one.
Four days left.
Four days until Qiming Technology resumed trading, 7.5 million would be in hand.
According to their agreement, she would take twenty percent and leave 1.5 million.
Enough to move to another city and start over.
Far away from the Bai family, from the plot of the book, from this world that could explode at any moment.
And far away from Fu Yechuan.
Su Ran stuffed the last bite of the sweet potato into her mouth and chewed hard.
It had cooled. It wasn’t as sweet anymore.
They reached the apartment building.
They went upstairs. On the fifth floor corridor, they stopped at their respective doors.
Room 503 and 517 were separated by fourteen doorplates and a hallway that carried the faint smell of instant noodles.
“Lock your door.”
After saying those two words, Fu Yechuan opened his door, went inside, and shut it.
Su Ran stood at the door of 503, taking out her key.
As she inserted it into the lock, she glanced toward 517.
The door was closed. The fluorescent light in the corridor buzzed softly.
She entered her room and locked the door behind her.
Leaning against it, she stood still.
The rhythm in her chest felt off.
Not the rapid beat of fear, something else.
Su Ran closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temple.
No! She couldn’t think about it.
She pulled open her bag, took out the manila envelope, and placed it on the table.
It lay there quietly. She will open it tomorrow.
Tonight, she needed to sleep.
Because in four days, the real battlefield would begin.