By the time they returned to the apartment, it was already eleven at night.
Su Ran changed out of the black evening dress, folded it neatly, and placed it back into the shopping bag.
The dress was rented and had to be returned tomorrow. From the fifty thousand yuan Old Chen had advanced her, three thousand eight hundred had been deducted as rental fees, which was far cheaper than buying it outright.
She put on her well-worn white T-shirt and jeans, washed three times over, then curled up on the bed and scrolled through her phone.
Seventeen unread messages blinked on the screen.
Three were news notifications. Coverage of the South City charity gala had already spread across social media, with headlines in all styles. The most eye-catching one had climbed straight to the third spot on local trending searches: “Former Young Master of the Fu family appears with a mysterious female companion, publicly slaps Bai family charity video?”
The accompanying image showed Su Ran standing on stage, holding up her phone. The resolution was low, but the angle perfectly captured her slightly raised chin.
The comments section was in chaos. Some accused the Bai family of fabrication, others mocked the fallen Fu family for stirring trouble, while many speculated about Su Ran’s identity. Traffic surged in overwhelming waves.
Su Ran tapped the screen and closed the news.
She didn’t need attention. She was waiting for another notification.
When the alert from the securities trading system popped up, her finger paused for a moment.
“The stock you are following, 301147 (Qiming Technology), is expected to resume trading on X date.”
The resumption date was set.
The day after tomorrow.
Qiming Technology will resume trading the day after tomorrow.
Su Ran pressed the phone against her chest and stared at the crack in the ceiling. It was still there, and perhaps it was just her imagination, but it seemed longer than the last time she had noticed it.
According to the original storyline, Tianhuan Group’s acquisition plan would be finalized with a generous premium, and once trading resumed, Qiming Technology would hit consecutive daily limit-ups. Thirty yuan was a conservative estimate.
But she had already told Fu Yechuan that her predictions might not be accurate. The Bai family’s involvement was far deeper than in the original story. If Bai Weiwei had interfered with Tianhuan Group’s deal and suppressed the acquisition price, the stock might not have reached thirty.
Twenty yuan. She calculated based on twenty. Two hundred fifty thousand shares meant five million.
Enough!
Su Ran turned over, slid the phone under her pillow, and closed her eyes.
A knock sounded on the door three times.
She glanced at the time. Eleven-thirty.
Opening the door, she found Fu Yechuan standing there. He had changed into an old T-shirt, his hair still damp from washing. His hands were empty, without the plastic bag he usually carried.
“No food?” she asked, glancing at his hands.
“The shop downstairs is closed.”
“Oh.”
They stood there for two seconds.
“Qiming Technology resumes trading the day after tomorrow,” Su Ran said first.
“I saw.”
“For the three split accounts, do you have a plan for after trading resumes?”
“Sell in batches,” Fu Yechuan said, leaning against the doorframe. “Hold through the first limit-up. Sell one-third at the second. If the third still holds, sell another third. The remaining third depends on the situation.”
A standard short-term exit strategy. Su Ran nodded.
“What if the limit-up breaks?”
“Then we sell everything. No hesitation.”
Good.
She leaned against the opposite side of the doorway. They faced each other in the hallway, separated by the width of a door. The newly installed hallway light was brighter than before, casting a cool tone over everything.
“Bai Weiwei lost face tonight,” Su Ran said. “She won’t let it go.”
“Mm.”
“The deadline for Shen Zhixing’s fabricated evidence is next Wednesday. The resumption is the day after tomorrow. There are only three working days in between.”
“She’ll act before we cash out.”
“What’s the most likely move?”
Fu Yechuan was silent for a moment.
“Freeze the accounts.”
Su Ran hummed in agreement. That was her biggest concern.
Of the three split accounts, two were not under her or Fu Yechuan’s names. For the Bai family to freeze them, they would first have to trace the accounts. Zhou Zhe didn’t know about the split accounts, at least not yet.
But the Bai family had other channels.
“Old Chen,” Su Ran said, her heart sinking slightly.
Fu Yechuan’s expression shifted.
“Old Chen knows your necklace transaction involved cash, and that you had around four hundred sixty thousand in funds,” she said. “He doesn’t know the details of the split accounts, but he knows where the money came from. If the Bai family finds him—”
“He won’t talk.”
“Are you sure?”
Fu Yechuan didn’t answer immediately.
“He’s been a middleman for decades. His reputation is everything,” he said. “Selling out clients would destroy his livelihood.”
“That’s a long-term loss. The Bai family’s pressure is immediate and physical,” Su Ran replied, keeping her tone measured but realistic. “If they trace Brother Bao’s line, they can reach Old Chen.”
A gust of cool air drifted through the hallway.
“I’ll contact Old Chen tomorrow and have him lie low,” Fu Yechuan decided.
“Alright.” Su Ran stepped back into her room. “Then for tonight—”
“Su Ran.” She stopped.
“About tonight…” Fu Yechuan hesitated, as if a gear had slipped. “On stage… thanks.”
She froze for a moment.
Since they started working together, he had never once said thank you. Everything between them had been driven by pure interest. Gratitude didn’t exist in their agreement.
“No need,” she said. “You turning things around is the only way I stay alive. Remember?”
She used their old line to restore the safe distance.
Fu Yechuan looked at her, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual.
“Lock the door.”
The door closed. Su Ran stood behind it for a while, staring blankly.
Then she returned to the bed, pulled out her phone, and used a disposable number to send Shen Zhixing a message: “The resumption date is confirmed. The day after tomorrow. Be ready.”
She deleted the number immediately.
Lying down, she closed her eyes, but her mind kept spinning.
The day after tomorrow, trading resumes. Sell in batches. Cash out, split the money. Leave!
Leave!
The agreement had been clear: “The relationship ends, no debts owed.”
That was her reward. To disappear cleanly, without being pursued or found.
But now, with Shen Zhixing’s line in her hands, Bai Weiwei having stumbled because of her, and Fu Yechuan’s trust expanding irreversibly, she was no longer someone who could simply walk away.
She turned over. The bed was cold, the pillow too low.
From next door, Huang Mao’s snoring seeped through the wall, steady and rhythmic.
She stared at the peeling wallpaper.
Tomorrow’s tasks: contact Shen Zhixing, confirm progress on the fabricated evidence, contact Old Chen, check the three accounts, and prepare for trading.
And return the dress.
Too many things. She rubbed her eyes and forced herself to rest.
…
The next day.
The final day before trading resumed.
At seven in the morning, Su Ran and Fu Yechuan met in the hallway. He was holding two cups of soy milk, condensation still clinging to the plastic.
“Let’s walk and talk.”
They went downstairs and sat on a bench in a small park nearby. The park was modest, with a gravel path and a few crooked willow trees. Most of the morning exercisers had left, leaving only a young man walking a golden retriever in the distance.
“I reached Old Chen,” Fu Yechuan began. “He’s taking a bus today to a neighboring city, to his sister’s place. He’s bringing all the physical documents related to our transactions.”
“What about electronic records?”
“He says he didn’t keep any.”
Su Ran nodded. For someone in his line of work, that was basic practice.
“Shen Zhixing replied last night,” she said, taking a sip of soy milk that was overly sweet. “He said Bai Weiwei is pushing hard. The fabricated evidence is about seventy percent done.”
Fu Yechuan’s grip tightened, denting the cup.
“But he left a flaw,” Su Ran quickly added. “There’s a key timestamp in the evidence chain. He altered it to be one day off from the real date. If anyone carefully checks the bank transaction dates, it won’t match.”
“One day?”
“That’s enough. Fabricated evidence falls apart on small inconsistencies. The prosecution might not notice, but if someone points it out, the entire chain collapses.”
“Shen Zhixing is walking a tightrope.”
“He always has,” Su Ran said. “He couldn’t refuse Bai Weiwei, but if it’s discovered later, he goes to prison. So he chose a middle path.”
“Betting Bai Weiwei won’t notice.”
“Betting we can take her down first.”
The golden retriever ran over, rolled onto its back, and basked in the sun. Its owner dragged it away with a smile.
“After trading resumes tomorrow,” Fu Yechuan said slowly, “how long before we can exit?”
“It depends on whether the limit-up holds,” Su Ran replied. “If it’s locked at limit-up, we can’t sell. We’ll have to wait until it breaks or the next day’s opening auction.”
“The fastest?”
“Two to three trading days.”
“Two to three days…”
“And Bai Weiwei’s evidence?”
“At most two more days. Once it’s done, she’ll submit it within twenty-four hours. Then the prosecutors will initiate review and freeze all assets under your name.”
“I don’t have a securities account.”
“But she can report insider trading and request freezing of all related accounts. Since I’m publicly connected to you, they can trace from my account history.”
“Could they find the split accounts?”
“Possibly.”
Fu Yechuan stood up and paced briefly.
“Timeline,” he said. “Trading resumes tomorrow. Earliest cash-out the day after. Bai Weiwei finishes evidence by then, submits it the following day.”
“We have a one-day window,” Su Ran concluded.
Twenty-four hours.
“Can it be faster?”
“Only if the stock doesn’t hit limit-up,” she said, gripping the cup. “If it opens high but not locked, say at twenty yuan, we can place sell orders the moment the market opens. Nine-thirty, filled at nine-thirty-one.”
“What are the odds?”
Su Ran bit her lip. “Fifty-fifty.”
“Our entire fortune rests on a coin toss,” he said with a humorless laugh.
“Not the first time.”
He glanced at her.
“You’re strange,” he said. “You’re fearless when you should be afraid…”
“When have I ever been afraid at the wrong time?”
He didn’t respond. Back in the building, her phone rang.
“Something’s wrong,” Shen Zhixing said.
Su Ran froze. “Bai Weiwei moved early. She’s submitting the evidence this afternoon. Today.”
Her ears rang.
“After submission, how soon before freezing?”
“Fast track, tonight.”
Tonight! If the accounts were frozen, tomorrow’s trading would mean nothing.
“Can you delay her?” Su Ran asked steadily.
“I’ll try.”
The call ended. Su Ran stood in the hallway, gripping her phone.
“Tonight,” she said. “She’s submitting today.”
Fu Yechuan didn’t react outwardly.
“If it can’t be frozen tonight,” he said slowly, “there’s still a chance.”
He broke down the process: submission, review, approval, delivery to banks and brokerages.
“If the freeze order doesn’t reach the brokerage before trading hours tomorrow—”
“Nine-thirty opening.”
They locked eyes. Another gamble.
“Prepare for the worst,” Su Ran said. “Place all sell orders during the pre-opening auction. No waiting.”
“Understood.”
Back in her room, she crouched behind the door, hugging her knees.
One minute.
Then she stood, washed her face, and sat at the table.
She took out the envelope of evidence, reviewing each page carefully, photographing everything, uploading it to a secure cloud, and hiding the access details.
A backup! No matter what happened tomorrow, this couldn’t be lost.
Finally, she lay down. Less than twenty hours remained until the market opened.
Outside, children’s laughter drifted up, pure and carefree.
She stared at the crack in the ceiling.
It had grown longer.
She closed her eyes. This time, there was no snoring next door.
The silence was almost unnatural.
And in that silence, she slowly fell asleep.