The alarm rang at exactly six in the morning.
Su Ran was jolted awake by the alarm she had set on her phone. The default electronic ringtone was sharp and grating, yanking her straight out of a blank, dreamless sleep.
She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and changed her clothes.
Every movement lagged half a beat behind her usual pace. It was not procrastination, just that her body had not fully shaken off sleep yet, her fingers still soft and weak.
She glanced at her phone screen.
No new messages.
Shen Zhixing had not contacted her.
She could not tell if that was good news or bad. No news might mean he was still stalling, or it might mean he had failed and could no longer protect himself.
Su Ran stepped out of 503 and into the corridor.
The door to 517 was open.
Fu Yechuan sat on the only chair in his room. Three phones lay on the table in front of him.
Each phone was logged into a different securities account.
He had changed into a white shirt, the top button fastened neatly. His hair was combed, his face freshly shaved.
Like he was preparing for battle.
In a way, he was.
“Come in,” he said without looking up.
Su Ran entered and closed the door behind her.
The lighting in the room was poor. The curtains were only half drawn. The glow from the three phone screens on the table was the only real source of light.
“Orders all set?” she asked.
“The call auction hasn’t started yet. Orders open at 9:15.”
It was only 6:15.
Three more hours.
“Have you eaten?” she asked, glancing at the table.
Aside from the phones, there was only an opened bottle of mineral water.
“Not hungry.”
“You may not be, but I am.”
She went out, walked to the public area at the end of the corridor, and bought two packs of bread and a carton of milk from the vending machine.
When she returned, she placed one pack of bread and the milk on the corner of his table.
Fu Yechuan glanced at them but did not touch them.
Su Ran tore open her own pack and leaned against his bed while eating.
The bread was the cheapest sliced toast from the supermarket, tasteless, like chewing cotton.
She forced down two slices with water.
6:40.
Her phone rang. It was Shen Zhixing.
She answered without putting it on speaker.
“Miss Su,” Shen Zhixing’s voice was tight, no longer his usual controlled monotone. “I’ve delayed it until eight this morning.”
Su Ran’s heart lurched.
“How?”
“There was a formatting error in the documents. I rejected it on the grounds that it didn’t meet submission standards. Bai Weiwei’s people had to reformat everything, which delayed them overnight.”
A formatting error. Su Ran almost laughed.
A conspiracy involving millions had tripped over a Word document format.
“And after eight?”
“After eight, I can’t control it anymore. Bai Weiwei is personally overseeing the submission. I estimate the evidence will reach the procuratorate before ten.”
Ten in the morning.
Even at the fastest pace, the formal review would take half a day, finishing around four in the afternoon.
If Bai family connections were strong enough, the freezing order might be signed before the end of the workday.
And then delivered to the securities firms—
At the earliest, that would be tomorrow morning.
Su Ran’s mind recalibrated the timeline at high speed.
Wait! Qiming Technology resumed trading today.
Not tomorrow.
Today, at 9:30 AM.
Bai Weiwei’s evidence would only be submitted at ten. Even through expedited channels, the freezing order could not possibly be issued before this afternoon or tomorrow.
They had a window.
“Lawyer Shen,” Su Ran said, her voice steady now. “Thank you.”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
“Miss Su, you owe me a promise.”
“I’ll remember.”
The call ended. Su Ran put her phone away.
Fu Yechuan had been watching her the entire time. The glow of the three screens flickered across his face.
“Ten,” she said. “Bai Weiwei submits the evidence at ten. The freezing order comes this afternoon at the earliest. That gives us…”
She checked the time.
“A window from 9:30 until, conservatively, before 3 PM.”
The tension in Fu Yechuan’s shoulders eased slightly.
Barely noticeable, but she caught it.
“That’s enough,” he said.
7:00.
Su Ran found a small stool and sat down in his room.
The two of them sat across from each other with the table in between, three phones placed in the center.
They waited.
7:30.
Su Ran scrolled through the news.
Coverage of the charity gala was still spreading. Some media outlets had already dug into Bai Weiwei’s charity video and Su Ran’s rebuttal on stage. The headlines were becoming increasingly exaggerated.
“Fu family’s young mistress fiercely claps back at Bai heiress?”
Young mistress, my foot. She closed the article.
8:00.
Fu Yechuan opened the bread she had brought.
He ate in a way that was anything but refined, taking large bites, chewing quickly, like he was simply fueling his body.
Three slices of toast were gone in less than two minutes.
He finished the milk as well, crushed the carton, and tossed it into the trash.
8:30.
Su Ran started to feel nervous.
Not the kind that sped up her heartbeat, but a dull unease rising from her stomach, like the last five minutes before an exam when the paper had not yet been handed out.
“You’re nervous?” Fu Yechuan asked.
“Aren’t you?”
“I am,” he answered without hesitation.
His blunt honesty caught her off guard.
9:00.
The call auction began. Fu Yechuan picked up the first phone and started placing orders.
Qiming Technology, sell, limit price 20.00, quantity 85,000 shares.
Second phone, same operation.
Third phone, same again.
Three accounts, a total of 255,000 shares, all placed at a limit price of twenty.
If the opening price exceeded twenty, the orders would execute instantly. If it fell below—
It would not fall below twenty. Tianhuan Group’s acquisition premium guaranteed that much. Su Ran forced herself to believe it.
9:10.
The call auction data began updating.
Su Ran leaned closer to the screen.
The buy orders were insane.
The indicative match price shot up from 1.9, the pre-suspension price, to 5, then 10, then 15.
Buy orders poured in at a staggering rate, all capital chasing the scent.
9:20.
The price stabilized around 26.
Twenty-six.
Six yuan higher than her conservative estimate, still rising.
9:25.
Final minute. No cancellations allowed.
The indicative price froze at 28.3.
Twenty-eight point three.
Su Ran’s heart nearly burst out of her chest.
255,000 shares multiplied by 28.3—
7,216,500.
Subtracting the initial 460,000 investment.
A net profit of 6,756,500.
Her twenty percent—
1.35 million.
Fu Yechuan stared at the number without expression.
9:29.
Last sixty seconds.
Su Ran realized she had crushed the water bottle in her hand. Water spilled out, running over her fingers, but she did not wipe it away.
9:30.
Market open, all three phones refreshed simultaneously.
“Executed! Executed! Executed!”
All three accounts’ orders filled in the first second.
Average price: 28.3.
Su Ran’s legs gave out. She slid off the stool onto the floor, landing hard on the concrete, her tailbone screaming in pain. She ignored it and looked up at Fu Yechuan.
He was still sitting.
His hands rested on the table. The three phones in front of him all displayed the same word: Executed.
No expression. His face was blank, wiped clean like a sheet of paper.
Then he lowered his head. His hands braced against the table, shoulders shaking once, then again.
He was laughing.
A silent laugh, his shoulders trembling, his back bent, his forehead almost touching the table.
Su Ran sat on the floor, staring at him.
“Have you lost your mind?” she said.
He lifted his head.
His eyes were red from laughing, his lips stretched wide, showing a row of white teeth. For the first time, that perpetually cold face carried a genuine smile, completely free of calculation.
It was almost too striking.
Su Ran quickly looked away, pushing herself up and dusting off her pants, pretending to check her phone.
“Has the money settled?”
“T+1,” Fu Yechuan said, clearing his throat as he forced the smile away. Funds from stock sales in the A-share market could only be withdrawn the next day.
“We will transfer tomorrow,” Su Ran said. “Split across three accounts, into three bank cards. You have them?”
“I do.”
“Transfer first thing tomorrow morning. The faster, the better. We don’t know when Bai Weiwei’s freeze order will come.”
He nodded. They stood in the cramped room. The three phone screens glowed softly, the numbers resting quietly.
7,216,500.
Su Ran stared at it, her throat tightening. In her previous life, she could not have earned this in ten years.
“Fu Yechuan.”
“Mm.”
“We won.”
He looked at her.
“The first step,” he said.
She knew he was right. This was only the beginning. Bai Weiwei was still there, Zhou Zhe was still there, that receipt was still in Bai Weiwei’s hands, and the forged evidence chain was already on its way.
But at this moment, just this second—
She allowed herself thirty seconds of happiness.
At the twenty-seventh second, her phone vibrated.
A text from an unknown number.
“Miss Su. Bai Weiwei knows you’ve cleared your positions. She’s gone mad. Bai Jingshan has already set out. He’s heading to where you live.”
No signature, but Su Ran knew who it was.
She looked up at Fu Yechuan.
“Move.”
“What happened?”
“Bai Jingshan is here.”
She rushed to 503, grabbed her bag containing the kraft envelope and all important items, then ran back to 517 and dragged Fu Yechuan toward the door.
“Wait—”
He turned back, stuffing all three phones into his pockets.
They ran down the stairs.
At the third-floor landing, Su Ran glanced out the window.
A black SUV was parked at the entrance. The doors were open. Two crew-cut men in black T-shirts were already heading inside.
Bai Jingshan’s people.
She pulled Fu Yechuan, and they changed direction, squeezing through the fire exit on the third floor.
The exit led to a narrow alley behind the building. Old air-conditioning units and bundles of newspapers were piled there, the air stale. Sunlight filtered through the gap between buildings, forming a thin strip.
They ran. After about two hundred meters, the alley opened onto a street.
There were people. Cars. Breakfast stalls steaming in the morning air.
Safe, for now.
Su Ran bent over, hands on her knees, gasping. She had run too hard, her stomach churning, the bread threatening to come back up.
Fu Yechuan stood beside her, breathing more steadily, though sweat beaded at his temples.
“He came faster than I expected,” she said, straightening.
“Bai Weiwei knows we’ve sold,” Fu Yechuan wiped his sweat. “The money is still in the securities accounts. If she can’t freeze the accounts, she’ll freeze the people.”
“She sent Bai Jingshan to grab us.”
“Yes. If he catches us, he’ll force out the account passwords. Make you transfer the money.”
Su Ran glanced at him.
“She’s not that stupid.”
“She is,” Fu Yechuan’s expression turned cold. “She’s desperate. A desperate person doesn’t follow rules.”
Su Ran remembered the scene at the recycling station. Six veterans. Bai Jingshan was efficient and ruthless. When Bai Weiwei gave the order, he was without a gun.
“We can’t go back,” Su Ran looked around. No one on the street paid them any attention.
“We will find somewhere to stay until tomorrow morning,” Fu Yechuan decided. “As soon as the securities firms open, we transfer the money. Then we leave.”
“Where to?”
“Out of South City first.”
She looked at him.
Leave South City. Leave the Bai family’s sphere of influence.
This had been her plan from the beginning. Make money and run. Clean break. The contract stated it clearly: relationship terminated, no obligations.
But the man standing before her now, white shirt neatly buttoned, sweat still on his temples, three phones bulging in his pockets—
He was no longer just a passerby in her life.
“Together?” she asked.
Fu Yechuan looked down at her. The morning sunlight behind him cast his face in shadow.
“Weren’t you planning to take your twenty percent and leave?”
She opened her mouth.
The contract did say that. Twenty percent profit, then separation. She had written it herself. She had pointed at the words “relationship terminated” and said that was her reward.
“Will you let me go?”
The moment she said it, she knew the question was flawed.
His jaw tightened. In the backlight, she could not see his eyes, only the movement of his throat as he swallowed.
“The contract says what it says,” he replied.
She nodded. “Then let’s survive today first.”
They entered a small fast-food restaurant by the roadside, similar to the one where they had first discussed their investment plan. Plastic tables and chairs, faded menus on the walls, the hum of the air conditioner filling the space.
Su Ran ordered a bowl of noodles. Clear broth this time, no spinach.
Fu Yechuan sat across from her, checking the three phones.
“The funds are normal. No abnormal freezes in any of the accounts. We will transfer at nine tomorrow morning.”
Su Ran nodded, stirring her noodles.
Steam rose, fogging half her face.
It was warm.