The night sky was like ink splashed across South City, the wind carrying a suffocating tension as if a storm were about to break.
Fu Yechuan abandoned the Wuling Hongguang at a demolition site on the outskirts of the city. He changed into even shabbier work clothes “borrowed” from the site, smearing dust across his face in two rough streaks. Blending into the crowd of workers finishing the night shift, he boarded the last bus heading back into the city.
The bus rattled and swayed. Around him, workers talked about how much they had earned today or how their children back home had scored on exams. The smell of smoke and sweat wrapped around him, becoming the perfect disguise.
Right now, he is a ghost. A man with no identity, no past, only a burning flame of revenge. Three years ago, when the Bai family had trampled him into the mud, they never would have imagined he would climb back out one day.
The Bai family villa district was located halfway up Yunshan in the east of the city, tightly guarded with twenty-four-hour patrols. Entering through the front gate would be suicide.
Fu Yechuan got off the bus two kilometers away, at the edge of a forest. Like a predator familiar with every inch of terrain, he slipped silently into the darkness.
There was no path here, only tangled roots and slippery moss. His trouser legs were quickly soaked with dew, yet he did not even frown. He bypassed all surveillance cameras and infrared sensors, following an abandoned maintenance route that only he knew.
This path had been discovered in his youth, when he used it to escape boring family banquets.
Back then, Bai Weiwei would wait at the end of the passage holding a small pale-yellow lantern, smiling brightly when she saw him crawl out covered in leaves. She would hand him a wet towel and ice-cold orange soda. At the time, he had believed that the little girl who followed him calling “Brother Yechuan” was the only warmth in the cold Bai family. Now, the memory only made his stomach churn with disgust.
The past was like a rusted blade scraping across his heart, leaving behind cold, aching wounds.
Fu Yechuan stopped beneath a giant camphor tree, steadying his breathing. He pulled out a backup phone used for checking information. The screen, dimmed to its lowest brightness, illuminated his sharp profile.
On it was a map of the villa’s internal structure, drawn entirely from memory. Every room, every exit, even the height of each window was marked clearly. He had simulated the infiltration route more than thirty times. There would be no mistakes.
Bai Weiwei’s study was in the third room on the second floor facing south. Outside the window stood an old magnolia tree, thick enough to climb.
He turned off the phone, lowered his body weight, and moved along the cliff wall like a shadow. The villa fence was just ahead.
It was a three-meter wall topped with electrified wire. But at the southeast corner, there was an inconspicuous gap. Years ago, heavy rain had collapsed part of it, and the repair crew had lazily patched it with hollow bricks. It looked seamless, but could actually be pushed open with enough force.
He had discovered that gap when he was fifteen.
Fu Yechuan slipped inside the villa grounds.
The sound of patrol guards’ radios came from nearby, accompanied by steady footsteps. He hid in the bushes until the flashlight beams swept past, then continued forward with catlike silence.
The main villa was brightly lit. Bai Weiwei liked brightness, even when she was alone. She would turn on every light in the house, claiming she feared darkness. Now it seemed she simply feared the exposure of her own hidden schemes.
Fu Yechuan circled to the back of the villa. The magnolia tree stood right there.
He removed his shoes and clenched them between his teeth, climbing up the rough trunk with hands and feet like a nimble ape. The second-floor study window was slightly ajar, letting out a stream of cool air mixed with Bai Weiwei’s familiar perfume.
He peered inside.
The study was empty. On the large redwood desk sat an open laptop showing negative media reports about the charity gala. Bai Weiwei’s photo was prominently displayed, the headlines dripping with mockery.
His gaze shifted to a silver-gray safe in the corner, half a person tall. It was a German-made model he had personally chosen, fireproof, theftproof, explosionproof. Back then, he had even joked that they would put their property certificates inside together.
Now it seemed laughable.
He silently pushed open the window and slipped inside without a sound.
Kneeling before the safe, he noticed a faint trace of perfume on the keypad, Bai Weiwei’s signature scent, “White Lover.”
His finger hovered over the keypad for half a second.
0815, Bai Weiwei’s birthday. 0901, the day they first met, the start of their first year in high school. She always said those two dates together represented the beginning of their lifetime.
He entered 08150901.
A soft beep sounded. The green light turned on, and the door popped open.
Fu Yechuan’s heartbeat did not change in the slightest. He almost felt amused. Bai Weiwei always used the most vicious methods against him while stubbornly preserving sentimental passwords, enjoying the twisted illusion of control.
Inside the safe were not many items. Property certificates, jewelry, and a stack of documents.
He immediately saw the receipt.
A4 paper, folded into quarters, placed inside a transparent file bag. It bore his signature, bold and unrestrained, from when he had once been at his most confident.
Just as his fingers were about to touch it, the study door suddenly opened.
Bai Jingshan stood at the entrance.
He was not wearing a suit, only a black tank top that revealed snake tattoos coiling around his arms. He looked like a drawn blade, sharp and hostile. Behind him, half a black leather shoe of a bodyguard was visible through the crack in the door.
A trap!
Bai Jingshan smiled as he looked at Fu Yechuan.
“I knew you would come,” he said lazily. “My sister said you’re like a cockroach. No matter how you’re stepped on, you crawl out from somewhere unexpected. She told me to wait here. Looks like she was right.”
Fu Yechuan slowly stood up, holding the receipt in his hand. He showed no panic, no intention of fleeing. Instead, he casually unfolded the file bag, pulled out the receipt, and held it up to the light.
“Where is your sister?” he asked.
“She’s downstairs waiting for you,” Bai Jingshan replied. “She even brewed your favorite Jin Jun Mei tea. She wants to talk.”
“Talk about what? How she drove my parents’ company into bankruptcy, or how she forged evidence to send me to prison?”
“Talk about giving you a chance,” Bai Jingshan said as he walked in and closed the door behind him, sealing off the only exit. “Hand over the money and sign the equity transfer agreement. Transfer all profits from your investment in Qiming Technology to my sister. She can pretend nothing happened. She might even send you abroad with enough money to live peacefully.”
Fu Yechuan let out a low laugh.
“You think I’ll believe that?”
“You don’t have a choice,” Bai Jingshan said, weighing a crystal ashtray in his hand. “There are twelve of my men in this villa. Every exit out of South City is also covered. You can’t escape.”
Fu Yechuan held up the receipt.
“This piece of paper is your confidence?”
“This is your crime evidence.”
“No,” Fu Yechuan said.
He tore it apart.
Slowly, piece by piece, the paper fell like dead fragments of youth, scattering across the carpet.
“This is your death warrant.”
Bai Jingshan’s expression finally changed. He had not expected Fu Yechuan to destroy the only leverage they had.
“You’re asking for death!” he roared, swinging the ashtray.
Fu Yechuan tilted his head. The ashtray missed, smashing into the wall and exploding into shards of glass.
At the same moment, Fu Yechuan moved.
He did not retreat. Instead, he rushed forward, grabbing the laptop and smashing it into the floor-to-ceiling window.
The glass shattered instantly.
Cold wind poured in.
“Stop him! Don’t let him escape!” Bai Jingshan shouted.
Fu Yechuan leapt out of the second floor.
He landed on the lawn below, rolled to absorb the impact, but a sharp pain shot through his ankle. Cold sweat broke out instantly, yet he forced himself up and ran.
Behind him, footsteps and flashlight beams poured out like pursuit chains.
He reached the gap in the wall, kicked it open, and vanished into the night forest.
His backup phone vibrated.
Su Ran was calling.
“How did it go?” Su Ran’s voice was urgent.
“I got it, and destroyed it,” Fu Yechuan said through clenched teeth. “The receipt is gone. Bai Weiwei’s computer is destroyed.”
“You’re injured?”
“Minor injury, they’re searching the mountain. I need to move immediately.”
“Head north. Cross the ridge. There’s an abandoned railway. Follow it five kilometers to the Red Star Machinery Factory. It’s been abandoned for ten years and is outside surveillance coverage. They won’t think you’re there. I’ll meet you there.”
“Why did you prepare all this in advance?” he asked.
“Only an idiot would believe you’d actually send me to wait in Haicheng,” Su Ran said lightly. “Hurry up, I brought medicine and buns. They’ll get cold.”
For the first time, a real, unguarded softness appeared at the corner of Fu Yechuan’s mouth.
“Alright,” he said.
He ended the call and limped deeper into the darkness, knowing someone was waiting at the end of the road.
At the abandoned workshop of Red Star Machinery Factory, Su Ran sat on an overturned paint bucket. Medicine, bandages, steamed buns, and bottled water were neatly placed beside her. She held a steel bar in her hand, occasionally checking the time.
She had already mapped the entire area. If the Bai family came, she could still get Fu Yechuan out through the drainage system at the back.
Meanwhile, in the Bai villa, Bai Weiwei rushed upstairs and saw the shattered study. Her expression twisted for the first time.
“Seal all exits! Turn South City upside down if you have to! Find him! I want him dead!” she screamed.
Bai Jingshan stood behind her, staring out at the dark mountains.
He had seen it clearly. There was no fear in Fu Yechuan’s eyes, only ice-cold hatred.
The beast that had been sleeping for years had finally bared its fangs.
And the game was no longer under the Bai family’s control.