By the time they arrived in Hai City, it was already deep into the night.
This coastal metropolis was larger than South City, and colder in every sense of the word.
They didn’t go to a hotel.
Fu Yechuan’s sense of direction seemed etched into his bones. After weaving through countless narrow alleyways in an urban village, he finally stopped in front of a self-built apartment building with a sign that read “Daily Rentals.”
The stairwell walls were plastered with advertisements for lock-picking services and drain cleaning.
The air carried a damp smell of mildew mixed with the aroma of rapeseed oil drifting over from next door.
The landlord was a middle-aged woman with a cigarette dangling from her lips. Sleepy-eyed, she looked them over.
Her gaze landed first on the still-visible motor oil stains on Fu Yechuan’s face, then shifted to the oversized janitor’s uniform hanging loosely on Su Ran’s frame. Disdain flashed across her face before being replaced by a knowing look.
“One room, one hundred and fifty yuan a day. One month’s deposit, one month’s rent upfront.”
She blew out a ring of smoke and tapped her fingers against the desk.
“If you don’t have an ID, add another fifty.”
Without wasting words, Fu Yechuan pulled four crumpled hundred-yuan bills from his pocket and handed them over.
The landlord accepted the money and carefully rubbed each bill between her fingers twice to confirm it was genuine before lazily tossing over a brass key.
“Third floor, Room 307. The water heater’s broken. If you want a shower, boil your own water.”
Fu Yechuan took the key and glanced at her.
The landlord instinctively shrank back. Whatever mocking remark she had been about to make died in her throat.
The room was even smaller than their apartment in South City.
The metal-framed bed creaked loudly whenever it moved. Most of the paint on the table had peeled away, and a blackened handprint stained the wall.
Su Ran tossed her bag onto the table and collapsed directly onto the bed.
The mattress was so hard it dug into her spine. She didn’t even have the strength to lift a finger.
After closing the door, Fu Yechuan immediately checked the lock.
It was the oldest kind of latch lock, the sort that could be opened with nothing more than a piece of wire.
Pulling a Swiss Army knife from his pocket, he unfolded the screwdriver attachment and spent a few moments jamming the lock cylinder.
Unless someone broke the door down by force, nobody was getting in easily.
Only after finishing did he turn back toward the bed.
Su Ran had already fallen asleep.
Curled on her side, her face buried in the pillow, she exposed a slender stretch of neck and half of one reddened ear.
The oversized janitor’s uniform hung loosely on her body, making her appear even more fragile.
Fu Yechuan stood beside the bed for a long time.
Countless emotions churned in his eyes.
There was the exhaustion of surviving a desperate escape, caution toward the uncertain road ahead, and a quiet warmth so deep he hadn’t even noticed it himself.
He lifted a hand, intending to brush aside the strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek.
His fingertips stopped half an inch from her skin.
In the end, he lowered his hand.
Stripping off his grease-stained work clothes until only a faded old T-shirt remained, he walked to the window and slid down against the wall.
His ankle still throbbed relentlessly, but he ignored it.
His gaze remained fixed on the small figure curled up on the bed.
Without moving. He kept watch like that the entire night.
Su Ran woke the next morning from hunger.
When she opened her eyes, sunlight had already filled the room.
Fu Yechuan was gone. She immediately sat up and checked the bag on the table.
It was still there.
The zipper remained closed. Nothing had been touched.
The next second, the door opened.
Fu Yechuan walked in carrying two plastic bags.
He had changed into clean clothes, a black hoodie and a pair of sweatpants bought from a roadside stall downstairs. The entire outfit probably cost less than a hundred yuan.
The motor oil had been washed from his face, though the injuries along his brow bone and jaw remained, leaving him just as intimidating as before.
He placed one of the bags on the table.
“Steamed buns and soy milk.”
Only then did Su Ran finally relax.
Right on cue, her stomach growled loudly.
She picked up a bun and took a huge bite.
It was stuffed with meat, the juices soaking into the dough.
“How’s your foot?”
Her eyes drifted toward his left leg.
He still limped slightly when he walked.
“Won’t kill me.”
Fu Yechuan emptied the contents of the second bag onto the table.
New SIM cards. Several spare T-shirts.
And a local map of Hai City.
“We’re basically undocumented fugitives now.”
Su Ran spoke through a mouthful of bun and soy milk.
“No ID means no legitimate hotels, no trains, no flights. The ninety thousand yuan in cash shrinks every day we spend it. We need to figure out how to bring the money from the offshore account into the country.”
“I know a few money laundering channels.”
Fu Yechuan tapped a location on the map.
“They all take time, carry high risks, and charge at least thirty percent.”
Thirty percent of over seven million yuan meant more than two million gone.
The thought made Su Ran’s teeth ache.
And her heart hurt even more.
“Any other options?”
“Yes.” Fu Yechuan looked at her.
“Find a clean identity, register a company, and transfer the money as foreign investment. That’s the safest route. The problem is that we need legitimate identities first.”
Su Ran said nothing.
“I’m going to ask around the black market.”
Fu Yechuan folded the map and pushed himself up using the table.
“You’re going to the black market looking like that?”
Su Ran looked him up and down.
“Fu Yechuan, your face might be a golden calling card in South City, but over here it practically says ‘Come rob me’ in giant letters. Not to mention that injured foot.”
His brows drew together.
Finishing the last of her soy milk, Su Ran crushed the cup and tossed it into the trash.
Then she stood up, walked over to him, and pulled the thick stack of cash from his pocket.
After counting it, she stuffed half into her own pocket.
“What are you doing?”
Fu Yechuan stared at her.
“Starting today, I’m responsible for going out and making money. You’re responsible for staying home and recovering.”
Patting the bulging pocket, she copied his usual arrogant expression and raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll take care of you, Young Master Fu.”
Fu Yechuan froze completely.
He looked at her.
She wore a faded white T-shirt, her hair tied into a casual ponytail. Her face still carried traces of sleepiness.
Yet her eyes shone brilliantly.
They were filled with vitality, determination, and a touch of the same arrogance he saw in himself.
He had heard those four words countless times before.
I’ll take care of you.
The women who used to surround him would say them with sugary voices, their eyes calculating how many black cards and limited-edition handbags he could give them.
Only Su Ran was different.
When she said those words, all she was calculating was how to keep him alive.
Fu Yechuan’s Adam’s apple bobbed once.
He turned away and looked out the window.
Outside was a gray sky.
Rows of crowded apartment blocks stood shoulder to shoulder, allowing barely any sunlight through.
“Do whatever you want.”
His voice was soft.
None of its usual coldness remained.
Su Ran meant exactly what she said.
After counting their remaining cash, she spent three days searching through the urban village before finally renting a more secluded two-bedroom apartment.
The place was still old and shabby.
But it had its own kitchen and bathroom.
Once the door closed, it became a small world belonging only to the two of them.
After settling their luggage, the first thing she did was examine Fu Yechuan’s injury.
His ankle was more swollen than a steamed bun.
His entire body radiated heat, and even his lips had become cracked from fever.
A proper hospital was out of the question.
So Su Ran immediately went to the landlord and asked about underground doctors who didn’t require identification.
After accepting a five-hundred-yuan “consultation fee,” the landlord pointed her toward a bone-setting clinic at the end of the alley.
It took three turns through winding lanes to reach it.
The air smelled of boiling herbal medicine mixed with cumin from a nearby barbecue stall, making her nose itch.
Half the paint on the clinic sign had peeled away, leaving the crooked words Bone Setting and Massage.
The doctor was an old man in his sixties.
Thin as a bamboo pole, he wore reading glasses as thick as bottle bottoms. One hand kneaded a patient’s back while the other casually rolled two polished walnuts.
Su Ran slapped two thousand yuan onto his desk.
“My brother injured his foot at a construction site. Going to a hospital isn’t convenient. Could you make a house call?”
The old man tucked the money into his pocket, looked her over once, asked no questions, and simply picked up his medical case.
Back at the apartment, he cut open Fu Yechuan’s pant leg.
His brows immediately furrowed.
“A fracture and ligament damage. The inflammation spread because it was left untreated for too long, which caused the fever.”
“We need to set the bone and apply a splint. It’ll hurt. Endure it.”
Leaning against the headboard, sweat rolled down Fu Yechuan’s jawline.
He nodded silently. Su Ran turned her face away, unable to watch.
First came the dull crack of bone shifting back into place.
Then a muffled groan forced through Fu Yechuan’s clenched throat.
When she finally looked back, he had already passed out from the pain.
His face was utterly bloodless.
The old man’s hands worked quickly.
After applying medicine and securing the splint, he tossed over seven neatly bundled packets of herbs.
“Boil one packet a day. It’ll reduce the fever and swelling. No walking for half a month. Recover properly and there won’t be any lasting problems.”
After seeing the doctor out, Su Ran returned to the room.
Fu Yechuan was still unconscious.
She wrung out a wet towel and gently wiped the sweat from his forehead.
It was the first time she had ever seen him so defenseless.
Normally, his face was perpetually cold. Every line of his brow and jaw carried a sharp edge, as though low pressure followed him wherever he went.
Now, asleep, all that tension had faded.
His long eyelashes cast faint shadows beneath his eyes.
Gone were the hostility and vigilance.
Instead, there was a youthful vulnerability fitting for someone his age, as though he might shatter at a touch.
Su Ran’s hand paused midair.
“Mom…”
A vague murmur escaped him.
His brows tightened painfully, as if trapped in a nightmare.
Su Ran’s breathing stalled.
She remembered the charity gala, when Bai Weiwei had released that fabricated video.
Fu Yechuan had stood in the center of the stage, his back ramrod straight, the corners of his eyes red enough to bleed.
His mother was his reverse scale.
The one wound in his heart that bled whenever touched.
Su Ran didn’t wake him.
She dipped the towel into cool water again, folded it carefully, and laid it across his forehead.
Over the following days, Fu Yechuan’s fever came and went repeatedly.
Most of the time, he remained unconscious.
Su Ran’s schedule became packed from dawn until night. Before sunrise she brewed medicine, feeding it to him on time.
Every two hours she changed the towel on his forehead.
She also cleaned and dressed his injuries regularly.
In her previous life, she couldn’t even keep a cactus alive.
In this life, she somehow managed to take excellent care of a pricklier young master than any cactus.
Whenever she had free time, she used the old mobile phone to contact Shen Zhixing.
The news he sent back was encouraging.
Gao Jianmin had received the evidence they mailed.
The bribed judge was summoned by the Discipline Inspection Commission the very next day. When he emerged, his face was white as paper.
The fabricated chain of evidence Bai Weiwei had worked so hard to create was rejected by the Procuratorate due to doubts regarding its validity.
The case was temporarily suspended.
They had weathered the Bai family’s first assault.
But Su Ran didn’t dare relax. Someone like Bai Weiwei would never stop so easily.
The next move would only be harsher.
And more ruthless. Rain fell on the fifth night.
The drops drummed against the corrugated metal awning overhead with lively rattling sounds.
When Fu Yechuan finally woke up, only a dim bedside lamp illuminated the room.
Su Ran had fallen asleep beside the bed.
One hand still clutched a secondhand copy of Introduction to Business Management she had picked up from a used book stall. One corner of the pages had been folded over.
He shifted, trying to sit up.
The sharp pain shooting through his left foot made him suck in a breath.
The movement woke Su Ran.
Rubbing her eyes, she spoke in a sleepy, hoarse voice.
“You’re awake? Do you still have a fever?”
She reached toward his forehead.
Instinctively, Fu Yechuan turned his head away.
Her hand froze in midair. Awkwardness flickered across her face.
“Sorry.”
His voice was lower than usual.
“I’m used to it.”
Used to people staying away. Used to treating every attempt at closeness with suspicion.
Su Ran withdrew her hand and smiled.
“It’s fine. You must be hungry. I made some porridge and kept it warm on the stove.”
She went to the kitchen and returned with a bowl of thick white porridge, the rice cooked until every grain had blossomed.
Fu Yechuan was genuinely starving.
Taking the bowl, he finished it in only a few mouthfuls.
“These past few days… thank you.”
Handing back the empty bowl, his tone was unusually gentle.
Su Ran accepted it and grinned.
“So Young Master Fu really knows how to say thank you? I’ve written down every medical bill, every rent payment, and every meal in my little notebook. Once you recover your assets, you’ll have to repay me tenfold.”
Fu Yechuan simply looked at her without speaking.
The warm light softened her features.
Even the peach blossom eyes that usually sparkled with sharp confidence appeared gentler now.
The corners of her eyes carried a faint redness from several sleepless nights.