Opening the brokerage account took forty minutes.
The air conditioning in the securities branch office was blasting.
Su Ran sat in the waiting area on a plastic chair, the canvas bag wedged between her legs.
The skin on her heel that had been rubbed raw had already formed a thin scab. Every time it brushed against the edge of the chair, a dull ache shot through it.
When her number was called, she walked over and slid her ID card through the window.
The teller opposite her was a young woman in her early twenties. She glanced at the ID, then at Su Ran, said nothing, and simply followed procedure.
Fu Yechuan stood by the entrance of the brokerage hall instead of coming inside.
With one hand in his pocket and his back facing the interior, he watched the breakfast stall across the street.
The vendor was packing up. The remaining steamed buns were stuffed into plastic bags, while the greaseproof paper was folded and tucked beneath the cart.
Su Ran had no idea what he was looking at.
Once the account was opened, she walked out and handed him a bank card.
“My account. You handle the trades.”
Fu Yechuan lowered his gaze to the card and accepted it. The surface still carried a trace of her body warmth where his fingertips touched it.
He did not ask why.
“All in?”
“All in.”
The entire four hundred and sixty thousand.
Not a single cent left behind.
They found a nearby fast food restaurant and sat down. Fu Yechuan logged into the trading software on his phone while Su Ran watched from beside him.
Qiming Technology, stock code 301147, current price: 1.79 yuan.
When the buy order window popped up, Fu Yechuan paused while entering the numbers. There was no hesitation. He was calculating the optimal limit price.
In the end, he entered 1.81 yuan, two cents above market price, ensuring the order would be filled.
Order quantity: 255,000 shares.
Capital used: 459,000 yuan.
The few hundred yuan remaining were left untouched.
“Submit,” Su Ran said.
He pressed confirm.
The system displayed: Order Submitted Successfully.
Su Ran stared at those four words for three seconds, then picked up the disposable chopsticks on the table and began eating the bowl of noodles she had ordered.
The noodles had been soaking too long and had gone soft. The broth was thickened with starch, making it heavy and sticky. It was not particularly good.
She had gone nearly twenty hours without a proper meal since yesterday afternoon.
Fu Yechuan had not ordered anything. He turned his phone around and pushed it toward her.
“Filled.”
The entire order was executed at an average price of 1.80 yuan.
Su Ran glanced at it and continued eating.
“You’re not worried?” Fu Yechuan asked.
“Would worrying help?”
He said nothing more.
There were not many customers in the restaurant. In the corner, a man in a suit was speaking endlessly into his phone. His voice was low, but the phrase “capital chain” still slipped through.
Su Ran paid no attention. The only thing she needed to do now was wait.
Wait for Tianhuan Group’s acquisition announcement.
Wait for Qiming Technology to hit its upper price limits. Wait for Fu Yechuan to have money again.
Then she would take her twenty percent and disappear.
The plan was clear. The steps were straightforward.
But there was one variable she had not accounted for.
Zhou Zhe.
She did not know whether Fu Yechuan had noticed Zhou Zhe following them last night, but she had.
The black sedan had remained at the mouth of the alley for too long. Its position was wrong. The lights were off, and even the engine noise had been deliberately muffled.
If Zhou Zhe had already reported the words “Qiming Technology” to Bai Weiwei, then the Bai family’s next move would be to sabotage the investment before the announcement became public.
There were many ways to do that.
The simplest was to report suspected insider trading to regulators and freeze the account.
Su Ran set down her chopsticks and pushed the bowl aside.
“Fu Yechuan.”
He looked up. “Can the Bai family trace this account?”
Fu Yechuan’s fingers paused on the tabletop.
“The account is under your name,” he said. “Under normal circumstances, no.”
“And under abnormal circumstances?”
He did not answer immediately.
Su Ran knew exactly what he was thinking. After the Fu family collapsed, the Bai family’s network within regulatory circles had become his greatest nightmare. It was not a problem money could solve. It was connections, influence, and years of cultivating gray channels.
“In the worst case,” Fu Yechuan finally said, his voice level, “they report insider trading before the announcement. The account gets frozen, and we can’t withdraw the money.”
“Then we’ll have to move the funds before the account gets frozen.”
“The stock won’t have risen enough before the announcement.”
“I know.” Su Ran nodded. “Which is why we need a backup plan.”
Fu Yechuan looked at her.
“What plan?”
After a moment’s thought, Su Ran pulled out a napkin, grabbed the pen he had left on the table, and wrote two words:
Split Positions! She pushed the napkin toward him.
“Break the holdings apart. Spread them across three or four accounts. Keep each account under a hundred thousand shares.” She tapped the paper. “That way, even if the Bai family targets one account, the others can still get out.”
Fu Yechuan stared at the napkin.
“You’re only bringing this up now.”
His tone was calm, but Su Ran caught the faint trace of annoyance that came from someone realizing another person had thought one step ahead.
“I only thought of it last night.” She did not elaborate. “How many verified accounts can you get?”
“Three.” Fu Yechuan folded the napkin and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll need some time.”
“How long?”
“By today.”
Su Ran nodded. “Then split the positions today.”
The matter was settled. Fu Yechuan got up to pay the bill. Su Ran did not stop him.
She lowered her head and checked her phone.
No new messages. Zhou Zhe still had not made a move.
Either he had not yet passed along the information, or the Bai family was waiting for a more suitable opportunity.
Neither possibility was good.
…
At two in the afternoon, Fu Yechuan secured two additional accounts.
Su Ran did not ask where they came from. She only glanced at the names written on a torn piece of cigarette pack cardboard.
One was Lin Jianguo.
The other was Chen Meizhen.
Beside each name was a login password.
She did not know either person. But she knew Fu Yechuan’s style.
He would never use accounts of questionable origin. That would be a risk to himself as well.
The process of splitting the positions went quickly.
Fu Yechuan handled everything personally while Su Ran watched, occasionally calling out figures.
In the end, the holdings were divided among three accounts, each holding approximately eighty five thousand shares. The original account was completely cleared.
“Done.”
Fu Yechuan stacked the three login slips together. He handed one to Su Ran and kept the other two.
Su Ran folded the paper and tucked it inside her phone case.
Outside, the sun had already begun tilting westward. Light streamed through the gap in the window, slicing a bright line across the floor.
“For the next five days,” Su Ran asked, “what are you planning to do?”
Fu Yechuan leaned back in his chair without answering.
He was thinking about Zhou Zhe.
Su Ran could tell, the suspicion was like a thorn. Easy to drive in. Difficult to pull out.
“How long have you trusted him?” she asked.
“Five years.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Long enough that it makes this even harder to believe.”
Su Ran did not argue.
She simply remembered the passage from the novel. After discovering Zhou Zhe’s betrayal, Fu Yechuan had locked himself in his office for three days without speaking. He reviewed every major decision from those five years, tracing each vulnerability Zhou Zhe had exploited.
When those three days ended, he changed.
He became the Fu Yechuan everyone truly feared.
“Verify it yourself,” Su Ran said. “You don’t trust my words. That’s fine. Investigate on your own. Check the people who handled the Nanan Project approval documents. Trace two levels upward and see whether any of them have ties to the Bai family.”
Fu Yechuan’s fingers stilled against the tabletop.
“And if I find something?”
“Then you’ll know how the information leaked.”
Silence settled over the room.
Somewhere next door, a television was playing stock market closing reports. The host’s voice drifted through the wall, rapid and indistinct.
“Su Ran.”
He suddenly called her name.
“Hm?”
“If Qiming Technology doesn’t rise in five days…”
“Then we’re finished.” Su Ran answered immediately. “You stay here and rot, I get silenced by the Bai family, and we call it even.”
Fu Yechuan looked at her without speaking.
Su Ran picked up her phone from the table and stood.
“But it will rise.”
Without looking back, she headed for the door.
The high heels were gone, replaced by a pair of inexpensive white flats she had bought that morning from the convenience store downstairs. Cheap, but they no longer hurt when she walked.
“I’m going to find somewhere else to stay. I won’t be going back to the apartment for the next few days.” She paused at the doorway. “You shouldn’t go back either. Zhou Zhe knows that address.”
The door opened, and a gust of wind drifted in from the corridor.
Fu Yechuan remained seated, watching her retreating figure.
White flats, the heels were slightly worn.
Her feet turned outward just a little when she walked.
He did not know when it had started, but lately, when he looked at this woman, he found himself noticing details like that.
The door closed.
He lowered his gaze to the account information written on the cigarette pack cardboard.
Three accounts. Two hundred and fifty five thousand shares.
Distributed under three unfamiliar names.
Four hundred and sixty thousand yuan.
For the first time in his life, he had staked his entire fortune on information he had no way to verify, and on a woman he could not see through.
Fu Yechuan picked up his phone and dialed a number.
The person on the other end was the last acquaintance within a government department who was still willing to answer his calls.
“Help me check the people who handled the Nanan Project approval documents. Trace two levels upward.”
The other side fell silent for three seconds.
“Yechuan, that won’t be easy.”
“I know,” Fu Yechuan replied. “But you can find it.”
Silence again.
“Give me two hours.”
“Alright.”
He hung up and placed the phone face down on the table.
Outside the window, the sun sank lower. The strip of light crossing the floor gradually narrowed until it became a thin line and disappeared altogether.
Five days! He was not a man who loved gambling.
But gambling was the only option he had left.
Bet on Qiming Technology. Bet that Su Ran was telling the truth.
Bet that he had not completely fallen beyond saving.
Suddenly, the phone lying face down on the table vibrated twice.
A message from his acquaintance.
Just a screenshot.
In the section listing the second level reviewer of the approval documents, there was a name written clearly and unmistakably.
Zhou Zhe’s distant uncle.