The third day.
Qiming Technology’s stock price rose from 1.80 yuan to 1.92 yuan.
The increase wasn’t significant.
The stock fluctuated throughout the trading session, with shrinking volume, a textbook case of bottom consolidation.
Without any news to stimulate the market, retail investors didn’t dare enter, and the major players remained on the sidelines.
Every morning at exactly 8:30, Su Ran turned on her phone to check the market. Once she was done, she shut it off and went about her day.
The room she rented was on the fifth floor, north-facing with terrible lighting, though it had one advantage: it was cheap, only forty yuan a day.
Inside was nothing more than a bed, a table, and a chair.
The wallpaper was peeling from the walls, curling outward like dried, shriveled ears.
The bathroom was shared and located at the end of the corridor.
Every time she went to wash up, she ran into the yellow-haired young man next door. Wearing loud floral shorts and brushing his teeth, he would grin and greet her.
“Morning, sis.”
Su Ran would give a perfunctory nod.
In her previous life, she had been a finance analyst who graduated from a prestigious university. Now she was living in a place that didn’t even have hot water.
Transmigration really was a curse.
Fu Yechuan lived on the opposite end of the same floor in Room 517.
Su Ran was in Room 503.
Fourteen door numbers separated them, along with a corridor that perpetually smelled of instant noodles.
He left every day, never saying where he went, and never mentioning what he had done when he returned.
Su Ran never asked.
They were business partners, not lovers. Neither owed the other an explanation.
Yet every night at nine o’clock, Fu Yechuan would knock on her door.
Three knocks.
Perfectly spaced apart.
When Su Ran opened the door, he would be standing there holding a bag of food. Sometimes it was two meat buns, sometimes a bowl of wontons. The plastic bag would be tied neatly and placed on the floor outside her door.
“Don’t starve to death.”
After saying that, he would turn around and leave.
The first day, Su Ran had stared blankly for quite a while.
The second day, she got used to it.
By the third day, she decided there was something wrong with him.
If he wanted to bring her food, why put it on the floor?
The tiles outside were filthy. The bottom of the plastic bag always ended up stuck with dirty shoe prints, and she had to squat down to pick it up.
Still, she said nothing.
She accepted it, ate it, washed the empty containers, and left them outside his door.
One of the fluorescent lights in the fifth-floor corridor had burned out. The remaining one flickered intermittently, leaving alternating patches of brightness and darkness that made the hallway feel like the set of a horror movie.
At exactly nine o’clock on the third night, the familiar knocking sounded again.
Su Ran went to open the door.
The person standing outside wasn’t Fu Yechuan.
It was a man she had never seen before.
He was half a head taller than Fu Yechuan, with shoulders broad enough to fill the corridor.
He wore a black collared jacket zipped up to his chin, exposing part of a tattoo, a snake winding from his collarbone to behind his ear.
His features were sharply defined and not unattractive, but the horizontal scar cutting across his left brow dragged his entire appearance into something sinister.
A chill crawled from Su Ran’s fingertips through her entire body.
Bai Jingshan. The novel had described him clearly.
A snake tattoo on his collarbone. A scar across his left brow.
There was no mistaking him.
“Su Ran?” Bai Jingshan spoke, his voice surprisingly gentle, carrying the soft accent of someone from the south.
Su Ran knew that this kind of gentleness was far more dangerous than Fu Yechuan’s coldness.
In the novel, Bai Jingshan was always smiling before he killed someone.
“And you are?” Su Ran asked, not retreating a single step.
“Bai Jingshan,” he introduced matter-of-factly. “Weiwei’s brother.”
As he spoke, his gaze swept over Su Ran’s face before drifting down the corridor.
Toward Room 517.
“I came to have a chat with you.”
Bai Jingshan pulled a hand from his jacket pocket and spread his palm, indicating that he wasn’t carrying a weapon.
The muscles in Su Ran’s back tightened further.
People who didn’t need weapons were the truly frightening ones.
“What about?”
“About what you’ve been doing lately.” Bai Jingshan leaned casually against the doorframe like a neighbor dropping by for a visit. His body conveniently blocked every possible escape route into the corridor.
“And what Fu Yechuan has been doing.”
Su Ran’s mind raced.
Running wasn’t an option. His build was completely sealed off the doorway.
Call for help?
The yellow-haired guy next door?
He’d only be offering himself up as a side dish.
Fu Yechuan was in Room 517, fourteen doors away.
“I don’t have anything to discuss.”
She tried to keep her voice steady.
“Then let me give you a topic.”
Bai Jingshan tilted his head slightly, producing a soft crack from his neck.
“Qiming Technology, stock code 301147. You bought two hundred and fifty thousand shares.”
Her heart slammed hard against her ribs.
He knew. No, wait.
How does he know?
The shares had already been split across three accounts, none of which were under her name.
Then suddenly she remembered.
Zhou Zhe. The black sedan parked outside the alley.
Zhou Zhe had followed them through the entire tea house transaction.
Old Chen handed over the cash. Four hundred and sixty thousand yuan.
The next day she opened a securities account.
If Zhou Zhe followed her to the brokerage office and photographed her entering, then with the Bai family’s connections inside regulatory circles, investigating her account wouldn’t be difficult at all.
The positions had indeed been split, but her original account, the first one she opened, still contained the transaction history even though it had been emptied.
The records showed it clearly:
Bought 255,000 shares of Qiming Technology at an average price of 1.80 yuan.
The shares had later been transferred into other accounts.
The Bai family hadn’t discovered the existence of those accounts.
They believed Su Ran was still controlling the entire position through the original account.
Information asymmetry.
Bai Jingshan knew she had bought Qiming Technology, but he didn’t know the holdings had already been dispersed.
That was her advantage.
Within two seconds, Su Ran sorted through the entire chain of logic and made a decision.
“Come inside and talk.”
Bai Jingshan raised an eyebrow that wasn’t scared.
He clearly hadn’t expected the invitation.
Stepping into the room, he took the only chair and sat down after a quick glance around.
The room was so small that it immediately felt cramped with two people inside.
Su Ran remained standing.
She wasn’t about to sit on the bed.
In front of Bai Jingshan, sitting on the bed would place her in an even weaker position. Besides, if she needed to run, standing was faster.
“The Bai family’s intelligence network works quickly,” she said with a hint of mockery.
“It’s decent enough.” Bai Jingshan smiled, revealing a row of straight teeth. “Miss Su, I didn’t come here to scare you. Weiwei asked me to deliver a message.”
“What message?”
“She said she can pretend she never saw the Qiming Technology matter.”
Su Ran remained silent.
“On one condition.”
Bai Jingshan raised a finger.
“You leave Fu Yechuan.”
Su Ran froze for a moment.
Not an act. She genuinely hadn’t expected that.
Bai Weiwei wanted her to leave Fu Yechuan?
She rapidly reviewed the novel’s plot.
Bai Weiwei’s attitude toward Fu Yechuan had always been complicated.
On the surface, she was the kind and gentle white moonlight.
In reality, she was a calculating manipulator of interests.
She targeted Fu Yechuan not because she hated him, but because the Fu family’s assets were essential to the Bai family’s expansion.
Yet at the same time, she possessed a twisted sense of ownership toward him.
She didn’t want his love. She wanted him to have no one to rely on except her.
That was why she systematically eliminated everyone around him.
The original Su Ran.
His friends. His business partners.
Every single one. Suddenly, Su Ran understood.
Bai Weiwei hadn’t sent Bai Jingshan because of the money tied up in Qiming Technology.
Four hundred and sixty thousand yuan wasn’t even pocket change to the Bai family.
What she cared about was the fact that Su Ran remained by Fu Yechuan’s side.
A Su Ran who wasn’t following the original plot.
A Su Ran who hadn’t taken the money and left.
A Su Ran who tore up the check and turned around to help Fu Yechuan.
That made Bai Weiwei uneasy.
The corners of Su Ran’s lips twitched.
Bai Weiwei was panicking.
“Miss Su?” Bai Jingshan prompted.
“Your sister’s condition is interesting.”
Leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, Su Ran continued,
“She went through all that effort to destroy Fu Yechuan, yet what scares her most isn’t him making a comeback. It’s someone standing beside him.”
Bai Jingshan’s smile faded slightly.
“You speak rather boldly.”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have survived this long.”
The smile vanished completely.
“Am I wrong?” Su Ran pressed on relentlessly.
“Bai Weiwei arranged the bad check, planted Zhou Zhe, and cut off the Nanan Project. Every move targeted Fu Yechuan’s money and connections. Those things she can handle.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“The one thing she can’t handle is a variable she never accounted for appearing beside him.”
Bai Jingshan rose from the chair.
Slowly, deliberately slowly.
The oppressive pace made it difficult to breathe.
Su Ran pressed her back tightly against the wall.
“Weiwei was polite enough to send me here to talk first.”
He stopped less than half a meter away.
Standing over a head taller than her, he looked down from above. From Su Ran’s angle, all she could see was his jawline and the tail of the snake tattoo.
“I don’t necessarily have such a good temper.”
“You want to use force?”
To her own surprise, her voice remained steady.
Perhaps it was because she had already died once.
Being thrown into this unfortunate body after transmigrating already felt like a loss. At this point, she had little left to lose.
“Use force?”
Bai Jingshan chuckled.
Then, moving too quickly for her to stop him, he picked up her phone from the bedside table.
He turned it over, glanced at the screen, and held it in his hand.
“I won’t touch you,” he said.
“I’m only reminding you of something.”
He set the phone back down.
“Your phone number. Your address. Which brokerage firm you opened your account with. Which stock you bought. How many shares. The price you paid.”
His eyes settled on hers.
“I know all of it.”
The phone landed softly on the table.
“If you want to stay alive, don’t follow the wrong person.”
His voice was still gentle.
“Fu Yechuan can’t protect you.”
“He can’t even protect himself.”
Bai Jingshan walked to the door and pulled it open.
At that moment, the fluorescent light in the corridor flickered, going dark for two seconds before buzzing back to life.
“Three days.”
Without looking back, he stepped outside.
“Three days from now, Weiwei will ask you again.”
“I hope you’ve thought it through by then, Miss Su.”
His footsteps gradually faded into the distance.
Only after they disappeared completely did Su Ran realize her entire back was drenched in sweat.
It soaked through her T-shirt along both sides of her spine.
Her legs gave out. Not metaphorically.
Literally! Her knees buckled, and she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor.
Cold!
It was summer, and the room didn’t even have air conditioning, yet she was shivering hard enough for her teeth to chatter.
Bai Jingshan hadn’t touched her. Not even with a finger.
Yet the pressure he exerted was worse than being slapped.
He didn’t need to hurt you.
He only needed to make you understand that, in front of him, you were completely transparent.
Su Ran sat there breathing heavily for two minutes.
Exactly two minutes later, knocking sounded from the corridor.
Three knocks! Perfectly spaced apart.
Fu Yechuan.
Bracing herself against the wall, she stood up, brushed the dust from her pants, and opened the door.
Fu Yechuan stood outside carrying a plastic bag.
Inside were two freshly boiled ears of corn.
One hand held the bag. The other rested in his pocket.
His gaze swept over her face first. Then slowly downward.
To her damp collar. To the redness around her eyes.
To the hand gripping the doorknob so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
The plastic bag hit the floor.
“Who was here?”
His voice was low, every word edged with ice.
Su Ran opened her mouth, but her throat tightened and no sound came out.
After clearing it, she finally answered.
“Bai Jingshan.”
Fu Yechuan’s pupils contracted. Without asking another question, he pushed past her into the room.
In a single second, his eyes scanned everything.
The bed hadn’t been disturbed.
The furniture hadn’t moved. The window was closed.
Only after confirming no one else was present did he turn back.
“What did he do to you?”
“Nothing.” Leaning against the wall again, Su Ran’s voice steadied.
“He came to deliver a message. Bai Weiwei wants me to leave you.”
The muscles along Fu Yechuan’s jaw twitched.
“She gave me three days to think about it,” Su Ran continued. “If I don’t leave, I’ll deal with the consequences.”
“What consequences?”
“He didn’t say. But he knows we bought Qiming Technology.”
There was no surprise on Fu Yechuan’s face.
Su Ran suspected he had already anticipated this possibility.
With Zhou Zhe’s surveillance and the Bai family’s network, uncovering those details was only a matter of time.
“The accounts?” he asked.
Meaning the three split accounts.
“He doesn’t know about them,” Su Ran replied. “He only found my original account and assumes the position is still there. The account was emptied long ago. The information he has is outdated.”
Fu Yechuan’s breathing eased slightly.
“But he knows the total volume.”
She looked at him.
“He quoted the exact number. Two hundred and fifty thousand shares. Which means even if he can’t find the split accounts, he knows how large the investment is. If the Bai family wants to make a move, they don’t necessarily have to freeze the accounts. They can manipulate the news instead.”
“For example?”
“They could release false information claiming Tianhuan Group canceled the acquisition. The stock would crash immediately, and we’d be forced to sell at a loss.”
Fu Yechuan fell silent. She knew he was calculating the likelihood.
The acquisition by Tianhuan Group was real.
Could the Bai family fabricate a rumor powerful enough to affect the market?
Yes! But the cost would be enormous.
If it were proven later that they had manipulated stock prices through false information, the Bai family would face legal consequences as well.
“They won’t take that risk,” Fu Yechuan concluded.
“If they don’t attack through the news, there’s only one option left.”
Su Ran met his eyes.
“They come after us directly.”
She paused. “They’ve already started. Bai Jingshan came personally. This wasn’t a warning. It was a test.”
“A test?”
“He was observing my reaction. Whether I was afraid. Whether I’d run.”
“Are you afraid?”
Su Ran didn’t answer immediately.
She was afraid. Of course she was.
During those few minutes with Bai Jingshan, her heart rate had easily surpassed one hundred and fifty.
But what difference did fear make?
Would being afraid prevent death?
“Ask a different question.”
The emotions in Fu Yechuan’s eyes were impossible to read beneath the dim light.
“Ask me whether I’m leaving.”
He remained silent.
Three seconds. Five seconds.
Seven seconds.
“Are you leaving?” he finally asked.
His voice was so soft she almost thought she’d imagined it.
“No.” Her answer came faster than she expected.
“We invested all four hundred and sixty thousand yuan. If I leave, who’s going to watch the market for me?”
Bending down, she picked up the plastic bag from the floor, pulled out an ear of corn, and took a bite.
It was cold.
A sweet variety.
Plump kernels.
Not bad. Fu Yechuan simply stood there watching her eat.
After a long pause, he said only one thing.
“Keep your door locked.”
Then he turned and left.
Su Ran listened as his footsteps retreated down the corridor, followed by the sound of Room 517 opening and closing.
Holding the corn, she chewed slowly.
Sweetness spread through her mouth, mixed with a trace of salt from the sweat on her lips.
Three days, Bai Weiwei had given her three days.
The news about Qiming Technology was expected within two days at the latest.
The timing was balanced perfectly on a knife’s edge.
If the news arrived on schedule and the stock surged, she and Fu Yechuan would take the money and leave.
If the announcement was delayed, even by a single day, the Bai family’s deadline would arrive first.
The next time Bai Jingshan came, it wouldn’t be for a conversation.
Finishing the corn, Su Ran tossed the cob into the trash and wiped her hands on her pants.
She picked up her phone and opened Qiming Technology’s announcement page, scrolling through every notice one by one.
Nothing new.
No suspension notice. No unusual activity.
Everything was quiet. Like the surface of the sea before a storm.
She slid the phone beneath her pillow and turned off the light.
In the darkness, the television next door played a variety show. Canned laughter rolled through the wall in endless waves.
She closed her eyes.
Sleep wouldn’t come. The image of Bai Jingshan’s snake tattoo lingered before her.
Opening her eyes again, she stared at the crack running across the ceiling.
Tomorrow! If Qiming Technology still showed no movement tomorrow, she would have to prepare Plan B.
What was Plan B?
She hadn’t figured that out yet.
Sleep first, even if she couldn’t actually fall asleep.
Half awake and half dreaming, she heard faint footsteps in the corridor.
They stopped outside her door.
And remained there for a very long time before finally moving away.