At 11:47 p.m., everyone in City A’s phones rang.
It was a live-stream notification from a short video platform: “City A’s Richest Man Lu Sihan Livestreams Kneeling, Claims He’s ‘Seriously Ill'”
The title of the livestream had only one sentence: “I’m here to repay a debt from five years ago.”
The moment the notification popped up, everyone clicked on it without hesitation.
What did they expect to see when the screen loaded?
A mansion? Champagne? A domineering CEO in a tailored suit sitting on a leather sofa, coldly saying to the camera, “I’ll give you a billion, just send me rockets”?
None of that.
The moment the screen lit up, the comments section went completely blank for two full seconds.
Then, the comments exploded.
The camera showed an old, narrow alley.
The streetlights were dim and yellow, the utility poles plastered with small ads for drain unclogging and lock-picking services. The ground was potholed, filled with dirty water from a recent rain.
At the end of the alley stood an old residential building without an elevator. The white paint on its exterior had peeled off in large patches, revealing the dull gray concrete underneath.
This was the kind of alley even delivery drivers avoided.
Yet at this moment, it was lit up as bright as day by the headlights of twelve luxury cars.
Black Phantoms were lined up in a row, stretching from the entrance of the alley all the way to the end of the street.
And the owner of these cars was kneeling beside one of them.
No, not beside the car.
He was kneeling in front of a security door in that old residential building.
Lu Sihan, the head of the Lu Group in City A, the youngest billionaire on the wealth rankings, the man who always appeared impeccably dressed in suits on the covers of business magazines, was now kneeling on one knee in the dusty corridor on the sixth floor. His knee pressed against crumpled flyers and discarded sunflower seed shells.
Behind him in the alley, two rows of black-clad bodyguards stood in a dense formation, each wearing an expression that screamed, “My boss has lost his mind, but I can’t say it.”
The number of viewers in the livestream had skyrocketed like a rocket from the moment the notification went out: one hundred thousand, three hundred thousand, eight hundred thousand, one and a half million…
The comments were now a blur, reduced to a rapid stream of colorful blocks scrolling across the screen.
And the door facing Lu Sihan remained tightly shut.
It was an old-style dark green security door, with a Peppa Pig sticker pasted over the peephole. A handwritten sign hung on the doorframe, its crooked brushstrokes reading: “Leave packages at the door, call for food delivery, and keep solicitors far away.”
Lu Sihan knelt there, raised his hand, and gently knocked three times.
“Luning.”
He spoke.
“I know you’re inside.”
There was no sound from behind the door.
Lu Sihan lowered his head, looking at the sunflower seed shells and cigarette butts beneath his knee, and suddenly smiled.
That smile was captured by the high-definition livestream camera, and everyone watching felt a sudden pang in their hearts. It wasn’t a smile—it was the look of someone on the verge of breaking.
Slowly, he raised his head and looked toward the peephole.
Even though the door stood between them, even though nothing could be seen through the peephole, he stared intently at that small round hole covered with the Peppa Pig sticker.
“Shen Luning.” He called her full name, his voice suddenly softening. “I’ll give you ten billion, thirty percent of the Lu Group’s shares, all the real estate under my name right now, including that old shopping mall you once said you wanted to turn into a shelter for stray animals.”
He paused.
“Just come out and look at me.”
The comments went wild.
“Ten billion?”
“What kind of domineering CEO chasing his wife is this? This is a domineering CEO’s suicide mission to win her back!”
“I’d call him husband right away. Forget a billion, I’d open the door for a million.”
“Wait, wait, wait… Shen Luning… isn’t that the one from five years ago…?”
“Five years ago? Someone explain!”
“Let me fill you in: Five years ago, she was the chief jewelry designer at the Lu Group. The industry called her ‘Shen the Ghost Hand.’ She won international awards, then suddenly vanished without a trace. Rumor has it it was because of Lu Sihan…”
The rest of the message didn’t go through because the barrage was moving too fast.
Live stream viewers: 3.2 million.
Lu Sihan knelt before the door. Everyone was waiting—waiting for the sound of high heels from behind that door, waiting for a woman’s voice to speak, waiting for anything, as long as this absurd scene received some response.
The door didn’t open.
Lu Sihan lowered his eyes, his long eyelashes casting a shadow beneath them.
He suddenly smiled. He raised his hand and leisurely untied his tie.
A deep blue tie, custom-made by hand, with a small diamond embedded in the clasp.
He undid it slowly, pulling the tie out and casually tossing it to the ground.
Then came the first button of his shirt, the second, the third.
Someone among the bodyguards stirred but was immediately held back by the person beside them.
Because everyone’s gaze was fixed on the left side of Lu Sihan’s neck…
There, a line of tattoo was visible.
The barrage fell silent again.
Not the kind of silence from a loading error, but the silence of everyone holding their breath.
A faded line of cursive script, its edges slightly blurred.
Tattooed just above the collarbone, less than two centimeters from the carotid artery.
The handwriting showed its age, the ink having shifted from deep blue to a grayish cyan.
Shen Luning, everything I have belongs to you.
Lu Sihan pulled a knife from his suit’s inner pocket.
The silver blade flashed under the refraction of the streetlights and car headlights.
That light swept across the camera lens.
He didn’t hesitate.
The tip of the knife pressed against the blank skin beside the tattoo.
“Luning.”
His voice was as soft as if coaxing someone to sleep.
“I’ll count to three. If you don’t open the door, I’ll tattoo a new line right next to this one.”
The barrage instantly cleared—not because no one was posting, but because the system couldn’t keep up with displaying them.
Live stream viewers: 5.8 million.
“One.”
The blade pressed into his skin, beads of blood seeping out and trickling down the curve of his collarbone.
“Two.”
His wrist exerted force, the knife tip carving a shallow mark into his skin.
He didn’t stop, not even frowning, as if the spot had no nerves, as if he weren’t a living, breathing person.
The barrage finally surged back, but the tone had completely changed:
“Help, help, help, he’s serious.”
“Call the police, quick, call the police! This isn’t chasing his wife anymore; it’s self-harm.”
“Stop him! Are you bodyguards just for show?”
“I screamed so loud on my side of the screen that I woke up my mom…”
“Seriously, Shen Luning, just come out! Your man is about to die!!”
Before he could count to three—
“Thud.”
A muffled sound came from behind the door.
Then the slap-slap of slippers on concrete, growing closer, followed by a small, tender, sleep-groggy, clear child’s voice: “Mommy, that uncle outside is so noisy. Can I go open the door for him?”
Lu Sihan’s hand froze abruptly in mid-air.
The blade halted two millimeters from the skin, a bead of blood clinging to its edge.
His pupils trembled.
His entire spine seemed pulled taut by an invisible thread, leaving him rigid and motionless in place.