The first day at the hotel was unusually hectic. Huo Shize spent the morning in meetings and the afternoon doing two rounds of inspections at every post, without a moment's rest. It wasn't until three or four in the afternoon that he finally returned to his office. When he checked his phone, he found an extortion text from an unfamiliar number: "Young Master, I've been hired to tail you for quite some time. I have plenty of dirt on you and a record of your movements. Whether this goes to your workplace, your family, or your social circle is up to you. Pay me 100,000 and I'll destroy everything. If you don't contact me, I'll hand it over to my client to make a story out of it. Think carefully about what else might come to light. Contact me immediately if you want this gone."
Only someone from the Dojo would know the title "Young Master" and address him that way. But he didn't believe any of them would send such an extortion message. Even if they were to blackmail their own boss, they wouldn't be stupid enough to start with "Young Master." It felt strange, but he ignored it, blocked the number, and started going through his emails.
He worked through the pile of emails one by one, then headed to the gym for a workout and a swim. By the time he got dressed and came out, it was already eight in the evening. Just as he was about to leave for the day, he received a WeChat friend request—from the number he'd blocked that afternoon. The verification message read: "Mr. Young Master, you'd better think this over carefully."
The "Mr. Young Master" made him chuckle. He decided to just call the number. The other party picked up quickly—a young boy with not-so-standard Mandarin. His voice sounded odd, like a quacking duck, probably still going through puberty.
On the phone, the boy said, "Hello? Hello?"
Huo Shize got straight to the point: "How should I give you the 100,000? When do you want it?"
The boy was clearly taken aback, as if he hadn't expected his extortion target to skip straight to the money without even asking about the dirt. After an "Ah," he stammered with a hint of panic, "Oh, oh, how about tomorrow night?"
Huo Shize said, "I'm free whenever."
The boy was stunned by his matter-of-fact tone. After a long pause, he said, "Then tomorrow night at nine sharp. 100,000 in cash. Fair warning—don't call the police. If I get caught, your dirt goes public online. I've got a backup plan!"
"Where do we make the exchange?"
The boy hadn't thought that far either. He thought it over seriously and said, "Navigate to the intersection of Tianlin Road and Guilin Road. There's a night market street there. Wait somewhere at the entrance, and I'll call you to set the exact meeting spot. Oh, and I want all old bills—no consecutive serial numbers on new notes, I won't accept that!"
Huo Shize smiled. "Whatever you wish."
On Tuesday at work, he received an email inviting him to a ribbon-cutting ceremony for the completion of a new school gate. The invitation came from the school Du Song attended. They'd mentioned it in passing when he'd dropped Du Song off before, and now they'd sent a formal invitation. The email had likely also gone to Mrs. Huo's female secretary, who called him shortly after: "We just got a call from Du Song's homeroom teacher. Du Song has started skipping school again. If you go to the school for the ceremony, you could also find Du Song and have a talk with him, try to persuade him. He won't answer our calls, and when he does, he won't tell the truth. Maybe he'll listen to you."
He was already stretched thin—days at the hotel, nights at the Dojo, and a dog at home that needed his attention too. He wasn't keen on dealing with Du Song's issues and only said, "There's a big difference between self-driven and being driven by others."
The secretary said helplessly, "This is Mrs. Huo's wish."
Huo Shize thought for a moment, then said, "OK, let me check my schedule. If I have time, I can go."
Once the schedule was confirmed, attending the ribbon-cutting was settled. The school was delighted. In their reply thanking him, after "We look forward to your presence," they'd added: "We are looking forward to youring!"
That evening, Ouyang came to pick him up from work as usual. They arrived at the Xujiahui residence at exactly eight. He got out of the car and stood with Ouyang under the plane trees at the entrance, sharing a cigarette. He said, "I've kept a room at the hotel. From now on, if I work late, I'll just stay there. No need to pick me up tomorrow."
"Understood." Ouyang was a heavy smoker, while Huo Shize rarely smoked—for him, cigarettes were more of a social tool. Ouyang knew he was only smoking to keep him company. Having earned the trust and respect of two generations of the Huo family, Ouyang felt a surge of emotion and no small amount of reflection. He said, "Time flies. On your first day of elementary school, I was the one who dropped you off and picked you up. Twenty years later, on your first day of formal work, I'm still the one driving you."
Huo Shize smiled and hummed in agreement. "Not just elementary school and the hotel—kindergarten too, and when I went to Singapore for middle school. It was always you."
Ouyang had thought of this too, and said with a laugh, "Seems like I've been there for every important moment in your life, haven't I?" After they both silently smoked half a cigarette, he spoke again, "When you eventually go to the group headquarters and start working by Mr. Huo's side, I'll come pick you up that day too."
Huo Shize smiled and said, "That's at least three to five years away. Anyway, let's see what I can accomplish at this hotel."
"Mr. Huo went through the same training step by step back in the day. You'll be fine." Ouyang was very confident, then gave a hearty laugh. "It's a deal then!"
He smiled back and said, "OK."
After finishing his cigarette and watching Ouyang drive off, Huo Shize returned home, played with his dog for a while, changed out of his suit into a light set of night running clothes, and then drove out again. At 20:45, he arrived at the agreed location. This was the entrance to a night market street. From a distance, he could see a crowd of people bustling ahead, with rundown shops, street stalls, and food stands lining both sides like bamboo shoots after rain.
He parked his car in a hidden spot at the intersection. At 20:50, he rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, and rested his left hand—cigarette in hand—outside the window. Just as the cigarette burned out, the phone rang right on schedule. He picked up. A voice in the middle of puberty crackled on the other end: "Are you here?"
He grunted in acknowledgment. The other party was satisfied and directed, "Walk forward about two hundred meters. There's a Māmā Xiāng crayfish shop…"
"There are too many people on the street. Come find me at the intersection."
The cracking voice was cut off mid-sentence and took a moment to react: "Huh? You want me to come to the intersection to find you?"
"I'll give you five minutes. Move fast."
At that moment, the cracking voice suddenly realized that the person he was supposedly extorting was speaking with a commanding, unquestionable tone in every sentence, as if their positions had been reversed—as if he were the one being extorted. Realizing this, the cracking voice lost his composure and immediately shouted, "Why should I listen to you!"
"Do you still want the money?"
"How do I know you don't have people lying in wait!"
Huo Shize let out a dismissive snort through his nose. "I'm alone. Don't worry."
The casual, unhurried indifference in his voice calmed the cracking voice down somewhat and put him a bit more at ease. He got the feeling that this wasn't the kind of person who would make a big fuss and call the police over a hundred thousand yuan. After a pause, he asked again, "What car are you driving?"
"A Bentley. Black. Write down the license plate." He gave him the plate number, then raised his hand to check his watch. "You've got four minutes left. If you want the money, you'd better hurry." The call ended.
Three or four minutes later, light footsteps approached from the direction of the car's rear. In the rearview mirror, a short, bleached-blond figure crept closer on tiptoes. Huo Shize pushed open the door, got out, and slammed the door shut behind him with a bang.
The blond kid didn't have enough balance or credit to unlock even a shared bike on the roadside, but that didn't stop him from recognizing every luxury car in the world and knowing their prices. When he saw the Bentley Continental in front of him, he knew he'd hit the jackpot—a filthy rich mark—and felt a surge of glee. But when Huo Shize grabbed him by the neck and pinned him face-down on the car, his little heart pounded wildly with fear.
Before the blond kid could even get a look at the man's face, he was already in his grip, slammed down hard. His face hurt, his nose hurt, and he cried out "Ouch, ouch!" as he struggled a few times, only to feel even more pain. He was on the verge of tears. "Big brother, young master! Listen to me!"
The man behind him asked coldly, "How did you get my contact information?"
"My nose is about to break, and I can barely breathe! Young master, let me go first, and I'll tell you slowly!"
Huo Shize released his grip and let him stand up. The blond kid was a seasoned wanderer—he'd once walked from Pudong to Puxi and back just for a cheap bowl of beef noodles. He was fast as lightning and knew this area well. He was tempted to make a break for it, but the man in front of him was at least 185 centimeters tall, towering over him—the blond's head only reached his shoulders. To talk to him, he had to tilt his head up at a 45-degree angle. The pressure was overwhelming.
Drawing on years of street experience, the blond kid judged in a split second that his chances of escaping this man were practically zero. If he got caught and slammed down again, it wouldn't just be his nose—his neck would be done for too. Getting beaten to a pulp and then sent to juvenile detention for healthy meals would be a terrible deal. He wiped the blood from his nose and confessed honestly: "It was a while back. We were eating malatang, and Milia pulled in a few big brothers from the street…"
Huo Shize snapped, "Get to the point. Where did you get the number?"
"Du Song! When I added him on WeChat, I secretly took a photo of the contacts on his phone too."
"Are you Du Song's classmate?"
"No, no. We met at the malatang shop."
"Then you became friends?"
"No, no. It was just a few days ago—the Lord of All Spirits and Milia took us to eat malatang, and we happened to run into Du Song there!"
The yellow-haired guy's phone had no credit left, and his brain wasn't exactly fully charged either. In his extreme panic, he started rambling nonsense: "The Lord of All Spirits and Du Song are classmates—they know each other—so Du Song added us on WeChat. I figured since Du Song was so rich, he must be some rich young master, and I got carried away and secretly took a photo of his contact list. The top contact on his phone was Young Master Big Brother you. I thought the name was really unique, so it must belong to someone even richer, so I…"
Huo Shize lit another cigarette, took a drag, exhaled, and then spoke slowly and deliberately: "Lord of All Spirits? What kind of nickname is that?"