Zihan walked toward the master bedroom. As the door opened, Guo Min lifted her head slightly from the pillow, her gaze immediately settling on him.
His eyes found her just as easily, her small frame curled into the bed, half-buried in the sheets. He closed the door gently behind him and crossed the room, sitting at the edge of the bed. "Can't sleep?" he asked quietly.
"…Mm."
Zihan remained where he was, his eyes roaming over her face, lingering a second longer than necessary, as if memorising her expression. "…Is it your nightmares that scare you to?" he asked, his voice low.
Guo Min's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the blanket. "…I don't know," she replied after a pause. "Every time I close my eyes, I feel like I'm still there."
Zihan's jaw tightened.
"The sound of the river," she continued softly. "The wind. The way the chair moved even when I didn't touch it." She swallowed. "I keep thinking I'm going to fall."
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he reached out slowly, deliberately and rested his hand over her hair. "You won't," Zihan said.
Zihan paused. "…Is there anything you remember about the kidnappers?" he asked quietly, his fingers slipping into her hair, combing through it with slow, deliberate strokes.
Guo Min's eyelids fluttered. "I don't really remember much," she murmured. "…Just his voice. He had a Japanese accent."
Zihan's hand stilled for a brief second, barely noticeable, before resuming its gentle rhythm.
"That's enough," he said calmly. "Get some sleep."
He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her temple, then lowered toward her neck. Guo Min jolted. The memory hit her all at once. The sharp pain. The teeth against her skin. The warmth of blood.
Her breath caught as her fingers curled into the sheets, the calm shattering beneath the echo of that bite.
Zihan paused. His gaze dropped slowly to her neckline, eyes narrowing as he studied the fading teeth marks for several seconds. The air around him shifted quiet, restrained, lethal.
"I'm heading out," he said at last, voice calm to the point of coldness. "Sleep."
Guo Min nodded, her eyes already fluttering, exhaustion dragging her under before she could think too much about it.
Zihan stood and left the room. Outside, his expression hardened completely. "Guard this house like your lives depend on it," he ordered the bodyguards.
They straightened instantly. "Yes, Young Master."
The car roared to life. Zihan drove out of the gates with his phone pressed to his ear, knuckles tight around the steering wheel.
"I hope you've done exactly what I instructed," he said evenly. A pause. "Meet me at Paradise Celeste." And the call ended.
He sped down the busy highway, rolling the window down. The afternoon breeze rushed in, cool against his face but it did nothing to calm the storm behind his eyes.
Paradise Celeste.
The villa was quiet... too quiet.
Zihan sat on the sofa, posture relaxed. Across from him sat Yufan and Xiang, both silent. Between them was a man who looked entirely out of place. Messy hair. Baggy hoodie. Loose jeans.
Thick, geeky glasses sliding down his nose.
A laptop rested on his lap, fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced ease. His eyes are sharp, calculating, reflected lines of code and hidden maps. An hour passed in complete silence.
Then suddenly, he stopped typing. He lifted his head. "I've got him," he said calmly. "Tracked."
Zihan's lips curved, "Good," he replied, standing. "Let's go."
Somewhere out there, a man who thought he'd played a clever game was about to learn a very expensive lesson.
The four of them rose and headed for the car. "Good work, Zhao Feng," Xiang said as they stepped outside.
"Thank you, sir," Zhao Feng replied without looking up, fingers now flying across his tablet as he continued working even while walking.
The engines roared to life. As the car pulled onto the road, Zhao Feng finally spoke again, eyes glued to the screen. "Our target is moving. He's cautious, keeps switching locations, but he's heading west. I've locked onto his signal."
Zihan leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable. "Good," he said calmly. "Then we end this tonight." The city lights blurred past the windows, unaware that somewhere ahead, someone's last mistake was about to catch up with him.
The car slowed as it turned off the main road, the city lights thinning until only scattered lamps remained. An abandoned dockyard loomed ahead, rusted containers stacked like coffins, the river whispering nearby.
"He's here," Zhao Feng said quietly.
Zihan's door opened before the car fully stopped. "Cut the engine," he ordered.
Silence fell. "Ambush the place. Dominate every corner. No one is allowed in or out." not waiting for confirmation he began walking forward. The moment the order left his lips, the warehouse erupted.
Gunshots shattered the silence, metal clanged against concrete, bodies slammed into walls. Shadow guards flooded the compound from all directions, movements sharp and merciless. Anyone who resisted was taken down immediately; anyone who hesitated was crushed under sheer force.
The narrow corridor leading deeper into the warehouse became a bottleneck, too many bodies, too little space. Zihan advanced anyway, stepping over fallen men, his expression untouched by the chaos around him. Minutes bled away before he finally reached the inner chamber.
A dark room.
The stench of smoke and alcohol hung thick in the air.
Zihan stopped.
On the bed sat a man, Asian, unmistakably Japanese, half-naked, a cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers, a glass of amber liquor resting in his other hand. Bruises decorated his torso like careless art, but his posture was relaxed, almost welcoming.
"Ah…" the man sighed, exhaling smoke. "Okaeri, Zihan-kun." Mockery clung to every syllable.
Zihan closed the door behind him with a soft click. Silence swallowed the noise outside. He walked forward slowly, shoes echoing against the concrete floor, his presence alone pressing down like a weight. His gaze was calm, too calm, but beneath it churned something violent and deliberate.
"Are you sure," Zihan finally spoke, his voice low, even, almost polite, "that you want to be alone with me?".
The man laughed softly, tilting his head back as though amused. "You are fast."
Zihan stopped an arm's length away. For a split second, something wicked threatened to curve his lips but it vanished just as quickly, replaced by chilling calm. "I'm going to ask you once," he said.
"Who sent you?"
The man's smile returned, slow and deliberate, though this time it never reached his eyes. "Mm." He hummed lazily. "As a gang leader of my own… no one."
Zihan leaned down, his shadow swallowing the man whole, cutting off the dim light behind him.
"So," he said quietly, "everything that happened was your choice?"
"Yes." The man's grin widened, emboldened. "After what your father did to my family, it's only right the Zhu family pays for it." He kept talking... about sins, about justice, about revenge dressed up as righteousness.
And Zihan heard none of it. In one swift movement, he grabbed a fistful of the man's hair and ripped him off the bed. The chair screeched, glass shattered as the man's body slammed hard against the table. The laughter died instantly.
Zihan didn't pause. He dragged him across the floor like dead weight, footsteps steady, expression cold beyond anger. "Take him," Zihan ordered without looking back. "To our base."
Shadow guards immediately moved.
"Underground cell," Zihan continued. "Chain him. Break him if you must but make sure of two things." He turned slightly, his gaze slicing through the room. "He doesn't escape."
"And he doesn't die."
The man coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he was hauled upright. Zihan leaned in one last time, his voice low enough to be meant for him alone. "You wanted the Zhu family's attention," he said.
"Congratulations."
Then he straightened.
"You have it."