"What's your relationship with Wang Defa?"
"I… we're friends."
"Friends? How did you meet?"
"Online… we met online."
Qin Siyang stammered his answers, his voice thick with obvious guilt.
Orlov took another drag on his cigar, propping one hand on the table in front of Qin Siyang. Leaning over the seated boy, he exhaled a cloud of smoke down at him, his frame towering over the teen.
"What kind of friends?"
Qin Siyang shot a guilty glance at Wang Defa, then quickly averted his eyes, as if afraid to even look at the man.
Orlov noted the gesture, thinking the boy feared Wang Defa—and was about to tell Wang Defa to leave the warehouse—when Qin Siyang mumbled something, his voice as faint as a mosquito's hum:
"He… he gives me money… every time we meet."
*Gives him money after they meet?*
Everyone froze at the words. Even Orlov's sharp, unwavering gaze flickered for a split second.
In an instant, every officer turned to Wang Defa with looks of unbridled disgust and revulsion.
Wang Defa was dumbfounded.
He stood there as if struck by a bolt of lightning, his body going limp and lifeless, his mind a complete blank.
What the hell?
Friends who get paid after meeting? A sordid, under-the-table deal?
What kind of person did this kid take him for?!
Wang Defa's head swiveled numbly, his eyes darting around the warehouse. When he saw Orlov and the other officers staring at him with cold condemnation, his chest burst with a storm of innocent rage.
His eyes bulged as he stared daggers at Qin Siyang. How had this seventeen-year-old come up with such a vile lie on the spot? Was this kind of depraved transaction so common in the organization behind Qin Siyang that he could spout such nonsense without a single flicker of guilt?!
He had a wife and children! If this rumor spread, his family would be torn apart! He'd never be able to show his face in the neighborhood again!
*I have to stay as far away from Qin Siyang as possible from now on.*
For all his seething anger, reason cut through the fog: he had to play along with Qin Siyang's absurd script. If Qin Siyang's secret got out, he'd be dragged down with him. Orlov would not spare him, Qin Siyang's mysterious backers would not spare him, and his own powerful patron would not spare him either.
Refusing to help Qin Siyang was a death sentence—a one-way ticket to utter ruin.
"Damn it," he cursed inwardly.
"These two silver coins are burning a hole in my pocket!"
*More than a hole—they're burning through my entire lifelong reputation!*
He'd never imagined he'd have to sacrifice his good name, his dignity, for this!
Wang Defa's face turned purple with rage, his voice cracking as he shouted: "Don't believe him! He's just a poor kid! What could I possibly want with him?! This is slander! Utter, ridiculous slander!"
Qin Siyang's tension eased slightly. Wang Defa was a seasoned old fox, all right—he'd caught on to the act in an instant.
The more loudly and desperately Wang Defa protested, the more everyone believed Qin Siyang's story. And Qin Siyang said not another word after that single damning sentence, just hung his head and stared at his scuffed shoes, silent and seemingly ashamed.
With that damning inference about their relationship, Qin Siyang's presence in the warehouse in the dead of night made perfect sense.
He'd been waiting for Wang Defa. Waiting for his payment.
Orlov studied Qin Siyang again, his eyes lingering on the boy's tattered, threadbare clothes—undeniably the rags of a slum dweller, a kid from the absolute bottom.
Orlov had seen countless people like him on the edge of the safe zone: desperate souls willing to do anything for money. No job opportunities, unemployment the second they graduated high school, survival a daily, brutal battle.
He had no right to judge. He'd never known hunger or want, could never fathom the desperation of these people at the bottom of society.
Orlov asked, his voice softer now: "Do your parents or family know about this?"
"My parents are dead. I live alone."
Orlov's belief in Qin Siyang's story deepened at those words. No family, no other means of support—survival alone would be a monumental struggle for a kid his age.
The officers all looked at Qin Siyang with genuine sympathy, their disdain for Wang Defa growing even stronger.
Not a single one of them, however, reached into their pockets to help him with food or shelter.
They had morals, a sense of right and wrong—but not enough to part with their own hard-earned money for a stranger.
Orlov stubbed out his cigar in the water glass, the sharp hiss of burning tobacco cutting through the silence. He lifted his hand from the table and stepped back.
"Go on. Head home and rest."
An officer spoke up at once, his voice hesitant: "Inspector, are we just going to leave him here?"
Orlov shot the man a cool look. "Why? Are you willing to pay for his meals?"
The officer fell silent, his mouth clamping shut.
"I will!" A burly officer with thick eyebrows and large eyes could not hold his tongue any longer, his conscience finally winning out over his reluctance to spend money. "It's just a few copper coins—hardly a fortune!"
Orlov's gaze turned to him, unyielding. "You give him money this time. What about next time? Can you support him forever?"
"I… maybe we can find him a job?"
"On the edge of the safe zone, there are five thousand, if not ten thousand, kids just like him. Can you find jobs for all of them?"
The burly officer hung his head at Orlov's words, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
"If you find him a job, you'll be drowning in endless trouble from now on," Orlov continued, his voice sharp with warning. "Remember—you are police officers. Your duty is to solve cases and maintain order. Don't meddle in things that aren't your concern. Otherwise, you'll find you're no good at anything."
With that, Orlov turned and strode out of the warehouse, his boots thudding on the concrete floor.
The other officers followed in his wake, their steps heavy. The burly officer shot one last, guilty look at Qin Siyang, gritted his teeth, and hurried after the others.
Only Qin Siyang and Wang Defa remained in the warehouse.
Qin Siyang's face was relaxed, all pretense of panic gone; Wang Defa's was contorted with unbridled rage.
They stared at each other across the dim space, each with his own whirlwind of thoughts.
Wang Defa turned and walked to the warehouse door, craning his neck to confirm the police were far down the street before slamming it shut with a loud bang.
In the pitch-black warehouse, only the computer monitor cast a faint, cold blue glow, illuminating Qin Siyang's face and leaving everything else in shadow.
"Boss, you went too far this time," Wang Defa said, his voice low and bitter.
Qin Siyang sighed. "I know I did."
Wang Defa's eyes narrowed, thinking Qin Siyang was finally feeling guilty for ruining his reputation—until the boy continued, his tone heavy with frustration, not remorse:
"We escaped Orlov's suspicion this time, but if he finds out I've registered as a Sequence Ability user at the Administration Bureau, he'll definitely grow suspicious again. I can already tell I'm going to have a lot of trouble ahead."
Qin Siyang shook his head. He'd had no choice but to make up that shoddy, vile story on the spot to get the police off his back. It had been a desperate move, a Hail Mary.
But it had cemented his image as a poor, orphaned slum kid in Orlov's mind—a kid with no hope, no connections, no way to ever become a Sequence Ability user.
And yet he was meeting Qian Wendao tomorrow, and planned to register as a Sequence Ability user by the end of the weekend. If Orlov ever saw his name in the Administration Bureau's records, he'd immediately know something was terribly wrong. The pieces would click, and he'd come running back for answers.
But if he hadn't used this excuse, Orlov would have likely taken him back to the police station for questioning, derailing all his plans. He might even have been detained for days or weeks, leaving Qian Wendao's foolish nephew to starve to death in that abandoned warehouse.
From Qian Wendao's tone during their chat, the boy was important to him. If the nephew died, Qian Wendao would become his sworn enemy—there'd be no chance of him helping forge a Sequence ability ever again.
Qin Siyang could not accept that outcome. He'd had to choose the lesser of two evils.
Watching Qin Siyang only care about his own troubles, not a single thought for the reputation he'd destroyed, Wang Defa spoke up, his voice filled with misery and resentment: "Boss, you're worried about your trouble—but what about me? What about my reputation?"
Qin Siyang did not even glance at him. His eyes were fixed on the faint blue glow of the monitor, his voice cold and dismissive.
"How many copper coins is your reputation worth?"