Yin Rui used the word “trusteeship” when he said he was taking over Yin Xigui's holdings.
That afternoon, Yin Xigui was summoned to the conference room on the top floor of the Yin Group. A thick stack of equity-transfer agreements lay on the table, the ink barely dry.
Yin Rui sat at the far end of the long table. Behind him, the sky beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows was a dull gray. He spun a fountain pen once between his fingers and let it settle.
“Father's decision,” he said, pushing the agreements toward Yin Xigui. “All assets connected to the Yin family under your name, including the properties your mother left you, will be managed by me for the time being. Once this matter is cleared up, they will be returned.”
Yin Xigui looked first at the papers, then at Yin Rui. “Cousin, the only Yin-related assets under my name are the villa and a small amount of stock. You can take them directly. There is no need for this procedure.”
Yin Rui smiled. There was a probing quality to it. “What about your offshore accounts? They are not Yin assets, perhaps, but as the future head of the Yin family, I have an obligation to keep an eye on every cent belonging to the family.”
Yin Xigui tapped one finger softly on the tabletop.
The rhythm was as steady as the metronomic tapping he usually kept. Yet Yin Rui noticed the instant his fingers drew in, his nail making the faintest scrape against the surface.
“The money in those accounts is money I earned myself.”
Yin Xigui kept his voice low and level. “Cousin, even if you keep investigating and erase everything in my hands, that does not mean no one else has anything.”
Yin Rui's expression hardened for half a second. His pen stopped turning and dropped against the table with a crisp knock.
The amusement in his gaze was replaced by the faintest trace of caution.
“You have another move.”
“I do not.”
Yin Xigui rose and gently pushed the stack of agreements back across the polished table. The papers slid a short distance before stopping.
“But I was not the only person involved in these matters. If you close every road in front of me, I still cannot silence everyone else.”
He turned toward the door. Behind him, Yin Rui said in an even voice, “Are you threatening me?”
Yin Xigui stopped beside the door without looking back.
He lowered his eyes to the blurred reflection of himself in the doorknob. Pink hair slipped over one shoulder, hiding half his face.
“Cousin, I am not threatening you. I am only telling you that forcing me into a corner will not benefit you either.”
Then he opened the door and left.
The conference-room door closed behind him. The corridor was empty, and his footsteps rang against the marble floor.
At the end of the hall, after turning the corner, he leaned his back against the wall and slowly let out the breath trapped in his chest.
Half of what he had said was true. Half was a bluff.
He truly had no backup. When he deleted the evidence, he had left no copies behind. But he was gambling that Yin Rui would not dare to gamble—that he would not dare to assume Yin Xigui had nothing left.
How long that gamble could hold, Yin Xigui did not know.
Meanwhile, Sheng Linyou was making what had to be his twentieth—or perhaps fiftieth—call from a cheap little hotel on the west side of the city.
The same mechanical female voice told him the phone was switched off.
He lowered the handset. His call log was a dense, unbroken list of the same number. For several seconds he looked at the contact name: Little Fool.
Yin Xigui had secretly changed it one night while Sheng Linyou was asleep. Sheng Linyou had discovered it the next morning and never changed it back.
He set the phone beside the bed.
He had barely eaten for days. Steam from the noodle shop downstairs drifted through the window crack, leaving his empty stomach twisting, but he had no appetite.
He sat on the edge of the bed and removed the things from his coat pocket one by one: a note, a key, half a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and a bank card Yin Xigui had tucked into the inner pocket of his coat.
Yin Xigui had slipped that card in one night before Sheng Linyou left. Sheng Linyou had not discovered it until the day after he was thrown out.
A string of numbers was written in permanent marker on the back: the PIN. There was no note, no explanation, only those digits.
He had never used the card. He would rather live in this cramped hotel and eat instant noodles than touch that money.
As long as he carried the card, it felt as though Yin Xigui had left something beside him. If he used it, perhaps that something would disappear too.
A payment notice was pushed under the door.
Sheng Linyou bent to pick it up. His rent was three days overdue.
He folded the notice twice in his hand, thinking about what he could do tomorrow, when his phone suddenly vibrated.
He snatched it up almost at once. Lin Zhi's name flashed on the screen.
He answered. Lin Zhi's voice on the other end was cool and businesslike. “Are you still looking for Yin Xigui?”
“Can you contact him?”
“No. He changed his number and is ignoring everyone.” Lin Zhi paused. “But I called to tell you that the money Yin Xigui arranged for you has stopped. The things he asked me to transfer will not be coming from today on.”
Sheng Linyou's fingers tightened around the phone. “He said to stop it?”
“He didn't. I did not want to continue.” Thin sarcasm slipped into Lin Zhi's voice. “He has thrown himself away for you, and you staying in this city only drags him down. The money is stopped. Leave early.”
The call ended.
Sheng Linyou stared at the dark screen, his knuckles pale around the edge of the phone.
Her words entered him like nails: He has thrown himself away for you.
So Yin Xigui had driven him away to protect him. Those cold, cutting words had all been lies.
His grip slowly loosened. He set the phone down, drew a breath, and let it out.
Knowing Yin Xigui had not rejected him eased something heavy in his chest by the smallest degree. But the relief was immediately swallowed by greater anxiety. Yin Xigui was facing Yin Rui alone. His funding had been cut off, every channel he had reached for had been blocked, and Sheng Linyou could not even tell him that he knew the truth.
He rose and went to the window.
Outside, the sky was colorless. He stood against the frame for a while, took out the card, and looked at it again. Numbers were embossed across its face; tiny lettering sat in one corner.
Then he put it away.
He had to find a way. Any way.
Yin Rui gave him no time. The next evening, when Sheng Linyou left the hotel to buy dinner, a dark van was parked at the mouth of the alley.
He caught sight of the sliding door opening from the corner of his eye. His feet stopped; he turned to run, but two men had already come up behind him.
Their movements were swift and controlled. His wrist was twisted behind his back and pinned against the vehicle. All he had time to feel was a blunt strike at the back of his neck before his vision went black.
At dusk, the van drove out of the narrow alley. Its taillights flashed once at the gray street corner, then disappeared.
The middle-aged woman at the hotel desk yawned and looked back down at her phone, never noticing that the tenant upstairs had been gone for three hours.
When Sheng Linyou woke, everything was dark.
He was locked in a tiny room. The iron door had a vent; through its narrow slit, a single line of light from the corridor seeped inside.
His hands and feet were not cuffed, but the door was secured from outside with a mechanical lock. He tried it. It would not move.
There was no furniture. Fine dust covered the cement floor. A dark water stain spread in one corner, and the air carried mold and the metallic smell of rust.
Sheng Linyou sat up against the wall.
The back of his neck still ached faintly. The strike had been precise: strong enough to knock him out, not enough to cause worse damage. Whoever had done it was practiced. It was not their first time.
He closed his eyes against the cold wall and ran through every piece of information in his head.
Yin Rui's men.
No one else made sense. They had not taken him to kill him; if they intended that, they could have done it in the alley. They had gone to the trouble of bringing him here.
Most likely, they wanted to use him as a bargaining chip against Yin Xigui.
In the darkness, Sheng Linyou gave a faint, crooked smile.
Yin Xigui had driven him away to protect him. Now, being captured and locked up had made him Yin Xigui's weakness all over again.
He had been dragged into it after all.
Footsteps sounded outside the door. Slow, light steps, leather soles whispering over concrete.
They stopped before his door. Someone gave a brief laugh through the vent.
Sheng Linyou recognized the voice. Yin Rui spoke neither loudly nor softly, blurred by the iron door. “Number 763, stay put. When your young master settles the score, I will let you go.”
Sheng Linyou said nothing.
In the darkness, he watched Yin Rui's shadow block half the thin line of light beneath the vent.
The footsteps resumed and gradually faded. Sheng Linyou leaned against the wall and slowly steadied his breathing.
His heart knocked against his ribs. What was Yin Xigui doing now? What would he do when he learned Sheng Linyou had vanished?
Would that little fool lose control in front of Yin Rui? Would he do something foolish for him?
Sheng Linyou lifted a hand to his throat.
The collar was still there, the cool edge of its metal clasp against his Adam's apple. He smiled once.
Yin Xigui had said he would take it off. He had said it many times.
Sheng Linyou closed his eyes.
He waited.