Sheng Linyou woke to a violent pounding on the front door.
Beside him, Yin Xigui opened his eyes almost at once. There was no trace of sleepiness in his gaze.
The pounding came again, louder than before.
When they went downstairs and opened the door, three uniformed officers from the Public Security Bureau were waiting outside.
“Mr. Sheng,” the officer in front said, “a man was assaulted in the eastern industrial district between nine and ten last night. He is still unconscious. The surveillance footage is blurry, but the suspect’s build and clothing resemble yours—a dark coat with the collar turned up. We need you to come with us and assist with the investigation.”
“He was here all evening,” Yin Xigui said. His voice was calm, but there was a hard edge beneath it. “You can check the security cameras around the house.”
“We will. At present, we are only asking Mr. Sheng to cooperate with our investigation.”
Yin Xigui stepped forward as if to block their path.
Sheng Linyou touched his arm. “It’s fine. I’ll go answer their questions.”
Yin Xigui looked at him for two seconds, then turned to the officers. “I’m coming too.”
“Mr. Yin, you’ll need to take a separate vehicle.”
“Then I’ll take a separate vehicle.”
At the station, Sheng Linyou was led into an interview room.
“Where were you between nine and ten last night?”
“At home with Yin Xigui. We watched television and drank tea.”
“Was anyone else present?”
“No.”
“Can he account for your whereabouts for the entire period?”
Sheng Linyou thought for a moment. “He fell asleep against me. It was after ten when I carried him upstairs.”
The officer made a note. “So your only witness is Mr. Yin.”
“Yes.”
The officer studied him. “You know the law treats lower-tier offenders differently. For the same criminal offense, the sentence can be three to five times heavier.”
Sheng Linyou’s expression did not change. “I do now.”
The door opened before the questioning could continue.
Yin Xigui entered with a lawyer behind him. He was composed, impeccably dressed, and so coldly authoritative that he seemed nothing like the man who usually clung to Sheng Linyou at home.
“Have you finished questioning him?” he asked.
The officers exchanged a glance. With no direct evidence and the house surveillance still being reviewed, they could only release Sheng Linyou for the time being. He was instructed not to leave the area while the investigation remained open.
Outside the station, Yin Xigui caught Sheng Linyou’s wrist and pressed two fingers to his pulse.
“I’m fine,” Sheng Linyou said. “Who reported me?”
“The call was made anonymously from a public phone.” Yin Xigui released him. “But someone inside pushed for the case to receive immediate attention.”
“Yin Rui?”
“Most likely.”
They climbed into the car. Once the privacy partition rose, Yin Xigui leaned back and tapped his fingers against his knee in a slow, measured rhythm, like a metronome.
Sheng Linyou watched him for a while. “Are you afraid I’ll figure something out?”
The tapping stopped.
“At the station,” Sheng Linyou continued, “you didn’t act like the person I know.”
Yin Xigui turned to him. “And what kind of person do you think I am?”
“The kind who comes to my room in the middle of the night carrying a pillow and says he’s cold. The kind who cuts his finger and makes a fuss until I take care of it. The kind who cries and asks me not to leave.” Sheng Linyou paused, then added, “The kind who spends tens of millions buying a lower-tier man just so he won’t have to be alone.”
Yin Xigui’s eyes darkened slightly.
Sheng Linyou smiled. “But I used to race professionally. I was a champion. My reflexes are fast, and I notice things.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the fact that you’re hiding something from me.”
The air inside the car went still.
“Then why haven’t you exposed me?” Yin Xigui asked.
“Because whatever you’re hiding, you’ve been protecting me.”
For a long moment, Yin Xigui said nothing. Then he shifted closer, rested his head against Sheng Linyou’s shoulder, and hooked his little finger around Sheng’s.
“Wait a little longer,” he whispered.
Sheng Linyou curled his finger around his. “All right.”
Elsewhere, Yin Rui listened to his subordinate’s report.
“Subject 763 was brought in and released. Yin Xigui arrived with a lawyer. He showed no extreme reaction, and we found no evidence of any unusual connection between them.”
Yin Rui tapped his fingers against the desk in an even rhythm—the same rhythm Yin Xigui had tapped in the car.
His gaze settled on an old Yin family portrait hanging on the wall.
Yin Zhengsong sat at the center. Yin Ou and Yin Rui stood beside him. At the back was a thin teenager with pink hair, his face turned away from the camera as though everything before him had nothing to do with him.
“Investigate everyone Yin Xigui has contacted over the past two years,” Yin Rui ordered.
“Everyone?”
“Everyone.”
The subordinate left. Yin Rui continued staring at the photograph.
Yin Xigui had been flawless for too long.
And sometimes, flawlessness was the most obvious flaw of all.
A cold smile touched Yin Rui’s lips.