“Turns out… you’re home…”

The man’s hoarse voice came through the gap in the door, and in this dead, silent night it carried an indescribable chill.

Wen Ruyu’s expression instantly froze, his body went rigid where he stood, the slender figure trembling slightly.

The tattooed man stared straight at the closed security door. His hoarse voice spoke slowly and deliberately, carrying an unnameable pressure.

“If you’re home, why not open the door?”

Pretending no one was home no longer worked. Wen Ruyu understood that the people outside were the loan sharks. He gripped his phone and forced himself to speak calmly.

“Y-you… what do you want?”

He tried hard not to show weakness.

But the tremor in his trailing tone had already betrayed him.

The cold, clear voice now trembled slightly, alluring yet a little sticky, like a frightened kitten — helpless and small, emitting a quivering whimper.

The voices outside stopped.

After almost half a minute of silence, a slightly hoarse male voice sounded, without the impatience or irritability of the two thugs — instead it carried an intentionally suppressed calm, as if afraid of scaring whoever was behind the door.

“...We’re here to collect a debt.”

Wen Ruyu pressed his lips together uneasily. The hand holding his phone tightened until his knuckles ached.

“Wasn’t it agreed you’d give me one month’s grace?”

He asked through the security door, forcing his tone to remain steady, but the tremor wouldn’t go away. “You promised that yesterday.”

Silence again at the door. Seconds later the man’s voice came back, with a genuine helplessness in it, as if speaking on someone else’s behalf.

“It’s true I promised. I wanted to grant you the extension, but I can’t — this time I don’t have the final say.”

Usually the boss didn’t meddle in debt collection; when he said something it was law. But this time the boss had suddenly intervened and even specified who the extension applied to.

Clearly whoever he’d crossed had offended someone they shouldn’t have.

Or… had been noticed by someone they shouldn’t have been noticed by.

Listen. The tattooed man stared at the security door, his gaze dark and unreadable. It had to be said — his voice sounded even better in person than it did on the phone.

Like a feather landing on the surface of a calm heart, each breath and beat was lightly brushed; itched in a way that made the chest swell.

It was an indescribable feeling.

Impossible to suppress.

Like an addiction, reason already abandoned, only the purest desire remained.

Wanting.

Wanting to see what this person looked like.

Wanting this person.

From the moment he answered that call, he could no longer control his thoughts — he wanted to see this person.

That was also why he hadn’t argued when the boss gave the order.

The scarred man beside the tattooed man felt the same.

Unlike the tattooed man, the scarred man had not heard that voice on the phone before; the tattooed man had, and was prepared for it.

The scarred man heard it for the first time now.

He had been looking at the “money” on the floor; when he heard the sound, his heart skipped a beat.

He jerked his head up and stared straight at the security door.

Shit!

Now he understood why Zhao Feng, the boss’s second, insisted on coming in person for what should have been a simple collection. He’d thought Zhao Feng had other motives, something behind the boss’s back.

But it turned out he’d come solely to collect.

Shit!

Who wouldn’t be floored by that voice!

While the scarred man was still reeling, the cold, enticing voice came from inside again — the voice sounded very timid.

“…Why?”

Zhao Feng — the tattooed man — spoke, his rough voice considerably slower now. “We just received orders from above, saying this money has been overdue too long; it must be settled today, not a cent less.”

“We’re carrying out orders. We really can’t give you any more time.”

He paused, slowing his tone further, adding a coaxing note. “Open the door.”

“Don’t be afraid. Let’s talk.”

Of course Wen Ruyu didn’t dare open the door. His voice trembled with a hint of pitiable pleading, his fingertips digging into the door panel. “I… I really can’t come up with that much right now.”

“I just scraped a bit together; I’ll transfer it in a while. Could you give me more time on the rest?”

“No more extensions.” Zhao Feng’s voice remained slowed and soothing, but his patience was clearly wearing thin; his tone hardened with force and pressure, even a hint of threat. “It’s better than things escalating, right?”

The air in the rental felt congealed, oppressive and hard to breathe in; each second dragged.

Cold sweat beaded on Wen Ruyu’s forehead, wetting the strands of hair stuck to it, clinging to his delicate face in a way that made it impossibly difficult to look away.

Like a flower in full bloom on the verge of rot, the sweetness became cloying.

Enough to stir any dark thought.

He didn’t trust Zhao Feng.

He smelled a lie meant to trick him into opening the door.

As the stalemate continued, Wen Ruyu’s phone rang again, shattering the suffocating silence.

The caller was — Yi Wen Bu Zhi.

The building’s soundproofing was terrible; with only a security door between them, the ringtone could be heard clearly outside.

“Ring ring.”

“Ring ring.”

“Ring ring.”

Zhao Feng had a very short temper. Interrupted and without the response he wanted, a flash of ruthlessness passed through his eyes. It was directed at that call.

But he suppressed it the next second, unusually civil. “You answer it,” he said.

He hesitated, then added in a consultative tone, “But I think this call might be related to us. Can you put it on speaker?”

“I want to know who told you to default.”

And to find out which idiot would call at this time.

Wen Ruyu already understood what the men outside meant: they had promised to give an extension, but someone had told their boss something and forced them to break that promise and come collect.

He remembered Yi Wen Bu Zhi’s text: “Wait till you beg me.” Seeing Yi Wen Bu Zhi calling now, things were starting to make sense.

It was very likely Yi Wen Bu Zhi.

And indeed — it was.

After hesitating two seconds, Wen Ruyu pressed accept and tapped speaker.

The moment the line connected, Yi Wen Bu Zhi’s voice came from the phone — magnetic and pleasant, with a trace of casual indifference.

“Now, are you willing to beg me?”

No sooner had Yi Wen Bu Zhi’s words fallen than a crisp male voice sounded outside — not Zhao Feng’s or the scarred man’s voice.

It was… the voice that had accused “May Wealth Bloom is a scammer” in the livestream.

“Turns out he threatened you, huh?”

Jiang Sheng Xu leaned against the stairwell wall and stepped from the shadows. The dim corridor light outlined his handsome, striking features.

He was in an unprecedentedly good mood.

When that voice played on speaker he’d identified it in an instant — it belonged to Yi Wen Bu Zhi, the man who’d called him a poor bastard in the livestream.

Damn. The tattooed man and the scarred man turned to look at Jiang Sheng Xu; their gazes darkened and became hostile, like the way they had looked down at the two men on the floor moments ago.

They hated being interrupted repeatedly.

But upon seeing Jiang Sheng Xu’s face, the cruelty in their eyes softened slightly; they exchanged a quick look.

That was the Jiang family’s eldest young master.

The sole heir to Jiang Group.

Jiang Group had official backing; if they messed with him the consequences would be troublesome. It might even trigger an official investigation.

They immediately toned down their hostility and silently stepped aside, giving the corridor a bit more space.

But the old complex was still built to old standards — narrow hallways. Even if they moved, three people together felt cramped.

Jiang Sheng Xu had never seen such a shabby complex or such a narrow corridor in his life.

He looked at the two big guys at the door and then at the two men lying by their feet, distaste flickering in his eyes, and in the end he didn’t walk over.

Jiang Sheng Xu stood not far off and, leisurely, asked Zhao Feng and the scarred man, “How much does he owe you?”

Zhao Feng’s face revealed nothing. His rough voice carried down the hall.

“One million five hundred and thirty thousand.”

At that, Jiang Sheng Xu raised a brow and eyed the closed security door, probing. “Alright, I’ll lend you the money — you block Yi Wen Bu Zhi. How about that?”

When Wen Ruyu heard Jiang Sheng Xu’s voice, he’d already cut off Yi Wen Bu Zhi’s call. His cold, alluring voice came from behind the security door, hesitant.

“No, that’s not necessary…”

Hesitation.

So Yi Wen Bu Zhi wasn’t all that.

Jiang Sheng Xu’s mouth tilted up in a smile of certainty; he continued, “Then I’ll pay off your debt — if you block him.”

“No.” Wen Ruyu refused again, this time without much hesitation.

Yi Wen Bu Zhi had leverage on the original host; that made consent impossible, even if the original host were present.

Jiang Sheng Xu’s good mood vanished in an instant; the smile faded. “Why not?”

“Do you love him?”

“No.” Wen Ruyu’s voice was vague, evasive. “I… I owe him money.”

“Owe money?” Jiang Sheng Xu wasn’t a fool. He heard the tone and knew exactly what had happened. He snorted coldly, his voice full of scorn and certainty.

“I figure he has something on you, right?”

No answer from behind the door — Jiang Sheng Xu knew he’d guessed right, and probably what the leverage was.

No surprises; it was the photo theft.

He conceded but retained the upper hand. “You don’t have to block him. I can still pay your debt.”

“But you know we’re not connected and I have no reason to help you out of the blue.”

Jiang Sheng Xu emphasized “no reason,” as if reminding Wen Ruyu of something.

Wen Ruyu behind the door was silent for several seconds. His fingertips went white. He asked in a low voice:

“What reason do you want?”

Jiang Sheng Xu’s mouth curved again; his tone was blunt and a little domineering.

“You keep chatting with me online.”

At this, Zhao Feng and the scarred man both froze, staring at Jiang Sheng Xu.

Clearly they hadn’t expected the young master to make such a request.

Zhao Feng’s eyes darkened imperceptibly, then he turned his gaze away.

Jiang Sheng Xu seemed used to being observed; he ignored Zhao Feng and the scarred man and added:

“No need to meet.”

He stressed the last part, as if reminding himself.

In truth, he was reminding himself.

When he’d heard the voice behind the door he’d felt an impulse to see the person — the urge had grown stronger, but he’d forced it down.

Someone who had to steal photos to swindle others couldn’t possibly look good; they might be hideously ugly. If they were, even the voice wouldn’t save them.

Better… not to risk it.

“And don’t send me your photo.” Jiang Sheng Xu suppressed that impulse, his tone carrying a hint of disdain. “I’ll just assume the person in the photos is you.”

Silence returned behind the security door. Just when Jiang Sheng Xu thought he’d been refused again, a slightly trembling, cold voice with a note of acquiescent obedience came through.

“...Okay.”

Hearing that “okay” made Jiang Sheng Xu’s heart feel oddly full and a little uncomfortable — a tingling, swelling sensation that made him purse his lips.

Unpleasant, yet not entirely unpleasant.

As if something had suddenly filled his chest.

The feeling was so unfamiliar it left him uncertain how to handle it. Faced with something he couldn’t manage, he instinctively tried to shift focus.

He took out his phone and, briskly, said to Zhao Feng and the scarred man, “Bank account number.”

They were there to collect; who paid didn’t matter. The scarred man immediately recited the number.

Seconds later, their phones chimed with transfer confirmations.

Zhao Feng checked the info, gave the scarred man a look; the scarred man bent down, grabbed one of the thugs on the floor by the collar, and hauled him away roughly.

Only Jiang Sheng Xu and the closed security door remained in the corridor.

Jiang Sheng Xu looked at the door a moment longer. There was no sound from inside, as if no one was in the room at all.

He frowned faintly at some thought, and then turned and left.

The corridor lights automatically went out as people left, and the entire floor fell back into deathly silence.

— — —

When Wen Ruyu heard Jiang Sheng Xu’s footsteps fade away, his taut body relaxed. He felt as if all his strength had been drained and trudged to the sofa, collapsing onto it.

He looked up at the ceiling, trying to calm his breathing and emotions. When the fear and suffocating feeling subsided, he opened his phone.

Yi Wen Bu Zhi had sent several messages, tones clearly accusing.

[Yi Wen Bu Zhi: ?]

[Yi Wen Bu Zhi: Why did you hang up on me?]

[Yi Wen Bu Zhi: Speak.]

Wen Ruyu’s pale fingers hovered over the screen; even typing felt weak.

[May Wealth Bloom: I was just paying back money.]

Yi Wen Bu Zhi replied almost instantly.

[Yi Wen Bu Zhi: Where did you get the money?]

[May Wealth Bloom: I borrowed it.]

A few seconds of quiet, then a cold single word popped up.

[Yi Wen Bu Zhi: Oh.]

Wen Ruyu didn’t reply. When no more messages came, he opened his photo album and played the video he’d recorded earlier.

In the video, Yang Ruiqing was playing on the court. Many people watched him — almost half the court was looking.

But everyone’s reactions appeared normal.

No one seemed out of place.

The information Wen Ruyu had now was still far from enough.

To find who harbored malice toward Yang Ruiqing, he needed to understand Yang Ruiqing’s network more deeply.

Wen Ruyu hesitated, then tried again to add Yang Ruiqing as a friend.

The request vanished into the void.

Predictable.

So much had happened that day. After sending the message, Wen Ruyu realized how heavy his eyelids were. He curled up on the sofa and fell asleep.

He slept deeply. When he woke, dawn had already begun to pale the sky.

The original owner had class today — the same class as Yang Ruiqing.

They were not the same major, but many required common courses existed in college. The original had deliberately chosen the same class as Yang Ruiqing when signing up.

Wen Ruyu put his hat, sunglasses, and mask back on, armored himself, and left the rental.

— — —

He arrived early; the classroom was mostly empty. Wen Ruyu walked straight to a rear aisle seat by the window.

It was the seat the original always took.

Morning passed quickly. Soon students trickled in until the classroom was more than half full.

Just before the bell, Yang Ruiqing and his roommates walked in.

Yang Ruiqing wore a simple black windbreaker and looked handsome; he drew many gazes as he entered.

He glanced toward a corner and, seeing someone bundled up, his eyes flashed undisguised disgust.

But his good upbringing stopped him from saying anything.

He suppressed his aversion and scanned the room. Most seats were taken; only four seats remained near that corner — exactly the number for him and his roommates.

Even if he didn’t want to, he had to sit there. He didn’t look in that direction again.

The bell rang.

Wen Ruyu hadn’t come to class. He opened a book to pretend, but his eyes discreetly studied Yang Ruiqing’s direction.

His gaze moved over the students seated around Yang Ruiqing.

Sitting with Yang Ruiqing were his roommates — not unattractive themselves — listening attentively, occasionally exchanging low words with Yang Ruiqing, appearing very close.

Yang Ruiqing obviously sensed that sticky gaze; his dislike deepened and his face darkened further.

Does this person have no shame?

Staring blatantly at him in public?

Does he think I won’t react?

Wen Ruyu didn’t know what Yang Ruiqing was thinking; he was watching how people around Yang Ruiqing treated him, trying to find who might later kill him.

So absorbed, Wen Ruyu didn’t notice the oddness of the classmate beside him.

The boy next to him was already flushed; he caught the faint scent at the other person’s collar and couldn’t stop glancing at Wen Ruyu.

This person smells so good.

The boy secretly looked at the bundled figure beside him. Even wrapped up, that slender, pretty shape showed through.

Beautiful in a way that drew the eye.

Realizing what he’d been doing, the boy’s face reddened more, his ears burning. He pretended to bow his head to read.

But his gaze kept stealing back.

Seeing Wen Ruyu staring in a certain direction, the boy followed his line of sight and saw the serious-faced boy in the front row.

Yang Ruiqing?

He’s looking at Yang Ruiqing?

A vague displeasure rose in the boy. He hesitated but lowered his voice and asked carefully, “Do you like Yang Ruiqing?”

Wen Ruyu paused. After a few seconds, he whispered, “Mm.”

He kept his voice low and asked, “Can you tell me about him?”

Hearing Wen Ruyu’s voice, the boy’s ears burned further and his heart pounded; he stammered.

“Y-yeah, I can.”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Who was he to help Yang Ruiqing?

But the words were out; the boy, annoyed, lowered his voice and began.

He told the things everyone knew — things the original also knew — but Wen Ruyu listened intently, so focused he didn’t notice when class ended or when someone approached.

Until a low, magnetic voice sounded above him — Yang Ruiqing’s voice, edged with clear impatience.

“Can you stop following me?”

Yang Ruiqing’s eyes showed undisguised disgust; his tone was merciless, as if there were no room for compromise. “I don’t like you.”

“I won’t like you.”

Chapter 21

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