Chapter 13: Make Time

I was halfway through an episode of some cooking show when the doorbell rang.

I didn’t move, I didn’t have to. Zhou Chenghai would handle it like he always did.

The doorbell rang again, and I heard his footsteps moving down the hall toward the front entrance. I kept my eyes on the TV, watching someone fold dough into precise layers for a dessert.

I heard the door open and Chenghai’s voice, polite but firm replying to something. I knew that tone well, the way he always sounded when he was dealing with someone he didn’t trust. "Mr. Jian. Mr. Xu is in a meeting right now. If you’d like to schedule an appointment—"

"I suggest he makes time for me."

The voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came right before something violent happened and I got covered in blood.

I looked up.

Zhou Chenghai stood in the doorway, his posture still professional, but there was a gun pointed directly at his head. The man holding it was in his early thirties, dressed in a dark suit that fit too well to be off-the-rack. His black hair was neat, his posture controlled, and his expression was completely unbothered.

Like holding a gun to someone’s head was just another Tuesday afternoon.

I raised an eyebrow, impressed.

I didn’t think there was anyone stupid enough to piss Zhou Chenghai off... I thought I was the only one with that distinction.

But Zhou Chenghai didn’t flinch. He just stood there, his hands visible, his expression neutral.

The man with the gun glanced past him, his eyes landing on me for a brief moment. He studied me, his gaze sharp and assessing, like he was filing away every detail.

No longer caring about what was going on, I looked back at the TV.

The cooking show was still on. Someone was explaining the importance of butter temperature for laminated dough, so I turned the volume up slightly and settled back into the couch.

Behind me, I heard Chenghai’s voice, still calm and professional. "This way, Mr. Jian."

Footsteps moved down the hall. The man with the gun followed Chenghai toward Zhenlan’s office, and the front door closed with a quiet click.

I didn’t turn around. Whatever this was, it wasn’t my problem. Zhenlan dealt with all kinds of people in his line of work. Some of them were polite. Some of them weren’t. This one clearly fell into the second category.

I heard a door open, then close. Voices started up in the office, muffled but audible. I kept watching the TV.

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POV: Xu Zhenlan

Inside the office, Jian Yuche sat down in the chair across from Xu Zhenlan’s desk and unbuttoned his jacket. He settled back, relaxed, like he’d been invited for some coffee with an old friend.

Zhou Chenghai, on the other hand, stood at attention by the closed door, his hands folded in front of him, his expression unreadable.

Xu Zhenlan leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. "I didn’t know we were good enough acquaintances that you could walk into my house and pull a gun on my Head of Security without consequences."

Jian Yuche’s expression didn’t change. "And I didn’t know we were good enough acquaintances that you would steal billions of dollars from me and expect me NOT to show up at your door with a gun." He paused, his gaze steady. "And yet, here we are."

There was a beat of silence.

Zhenlan’s expression shifted—not to anger, but to genuine confusion.

He glanced at Chenghai, then back at Yuche. "I’m in the technology business. I don’t need guns to take down my enemies." His voice was calm, but there was an edge underneath now, something sharp and wary. "Why would I ever take yours?"

Jian Yuche shrugged, the gesture casual, almost dismissive. "I don’t pretend to know why you’re that dumb. But I have proof that you did."

Xu Zhenlan’s eyes narrowed as he studied the other man’s face. The two didn’t mix circles often, but when they did, they made sure that they were polite. There was something wrong with this situation. "Show me."

Jian Yuche reached into his jacket and pulled out a tablet. He tapped the screen a few times, then turned it toward Xu Zhenlan.

The video played—grainy footage from a security camera, showing a figure near a loading dock. A woman in a hood, her face partially obscured. The angle was bad, the lighting worse, but the timestamp was clear: last night, 2:47 AM.

Xu Zhenlan watched the video without speaking. His expression stayed neutral, but his eyes were sharp, focused. He was processing, calculating, trying to figure out what this had to do with him.

Jian Yuche swiped to the next image. This one was clearer—a woman stepping out of a taxi in front of the mansion’s gates. Her face was visible this time, sharp and focused. She looked calm, unbothered, like she was coming home from a late-night errand.

Jain Yuche’s voice was quiet, controlled. "That is the woman on your couch right now, isn’t it?"

Zhenlan stared at the image. His jaw tightened, just slightly, but he didn’t respond immediately.

He looked at the woman on the screen. He wasn’t dumb, he knew that that was Shen Rouxi, his ward, the girl who had been living under his roof for the past ten years. The girl who spent her days watching cooking shows and going shopping whenever she wanted to. The girl who had never shown the slightest interest in anything remotely dangerous.

He looked back at Jian Yuche. "That’s Rouxi, yes."

Jian Yuche leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. "She left this property at 1:34 AM last night. She took three taxis across the city. The last one dropped her off two blocks from my warehouse." He swiped to another image—the same woman, walking down a dark street, her hood up, her posture relaxed. "At 2:47 AM, she was inside my warehouse. By 4:15 AM, it was empty."

Xu Zhenlan’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his eyes—something cold and calculating. He looked at the tablet again, then back at Yuche. "You’re saying Rouxi robbed your warehouse."

"I’m saying your ward stole billions of dollars’ worth of weapons, ammunition, and equipment from me," Yuche replied. His voice stayed calm, but there was an edge underneath now, something dark and dangerous. "And I want to know why."

Xu Zhenlan was quiet for a long moment.

He looked at the tablet, then at Zhou Chenghai, then back at Jian Yuche. His mind was working through the possibilities, the logistics, the implications. Rouxi had left the house last night. He’d heard her go out. She did that sometimes—late-night walks, trips to the convenience store, things she never explained and he never asked about. She was an adult. She could come and go as she pleased.

But this?

He looked at the image on the screen again. The woman in the video moved with confidence, with purpose. She didn’t look like someone sneaking around. She looked like someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

Xu Zhenlan’s voice was quiet, measured. "What do you want from me?"

Yuche leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "I want to talk to her."

Zhenlan’s jaw tightened. "No."

"No?" Yuche’s eyebrow raised slightly, like he was surprised by the response.

"She’s my ward," Zhenlan said, his voice firm. "She’s under my protection. You don’t get to walk into my house, pull a gun on my people, and demand access to her."

Yuche studied him for a moment, his gaze sharp and assessing. Then he smiled—just slightly, just enough to show that he found this amusing. "You think you can protect her from me?"

Zhenlan didn’t blink. "I think you’re going to leave my house. Now."

There was a pause. The air in the room felt heavy, tense, like something was about to break. Zhou Chenghai shifted slightly by the door, his posture still professional, but his hand had moved closer to his side—where his own weapon was holstered.

Yuche looked at Zhenlan, then at Chenghai, then back at Zhenlan. He stood up slowly, buttoning his jacket with deliberate, controlled movements. "I’ll leave," he said quietly. "But I’m not done with this."

He walked toward the door, and Chenghai stepped aside to let him pass. Yuche paused in the doorway, glancing back at Zhenlan one last time. "If she took what’s mine, I’m going to get it back. One way or another."

Zhenlan didn’t respond. He just watched as Yuche walked out of the office, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

The front door opened, then closed.

The house fell quiet again.

Zhenlan sat at his desk, staring at the tablet Yuche had left behind. The image of Rouxi was still on the screen—calm, unbothered, walking toward the mansion gates like she’d just come back from a grocery run.

He looked at Chenghai. "Find out what she did last night."