Later, Wenhao came out of the bathroom and walked back to his room.
Clean clothes were folded neatly on the chair.
Toiletries were arranged on the table like a hotel display.
For a second, he just stared at them.
He took them anyway
Because no matter how insulting it was, clean clothes still beat two-day survival mode.
The shower was hot. Too hot. But Wenhao stood under the water and let it burn his skin because it was the first time in two days he had felt anything other than fear.
Fifteen minutes later, he stood in the bathroom staring at the bottle of body wash. He sniffed it once.
His face twisted.
"Who made this? Lavender? Funeral flowers? Emotional damage?"
He looked up at the ceiling like it might answer him.
No answer.
He sighed dramatically. "I'm going to die here smelling like regret."
Still, he used it.
And immediately regretted his life choices.
When he came out, he caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror above the sink. His hair was still damp and sticking to his forehead. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Dark circles hung under them like bruises.
He looked like someone who had been crying for two days straight.
Because he had.
He looked away.
After getting dressed, Wenhao sat on the bed again. This time, he wasn't panicking. He was thinking. Serious thinking.
He whispered to himself: "If I can't run... I should observe."
He nodded like he had just solved world politics.
Then he stood up and walked to the door.
"Step one," he muttered, "map the enemy base."
He stepped into the hallway casually like he belonged there.
A guard immediately followed him.
Wenhao glanced back. "Do you breathe like that everywhere or just when I move?"
The guard didn't respond.
Wenhao sighed. "Rude. At least say something"
He kept walking. Left hallway. Right hallway. Long corridor. Expensive walls. Too many rooms. He was counting mentally: 1, 2, 3... too many doors... suspicious.
Then he noticed something.
No cameras. Not a single CCTV.
He stopped walking.
"...Okay," he said slowly. "Either this place is very confident... or very stupid."
The guard behind him spoke flatly. "Don't wander too far."
Wenhao turned his head slightly. "Oh, so I can wander, just... moderately kidnapped?"
The guard ignored him again.
Wenhao clicked his tongue. "Wow. Worst customer service ever."
He reached the main doors.
He took one step closer.
Two guards instantly moved.
One of them said, "Go back inside."
Wenhao blinked. "I was just admiring the door."
"Go back."
He sighed deeply like an exhausted emperor. "Fine. Your door is ugly anyway."
He turned around.
Then muttered under his breath, "I will escape this place even if I have to marry the door."
Evening came too fast. Or maybe time was just mocking him.
Wenhao went downstairs expecting the usual emptiness. But the table was set again. Perfectly. Too perfectly.
He stared at it. "...Do they just reset this table like a video game?"
He sat down. No Zhenlong. No Hua Cheng. Just silence.
He poked the food suspiciously. "Is this poisoned or just expensive?"
A servant replied carefully, "It's safe."
Wenhao squinted. "That sounded like something someone says right before poisoning you."
Still... he ate. Because betrayal or not, the food was genuinely too good.
Later, Wenhao lay on his bed.
Staring at the ceiling again.
But tonight was different.
Because thinking had become dangerous.
He tried not to think about his father in hospital. His sister waiting. Shen Wei's condition. How long it had been.
But thoughts don't listen to commands.
His throat tightened.
He whispered, "This is ridiculous..."
Then softer: "...why isn't anyone coming?"
A pause.
Then a breath he didn't realize broke.
And suddenly, tears came. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quiet. Like they had been waiting their turn.
Upstairs, Zhenlong was walking through the hallway when he noticed the guard standing outside Wenhao's door.
"Why are you here?" Zhenlong asked.
The guard shifted uncomfortably. "He was crying earlier, sir. I thought I should... listen. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."
Zhenlong's expression didn't change but something in his chest shifted.
He reached Wenhao's door. Didn't knock. Just opened it slightly.
The room was dim. Wenhao was lying on his back. Eyes open. Staring at nothing. And tears were still falling silently.
Zhenlong didn't move. For once... the house was completely quiet. Even Wenhao didn't notice him at first.
Then Wenhao whispered into the ceiling: "If I survive this... I'm going to sue him. Emotionally."
Zhenlong's mouth twitched. A quiet laugh almost escaped him. Almost.
He stepped back and closed the door softly.
Outside the room, Zhenlong stood still for a moment.
Then he murmured to himself: "...He's more interesting when he's quiet."
And for the first time, it didn't sound like a joke.
It sounded like a problem.
Zhenlong walked back to his office and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He didn't drink it. He just held it and stared at the wall.
Hua Cheng walked in and raised an eyebrow. "You look like someone who just realized they have a weakness."
Zhenlong didn't look at him. "I don't have weaknesses."
Hua Cheng sat down across from him. "The boy seemed to become one. You've been caring about him alot"
"He's a pawn."
"He's a pawn who made you laugh."
Zhenlong set the glass down and finally looked at Hua Cheng. "What's your point."
Hua Cheng leaned back in his chair. "My point is that you've kept him here for three days. Three days. Longer than any other captive. And you haven't threatened him. You haven't hurt him. You brought him shampoo."
Zhenlong's jaw tightened. "He's a wild animal needs to be treated kindly to train them."
"Is that what you're doing?" Hua Cheng asked. "Training him? Or just enjoying him?"
The room went quiet.
Zhenlong picked up his glass and drained it in one swallow.
"I'm going to bed," he said. "Don't bother me."
He walked out and Hua Cheng watched him go.
In his room, Wenhao had finally stopped crying. His eyes were sore and his throat was raw and his head was pounding.
But he was still thinking.
He sat up and looked at the door. The window. The walls. The ceiling.
"There has to be a way out," he whispered. "There's always a way out."
He looked at the heater. The vents. He couldn't escape tonight. He was too tired and too broken.
But tomorrow.
Tomorrow he would try again.
And he would keep trying until he found a way home