Later that night, Hua Cheng was in the office room with Zhenlong, swirling a glass of wine in his hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light as he brought it to his lips.
Zhenlong sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled, his black eyes fixed on the window. The city lights flickered in the distance like false promises.
"Did you find any update on that old man Liang?" Zhenlong asked.
Hua Cheng set his glass down and nodded. "His father is in a coma right now. No one knows when he'll wake up. The doctors say it's not looking good. Severe head trauma. Internal bleeding. He's lucky to be alive."
Zhenlong nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Any idea who would do that?"
Hua Cheng sighed and leaned back in his chair. "No idea. We don't know who he has beef with. Even though he has connections in the underworld, he would never get on anyone's bad terms. As far as I know, he always played safe. Kept his head down. Paid his dues. Stayed in his lane."
Zhenlong's eyes narrowed. "You're right. That's what I was wondering. Who would try to do that? And why now?"
The room fell into a long pause. The only sound was the soft crackle of the fireplace and the distant hum of the city outside.
Hua Cheng broke the silence first. "Then what about the kid? What should we do with him?"
Zhenlong's lips curved into a slow smirk. "Keep him until we get what we want."
Hua Cheng looked at him for a long moment, his eyes searching Zhenlong's face for something. "Then keep him as a captive. Nothing more."
Zhenlong chuckled, low and amused. "What are you so afraid of? He's just a nineteen-year-old rich spoiled brat. What can he do?"
Hua Cheng paused. His jaw tightened. "Yeah. Keep that in mind. That he's nineteen years old. And you're twenty-eight."
The room went very quiet.
Zhenlong's smirk faded and his eyes turned cold. "Hua Cheng. Get your mind out of the gutter. You really think I would fall for a kid?"
Hua Cheng sighed and picked up his wine glass again. "Whatever. Just don't forget that he's just a captive."
He took a long sip from his wine, then set the glass down and bowed before leaving the room.
Zhenlong was alone.
He leaned back against his chair and stared at the ceiling. Then he said to himself, "He's just like a pet to me. That's it. Fun to keep. And that's all."
He closed his eyes and the room fell into silence.
The next day, Zhenlong went out again.
Wenhao was going crazy.
He had paced the length of his room thirty-seven times. He had counted the tiles on the ceiling again (still two hundred and forty-three). He had talked to Gerald the crack and Gerald had nothing new to say.
He needed something to do. Anything.
He wandered out of his room and down the hallway, past the guards who barely looked at him anymore, past the servants who scurried out of his way, past the endless doors that all looked the same.
And then he saw it.
A door slightly ajar. Warm light spilling out. The faint smell of old paper and dust.
Wenhao pushed the door open and his breath caught.
It was a library.
A real library. Tall shelves stretching up to the ceiling. Books in every color. A fireplace in the corner with dying embers. A big comfortable couch that looked like it had been made for napping.
Wenhao walked inside like he was entering a temple.
He ran his fingers along the spines of the books. Ancient leather. Gold lettering. Titles in languages he didn't recognize.
He pulled out a book at random and flipped it open. It was some old adventure story. Shipwrecks and treasure and faraway islands.
Perfect.
He curled up on the couch and started reading.
Hours passed. The fire died. The light shifted from gold to gray to dim. But Wenhao didn't notice.
He read until his eyes burned and his head nodded and the book slipped from his fingers.
He fell asleep right there on the couch, his body twisted into an uncomfortable position, his cheek pressed against the armrest, his lips slightly parted.
Zhenlong returned to the mansion as the evening settled in.
He walked through the front door and shrugged off his coat. A servant appeared to take it.
"Where is the boy?" Zhenlong asked.
The servant bowed. "In the library, sir. He's been there all day."
Zhenlong's eyebrow rose. "The library?"
"Yes, sir. He found it this morning. He hasn't left since."
Zhenlong walked toward the library, his footsteps silent on the marble floors. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was dim. The fire had gone out. And in the center of the room, on the big comfortable couch, Wenhao was fast asleep.
His body was twisted in a way that looked deeply uncomfortable. One leg was hanging off the edge. His head was tilted back. His mouth was slightly open. The book was perched precariously on his chest, about to fall.
Zhenlong walked closer and stopped beside the couch.
He looked down at Wenhao's sleeping face.
The boy's cheeks were pink and soft in the dim light. His eyelashes were long and dark against his pale skin. His lips were slightly parted and a strand of hair had fallen across his forehead.
He looked cute like this. Softer...
Zhenlong felt something strange in his chest.
He reached down slowly and took the book from Wenhao's chest, placing it carefully on the side table when Wenhao's eyes flew open.
Wenhao jerked back, nearly falling off the couch. His eyes were wide and panicked and his hands came up to push at Zhenlong's chest.
"What are you doing?" Wenhao demanded, his voice rough with sleep.
Zhenlong straightened up and stepped back. His face was calm but something flickered in his eyes. "I was about to ask you to go out for a walk with me."
Wenhao blinked. The panic faded and something else took its place. Excitement. Then suspicion. Then annoyance.
His face twisted. "Oh. A walk. So you can make me pick up sticks again? No thanks. I'll stay here with Gerald."
Zhenlong's mouth twitched. "Who's Gerald?"
"The crack in the ceiling. My only friend."
"I see."
"You don't deserve to know about Gerald. Gerald is too good for you."
Zhenlong chuckled. "I promise I won't do it. No sticks. Just a walk. Fresh air. I'll even let you complain about the body wash the whole time."
Wenhao studied him suspiciously. "You promise?"
"I promise."
"Swear on something important."
"Swear on what?"
Wenhao thought for a moment. "Swear on Gerald."
Zhenlong's face twitched. "I'm not swearing on a crack in ceiling."
"Then no walk."
Zhenlong sighed. It was a long suffering sigh. "Fine. I swear on Gerald. Happy?"
Wenhao grinned. "Ecstatic."
He scrambled off the couch and headed for the door.
Outside, the air was cool and fresh. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
Wenhao walked beside Zhenlong, his eyes scanning everything. The trees. The path. The distance.
And then he saw it.
In the distance, beyond the trees, there was a faint light. Tiny pinpricks of gold that could only be one thing.
Roads. Cars. The main road.
His heart started beating faster.
He could escape. If he could just get to that road. If he could just run far enough and fast enough.
He bit his lip, thinking. He needed a distraction. Something to occupy Zhenlong while he ran.
He looked around and saw a long, thick branch on the ground. It was heavy and solid and could do some real damage.
His hands started sweating.
And then Zhenlong's phone rang.
Zhenlong pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen. "Excuse me," he said, stepping a few feet away. "I need to take this."
He turned his back slightly, his attention on the call.
This was it.
This was the chance.
Wenhao grabbed the branch. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. His hands were shaking.
He swung the branch as hard as he could.
It connected with Zhenlong's side of the head.
There was a sickening thud and Zhenlong staggered backward, his hand flying to his cheek. His phone clattered to the ground.
Wenhao didn't wait to see the damage.
He ran.
He ran faster than he had ever run in his life. His legs pumped and his lungs burned and the wind whipped past his ears. He could hear the blood rushing in his veins and the desperate thumping of his heart.
Behind him, he heard something that made his blood run cold.
A low, deep laugh.
Zhenlong was laughing.
Not angry. Not threatening. Just laughing like this was the most entertaining thing that had happened all week.
Wenhao didn't stop. He kept running.
The trees blurred past him. The road was getting closer. He could see the cars now. Moving. Real. Freedom.
But the ground was uneven and his foot caught on a root and he tripped.
He went flying forward and landed hard on the ground, his ankle twisting beneath him. Pain shot up his leg like fire and he cried out.
He tried to get up but his ankle wouldn't hold his weight. It buckled underneath him and he fell again.
Tears started streaming down his face. Not from the pain. From the hopelessness.
He still crawled. He dragged himself forward, limping and crying and refusing to give up. The road was so close. So close.
He could almost touch it.
He looked up and through his blurry tears he saw a figure standing at the end of the path, leaning against a bike, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Zhenlong.
He had gotten there before Wenhao.
He was just standing there, his head bleeding where the branch had hit him, watching Wenhao crawl toward him like this was all some kind of game.
Wenhao stopped crawling.
His body went limp and he lay on the ground, his face in the dirt, his shoulders shaking with sobs.
Zhenlong dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his shoe. Then he walked toward Wenhao slowly, his footsteps crunching on the gravel.
He crouched down beside him.
"Tired already?" Zhenlong asked, his voice soft and amused. "That's disappointing. I thought you'd at least make it to the road."
Wenhao didn't respond. He just kept crying.
Zhenlong reached out and gently touched Wenhao's hair. His fingers were surprisingly soft.
"You're going to be okay," Zhenlong said quietly. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Wenhao lifted his head and glared at him through his tears. "You already did. You're hurting me by keeping me here."
Zhenlong's expression flickered. Something almost like guilt crossed his face.
He picked Wenhao up like he weighed nothing, one arm under his knees, one arm around his back. Wenhao was too tired and too broken to fight.
He just let his head fall against Zhenlong's chest and closed his eyes.
Zhenlong carried him back to the mansion, his bruised face still aching, his heart doing something he couldn't explain.