Yibo adjusted the collar of his shirt, tugged at it once more, and sniffed before rubbing his temple. He wore a black suit over a white long-sleeve shirt, the top button left undone. If you were to ask him how he managed to dress and show up here, he wouldn't have an answer for you.
This was their boardroom—reserved only for the most critical matters. Around the table sat senior officials, the kind rarely seen unless something significant happened. The icy blast of the air conditioning brushed Yibo's face, drying his skin and mirroring the hollowness in his chest as he awaited the chairman's words. In front of him, and every other attendee, was a file containing his work history, from his first day with the organization until now. Some were still reading, others had finished and sat silently, waiting for the chairman to address them.
Yibo's gaze settled briefly on Mr. Danielle across the table. Even from a distance, Yibo could see the man's tension—his trembling hands betrayed the fear of losing his job. Yibo, however, had greater concerns. All he wanted was for this meeting to end so he could collect Gideon's body and hand it over to his family.
He blamed himself entirely for Gideon's death. Just two days ago, Gideon had agreed to help him when no one else would have. Gideon had pledged his unwavering support, promising to stand by Yibo no matter the risks. Gideon had even believed Yibo could protect him if things went awry. Yibo hadn't imagined that Gideon's loyalty would cost him his life.
A lump formed in Yibo's throat as a chill ran down his spine. Despite all the dangerous assignments he had completed over the years, this was the first time he felt genuine fear. He'd always faced danger head-on without hesitation. In fact, Guang, who had been offered the job before Yibo, had declined due to the risks. But Yibo had taken it without a second thought, confident in his ability to handle anything.
Now, as Gideon's final words echoed in his mind, Yibo felt his resolve waver. The sound of the gunshot that killed Gideon replayed relentlessly in his ears, a cruel reminder of the reality he had ignored for so long: in this line of work, danger wasn't limited to assignments. Even within the organization, you could become a target the moment you stepped out of line.
"So, are we all done?"
The chairman's voice jolted Yibo back to the present. He turned slowly to see the chairman closing the file before him, signaling that he was ready to address the room.
"Yibo."
"Yes, sir." Yibo responded, his voice firm though his gaze remained fixed on the table.
"As we all know, you've consistently demonstrated exceptional skill and commitment in your work. You've taken on some of the most challenging assignments, and your contributions have been invaluable to this organization. Your record speaks for itself: second only in credits earned and unmatched in your dedication. It's clear to everyone here that you are an asset to us."
Yibo stayed silent, bracing himself for what was coming next.
"Now, we need to discuss the recent incident involving your assignment and your colleague Gideon."
The chairman leaned back in his chair, his tone growing heavier.
"You're familiar with VIS, correct?"
"Yes, sir," Yibo replied cautiously.
The chairman nodded.
"Good. As you know, VIS is a group of powerful individuals, untouchable by conventional means. Shi Lei was flagged as a suspect due to his immense wealth, assets, and suspected involvement in illegal arms and drug trade. To investigate, we assigned you as his personal assistant after months of planning.
"Our oversight—and yours—was not recognizing earlier that Shi Lei was connected to Yang Tao, the Deputy Minister of Defense. For over a year, you worked closely with him, gathering intelligence. Despite your efforts, it was clear Shi Lei wasn't operating alone but under the protection of someone with immense influence."
The chairman paused, his sharp gaze fixed on Yibo.
"That brings us to the problem. You disobeyed direct orders."
"And I don't need to tell you, Yibo, that this man is part of VIS. So, any information I give you about him being where he's supposed to be is already understood. As for your supervisor, Mr. Danielle, he informed me that the first instruction he gave you, after you explained everything to him, was to end the assignment, stop any further actions, and report back to the office. And you did exactly that, immediately, as expected of someone who values their job.
But what happened after that? You went ahead and informed your colleague, Gideon, about everything. This act clearly indicated that you hadn't actually dropped the case. We've been monitoring you ever since, even though we aren't sure what you discussed with Gideon. But every move you made was carefully planned, and we gave you the freedom to proceed. When it seemed like the person monitoring Danielle's computer had stepped away, it was intentional, so we could confirm our suspicions about you.
And guess what? You did it. You accessed classified information on Yang Tao, and even went as far as copying it onto a flash drive—an action that violated direct orders and workplace protocols."
At this, he pulled out a black flash drive with one hand.
"This is the flash drive Gideon used to copy all that information for you. What you need to understand is this: just as you've lost this flash drive, you've also lost your job with us. Trust, loyalty, and sacrifice—those are the pillars we live by and operate under. You've broken every single one of them, as your record shows a pattern of doing whatever you want.
So, while it's unfortunate to lose someone with your skills, parting ways with you is the better option. We can't trust you anymore. You know the rules here, you know the system, so there's no need to remind you that mistakes, of any kind, are not tolerated."
He paused again, his sharp gaze fixed on Yibo, whose expression hadn't changed since the conversation began. It seemed even the others in the room were watching Yibo with equal intensity.
"Now, the second matter, which leads us to why you've also lost your colleague. Mr. Danielle informed us that when you told him everything, he specifically warned you to drop the issue. He told you to let it die, to pretend it never happened—even between the two of you. But you ignored that warning and disclosed everything to Gideon. You're the reason he's dead. No one else killed him, Yibo—it was you."
At that moment, Yibo felt something rise in his throat, though he wasn't sure what it was. Still, he didn't move or change his posture.
"Here's the only good news I have for you: out of respect for all the contributions you've made to our work, nothing will happen to you right now. But if you take any further actions or do anything that goes against the conditions we've set for you, I can't guarantee this promise will hold. So now, I need you to tell us—other than Gideon, who else knows about this?"
He finished his statement with a question that seemed to strip Yibo of all the confidence and years of experience he thought he had. It left him feeling like a child in their presence. Because even if there were someone else who knew, why would he reveal it now, knowing it would only lead them to eliminate that person, leaving him to bear the burden alone?
The only thing Yibo understood at that moment was that their biggest mistake, beyond the one they claimed to have already made, would be letting him leave that room. If they allowed him to walk out? Even he didn't know the full extent of what could unfold.
And yet, the meeting ended just as they said it would. They allowed him to leave, handing him his termination letter, which he accepted without a word. He didn't leave the premises until he was escorted by security to the hospital morgue, where they completed all the necessary formalities and handed over Gideon's body. Gideon's family and parents were already at the hospital, having been informed of his death at the workplace during an assignment.
As the body was released, Yibo stood off to the side, holding his termination letter, watching Gideon's grieving family cry loudly over his corpse, their sorrow and despair filling the room. What Yibo felt in that moment wasn't the weight of the termination letter in his hands—it was the crushing realization that it was his own heart he was holding, barely keeping it intact."
:-*:-*:-*:-*
Seven Days Later
At nine in the morning, Yibo pulled back the curtains in his hotel room. Sunlight streamed in, warming the space as the day began to unfold.
The first thing his eyes caught outside the window was the figure of a man leaning against a car in the hotel parking lot. The man's gaze was fixed on the window, but the moment he noticed the curtains part, he quickly looked away, pulling out his phone as if answering a call.
A faint smile tugged at Yibo's lips, though he wasn't sure where it came from. Did they really think he wouldn't notice they'd been following him since the day he left the organization? Did they believe he hadn't seen the countless people planted throughout the hotel to track his every move? Or perhaps they thought his silence meant he was clueless about their surveillance?
He let the curtain fall back into place and returned to the room. Today was the day everything would end, and at the same time, the day everything would begin. He had stayed in Guangzhou for one reason alone: to attend Gideon's funeral, as planned by his family. It was the least he could do for Gideon, the last act of loyalty he owed him.
In less than thirty minutes, Yibo was dressed in formal mourning attire—a tailored suit that had been delivered to him earlier that morning by one of Danielle's relatives, right to his hotel room.
Without sparing a glance at the untouched breakfast tray, he finished preparing and left the room.
In the parking lot, Yibo quickly counted at least four people stationed nearby, all there to keep an eye on him. Ignoring them, he got into the car he had called to the hotel.
Through the rearview mirror, he watched as two cars discreetly followed him all the way to the funeral venue. Once there, he stepped out and entered the hall where the service was taking place. The gathering had been carefully planned over the past few days, with Gideon's family traveling in from different cities to pay their last respects.
When Yibo's turn came to approach the coffin, he stopped in front of Gideon's lifeless body. The meticulous work done to prepare him for the funeral gave him an almost peaceful appearance. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though Gideon might open his eyes if someone called his name.
This was why Yibo had come—to see his face one last time and say goodbye, a goodbye he didn't think he'd ever have the chance to repeat, even in the afterlife.
As he stood there, lost in thought, the woman behind him began to murmur that he had lingered long enough and should move along. But before she could finish, Yibo reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of hundred-dollar bills. He placed three crisp notes on Gideon's body.
The act sent a ripple of shock through the room. The pastor froze mid-sentence, visibly agitated as he struggled to recall the name of the man standing before him. Gideon's grieving parents, who had been weeping quietly nearby, burst into louder sobs—they knew who Yibo was.
Inwardly, Yibo whispered, "May justice be served for the life you lived, Gideon. Don't worry—I'll finish what we started. I promise your blood won't be spilled in vain."
In the commotion of the crowd, a man wearing a baseball cap, one of those tailing Yibo, stood at the back of the hall, his eyes fixed on Yibo. He stood motionless, afraid to blink and risk losing sight of him in the sea of people gathered for the ceremony.
But then, out of nowhere, a petite woman, crying hysterically, bumped into him with such force that he stumbled and fell to the ground.
"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry! So sorry! I didn't see you there at all..."
She blurted out between sobs, frantically trying to dust off his clothes. Gripping his arm tightly, she kept apologizing, her hands busy smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on his jacket. At first, he told her it was fine and asked her to let him go, but when she refused to release him, he yanked his arm free and stood up, straightening his clothes.
However, when he turned his eyes back toward the front of the hall, where Yibo had been standing moments ago, Yibo was gone. He scanned the room, searching desperately, but Yibo had vanished without a trace.
Cursing under his breath, he quickly pulled out his phone and rushed toward the door, where his associates were waiting. His hands trembled as he dialed.
"I lost him. I can't see him anywhere… he's disappeared into the crowd," he reported curtly.
On the other end of the call, his superior groaned in frustration. "Damn it!"
Without wasting time, the man barked an order to his team to track Yibo's phone immediately.
"He's in a taxi," one of them reported after a few moments. "The taxi's leaving the area now."
Hearing this, the man jumped into a waiting car and, with his team, began tailing the taxi. Both vehicles followed closely, tracking the cab as it headed toward the airport.
The journey was straightforward, and they didn't lose sight of the taxi, which eventually pulled into the airport's parking lot. They parked at a distance, watching carefully for anyone to exit the vehicle.
But five minutes passed, and no one emerged from the cab. Suspicious, one of the men quickly stepped out of their car and strode toward the taxi. Without hesitation, he yanked the back door open, only to find the vehicle empty—except for Yibo's phone lying on the seat.
"Where's the man you brought here? Where is the owner of this phone?" he demanded angrily, glaring at the taxi driver.
Terrified, the driver raised both hands in surrender. "Sir, I didn't bring anyone! He paid me three times my fare just to deliver this phone to the airport. He told me to park here for ten minutes and leave with the phone."
The man froze, realization dawning on him. He ripped off his cap in frustration, running a hand through his hair as panic set in. There was no denying it now—they had been chasing Yibo's phone, not Yibo himself.
Inside the row of bathrooms in the hall where Gideon's funeral was held, a woman handed Yibo a change of clothes at the bathroom door, grinning with satisfaction over her successful scheme and the payment she had pocketed.
Inside the bathroom, Yibo looked at himself in the mirror in his new outfit before unbuttoning the blue shirt he'd been wearing. A smirk played on his lips.
:-*:-*:-*:-*
"There are still some pancakes left in that bowl," Ning said the morning after He Jun's mourning period ended. The funeral rituals had been concluded yesterday, but He Jun's house was still packed with relatives who had arrived from the countryside, about ten of them, not including those from Beijing who had also taken up residence.
It wasn't just because they didn't want to leave—it was mostly due to the rivalry between Mama and Ma Jing. Ever since Ma Jing's relatives had flooded the house the day after He Jun's passing, Mama had insisted that her own relatives also stay over. She wasn't about to let anyone gossip about her not having family support. Despite Hao's attempts to reason with her to let things settle quietly, Mama had stubbornly declared that even the farthest relatives from the countryside must come, and so the house became as crowded as a wedding venue during those days.
"Where's Zhan?" Mama asked Ning, who was standing by the door, absentmindedly cleaning her nails.
"I just saw him. He came out of the bathroom a moment ago, wiping his tears."
Mama clicked her tongue in irritation. "That hypocrite of a boy! I don't know what to do with him. Even if it were his father who had died, this level of crying is unnecessary. Everyone else has moved on, but he's still acting like this? Just because he wants people to think he's kindhearted?"
Ning didn't respond, but her mind was preoccupied with other things. The sheer number of guests crammed into the house was suffocating. She was silently praying for the mourning period to end so everyone could leave. Even though the rituals were completed yesterday, no one seemed to be planning their departure. As for Mama, she didn't seem to care how exhausted Hao and his family were. The household was running like a banquet, with endless cooking and cleaning.
Just then, Min walked into the house. She had moved out to a neighbor's place four days ago, declaring she couldn't handle the chaos. Ning watched her closely, noticing the changes in her demeanor. Even her recent spending habits had become suspicious. Ning had once asked Mama if she knew where Min was getting her money, but since Mama claimed she didn't know, the topic was dropped.
Now, Min was holding a bag filled with rice cake she had bought from a street vendor. Mama noticed her and immediately called out, "Oh good, Min! You must've known the house is running out of food from breakfast. Grab a plate and serve me some, too."
"Alright, Mama," Min replied simply as she headed to their room.
"When you go in, tell Zhan to come out and wash that pot for me," Mama added.
Ning turned to her mother with a look of surprise. "Mama, aren't you even going to ask Min where she's getting all this money? Her spending has become excessive lately. Every day she's buying something new for the house."
Mama dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. "Oh, Ning, don't be ridiculous. Min is a young woman—why should I interrogate her about where she gets her money? Do I ask you where you get the money Nei gives you?"
Ning shook her head.
"But Min only has Chang as her boyfriend, and he hasn't been to the house in days. You really should find out where she's getting all this money."
Mama, dismissive as always, replied, "Let's deal with one thing at a time. Once your auntie's leave, we'll sit down and discuss it."
Ning just shook her head and continued trimming her nails.
When Min entered the room, she found Zhan sitting with a shawl in his hands, one she didn't recognize. His face was swollen, evidence that he had recently been crying.
"You really need to stop crying, Zhan," she said, placing her bag down and sitting on the mattress to open her food package. "It's not good to keep mourning so intensely. Just keep praying for him. That's all you can do now."
Zhan turned to look at her, his expression devoid of surprise or reaction to her words. Ever since the day of their father's death, Zhan had realized how little the loss seemed to affect Min—or most of the family, for that matter. Other than Yue, who had cried her heart out, and some of the men, who were stoic but respectful, everyone else seemed to have moved on as if nothing had happened. Mama, Ma Jing, Ning, and Min had only cried on the day of the burial, but by the next morning, they had returned to their routines. The house turned chaotic, not from grief, but from the sheer number of relatives and visitors who had arrived, making it feel more like a festival than a period of mourning.
But Zhan couldn't shake his grief. From the moment Mama had burst into wails upon hearing the news to the moment they brought the body home, through to the funeral and prayers, Zhan's heart had been heavy. His Baba's face, his final words in the hospital, and the weight of how life would change without him—these thoughts never left Zhan's mind.
During the mourning period, Zhan found himself silently enduring the chaos. He worked tirelessly, doing whatever Mama and her relatives needed. Yue occasionally stepped in to help, but it was mostly Zhan who took on the load. Despite his efforts, he felt invisible. No one asked how he was coping. Meals were a challenge—he often ate leftovers after everyone else was served, sometimes resorting to scraps from the kitchen. At night, he had no proper place to sleep; even their room was overcrowded. Most nights, he curled up near the doorway.
When he wasn't busy working, Mama made it clear she didn't want him around, fearing her relatives would notice and use his presence as an excuse to belittle her for raising "a stray." So, Zhan often retreated to the backyard with a book, preferring solitude over the hostile energy in the house.
On the third night, Zhan saw Kai open their father's room and start packing up his belongings. Seizing the opportunity, Zhan begged Kai to let him retrieve something their father had promised him. Thinking it was important, Kai helped Zhan search for the items. When Zhan found the small bag, it contained a worn shawl and a simple silver bracelet. Kai lost interest and left him alone.
Zhan didn't need an explanation—he knew immediately what they were. The shawl was the one he'd been wrapped in as a baby, and the bracelet had been on his wrist when he was found. Though they were just objects, at that moment, they brought Zhan a sense of peace. For the first time in days, the loneliness eased. The shawl and bracelet were his connection to his past, to his Baba, and to himself. He kept them close, refusing to let them get lost among the chaos of the household.
"Mama said you should wash the dishes, and you know you're supposed to go back to work at Fen's place today, right? Hurry up and finish everything you need to do."
Min's voice snapped Zhan out of his thoughts. He turned to look at her as she sat comfortably, eating her rice cake.
"On your way back, bring two plates. I'll serve Mama, and you can grab some for yourself too," she added, taking another bite.
It was on the third day of mourning that Fen visited their house to pay her respects. She told them she had been trying to reach them and had only managed to get through to Min to share the news of their father's passing. Strangely, since that day, Fen had been persistent in asking Zhan when he would return to work. Min had to explain that Zhan would only resume after the mourning period was over.
Right now, returning to work at Fen's house was the last thing on Zhan's mind, but he knew he didn't have many other options. Fen had always been kind to him, so he decided to suppress the turmoil in his heart and finish the chores, just as Min had instructed.
:-*:-*:-*:-*
"I told you not to worry. He confirmed to me today that he's coming back to work, and I know he will show up," Fen said over the phone, lounging in her living room.
On the other end of the line, Peng sighed and rubbed his temple.
Ever since he had spotted the young man at Fen's house, Peng's thoughts had been consumed by him. Zhan was exactly the type he was drawn to—handsome yet unassuming, without the pretentiousness he detested in others. Peng had visited Fen's house three times under the guise of casual calls before he finally confessed his interest to him. Fen had assured him that there was no issue and explained Zhan's absence, putting Peng's mind at ease, though he remained restless.
What annoyed Peng most was that Fen had already asked him for money three times, which he had given her. Now, he was feeling the pressure to ensure his investment wasn't wasted.
"Just come by later this evening. I promise there won't be any problem," Fen reassured him.
Peng sighed again, feeling inexplicably uneasy. "Fine. See you later," he muttered before hanging up.
Fen smiled to herself as she put down the phone. To her, Zhan was an asset, and she already had plans for how much she could gain through him.
As expected, Zhan arrived before sunset. Fen greeted him warmly, as she always did, and exchanged pleasantries. To Zhan's surprise, the tasks she gave him that day were light, nothing like the workload he had anticipated.
When he finished, Fen offered him a wholesome meal, which eased the hunger he had been enduring over the past few days. It brought a rare moment of comfort and relief to his troubled heart.
Just as Zhan was preparing to leave, Fen called him into the living room.
She handed him a cup of something, smiling. "Here, drink this. It's a special herbal remedy I got for the cold season. I thought I'd share it with you since people your age are more prone to chills."
Zhan hesitated for a moment, his instincts conflicted. But the part of him that trusted Fen won out, and he drank it down in one gulp. It tasted bitter, but he didn't complain. He simply returned the cup.
"By the way, about that teaching job we discussed a while back," Fen began. "I found a place that's looking for someone, but I told them to wait until you could go in person to talk with them. They said they'd send someone to pick you up so you can see the place today."
Zhan looked at her, his face calm but slightly surprised. "Today?" he asked.
"Yes, I think the person coming to pick you up is already on their way," Fen replied cheerfully.
Zhan swallowed hard. "Couldn't it wait until next week? You know yesterday was the seventh day since my Baba passed..."
"Zhan."
Fen called his name.
"In this life, there's no room for idleness or pride. Do you know how many people I had to convince before they agreed to give you this job? It's not for my benefit but to help you stand on your feet. Your Baba is gone, and he's not coming back. If you don't take this chance, they might withdraw the offer by next week."
It wasn't the possibility of losing the opportunity that changed Zhan's mind. It was Fen's authority and the respect he had for her that made him feel he couldn't argue with her anymore. So, he finally agreed.
"They'll take you back home when everything is done, so don't worry about that," Fen added, giving him a reassuring look.
Zhan sat in her living room as Fen asked him to wait for the person who would pick him up. She turned on the TV, switching it to an Indian movie channel. He didn't understand the language, and the unease he'd felt all day only grew worse.
Just then, Peng entered, greeting them as he walked into the living room. Fen welcomed him warmly, and he found a seat. As soon as his eyes landed on Zhan, a sly smile crept onto his face. Zhan's discomfort intensified.
****
At exactly 5:30 PM, a rickshaw dropped Yibo off at an intersection where he was to meet Guo, the gatekeeper of Xu Liang's residence. Yibo had asked Guo to bring everything from his room, including two large bags.
Adjusting his cap lower to conceal his face, Yibo made his way to Guo, who was already standing with the bags by his side. When Guo saw Yibo, he broke into a wide grin.
"No one saw me leave, boss. The lady of the house has been away for two days, so it's just the kids and the maid left," Guo said proudly, clearly seeking approval for his discretion.
"You did well, Guo. Great work," Yibo replied as he reached for his phone.
He was expecting the man who had agreed to deliver a car to meet him there. Within minutes, the man arrived. The car wasn't brand new, as the seller had mentioned, but it was clean and well-maintained—good enough to pass as something more valuable. Yibo had known about the vehicle since his time in Guangzhou, where the car had been stored after being repaired from a previous accident. Once it was delivered, Yibo completed the payment.
With Guo's help, Yibo loaded the bags into the car before giving Guo a generous tip. Guo was so moved by the gesture that he nearly teared up, repeatedly thanking Yibo. As Yibo watched Guo leave in another rickshaw, he wondered if he would ever see the man again.
Taking out his phone, Yibo tried calling Peng. Peng was the last person he needed to see in Beijing before leaving the city for good. However, the number Yibo dialed was unavailable.
He considered dropping the idea altogether but couldn't bring himself to do it. Peng was a crucial link in his plans, and both Xu Liang and Qian had reached out through Peng to confirm his departure. Despite receiving multiple messages about resigning and leaving the city, Yibo felt compelled to follow through.
He got into the car and drove straight to Zang's residence, where Peng had been staying almost daily.
On his way, Yibo stopped to full his car tank with fuel before heading to the house. At the gate, the guard confirmed that Peng was inside, having arrived not long ago. Yibo parked his car next to Peng's and entered the house.
He knocked silently at first but didn't bother repeating himself, knowing it wasn't a house of married couples.
At the entrance to the living room, he noticed a pair of women's shoes, prompting him to click his tongue in annoyance. As he stepped inside, the thought crossed his mind—Peng would never change, still hanging out with questionable people like Zang.
But then, a loud crash followed by a distinct male voice from the living room caught his attention. Without hesitation, Yibo rushed inside, shouting Peng's name, uncertain if the voice belonged to him.
He opened the door to the first room, and that's when everything froze. Time seemed to stand still as his eyes took in the scene before him.
Peng was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, which trickled all the way to the doorway. He was coughing violently, blood spilling from his mouth.
Standing against the wall, trembling, was a young person... Lui. No, not Lui—someone who looked strikingly like his older sister, Lui.
The lack of a shirt on the figure revealed what Yibo had overlooked—a boy, not a girl, as he'd initially assumed. His shaking hand gripped what appeared to be a knife, dripping with blood.
Where did we leave off? Peng visiting Fen's house or Yibo arriving at Zang's house?
What do you think happened?
What do you think will happen now?
_I told you, this story is only just the beginning.
Zhanxianyibo💚❤️💛