What Happened at Fen's House
"I just wanted to share some advice, Madam," said Tong, Fen's housekeeper, standing at the kitchen entrance. Fen had just closed the fridge after pouring something into a cup and putting the bottle back inside.
"Go on, I'm listening," Fen replied, looking at her.
"It's about that boy, Zhan. I noticed you seem to have plans for him, so I thought I'd offer my thoughts, if you don't mind, just to avoid potential problems."
Fen's lips curved into a brief smile—small but loaded with meaning. She had already considered every angle before they even reached this point.
"What is it, Tong? Speak your mind."
Tong adjusted her posture respectfully. "In the few days Zhan has been coming here, working with me, I've realized he's not like the others you've dealt with. He's inexperienced, doesn't know much about anything, and even now, I don't think he fully understands what's going on. I was thinking it might be better to give him more time to figure things out, so you doesn't end up in trouble."
Fen's smile deepened, but her tone remained steady. "Don't worry, Tong. Nothing will happen. I've dealt with plenty like Zhan before, and I've guided them all my way. You weren't here when I started, so you wouldn't know. If I listed all the men and women I've shaped—people you know now—you'd be amazed."
"Unbelievable," Tong murmured, nodding out of politeness, though she still felt uneasy.
"You see, Tong, life is about seizing opportunities. People like Zhan need a wake-up call. If they don't find themselves neck-deep in trouble, they won't ever realize what they're capable of. That's why I've already set my plans in motion. I gave him this job not because I couldn't find someone else, but because I needed to pull him into my web. And look—it's already working. Things are falling into place. Soon, he'll prove even more useful than the ones I've worked with before."
Without waiting for a response, Fen walked past Tong and down the corridor to the sitting room, where Zhan was waiting. With a calculated mix of charm and subtle manipulation, she handed him the drink she'd prepared in the kitchen.
Within minutes, the effects of the concoction began to take hold. It weakened Zhan's body just enough to make him compliant, ensuring everything would go according to her plan. Fen never doubted her methods. Tonight, she would lay the foundation for her next move, confident there was no chance of failure.
When Peng arrived at the house, Fen greeted him warmly, assuring him everything was in place. Following their plan, she handed him the package she was meant to deliver that evening.
Peng glanced at Zhan, who sat quietly in the corner of the sitting room, his body language screaming unease. The moment their eyes met, Peng's mind solidified the decision he had already made.
Zhan followed Peng hesitantly out to the car. As Peng opened the door and got inside, he unlocked the passenger side for Zhan, who climbed in reluctantly, his nerves evident in every movement.
"How are you?" Peng asked casually, breaking the silence as they pulled onto the main road. Zhan shifted in his seat before responding.
"I'm fine," he replied. "But please, can we hurry? I didn't tell anyone at home I was going out."
Peng turned to look at him, surprised. "Oh, you didn't know you were going anywhere?"
Zhan shook his head. "Fen only told me when I arrived. She said there's a house looking for someone to teach lessons."
Peng smirked, his expression unreadable. "What a setup," he muttered under his breath.
When Zhan glanced at him, confused by the comment, Peng added, "Don't worry. We'll be back soon."
Peng said nothing more after that. But in his mind, he calculated how little effort or money this boy would actually require. The evening would be simple.
The silence in the car remained until Peng's phone rang. He answered, putting the call on speaker.
"Hey, are you still at the house?" It was Zang. "Some of the guys called me. They want to use the place for a get-together."
Peng frowned, irritation flickering across his face. "Seriously? You know I need some space. Just tell them it's not happening."
"They're not planning to show up until after 9," Zang replied.
"Fine." Peng ended the call abruptly, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.
As he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, he thought bitterly about how he lacked a home of his own. His father had effectively cut off any financial support, forcing him to live at Zang's place. Now, even strangers treated it as their playground.
He sighed, then turned up the music playing softly in the car. The sudden volume made Zhan shift uncomfortably, his anxiety rising.
All Zhan wanted was for this errand to end quickly so he could return home. For some reason, being around Peng filled him with unease, especially after seeing him at Fen's house earlier. His instincts screamed that something was wrong.
Zhan kept glancing at the unfamiliar road as they passed through it. Even if he agreed to this job, he wasn't sure he could find his way back—it felt too far and disorienting.
Not long after, Peng made a turn that brought them to the gate of a small house. The gatekeeper opened it, and they drove inside. Peng parked the car and glanced at Zhan.
"Alright, let's go inside," Peng instructed casually.
Zhan hesitated as he stepped out of the car. His legs felt unsteady, his entire body weighed down by an inexplicable weakness.
"Come on, move," Peng added impatiently, already heading toward the porch.
Zhan paused again but eventually followed. Peng unlocked the front door and entered, leaving it open for Zhan to step in after him. Zhan noticed the shoes neatly arranged near the entrance and slipped off the flat slippers he'd borrowed from Ning before stepping inside.
A strange silence filled the house, and Zhan felt uneasy. Something didn't sit right with him, but he couldn't quite put it into words.
Peng walked ahead and opened a door. "Go in," he said, motioning Zhan toward the room.
Reluctantly, Zhan stepped inside, assuming Peng would leave to get whoever he had mentioned. But instead, Peng followed him into the room—and shut the door.
"If no one's here, I think I should leave," Zhan said, his voice trembling slightly as he turned to face Peng.
Peng leaned back against the door, his arms crossed. A faint smile played on his lips. "Leave? Did Fen not explain this to you properly? First of all, let's settle this—name your price."
"What do you mean?" Zhan asked, his confusion deepening. "Fen told me this was a house where I'd be tutoring kids."
Peng ran a hand over his head, his smile turning into a condescending chuckle. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be. You're not a woman, are you? So why are you acting clueless? You know what I mean."
It took Zhan a moment, but the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Peng's tone, the locked door, and his smile—it all clicked. Whatever Peng intended, it wasn't right.
Fear surged through Zhan's chest, and he instinctively began backing away.
"Please... don't do this," Zhan stammered. "I swear, I don't know what you're talking about. Fen said—"
"Yes! And this is the work," Peng interrupted sharply.
Zhan barely registered Peng's words before Peng closed the distance between them in mere seconds. What followed was a chaotic blur of movement and noise. Zhan screamed, struggled, and tried to fight Peng off with all his strength.
But his limbs felt heavy, and his body seemed to betray him, growing weaker with each passing second. Whatever Fen had given him earlier—it was doing its job.
Zhan's vision blurred as Peng forced him down onto something soft—a mattress or couch, he couldn't tell. He continued to thrash and scream, but Peng muffled his cries and pinned him down with ease. Zhan's clothes were torn in the struggle, and he could barely keep his eyes open.
Through the haze, Zhan spotted something in the corner of the room: a sharp metal rod, glinting faintly in the dim light. Summoning every ounce of strength left in him, Zhan reached for it.
He gripped the rod tightly, and just as Peng leaned closer, Zhan swung with all his might. The sharp end pierced Peng's side.
Peng let out a pained grunt and staggered back, clutching his wound in shock. Blood seeped through his fingers, and his face twisted in disbelief.
But Peng wasn't done. He lunged at Zhan again, his rage evident. Zhan swung the rod once more, driving it deeper into Peng's abdomen this time.
Fear gripped Zhan as he saw the agony reflected in Peng's face. His hands, trembling and sticky with blood, still held the metal rod lodged in Peng's stomach. Panicked, Zhan shook his head frantically, tears streaming down his face. He made an impulsive attempt to fix what he'd done, pulling the rod out with force.
The sound of metal scraping against bone mixed with Peng's agonized cries. Blood gushed out in thick streams, soaking his shirt. Peng staggered backward and collapsed onto his knees, clutching his wound as his breath came in shallow gasps.
Zhan scrambled to the far corner of the room, clutching the bloodied rod close to his chest. He sank to the floor, shaking uncontrollably, tears blending with his sobs as Peng writhed in agony, groaning loudly and clawing at the floor.
Time felt like it had stopped. Minutes stretched endlessly as Peng's movements became more erratic, his gasps turning into rattles. Blood trickled from his mouth, and his body began to convulse violently.
And then the door burst open.
The first thing Yibo did upon stepping inside was turn away. He couldn't stomach the sight that greeted him—a room filled with blood, Peng writhing on the floor, and Zhan trembling in the corner, his body almost naked, clutching a bloodied rod.
The metallic smell of blood hung thick in the air. Slowly, Yibo turned back to face the scene. His eyes darted from Peng, whose body was now limp and twitching, to Zhan, who had dropped the weapon and was frantically pulling a blanket over himself, as if to shield his exposed body from the horrors of reality.
Yibo hesitated, his mind racing. He forced his feet to move and knelt next to Peng, whose chest heaved in uneven gasps.
"Peng, Peng, can you hear me?" Yibo called, his voice steady despite the growing panic in his chest.
From the corner, Zhan's wails rose in volume. "I didn't mean to hurt him! I just—I just wanted him to stop! I swear I didn't know it would—" His words dissolved into sobs.
Yibo tried to lift Peng's head gently, his hands sticky with blood. "Stay with me," he urged. "Hold on, Peng."
Peng's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and cloudy. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was blood. His body convulsed one final time before going limp.
Yibo froze. He stared at Peng's lifeless body, the blood pooling around him. Slowly, he realized the truth: Peng was dead.
A crushing weight settled over Yibo's chest as he placed Peng's head gently on the floor. His hands, trembling now, moved to close Peng's eyes, though they refused to stay shut.
He stood, unsteady and dazed. The room spun, the metallic smell of blood making his stomach churn.
Zhan's cries pierced through his haze.
And Yibo wasn't sure if it was Zhan's sobs that pulled him back to reality, but suddenly, his mind began to clear. He glanced once more at Peng's lifeless body on the floor, then at Zhan, who was trembling in the corner. Without a word, Yibo stepped forward, picked up the bloodied metal rod, and motioned for Zhan to be silent.
"Get up. We're leaving," he said firmly.
Zhan's eyes widened in panic, his body shrinking further into the corner. He clutched the blanket tighter around himself, shaking his head frantically.
"If you stay here, the police will find you," Yibo said sharply. "Do you want them to take you away?"
Zhan continued shaking his head, tears streaming down his face. His breaths came in short, shallow gasps as Yibo's words began to sink in.
"I'm trying to save your life," Yibo pressed, his tone unwavering. "If you want to survive, you need to trust me. Come on."
Yibo didn't wait for a response. He turned and walked to the door, pausing briefly to glance back over his shoulder.
Zhan remained frozen, his gaze darting between Yibo's back and Peng's body on the floor. His mind raced, replaying Yibo's words over and over. Slowly, his legs moved, shaky and unsteady. He wrapped the blanket tightly around himself, stepping carefully over Peng's body as though afraid it might come back to life.
When he reached the door, Yibo didn't say a word. He turned and walked out, and Zhan, against all instincts, followed.
Outside, Yibo spotted the gate-guard approaching them quickly from the gate, concern etched on his face.
"Sir, I've been waiting out here. I thought I heard yelling inside," the guard said, his voice edged with curiosity and suspicion.
Yibo acted quickly. He opened the back door of the car and gestured for Zhan to climb in. "Get in and lie down," he ordered in a low voice.
Zhan obeyed without hesitation, slipping into the car and lying flat across the back seat, still clutching the blanket tightly around him.
Yibo turned back to the guard. "You didn't hear anything. It must've been the wind," he said curtly, his tone dismissive.
The guard hesitated but nodded. "Oh... yes, sir. My mistake."
Yibo opened the driver's side door and got in. From where Zhan lay, he watched as Yibo wiped the dried blood from his hands with a rag before tossing it aside. The car started with a low hum, and they rolled toward the gate.
As they reached the exit, Yibo pulled some cash from the glove compartment. He didn't even count it before handing it to the guard.
"For your trouble," he said simply.
The guard's face lit up as he accepted the money, bowing in gratitude. "Thank you, sir! Thank you!"
Yibo didn't acknowledge him further. The gate opened, and the car pulled onto the street.
Zhan remained hidden in the backseat, his heart pounding as the car sped down an unfamiliar road. The streetlights blurred past the window, casting fleeting beams of light across his pale, tear-streaked face. His body felt heavy, every bone aching as exhaustion settled deep into his muscles.
What Zhan didn't know was that Yibo himself had no idea where they were headed. His mind was in disarray, every plan he'd meticulously crafted now shattered. His thoughts spiraled as images of Peng's bloodied body flashed in his mind, vivid and unrelenting.
Yibo gripped the steering wheel tighter, forcing his focus onto the road ahead. But even as he drove, leaving Peng behind, he couldn't shake the suffocating weight of what had just happened.
:-*:-*:-*:-*
The door to the room creaked open, and Qian gently stepped inside, her eyes scanning the scattered contents across the room. Despite the grandeur and elegance of the space, the mess gave it an air of chaos.
By the bed, Shi Lei stood holding two documents in his hands, his eyes darting between them as he read. She had known, from the moment she was told he'd been home since the afternoon, that something serious was occupying his mind.
Qian walked further into the room, her movements careful. She stopped at the edge of the bed, and only then did Shi Lei glance up at her.
"Busy working at home today, honey?" she asked with a soft smile, expecting his usual return smile, but he merely shook his head and continued reading the papers in his hands.
She perched on the edge of the bed, her curiosity piqued.
"I didn't even realize you were home," she said. "I've been meaning to ask you something. Is it true that Yibo has quit his job? I woke up to a text from him this morning, and I was shocked."
This time, Shi Lei turned fully to face her, letting out a deep sigh.
"That's what I've been dealing with all day," he said, his voice heavy with frustration. "Yibo isn't who we thought he was. He was a planted investigator sent to gather information about me. He's been living under our roof all this time for that purpose."
Qian's heart sank. A wave of unease washed over her, far greater than she expected. Her mind reeled, flashing back to every moment she'd shared with Yibo—every time she'd asked him about her husband, every piece of information he'd given her. It all started to make sense in a way that left her feeling betrayed and unsettled.
"An investigation? Into what?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
"I don't know," Shi Lei replied, rubbing his temple. "You know how this country is now. You can't amass wealth without someone sniffing around, trying to accuse you of something."
His explanation didn't sit right with her, but she nodded anyway.
"So why did he quit?" she pressed. "Did you confront him? Did he find out you knew who he really was?"
"That's what I can't figure out," Shi Lei lied smoothly. "I got a call late last night informing me about his true identity. Then this morning, I saw his resignation text."
In truth, Shi Lei knew everything that had happened. He was fully aware of Yibo's investigation, the death of Gideon, Yibo's dismissal, and his subsequent escape from their organization. Yibo was now a wanted man, being hunted relentlessly.
Even now, Shi Lei was combing through all the paperwork in the house, searching for any trace of information Yibo might have taken with him. His superior had ordered him to ensure that Yibo didn't leave with anything that could be used against them, especially since he hadn't gotten hold of the flash drive.
"This is such a strange turn of events, Shi Lei," Qian said, shaking her head. "We all trusted Yibo completely. I even encouraged him to take Peng under his wing and mentor him..."
"That's exactly how they operate, honey," Shi Lei replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "They earn your trust so they can access everything they need to take you down."
Shi Lei paused, his mind suddenly clicking into place. Peng! If Yibo needed help or a hiding place, Peng was likely the first person he'd approach. His expression darkened as he turned to Qian.
"Call Peng immediately," he instructed, his voice sharp. "Tell him everything, and make sure he knows to contact me the moment Yibo tries to reach him."
She frowned deeply, her brows furrowing in confusion.
"Why, honey? Didn't he quit working with you? I thought everything between you two was over now that you know who he really is."
"Qian, just do as I've asked," Shi Lei replied sharply. "There are things I don't need to explain to you in detail. You should understand that by now."
She seemed on the verge of saying more but held herself back. At this point, she didn't want her own secrets regarding Yibo to come to light. If she pressed too hard or asked too many questions, she knew her husband's sharp instincts would kick in, and he might start suspecting her. Instead, she pulled out her phone and scrolled to Peng's number.
However, no matter how many times she called—four attempts in total—there was no answer.
"He must have put his phone away and gone off somewhere. He'll answer when he comes back," she said calmly, though she was internally unsettled. It wasn't the first time Peng had ignored her calls. Some days, she'd have to try ten times before he finally picked up.
Shi Lei said nothing, turning back to his pile of documents, continuing to sift through them with a focused expression.
Minutes later, just as Qian was preparing to redial Peng's number again, her phone rang with an unfamiliar number flashing on the screen.
She picked up immediately and pressed the phone to her ear.
Before she could even process the voice on the other end—a panicked Zang—his words hit her like a freight train. The sheer shock in his tone made it unmistakable.
"Aunty, please come to my house immediately. Peng is dead. Yibo killed him!"
Her breath hitched, caught in her throat. It felt like the air had been sucked out of her lungs entirely.
The next thing she was aware of was the sound of Shi Lei's documents hitting the floor as he strode toward her, his face etched with alarm.
:-*:-*:-*:-*
A large black-and-white photo lay sprawled across the surface of a polished desk. Yibo's face stared back from the image, his expression stern and defiant. The man holding the photo set it down and reached for a thick folder beside it.
The folder contained Yibo's entire life story—pages upon pages detailing everything about him, from his kindergarten years to the present day. The man flipped through a few pages before closing the folder and placing it neatly next to the photo.
He picked up his cup of steaming tea, took two slow sips, and finally looked up at the man standing before his desk.
"As I've already told you, Sir," the man standing said firmly, "it's been confirmed. He was dismissed from his position exactly one week ago."
The man's lips curled into a smile, his expression exuding both charm and confidence. He placed the cup back on the table before fixing his gaze on the person standing before him.
"Do you know where he is now?"
"Yes," the subordinate responded. "We detected his voice at a mobile company through a new line he recently purchased. Before I came here, I was informed that he's currently on the move, traveling in a car."
"Excellent! I've been waiting for Yibo for years, A-Lee," the man said, his voice growing sharper with excitement. "And now, finally, he's making things easier for me…"
Before A-Lee could respond, the man interrupted himself. "Tell Kung Hai to set another plate at the table tomorrow morning. Make sure that when I have breakfast, I'll be sharing it with Yibo, here, in this house."
A-Lee nodded respectfully.
"Understood, sir."
The man leaned back in his chair, his smile deepening as he murmured under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear.
"Welcome, Yibo."
Where do you think Yibo is heading, with Zhan in the back of his car?
What are your thoughts on Zhan's current state of mind?
Yibo killed Peng—do you believe there's a way to change that truth?
How will Peng's parents react when they learn about Yibo?
Who is this mysterious man?
Why is he so determined to find Yibo?
The paths of destiny are unfolding for each of our characters... and the stakes have never been higher.
Zhanxianyibo ❤️💚💛