Chapter 62: Something's Wrong
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
The sharp, urgent knocking echoed through the office, so forceful it sounded like someone might kick the door down. Only one person had the audacity to bang on Ye Xiwen's door like that—Fu Junyao.
Ye jolted upright, her cheeks flushing as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't. Her heart raced, and she shot Wu Yifan a panicked look. "Well? Aren't you going to open it?"
Wu, who'd been savoring the rare moment of calm with Ye, sighed. He'd hoped to linger, to chip away at her reserve a little more, but Fu's arrival had ruined that. He crossed the room and pulled the door open.
Fu stood in the doorway, her chest heaving, her face flushed from what looked like a sprint. Her eyes darted between Wu and Ye, narrowing suspiciously for a split second before she pushed past them, her voice tight. "Xiwen jie, something's wrong."
Ye blinked, relieved Fu wasn't commenting on their proximity. "What happened?"
Wu, figuring whatever drama Fu brought had nothing to do with him, started to back out. He'd had enough of her glares and accusations for one day.
"Don't go," Fu said, whirling around. "You need to hear this too."
Wu paused. "Me? What does this have to do with me?"
Fu's jaw tightened. "Remember the alcohol poisoning case? The two brothers who framed you—they're dead. Suicide, in their jail cells. And that old man, Fang Bailong—the one who testified for you? He died in the hospital. Suddenly. All our leads? Gone. Whoever's behind this covered their tracks."
Ye gasped. "Suicide? That can't be right."
Wu's expression hardened. He'd suspected Qian Baoqing was ruthless, but this? Killing witnesses, even an old man? It crossed a line.
"'Suicide' is what the report says," Fu muttered, her hands curling into fists. "But there are no wounds, no signs of struggle. Just two dead men and a老人 (elderly man) who 'died of complications.' I don't buy it. Qian's fingerprints are all over this."
Ye's voice trembled. "He'd kill an innocent old man? For what? To silence him?"
"To send a message," Wu said, his voice cold. "To scare us. To make us back down."
But beneath the anger, guilt gnawed at him. If he hadn't asked Fang Bailong to testify, the old man would still be alive. If he hadn't tangled with Qian, none of this would've happened.
"I'll kill him," Wu whispered, his hands shaking. "I'll tear him apart."
Ye and Fu exchanged alarmed looks. This wasn't the lazy, joking Wu they knew—this was a man consumed by rage.
"Calm down," Ye said, stepping closer. "If you charge in blindly, you'll play right into his hands. He wants you to lose control."
Fu nodded. "She's right. Qian's got connections—cops, gangsters, judges. If you act out, he'll have you locked up before you can blink."
Wu closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opened them, the fury had dimmed, replaced by a steely resolve. "You're both right. Revenge won't bring Fang Bailong back. But making Qian pay? That will."
An hour later, Song Mingjie, the portly gang leader, burst into the office, his face red. "I heard what happened. That bastard Qian! I'll round up my boys—we'll burn down his stupid club, see how he likes—"
"Slow down, Song," Wu cut him off. "Rioting plays into his hands. We need a plan. Something… bigger."
Song's eyes lit up. "Bigger? How big?"
"Big enough to take him down for good. No more games, no more half-measures." Wu leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "We hit him where it hurts—his money, his reputation, everything. We make sure he can never hurt anyone again."
He outlined his plan, and Song's grin grew wider, more sinister, with each word.
"Damn, Wu ge (Brother Wu)," Song said, clapping him on the back. "That's ice cold. I love it."
"Good. But one mistake, and we're all finished. No slip-ups."
Song saluted. "You got it. I'll get my best men on it tonight."
Across town, Qian Baoqing stared out his office window at the darkening sky. He'd ruled Beitian's underworld for decades, crushing enemies without a second thought. But something about Wu Yifan—something in that man's lazy smile, that calm under pressure—uneased him.
"Boss," a henchman said, stepping into the room, "the men are ready. Should we make a move on Infinity?"
Qian shook his head. "No. Not yet. That Wu… he's smarter than he looks. He'll be expecting us to strike. Let him wait. Let the uncertainty eat at him." He turned, his eyes cold. "But tell the men to stay sharp. And if Wu so much as breathes wrong? Take him out. Quietly."
The henchman nodded, retreating.
Qian picked up a photo of his club, the "Eastern Coast," and smirked. He'd built an empire on fear. One security guard wouldn't bring it down.
Not if he had anything to say about it.
Outside, the night grew colder, the city holding its breath. On one side, Qian Baoqing, confident in his power. On the other, Wu Yifan, plotting a reckoning.
The stage was set. And this time, there would be no turning back.