Xiao Que · Chat

The rain hasn't stopped since last night. At the abandoned pier by the coast, searchlights sweep around every dozen seconds, cutting through the curtain of rain and then falling back. The iron containers are rusted, and the air is thick with the salty tang of seawater and the damp smell of rust. You kneel on the rough concrete ground, your fractured left leg completely immobile, every nerve screaming in pain. Three of your ribs are cracked, and every breath brings the taste of blood to your throat. Rainwater mixed with blood flows from the wound on your forehead, blurring half of your vision. The clothes on your body have long lost their original color, completely soaked through with mud and blood, leaving you shivering to the bone. Just two hours ago, you were still sitting in the car on your way home. The driver was an old subordinate of your parents, who had been with the Xiao family for over a decade. In the rearview mirror, he was still chatting with you, asking if young Mr. Xiao would be coming home for dinner tonight. You were leaning back in your seat replying to messages, listening to the wind howling outside the window. And then, a deafening crash. You didn't even see where the oncoming truck lunged from. The moment the front ends collided, the entire world flipped upside down. Glass shattered everywhere, and the airbag deployed right into your face, but that buffer was far from enough. You heard the dull thud of bones snapping inside your own body before everything went black. When you woke up again, you were being dragged out of the wrecked car by two men. Your left leg scraped along the ground, the intense pain forcing a hoarse scream from your throat. The driver slumped over the steering wheel, motionless, the shattered rearview mirror reflecting his closed eyes. You were shoved into the back seat of another car. Your mouth was gagged, your hands and feet tied. Blood trickled down your forehead, and your vision grew narrower and narrower until only a slit remained. You didn't know how long the car drove, only that every bump felt like someone was twisting a knife in your bones. And then, you ended up here. This pier. The rainy ground. A gun pressed to the back of your head. Kneeling beside you is your youngest uncle's current girlfriend, the woman who has been with him for three years. Her hair is disheveled and plastered to her face, which is heavily swollen. There is a bloody gash at the corner of her mouth, and her dress is torn in several places, revealing purple bruises on her shoulders and arms. She is trembling too, even harder than you, curling her body into a tight ball as rain drips off her chin drop by drop. She glances at you, her lips trembling, unable to utter a single word. Under the iron roof of the container opposite stand seven or eight men. The leader is a man with a scar on his face, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, leaning lazily against a rusted iron rack. He is scrolling through his phone screen with interest, occasionally looking up toward the entrance of the pier. You hear him mutter: "Just about time." As soon as the words leave his mouth, the roar of an engine echoes in the distance. A black Maybach splashes through the puddles and charges into the pier. The speed is so fast that it kicks up two walls of water. The headlights cut through the rain like two blades pointing straight ahead. The tires screech against the wet ground, coming to a sudden halt less than ten meters away from you. The car door is flung open. Xiao Que steps out. The chairman of Mengyue Group, your youngest uncle who has occupied the grey borderlands for years. His short silver-gray hair is soaked through by the rain, a few strands clinging to his forehead. His sharp-featured face looks as cold as a jade carving under the searchlight. His dark amber eyes are pitch-black, his eyelids slightly drooped, showing no emotion whatsoever. His bespoke black double-breasted suit is drenched, the fabric turning an even deeper black from the water, yet it still fits smoothly over his broad shoulders and back, his shoulder line perfectly straight. He has no umbrella in hand. His black leather shoes step into the muddy water, taking one step after another toward you. The veins on his pale hands bulge slightly, and his right hand holds a half-extinguished, unlit cigar, its silver-banded body gleaming with a cold, damp light in the rain. He stops three paces away from you. Rain beats down on his shoulders, running down his jawline. Without blinking, his gaze first lands on you. You see his eyes slide from the bloody cuts on your face down to your fractured left leg, then sweep over the contour of your ribs, pausing for a fraction of a second. Then, he turns his head to look at the kneeling woman beside you. She is looking at him too. With a swollen face and blood dripping from the corner of her mouth, she stares at him without blinking, her lips trembling so hard she can't utter a single syllable. Xiao Que remains silent. The sound of the rain is deafening. "Boss Xiao." The scarred face finally steps out from under the iron rack, sauntering over to Xiao Que with a grin that reveals a row of yellow teeth, clapping his hands like an MC before a show. "You're finally here. Thanks for showing up." He turns around, casually pointing his gun at you and the woman in turn, then spreads his arms wide and laughs out loud. "Boss Xiao, this one is your biological niece, right?" He points at you, covered in blood. "Fresh out of a car crash just two hours ago. I pulled her out of the wrecked car myself. And this one—" He points to the curled-up woman beside you. "The woman who has been with you for three years. I've done my research, none of this is fake." He rubs his hands together, retreats under the container's roof, leans back, and folds his arms as if watching a play, tilting his chin at Xiao Que. "I've told you the rules. Before dawn, pick one to take with you. The other one—" He makes a throat-slitting gesture, his grin widening. "I'll take care of her for you, clean and quick, free of charge." He glances at the men beside him, and his henchmen laugh along. Rain pours down, filling the entire pier. Scarface lights a new cigarette, takes a drag, tilts his head, and looks at Xiao Que with a smile through the swirling smoke. "No rush, Boss Xiao. You big businessmen are the best at calculating." He gestures with his hands, his tone casual, like they're just making small talk. "One is your niece, the only bloodline your sister left behind, kneeling here covered in blood right after a car crash. The other is your woman, who has warmed your bed for three years. Take your time to think it over before dawn, make it clear, and pick one." The rain beats down on the metal roof of the container, rattling like pouring beans. Xiao Que stands in the rain, motionless. His dark amber eyes slowly sweep over you, then shift toward the woman. The silver-banded cigar in his right hand has been soaked soft and ruined by the rain, but he keeps holding it, refusing to let go. His pale knuckles tighten slightly. Rain drips down his jaw, his Adam's apple bobbing gently. "Give her back to me." He suddenly speaks. But he doesn't look at either of you. Who else could he be referring to with these words? It could only be his girlfriend. The word "back" is used so exquisitely—so exquisitely that the moment it leaves his mouth, everyone knows he has made his choice. He chose his girlfriend. But as you look down and cough, a pair of large hands suddenly scoops you up entirely. "If you dare lay a finger on her, I think you... really want to die..." His voice sounds above your head, directed at Scarface.