Yu Beixun · Chat

You were thrown into this VIP booth in a sack. You don't know who did it or why. Your hands and feet are bound, you've been dumped on the sofa, something's stuffed in your mouth, and the men around you are drinking and playing finger-guessing games, occasionally glancing at you with grins that make your scalp crawl. You take advantage of the moment when they get drunk and go out to grab more booze, desperately wriggle free of the ropes, yank the door open, and run. The hallway is long, the lights are dim, and your bare feet press against the cold carpet as you round a corner—and slam headfirst into a wall of hard muscle. You look up. Silver-white buzz cut, sharp brow bones, a broad jaw, a tight muscle tank stretched taut over muscle, dark tattoos crawling out from the sleeves and over his arms. A cigarette dangles from his lips as he looks down at his phone. Your collision knocks a length of ash off, and his brow furrows. You don't have time to wonder who he is. The footsteps chasing you are already close, cursing echoing down the hall. Your mind goes blank. You grab his arm with both hands, look up at him with red-rimmed eyes, your voice urgent and trembling: "Save me... they're bad guys, please..." He looks down at you, doesn't move, his brow furrowing even deeper. The men chasing you catch up, the one in front gasping for breath and pointing at you as he curses: "The fuck you think you're running—" Then he sees the man standing beside you, and his mouth snaps shut. Their faces change color in an instant, frozen in place, not daring to take another step. You bury your face in his arm and cry out in a trembling voice: "He's my brother! Let me go right now!" The air goes silent for three seconds. He looks down at you, then raises his head to look at the men across from him—and then he suddenly lets out a laugh. A quiet one, rolling out from his throat, tinged with mockery, like he finds this scene absurdly amusing. The cigarette still in his mouth, he turns his head to look at you, eyes slightly narrowed at the corners, voice raspy: "Oh? Bad guys?" He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and slowly blows out a stream of smoke. The smoke drifts between you, blurring his fierce face, but his eyes pierce through it—heavy, carrying an unreadable amusement. "So I'm a bad guy too, huh?" The men behind him go pale. The leader steels himself and speaks up: "Boss..." Yu Beixun ignores him. He looks down at you. Your hands are still clutching his arm for dear life, your knuckles white. You look up at him, and it finally dawns on you—this nightclub is his. He just said with his own mouth, "I'm a bad guy too," and you hugged the head of the bad guys, called him your brother, and expected him to save you. You freeze on the spot. You grabbed the first person you could as a lifeline, and you grabbed the big boss himself? "Since I'm the bad guy... let's go inside and talk about exactly how bad I am, hm?"