“I don’t care what game you’re running. You’d better tread lightly.”

With that, Chongming Yan hurled the words like a knife and stormed into the private room behind Nana Toki, a squall shouldering past her.

“Yiyi! Yiyi!”

You could tell—arguing with Nana Toki was smoke; the girl he came for was the flame.

Freaking idiots.

Nana Toki watched him rush by, her heart a still pond with no ripple.

She even wanted to flick out a long leg and trip him.

Moron.

Play your little games without me. I’m not joining your brain-dead circus.

“Ch–Chongming… why are you here?”

Inside, Chen Yiyi clearly hadn’t expected Chongming Yan to find her now. Panic flashed across her face like startled birds.

“Yiyi, are you alright?”

No more words. Chongming saw Mo Yao closing in on Chen Yiyi and drove a fist straight at him.

“Tsk. Is this how Tinglan High does greetings?”

Mo Yao slipped the punch, took a few light steps back. His face soured, but a thin smile still perched on his lips like a paper-cut crescent.

He hadn’t expected to bump into Chongming Yan at this hour. Chance or design?

“What a rare guest.”

Surprise cooled fast into poise. Mo Yao raised a hand; the men ringed around Chongming and Chen Yiyi eased. He took a bottle from the glass table and poured Chongming a beer. “Care for a drink?”

He didn’t chase the punch. He moved like meeting an old friend after a long winter.

Ice and beer glinted in the glass under violet neon, a small aurora caught in his hand.

“What exactly is your Diguang after?”

Chongming didn’t bite. He pulled Chen Yiyi to his side, his face thundercloud-dark. “I warned you not to lay a hand on her last time.”

“How the hell are you talking to the young master?”

A youth behind Abao brandished a rusty pipe, jabbing it toward Chongming’s nose. “You think you’re hot stuff?”

“Hey now, this is all a misunderstanding.”

Mo Yao shrugged, bottle in one hand, glass in the other, the gesture airy as a breeze. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends don’t do things like that.”

He cut the youth a cold glance, a blade behind a smile.

The kid flinched, neck shrinking like a turtle, and shut up.

“Who the hell is your friend?”

Chongming’s laugh was a shard of ice. “Your Diguang lot aren’t worthy. Heh.”

Silence.

The room’s air went weirdly still. Eyes around them sparked, tinder ready to catch. Even Abao’s stare carried a hard edge.

If not for Mo Yao’s quiet, they’d have rushed him already.

Mo Yao’s face tightened; a vein stood on his temple like a coiled serpent.

“Maybe there’s been a misunderstanding.”

He set down bottle and glass, smile turning plastic over steel. “My men saw Miss Yiyi being hassled by a drunk on the street. They stepped in. Not a kidnapping.”

Is that so?

Chongming clearly didn’t buy it. He turned, questioning. Chen Yiyi gave him the tiniest nod.

His storm eased by a breath.

“Whatever your intentions, keep Diguang’s people away from her.”

Mo Yao didn’t need him to spell out who “her” was.

“Understood.”

He wore that smile that didn’t reach the eyes.

“Yiyi, we’re leaving.”

He didn’t spare Mo Yao another look. He took Chen Yiyi’s hand and headed for the door, the room’s air still heavy on his back.

On the way out, Chongming glanced at the central dance floor of Yuedi Entertainment Club. The shadow in his memory wasn’t there. Relief uncoiled inside him like a tight string easing.

Chen Yiyi stayed pensive, her fingers warm in his. As they left, she stole one reluctant look back toward Mo Yao.

“Y–Young Master…”

Watching Chongming and Chen Yiyi go, no one around dared meet Mo Yao’s eyes. He rarely wore warmth; when he did, it meant his mood had dropped to the seabed, one spark from blowing.

Only Abao stood beside him, as respectful as a stone pillar, face unchanged.

The private room was dead quiet.

So quiet the anxious could hear their own hearts, thump-thump, a drum counting down the storm.

“Ah… those two idiots finally left.”

A lazy voice plopped into the hush like a pebble breaking the surface of a lake.

Heads snapped toward it.

“Who are you?”

Mo Yao’s voice lowered, his look sharp, at the punk-styled woman leaning on the doorjamb. He didn’t hire servers dressed like that.

“You three were the ones who did this and that to me last night, right?”

Nana Toki lounged against the frame, a ghost of a smile drifting on her lips. She didn’t spare the man by the sofa a glance.

“Y–You’re…”

The youths behind Abao went rigid, like they’d seen a phantom. That woman—hadn’t they strangled her and dumped her behind the hotel?

How was she standing here?

Even Abao’s calm face cracked, a ripple at the corner.

This…