“Woman? What woman?” Wang Jinping breathed out a cloud like morning fog, took the photo from He Jiawen, and joked, voice light as drifting ash, “If it’s just petty catfights, I’m not stepping in.”

“Heh, relax. If it were petty, I wouldn’t be here.” He Jiawen’s smile glinted like a knife under silk; spite pooled in her eyes like ink in cold water. That woman called Lu Qiqi wrecked her face at school, and dragged her pride through the mud.

A small lesson wouldn’t cool the blaze in her chest; fairness needed blood, not balm.

“So how d’you want me to handle her?” Wang Jinping spoke around his cigarette like a snake hiding behind reeds, his gaze never leaving the photo in his hand.

The woman in the picture was caught in profile, but the black bikini clung like night on water; her body burned into memory like a brand. The heat He Jiawen had doused in him flared back up, lit by glossy paper and a phantom scent.

“I want you to ruin her.” He Jiawen’s voice turned frost-bitten, venom seeping like winter into an empty field. “Do to her what you did to me—double it.”

“You mean you want me to rape her?” Wang Jinping finally looked up, eyes cold as steel under shade. “That’s not so simple. I act wild here because this is Changshan Street; outside it, I’m nothing.”

He prowled this patch because a high-seated father swept up his mess like waves erase footprints. But that tide stopped at Changshan Street; beyond it, his old man wouldn’t save a drowning son.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve already pulled a few strings and grabbed some dirt on her before I came.” Her words flowed smooth, but her hatred coiled like a viper. “She’ll walk in on her own, soon.” He Jiawen had lined up every chess piece to strike at Nana Toki—called Lu Qiqi by them—yet she didn’t know Nana Toki crouched less than ten meters away, quiet as a cat in weeds, hearing every syllable.

“You’re wicked, you know that? Last time you didn’t look like this.” Wang Jinping grinned, flicked his spent butt to the floor, and ground it out like a beetle. He looked pleased, like a wolf offered raw meat. “I’m in. If a woman shows up free at my door and I say no, wouldn’t that make me gutless? Besides, A-Yi and the boys are coming anyway. We just talked. By now, they should be close.”

“Oh? For real?”

“Yeah, of course—” He turned, answering on instinct, but his voice snapped like a twig underfoot. Even He Jiawen froze, eyes wide as if she’d seen a ghost.

Nana Toki stood not far away, arms folded like white blades across her chest. Her eyes curved, smiling without warmth, amusement flickering like foxfire. Sunlight sliced through the warehouse windows and painted her in pale gold, making her look half-spirit, half-shadow.

“Lu Qiqi! You.” When had she arrived? He Jiawen hadn’t heard a leaf stir.

“Sure, it’s me. You invited me. If I don’t come, who would?” Nana Toki walked out of the corner like a breeze through reeds, not a hint of the timid schoolgirl He Jiawen expected—only swagger sharp as a hawk’s beak. “I waited outside a while. No one came to greet me. I got bored, so I climbed in over the wall.”

She pointed, playful as a cat batting a moth, at a window more than twenty meters up, a small square of sky like a cold eye.

“...” What nonsense was this? That height wasn’t something a normal schoolgirl scaled like a backyard fence.

It was Wang Jinping’s first time meeting a woman this interesting; his stare lingered like heat mirage on asphalt. “You’re Lu Qiqi?”

“Mm-hm. That’s me.” Lately, a faint, untouchable smile haunted Nana Toki’s face like moonlight on black water. Paired with her kingfisher arrogance, it dragged eyes to her like tide to the moon.

Wang Jinping’s interest thickened, his gaze raking her with brazen heat, like a torch run slow across lacquer. “Do you know where you are?”

“Where? Just an abandoned factory on a washed-up street.” Nana Toki tilted her head, feigning fog like a morning mist. “What, is this some danger zone?”

“Hahaha. A washed-up street, huh? You talk funny.” After a blink of surprise, his laugh rang out bright as a cymbal, blind to He Jiawen’s darkening face and to Nana Toki’s smile growing richer as fermenting wine.

“What’re you laughing at, Lu Qiqi?” He Jiawen wanted to rip that smile like paper. This woman stank like Wen Quan, that same rancid arrogance that made bile rise—truly birds of a foul feather.

To He Jiawen, that smile was a mirror held up for mockery.

“I laugh because I feel like it. What’s it to you?” Nana Toki’s expression stayed soft as down, but her tone pricked like thorns under silk.

He Jiawen choked on rage. Fear, bitter as raw tea, kept her from charging; she dumped her fury on Wang Jinping instead. “She’s right in front of you now. Aren’t you going to do something?”

“Don’t rush. She walked to the chopping block herself; where’s she gonna run?” Annoyance flashed in Wang Jinping’s eyes like a blade’s cold edge, but when he raised his head, he wore a smile smooth as oil. “Let’s talk, yeah?”

“Talk about what? How many guys you’ll call to take turns on me later?” Nana Toki grinned, danger curling at the corners like smoke before flame.

“Hey, that’s not bad, but I prefer savoring a woman alone to a noisy queue,” he said. Her brazenness stunned him; he stared a beat, then steadied, meeting her gaze like flint on flint. “How about this: give yourself to me willingly, and I’ll let you go. Deal?”

“Wang Jinping!” Alarm bells rang in He Jiawen’s chest like temple gongs, but before she could finish—

“Shut up. You don’t get a say here.” His glance iced her over like rime at dawn.

“You—” Air crystallized between them, a glassy stillness ready to shatter. He Jiawen stood by his side, eyes blown wide, not believing he’d flip the table in her face and bargain with her enemy under her nose.

Nana Toki only felt amused; men like Wang Jinping—beasts in suits, smug under borrowed manners, sure a bit of leverage made them gods—she’d met too many. With that kind, you rip their gentleman’s skin off and show the fur.

“You think you’ve got me in the bag already, don’t you?”

“What else?” He shrugged, helpless as a cloud pretending not to drift. Right then, motorcycle engines growled outside like thunder rolling in. In his mind, her fate was already carved in stone.

“Eh, fine. Since you’re so calm, let me salt the wound.” She slid out her phone, and with a flick like a fish flashing in a stream, she hit play. A man and a woman tangled; breathy moans spilled into the silent warehouse like spilled wine.

“Lu Qiqi!” Color drained from He Jiawen’s face like ink washed by rain. Even Wang Jinping’s features sank, storm-dark and heavy.

“Forget how I could use your little live porno to squeeze you.” Nana Toki thumbed the timeline, and the audio shifted—He Jiawen’s own voice cold as sleet, ordering Wang Jinping to rape Nana Toki. “Tell me: what happens when a student files that accusation against you in the dark?”

The big dead space fell so quiet you could hear dust settle like snow. In their eyes, she saw a clear wish to break her into pieces, slow and neat.

Good. That’s the weather I wanted. Your easy swagger was boring; fear paints better.

Satisfied, Nana Toki watched their faces like a painter admiring strokes, courting chaos like wind courting fire.

“Good. Lu Qiqi, you’ve got guts.” Wang Jinping’s eyes clung to the phone like a hawk to prey. He stepped closer, voice colder than before, like water under ice. “You did this to yourself. Don’t blame—”

He didn’t finish. Nana Toki moved first; her kick cut the air like a whip.

“Motherf—. If it’s a fight, then start. You’re the windbag here.”

“Ugh—”

Caught off guard, he folded with the pain, body curling like a shrimp tossed on a hot pan.

At that moment, the warehouse doors slammed open; engines still sputtered like angry bees. A-Yi and the boys rolled in, mouths open to report—then froze.

A woman stood with one boot planted on their boss’s back like a banner in the wind, her grin wild and bright as noon. “Finally. Get in here. I’ve been waiting.”

A-Yi and crew: “...”