Huo Zhen turned away with a decisiveness that left no room for second thoughts.
Xue Zhiyao stared at his retreating silhouette as if it were the only lifeline he had. When the figure was almost out of sight, he shouted after him, “If I admit it—what do I get out of it?”
He knew why Huo had come. Huo wouldn’t show up otherwise. The apartment wasn’t ostentatious, but it was larger than an average unit; the words carried through the living room and settled in the air. Huo stopped in the doorway and waited. The fish was on the hook; there was no need to leave.
They sat on the sofa. Xue shifted constantly, eyes flicking to the door, unable to sit still.
“Old Chen won’t be back this early,” Huo said, cool and casual.
“I know.” Xue’s face had dulled; heavy dark circles under his eyes made him look exhausted and brittle.
Huo lifted his chin and squinted. “I can make sure whatever they ask won’t lead to you. I’ll see to it that their interrogation doesn’t turn up a single thing connected to you.”
He spoke as if stating a fact.
Suspicion warred across Xue’s face. His panic stemmed from understanding Huo Cheng’s reach: anyone Huo caught could expose him. With his own strength, Xue was outmatched.
“You don’t believe me? Then tell me—how did I know right away you were involved?” Huo’s voice didn’t change; he sounded confident, as if he’d already won.
A new panic flickered through Xue. Did Huo actually know the real attacker? Was that why he’d been so certain?
Huo ignored the question. From his pocket he produced a small blue object—an enamel trinket shaped like a bear hugging a ball.
“If my source is right, this belongs to you.”
Seeing it, Xue’s face went pale. He rummaged his pockets in a panic—nothing. Every pocket was empty.
“Where did you get that?” he demanded, breath quick.
Huo’s answer was simple: “Picked it up off him.”
The implication was clear: Huo had handled the body, had likely seen the man Xue had sent—and might even know how their operation moved.
“You and Huo Cheng aren’t partners, are you?” Xue blurted, belatedly catching up. If Huo were allied with the organization, he would never have come to him. This suggested betrayal.
“So?” Huo shrugged, as if puzzled. Cooperation might exist on paper, but he owed no explanations.
“That means we have the same enemy. I want to cooperate with you.” Panic made Xue grasp at the only thing that seemed sensible.
He’d hoped for alliance; for Huo, it was never about teamwork.
Huo laughed softly. “You’ve got it wrong. I didn’t come to form an alliance. I came because I’ve got something on you. I’m here to threaten you.”
He said it plainly, as if that settled it.
Xue could do nothing but redden with humiliation. “W-What are your terms?” he stammered. Cornered, he tried to steady himself—tiger in front, pack behind; only one step at a time now.
Huo’s lips curved. “Haven’t decided yet. I’ll tell you when I do.” He rose from the sofa. “I’ve said what I needed to say. I won’t stay long.”
He left. Xue watched the car drive away, and then, like a man set loose from a thin restraint, he slammed the door and began to vent—flinging furniture and smashing whatever would break.
The next morning Huo left too. He hadn’t stayed to gloat; even though he’d spent the night at the station, he wasn’t anxious. If the man had no pressure tolerance, he wouldn’t have been chosen for this job in the first place.
At the police station the interrogation team was exhausted.
“Chief, we’ve been at him all night. Still not a word,” one officer reported.
“Not a single word?” the chief folded his hands on the desk. “Then keep at it.”
“Understood.” The officer saluted and left.
Silence wasn’t the worst thing—they’d had suspects who stayed tight-lipped. Worse were those who answered, but everything they said was lies. That was a time-sucker and a maze. They were running out of time to give Huo an update; and the longer they held someone, the harder it was on both sides.
“Chief, someone wants to visit the detainee. Allow it?” another officer rushed in.
“Who is it?” the chief frowned. This wasn’t trivial; visitation for an unknown prisoner had to be cleared.
“The man we brought in last night,” the officer said. He’d been the one who couldn’t be startled into giving a name—no matter what they used, he withheld it. He’d appeared to have come from nowhere.
If family showed up, the staff could at least confirm his identity—useful for the investigation. The chief didn’t hesitate. “Let them in.”
In the interview room, the silent man kept his head down until a voice called out, “Hey—number five, come here.”
The officer on duty blinked. “What’s happening?”
They were on rotation—someone must be visiting. The suddenness of it left them puzzled.
“Family visiting,” came the reply from outside. “Hurry. Don’t keep them waiting.”
The interrogator straightened, gathered his notes, and went to escort them in.
When the detainee was led to the viewing glass, he saw a small face light up and heard the bright, plaintive cry: “Dad!”
He looked up. There, on the other side of the glass, were his wife and little girl—only they weren’t alone. A man stood behind them.
“Who is that?” he asked, suspicion and confusion in his voice.
The woman hesitated, then offered, “He’s my distant cousin. He’s the one who brought us here.”
The detainee’s face changed. His wife had been an orphan; she’d never mentioned cousins. The man’s presence didn’t fit. The way she—however quietly—had looked at the stranger told him more than words.
“Well, thank him.” He forced a smile to hide his unease.
“If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have found out what happened to you,” she said, voice flickering between brightness and something darker—disappointment, maybe resignation.
The girl chimed in, innocent and bewildered, “Daddy, Mommy says you can’t come home for now. Why not?”
Her small voice made the room freeze for a moment.
In the office down the hall, detectives had already begun cross-checking. From the woman and daughter they’d gotten a name—Li Kai. He was thirty, had a record for petty theft long ago, had worked in construction until he quit last year.
As one officer read through the file aloud, the pieces began to shift on the board. The supposed “distant cousin” standing behind the family, the trinket found on the body, the man’s silence under interrogation—threads that might be tied together, if they were careful enough to follow them.