Chapter 5: Assault

He woke with the dream still clinging to him, his senses trapped in the afterglow of the brain’s manufactured high. But within seconds, Ren Yu realized something was wrong. He slid a hand under the covers and cursed under his breath, then dragged himself out of bed to change his underwear.

He rarely planted bugs in a target’s home. If discovered, it meant serious trouble. For most targets, building rapport, getting them talking, and appealing to their interests was enough to get the job done. Put another way, resorting to this kind of equipment meant he’d admitted defeat. It meant he’d conceded that he couldn’t crack the target, that his more sophisticated methods had all failed, and he’d been forced to fall back on underhanded tricks.

With Fang Yingli, he had to admit, he’d hit exactly that wall of helplessness.

Or maybe it was that his curiosity about Fang Yingli far exceeded anything he’d felt for previous targets.

He believed that beneath that sanctimonious, ascetic exterior, Fang Yingli’s inner life couldn’t possibly be so spotless. He wanted to excavate the man through sound—what calls he took, what shows he watched, when he ate, when he slept. The more intimate details: his private vices, whether he took care of his own needs, and how long it took.

But as he stood there washing his underwear, it occurred to him that the bugs had yet to capture a single piece of useful intelligence. So far, the only one who’d fallen into the trap was the hunter himself.

He’d overslept, so breakfast had effectively become brunch. Fang Yingli had already left for work. After some thought, Ren Yu decided to scope out Fang Yingli’s workplace and see if he could pick up anything there.

To confirm the man’s whereabouts, he first called the front desk at Fang Yingli’s firm and asked for him. Sure enough, he wasn’t in. The receptionist said he’d gone out to meet a client that morning and was due in court at one that afternoon.

Ren Yu hung up, got ready quickly, and took a cab to the courthouse to apply for a spectator’s pass. When he pushed open the door and slipped inside, the trial had just begun two minutes earlier.

Fang Yingli sat at the defense counsel’s table in a crisp black suit and black tie, severe and formal. His hands were clasped on the desk before him, the veins on his knuckles faintly visible. His face, without a trace of a smile, was cold and commanding.

He was different here from the boxing ring or the apartment at night. Less brutal, less languid. From head to toe, he exuded a kind of rational restraint.

The case was an economic dispute. The defendant had trusted someone blindly and signed as a guarantor for a friend. The friend’s company went under, the man fled, and now the defendant sat in the dock, bearing full legal responsibility. His wife wept in the gallery; the plaintiffs, cheated out of their money, simmered with fury. Both sides looked miserable.

But the guarantor agreement had clearly spelled out the rights and obligations. As an adult, you simply shouldn’t sign legally binding contracts whose consequences you can’t afford.

The facts were clear-cut, yet when Fang Yingli rose to speak, he still fought to minimize his client’s liability within the bounds of the law. His voice, measured and commanding, filled the courtroom. There was a magnetism to his tone—articulate, the highs never sharp, the lows deep and rich. He sounded exactly the way he looked. Reading statutes in that voice, his prominent Adam’s apple shifting above his collar, was frankly indecent.

As the trial wound down into procedural formalities, the scratch of pens on paper filled the background like a monotonous whisper. The temperature was several degrees cooler than outside, and the air smelled of disinfectant. The familiar sensory combination stirred something deep in Ren Yu’s memory.

For a moment, his mind drifted. Ten years ago, he’d sat where the plaintiffs sat now, holding his father’s ashes, listening to the defendant’s wife cry. His fists had been clenched, his eyes bloodshot. He’d pitied himself, yet somehow couldn’t bring himself to hate the other side. When the verdict came down, he’d felt as though he was infinitely close to the truth, yet still just short of it.

The voices from both counsel stopped abruptly. The sudden silence yanked Ren Yu back. He caught Fang Yingli’s gaze sweeping absently over the gallery and immediately ducked his head, pulling his cap lower, hiding among the crowd.

The court let out after four. Golden light spilled across the corridors. Ren Yu followed the crowd out of the building and took cover behind a pillar. He waited nearly ten minutes before Fang Yingli emerged with his assistant.

Clearly, a trial took a toll. Fang Yingli massaged the bridge of his nose, his voice rough. “What’s on the schedule for tomorrow and the day after?”

The assistant checked her phone. “Client meeting tomorrow at three. Day after, a consultation commission at the foreclosure auction.”

Fang Yingli made a sound of acknowledgment. As he passed the pillar, Ren Yu stood hidden on the other side, tilting his head back to drain a bottle of iced cola he’d just bought.

Once the man had gone, Ren Yu leaned out from behind the pillar and froze.

A tall, thin young man was tailing Fang Yingli at a careful distance, a small knife clutched in his hand, his eyes locked on his target.

The blade’s tip caught the light for an instant, but it was half-concealed by his jacket. No one noticed.

The gap between them was closing. The young man’s expression turned vicious.

A planned assault? An assassination?

Ren Yu’s heart slammed against his ribs. If he intervened, he’d blow his cover—following Fang Yingli here would be impossible to explain. But if he didn’t warn him, the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.

His fingers tightened unconsciously around the can. Then an idea struck. He hurled the empty cola can.

The silver arc landed at Fang Yingli’s heel with a sharp clatter. Fang Yingli turned just as the young man raised the knife high.

Fang Yingli blocked with his forearm, seized the wrist, twisted hard, and stripped the knife away. He followed with a clean knee to the gut. The crack of bone was almost audible. The young man let out a heavy grunt and, much like Ren Yu that day, crumpled to the ground clutching his ribs, groaning in pain.

Ren Yu clicked his tongue. That technique… Watching it again, it was still stunning to see.

Fang Yingli looked down coldly at the figure sprawled at his feet and shook out his stinging hand. The blade had nicked his knuckle, and blood was seeping through.

He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wrapped it around the wound twice. Then he looked up sharply straight at Ren Yu.