Haoran woke up early, the pale light of dawn barely slipping through the curtains. He moved quietly, starting his day with the usual morning routine—arranging the house, tidying the living room, and preparing for whatever surprises the day might bring. He had barely finished when Zhao Ailin strolled out of her room, already dressed in her finest casual wear.
"My friends are coming over this afternoon," she said, not even offering a greeting. "I'll buy ingredients later. Make sure you cook something nice. Don't embarrass me."
Haoran gave a tight nod. "What time will you be back with the groceries?"
Zhao Ailin waved him off. "You're so clingy. I said later."
Haoran checked the time—it was 9:00 AM. He had hoped she would return early with the groceries so he could cook before heading to an important meeting. By 11:45 AM, there was still no sign of her. Just as he was about to call, his phone rang. Ren Daoming's name flashed on the screen.
"Haoran, I'm already at the restaurant," Ren said.
"I'm on my way," Haoran replied, slipping into a buttoned shirt and slacks. Without a second thought, he stepped out and hailed a cab.
The restaurant was quiet and upscale, tucked away in the central district. Haoran arrived to find Ren already seated, dressed sharply in a tailored suit. They exchanged a firm handshake.
Haoran got straight to the point. "I need your help securing a land deal. I want to buy through my wife's company, CrystalCore Properties. A commercial site, something stable and long-term."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "You're making moves now?"
Haoran's gaze remained firm. "I need leverage. And while I'm at it, I want to crush the business my wife's cousin is running—Everrise Group. They've been stepping on too many toes."
Ren leaned back with a chuckle. "That punk tried to poach one of my developers. I'd be happy to help ruin him."
"Then we'll coordinate. You send over whatever info you have on his current projects. I'll dig into his local partnerships. I want this done quietly, but thoroughly."
They talked for another hour, going over land investments and sabotage strategies. Ren promised to send over the preliminary data. Just as their meeting ended, Haoran's phone buzzed repeatedly. Zhao Ailin. He silenced the call.
Instead, he rang the cab driver who had taken him to the Red Fang base earlier. "Meet me at the restaurant in ten minutes."
When the cab arrived, Haoran jumped in and directed him toward the Red Fang's hideout. But as they neared the outskirts of District 9, something felt off. The streets were unusually quiet.
He stepped out and walked cautiously toward the base. The usual guards weren't at their posts. The front gate was slightly ajar. He moved slowly, scanning his surroundings.
Inside, the place was almost empty. He crouched low, sticking to the shadows, and crept toward the meeting hall. From a distance, he could hear muffled voices. He couldn't make out the words, so he searched for a way to get closer.
A rusted metal rod lay near an old storage unit. Using it for support, he climbed the building beside the hall. Carefully, he hoisted himself onto the roof, avoiding every creak. Once there, he located the thinnest part of the roof, removed a panel, and peered inside through a small hole.
The Red Fang boss was speaking to a group of gang members.
"There's a special offer on the table," the boss said. "Ten million dollars for Xu Haoran. This comes directly from Skyreach. We've invited the top gang from Blackthorn City—the Iron Vultures."
Haoran's heart thumped. He recognized the name. The Iron Vultures were notorious—rumors claimed their leader once took down twenty trained men in a single fight.
"We meet tomorrow night. The payment will be handed over. Xu Haoran needs to disappear."
The meeting began to wind down. Haoran silently backed away, restored the roof panel, and climbed down. Once safely outside, he sprinted toward the main road and called the cab.
"Do you know anything about a gang called the Iron Vultures from Blackthorn City?" he asked as soon as the driver arrived.
The cab driver's face went pale. "You mean Iron Fang Liu? Their leader? That guy once beat twenty men at a gang wrestling match. Broke a guy's spine with a headbutt. Everyone in the underworld fears him."
Haoran's expression remained unreadable. "Interesting. I was just curious."
By the time he reached home, it was nearly 7:00 PM. He noticed fifteen unread messages from Zhao Ailin. Where are you?, Did you forget about the food?, You're useless!, Come back and cook!, and more.
He powered off the phone.
Inside, the house was filled with laughter and loud music. Zhao Ailin's friends were drinking, gossiping, and parading around in colorful dresses. Haoran entered quietly and greeted the guests, only to be met with Zhao Ailin's sharp voice.
"Where did you disappear to?" she barked. "Wasting our family's money, are you? Useless as always!"
Her friends chuckled, murmuring insults.
Wu Yuting stepped in from the hallway just in time to witness her mother berating Haoran. She frowned deeply and approached him, pulling him aside.
"Where were you, Haoran?" she asked gently.
"I went job hunting," he said with a sigh. "Your mother said she'd bring groceries, but never returned. I waited for hours, then left for an opportunity. But I got rejected. I was late."
Wu Yuting looked down, ashamed. "I'm sorry. I had no idea… she kept calling you useless. I thought maybe… but now I see you were trying."
He looked at her with tired eyes. "How was your day at work?"
She forced a smile. "Busy. But manageable."
As she watched him walk into the kitchen to start cooking, a strange ache filled Wu Yuting's chest. For the first time in weeks, she saw him—not the embarrassment her mother described, but a man quietly enduring humiliation, still trying.
She thought about how he'd never raised his voice, never retaliated. She remembered him silently folding her laundry at night, double-checking her alarm in the mornings, and always taking the blame to keep the peace. A lump formed in her throat.
Later, after her mother's guests left, she wandered into the kitchen and leaned against the wall, watching Haoran pack leftovers and scrub dishes.
"You didn't have to do all this," she said softly.
He glanced at her. "It's the least I can do. You've worked hard today."
"You have too," she whispered. Then added, almost shyly, "Thank you."
As he cooked her meal, his thoughts drifted toward the threat looming over them. He couldn't let her go to work tomorrow—not while enemies closed in.
Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a small can of herbal sleeping pills—mild, non-addictive, but strong enough to keep someone resting until noon. He crushed one and stirred it into her food. When he was done, he knocked softly on her door.
"Dinner's ready," he said.
Later that evening, after Zhao Ailin and her friends had left, Haoran cleaned up the house and went to his room. He sat on the floor, legs crossed, and began a slow breathing exercise. His body radiated heat—he was awakening a part of himself he hadn't touched in years.
He picked up his phone and dialed a secure number.
"Uncle Zhou," he said quietly. "I need your help. There's a threat coming. I need two top fighters and elite security from Skyreach. Quietly. No attention."
Uncle Zhou's voice was grave. "Understood. Send me her photo and your address."
Haoran sent the data and exhaled. Then he began training in silence—stretches, focused movement, then deep meditation until 3:00 AM.
Before he finally lay down, he glanced toward the ceiling. "No one touches her. Not while I'm still breathing."