The fierce embrace was a physical shock, a seismic event in the carefully ordered silence of Qi's Silken Threads. Chén Léi's arms were strong, the grip tight with twelve years of pent-up relief and confusion, the starched cotton of his uniform rough against Qí Hǔ's worn t-shirt. The scent – gun oil, starch, and beneath it, the ghost of Harbor Light's cheap soap and shared hardships – was overwhelming. Qí Hǔ stood rigid as a carved stone pillar within the circle of his old friend's arms, his own hands hanging uselessly at his sides. He didn't push away, but the lack of response was its own kind of violence. The carefully constructed walls around him, thick and high, reverberated with the impact.
Chén Léi finally pulled back, holding Qí Hǔ at arm's length, his dark eyes searching the impassive face before him. The raw joy had dimmed slightly, replaced by a dawning bewilderment and a flicker of hurt. "Tiger," he breathed again, the nickname sounding strange and ancient in the dusty air of the shop. "Qí Hǔ... look at you." His gaze took in the faded clothes, the lean frame honed by something more than shopkeeping, the utter stillness that wasn't calm but containment. "Twelve years... twelve damned years! We thought... we didn't know *what* to think." His voice thickened. "Why? Why did you vanish? Not a word, not a trace. After everything..."
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Qí Hǔ gently, deliberately, disengaged Chén Léi's hands from his shoulders. He turned away, the movement economical, and pulled a worn wooden stool from behind a stack of linen bolts. He placed it silently near Chén Léi. For himself, he remained standing, leaning back against the solid wood of the counter, creating a barrier. His eyes, dark and unreadable, finally met Chén Léi's.
"Business failed," Qí Hǔ stated, his voice low and gravelly, the words falling like stones. "Everything gone." It was the simplest, most brutal truth, stripped of context, of the crushing weight of debt, the suffocating shame, the feeling of being utterly unmoored.
Chén Léi stared, disbelief warring with the evidence before him – the struggling shop, the palpable aura of isolation. "Failed? So you just... disappeared? From all of us? From Lán Yīng? From Zhāng Měi? From Wáng Jiàn?" The names hung in the air, accusations wrapped in grief. "We were *family*, Tiger. More than blood. We searched. Wáng Jiàn spent a fortune trying to find you! We thought you were dead, or worse." He sank onto the offered stool, the weariness in his posture suddenly more pronounced than the authority. "Where did you go? How did you end up... here?" He gestured vaguely at the shop, the alley beyond.
"Here is... quiet," Qí Hǔ replied, avoiding the direct question. "Sufficient." The word was a dismissal of ambition, of connection, of the dazzling life that felt like it belonged to someone else entirely.
"Quiet?" Chén Léi barked a humorless laugh, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. "After last night? Five thugs in your alley? That report crossed my desk this morning. The description of the shopkeeper... it nagged at me. Had to see for myself." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze intense. "Who were they, Tiger? What did they want? This cobalt thread they mentioned?"
Qí Hǔ's expression didn't flicker. "Trouble. Looking for something I don't have. Handled."
"Handled?" Chén Léi echoed, his voice sharp. "According to the report, you 'handled' five grown men in under ten seconds with injuries that look like they came from a professional enforcer, not a textile merchant. Since when do you 'handle' like that?" The unspoken question hung heavy: *What happened to you? What have you become?*
"Since they threatened broken fingers," Qí Hǔ said flatly. "Necessary." He shifted his weight slightly, a subtle signal that the interrogation was over. "You have duties, Detective Chén. Don't linger."
Chén Léi flinched slightly at the formal use of his title. The gulf between them felt suddenly vast and icy. He stood up, the stool scraping on the floorboards. "Duties can wait. Twelve years, Qí Hǔ. You don't get to dismiss me that easily. Not anymore." He took a step closer, his voice dropping, losing its official edge, regaining the rough warmth of their shared past. "We need to talk. Properly. No shop, no uniforms, no ghosts in the shadows. Dinner. Tonight. You and me. Like old times." It wasn't a request; it was a declaration, a lifeline thrown across the chasm.
Qí Hǔ shook his head, a single, decisive movement. "No."
"Too bad," Chén Léi said, a stubborn glint in his eyes that Qí Hǔ remembered well. "I'm not taking no for an answer. Not this time. I'll come by after my shift. Be ready." He turned, picking up his sunglasses from the counter where he'd placed them. He paused at the door, looking back. The official mask was gone completely, replaced by a raw vulnerability that was almost painful to see. "It's really you, Tiger. After all this time." He didn't wait for a response. He pushed open the door, the bell jangling with unwelcome cheerfulness, and stepped out into the alley, disappearing into the late afternoon gloom.
Qí Hǔ remained motionless against the counter for a long time after the door closed. The familiar scents of sandalwood and silk seemed to curdle in the air. The cobalt thread in its drawer felt like a live wire. Chén Léi… a ghost made flesh, dredging up a past he'd buried deep. Dinner? Impossible. Unthinkable. He wouldn't go. He'd lock the door early, be upstairs, lights off. Chén Léi would get the message.
Night fell, painting the alley in deep blues and purples, punctuated by the occasional yellow rectangle of light from upper windows. Qí Hǔ had indeed closed the shop early, the heavy shutters bolted. He sat in the dimness upstairs, not reading, not thinking, just existing in the silence, hoping the storm had passed. Then, the sound cut through the quiet – not the bell, but the low, throaty growl of a powerful engine idling just outside the shuttered shop. It was a sound utterly alien to the alley's usual soundtrack of scooters and dripping pipes. Headlights, impossibly bright even through the cracks in the shutters, swept across the ceiling of his room.
Resignation, cold and heavy, settled over Qí Hǔ. Chén Léi hadn't gotten the message. He never did. Moments later, a sharp, insistent rapping sounded on the shop door, followed by Chén Léi's voice, muffled but clear. "Qí Hǔ! Open up! I know you're in there!"
Sighing, a sound more felt than heard, Qí Hǔ descended the stairs. He unbolted the door and opened it a crack. Chén Léi stood there, out of uniform now, dressed in expensive-looking dark trousers and a crisp, open-collared shirt. Behind him, parked arrogantly in the narrow alley, blocking half of it, was a sleek, low-slung sports car the colour of molten silver. It looked like a predator resting amidst the crumbling brick and laundry lines.
"Told you I'd be back," Chén Léi said, grinning, though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes, which held a determined glint. "Come on, let's go. I'm starving, and I booked us a table."
"I told you, no," Qí Hǔ said, his voice flat, making to close the door.
Chén Léi's hand shot out, stopping the door easily. "And I told you, I'm not listening." His tone was light, but the underlying steel was unmistakable. "Twelve years, brother. You owe me this. Get your coat. Or don't. Just come." Before Qí Hǔ could protest further, Chén Léi stepped forward, grabbed his arm with a firm but not painful grip, and pulled him bodily out of the shop, pulling the door shut behind him. "Lock it later," he said, already steering Qí Hǔ towards the gleaming car.
Qí Hǔ offered no resistance. Fighting Chén Léi physically was pointless; the stubbornness radiating off him was a far stronger force. He allowed himself to be guided, feeling acutely ridiculous and exposed in his worn grey trousers and faded black t-shirt next to the shimmering car and Chén Léi's smart casual attire. Chén Léi opened the low passenger door with a flourish. "Get in."
The interior smelled of new leather and expensive polish. Qí Hǔ slid into the bucket seat, the low position and deep hug of the seat feeling alien and confining. Chén Léi got in beside him, the powerful engine roaring to life with a touch, the sound vibrating through the chassis. He navigated the alley with surprising ease, the car's headlights cutting swathes through the darkness. "Place is called 'Cloud Pavilion'," Chén Léi said as they merged onto a wider, brightly lit avenue, leaving the alley's gloom behind. "Overlooks the river. Best view in the city, they say. Food's supposed to be incredible." He glanced sideways at Qí Hǔ. "We've got a lot of catching up to do."
Qí Hǔ stared straight ahead, watching the neon blur of the city streak past the window. He said nothing. The speed, the noise, the sheer opulence of the car were assaults on his senses. He felt like an artifact from another century, misplaced and jarring.
Cloud Pavilion lived up to its name. It perched high above the Bund, accessed via a discreet elevator from a gleaming marble lobby. The entrance was a wall of glass, revealing a breathtaking panorama of the Huangpu River sparkling with the reflections of Pudong's towering light show. Valets in immaculate uniforms swarmed around the entrance, attending to an array of luxury vehicles. Chén Léi pulled up smoothly, the throaty growl of the engine drawing appreciative glances from a couple stepping out of a chauffeured Mercedes.
"Keys, sir?" a young valet asked, opening Chén Léi's door with practiced deference.
Chén Léi handed them over. "Take good care of her. Freshly detailed." He got out, smoothing his shirt, then walked around to Qí Hǔ's side. Qí Hǔ opened his own door and stepped out onto the plush carpet runner leading to the entrance. The sudden transition from the car's cocoon to the overwhelming sensory input of the place was jarring. The air was cool, scented faintly with orchids and money. The lighting was low, sophisticated, glinting off polished surfaces and the jewels adorning the guests milling in the lobby. Men in tailored suits, women in shimmering dresses that likely cost more than Qí Hǔ made in a year – they moved with an effortless confidence that felt alien.
Qí Hǔ hesitated for only a fraction of a second, the sheer scale and opulence momentarily freezing him. He took a step towards the towering glass doors, intending to wait just outside the flow of impeccably dressed patrons. Before he reached them, however, a security guard materialized, blocking his path. The guard was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a sharp black suit with a discreet earpiece. His eyes, cold and assessing, swept over Qí Hǔ from head to toe, taking in the worn cotton trousers, the faded black t-shirt, the scuffed, functional shoes. His lip curled almost imperceptibly.
"Excuse me, sir," the guard said, his voice polite but laced with an unmistakable frost. "This entrance is for Cloud Pavilion guests only." He didn't gesture, didn't need to. His stance and his gaze made it clear Qí Hǔ did not fit the definition.
Qí Hǔ stopped. He met the guard's gaze, his own expression unreadable. He didn't bristle, didn't protest. He simply absorbed the dismissal, the unspoken judgment radiating from the man. It was a familiar sensation, though usually from a greater distance. He nodded slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the obvious truth. "I understand," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the soft jazz filtering from inside and the murmur of the affluent crowd. He took a small step back, preparing to melt back towards the valet stand, towards the car that didn't belong to him, towards the alley that did.
The guard's expression hardened slightly, mistaking the quiet acceptance for potential trouble. "Perhaps you're looking for the service entrance?" he suggested, his tone dripping with condescension. "Or maybe a different establishment? This is a very exclusive venue, sir. The dress code is strictly enforced." He let his gaze linger pointedly on Qí Hǔ's t-shirt again. "We cater to a certain... clientele."
Qí Hǔ said nothing further. He simply stood there, a still point of worn fabric amidst the glittering flow, his face a mask of impassive acceptance. He felt the guard's disdain, the curious glances from passing guests, but it registered distantly, like noise through thick glass. He *was* out of place. The guard was stating a fact. He waited, expecting Chén Léi to appear and navigate this, or perhaps simply to be told to leave.
Chén Léi had been momentarily delayed, giving specific instructions to the valet about his precious car. He turned, his easy smile fading instantly as he took in the scene: Qí Hǔ standing motionless, blocked by the security guard whose posture radiated arrogant dismissal. He saw the subtle curl of the guard's lip, the way he was looking down at his oldest friend. A wave of protective fury, white-hot and sudden, washed over Chén Léi. He strode forward, his previous relaxed demeanor vanishing, replaced by a palpable aura of authority and simmering anger.
"Is there a problem here?" Chén Léi's voice cut through the ambient noise, sharp and cold as shaved ice. He positioned himself slightly in front of Qí Hǔ, his eyes locked onto the security guard.
The guard, startled by the sudden intensity, straightened up slightly but maintained his officious tone. "No problem, sir. Just ensuring only guests with reservations and appropriate attire gain entry. This gentleman..." he gestured vaguely at Qí Hǔ, "...was seeking access. I was merely informing him of our policies."
"This *gentleman*," Chén Léi enunciated each word with biting clarity, stepping closer, forcing the guard to tilt his head back slightly to maintain eye contact, "is my guest. My *personal* guest. He is with *me*." He pulled a sleek black reservation card from his pocket and thrust it towards the guard's face. "VIP room, Chén. Booked under Detective Inspector Chén Léi. Does that meet your 'certain clientele' standards, or should I call the manager to clarify?"
The guard's face paled. He recognized the name, the rank implied, the sheer, dangerous anger radiating from the man before him. He fumbled slightly taking the card. "Detective Inspector... my apologies, sir. I didn't realize... I was simply doing my job..." His voice lost its frosty confidence, replaced by a nervous tremor.
"Your job," Chén Léi snapped, his voice low and dangerous, "is to provide security, not to make snap judgments based on the price of someone's shirt. This man," he gestured emphatically towards Qí Hǔ, who remained impassive, observing the exchange with detached curiosity, "has more integrity in his little finger than most of the people in this building combined. Now, are you going to continue obstructing my guest, or are we free to enter the establishment I have reserved?"
The guard swallowed hard, stepping aside swiftly, his posture now rigid with deference and fear. "Of course, Detective Inspector Chén. My deepest apologies, sir. Please, right this way." He gestured frantically towards the doors.
Chén Léi didn't spare him another glance. He turned to Qí Hǔ, the fury instantly replaced by a look of fierce protectiveness and profound apology. "Come on, Tiger," he said, his voice softer now, placing a hand lightly on Qí Hǔ's back, guiding him forward. "Ignore the hired help."
They swept past the mortified guard and through the towering glass doors. The opulence inside was even more overwhelming: soaring ceilings, crystal chandeliers casting diamond light, the low hum of sophisticated conversation, the clink of fine crystal. Maître d's glided silently on polished floors. Chén Léi navigated the space with easy familiarity, leading Qí Hǔ past the main dining room, a dazzling spectacle of white linen, gleaming silverware, and beautiful people, towards a more secluded corridor. He stopped at a discreet wooden door, opened it, and ushered Qí Hǔ inside.
The VIP room was a sanctuary of hushed luxury. One entire wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, framing the breathtaking panorama of the Huangpu River and the neon-lit towers of Pudong across the water. The view was like looking into the future, dazzling and distant. The room itself held a single, intimate table set for two, draped in heavy linen, flanked by deep, comfortable-looking chairs. Soft, ambient lighting created a warm glow. It was beautiful, isolated, and utterly alien.
Chén Léi closed the door, muffling the sounds of the main restaurant. He let out a long breath, running a hand over his face, the anger finally dissipating, leaving behind embarrassment and weariness. "God, Tiger," he sighed, walking towards the window and staring out at the dazzling cityscape. "I'm sorry. Truly. That idiot... I should have..." He shook his head, unable to find the words. He turned back, his expression earnest. "Sit. Please. Let's just... talk. Without anyone else." He gestured towards the table.
Qí Hǔ stood just inside the door, his silhouette stark against the glittering backdrop of the city. He looked at the opulent table, the breathtaking view, then back at Chén Léi. The worn cotton of his trousers felt like armor against the suffocating luxury. The guard's words, though delivered with malice, echoed a fundamental truth Chén Léi, in his desperate attempt to reconnect, seemed determined to ignore. He had been pulled from his world into this glittering cage. The cobalt thread felt very far away, yet its shadow seemed to stretch even into this rarefied air. He took a slow breath, the scent of orchids and privilege thick in his nostrils, and finally moved towards the table. He didn't sit. He simply stood beside the chair, his dark eyes fixed on the brother he'd left behind, waiting for the conversation Chén Léi had fought so hard to force. The dazzling lights of Shanghai glittered mockingly outside the window, reflecting coldly in his impassive gaze.