There he was. Weiran recognized him in an instant. He was in a white bathrobe—the irony that this was how Weiran had first seen Xiaokai in the hotel didn’t escape him, surprisingly—and was holding a glass of wine. The half-assed plan that had managed to form in Weiran’s mind on the way over evaporated in an instant. He wouldn’t need a weapon. He wouldn’t need anything at all.

He surged forward.

Bai Xue seemed to notice something in Weiran’s eyes. Immediately he dropped the glass of wine, spattering the red across the hardwood floor in the same manner his blood would soon spill, and bolted for a different room.

Weiran followed him.

The other man managed to get into a bathroom or bedroom or something, pushed the door shut after himself, and locked it. Weiran kicked at it.

“Young man! Whatever you’re here for, I’m sure it can be solved. I’m a very powerful man. I can give you whatever you need—”

“I want you dead,” Weiran snarled, and he kicked more furiously at the door, and it splintered much sooner than the first door.

“We can find a different solution. Anything you want, just name it.”

“I want you fucking dead.” The door’s crack grew deeper; the door became concave.

“Whatever your reason for doing this—”

“I’m never going to let you hurt Xiaokai again!” Finally the door fell inward. Bai Xue, on the other side, looked ashen.

“This is about…Xiaokai?”

Of course it was about Xiaokai. Distantly, maybe, it was also about Zhu Chuanbo and Gao Han and the seemingly impossible command they had whispered to Weiran through the prison phones, and maybe it was about the way Weiran’s heart had broken when Xingyu relayed some of the details about his childhood, but right now it was only about Xiaokai. Maybe it had been about Xiaokai since the moment he had opened that door and come out in that soft white robe.

Weiran descended on Bai Xue without a word.

Bai Xue did try to defend himself, but perhaps it was a combination of his older body, his weaker joints, his surprise, Weiran’s unending fury—no defense that he raised, no way he raised his arms and twisted around and crawled away, seemed to matter.

Weiran was screaming.