In the front seat of the car, Driver He Peilin worried his thumbnail between his teeth, his gaze steadily watching the young master through the car’s mirror. He was no stranger to this business or to the young master’s appointments—he’d been working for the Liu family for twenty years now, and had even driven Director Sun to some of her appointments when her driver was busy. In the beginning, when he’d first been assigned to be the young master’s personal chauffeur, his job was simple: keep an eye on the young master for President Liu. Report any and all events. Make sure President Liu knew where the young master was at all times, what he was doing, whether he did anything suspicious. But He Peilin had a soft spot for the sixteen-year-old that climbed into his car on that first day with a strange affect that far surpassed any normal teenager’s typical zhong’erbing.10 He was sullen and quiet within the confines of the car, polite with his parents, and quick and charming with the public. He Peilin eventually concluded that the version of the young master that he saw every day—this young master who curled up in the back seat and stared out the window like he longed to open the door and fling himself out; this honorable young master who went to his appointments with the strength and determination of a tiger; this young master who unbuttoned his shirt in the confines of the car to rub at his bruises and then buttoned it right back up when it was time to get out again—this was the most authentic version of him. He Peilin got it in his head that, if he was going to be the one who was responsible for driving the young master both to his appointments and to the hospital—if he was going to be the one who kept the young master in this terrible cycle of getting him hurt and getting him healed—then it was his responsibility to make sure the young master got whatever he wanted. He was only going to report to President what was absolutely necessary—when the young master went to his appointments, when he left his appointments, when he went to work, when he left work. That was all. These little moments that he sat in the car with his head in his hands, his breath shaky, his shoulders sagging—President Liu didn’t need to know any of this.

“Young Master Liu—”

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry.” Xiaokai pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to Sun Yue about being done with the appointment. “We can go.”

“Home, sir?”

“No. My office first. I need to pick something up.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

Driver He turned the car into the street.

“CAN’T BELIEVE SHE bought that you forgot your phone.” Weiran, following Xingyu closely, was still grumbling.

“What would your suggestion be?”