The door to the office opened. Steps approached, moving around the room, presumably checking behind chairs. And a soft sound—Xiaokai sitting in one of the chairs, and then a heavy sigh. Weiran didn’t dare to breathe. He slowly turned his head—the two chairs in front of the desk mostly covered them, but there was a small gap between them, just big enough for Weiran to see Xiaokai sitting in one of those luxurious sofas of his. He had his head in his hands. Was he crying? No—his shoulders weren’t moving, and when at last he lifted his head, his eyes were dry. He looked haggard. What in the world kind of meeting had exhausted him so much in such a short period of time? He had to be a part of the List—maybe he had a conscience and it was getting to him.

Xiaokai pulled out his phone. Dialed a number, held it to his hear. Weiran could hear it stop ringing, but he couldn’t understand what the other party was saying.

“Yes—I’m done. I’m at the office now, but I’ll head home soon. Please let Sun Yue know.”

Sun Yue? He called his mother by her full name? The mother that Xingyu said adored him?

“No, no problems. I thought there would be, but it was just the usual.”

The usual—surely that meant something.

“I understand.” A pause. “Xingyu? He…”

No, no, no, no—

“Last I heard, he was at the gallery with his friend still. Unless the gallery is still going, I’m sure they stopped somewhere for drinks.”

What?

…What?

He wasn’t going to say that Xingyu and Weiran had gone into the office?

“Yes, I’ll handle things here before I come back.” Xiaokai stood, walked toward the desk. He’d wiped the exhaustion from his voice, but it was still clear in every step—had the meeting affected him this strongly, or had he just been faking it all day with Xingyu? Weiran wasn’t sure which was more likely.

He was coming around the desk now, circling the corner, stopping in front of the computer. His legs were inches away from Xingyu and Weiran. He bent, wiggled the mouse. “Hm…”

The voice on the phone, deep: “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing. I must have forgotten to turn my computer off.”

Why was he lying?

He typed some things into his computer.

Was he going to notice the flash drive? That his history had changed? Was he the type to check the history?

The phone: “What about Hu Yongzhu?”

“The deal will go through just fine. He even gave me a better offer. You know Sun Yue—she gets concerned too quickly.”

It was like he was talking about just another employee.

The phone: “Yes, that’s true. I’ll finalize things on my end, then. Have you sent me everything?”