And Liu Xiaokai had the nerve to treat his older brother like he did?—avoiding him as much as possible, being short and curt with his answers, looking at him with those eyes just so full of disdain that they couldn’t be hidden by any amount of charm.

“Zhang Weiran.”

Weiran slammed the top of his laptop down. Behind it was Liu Xiaokai, in a suit as always, holding a coffee in one hand and looking down at Weiran with a pleasant smile that made Weiran’s stomach turn. “Oh,” he said, and then couldn’t think of anything else.

“My apologies for not staying longer at your gallery showing.”

“Oh, no I get it—business.” The shock at suddenly seeing Liu Xiaokai in front of him was beginning to wear off, swallowed by the fact that Weiran had snuck into Liu Xiaokai’s office just last night—and Liu Xiaokai knew that he did. “Can’t be helped.” His voice was strained. What if Liu Xiaokai asked to sit down? What if he said something about last night? Weiran hadn’t planned for this—he hadn’t known that he would run into him this soon. “How is Xingyu?”

“He’s fine.” Liu Xiaokai tilted his head. “A word of advice,” he said, “though I imagine such a thing is unwelcome from me.” He paused again, but not long enough for Weiran to interject. “Leave the country as soon as you can. Both of you.”

Weiran’s jaw tightened. “Your ge still has the event to go to on Saturday.”

“You have no reason to stay that long.”

“And why should I listen to you?” Weiran would like to accredit this to strategy—say something a little more forward, hinting that he knew what Liu Xiaokai was up to, and maybe then Xiaokai would be caught off guard enough to say something incriminatory. But none of this went through Weiran’s mind; the words came out as soon as Liu Xiaokai finished his sentence, and of course Liu Xiaokai was unfazed.

“If you don’t, you’ll be dead by the end of the month.” Liu Xiaokai took a sip of his coffee, as if this was the most normal thing in the world to say. “If you last that long.”

Weiran’s hands curled into fists. His parents had gotten the same warning from Liu Xiaokai’s parents and all the people who worked with them. Weiran’s parents hadn’t backed down, and he wouldn’t either.

“Have a good rest of your day, Zhang Weiran.” Liu Xiaokai gave him a short bow—a mockery of respect—and turned.

“Are you telling your ge the same?”

He glanced over his shoulder. Didn’t answer.

“Xingyu might have the delusion that you’re a good person,” said Weiran, “but we both know you just want to take his place.”

Liu Xiaokai just kept looking at him.