Chapter 3: Rainy Hong Kong Night

It wasn’t as terrible as she made it sound, yet defining this relationship and its emotions proved challenging: with only a handful of encounters, it hardly qualified as old friendship; yet through twists of fate, it couldn’t be dismissed with a blunt label of bed pleasures.

From Hong Kong to the capital was merely a three-hour flight.

A plane ticket, a passing encounter – the late summer stormy night in Hong Kong, the haze of incense curling through Guanyin Hall at Tanzhe Temple, a segment from The Peach Blossom Fan on Little New Year’s Eve… Whether intentional or not, some parts seemed destined by heaven, while others were shaped by one’s own choices.

But the story truly began with an accident.

That was two years ago.

–

Two years earlier, Xie Qingman was still a student in the acting department at Shanghai Theatre Academy.

At that time, she was in dire straits, enduring the scorching summer sun on set for a minor supporting role, waiting for her scene to be filmed.

The actress playing the second female lead, who had invested in the production, kept needing retakes, repeatedly delaying the entire crew’s progress and creating a tense atmosphere. While no one dared complain openly, discontent simmered beneath the surface.

Bloody hell, grumbled a crew member resetting the scene, The whole crew’s waiting for her. If she can’t act, she should go back to growing sweet potatoes in her hometown.

Keep your voice down. She has connections – what do you have?

The environment was chaotic, the sunlight intense.

Hong Kong summers were always like this – humid and sweltering. The observatory had issued a heat warning, but the predicted rain still hadn’t arrived. Waiting under the shade of an umbrella, Xie Qingman still felt dizzy from the heat.

Been waiting long?

Xie Qingman looked up from her phone screen to see the assistant director’s aide.

You don’t look well. Why don’t you head back to rest? The assistant was kind and polite. We probably won’t get to your part today. I’ll notify you if there are any changes.

Thank you.

Xie Qingman kept her phone on, where recent trending news was replaying:

A year earlier, Hong Kong’s top wealthy family, the Huo Family, had been struck by tragedy when Huo Hongcheng and his son were lost at sea.

The incident itself was sudden, and to make matters worse, their lawyer had died unexpectedly around the same time, leaving Huo Hongcheng’s will a mystery.

After police opened an investigation under public pressure, portions of the Huo family assets were frozen. Internal power struggles erupted within the Huo family, with the Second Madame joining forces with Huo Hongcheng’s two brothers to divide control, forcing the eldest daughter out before she disappeared without trace.

Today marked Huo Hongcheng’s death anniversary, and paparazzi had resurfaced their only achievement from the previous year – a blurry photo of the eldest daughter wearing sunglasses.

Though its authenticity was questionable, Hong Kong media had performed as expected, with outrageously exaggerated headlines:

#Billion-Dollar Inheritance Dreams Shattered! Disowned Huo Daughter Absent on Death Anniversary, Surviving on Thin Air While on the Run?#

#Night Raid at Repulse Bay! Huo Family’s Internal Power Struggle Sees Brothers United Against Orphaned Daughter#

A year later, the story was trending again.

Influential accounts had been rehashing the Huo family dynamics, noting that Second Madame was media terminology.

Hong Kong had banned polygamy after 1971. The reason she was called Second Madame was because the eldest son from the first marriage strongly opposed his father remarrying. Huo Hongcheng’s relationship with her wasn’t legally recognized, established only through a public ceremony and certain financial arrangements.

Oh, you’re watching this too? A girl with no one to rely on trying to compete for power and wealth—she’s no match at all, the assistant sighed over the unfathomable depths of wealthy families. But she’s cold-blooded enough—didn’t even attend her parents’ funeral last year, and probably won’t show up this year either.

Last year’s funeral lasted five days at the Hong Kong Grand Hotel, creating quite a sensation.

All the attendees were dignitaries and longtime family friends. The floral arrangements in the mourning hall were airlifted from overseas, a feng shui master had determined the burial site, the coffin was made of rare ebony wood worth nearly ten million, and the burial objects included priceless antiques and a pair of invaluable round-bracelet jade bangles—ice-type jadeite passed down through the Huo Family since the Republican era. Hong Kong media reported on it for over a month before the topic finally cooled down.

Yet despite paparazzi staking out for a full month, no trace of the Huo family’s eldest daughter was ever found.

Just an empty tomb—no point in going anyway. Xie Qingman’s long eyelashes lowered, her expression unreadable, but her tone remained detached. Even if she knelt at that funeral until death, it wouldn’t change anything.

Funerals are all for the living.

Red and white occasions are merely social banquets for exchanging interests—mournful songs performed on stage with extravagant displays of grief, while behind the scenes it’s the same power struggles and ruthless tactics.

Xie Qingman turned off her screen, ending the conversation. Heading out now, contact me if anything comes up.

Eh…? Okay.

While the assistant was still puzzling over Xie Qingman’s sudden shift in attitude, the latter had already left the film set.

Outside the studio, a long stretch of road was marked with double yellow lines—ticketing zone, making it difficult to hail a cab.

Xie Qingman walked to the end of the road before finally flagging down a red taxi.

Perhaps the weather was too hot, stifling enough to muddle one’s mind. When the driver asked where she was headed, she inexplicably replied:

Zhaoyuan Cemetery.

The Huo family cemetery was located at Zhaoyuan.

Legend had it that during the Republican era, the Huo family specially hired someone to survey the land, claiming this spot was an auspicious feng shui site that could attract fortune from all directions and prosper descendants. Since then, nearly all deceased Huo ancestors had been buried here.

Given the timing, the driver gave her a couple of extra glances.

Not out of suspicion, but because he launched into endless related gossip.

Feeling restless, Xie Qingman turned to look out the window.

Hong Kong’s traffic wove together, old-fashioned trams traversed through dense neighborhoods and towering skyscrapers. The prismatic buildings refracted jagged skyline patterns, while humid air carried the palpable flow of wealth, creating a retro sense of delirium.

Such a city could either be a glamorous stage for fame and fortune, or a torturous prison of deep waters and scorching fires.

Born in Hong Kong, her first twenty years had been decadent and smooth-sailing. Unfortunately, fate’s favor was withdrawn overnight, plunging her from cloud nine to rock bottom—left with little but a beautiful facade.

One year already.

How did that saying go? Life is a fucking movie.

How ironic.

The car traveled west along Connaught Road, with the harbor scenery and Victoria Peak hidden behind dense clusters of buildings.

The perspective from Barker Road was completely opposite.

Occupying Hong Kong’s most privileged location, it offered expansive views overlooking nearly the entire island. The villa sat nestled in a qi-gathering mountain embrace, its massive floor-to-ceiling windows presenting the city sprawling below—Lion Pavilion on Victoria Peak visible to the south, Victoria Harbour visible to the north, all scenery laid bare.

Inside the villa, silence prevailed.
The scheduled video conference had already been delayed by half an hour. The moment the call connected, Pei Ze’s voice came through.

Why did you choose this time to leave the capital?

As soon as he asked, Pei Ze heard a deep, resonant animal roar. He froze momentarily before realizing, You’re at Barker Road?

Just as he suspected.

That sound was from the white lion kept on Victoria Peak.

A gift from T&C Capital’s collaboration with a Saudi telecom service provider on a digital services project last month.

It couldn’t be kept in Beijing.

The relevant procedures weren’t the issue—proper breeding permits were obtained, customs inspections passed, and even facilities and technical teams were prepared. But Old Mrs. Ye was superstitious about such creatures.

Earlier this year, the two purebred Tibetan Mastiffs had been left in Hong Kong, so this white lion obviously couldn’t stay either. It was simply kept on Victoria Peak.

Last time, a friend had joked that Barker Road was practically being turned into a zoo.

—Actually, a private zoo had already been built.

Following legal requirements, after completing all necessary approvals, it was constructed adjacent to the property, separated by a massive glass enclosure.

The glass structure housed numerous rare plants, creating a landscape for the white lion. The system simulated suitable air, temperature, and environment for the lion’s habitat in real-time.

The design was ingenious—adjacent to the villa area but not connected. Tempered glass partitions divided the spaces, and turning the corner at the end of the villa corridor felt like entering a viewing platform.

The white lion’s hearing was extremely sharp. Moving behind the tempered glass, its pale blue eyes flickered with an eerie, terrifying light. Hearing noises, it bared its white fangs.

Ye Yansheng didn’t look over. He remained nonchalant, making a gesture toward the distance.

The restless lion growled lowly twice before suddenly lying down, becoming unexpectedly quiet.

Some personal matters. He only answered the first question.

Dark-colored partitions descended, covering the giant glass and blocking the view between the villa area and the glass enclosure.

Apparently made of soundproof material, the surroundings fell silent.

You’re out there enjoying yourself while leaving others to deal with the mess? Pei Ze clearly didn’t believe his explanation. Rumors are spreading that Young Master Ye has such grand airs—not only keeping those old foxes waiting but even making me unable to see you.

Shall I make it up to you later? Ye Yansheng chuckled lightly, his words carrying a faint teasing tone.

Don’t give me that bullshit. Pei Ze laughed and cursed. These are minor issues. I just want to remind you that things aren’t peaceful in Beijing. I heard Uncle Ye’s position might change, and many people are eyeing it. As his son, shouldn’t you hurry back to show some filial piety?

He clicked his tongue suspiciously. You’re so calm about this. Did you get some insider information?

Even if there were anything, it wouldn’t be my place to worry. Ye Yansheng said dismissively. The old man is in good health. Why would I need to overstep?

That’s true, but— Pei Ze started to advise but suddenly stopped.

He had spotted something in the corner of the video call.

It was a box bearing the Hunter Academy emblem.

That box once contained the victory prizes—two Brownings engraved with cadet codes.

One was real, though during an operation years ago, that pistol had fallen off a cliff along with the criminal.

The one visible now was likely a model.

A one-to-one replica commemorative piece.

Pei Ze sighed silently in his heart.

Almost forgot.

An old friend was buried in the cemetery at the western end of Hong Kong Island, and Ye Yansheng visited every year.

Back then, an accident had led Ye Yansheng to switch careers and enter business, single-handedly ruining his own future and nearly driving his father to death with rage. Over time, it had evolved into a secret almost no one dared to mention.

By the count, it had been exactly three years.

Pei Ze didn’t want to cross that line, so he changed the subject and asked, Since you’re not in a hurry to return, are you still meeting with the people from Xingrong?

Just then, a servant reminded him, Sir, the car is ready.

Ye Yansheng’s demeanor remained cold as he replied, We’ll see, and ended the video call.

Xie Qingman regretted getting out of the car almost immediately.

During this season in Hong Kong, the weather was unpredictable. The sky had darkened without warning, signaling an imminent downpour. Heavy, low-hanging clouds cast a gloomy pall over the surroundings, and the cemetery grounds felt especially desolate and still. Dense clusters of trees created an eerie, almost sinister atmosphere.

She hadn’t brought an umbrella, and there was someone nearby.

As a performing arts student, Xie Qingman had a certain sensitivity to cameras. After only a few steps, she sensed a lens trained on her.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Had paparazzi these days lost their minds to the point of staking out cemeteries?

It’s been a year already… insane.

A curse hovered on the tip of her tongue, but Xie Qingman knew this wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

With rain threatening, if the paparazzi caught her in a disheveled state, she could easily imagine the vicious headlines Hong Kong media would run tomorrow—

Crying at the Grave in the Rain! Suspected Eldest Daughter of the Huo Family Drenched in the Cemetery, a Fallen Phoenix Not Even Worth a Chicken.

She had learned just how venomous Hong Kong media could be a year ago.

In the past, she had been well-protected, with almost no information available to the public. Aside from close friends in the circle, no one knew what she looked like.

But even with just a blurry photo of someone in sunglasses, Hong Kong tabloids could spin an elaborate story. Anyone vaguely resembling her spotted here today could end up on tomorrow’s front page.

She must have been out of her mind to come here.

Eager to find cover, Xie Qingman suddenly noticed a Koenigsegg parked by the roadside.

Under the overcast sky, the supercar blended into the background—its low profile, sleek lines, and striking blend of power and style made it look like a phantom knight lurking in the gloom.

A globally limited One:1, sporting a combination license plate.

In China, black plates with Yue Z and Hong Kong-Macau combination plates were the most common, typically used for travel between Guangdong, Hong Kong, and Macau.

But in mainland China, unless one’s tax contributions reached a certain threshold and obtained nationwide driving approval, such vehicles weren’t permitted outside Guangdong.

Yet, this Koenigsegg displayed not only Hong Kong and Macau plates but also a blue mainland plate above them. The bureaucratic hurdles to secure such approval must have been immense, but the top plate bore an exceptionally striking and eye-catching number—

【Beijing A00008】

This Koenigsegg could travel unimpeded across the entire country.

Suddenly, the car’s piercingly bright headlights cut through the surrounding darkness, making Xie Qingman hesitate for a moment.

From the capital?

She only knew that the black plate A00008 had once been on a Mercedes-Benz. She hadn’t expected to see the blue version here.

She wondered which privileged scion of the Beijing Circle was flaunting such extravagance outside the capital.

People like them traveled with chauffeurs, private jets, even private flight routes—what need was there to drive the whole way?

All these theatrics were just for show.

The owner was still inside.

But this person’s identity was unusual—probably not someone to provoke.

Xie Qingman weighed the options between making headlines and the uncertain factor before her for a few seconds, ultimately deciding that nationwide mockery would be worse.

Steeling herself, she clicked over in her stilettos and brushed her hand against the car’s body.

The moment the door opened, she slipped inside. Sorry, sorry, ran into some trouble. Might need to borrow your space to hide for a bit…

No one responded.

The car was silent—unnervingly so.

In her haste to get in, Xie Qingman hadn’t noticed the interior or given it much thought. Out of habit, she switched back to Cantonese: Excuse—

Click—

The response was a crisp mechanical sound, unmistakably clear in the cramped, dim space.

The sound of a pistol being cocked.

Xie Qingman froze.

A man sat in the driver’s seat. Though his features were indistinct in the gloom, his short hair was sharp, his frame solid, and the lines of his profile were clean and profound—dark, brooding, and arrogant.

He wore a black shirt, impeccably tailored and exuding luxury.

Diamond cufflinks had been removed and tossed aside carelessly. His sleeves were rolled up twice, revealing lean, powerful forearms.

Those distinct-knuckled hands were toying with a silver Browning.

The man radiated a casual air, but his aura was too fierce, too coldly sharp.

—He looked anything but harmless.

What the hell is this?

Initially, with the rainy night, luxury car, beautiful woman setup, the worst she’d imagined was him misunderstanding her as throwing herself at him with ulterior motives.

But this scene was way beyond expectations.

She had no mind to discern whether it was a toy model or the real deal. She just wanted to get away from trouble.

Stay and make small talk? Yeah, right.

Should she say, Sorry, wrong car, don’t mind me, carry on, or just plead, Big bro, I’m tight-lipped, please don’t silence me?

Either way, this looked like the next crime scene in the making.

The richer her inner drama, the stiffer Xie Qingman became.

Outside the window, a flash of lightning streaked—eerie and fitting. The air around them seemed to freeze.

Dead silence.

Xie Qingman’s blood ran cold.

She parted her lips, but her voice caught in her throat. Her breath hitched for a second; she didn’t dare move.

The man probably sensed her fear but didn’t care. Without even glancing at her, his icy voice held a trace of impatience:

Get out.

Gladly.

Like a trapped beast finding the cage door, Xie Qingman didn’t overthink it—she just wanted out.

But before the door could open, she was yanked back by a firm grip. Wait—

Don’t move.

Without warning, the man leaned in, nearly encircling her in his embrace.

The distance closed in an instant.

In the cramped car, the surreal glow of interior lights fractured everything into chaotic fragments, amplifying her senses. The scent from his embrace was cold, sharp like frost, enveloping her completely.

It was a distance close enough for a hunter to trap his prey to death—

His grip on her was light, almost effortless, but his other hand still held the Browning, resting across her waist.

The pose was ambiguous enough, the atmosphere deadly enough, to extinguish any lingering hope she harbored.

You— The man’s gaze lowered slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes.

He reached to tilt her chin, as if to turn her face toward him.

Xie Qingman’s heart hammered in her chest.

She was afraid he might change his mind, so naturally she didn’t notice his hesitation and softening tone. Breaking free from his grasp, she bolted out the door.

The way out was right before her.

The man didn’t stop her—perhaps there was no need to.

Because outside the car, someone was waiting—

In the moment the car door opened, the newcomer tossed a camera rig, confiscated from a reporter, into the vehicle.

Young Master Ye, what a coincidence.

The newcomer’s tone was laced with mockery as he laughed loudly, A sneaky reporter lurking outside, a beauty hidden inside—your place is certainly lively.

Xie Qingman instinctively turned to look.

But the newcomer was prepared.

He pressed a point on the back of her neck, his movements too swift for her to even catch a glimpse.

A numbness shot through Xie Qingman’s neck, and she blacked out instantly.

The turn of events happened too quickly.

Lightning pierced the layered dark clouds, rolling shadows swept across the sky, and rain poured down in torrents—everything changed in an instant.

The late summer storm over Hong Kong had arrived abruptly, right at this moment.

Author’s Note:

———————-

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