[FENG YU POV ]
The Red Room smelled like disinfectant and fear—in that order.
Feng Yu had learned to recognize the difference—the sharp chemical bite that never quite covered the copper tang of sweat, the shallow breathing, the particular silence of someone realizing their world had rules they didn't know existed. The door across the room opened.
Two men stepped inside, pushing a gurney between them. No rush. No urgency. The body on it was half...covered, the sheet slipping enough to reveal a wrist bent at an unnatural angle.
Feng Yu didn't look at it.
"Late," he said mildly.
One of the men adjusted the sheet, embarrassed. "Apologies, Sir."
The door closed again.
Feng Yu finally turned toward Yishui.
"We won't be needing that room tonight," he said. "So let's try to make this efficient."
Su Yishui sat perfectly still in the interrogation chair, wrists secured to the armrests with leather restraints. Not tight enough to bruise. Feng Yu had been specific about that. This wasn't about pain—not yet, maybe not ever. This was about understanding.
About relearning the hierarchy of things.
"Three hours," Feng Yu said from the shadows behind the chair, his footsteps deliberate as he circled. He could see Yishui's pulse jumping in his throat—rapid, frightened. "Most people break at two, Start begging, negotiating, threatening lawsuits." He circled slowly, boots deliberate against concrete. "You haven't said a word."
Good. The training held, even here.
Feng Yu had wondered if it would. If the perfect Su family heir—raised on politeness and strategic silence—would crack the moment real consequences entered the room. But Yishui's spine stayed straight, his breathing measured despite the fear Feng Yu could practically taste in the air.
Still so obedient. Still so controlled.
It made something dark and satisfied curl in Feng Yu's chest.
He moved into Yishui's line of sight deliberately, letting him see the expensive clothes, the black silk mask covering everything below his eyes.
Let him see power, not person. Not yet.
"Do you know where you are?"
Yishui's jaw tightened—the only visible response. Of course, he knew. Every elite family's child in Jinling knew about the Red Room, even if they pretended ignorance at dinner parties. The place where problems were solved quietly. Where loyalty was... recalibrated.
"I'll take that as yes." Feng Yu kept his tone conversational, almost gentle. He'd learned from Mu Shou that cruelty worked best when wrapped in reasonableness. "Then you understand how this works. You answer my questions. Completely. Honestly."
He paused, let the silence stretch.
"And if I believe you, you leave. Eventually."
The word landed exactly as intended. Yishui's fingers curled slightly against the armrests—barely perceptible, but Obsession had taught him to notice the tells no one else saw.
The way Yishui's left hand always moved when he was calculating odds. The microscopic tension in his neck when he was fighting panic.
"The Wei Syndicate had a fund route leaked three weeks ago," Feng Yu continued, pulling a tablet from the side table. He swiped through files he'd memorized days ago, but the motion served a purpose—showed capability, resources, the kind of access that should terrify someone in Yishui's position. "Offshore accounts. Shell corporations. Very detailed information."
He didn't show Yishui the screen. Not yet. Information was leveraged, and leverage was only valuable when withheld.
"Someone with access to high...level financial networks provided this." Feng Yu set the tablet down, just out of Yishu's line of sight. "Someone educated. Connected. Someone who understands how money moves through Jinling's legitimate and illegitimate channels."
Yishui's breathing stayed even, but Feng Yu saw the calculation behind his eyes. Trying to figure out what was safe to admit, what would condemn him.
Still thinking, like protection exists. Like, his name still matters down here.
"Your credentials were used," Feng Yu said, and watched the micro...expression of genuine surprise cross Yishui's face. Good. He hadn't known. Which meant either he was an exceptional liar—unlikely—or someone had been very careful.
Feng Yu already knew which.
"I didn't—" Yishui started.
"I know." Feng Yu cut him off, almost bored. "You're too well...trained to be that stupid. Your parents raised a perfect little asset—obedient, careful, politically aware. You don't take risks."
He let the insult hang in the air, watched Yishui absorb it without reaction. More training. More conditioning. The Su family had done thorough work, making sure their son knew exactly how much freedom he didn't have.
Feng Yu had once found that tragic.
Now he found it useful.
"But someone had access to your accounts," he continued. "Which means someone close to you. Someone you trusted."
The word trusted made something flicker across Yishui's expression…too fast to name, but Feng Yu caught it anyway. He'd been waiting for it.
"Who has access to your credentials?"
"No one. I don't share passwords."
Automatic response. Probably true, technically. But missing the point.
"Friends? Study partners?" Feng Yu circled behind the chair again, letting Yishui feel his presence without seeing him. "Someone who could have watched you log in. Someone you let into your space."
The silence stretched too long.
There it was.
"Someone just came to mind," Feng Yu observed, moving back into view. "Someone you're hesitating to name."
"I'm not…"
"Don't lie to me." The words came out soft, but Feng Yu let his posture shift, shoulders back, stance wider. Small changes that communicated threat without overt aggression. "Lying wastes time. I hate wasted time."
Yishui's throat worked as he swallowed. His wrists pulled against the restraints…unconscious, instinctive. Testing for give that didn't exist.
"There was someone," Yishui said finally, voice carefully neutral. "Some years ago. We were... close."
Close.
Such a careful word. Such a Su family word—sanitized, appropriate, revealing nothing.
Feng Yu had been many things to Su Yishui some years ago. Close barely scratched the surface.
"Name," he said.
"It doesn't matter now. He's…"
"Name."
Command, not request. Feng Yu watched Yishui's training war with his instinct for self... self-preservation. Watched the moment self... self-preservation won.
"Feng Yu."
Hearing his own name in Yishui's voice did something complicated to Feng Yus' chest. Something he'd spent months learning to bury under control and purpose. But his hand didn't shake. His voice didn't change.
"But he's been gone for years," Yishui continued, and Feng Yu heard the careful construction of that sentence—gone, not dead. Not quite willing to commit to the rumors. "He disappeared one semester. People said…"
"People say a lot of things in Jinling." Feng Yu kept his tone flat. "This Feng Yu. You trusted him."
Not a question. A statement that demanded confirmation.
"Yes."
Just that. One word, but it carried weight Yishui probably didn't intend. Trust. Past tense. Something that had existed and then stopped.
Because Feng Yu had stopped existing.
Because the Wei Syndicate had declared him legally dead after they'd pulled his broken body from a warehouse and decided he was more useful as a ghost than a corpse.
"Let him into your life," Feng Yu continued, watching Yishui's face carefully. "Your space. Gave him access to—"
"I didn't give him my passwords." Yishui's interruption was reflexive, defensive.
Feng Yu let the silence punish it.
"But he could have watched you type them," he said eventually. "Or found them written down. Or simply known you well enough to guess." He paused. "Love makes people careless."
"It wasn't'—" Yishui stopped himself, and Feng Yu saw the exact moment he decided truth was cheaper than denial. "It wasn't love. I was... fond of him."
Fond.
Another careful word. Another lie that wasn't quite a lie.
"He was different from everyone else," Yishui continued quietly. "Real."
Something sharp twisted in Feng Yu's chest—rage or grief or bitter amusement, he couldn't tell anymore. Real. As if authenticity had been the valuable thing. As if being genuine had protected either of them.
"Real," Feng Yu repeated. Let the word sit between them like an accusation. "How poetic."
He moved closer, close enough to see himself reflected in Yishui's eyes. Close enough to watch recognition try and fail to form—because the voice was almost right, but the face was covered, and the person Yishui had known wouldn't be here, couldn't be here.
Except he was.
"Here's what happens now," Feng Yu said softly. "You tell me everything about Feng Yu. Every conversation. Every moment of access. And if I believe you—if your story matches what I already know—maybe you leave with your reputation intact."
He let that sink in, then leaned down until they were eye level.
"But if you lie, I'll make sure every family in Jinling knows the Su heir compromised the Wei Syndicate. Your father's connections won't save you. Your mother's influence won't protect you." His voice dropped lower. "And your perfect compliance won't mean anything when you're a liability instead of an asset."
Yishui's eyes widened slightly—the first real crack in his composure.
"Do we understand each other?"
"Yes." Barely a whisper.
"Good."
Feng Yu straightened, let the silence extend. Then—slowly, deliberately—he reached for the silk mask.
This was the moment he'd planned for months. The reveal he'd rehearsed until it felt scripted. But his hand didn't shake as he pulled the mask down, didn't hesitate as he let Yishui see.
Let him know.
Yishui's face went blank with shock. His breath stopped. For three seconds—Feng Yu counted—he just stared, and Feng Yu watched him try to make the impossible make sense.
The voice had been familiar. The mannerisms had been close. But the face confirmed what his mind could t accept.
Feng Yu was dead.
Except he wasn't.
"Hello, Yishui," Feng Yu said quietly, and let himself enjoy the fear that flooded Yishui's expression. "We have so much to catch up on."
The leather restraints creaked as Yishui's hands clenched. His breathing turned shallow. And Feng Yu saw the exact moment understanding hit—this wasn't rescue, wasn't reunion, wasn't anything close to salvation.
This was something else entirely.
Feng Yu pulled up a chair, straddled it backward with practiced ease. Rested his arms across the back and let his expression stay unreadable.
"Now," he said pleasantly. "I'm telling you love."
"You don't leave places like this unchanged," Feng Yu said.
"People don't survive power. They adapt to it."
His smile was almost kind.
"By the time you walk out, you won't remember who you were protecting."