Chapter Thirty-Eight: Reverse Deduction, Abridged Version?

Outside a traditional courtyard in Beijing, Fan the Wastrel, shirtless and with a cigarette dangling from his lips, squatted by the gate, nodding and bowing obsequiously into his phone. “Consider it done, absolutely. Your business is my business. Who else would you turn to for something like this? Coming to me means you really see me as one of your own...”

After a round of fawning assurances, Fan hung up and stepped into the courtyard.

It was nearly midnight. With a clear goal in mind, Fan walked slowly toward his destination when suddenly, four figures emerged from the shadows. One of them raised a hand to block Fan’s way and said quietly, “The old chief has retired for the night. If you have business, come back tomorrow.”

Fan hesitated. He knew the rule—of course the old man would be asleep at this hour—but time waited for no one. By tomorrow, it might be too late. Gritting his teeth, Fan put on a scoundrel’s airs, cocked his head to the side as he eyed the man, and then stepped forward, shoving him hard.

“I want to see my grandfather—do I need your permission? Do you really take this place for your own? Remember, you’re only here because the organization sent you to protect my grandfather. You’re just watchdogs, understand? Don’t get above yourselves.”

The four men, expressionless as wooden statues, showed no reaction to Fan’s taunts. They stood their ground, unmoving.

Clearly familiar with their ways, and seeing that provocation got him nowhere, Fan muttered under his breath, then raised his voice and began to shout, “Heavens above! Bandits have taken over my house! I can’t even get into my own yard!”

His bellow echoed far and wide. When bluster failed, Fan resorted to shamelessness—not because he was unwilling to barge in by force, but because he knew his own limitations. Forcing his way in would only end in humiliation. Sure, these men wouldn’t dare kill him out of respect for the old master, but looking at his own irritating face, he’d be lucky to escape a beating. Fan wasn’t stupid; he had no desire to get thrashed for nothing.

Sure enough, his shamelessness worked. Though most lights in the courtyard had been extinguished, now room after room flickered to life. The first to emerge was a woman, her features bearing a clear resemblance to Fan. She strode over, face dark with anger, and immediately kicked him while scolding, “You little brat, where did you learn to make such a scene? Look at the hour! If you wake up the old master, see how your elders deal with you. Now get back to bed!”

She had a booming voice; at her words, the lights in many rooms quickly went out again. Clearly, the family was all too used to Fan’s antics.

Fan grinned and took her kick in stride, ignoring the four impassive guards as if they were corpses. He slipped his arm around the woman’s, affectionately whining, “Mom, I really have something urgent. Would I act this out for nothing? Did Dad come out to check?”

“No, I stopped him. I know exactly what you’re like. Usually, you dodge your grandfather like the plague, as if he’s a ghost. For you to come raising such a ruckus tonight, it must be serious. Tell me what's going on—I’ll see what I can do.” Her tone softened to one of doting care.

The four guards rolled their eyes in unison. Fan was notorious as one of Beijing’s worst scoundrels, not an ounce of propriety in him. Truly, the saying goes: a loving mother spoils her son.

“This could be huge, Mom. Telling you won’t help—if it’s handled right, our family will be secure for a hundred years.” Fan’s face shone with confidence as he remembered the way Chen Hongxu had taken on a bear single-handed.

“You brat, still keeping secrets from your own mother? Fine, as long as you know what you’re doing. I’ll leave you to it—your grandfather’s probably awake by now thanks to your commotion. I won’t get involved; a woman’s sleep is precious, you know, or her skin will suffer.” She yawned and turned away.

Just as she predicted, moments later the quiet courtyard was pierced by a deep, resonant voice: “Fan, come in.”

At those words, the four guards stepped aside without expression. Fan swaggered in, head held high.

Beneath a large banyan tree, an old man with snow-white hair sat holding a pot of freshly brewed tea. He glanced at Fan and scolded, “You know, you can sleep all you want when you’re dead. But I’m still alive—did you come here just to torment me?”

“How could I, Grandpa? You know what kind of person I am,” Fan said respectfully, head lowered.

“Well, speak. What’s so important that you’d make such a racket at this hour, something your uncles and elders couldn’t handle?” The old man didn’t even look up, intent on swirling his teacup.

“Grandpa, do you remember the young man in Japan I told you about, the one who’s suddenly risen to prominence?” Fan began obliquely.

The old man’s interest was piqued. He straightened up, eyes shining. “Him? Go on.”

Knowing how much his grandfather valued Chen Hongxu, Fan recounted everything he’d heard over the phone, then stood quietly, hands folded, awaiting judgment.

“Killed a dozen or twenty men? That’s quite a killing spirit.” The old man’s brows knit, an air of authority emanating from him as he tapped the armrest of his chair. “Who were the dead?”

“Mobsters and desperadoes.”

“Damn!” The old man shot to his feet, kicking Fan so hard he went flying. “You little wretch, always leaving out the crucial details! Had me wasting all that brainpower for nothing.”

With his hands behind his back, the old man laughed to himself, “That boy has my style from when I was young—cleansing society of its scum. What crime is there in that? Fan, always hiding your strength is not the path to success. Remember, an ant and an elephant can never be friends.”

Fan nodded thoughtfully. “So, about this matter?”

“They’re just a bunch of petty clowns stirring up trouble. Our family can deal with them as a matter of course. But you need to make sure your friend feels the weight of this favor—let him be truly grateful to you. I’ll make arrangements and send some men. Assess the situation as needed, and if there are some parasites, you can get rid of them too.”

As the old man’s killing intent filled the air, the usually feckless Fan suddenly seemed like a drawn sword, his sharpness impossible to contain...

Meanwhile, Chen Hongxu was restless—not because of the killings, but because Xue Xi refused to leave his room.

“You don’t love me,” Xue Xi said tearfully, her coat off and pale skin exposed.

“That’s not it,” Chen Hongxu replied, scratching his head.

“Is it a physical problem? Doesn’t seem like it—you get so worked up whenever you kiss me.” Xue Xi bit her lip, incredulous.

A fit of coughing seized Chen Hongxu at her words. He rubbed his throat and managed, “I love you. That’s why I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Is there another reason?” Xue Xi tilted her head, voice humming.

“How do I explain? Just know that I’m completely sincere in my feelings for you, all right?” Chen Hongxu was at a loss.

Xue Xi blinked, wiped away her tears, and, realizing she’d get nothing out of him, decided to coax the truth out of Bingling later that night. “Then give me a kiss. A long, passionate French kiss.”

Chen Hongxu was stunned. He hadn’t expected such bargaining from a woman—usually, wasn’t it men who negotiated like this? If sleeping together isn’t allowed, then how about touching; if not touching, then kissing; if not kissing, then holding hands; and if even that’s refused, well, clearly we’re not close, so just forget it...

But Xue Xi didn’t care. She pressed close, grabbed Chen Hongxu’s head, and pulled him down, her lips seeking his...

Damn, is this the abridged version of a reverse seduction? Chen Hongxu thought, a mixture of pain and delight.