The silence in Qi's Silken Threads was thick enough to choke on. Wáng Jiàn's quiet demand hung in the air, amplified by the jagged hole in the back door and the ominous letter clutched in Chén Léi's hand. Every eye was fixed on Qí Hǔ – Zhāng Měi's burning with protective fury, Chén Léi's intense with professional urgency, Wáng Jiàn's steady and expectant, Officer Zhang's observant and analytical, Lán Yīng's swimming with tears and confusion, David's brimming with bored disdain.
Qí Hǔ didn't look at any of them directly. His gaze seemed fixed on a point somewhere beyond the shattered door, on the damp, grimy bricks of the alley wall visible through the taped gaps. He took a slow breath, the sound loud in the stillness. Then, he moved. Not towards the expectant faces, but slightly to the side, putting a fraction more space between himself and the group. His voice, when it came, was low, gravelly, but devoid of its usual flatness. It held a weary finality.
"I will tell you," he said, the words measured, deliberate. "When *he*," he tilted his head minimally towards David, "and Lán Yīng leave. They are not involved in this. They don't need to know."
Lán Yīng flinched as if struck anew. She stepped forward, away from David's shadow, her eyes wide with fresh hurt. "Really, Qí Hǔ?" Her voice trembled, laced with disbelief and rising anger. "You're pushing me away *again*? After twelve years of you disappearing? After everything?" Tears spilled over, tracing paths through the carefully applied makeup she likely wore for the Rutherfords' event. "I deserve answers! I deserve to know why someone who was… who was *everything*… vanished without a trace!"
Qí Hǔ finally met her gaze. His dark eyes held no anger, only a profound, bone-deep weariness and a flicker of something that might have been pain. "You do deserve to know, Lán Yīng," he said, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. "Everything. But not him." He gestured again, barely, towards David. "He has no part in listening to this story. And I am not obliged to tell it to him." He paused, the weight of the next words settling heavily. "But if he leaves… you have to as well. You are his girlfriend."
The implication hung heavy: *Your place is with him, not here, not in this mess.* Lán Yīng stared at him, the color draining from her face. "You think… you think because I'm with David, I don't deserve to know why you abandoned us? Why you broke my heart?" The raw vulnerability in her voice was devastating.
Before Qí Hǔ could respond, Zhāng Měi made a sharp, disgusted sound. She rolled her eyes dramatically towards Lán Yīng, a gesture impossible to miss.
Lán Yīng caught it, her hurt instantly morphing into defensive anger. She whirled on Zhāng Měi. "What? Why did you do that?!"
Zhāng Měi didn't hesitate. She stepped forward, her own eyes blazing, getting right into Lán Yīng's space. "Because when your *dear* boyfriend was standing there calling Qí Hǔ a 'poor bastard,' sneering at this place, sneering at *him*," she jabbed a finger towards Qí Hǔ, "you were just *standing there*, Lán Yīng! Watching! Not saying a damn word! Not doing *anything*! Where was your outrage then? Where was your defense of the man you claim meant everything?" Her voice was a lash. "So don't stand there now demanding answers with *him* still attached to your arm, expecting Qí Hǔ to spill his guts for your privileged audience!"
Lán Yīng opened her mouth, a retort forming, but no words came. Zhāng Měi's accusation hit its mark. She *had* stood silent. The memory of David's casual cruelty, her own paralysis in the face of it, flooded back, mixing with the confusion and hurt of the moment. Her shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of her under the weight of her friend's justified fury and her own shame. She looked down, unable to meet Zhāng Měi's fierce gaze or Qí Hǔ's weary one.
Zhāng Měi held Lán Yīng's gaze for a beat longer, the message clear. Then, deliberately, she turned her back on her, dismissing her. She faced Qí Hǔ squarely, her expression shifting from rage to a fierce, almost maternal command. "Now," she stated, her voice brooking no argument, the tone of the oldest sister who had scolded them all through childhood scrapes and teenage dramas. "You start speaking, Qí Hǔ. As your older sister, I demand an answer. What happened? Eight years ago? All of it."
Qí Hǔ held Zhāng Měi's gaze. He saw the unwavering loyalty, the fierce protectiveness that had defined her since Harbor Light. He saw the same demand reflected, albeit differently, in Chén Léi's and Wáng Jiàn's eyes. He gave a single, curt nod. "Alright."
He took another slow breath, his gaze drifting back to that unseen point on the alley wall, as if drawing the story from the damp bricks themselves. His voice remained low, steady, stripped bare of embellishment, recounting horrors with chilling detachment.
"Twelve years ago," he began, "when I left… after the business failed… I didn't stay in the city. I wandered. North. Northeast China. Villages, small towns… places forgotten." He paused, the memory of that rootless time passing briefly over his face. "About eight years ago… I ended up in a small town near the border. Heilongjiang province. Cold place. Hard people. I met a man there. Zhang Wei. Worked odd jobs. Quiet. Kept to himself. Like me." A flicker of something – kinship, perhaps – crossed Qí Hǔ's features. "We became… friends. Of a sort. Shared meals sometimes. Didn't talk much about the past."
He fell silent for a moment, the only sound the faint bubbling of the neglected hotpot and the distant hum of the alley. "One night… late… Zhang Wei came to the shack I was staying in. He was… terrified. Shaking. Said they'd found out. That 'they' would kill him. And his daughter. Xiao Ling. She was seven." Qí Hǔ's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "He said… he'd done something. Released information. To a police officer. Officer Li. Information about… about the people he worked for. Said it was bad. Very bad."
Qí Hǔ's gaze remained fixed on the wall. "He begged me. Said he had to run, try to draw them off. Pleaded with me… 'Please, Qí Hǔ, take care of Xiao Ling. Get her to Officer Li. The meeting place is the old grain silo west of town. Midnight. Please… save her.'" Qí Hǔ's voice remained flat, but the echo of that desperate plea vibrated in the quiet shop. "I agreed."
He shifted his weight slightly. "I went to the silo. Waited. Officer Li arrived. Nervous. Young. Dedicated. Zhang Wei and Xiao Ling… didn't come." A muscle jumped in Qí Hǔ's temple. "We waited. Nothing. Officer Li… he had a bad feeling. We decided to search the path Zhang Wei would have taken from his place to the silo."
The silence deepened, becoming oppressive. Qí Hǔ's next words fell like stones into a still pond. "We found them. About a kilometer out. By the side of the road. Zhang Wei. Xiao Ling." He paused, the image clearly seared into his memory. His voice dropped even lower, rougher. "They were… cut. In half. Left… displayed. Like a message."
A collective intake of breath filled the shop. Zhāng Měi clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. Chén Léi's face went grim, professional detachment warring with visceral disgust. Wáng Jiàn closed his eyes briefly. Officer Zhang paled, her pen hovering over her notebook. Lán Yīng stood frozen, tears streaming silently down her face, David momentarily forgotten.
"The local police came," Qí Hǔ continued, his tone still chillingly detached. "Investigation. Went nowhere officially. Too scared. Or paid off. But Officer Li… he was stubborn. Good cop. He dug. Quietly. He found their hideout. A processing plant. Front for the Nightingale Loom. Moving something… people, drugs, antiquities… didn't matter then. They'd killed Zhang Wei for talking. Killed a child."
Qí Hǔ's hands, hanging loosely at his sides, clenched into fists, the knuckles white. "I… I was close to Zhang Wei. Close to Xiao Ling." The admission was stark, raw. "She used to… share her sweets with me. Called me 'Uncle Tiger'." He swallowed hard, the first visible crack in his composure. "I asked Li… begged him. Let me help. Let me do something. The police… he said they couldn't intervene further without proof, without orders. Too risky. Too many tentacles."
He looked up then, his dark eyes meeting Chén Léi's directly. "I volunteered. Told Li… I'm alone. I have no one. Nothing matters if I do this. If I fail… nothing lost." The bleakness in those words was profound. "Li… he hesitated. But he saw… he saw I meant it. That I had the… capacity. He agreed."
The memory hardened Qí Hǔ's features. "We went that night. Li created a distraction at the front. I went in the back. Found the nerve center. Their planning room. Maps. Documents. Lists. Communications hub. It was… everything." His voice gained a fierce edge. "I couldn't get the documents out. Too many guards closing in. So… I burned it. Used accelerant I'd brought. Lit the whole damn room up. Fought my way out through the chaos, the smoke. Got away. Barely." He touched the faded scar above his collarbone unconsciously. "The fire… it destroyed everything. Their plans. Their records for that operation. Set them back. Way back. That's the 'eight years' he's talking about." He nodded towards the letter in Chén Léi's hand. "The 'improved stuff'… probably means they've rebuilt. Better. Stronger. And they haven't forgotten."
A stunned silence followed. The brutality of the story, the casual mention of a child's murder, the sheer, desperate violence of Qí Hǔ's response, hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of sandalwood, dust, and the now-cold hotpot broth.
"Officer Li…" Chén Léi breathed, his voice thick with realization and awe. "You said Officer Li… who…?"
Qí Hǔ met his gaze squarely. "Li Zheng. He's not 'Officer' Li anymore." A pause. "He's Commissioner Li Zheng. Head of the National Police Department."
Chén Léi's jaw dropped. He stared at Qí Hǔ, the implications crashing over him. The highest-ranking police official in the country knew Qí Hǔ. Knew what he'd done. Knew the secret history of the Nightingale Loom's setback. The letter's threat took on a terrifying new dimension.
Before anyone could process this bombshell, Zhāng Měi moved. Her face was pale, etched with the horror of Xiao Ling's fate and the fury at Qí Hǔ's bleak assessment of his own worth. "*How could you say that*?" she whispered, her voice cracking. She stepped up to Qí Hǔ and, ignoring his usual aversion to touch, gave him a sharp, almost painful tap on the shoulder – a sisterly reprimand mixed with profound grief. "*How could you say you have no one? You have us! You always had us! You stupid, stubborn…*" Her voice broke, unable to finish. She shook her head, tears welling in her own eyes now, the fierce mask crumbling.
The moment was shattered by a loud, impatient voice shouting from the shop doorway, which was still slightly ajar. "Lán! For god's sake, are you coming? This is ridiculous! I'm not sitting in this alley stink any longer! We're going to be late!"
David stood there, silhouetted against the fading light, his face a mask of petulant annoyance, completely oblivious to the devastating story that had just unfolded, to the grief and fury vibrating in the room.
Zhāng Měi's head snapped around. The raw grief on her face instantly transformed back into pure, unadulterated rage. She didn't hesitate. She strode past the stunned group, past Lán Yīng who was still frozen, tears on her cheeks. She reached Lán Yīng, grabbed her wrist firmly – not gently – and propelled her towards the door.
"Out," Zhāng Měi commanded, her voice icy. "Both of you. *Now*." She didn't look at Lán Yīng, her gaze fixed on David's bewildered face as she pushed Lán Yīng past him onto the alley step.
"But—" Lán Yīng started, confused, hurt.
"*Out!*" Zhāng Měi repeated, the word final, furious. She stepped back and slammed the shop door shut in David's startled face with a resounding, decisive *BANG*. She turned the heavy lock with a sharp click.
The sound echoed in the sudden, profound silence within Qi's Silken Threads. The door was shut on David's privilege and Lán Yīng's conflicted presence. Inside, only the remnants of their shattered family remained, bound together now not just by shared history, but by the horrifying truth of Qí Hǔ's past and the terrifying shadow of the Nightingale Loom's vengeance, embodied by the jagged hole in the back door and the heavy, cream-colored envelope lying on the worktable. Zhāng Měi leaned back against the locked door, breathing heavily, her eyes meeting Qí Hǔ's across the space filled with unspoken pain and the looming specter of a war reignited. The story was told. The fragile peace was utterly destroyed. The real fight was just beginning.