Chapter 122: A Bet
The door to Room 207 creaked open, and Wu Yifan stepped inside, his senses sharp. The room was small, dimly lit by a single table lamp that cast golden streaks through the haze of cigarette smoke. A musty smell clung to the walls, mixing with the faint scent of antiseptic from A Xin's bandages. Before Wu Yifan could speak, a blur of motion sliced through the air—a fist, aimed at his throat, fast and fierce despite the attacker's shaky stance.
Wu Yifan dodged, his body twisting like smoke, and the fist sailed past, slamming into the doorframe with a dull thud. A Xin stumbled, grunting in pain, and clutched his side—freshly whipped skin pulling taut beneath his shirt. His face was ashen, beads of sweat rolling down his temples, but his eyes blazed with a wild, testing fire.
"Nice reflexes," A Xin panted, straightening. "But you're either very brave… or very stupid, showing up here alone."
Wu Yifan chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "Stupidity gets you killed. Bravery? Maybe. Or maybe I know you're not here to kill me." He nodded at A Xin's trembling hand. "You can barely stand. If Qian wanted me dead, he'd send someone who can swing a fist without wincing."
A Xin's jaw tightened. He'd hoped to catch Wu Yifan off guard, to gauge his mettle, but the man was annoyingly perceptive. He stumbled to a rickety chair, lowering himself carefully to avoid jarring his wounds. "What makes you think I'm not playing for Qian?"
"Because you're here," Wu Yifan said, crossing his arms. "In a dive bar, at midnight, risking your neck to meet me. Qian doesn't trust anyone enough to let them run a sting this… *personal*." He tilted his head, studying A Xin. "You're tired of taking lashes for his mistakes. Tired of being a pawn."
A Xin's fingers curled into fists. He'd served Qian loyally for years, thinking loyalty would earn respect. Instead, he'd earned suspicion—and a back covered in scars. "Let's cut to it. What do you want from me?"
"Qian Baocui," Wu Yifan said flatly. "I want him gone. And I think you do too."
A Xin laughed, a bitter, rasping sound. "Gone? You think it's that easy? He's got judges in his pocket, cops on his payroll. Half the city's politicians owe him favors. You're a security guard, Wu Yifan. A *security guard*. What could you possibly do to him?"
"More than you think," Wu Yifan said, but there was no arrogance in his tone—just quiet certainty. He walked to the table, picking up the bottle of red wine A Xin had set out. The label was fancy, something imported, not the kind of swill you found in Rose Bar. He poured himself a glass, swirling it slowly. "You know what Qian fears most? Losing control. The rumors, the mob, the doctor—they're cracks in his armor. I just need to find the right hammer."
A Xin watched him, his skepticism warring with a flicker of hope. He'd seen Wu Yifan outmaneuver Qian's goons twice at Infinite, turning disasters into triumphs. There was a sharpness to him, a knack for turning chaos into opportunity. But taking down a man like Qian? That required more than clever tricks. It required power—money, influence, loyalty.
"And you think *you* have that hammer?" A Xin asked.
"I will," Wu Yifan said. He took a sip of wine, savoring it. "But I need men like you. Men who know Qian's weaknesses. Who can get me inside his circle."
A Xin leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Why should I trust you? For all I know, you're just another野心家 (yěxīnjiā, ambitious schemer) looking to carve up his empire for yourself."
"Because I don't want his empire," Wu Yifan said. "I want him *gone*. For what he did to Ding Shihan, to that doctor, to all the people he's crushed. And when he's gone? I don't care about Eastern Coast. Let it burn. I just want Beitian to breathe again."
For a long moment, A Xin said nothing. He thought of the young junkie, foaming at the mouth outside Eastern Coast. Of Dr. Xin, spitting blood on the pavement. Of Su Mengjie, waiting years for him to escape Qian's shadow. Maybe Wu Yifan was sincere. Maybe…
But sincerity didn't win wars.
A Xin stood, wincing, and paced to the window. The street below was empty, save for a stray cat slinking through a dumpster. "Prove it," he said, turning back.
"Prove what?"
"Prove you're not just talk. Prove you can move mountains. Qian's power is built on money—he buys loyalty, buys silence. To take him down, you need more than anger. You need *resources*." He paused, then added, "I'll make you a bet. In one month, earn five million yuan. Any way you want—no rules. Do that, and I'll stand with you. I'll turn his men, leak his secrets, burn his empire to the ground. Fail… and we never speak of this again."
Five million. In a month. Wu Yifan raised an eyebrow. It was a staggering sum—more than he'd earned in his entire life. But A Xin was right: money was leverage. Without it, he'd never outmaneuver Qian's deep pockets.
"Five million," Wu Yifan repeated, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You sure you can afford to lose this bet?"
A Xin scoffed. "Can you afford to win it?"
"I don't just win bets," Wu Yifan said, draining his wine. "I make them look easy." He set the glass down, meeting A Xin's gaze. "One month. Five million. And when I deliver? You better have your knives sharpened. Qian's not going down without a fight."
A Xin nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "I'll be ready. But if you fail…"
"I won't," Wu Yifan said, heading for the door. "Oh, and A Xin? That wine's not poisoned. You should try it. Tastes better when you're not planning to kill the guy you're drinking with."
A Xin watched him go, then picked up the bottle, pouring himself a glass. The wine was rich, fruity, with a hint of oak—Su Mengjie's favorite. He thought of her, downstairs, wiping down the bar, waiting. For years, he'd promised her freedom, a life away from Qian's shadow. Maybe, with Wu Yifan, that promise wasn't just a dream.
He took a sip, savoring it. Five million. In a month. It was impossible.
But then again, so was taking down Qian Baocui.
And Wu Yifan didn't seem like the kind of man who believed in "impossible."
Outside, Wu Yifan pulled his phone from his pocket, checking the time. 9:45 PM. Ye Xiwen would be waiting, probably wondering where he'd vanished to. He smiled, tucking the phone away. Five million. It was a tall order, but he'd faced worse.
He thought of the bartending contest, of the way he'd turned a silly competition into a weapon against Qian. Of the smart bracelet on his wrist, its hidden capabilities. Of Liu Wei, with her connections, and Fu Junyao, with her badge. He had pieces—now he just needed to fit them together.
"Five million," he muttered, grinning. "Easy."
The night air was cool, carrying the distant hum of Beitian's streets. Somewhere, Qian Baocui was probably sipping whiskey, confident in his power.
Soon, Wu Yifan thought, he'd learn just how fragile that confidence really was.
The bet was on.