Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When Wen Yan led me out through the back door, Lu Qi’s men were still standing at the mouth of the alley.

He rested a hand on my shoulder, his voice flat.

“I’m taking him with me.”

The man opposite us stared at me for two seconds before finally stepping aside.

I followed Wen Yan into the car. The moment the door closed, I spoke up.

“Are you really trying to play the part of my savior?”

“I’m not saving you.” Wen Yan started the engine. “I’m saving what Pei Che left behind.”

“Stop using my brother to pressure me.”

“Then get out of the car.”

I glanced out the window.

The man in the grey jacket was still in the alley.

I didn’t move.

Wen Yan seemed to have known all along that I wouldn’t get out.

“Tomorrow night at 2:30 AM, the Old Sound Control Room,” he said. “Bring the recipe book.”

I looked at him.

“Why does it have to be me who brings it?”

“Because I don’t have the password,” Wen Yan said. “It’s hidden in the things your brother left you.”

When I went back that night, I flipped through the recipe book from beginning to end.

I had looked through that notebook many times before.

When my brother was alive, he wouldn’t let anyone touch it.

After he died, I slept while clutching it for an entire week.

Later, when I couldn’t sleep, I would flip through it.

I had thumbed through it so much that the corners of the pages were nearly worn away.

At three in the morning, I finally saw a string of faint, indented numbers on the back of a cocktail list.

The next day at work, I took a photo of that page with my phone and acted as if nothing had happened.

But Wen Yan was clearly keeping a tighter eye on me.

When someone asked me to deliver drinks to the VIP area, he cut them off with a single sentence: “Pei Shi stays at the bar.”

When a customer came over to ask for my WeChat, Wen Yan would glance over from the stage, and the person would sheepishly put their phone away.

Ah Song finally couldn’t help himself and leaned in to ask, “What’s actually going on between you and Brother Wen?”

“We’re enemies,” I said.

Ah Song laughed outright.

“Enemies? And he’s watching you like that?”

I didn’t respond.

Because I was wondering the same thing.

I had originally come here to settle old scores.

But the way Wen Yan looked at me now made it seem like he was afraid I’d lose myself first.

The following night, I took the notebook to the Old Sound Control Room.

Wen Yan was already waiting.

He didn’t waste any time, pushing a laptop toward me.

“The recipe book.”

I didn’t hand it over.

“Let’s get things straight first.” I looked at him. “Until this thing is open, anything you say is useless.”

“Fine,” Wen Yan said. “But even after it’s open, you might not believe it.”

His words were irritating.

I tossed the notebook over.

Wen Yan flipped to that page. When he saw the string of numbers, his expression didn’t change, as if he had already guessed they would be there.

“Pei Che still had that same old habit,” he murmured. “He always hid important things in separate pieces.”

I watched him.

“What exactly was your relationship with my brother?”

Wen Yan didn’t look up.

“We shared the stage, we collaborated, and we were fools together.”

“And then?”

“And then he died.” Wen Yan entered the numbers into the system. “And I lived.”

The moment the screen lit up, I stopped questioning him.