Confessing on New Year’s Eve sounded a bit clichéd, but Chu Susu checked the calendar and counted on her fingers for a long time, unable to think of a better timing.
Christmas Eve or Christmas a few days earlier wasn’t out of the question either, but after discussing it with Li Le’er, the other girl fired back an emoji—
“THIS IS CHINA, WE DON’T CELEBRATE FOREIGN HOLIDAYS!!!”
Chu Susu: ……
Li Le’er’s words were always like this—seeming unreasonable at first glance, but upon closer reflection, they made a lot of sense.
She hadn’t hidden any of the things that happened with Qiao Qian from Li Le’er and Zhou Xiaoying, explaining the whole story clearly, only omitting the part about Han Xuan and claiming she’d heard it from others.
Ever since Zhou Xiaoying and Li Le’er confessed to each other last time, the two hadn’t met again, and their relationship was extremely awkward, with no telling when it might thaw.
Qiao Qian went without saying, so the four-person group chat had been dead silent for a long time.
This time, Chu Susu pulled them into a separate three-person group chat, also harboring a bit of hope that it might help the two reconcile, and laid everything out for them.
Zhou Xiaoying was okay with it, but Li Le’er wouldn’t play along. Whenever Zhou Xiaoying sent anything, she pretended to be mute.
Chu Susu: “Anyway, that’s how it is. I consulted a lawyer who worked with our company before, and they said suing wouldn’t be a problem.”
Zhou Xiaoying: “I can find some lawyers willing to take the case on my end too, and she won’t have to pay litigation fees. But the issue is her own willingness— I haven’t been able to reach her for a long time.”
Chu Susu: “That’s all we can do.”
The messages sent to Qiao Qian were like stones sinking into the ocean, with no reply even after a long time. It was unclear whether she’d changed all her contact info due to harassment from debt collectors or was deliberately avoiding them.
Chu Susu was pissed at her for acting like a turtle hiding in its shell, but she also recalled all those little moments from before this mess, when they’d gone out together.
On the dining table at her home, there was still the scented candle Qiao Qian had given her.
Li Le’er: “Sigh, that Bar T and the bar and all that crap, they’re just a bunch of fucking idiots. They’ve gone completely insane for money—what good does ruining a perfectly fine person do them?”
She couldn’t stand seeing someone get bullied and immediately wanted to round up people to trash the place, but unfortunately, the bar had recently closed for renovations.
Who knew if they’d caught wind of something.
Li Le’er called it “guilty conscience.”
Sometimes when Chu Susu thought about it, she’d feel a twinge of worry for Qiao Qian.
Once at the company, Han Xuan noticed her suddenly grim expression and reassured her that Qiao Qian’s issue would be properly resolved.
Though Han Xuan hadn’t explained proactively, Chu Susu knew she seemed to have the ability to foresee the future, which eased her mind a bit.
As long as the person wasn’t driven to desperation and didn’t do something drastic, it would be fine.
As long as she was alive, everything could be solved.
But Chu Susu always felt that Han Xuan was overly concerned about Qiao Qian’s matter—Han Xuan never casually commented on others’ affairs, and her current attitude was unusually different.
Had she really decided to use her ability to help Qiao Qian?
Chu Susu only cared if using it would cause backlash harm to Han Xuan. If not, then it was all good.
She’d wanted to ask Han Xuan more, but the design team had an urgent project lately, with back-to-back overtime and business trips. According to the team lead, they were so swamped out of town that they barely had time to breathe.
Chu Susu didn’t want to bother her at this critical time, so she swallowed her words.
On the fourth night of Han Xuan’s business trip, as she was walking Pipi to the neighborhood entrance and about to turn back, she was suddenly stopped by the security guard.
There weren’t many residents in this neighborhood, and the guards were well-trained, required to memorize every household’s faces.
“Miss Chu.” The security guard waved her over. “I was just about to call you. You have a package at the security booth.”
Chu Susu stopped, crouched down, and scooped Pipi into her arms.
“Me?” she asked, puzzled.
“Yeah.”
Strange— these days, deliveries all went straight to the neighborhood lockers. Why would a courier bother going to the security booth?
Maybe the lockers were full?
Puzzled, Chu Susu walked to the window and took the “package” from the guard. It felt like a thin sheet of paper, no thickness to it. She couldn’t recall ordering anything like that.
Could someone have written her a letter?
Chu Susu thanked him and only opened it after getting home with Pipi. Sure enough, it was a letter.
She’d thought it was some new kind of junk ad at first, but her gaze froze the moment she unfolded it.
Because at the very top of the letter paper was her full name, phone number, and address, written precisely.
It was an A4 sheet printed and folded into thirds, with a faint smudge of ink on the edge—probably stuffed in right after printing, conveying the sender’s urgency.
Here was the letter’s content.
“Miss Chu Susu of Building 03, Room 201— I apologize for the intrusion of this letter.
I am Luo Yiyi. I believe that upon hearing my name, you should know who I am.”
At this point, Chu Susu furrowed her brows tightly, her fingers holding the paper trembling slightly.
Of course she remembered who this was.
On the day Han Xuan had lain unconscious and suffering in her bathtub, a Hunter disguised as Fang Chen’s face and voice had tried to get Chu Susu to open the door.
Afterward, the police pulled the downstairs surveillance and quickly tracked down the man, detaining him.
Luo Yiyi was that man.
So it wasn’t surprising that he knew her address and apartment number—he’d been here before.
What did a Hunter want with her?
“I hope you won’t be afraid. I have no intention of harming you in any way.
Our last meeting was very unpleasant and undignified, and I sincerely apologize. But I have an urgent matter that, for certain reasons, I can’t explain in a letter. I hope to discuss it with you in person.
I know this is a very presumptuous request on my part, so I hope you’ll set aside past grievances and grant this impudent plea of mine.
My phone number is: 13**, please text me your decision. Thank you very much.
Luo Yiyi.”
Chu Susu skimmed through the letter, her furrowed brows not easing, because she noticed some inconsistencies in the details.
She worked at a foreign company and dealt with overseas clients often—how could she miss the heavy English-tinged phrasing in this letter?
Chu Susu suddenly recalled how Chu Qingyang had briefly mentioned this guy’s background last time: Luo Yiyi was a highly educated returnee student who, upon returning to the country, was hired by a top-tier company with an annual salary over a million.
People who’d been abroad too long often picked up an English accent in their writing—it matched up, so this letter was indeed from Luo Yiyi himself.
After his detention last time, Chu Susu had suspected he wasn’t a real Hunter, just an unlucky scapegoat.
But before she could approach him, he’d come to her first.
This was just her personal guess, though—Luo Yiyi’s true identity was still unknown, and with Han Xuan out of town lately, Chu Susu felt she shouldn’t face him alone.
So she crumpled the letter into a ball, tossed it in the trash, and called property management to say Luo Yiyi was harassing her, asking them to strictly enforce access control and not let him in.
Unexpectedly, even so, Luo Yiyi still showed up at her door.
A few nights later, as Chu Susu was home from work as usual, she heard the doorbell ring.
Peering through the peephole, she saw a skinny man shrinking timidly outside.
“Miss Chu.”
Chu Susu froze for a moment, instinctively grabbing her phone to call the police while coldly demanding from inside the door, “How did you get in here?”
She’d explicitly told property management not to let this guy in!
And without an access card, how had Luo Yiyi even entered the building? Did he have some unnatural ability too?
“Please don’t be scared.”
Luo Yiyi visibly relaxed upon seeing she was home, then grew anxious again. “I really have urgent business to discuss with you. Can we talk?”
Chu Susu wasn’t buying it and pressed, “Tell me first how you got in.”
Luo Yiyi swallowed. “I’m a programmer.”
“Hah?”
“I spent some time rewriting one of my cards into the property system, so it scans as a resident card…”
Chu Susu went silent for a moment before asking, “What’s the best programming language in the world?”
Luo Yiyi blinked, not expecting the unrelated question, but answered honestly on reflex. “PHP.”
That answer convinced her about eighty percent—he really was a programmer, so sneaking in via tech was plausible.
“What do you want with me?” Her voice remained icy. “Speak.”
Luo Yiyi looked miserable. “Can you let me in?”
As if to prove he was currently harmless as a chicken, he raised his arm, revealing a shiny metal handcuff clamped around it.
On top of that, a rope was tightly bound around his ankle.
“If you don’t believe me, you can open the security door and check—I’ve tied up my hands and feet.”
So ruthless?
Chu Susu had truly never seen such an operation before. She hesitated for a few seconds but ultimately pulled the anti-theft door open just a tiny crack.
She saw that the restraints on Luo Yiyi’s hands and feet were indeed real, tightly binding his skin, wrapped so securely without any give.
Pipi was at her feet, warily eyeing the stranger, seemingly ready to rush up and bite him at any moment.
Luo Yiyi laboriously hopped and spun around in a circle, his movements comically like performing a comedy skit, to prove he really couldn’t budge: “See, I didn’t lie.”
His tone was full of pleading: “I swear I have no ill intentions. Otherwise, why would I go to such great lengths just to come beg you?”
Chu Susu pondered for a moment, then bowed her head to set up a text message that would automatically send in half an hour.
If she didn’t manually cancel the setting within half an hour, the message would go through the emergency SMS channel straight to 110.
“Go downstairs.”
“Huh?”
“Even though moving is a bit tricky, you should be able to take the elevator down by yourself, right?”
“Yes…”
She grabbed a coat and keys from nearby, soothing Pipi with a pat on the head, then called out to Luo Yiyi through the door:
“I’m not comfortable with you standing at my doorstep, so head down first. We’ll meet downstairs in five minutes.”
