Chapter 21
Author: Mr. Big Horn
Yan Zhen shook his head.
He kissed Su Jinxin’s forehead, then helped wash off the remaining stains on his body and wrapped him in a large towel. “There’s been too much going on today. You must be exhausted. Go to sleep.”
“Okay.”
Su Jinxin obediently agreed. He sat in Yan Zhen’s lap, letting him dry his hair. Then Yan Zhen carried him to bed, and he curled up beside Yan Zhen, closing his eyes.
Yan Zhen dimmed the bedside lamp.
He originally planned to sleep too, but his mind was restless, so he grabbed some documents to read by the faint light.
He hadn’t been reading long when his phone rang—it was his personal number.
At this hour, who could it be?
Frowning, Yan Zhen saw it was Qiao Yizhi. Thinking the matter with Shi Lei had been resolved, he quietly got out of bed and walked to the window to answer—Su Jinxin’s breathing had already steadied, and Yan Zhen didn’t want to wake him.
But it wasn’t Qiao Yizhi’s voice on the other end. Someone called him “President Yan.”
Yan Zhen was taken aback: “Jiang Ling?”
“Yes, it’s me,” came the reply.
“What’s the matter?” Yan Zhen felt a chill down his spine, sensing something was wrong.
Sure enough: “I need you to be a witness for me and Mr. Qiao. Are you available?”
Yan Zhen felt a headache coming on: “Not really.”
“Oh, well…”
He didn’t catch the rest.
Jiang Ling’s voice was drowned out by Qiao Yizhi shouting, “Ah Zhen! You have to come, no matter what!”
Yan Zhen pinched the bridge of his nose.
Damn it…
Jiang Ling, Qiao Yizhi, and Yan Zhen were classmates.
Yan Zhen had witnessed their tumultuous relationship, filled with dramatic ups and downs, more intense than any prime-time soap opera.
Every time there was a major blowup, he inevitably got caught in the aftermath.
He was really tired of it.
If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t bother. But Qiao Yizhi was his brother from way back, and he’d just helped him with the Shi Lei issue. It wouldn’t be right to abandon him now…
Yan Zhen turned to check on Su Jinxin, who was sleeping soundly, looking like a sweet angel. Feeling a bit more at ease, he lowered his voice and asked, “Where? The apartment in the city or the seaside villa?”
Jiang Ling gave the villa address in a precise tone.
Yan Zhen pinched the bridge of his nose again: “Alright, I’ll be there soon.”
Before leaving, Yan Zhen checked on Su Jinxin again and instructed the housekeeper to take care of him. Satisfied that everything was in order, he quietly closed the bedroom door.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Su Jinxin’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up abruptly.
A moment later, as if all his strength had been drained, he slumped back down, burying his head in the blanket, curling into a tiny ball.
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Yan Zhen steeled himself for whatever outrageous scenario awaited him.
But reality surpassed his wildest guesses: Qiao Yizhi was bound to the sofa with chains, belts, ropes—every kind of material, looking like a cocoon crafted by alien bugs. Jiang Ling sat beside him, face stern, holding a gleaming knife in one hand and several crumpled papers in the other.
Yan Zhen was relieved he hadn’t brought the driver inside—otherwise, he’d have to pay for the driver’s silence to protect the Qiao family’s reputation.
Just as he was about to say something to diffuse the tension, Jiang Ling spoke up: “Thank you for coming, President Yan.”
Yan Zhen glanced at Qiao Yizhi, then back at Jiang Ling, too wary to say anything provocative. He simply nodded: “No problem. What can I do for you?”
“Be a witness for us,” Jiang Ling repeated what he’d said on the phone.
Yan Zhen looked at Qiao Yizhi. Qiao Yizhi mouthed for him to go along with it.
Yan Zhen had no choice but to ask, “Witness what?”
“From now on,” Jiang Ling’s gaze was as sharp as his knife, “he’ll go his way, and I’ll go mine. We’ll never cross paths again.”
Yan Zhen’s eyebrows twitched. He glanced at Qiao Yizhi, who gave a slight nod.
Yan Zhen agreed.
Jiang Ling handed him the papers: “This is the agreement. He’s already stamped it, and I’ve signed it. You just need to sign as a witness.”
Yan Zhen nodded.
Taking the papers, he saw they weren’t a formal contract but rather pages filled with frantic, chaotic handwriting. Every inch was covered with phrases like “Let me go,” “I want out,” and “Freedom or death.”