During that stretch of time, Wei Qian returned home later and later each night, dragged into endless "socializing" alongside Brother Le.
In the past, Wei Qian would dodge these chaotic gatherings whenever possible. But ever since Pocky’s death, a cold, lethal resolve had settled deep within his chest: he was going to destroy Brother Le, and to do that, he had to blend into the man’s shadow, biding his time and earning his absolute trust.
Besides, the stifling, awkward atmosphere at home made him thoroughly disinclined to return anyway.
This bizarre domestic stalemate stretched until March, when both Wei Zhi Yuan and Little Bao had already resumed their classes for the new term.
On a certain day in March, corresponding to the second day of the second lunar month -- the day the "Loong Raises Its Head" -- a late-spring freeze struck the region. Just when everyone assumed spring was around the corner, a massive blizzard unexpectedly blanketed the city, nearly burying the streets in snow.
As usual, Wei Qian was out accompanying Brother Le, though his mind clearly wandered elsewhere. His eyes flicked repeatedly toward his newly acquired "Little Smart" phone. Halfway through the drinks, the phone buzzed. The moment he picked up, his expression hardened.
Brother Le slanted a glance at him. "What's wrong?"
Wei Qian kept his voice low and urgent. "My sister's sick, Brother Le. Kids with high fevers can turn bad real quick... I need to head back and check on her."
Brother Le appeared subtly displeased, yet out of deference to his rising star, he offered casually, "Want me to send a few guys with you?"
Wei Qian quickly replied, "No need, Brother Le. I'll just check on her and come right back."
Standing up, Wei Qian bowed respectfully to the room. Without waiting for the others to react, he jammed a bottle against the corner of the wooden table, popped the cap, and chugged the entire beer in one go -- a gesture that gave Brother Le immense face in front of his crew.
Amidst the roaring laughter and jeers of the street thugs, Wei Qian leaned in close to Brother Le, whispering deferentially, "I’ve already called your driver to get the car ready -- the 'Shield' one. I had him turn on the heater for you in advance."
Brother Le waved a hand, his face beaming with satisfaction. "Off you go."
Wei Qian rarely opened his mouth, but whenever he took charge of a task, he managed it with flawless precision, hitting every sweet spot. Brother Le mused that his fondness for the kid was hardly accidental -- the youth possessed a sharp, ruthless edge, could hold his own in a fight, yet was far from a reckless hothead. Wei Qian understood the smooth art of street diplomacy: he knew how to preserve his own dignity, but more importantly, he knew how to give others face.
Having handled the crowd, Wei Qian dashed out into the storm, racing toward home. Before he even reached the alley, he spotted Old Mrs. Song trudging awkwardly through the deep snow, carrying Little Bao on her back. Behind them trailed Wei Zhi Yuan, holding an umbrella over the pair while his own shoulders were drenched in sleet.
The old woman was frail and ignorant of how to hail a taxi. Her back was bent under the girl's weight, her heavy, white breaths puffing into the freezing air like thick clouds of steam.
Wei Qian strode over and scooped Little Bao into his arms. Touching her forehead, he felt a scorching heat. Stripping off his heavy coat, he wrapped the girl tightly and carried her straight toward the hospital.
Lately, Little Bao had been shuttled from one temporary bed to another. Combined with the unspoken, glaring hostility between her grandmother and big brother, plus Wei Zhi Yuan’s persistent coldness toward her, the mental strain on the little girl had been unprecedentedly heavy.
She had never harbored so much anxiety in her simple heart. So, when a viral flu swept through her primary school, her immune system collapsed entirely.
The falling snow outside seemed to signal an endless winter. The hospital’s cold iron-framed cots radiated a chill that couldn't be warmed, while the northwestern gale howled against the window. Little Bao’s cheeks flushed a sickly crimson beneath the dripping IV bag.
The remaining three were thrown into complete disarray.
Old Mrs. Song was entirely out of her element. From registration to lab work, blood draws, and admission paperwork, Wei Qian handled every detail single-handedly; she had no idea how to help. In the shantytown, she had acted like a fierce, unstoppable force -- representing the peak fighting capacity of rural matriarchs -- yet inside the sterile hospital, she appeared utterly helpless and fragile.
Her cloudy eyes darted anxiously after the passing doctors and nurses. Sitting on the hallway bench, oblivious to the slush melting off her wet clothes, she barely dared to perch on the very edge of the seat. Whenever someone walked by, she flinched and stood up like a schoolchild who had committed an error, nervously rubbing her calloused, frost-cracked palms against her damp trousers.
By the time Wei Qian settled Little Bao into her ward, it was late at night. Looking at the old woman and the young boy, he threw on his coat, left the hospital, and picked up two bowls of hot noodle soup from a small diner that was just closing down.
Carrying the takeout back, he set one bowl in front of Old Mrs. Song and pushed the other to Wei Zhi Yuan, muttering, "Eat up."
Wei Zhi Yuan murmured, "Brother, you eat first."
Wei Qian waved him off, fumbled for his cigarette pack, stuffed it back into his pocket, and turned toward the doctor's office.
Waiting until the two had finished their meal, Wei Qian glanced outside and noticed the snow had finally stopped. Handing the umbrella to Wei Zhi Yuan, he paused, pulled two hundred yuan from his pocket, and shoved the bills into the boy's hand. "It’s getting late. You two go on home. Just hail a cab downstairs and see what it’s like to ‘catch a taxi’ for once. The doctor says Little Bao will need to stay in the hospital for a few days, so here is the rest of the money for your household expenses."
Wei Zhi Yuan looked up. "You're not coming home?"
"No," Wei Qian replied softly. "I'm staying here with her."
Wei Zhi Yuan curled his lips, staring down at his wet shoes, his tone turning stubborn and petulant. "Then I'm not going back either."
Wei Qian kept his voice unusually patient. "What good are you going to do here? Don't catch a cold yourself. Be good and head home."
Wei Zhi Yuan remained sullenly silent.
He truly didn't want to be left alone with the old woman. Yet he knew his big brother's rare patience lasted for two sentences at most -- any more, and the youth's temper would flare.
Sure enough, Wei Qian’s face darkened as he barked, "Cut the crap and get home! Don't add to my trouble here!"
After the sharp reprimand, Wei Qian reached out, palmed the boy's hair, and found it had dried. His tone softened again. "Hurry up and go. There’s some Banlangen herbal medicine at home -- brew a cup for yourself when you get back."
Beside them, Old Mrs. Song unexpectedly broke her silence, lowering her posture for the very first time. "How about I stay instead? I'm old, and I don't sleep much anyway..."
Wei Qian slanted a cold glance at her, asking nonchalantly, "You? What could you possibly do?"
Old Mrs. Song: "..."
Wei Qian let out a faint sneer, pulled open the door to the ward, and gestured for both of them to leave.
Old Mrs. Song shuffled out hesitantly, turning back to whisper, "Then... don't buy food outside tomorrow morning. I'll cook something at home and bring it over..."
This time, Wei Qian didn't even lift his eyelids, his cold brows completely tuning out her words.
A deflated Wei Zhi Yuan followed the old woman toward the exit.
"Wait." Wei Qian suddenly recalled something and called out.
Wei Zhi Yuan instantly spun around, jogging back as if summoned by God.
Wei Qian bent down, leaning right against Wei Zhi Yuan’s ear, whispering in a barely audible tone, "When you get back, don't forget to request a sick leave from school for your sister. These next few days... keep your eyes open when you travel to and from school. Try to walk alongside other students. If someone stops you on the street, don't panic. Answer whatever they ask truthfully -- it doesn't matter. Just tell them I’ve been at the hospital taking care of Little Bao. Nobody will give you a hard time."
Wei Zhi Yuan looked at him with a mix of confusion and suspicion. In the dim light of the hallway, Wei Qian’s dark eyes appeared extraordinarily deep, cold, and calm, with an undercurrent of dark light surging within them.
"Other than that, you know nothing. Got it?"
Wei Zhi Yuan nodded slowly.
The corners of Wei Qian’s thin lips curved upward, forming a faint, unreadable smile in the backlight.
"Don't worry about Little Bao. It hasn't turned into pneumonia -- just a viral cold. She'll be fine in a week," Wei Qian added casually. "This illness of hers... the timing couldn't be more precise."
Years later, when Wei Zhi Yuan looked back on that night, he realized it was the exact moment his big brother began ending his war with their grandmother, easing the tension and eventually forming a quiet, unspoken truce.
Too many things transpired on that single winter night. It seemed like a sudden, miraculous turn of fate for everyone involved. Yet Wei Qian’s quiet, cryptic whispers always left Wei Zhi Yuan convinced of one truth: sometimes, those seemingly miraculous turns of destiny, if traced back to their root, were meticulously orchestrated by human hands.
Little Bao’s illness unfolded precisely as the doctor predicted. By the next morning, her burning fever had broken into a mild temperature.
True to her word, Old Mrs. Song arrived early, bringing a bowl of steamed egg custard for Little Bao, along with tea-marinated eggs and savory pork porridge for Wei Qian.
The tea eggs had been simmered overnight, completely saturated with rich flavor.
Wei Qian offered no polite refusal, digging in immediately. He had to admit that while the old woman was insufferable in many ways, her cooking was indisputably excellent.
After eating a few bites, Little Bao forced herself to chat weakly with her grandmother before drifting back to sleep. Old Mrs. Song sat rigidly by the bed, attempting to initiate conversation with Wei Qian several times. Yet Wei Qian gave her no opening, casually flipping through a tattered, old magazine with missing pages, ignoring her completely.
The silence between them grew heavy and uncomfortable. Unable to take it any longer, the old woman stood up and offered softly, "Lee Lee's brother... what would you like for lunch? I'll head back and cook it."
Wei Qian let out a cold, sharp sneer. "Just worry about your granddaughter. I don't need your charity -- I'm afraid you'll slip rat poison into my food."
Old Mrs. Song’s eyebrows flared, looking as though she was about to launch into a tirade. Yet her lips trembled, and in the end, she swallowed her anger, turning around and walking out without another word. Come noon, she returned through the freezing sleet, bearing hot meals for Wei Qian despite the insults.
Three times a day, she delivered varied, carefully prepared meals with an obvious desire to appease him. By the third day, the food had finally softened Wei Qian’s stance. Though he offered no praise, he ceased his biting sarcasm -- keeping his mouth shut, uttering neither good words nor bad.
Shortly after Old Mrs. Song left that afternoon, Fatty San arrived.
Fatty San brought fresh fruit for Little Bao, mindlessly teasing her for a moment before tugging on Wei Qian’s sleeve, whispering, "Qian'er, step outside with me. Third Brother needs to talk to you."
Fatty San’s face was ashen, underscored by heavy dark circles beneath his eyes. His round, pie-like face appeared almost hollowed out from sheer stress.
Wei Qian murmured a few instructions to Little Bao and stepped out into an empty corner of the hallway. Before he could speak, Fatty San grabbed him by the collar, his voice trembling. "Why the hell is your phone turned off?! Do you have any idea what happened out there?!"
Wei Qian casually detached Fatty San’s hands from his collar, replying indifferently, "The sky hasn't fallen."
"The sky has fallen!" Fatty San hissed frantically. "Le Xiao Dong met with an accident!"
Wei Qian stared at him, his face an unreadable mask.
"The night before last -- the exact night you brought Little Bao to the hospital! Le Xiao Dong and his crew finished drinking and got ambushed on their way back! His Cadillac was rammed and flipped right on the street! His guys lost their minds and engaged in a full-blown brawl right in the middle of the downtown district! Those brainless bastards drew a massive police response! The city just launched a crackdown on organized crime, and they walked right into the crosshairs..."
Fatty San babbled on rapidly, but Wei Qian suddenly cut him off.
Wei Qian’s voice dropped into a low, gravelly whisper, the last traces of his youthful timbre fading into a deep, somber tone.
"Is Le Xiao Dong dead?" Wei Qian asked softly.
Fatty San froze. He stared at Wei Qian in disbelief for a long moment before asking numbly, "Wh... wait. Did you... did you already know?"
Wei Qian let out a razor-thin, mocking smile -- handsome, icy, and terrifying.
As Fatty San’s mind pieced the puzzle together, a cold sweat broke out across his back. "What did you have to do with this?! Have you got a death wish, Wei Qian?! Le Xiao Dong and those high-level players... are they really someone small fry like us can mess with?!"
Wei Qian raised an index finger to his lips, signaling silence.
Stepping closer, he reached into Fatty San’s jacket, snatched a pack of cigarettes, and whispered, "Third Brother, you're right. I'm just a small fish. I don't play any role in this. I left the gathering early that night, without knowing when he would leave or which route he would take. Do you really think a cautious man like Brother Le -- who changes his residence every single night -- could be easily ambushed? It's simply too bizarre."
Fatty San stood there with a completely dazed expression, looking as if he had just been abducted by aliens.
"But knowing he's dead... I can finally breathe," Wei Qian murmured. Resting his chin in one hand, his fingers brushed over the faint stubble along his jawline. He took the cigarette pack and walked toward the exit; the hospital strictly prohibited smoking, and he was starving for a drag.
That massive drug trafficking case had dragged down more than just small scapegoats like Pocky; it had targeted the real kingpins and seasoned players. With Brother Le operating in the shadows, even outsiders could guess his involvement, let alone the internal players seeking retribution.
Le Xiao Dong had acted like a short-sighted conspirator. The moment trouble arose, rather than securing the big picture, his sole instinct was to sever his ties -- and he had done so clumsily.
Wei Qian knew that ever since Pocky’s death, countless eyes had been tracking Brother Le. Because a rival faction had previously approached Wei Qian -- knowing his delicate position as Le’s favored enforcer and his personal bond with the deceased Pocky.
At the time, Wei Qian hadn't agreed outright. Instead, he had turned around and reported the rival faction to Brother Le, offering a show of absolute loyalty that thoroughly cleared his name in Le’s paranoid mind.
After all, if it weren’t for a fiercely loyal, blind follower, who else would send their dear Brother Le to an early grave?
Le Xiao Dong was born in the Year of the Loong, and he foolishly believed he possessed an imperial aura. Every year on the second day of the second lunar month -- when the "Loong Raises Its Head" -- he held lavish banquets for his crew. Before leaving that night, Wei Qian had personally prepared his vehicle. Among Le’s collection of luxury cars, his favorite was the heavy Cadillac -- not for its performance, but because a famous comedy skit on national television had made every person in China recognize it as a symbol of immense wealth.
Wei Qian’s subtle flattery had hit the exact mark, leaving Brother Le immensely pleased.
Le Xiao Dong maintained dozens of safehouses, convinced no one could ever track his movements. Every time he stepped into his car, he believed his destination was entirely unpredictable.
Unfortunately, when his wife returned from a shopping spree with a world-renowned luxury watch, Brother Le had insisted on wearing short sleeves in the freezing early spring just to show it off. From that moment, Wei Qian knew exactly where he would head that night.
Drunk on alcohol and vanity, feeling like an absolute king among men, Le Xiao Dong couldn't resist cruising past the central city square in his prized Cadillac to flaunt his wealth. From the square, the road led directly onto the northern elevated highway. In the northern district, Brother Le owned a massive villa where his three mistresses coexisted in a bizarre, fragile harmony. One of them had recently given birth to a son, and she had deliberately called him that night, flattering him by treating the "Looing Raises Its Head" Day as his personal birthday.
Drunk and ecstatic, how could Brother Le resist visiting his "three palaces" to celebrate?
Furthermore, Brother Le never drove himself, nor did he ever sit in the front passenger seat, believing the front row beneath his regal status. He always sat exclusively in the rear right passenger seat.
So, when the rival faction's heavy truck rammed the Cadillac on the highway, they aimed straight for the back.
People who were overly flamboyant and superficial were never built for the long game; they were destined to die foolishly along the way.