Zhǐ Ruò felt a shiver crawl down her spine despite the warmth of Lì Chen's embrace. "War," she echoed, the word heavy with implications. She knew, intellectually, that Bai Song wouldn't simply accept his downfall. But to hear Lì Chen, with his quiet intensity, declare it so plainly… it made the threat feel immediate, visceral. The image of the crossed-out face flashed in her mind, a chilling reminder of the stakes.
Lì Chen released her, his expression now all business. "Jiang, secure the perimeter. Double-check everything. I want no surprises." Jiang nodded curtly and disappeared, his movements silent and efficient.
"First," Lì Chen said, turning back to Zhǐ Ruò, "we need to assess the immediate danger. Bai Song won't come himself. He'll send… proxies. People who are expendable, deniable." He walked over to a workbench cluttered with art supplies and, surprisingly, disassembled weapons. "He'll want you dead quickly and quietly. A professional hit. Which means…"
He picked up a small, metallic device, no bigger than her thumb, and showed it to her. "…these." He held up three more. "Miniature tracking devices. They're incredibly sophisticated, nearly impossible to detect without specialized equipment. He'll have planted them on your car, your phone, maybe even on you." He looked at her intently. "Strip." Zhǐ Ruò blinked, stunned. "What?"
Lì Chen sighed, the frustration evident in his voice. "I don't have time to be delicate, Zhǐ Ruò. We need to find these things now. I'll turn around. Jiang will be back shortly. He can assist you if you prefer." He faced the wall, giving her privacy. "Hurry."
With a mix of embarrassment and urgency, Zhǐ Ruò quickly removed her clothes. She felt incredibly vulnerable, exposed not only to the potential assassins but also to Lì Chen, even with his back turned. She ran her hands over her skin, searching for anything unusual. Nothing. A wave of paranoia washed over her. Where could they be?
Jiang re-entered the room. "Everything secure, Master Lì." He paused, noticing Zhǐ Ruò's state of undress and Lì Chen's averted gaze. A flicker of surprise crossed his usually impassive face. Lì Chen spoke without turning around. "Assist Miss Zhǐ Ruò in searching for tracking devices. Be thorough."
Jiang nodded and approached Zhǐ Ruò with a professional detachment that bordered on clinical. He began a systematic search, his fingers gentle but firm. He checked her hair, her ears, even between her toes. Finally, he paused, his expression grim. "Here," he said, pointing to the small of her back. A tiny, almost invisible patch, adhered directly to her skin. He carefully peeled it off. "One down."
Lì Chen turned around, his eyes scanning the device. "Sophisticated. Military-grade. Bai Song is pulling out all the stops." He took the tracker from Jiang and crushed it under his boot.
The next few hours were a blur of activity. Lì Chen, with Jiang's help, swept her apartment, her car, even her office. They found two more trackers, one hidden inside her phone case, the other magnetically attached to the undercarriage of her car. With each discovery, Zhǐ Ruò felt her sense of security erode further. She was a prisoner in her own life, hunted and vulnerable.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the city, Lì Chen declared the sweep complete. "For now," he added grimly. "They'll likely try again. We need to be vigilant." He led her back to his hidden room, the only place he seemed to consider truly safe. The room, once a sanctuary of art, now felt like a bunker, a staging ground for a war she never wanted to fight.
"Who would Bai Song hire?" Zhǐ Ruò asked, her voice trembling slightly. "What kind of people are we dealing with?"
Lì Chen's expression darkened. "The worst kind. Mercenaries, gangsters, Triad enforcers… anyone who's willing to kill for money. Bai Song has deep connections in the underworld. He can call on some very dangerous people." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "But I have a few connections of my own."
He picked up a phone, an old, battered model that looked like it belonged in a museum. "This isn't traceable," he explained. "It operates on a secure network. I use it for… specific purposes." He dialed a number, waited a moment, and then spoke in rapid-fire Cantonese, his voice low and urgent. Zhǐ Ruò couldn't understand the words, but she could hear the steel in his tone. He was giving orders, making demands. He ended the call abruptly.
"I've put out feelers," he said, turning back to Zhǐ Ruò. "I need to know who Bai Song has contacted, what they're planning. Information is our most valuable weapon right now." He paused, his eyes searching hers. "You need to trust me, Zhǐ Ruò. This is going to get ugly. I'll do whatever it takes to protect you, but you need to be prepared to follow my lead, no matter what." His words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the danger that surrounded them. It was then that Zhǐ Ruò understood the full weight of her situation. She wasn't just fighting Bai Song; she was fighting a network of powerful and ruthless individuals who would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. And she was relying on Lì Chen, a man she barely knew, to protect her. But as she looked into his eyes, she saw a depth of determination and strength that reassured her. He was more than just an artist; he was a guardian, a protector. And he was willing to risk everything to keep her safe. A wave of gratitude washed over her, mixed with a sense of trepidation. The road ahead would be long and perilous, but she knew, with Lì Chen by her side, she had a chance to survive.
Days turned into weeks, each one filled with a growing sense of unease. Lì Chen had transformed her life into a carefully orchestrated dance of security measures and evasive maneuvers. He moved her from apartment to apartment, each one a temporary safe house. He taught her basic self-defense techniques, showing her how to disarm an attacker, how to use her surroundings to her advantage. He drilled her on escape routes and emergency protocols. It was exhausting, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once. She was learning to survive, to fight back. And she was discovering a strength within herself that she never knew existed.
One evening, as they were practicing knife defense in the cramped confines of their latest safe house, Lì Chen stopped abruptly, his eyes widening. "They're coming," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can feel it." Zhǐ Ruò frowned. "Feel it? What do you mean, feel it?"
Lì Chen hesitated, his expression troubled. "It's… difficult to explain. My family… we have certain… sensitivities. An awareness of danger that goes beyond the ordinary. I can sense when someone is approaching, when they have malicious intent." He looked at her apologetically. "I told you there were things you wouldn't understand." Zhǐ Ruò stared at him, her mind racing. Was this the fantasy element he had hinted at? Was he about to reveal something truly extraordinary? Before she could press him further, the lights flickered and died, plunging the apartment into darkness. A bloodcurdling scream echoed from the hallway outside. Lì Chen grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the back of the apartment. "Now!" he shouted. "Move!" As they raced through the darkness, Zhǐ Ruò caught a glimpse of figures emerging from the shadows, their faces hidden behind masks, their weapons glinting in the moonlight streaming through the windows. They were assassins, and they were here for her. She was no longer just a businesswoman trying to escape her past; she was a target, a pawn in a game far bigger than herself. And her survival depended on Lì Chen, the artist with the hidden talents, the protector with the uncanny abilities.