Chapter 16 - Parallel Lines

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well.

Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

And, as I said before, if you wish to read ahead, you can head over to my Patreon to get early access to all the translated chapters.

A phone call at three in the morning… loud, obnoxious, and damn rude. Didn't their mothers ever teach them it was impolite to call before eight in the morning or after ten at night? Do they need me to teach them a lesson?

 

Shuai Zhaomin grumbled, yanking the blanket over his head. Due to his previous job, he had the habit of keeping his phone on overnight, but now that he'd quit, he didn't care if the phone rang itself dead—he wasn't going to answer.

 

After two or three minutes, the ringing finally stopped. Stifled by the blanket, he stuck his head out with a huff.

 

He reached for the bedside table, fumbling for his phone to shut it off. Just as his fingers brushed the device, the ringing started again.

 

Dammit! Who the hell is so persistent? Were they trying to give him money or just begging to be cursed out? At this hour, they could've gone to a bar to find company if they were so bored—be it drinking, a hookup, or even a brawl—he didn't care!

 

Snatching the phone, he squinted at the caller ID through his blurry, glasses-less vision. The glowing text looked like... Brelini.

 

Great, no need to answer that. He popped out the battery, leaving the hollow shell on the table. His precious sleep was more important. He flung the phone onto the sofa by the window, turned over, and settled back into bed.

 

He shifted carefully to avoid irritating his wound, yawned, and drifted back into his unfinished dream—a chess game he didn't intend to abandon until victory.

 

The silence didn't last. Somewhere outside, a stray dog began howling, its piercing cries shredding the night's tranquility and stabbing at Shuai Zhaomin's temples.

 

The window was half-open. He should've closed it. Shrinking further into his blanket, he tried to muffle the noise.

 

Once woken up, it was always hard for him to fall back asleep. Now, every little sound around him became unbearable. Damn it! Why the hell would someone make a call at this ungodly hour?!

 

Frustrated, he threw off his blanket, his chest wound protesting with sharp pain, and he let out an involuntary cough. Just as he steadied his breathing, the landline started ringing.

 

Persistent bastard! He and Tengshe Brelini weren't close enough to be chatting at three in the morning! Even Serg had never done this!

 

Thinking about Serg made him bite his lip reflexively.

 

His sleep was officially ruined. Scratching his head irritably, he dragged himself to the sofa and retrieved the cordless phone from the side table.

 

"Hello?" He muttered, wishing he'd left the phone on the nightstand. Without his glasses, his vision was a blurry mess and everything around him seemed like just a patchwork of gray smudges.

 

"Attorney Shuai, did I wake you?" Tengshe's deep, melodic voice hummed through the receiver, pleasing to the ear, but still outrageously rude!

 

hould he suggest that Tengshe return to elementary school for a refresher on civics and manners? Calling in the middle of the night to ask if someone was awake—what kind of logic was that? Had his brain sprung a leak?

 

"Thanks to you, I am now," Shuai Zhaomin replied curtly. He had been about to flop back onto the sofa but remembered he'd thrown his mobile phone there earlier. The last thing he needed was another injury.

 

The man chuckled softly, followed by the faint hiss of a cigarette. "My apologies. I had a few things on my mind and thought I'd chat with you about them."

 

"Mr. Brelini, as much as I regret to say this, I've already resigned. Tomorrow, my boss should send someone else to take over this case." Whether or not it was officially true, he was claiming it first.

 

"Oh? So that thing* is planning to turn against me now?" The way Tengshe phrased it, as if talking about an object rather than a person, made Shuai Zhaomin chuckle despite himself.

 

[T/N: He's talking about Zhaomin's former boss.]

 

"Turning against you? Mr. Brelini, no one can bend the world to their will. That's not how it works." While the thought of throwing his boss under the bus was satisfying, he still owed his former employer a fair word—after all, he'd drawn a salary from him for seven or eight years.

 

"Attorney Shuai, you asked me about Sara once, didn't you?" Tengshe hummed another soft laugh, steering the conversation right where he wanted.

 

Well, since sleep was already out of the question, this might as well serve him as a bedtime story.

 

Yawning, Shuai Zhaomin shuffled back to bed. As soon as he sank into the blankets, his muscles relaxed with a bittersweet ache. Ah, tomorrow he'd make sure to sleep in!

 

"Yes, you mentioned that bullet belonged to Miss Sara," he mumbled, his voice muffled and tinged with a nasal laziness that almost sounded endearing.

 

"She's my adorable little sister." Sister? Shuai Zhaomin smirked faintly, recalling the photograph he'd seen. Sara, with her violet eyes and doll-like beauty, carried an animalistic ferocity beneath her delicate exterior.

 

An "adorable sister" ought to be like Zhaoan*—gentle, strong, with a fragile grace. Even without knowing how to act spoiled, she was irresistibly adorable! Damn it! What was so great about that fake herbivore predator that he managed to claim her?

 

[T/N: Zhaomin's sister.]

 

"Forgive me, but your 'adorable little sister' seems intent on killing you. If that case can't be disproven, the police would be thrilled to escort you to prison." Naturally, he wouldn't mind that outcome either. What could be better than his peace and quiet?

 

A man like this would probably end up ruling the roost in prison anyway. Would Fitch try to sneak in too, just to be near his favorite "master"?

 

Yawning again, Shuai Zhaomin listened to the man's low laugh and the sound of his deliberate breaths. Oddly enough, it wasn't irritating. If anything, it lulled him into an even deeper drowsiness.

 

It must have been the exertion of getting out of bed earlier, he mused. Either that or Tengshe's velvety voice was doing a surprisingly decent impression of a lullaby—a rare positive point for the man.

 

"I can't possibly betray Sara," Tengshe murmured, his voice weaving seamlessly with the faint strains of harp music in the background. Beautiful, yes, but utterly wasted on him. If he wanted to enjoy music in the dead of night, could he at least leave him out of the late-night party? He'd much prefer listening to "One Sleep, One Inch Taller*"—if he could grow to the heavens, all the better.

 

[T/N: "Yi Ming Da Yi Cun" (一瞑大一寸) literally means "growing an inch with each sleep." The song's title originates from a belief or poetic expression about children growing taller after a good night's sleep.]

 

"Very well. That's your choice," Shuai Zhaomin replied lazily. "Share your thoughts with whoever's taking over my role. Let them figure out how to help you." He was perfectly content as an ordinary civilian and had no interest in the inner workings of the mafia.

 

"I need to know if she's here to help me—or to kill me."

 

And why should he care? Pulling the blanket tighter around himself, Shuai Zhaomin yawned again, now too lethargic even for single-syllable replies.

 

If they were competitors, why bother helping each other out? And if there was evidence, why hold back for the sake of so-called "family" or "ethics"? What kind of case could a lawyer even build under these circumstances? Tengshe might as well just send someone to raze the prosecutor's prized rose garden with a machine gun. Intimidation would probably close the case faster.

 

Illegal methods could bury just about any case, right? If he weren't a lawyer, Shuai Zhaomin would've been tempted to suggest as much. He wasn't exactly a paragon of justice himself and preferred to avoid unnecessary complications.

 

"Mr. Brelini, would you kindly relay your thoughts to the person taking over the case? Apologies, but this is no longer my concern."

 

"Why?"

 

The music grew louder, and Shuai Zhaomin's mind unhelpfully supplied an image of Tengshe lounging bare-chested, perhaps draped in a robe, a cigarette between his fingers. Seated in a leather recliner, a glass of liquor on the side table, he might've looked every bit the picture of indulgence—with Fitch possibly curled up at his feet like a loyal dog.

 

"Because..." A massive yawn interrupted his sentence, and Shuai Zhaomin mumbled something incoherent. His consciousness had already started to drift, and there was no reason for him to fight it.

 

There was no money to be made from this, and even if there were, it was still his off-hours. Lawyers weren't 24-hour convenience stores, for heaven's sake. What kind of ridiculous expectations did Tengshe have for his legal counsel? Had he ever truly seen him as a lawyer from the start?

 

"Attorney Shuai, are you free tomorrow at one?" Tengshe's voice softened further, almost lulling. Or maybe it was just Shuai Zhaomin's exhaustion playing tricks on him.

 

"Mm... a little bit..."

 

"Good. Tomorrow at one, I'll visit your place. Apologies for disturbing you. Rest well."

 

The call ended before Shuai Zhaomin could muster a reaction.

 

One? What one? One o'clock?!

 

His groggy awareness snapped back to life as he clutched the now-silent receiver, unable to utter a single curse.

 

"Damn it... what the hell..."

 

Yes, he had a little time tomorrow. But who said he had time for that?! That snake had tricked him while he was half-asleep! All the drowsiness he'd painstakingly gathered vanished instantly.

 

Damn it! Did Tengshe think he could find him whenever he pleased? Not a chance!

 

Dragging himself out of bed, Shuai Zhaomin awkwardly packed a few clothes and toiletries into his large backpack with his uninjured hand. Once again, it was time for a "strategic retreat."

 

Until his wounds healed, he had no intention of dealing with Tengshe Brelini. And even after they healed—he still didn't want to.

 

As much as Tengshe irritated him, Shuai Zhaomin had never encountered a client who made him want to run quite this much. Until yesterday's meeting at Columbia University, he'd thought he could wrap up his work and resign gracefully. So why did he suddenly decide to flee?

 

Perhaps it was when he learned the full details of the Brelini family power struggle. That should be the turning point. Sure, he could go head-to-head with Tengshe if needed. He had no doubt that he'd come out on top in the end. But getting tangled in a Mafia family feud? That was not something one could simply power through with courage and determination.

 

Besides, Shuai Zhaomin didn't have much courage or determination to begin with—just a terrible temper.

 

Walking through the chilly, deserted streets with his backpack, he considered hiding out in a hotel for ten days or so before returning to Taiwan.

 

Just as he was about to flag down a cab, his peripheral vision caught a graceful figure approaching.

 

"Mr. Shuai Zhaomin, the lawyer?" A voice as sweet as candy reached his ears, its undertone of aloofness setting off alarm bells in his mind.

 

"No," he replied, his expression unchanged. Adjusting his glasses, he scrutinized the woman before him.

 

She was young, dressed in a white dress paired with a beige scarf. Her soft, wavy hair was a light coffee color, cascading gently over her shoulders.

 

"Really? I thought I wouldn't mistake the wrong person," she said, turning to face him fully. Her violet eyes narrowed slightly as she smiled. "Do you happen to know Attorney Shuai?"

 

What kind of ridiculous question was that? What was this, a novel or manga where random strangers always happened to know the person you were looking for?

 

"Apologies." With a painful shrug, Shuai Zhaomin stepped back cautiously, observing the woman while keeping an eye on passing cars.

 

Of course, at a time like this, there wasn't a single taxi in sight. Damn it!

 

"Are you going on a trip, sir?" The woman stepped closer, maintaining a delicate balance of distance between them. Her smile was soft and beautiful, but Shuai Zhaomin saw a familiar gleam in those violet eyes.

 

It was almost identical to Tengshe's.

 

Among the six siblings, wasn't Sara the one with violet eyes? Twenty-five years old—that matched, too…

 

"I'm sorry, miss, but that's a private matter." Cold sweat gathered in his palms, but Shuai Zhaomin's face remained composed, his smile as polite as ever.

 

The woman chuckled softly. In the quiet night, her laugh was alluring, reminiscent of a siren's song.

 

"Since fate brought us together, why not come as my guest? Perhaps you'll enjoy the Mediterranean-style hospitality at my hotel?" She tilted her head, strands of her light brown hair brushing against her pale cheek. As she reached up to tuck them away, Shuai Zhaomin caught sight of a deep red mark on her wrist.

 

"No, thank you. I actually prefer—"

 

"Attorney Shuai, I like smart people." She cut him off, her sweet tone abruptly turning sharp. The predatory gleam in her violet eyes was no longer concealed, though she remained stunningly beautiful—eerily like Tengshe.

 

"Why are you coming after me?" Shuai Zhaomin demanded, genuinely baffled. "I'm no longer handling Tengshe Brelini's case."

 

The woman laughed lightly. With a wave of her hand, a sleek limousine rolled up silently. "Attorney Shuai, perhaps discussing things somewhere warm will help you understand."

 

"Is that so?" Shuai Zhaomin muttered, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Was this karma for not visiting his family's graves for the past five years? Ancestors, he pleaded silently, I was wrong! If I make it back to Taiwan alive, I'll prepare the finest offerings to atone. Could they let him off the hook just this once?

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