THEIR WORTH...

Shada stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the brim of his black baseball cap. He tilted it slightly, making sure everything was in place. His heart raced with anticipation. The miniature recorder he'd hidden in the living room cushion had finally paid off. After weeks of hearing nothing but silence and the occasional sound of footsteps, he'd almost given up hope. But this morning, everything changed.

The moment he'd woken up, Yibo's voice had come through the tiny device, sharp and clear. Yibo had been on the phone, requesting a home TV installation. He even repeated the company's name twice when he didn't hear it properly-giving Shada the perfect opportunity to jot it down on a scrap of paper. His hands trembled as he scribbled down the name, already planning his next move.

Less than an hour later, Shada had tracked down the company's location, walked into the office, and handed a thick wad of cash to the manager. "I want to join the team handling the installation at that address today," he said. The manager raised a brow but didn't question it. Money always spoke louder than curiosity.

Now, Shada was ready, standing by for the signal from his boss, Ping. All he needed was one phone call to move.

Ping's number was the last outgoing call on his burner phone. If one were to follow the digital breadcrumbs, they would end up halfway across the city-in the luxurious penthouse office of Ping himself, who sat with his feet propped on his mahogany desk, a cigar dangling lazily from his fingers.

The massive television in front of him played a news broadcast about a recent kidnapping. The reporter described, in grim detail, how masked intruders had stormed a remote village and abducted a local businessman and his family. A blurry video clip showed the frightened hostages huddled together in a clearing deep within a forest.

Ping exhaled a plume of smoke and tapped ash into a crystal tray. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he reached for his phone and pressed a familiar number.

A deep, gravelly voice answered after the first ring. "Boss?"

"You were the ones who released that video?" Ping asked, voice low and cold.

"Yes, sir. Che ordered us to release it. Said it would grab more attention."

Ping clicked his tongue in irritation, another stream of smoke swirling into the air. "Don't release another video. Ever. How much was the ransom again?"

"Eighty million yuan."

"Good." Ping's lips curled into a faint smile. "I know they won't raise that kind of money. After two weeks, when the local politician makes a public statement, release the hostages. Let him take credit for paying the ransom. It'll work in our favor."

He moved to end the call when the man's voice stopped him.

"Boss, what about the other captives we took last month? No one seems to care about them."

Ping paused. His jaw tightened as old memories stirred to life-unwanted ghosts clawing at the edges of his mind. After a moment, he said, "Kill the men's. Let the women's go. Fear will spread faster that way."

With that, he ended the call, tossing the phone aside.

The moment his hand left the device, his gaze drifted toward the swirling smoke rising from his cigar. His chest tightened. It always did when he gave that particular order. Let the women's go. Four simple words with a weight that never truly left him.

A face, long buried in the depths of his conscience, resurfaced. Liu.

The girl who had unknowingly changed everything.

She wasn't like the others. He'd met her nearly twenty four years ago, back when he was younger, reckless, and believed women were nothing more than fleeting pleasures. Liu had been different-beautiful, smart, kind, and utterly fearless. She was the first woman to make his heart race for reasons beyond desire. She made him see women as more than objects. And what had he done?

He destroyed her.

The memory hit him like a blow: her tear-streaked face the night she begged him to stop. The way he'd ignored her. The way her screams haunted his dreams long after she vanished from his life.

Ping squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. The past was dead. Liu was dead.

But as the cigar's ember dimmed, he couldn't shake the feeling that some debts could never be erased.

The news had reached him that, because of what he and his men did to her, she lost her life along with her mother's. The realization hit him hard, so much so that, even after all these years, he still thought about her from time to time. If for nothing else, then because he had named his daughter after her.

He didn't know why, but the moment they handed him his newborn daughter, the only name that came to his mind was Liu. And so, without hesitation, he whispered it to her. There was no resemblance between the girl and Liu; her mother was a foreigner with fair skin and delicate features-nothing like the Liu he remembered. Yet the woman beauty was undeniable, the kind of striking charm that lingered in one's memory, much like Ping could never forget Liu.

Just then, the door to his room creaked open. His daughter, Liu-who had long since changed her name to Mary-walked in, dressed in her usual simple clothes. Her hair was braided into neat plaits that swayed as she moved.

She rushed toward him and hugged him tightly.

"Daddy, I missed you!"

As always, his face remained unreadable as he looked at her. "I've been home for two weeks. Where have you been?"

Unbothered, she pushed her hair back and casually explained that she'd been traveling abroad. He barely listened. Ever since he'd come home, neither she nor her mother had made an effort to see him, but that didn't matter. They were used to their luxurious trips around the world, just as he was accustomed to his demanding work schedule. In truth, he wasn't even sure if his marriage to her mother was still intact or already broken.

His phone rang, interrupting her story about her latest adventure. He set aside his cigarette and glanced at the caller ID. The name made him straighten immediately. Without another thought, he answered the call, completely forgetting about Mary.

Yang Tao. One of the most powerful figures he worked for in the country-and the man who had tasked him with finding an undercover officer named Yibo.

Across the city, in the expansive office of Yang Tao, the man himself watched the phone ring. He turned his gaze toward Shi Lei, who sat across from him, arms crossed. Yang Tao had initially assumed Shi Lei wanted Yibo killed as revenge for his son's murder. But to his surprise, Shi Lei had traveled all the way from Beijing to Shanghai to make a different request: he wanted Yibo captured alive. Apparently, the man held answers Shi Lei desperately needed.

Yang Tao wasn't thrilled about this delay; he was expecting a shipment of high-grade weapons within the week, and he couldn't afford to get sidetracked. But since Shi Lei's influence was too significant to ignore, he called Ping to pass along the new instructions.

"I'm listening," Ping's voice came through the line.

Yang Tao wasn't Ping's peer; he was much older and commanded far more respect. But that didn't bother Ping. He spoke to everyone however he pleased, regardless of age or status.

"That man, Yibo. If you find him, don't kill him. We want him alive and transported to Beijing. Handle it carefully."

"Consider it done," Ping responded, nodding even though Yang Tao couldn't see him.

As soon as the call ended, Ping dialed another number. At that moment, Shada stood in front of his bedroom mirror, adjusting his tactical vest in preparation for a second raid on Yibo's apartment.

When the phone rang, Shada answered at once. "Sir, I was just about to head out," he reported, explaining how close they were to success.

"Well done, but the plan has changed. We need him alive. I'll send a vehicle to the target's location. Bring whatever gear you need and finish this tonight. We've given him enough time already."

"Understood, sir."

The call disconnected. Shada opened his wardrobe and retrieved a small bag. From it, he took out two key items: a vial of powdered sedative potent enough to knock out anyone within seconds, and a pistol equipped with a silencer, along with a magazine of ten rounds.

What Shada didn't know, however, was that sometimes the hunter becomes the hunted.

:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*

"Dad, please!"

Anu, Shan Tunan's eldest daughter, pleaded as she sat across from him. In his hand was a letter from her school, detailing the total cost for an upcoming excursion to Shanghai.

"After the exhaustion of that long journey, you'll be the first to complain about wanting to come home." Shan Tunan rattled off a list of reasons why the trip wasn't a good idea, but Anu wasn't paying attention. She kept begging and countering every argument he made.

"But we're flying, Dad! We'll be with our classmates, and there'll be so many activities. How could I possibly want to come home?"

"Shanghai isn't even that big. I don't see what you're all so eager to see. You'll just walk around until you get tired."

"Even if we only see the streets, that's still something! Please, Dad."

He shook his head and set the letter aside.

"No. And it's not just for a day, is it? Let them go without you. Stay home with me, and we'll have our own fun."

Anu's expression darkened. "Dad, come on... It's not like you're home much anyway."

"Says who?" he asked, just as his wife Zhao Min entered the room carrying his lunch on a tray. Behind her, her younger sister Guri followed with another tray holding drinks. Zhao Min smile and answered the question for him.

"Says all of us, Dad. If that new employee of yours hadn't canceled today, we wouldn't have seen you until late tonight."

Shan Tunan chuckled softly. "I didn't expect you to join this conversation, Mumy," he teased, calling her by the name their children used. "You've always been on my side."

"Well, today I switched sides. Even I'm tired of the endless office hours."

Shan Tunan shook his head, laughing again. "Patience, love. The work's been building for years. We're finally seeing results. And Yibo's been doing an excellent job."

The women placed the trays on the coffee table. Guri busied herself pouring drinks while Zhao Min dished food onto his plate. Anu tugged at his sleeve, determined to reclaim his attention.

"Daddy, we were talking..."

"I'm listening."

"Please..." Her voice softened into a pitiful whimper.

This time, his smile faded. He shook his head more firmly. "Shanghai is too far, Anu. You're not going. That's final. I'm tempted to file a complaint against the school for even suggesting taking seventh and eighth graders from here to Shanghai."

Anu's frustration grew, and it looked like she might burst into tears. But instead, she stood abruptly and left the living room.

Zhao Min chuckled as she picked up the plate of food and settled beside her husband. Guri got to her feet and headed for the door.

"I warned her not to waste her breath trying to convince you, but she didn't listen."

"Well, you never know," Shan Tunan said with a faint smile. "Maybe she'll get lucky..."

They both laughed as he took his first bite. But before he could chew, his phone rang on the side table. The screen displayed Yibo in bold letters. He immediately set his fork down and answered.

"Hello? Yibo, what's wrong?" he asked, his gut tightening with unease.

From the other end of the line, Yibo's voice trembled.

"Sir, something happened. I'm in your compound. Can you come out, please?"

Shan Tunan didn't respond. He simply hung up, pushed his plate aside, and stood.

Zhao Min stared at him, confused, then glanced at the phone screen. She stood too but didn't follow him outside. Instead, she stepped to the window, lifted the curtain, and peeked out at the unfamiliar car parked in their compound.

Outside, Shan Tunan hurried toward the car, his legs feeling unsteady. Yibo opened the driver's side door and got out before he reached him. Even from a distance, Yibo's strained expression was obvious.

"Yibo, is everything okay? What happened?"

Yibo opened his mouth to answer but stopped and ran a shaky hand over the bridge of his nose, then through his hair.

"Yibo," Shan Tunan repeated, his voice low and firm.

Without saying a word, Yibo stepped back and opened the back door. Shan Tunan moved closer, his heart racing as his eyes adjusted to the figure.

A boy...no older than eighteen or nineteen...lay unconscious across the seat. His face was pale, and his eyes were closed as though he were sleeping. His clothes were stained with fresh blood, particularly around his torso. One leg was wrapped in a makeshift white bandage.

"He's my...husband."

The words left Yibo's mouth before Shan Tunan could speak. Yibo didn't wait for a reaction. He turned away, walked to the trunk, and opened it.

Shan Tunan forced himself to step back from the boy and followed. His confusion turned to shock the moment he saw what was inside.

Another man was crumpled in the trunk, breathing but clearly disoriented. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, but his eyes remained half-open, unfocused.

Shan Tunan leaned closer, trying to place the unfamiliar face. Then he turned to Yibo, whose trembling hand hovered near his mouth again.

"Who is this?" he asked, his voice hollow.

"He works for Ping, Sir" Yibo answered.

Few hours earlier....

"This is our new worker, Ling. He's my relative, so you'll be taking him along to observe how things work before we train him properly."

Song, the head of a satellite installation company, announced this as he stood before his team.

They all nodded in understanding, then turned to Shada, who stood with a company cap pulled low over his eyes and the standard uniform matching theirs. Each person extended a hand to greet him before they headed to the company van.

The equipment for the job had already been loaded in the back, as was their routine whenever they received a contract. Shada took a seat in the middle row as the van pulled out of the compound. The man beside him gave him a nudge.

"Hey, man, this job covers a lot of ground. I know you probably have the basics down, but if you get lost, just record the explanations on your phone. You can go over it later."

Shada smiled and nodded.

"You better at installations or software?"

"Software," Shada answered tersely.

"Ah, good. That's easier. You won't have to mess with the hardware too much."

Satisfied, the man turned back to join the conversation with the others. Shada shifted his gaze to the window, gripping the small bag in his lap. His mind wasn't on the job. He was thinking about the voice recording he'd heard earlier-Yibo won't be leaving the house today.

That information was the only thing keeping him calm. He was tired of waiting. He wanted this over with so he could return to Shanghai and his girlfriend. His assignments for Ping had always kept him within Shanghai's borders; only an unfortunate twist had sent him here to Shenzhen.

He'd already arranged for a car to pick him up at the gate. His only real concern was the number of people at the house: three technicians besides himself, two security guards, and that boy whose relationship with Yibo remained a mystery.

He'd considered warning Ping about the complicated setup but thought better of it. Ping would take it as a sign of weakness, of being unprepared. And if someone else were sent instead, they'd have to split the payment-an idea Shada found unacceptable. He just needed everything to go smoothly.

They reached Yibo's residence within minutes. One of the security guards approached the van, checked their credentials, then waved them through the gates.

As the vehicle rolled into the compound, Shada's eyes landed on the figure standing in the middle of the compound. It was Yibo.

He was scrolling through his phone with an air of casual authority. Shada realized that the first time he'd seen him, he hadn't truly taken in his presence. Now, Yibo seemed taller, more imposing, his confidence radiating effortlessly.

And then Yibo lifted his gaze toward the van.

For a split second, Shada was convinced their eyes met through the glass. His pulse quickened. Did he recognize me?

The driver parked, and Shen, the team leader, hopped out and approached Yibo to shake his hand. Shada adjusted his cap, grabbed his bag, and followed the others as they unloaded the equipment.

"The tools are in the trunk, right?" Shen asked one of the men.

"Yeah," came the reply.

Shada busied himself adjusting his cap again while glancing at the two security guards. One sat on a bench while the other unlocked the gate. He gripped his bag tighter. So far, so good.

They carried the equipment into the sitting room, then came back out to inspect the location for the satellite dish. Shen pointed toward a high corner of the building's exterior and began explaining the technical details to Shada.

Shada pretended to listen, nodding occasionally while his eyes scanned the surroundings. When he realized the chosen spot was elevated and more secluded, his heart leaped. Perfect.

"You think you can climb up and set it?" Shen asked when the ladder was in place.

Shada shook his head. "No, go ahead. You'll need those brackets, right?"

"Yeah, those are the ones."

Shen climbed the ladder while Shada crouched by his bag. He waited for the others to focus on the setup before pulling out a small plastic bag containing a fine, white powder.

Next, he retrieved a tiny bottle of clear liquid and poured a few drops onto the powder. The chemical reaction produced a pungent, dizzying vapor. Shada took a deep breath, fitted his mask and gloves, then clutched the bag tightly.

Time to finish this.

"SHEN!"

He called out loudly, making both men turn toward him just as he flung the powder into the air, directly into their faces. One of them managed to choke out a question before collapsing.

"What's this?"

But the words caught in his throat, the sound never coming out. In a single heartbeat, he followed Shen into unconsciousness. Shada caught him mid-fall, just as he had with Shen, and gently laid both of them on the ground.

Adjusting his face mask, Shada headed toward the gate, where the security guards sat chatting on a bench. He clenched the powder tightly in his gloved hand and approached them without hesitation.

"Are you leaving?" one of the guards asked in heavily accented Mandarin.

Shada turned as if to respond, drawing their attention. In that split-second, he flung the powder into their faces.

"Yeyy...!"

One managed a startled cry before his body went limp, slumping against the bench. The other followed almost immediately, their heads tilting as if they'd simply dozed off mid-conversation. Shada dragged them into more natural positions to avoid suspicion from a distance.

Only One left... Shada murmured.

Just one last worker inside the house. Shada's pulse quickened. If he could handle that, he was almost done. He just needed the car he'd arranged to arrive on time. Once he got on the road tonight, he wouldn't stop until he reached Beijing, where Ping had sent the address for the handoff.

And as to his relief, that one worker emarged from the sitting room asking... "Shen, are you guys doing your work... Before he could finish, Shada grabbed him and knocked him down, he too lay on the ground unconsciou.

He adjusted his grip on the gun hidden beneath his jacket and stepped back toward the house.

Before the man walk out.

Inside the sitting room, Yibo stood with his phone in hand, absentmindedly scrolling while glancing at the worker adjusting the satellite connection. He noticed when Zhan walked past with his head down and made his way toward the kitchen. Something about his posture seemed off.

Yibo followed him.

He found Zhan crouched in front of a carton of bottled water, trying to pull one free. He didn't seem to hear Yibo enter until his name was called.

"Zhan."

Zhan startled and turned his head, gripping the water bottle tightly as his eyes met Yibo's. That gaze... a shade too intense for comfort.... seemed to pierce straight through him.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you come in," Zhan said, rising to his feet.

Yibo stepped closer. His footsteps echoed softly on the tiled floor as he closed the distance between them.

"I should be the one apologizing," Yibo said with a faint smile. "I didn't mean to scare you."

He didn't stop until he stood directly in front of Zhan. The proximity made Zhan drop his gaze to the water bottle in his hand. Yibo followed his line of sight and, for the first time, noticed how pale Zhan's skin was compared to his face-his fingers were almost translucent beneath the overhead lights.

The sight unsettled him.

He shoved the thought aside and called Zhan's name again.

"Zhan."

"Yes?"

The response came faster than expected, the voice softer than Yibo had ever heard it before. He hesitated for a moment, unsure why it left him momentarily speechless.

"I don't want you to feel trapped here," Yibo said. "I know things have been moving quickly, and I'm not sure how much longer we'll need to stay. But if there's anything you want or need, tell me. I cleared my schedule today just to make sure I'm around if you need anything."

Zhan's head remained down. His knuckles whitened around the water bottle.

"If you go out..." he began, then paused, shifting his weight. "I want a book to read, please. I haven't read in a while."

Yibo blinked. He hadn't expected that request, but the simplicity of it made him nod immediately.

"I'll bring you a lot," he promised. "Anything else?"

"There are... other things," Zhan murmured, voice low. His fingers rubbed the ridges of the plastic bottle in small, nervous circles. "But... I'll write them down if that's okay."

Yibo exhaled softly and smiled.

"Of course. Write whatever you need," he said, tucking his phone into his pocket. "I'll get you the book."

At that moment, just before Zhan could respond, Yibo heard a faint sound from outside. It sounded like something falling, but since he knew there was a workers in the house, he didn't think much of it and kept his focus on Zhan.

"Is the food they've been bringing okay for you?"

"Yes."

"You don't need anything else...?"

The sound came again, this time louder. Yibo's gaze shifted to the kitchen window. Distracted, he missed Zhan's subtle nod in response to his question. When he turned back, Zhan had lowered his head, making it impossible to see his face. Without thinking, Yibo reached out and gently tilted Zhan's chin upward with a single finger.

But the contact barely lasted a seconds. Zhan flinched and took a step back, eyes wary.

"I still don't know why you're helping me," Zhan said softly. "But... thank you for everything."

Yibo opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn't register. His mind seized on something else entirely-a sudden, unnatural silence. The house, which had moments ago been filled with faint background noises, now stood still. Completely still.

His gaze darted back to the kitchen window.

Something wasn't right.

Click.

The distinct metallic sound of a gun being readied sliced through the silence. Yibo's eyes went wide. His gaze snapped to Zhan, who stood frozen in place. Yibo lunged forward without thinking, cupping his hand tightly over Zhan's mouth. Zhan's eyes mirrored his fear and confusion.

Yibo pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.

Footsteps. Outside. Moving closer.

Yibo let go and stepped cautiously toward the kitchen door, glancing back to gesture for Zhan to stay put. Zhan gave a barely perceptible nod and remained where he was.

Yibo crossed into the sitting room, eyes sweeping the area. The worker he'd left by the TV was gone. The door to the front entrance stood slightly ajar.

The footsteps stopped.

And then the door opened wider.

The first thing Yibo saw was the gun barrel, aimed directly at his chest. A figure stepped into the room: one of the satellite staff, dressed in their standard uniform and wearing a low-brimmed cap that shadowed his face.

Yibo's breath caught in his throat. He realized, with sickening clarity, that he'd underestimated whoever was after him. They were far more skilled than he'd assumed.

The man advanced slowly, adjusting his grip on the weapon. Only when he was fully inside did he reach up and remove the cap.

His eyes locked on Yibo's with cold precision.

"If it weren't for the orders I received to bring you in alive, I would've already put a bullet through your heart and finished this job."

Yibo said nothing. He simply stood there, meeting the man's gaze without a word.

"You're coming with me now-back to Beijing. That's where I was instructed to take you."

Still, Yibo didn't respond. He remained rooted to the spot, calm and motionless, as though the gun pointed directly at him didn't exist.

"I know you won't cooperate willingly," the man continued, voice tightening. "And that's fine. Just remember-you brought this on yourself."

With that, the man lowered the gun, shifting its aim downward until it was pointed directly at Yibo's legs. He adjusted his grip, finger pressing against the trigger.

But then....

Everything changed.

A sharp, piercing scream shattered the silence. It came from the side of the room, startling the man into turning his entire body toward the sound, his arm swinging along with him. The moment his finger squeezed the trigger, the bullet went wide, whizzing fast and embedding itself in Zhan's leg.

The man froze. His eyes went wide as Zhan staggered back, shock and pain twisting his face as blood seeped through the fabric of his pants and pooled onto the floor.

Two things happened in quick succession: Zhan collapsed with a muffled cry, and Yibo sprang into action.

The man hesitated, his mind racing. He still had the gun. He still had a chance to finish what he started-shoot Yibo and drag him back to Beijing. His grip tightened. His finger moved back toward the trigger.

Too late.

Yibo was already there.

Before the man could react, Yibo drove his fist into his face with bone-crushing force. The world tilted. Pain exploded through the man's skull.

Darkness slammed down like a curtain.

Zhanxianyibo💚❤️💛