Chapter Twelve: The Person Who Kidnapped Qingqing Was Actually One of My Subordinates

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The concert hall was dazzlingly magnificent. Elaborate ceiling lights were arranged in two rows of five, illuminating the stage at varying heights, while the audience seats rose in semicircular tiers.

Su Mian showed her electronic invitation to the doorman, and a hostess in a beret and a pure-white, form-fitting evening gown led her to her seat.

Her seat was in the center of the third row. The music would not be painfully loud there, yet she would have a clear view of the performers and their every movement.

She had looked up some information on the way. This concert had brought together a number of internationally renowned masters, including Silvanor, the famous conductor of Vienna’s Golden Hall. She had been looking forward to it all along.

She was not particularly surprised to have received such an excellent seat. The renowned director’s manner of inviting her had already made many things clear. Before coming, she had considered two possibilities.

Either her interaction with Shang Jiuxu at the business banquet had aroused the vigilance of people in their circle, and they wanted to win her favor by doing him a kindness; or Shang Jiuxu himself had told someone to invite her, though his purpose remained unclear.

She looked around. She recognized no one nearby. If Shang Jiuxu had come, he would certainly have been given a seat in the front rows—or placed beside her.

Since she was here, she might as well settle in.

Amid the light, soothing music warming up the hall, Su Mian entered her seat with unhurried grace. She sat down casually yet properly and studied the stage.

The so-called warm-up performance was actually the musicians tuning their instruments. Violins, violas, cellos, double basses, flutes, clarinets, trombones, trumpets, tubas, timpani, xylophones, marimbas, harps, pianos, organs, snare drums, triangles, cymbals of every size… Their practiced test notes intertwined with one another, already creating something beautiful.

Suddenly, thunderous applause erupted.

Conductor Silvanor walked slowly onto the stage from the left. Silver-haired and deep-eyed, he held a tapered white baton. Smiling toward the audience as he approached the podium, he bowed deeply in turn to each of the three sections of the hall before turning to stand at the front of the orchestra.

The host began introducing the program. Su Mian lowered her head and sent the renowned director a message, asking whether she might visit backstage after the performance.

She had considered the matter carefully. It would allow her to test the director’s attitude further, and she had noticed that several famous figures from the industry were nearby, including a number of leading film actors near the top of the hierarchy.

Su Mian had not forgotten why she had come. The art-film director she wished to meet had just been discussing with those beside him the possibility of going backstage to take a photograph with Silvanor.

Since she had been introduced by the renowned director, it seemed more polite to ask him first, in case anything went wrong and caused him embarrassment.

The director was remarkably responsive and replied almost at once: “Of course. Arrange it however you like.”

The lights overhead dimmed. The performance was about to begin, and Su Mian turned off her phone.

Those words represented an immense respect for her freedom. There was not the slightest hint of expecting repayment for his favor. If anything, they would only make her remember his kindness more deeply.

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After landing, Therius hurried from the private airfield straight into a car and was taken to Shoushan Hill to provide psychological treatment for Shang Jiuxu. The journey had exhausted him to the point of wanting to curse, but when he saw the expressionless bodyguards—hands clasped between their spread legs, terrifyingly massive beneath their black suits—he silently decided to demand a little more money from Mr. Shang later.

He was a Chinese American, both of his parents born and raised in China, so his Mandarin was reasonably standard. After earning a doctorate in clinical psychology from Yale and working at a research institute until the age of thirty-five, he had been chosen by Shang Jiuxu six months earlier to become his full-time psychologist.

The moment he entered, Therius frowned at Shang Jiuxu. “Mr. Shang, I thought you’d be doing better after returning home. But you’re worse. Why?” His speech was somewhat halting.

Shang Jiuxu sat on the sofa, leaning forward with his fingers pressed to his brow. He asked Lin Youfu, his special assistant, who stood slightly bent at the waist beside him, “Has the invitation been delivered to Qingqing?”

Lin Youfu smiled with his charming, round face, which looked utterly at odds with his old-fashioned name. In fact, he was the same age as Shang Jiuxu. He unlocked the tablet and glanced at it; when he smiled, the tips of his pointed canine teeth showed.

“Master, Miss Qing has accepted it. She’s currently on her way to the Grand Hall concert venue. The taxi is passing the Central Ferry Pier. We checked the driver. Including the driver himself, three generations of his family are completely clean.”

“Once she enters the concert hall, have the nearby bodyguards keep their distance. She’s very perceptive.”

“Yes.”

Shang Jiuxu waved for Lin Youfu to leave before turning his attention to his visitor. His forehead hurt terribly, as though it were about to split apart. It was the kind of pain that came when his destructive and controlling impulses flared—something he had become intimately familiar with over the past six months.

“Therius, sit down. Your Chinese name is Lin Chu, isn’t it? May I call you that?”

“When in Rome, sir.”

Therius—Lin Chu—nodded and sat solemnly on the sofa opposite Shang Jiuxu. He was no longer even in a hurry to discuss his fee.

“Your psychological problems are very serious. Pathological possessiveness, separation anxiety, and violent tendencies. Because of the extreme environment in which you carried out your missions, your post-traumatic stress disorder has developed into borderline personality disorder.

“I know this concerns that young woman. But you’ve already seen her, and you’re very close to her now. Why have your symptoms grown worse?”

Shang Jiuxu remained silent.

In truth, he could feel himself suppressing his violent impulses through sheer reason. Otherwise, once the beast was released, Su Mian would probably be devoured without a trace.

He did not know how long he could maintain that restraint, or where his limits lay. That was why he needed someone to help him control his desire.

Seeing that Shang Jiuxu had no wish to say more, Lin Chu remembered the hypnosis session scheduled for the twentieth of this month. After exhausting every method at his disposal, he had finally managed, for the first time in six months, to lead Shang Jiuxu into a deep sleep…

The door suddenly crashed open.

Shang Jiuxu’s normally composed, all-purpose assistant charged in. His voice was panicked and loud enough to jolt Shang Jiuxu awake with a single sentence.

“Miss Qing has been kidnapped!”

Lin Chu felt his soul fly out of his body. He hurriedly looked at Shang Jiuxu. This had been deep hypnosis—if the shock caused serious damage, it could trigger a psychotic break!

Shang Jiuxu’s expression turned hideous. He strode over, seized his assistant by the collar, and asked in a voice like ice, “Has she been rescued?”

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“Miss Qing was quick-witted and uninjured. She escaped on her own and is now returning to the apartment arranged by the company.”

Lin Youfu’s collar was immediately released. He wiped away his sweat.

If Miss Qing had lost even a single hair, all of them might have been fed to sharks and buried alongside her. Still shaken, he continued, “It seems Miss Qing deliberately walked into the trap. She spoke with her assistant before drinking. One of the bodyguards knows how to read lips and saw it from a distance.”

“What did she say?”

“She asked whether there might be something in the drink. Then she said she was afraid that there might be… no sedative in it.”

At that, Shang Jiuxu smiled faintly. He retrieved his watch from the table beside the treatment bed, and the expensive metal clasp clicked shut around his wrist.

Lin Youfu continued, “There’s more. After the men we arranged surrounded Miss Qing, she deliberately mentioned the Shang family.”

“Mm.”

Pleasure lingered in Shang Jiuxu’s voice. He wanted to reconsider Su Mian’s attitude toward him.

If her willingness to drink a glass of liquor she knew was suspicious had left him somewhat baffled, then her deliberate mention of the Shang family had suddenly illuminated everything.

She wanted to attract his attention—and she had chosen the most reckless, dangerous, and clumsy method possible.

It seemed she did not dislike seeing him quite as much as he had thought. Perhaps, on the contrary, she had been looking forward to it.

After Lin Youfu left, only Shang Jiuxu and Lin Chu remained in the treatment room. The curve of Shang Jiuxu’s lips refused to fade. In a rare act of mercy, he did not conceal the truth from Lin Chu.

“The man who kidnapped Qingqing was one of my subordinates. His life, his family’s lives, the leverage I’ve held over him for years, and everyone he loves are all in my hands. So I had no problem sending him.”

Lin Chu was stunned. “You wanted to kidnap Miss Qing? Why?”

Could it be that he intended to force himself on her? If so, why was Lin Chu still exhausting himself trying to treat him?

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