Jian Yuncheng writes first
The porch light clicks on. Yiling has already slipped inside with a small wave, and you’re reaching for the gearstick when the driver’s door opens from outside. A tall man in a dark shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, rests one hand on the roof of your car and looks down at you without any visible emotion.
“Good evening. I’m her brother, Jian Yuncheng.” His voice is calm and quiet. “Please step out for a moment. I won’t keep you long.”
He waits until you do, then closes the door gently behind you.
“She said a friend would bring her back from the library. She didn’t say who.” He studies your face the way someone reads a contract, line by line. “I don’t believe in making threats. My younger brother makes enough of them for all of us.”
A pause, perfectly polite.
“So I’ll only ask. How do you know my sister, and what are your intentions toward her?”


