Every time Xiao Yuan pushed open that door, he habitually looked toward the counter first.
Su Muchen was usually there, his head lowered as he wrote or organized lists. Whenever he heard the door open, he would look up at him, make sure he had not returned injured, and then lower his head again to continue working.
But tonight, the person sitting behind the counter was not Su Muchen.
Xiao was leaning against the back of the chair, with an already empty cup beside him.
When he heard the door open, he did not look up. He simply continued scrolling through his tablet, as if he had known all along who would be coming.
“Where’s Mu’an?” Xiao Yuan asked.
Xiao moved his gaze away from the tablet. “He’s fine. Resting upstairs. He didn’t sleep well during those days he was kidnapped, so I made him take an extra day to rest.”
Xiao Yuan fell silent upon hearing that.
He stood at the entrance. Everything in Guichenzhai was quiet, just like any ordinary night, but Su Muchen was not there.
He had been distracted twice during the daytime discussions. It was only after Qian Younian repeated the figures from the grain records that he came back to himself.
Both times, his thoughts had been related to Su Muchen.
He was worried about Su Muchen, but since he was already asleep, he should not disturb him again.
“Here for supplies tonight? You could have come to me,” Xiao asked.
Xiao Yuan finally entered the shop and sat down opposite him at the counter.
Xiao set down the tablet and looked up at Xiao Yuan.
He could tell that Xiao Yuan had something he wanted to ask.
Xiao Yuan looked at him and voiced the question in his heart. “You don’t seem to want me getting too close to him?”
He had received all sorts of indirect warnings from Xiao more than once.
It was obvious to him that Xiao still maintained a certain degree of wariness toward him.
As if he were guarding against something.
Xiao was silent and did not deny it.
“Why?” Xiao Yuan asked. “Do you not trust me?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Xiao said, his tone even. “There are some things that are more practical than trust.”
Xiao Yuan looked at him quietly.
“Your Highness wants to become emperor. But I know that what you want isn’t just the throne. What you want is to turn Da Sheng into the world you envision.” Xiao’s tone contained no reproach. “And all of that requires him.”
Xiao Yuan did not deny it.
Although he had never revealed it to anyone else, Xiao’s words were indeed precise.
Xiao continued. “There is nothing wrong with your ambition. But if you bring Mu’an onto that path, more people will see him, and he may become the target of everyone’s hostility. Here, he is already being watched by Sheng Chengxiu.”
He lifted his eyes, his tone turning somewhat heavy.
“Sheng Chengxiu came again today.”
Xiao Yuan’s gaze darkened slightly.
“He changed his approach,” Xiao said. “Today, he came to apologize and show goodwill. That is harder to guard against than kidnapping, because he isn’t breaking the law or violating morality.”
He paused, his tone becoming more serious.
“Even I can’t protect him every moment. I’ve already sent people to watch over him day and night, but Sheng Chengxiu still found a gap. If one day he is being watched over there as well, are you going to let him have no peace in either world?”
Xiao Yuan fell silent.
He listened to Xiao’s words and thought for a moment before speaking.
“You’re right.”
Xiao raised his eyes to look at him.
“But if he is willing to come to my side, I will protect him completely,” Xiao Yuan said, his tone unwavering. “Anyone who means him harm, I will eliminate them one by one for his sake.”
He looked up at Xiao and continued, “If you find it inconvenient to act, I can kill Sheng Chengxiu myself.”
The level of threat Sheng Chengxiu posed had long since exceeded Xiao Yuan’s expectations. In Xiao Yuan’s view, this man had to be eliminated.
Xiao looked at him.
He was not surprised by this answer. Given Xiao Yuan’s personality, he would never back down.
Xiao let out a faint laugh, the curve of his lips barely carrying any amusement.
“Your Highness is thinking of things too simply. You’re also thinking of the Door too simply. Sheng Chengxiu isn’t the only enemy.”
Xiao Yuan’s gaze met his.
He sensed something in Xiao’s eyes as he said those words, something he normally never revealed.
It was neither vigilance nor contempt.
It was the helplessness of someone who had seen through certain rules, understanding them with the clarity of an onlooker yet unable to do anything about them.
“What do you know?” Xiao Yuan asked.
“You guided me into finding the underground hollow and ancient door beneath Linbei City. In terms of the outcome, that solved many of my problems and benefited my ‘plan.’”
He stared at Xiao, his gaze deep, as though trying to find the answer within him.
“You intend to put me on the throne, but I cannot figure out what benefit this brings you.”
Xiao Yuan knew that Xiao wanted to protect Su Muchen and the Door.
If that were all there was to it, Xiao would not need to help him. Instead, he should be trying to keep Su Muchen as far away from him as possible.
He knew Xiao had another purpose.
“I do know some things, but I can’t tell you,” Xiao said.
“Why?”
“Because that is the Door’s rule. As its gatekeeper, I have to obey it.”
He pulled up his long sleeve, revealing a ring of black markings around his wrist.
“If I don’t follow the rules, I’ll receive a punishment more severe than this.”
Xiao Yuan silently looked at the ring of markings.
It resembled a curse, like a black snake coiled around Xiao.
“There are only some things I can tell you.”
He raised his eyes toward Xiao Yuan. His eyes, hidden behind his lenses, were deeper than usual.
“The greatest mistake the Su family made back then was letting the Sheng family learn of the Door’s existence. That is the root of everything.”
Hundreds of years ago, the Su family had once cooperated with the Sheng family. The result was that the Sheng family learned some information about the Door.
Although the two families later turned against each other, the Sheng family had never given up.
“There were never many people in the direct line of the Su family to begin with. The ancient texts were kept in their hands, and by the generation of the old master, only a handful remained. That made it impossible to uncover the complete truth of what happened back then. All we know is that the Sheng family also left records in ancient texts for their descendants. As a result, generation after generation of the Sheng family continued pursuing the Door. Sheng Chengxiu’s grandfather and father did similar things as well. They were simply more restrained.”
Xiao Yuan listened.
He thought about several things.
Then he said, “There is also a Sheng family in Da Sheng. They joined forces with a collateral branch of the Xia family to steal the imperial bloodline. Their ultimate goal was also the Door.”
He looked at Xiao and asked, “The Sheng family here and the Sheng family in Da Sheng should have the same origin. Their family crests are exactly the same. How much can you reveal about this?”
Xiao lowered his eyes, as though considering how much he should say.
In the end, he only said, “I can only tell you that they are far more complicated and much harder to deal with than Your Highness imagines.”
He lifted his eyes and looked at Xiao Yuan.
“The collateral branches of the Su family have spent hundreds of years fighting against the Sheng family, and even now, they still haven’t been able to correct the mistake made back then. I only hope things don’t become even more complicated and harder to handle.”
Xiao Yuan looked into his eyes.
He read certain messages within them.
Then he stood up without continuing the topic.
Because he had already obtained the information he needed.
“Where are the supplies?” he asked.
Xiao pointed toward the back. “They’re all packed. The cart is in the rear courtyard. I’ll help you carry them.”
Xiao Yuan took the supplies and left shortly afterward.
Xiao watched Xiao Yuan’s back disappear through the Door.
He returned to the counter and simply picked up the tablet again, but did not swipe across the screen.
The night was quiet.
Just like countless nights in the past.
Long, and without end.
He took the handkerchief from his pocket and unfolded it.
The scent that had originally clung to it had already faded to almost nothing, gradually becoming tinged with the fragrance he habitually wore himself.
When he saw the silver-throated long-tailed tit embroidered on it, he could not help but smile faintly.
The little bird had been embroidered so vividly, its head tilted to one side as if filled with curiosity.
He could not help thinking of Xia Lanshi, who was always chasing after him with countless questions.
Some were probes. Some were born of curiosity.
He was just like this little bird.
He did not know when these days would finally come to an end.
And his only emotional support was that difficult-to-meet person on the other side of the Door.
He did not know what lay at the end of the road. A gatekeeper could not have too many wishes.
At this moment, all he wanted was to find somewhere to stop and rest.
But even this small wish was not permitted by fate.
◆◇◆◇◆
Su Qianqian was on the night watch tonight.
She ate potato chips while keeping an eye on the wall of surveillance monitors.
Judging from the snowy interference that had appeared in some of the footage just now, Xiao Yuan had come by.
That was perfectly normal. She had seen this phenomenon many times before.
But not long after the footage returned to normal, she saw a scene that left her utterly baffled.
She enlarged the image, then enlarged it again, and again.
Then she took a screenshot and sent it into the chat thread between herself and Su Ningning.
“Are you asleep?” she quickly typed.
“What?” Su Ningning replied in less than a second.
“Look at the picture.”
A few seconds later, Su Ningning sent back:
“Holy shit.”
Then she sent a sticker of someone looking utterly shocked.
“Is this really our cold and strict strongest gatekeeper?”
“We can’t let him know this picture exists. We’ll all be killed.”
Su Qianqian replied.
Then she continued typing.
“I don’t think it’s just the Door’s key running away. The gatekeeper is about to run away too.”
“Wanna bet?”
“I’m in. What are we betting?”
“Same as before.”
“Okay.”
Just as they were chatting excitedly, another message came in.
Su Qianqian glanced at it and jumped.
It was a message from Xiao. It read:
“Delete the surveillance footage of the counter. And no screenshots.”
Su Qianqian hurriedly replied, “I didn’t see anything. No screenshots. I’ll delete the video immediately.”
As she replied, she quickly deleted the video, the screenshot, and the entire chat history, leaving no trace behind.
“Good.”
After Xiao sent that, he did not message again.
Su Qianqian secretly wiped away a cold sweat.
Then she messaged Su Ningning again.
“Forget the bet. I want to live.”
A few seconds later, Su Ningning replied, “You want to live, and so do I. Nothing happened just now.”
“Understood.”
Su Qianqian put down her phone and picked up the potato chips she had not finished.
She continued her usual night watch.
But she always felt that the Xiao in the surveillance footage seemed to be staring in her direction, staring so intently that she could barely eat.
She casually picked up a sticky note and temporarily covered Xiao’s image on the monitor, then continued eating.
◇◆◇◆◇
At night, the lights in the Shaohua Center were still on, but it was much quieter than during the day.
Sheng Chengxiu sat in his study without turning on the overhead light. The only illumination came from a desk lamp with a dark-colored shade.
His phone lay face down at the corner of the desk.
Several freshly printed pages were spread out before him, still carrying the faint warmth left by the printer.
They were a personal investigation report on Su Jinye.
He read it twice.
The first time, he confirmed the completeness of the information.
The second time, he began searching for the things that had “not been written down.”
The contents on the pages were thin, so thin they could barely constitute a complete personal profile.
Su Jinye.
Twenty-six years old.
Family members unknown. Education unknown. Previous employment history unknown.
The only thing that could be confirmed was his nominal position at Chenghui Group.
—Cultural Assets Department · Senior Consultant.
Under the Group President’s Office.
He did not enter or leave the Group’s headquarters, held no regular board seat, and had neither a fixed desk nor an office.
Almost everything about him was marked as “unknown” or “none.”
And some of this information might even contain fabricated intelligence.
Sheng Chengxiu’s gaze moved across the page and stopped at the line reading, “Assets under his name: None.”
He was not convinced by those words.
He immediately picked up his phone and made a call. It was answered after two rings.
“President Sheng.”
“Have you traced those assets?” Sheng Chengxiu asked.
“We did, but they were all cut off. The overseas companies ultimately pointed to by the ownership structures, which extend through more than three layers of holding companies, had already been deregistered before we arrived. The method was extremely clean. There was no trace left that could be followed.”
Sheng Chengxiu was silent for a moment.
Then he ended the call.
He remembered what his grandfather, Sheng Wenchang, had said:
“Someone started waiting for this day many years before you.”
When he first heard those words, he had thought his grandfather was referring to the Chenghui Group’s arrangements.
But now, looking at this investigation report, he finally understood.
Chenghui Group was merely the surface.
The real chess player had always been Su Jinye himself.
A person whose position was “Assets under his name: None” and whose title was Senior Consultant in the Cultural Assets Department could not possibly possess enough resources to deregister overseas companies in advance.
Those assets were not under Su Jinye’s name, but Su Jinye could call upon them at any time.
Because what that person needed was not ownership.
It was control.
Sheng Chengxiu set down the report.
At first, he had thought he was dealing with a shop assistant at Guichenzhai—Xiao.
But that had been an illusion, a disguise deliberately created by the other party.
To make him misjudge the situation.
This gatekeeper hid himself deeply, lying in wait in the depths of the night.
Long before he had begun arranging his plans to seize Guichenzhai, the other party had already prepared the hunting ground and was waiting for him to walk into it.
The final result had led to the situation today: he had obtained neither Guichenzhai nor Su Muchen’s trust.
All he had gained was a tube of blood and the words, “Impossible.”
He had been careless. He had misjudged the other party’s strength and misjudged the situation.
Now he could only find a way to start over from within this situation.
But starting over was far more difficult than taking the first step at the beginning.
His gaze fell upon a thicker stack of documents at the left corner of the desk.
Those were Su Muchen’s blood test reports.
He opened the report and read through it again, page by page.
This was already the fifth time he had reviewed it. Every time, he noticed more details.
All basic physiological indicators fell within the normal range. Blood type: A, Rh-negative. The values were healthy, with no abnormalities.
Biochemical and endocrine indicators were also within reasonable ranges.
From a physiological perspective, Su Muchen was simply a healthy adult male, with no hereditary diseases and no metabolic abnormalities.
Apart from his rare blood type, everything else was ordinary.
But the results at the genetic level were completely different.
He turned to the page containing the genome analysis, his fingertip stopping over several results marked “Pending Confirmation” by the AI.
A large number of atypical SNPs. Approximately 0.3% of the genetic sequence did not match the human reference genome, and could not be classified as any known ethnic variation or disease mutation.
The AI could not classify them and could only mark them as “Pending Confirmation,” because those sequences did not exist in any known database.
The mitochondrial DNA results were similarly abnormal.
They shared partial similarities with known haplogroups, but also contained structural differences.
The AI marked them as “Possibly an extremely early branch” or “Unrecorded variation.”
Sheng Chengxiu thought that these two possibilities were actually the same thing: Su Muchen’s mitochondrial DNA was older than that of modern humans—or, more accurately, it came from an evolutionary path that had never been recorded.
What he found hardest to look away from was the line reading, “Specific chromosomal region: Highly conserved.”
A sequence in a certain noncoding region had never appeared in any known human genome and was extremely stable, showing no signs of mutation.
This meant that the sequence had been precisely preserved for an extraordinarily long period of time, far exceeding the divergence period of any known human population.
Meanwhile, the epigenetic markers showed that this special sequence was in an open, “hypomethylated” state, ready to be transcribed at any time. But the AI could not determine what it would transcribe into.
Because the corresponding product did not exist in any known biological database.
Sheng Chengxiu leaned back into his chair, his gaze never leaving the page.
He remembered the line from the fragment of an ancient text:
“When the Door opens, the blood of the key must serve as the guide.”
He had once thought it was a metaphor.
At this moment, he began to suspect that the sentence might be literal.
There was indeed some genetic material in Su Muchen’s blood that did not belong to modern humans, and that was precisely why the Door could “recognize” him.
Su Muchen was not simply “a human with special genes.” He might be the descendant of the final branch of an evolutionary bloodline that had never been recorded.
Sheng Chengxiu turned the report back to the first page and looked at the three characters “Su Muchen,” seeing this person anew.
He remembered what Su Muchen had said on the island:
“Everything you give me will eventually become a rope you can use to control me.”
At the time, he had thought it was merely a way of refusing him.
Now he understood.
Su Muchen’s refusal was not only because he distrusted him. It was also because Su Muchen understood his own uniqueness very clearly.
Even if he himself might not fully understand it.
He set down the report and remained silent for a while.
He needed more samples from Su Muchen.
Blood, tissue sections, bone marrow.
Not because he was obsessed with Su Muchen as a person, but because that 0.3% of the sequence might be the key to unlocking the Door.
He had already fallen too far behind.
Su Jinye had begun laying out his plans many years earlier and had long since established his defenses.
He had to catch up.
But how could he obtain more samples?
Su Muchen was now completely on guard against him, and Su Jinye clearly would not let him approach Guichenzhai again.
Continuing with forceful methods would only trigger Su Jinye’s retaliation.
He had already experienced the strength of that retaliation.
He had to find a path that Su Jinye could not seal off.
His gaze fell on an old document at the corner of the desk.
It was a surviving translated page from the Sheng family’s ancestral texts.
The final line read:
“The key’s blood belongs solely to the Su family. This bloodline cannot be altered by human effort or taken by external force.”
He had originally thought it was merely emphasizing the uniqueness of the bloodline.
Now, rereading the sentence, he suddenly realized it might have another meaning.
Since it could not be “taken by external force,” that meant Su Muchen’s blood could not be replicated or replaced.
He did not need to create a substitute.
He only needed to obtain more.
And the person who could ultimately supply what he needed did not necessarily have to be Su Muchen.
It could be someone he could completely control.
Someone who would obey him absolutely and supply the samples he needed.
His very own “Door’s key.”
But before that, there were still thresholds he needed to cross.
Sheng Chengxiu picked up his phone and sent a message:
“Reconfirm every piece of information on Su Muchen and Su Jinye, including their daily routines and social activities.”
He put down his phone without waiting for a reply.
Beside Sheng Chengxiu lay the report on Su Jinye, while Su Muchen’s test results were spread across the desk before him.
He knew he was already far behind, but he had also confirmed one thing:
That 0.3% of the sequence would not disappear into thin air.
As long as it still existed, he still had a chance.