Chapter 56 – Talking Nonsense
“Wait,” Shao Zhan called out to the team member who was about to leave. “About Yang Sa…”
“What about him?” Fat Tangyuan dashed back like lightning, eyes sparkling with curiosity as if nothing made him happier than drama. “Spit it out already.”
“Don’t go bother him.”
After all that waiting, that was all he had to say. Fat Tangyuan waved a hand to fan himself. “I’m not even gonna expose you. If you didn’t have a guilty conscience, who’d be bothering him in the first place…”
Before Shao Zhan’s darkening expression could spiral completely out of control, Jiang Ranan and Zhuang Bai flanked Fat Tangyuan, each taking an arm, dragging the motor-mouthed boy away from the imminent explosion.
The ticking time bomb of a man wandered around the base aimlessly and ended up in the kitchen. As casually as one could manage, he asked the team about their meals—particularly the guests who were currently staying at the base.
When he learned that one of them hadn’t eaten anything since arriving—having stayed holed up in his room—he asked the cook to make a bowl of egg noodles and carried it over with one hand.
Outside the room meant for the coach’s son—the door still adorned with a Salted Egg Ultraman sticker—Shao Zhan lowered his voice: “It’s me.”
In the silence that followed, his voice came again, persistent: “Coach Du asked me to check in… see if you’re adjusting okay.” He leaned close to the door crack. Still no response from inside. “I even brought you some noodles,” he added, then deliberately stumbled a bit, crying out, “Hot! Hot!”
The next second, the door cracked open. A long, slender hand reached out, steadying the bowl in Shao Zhan’s hands and taking it smoothly. The entire exchange happened so quickly it made one’s head spin. The person inside then immediately tried to close the door again before the visitor could react.
Too bad Shao Zhan came prepared. He wedged his foot in the gap and, ignoring any and all signs of rejection, shamelessly squeezed his way in.
The bed was neatly made—so neat it looked like no one had even rested in it. The room was sparsely furnished. Yang Sa sat back down in front of the computer, typing away without so much as a glance, as if the only ones willing to show any hospitality were the shelves full of anime figures behind him.
Shao Zhan tilted his wrist, clicking his tongue in pain. The other person, however, clearly refused to fall for it again, pretending not to hear. A moment later, a small bottle of topical spray for bruises and sprains came flying toward the door.
Shao Zhan caught the palm-sized bottle with one hand. A bit helpless, and a little self-mocking, he said, “Thanks, but I’ve only got one hand—don’t think I can manage.” He reluctantly set the spray aside, adding in a pitiful, hesitant voice, “Sorry to waste your kindness.”
The words sounded both pitiful and cowardly. Even though Yang Sa knew he was faking it, he just couldn’t bring himself to ignore the guy. Face stony, he turned around, grabbed the spray, and applied the medicine for him.
The slightly pungent smell of the medicinal spray began to spread through the small room. Yang Sa was about to return to his desk when Shao Zhan grabbed his hand.
“You haven’t eaten the noodles yet,” Shao Zhan said.
Yang Sa twisted his wrist, trying to pull free. “I will.”
But the other hand clung on, refusing to let go. Shao Zhan simply watched him, lips pressed into a line, waiting.
After a brief standoff, Yang Sa gave in. “Fine. I’ll eat. Right now.”
Shao Zhan finally let go of his hand but didn’t leave. Instead, he pulled a chair over and sat beside the desk, watching quietly as Yang Sa ate.
The noodles had tiny dried shrimp scattered on top, paired with a sweet and tangy broth that turned out surprisingly rich and flavorful. The warm soup slid down easily, awakening the appetite of someone who hadn’t planned to eat at all.
Yang Sa stirred the noodles slowly, eyes downcast. “How long are you planning to sit there and watch me?”
The visitor calmed himself, pulled a brand-new folding knife from his pocket, and placed it on the desk. “This isn’t for you.”
“How do you know it’s not?” The heat from the soup had tinged Yang Sa’s pale face a soft pink, like a layer of honey-colored blush painted over his skin.
“Do you even know how to use a knife?”
While Yang Sa stayed tense and guarded, Shao Zhan remained relaxed, almost lazily so. He hooked a finger around the knife’s handle, flipping it effortlessly between his fingers. The blade twirled like a silver butterfly dancing at his fingertips.
Yang Sa quietly sipped his soup, refusing to pay attention to the show.
“Did you go to block those people at Silver Empire because of me?” The silver butterfly paused between Shao Zhan’s fingers, revealing its sharp, deadly edge.
Yang Sa lowered his head. His reflection flickered on the soup’s surface, a trace of panic flashing across his face—but he quickly forced that slip of emotion back into hiding.
When he didn’t answer, Shao Zhan didn’t press him. He only reminded him, “You should eat the noodles while they’re still hot.”
Yang Sa drank every last drop of the broth, only stopping when the bowl no longer reflected his face. That’s when Shao Zhan recited a string of numbers out loud and placed both the folding knife and a pre-prepared USB flash drive in the corner of the desk.
Yang Sa quietly committed the numbers to memory, though he had no idea what this out-of-nowhere topic was about.
Shao Zhan eventually explained on his own: “That was the base’s door code. I was going to add your fingerprint, but I figured you wouldn’t be up for it. Memorize that number—you can come and go freely without bothering Uncle Zhou.”
Then he gave two more strings of numbers. “This one is the entrance code to Xinghai Headquarters. And this—my personal login on the eleventh floor, paired with the decryption key.”
He nudged the flash drive forward on the table. “With this, you can access every piece of core data since Xinghai Club was founded…”
Someone’s voice echoed in his ears—so close, yet somehow distant.
Yang Sa suppressed the turmoil in his heart and sat quietly, like a lifeless puppet without a trace of emotion.
Shao Zhan hadn’t expected any response to begin with. After saying what he came to say, he stood up to leave. Just before stepping out, he turned back and told the room’s occupant, “I’m heading back to my grandfather’s. He’s old and tends to ramble, so I might be back a little late.”
There was no real need for him to report his whereabouts, but for some reason, he just didn’t want to hide anything from this person.
Yang Sa stayed in the same position, showing no reaction. It was as if he hadn’t heard a word, or couldn’t grasp the hidden meaning behind them.
But only he knew how fast his heart was racing in that moment.
It wasn’t until he was certain Shao Zhan had left that Yang Sa finally turned his gaze toward the door he’d gone through.
He didn’t know why, but he had a strong feeling—Shao Zhan knew. He knew everything.
He had pointed his blade at Silver Empire, provoking them into action. No one could have predicted they would behave exactly the same as they had thirteen years ago—just as despicably.
He had overheard Qin Chuan on the phone. The gangsters’ original target had been him—the only Asian person in the villa.
By a twist of fate, Shao Zhan had become the scapegoat.
The image of Shao Zhan being beaten flashed unbidden through his mind. The wounds were on Shao Zhan’s body, but the pain seared Yang Sa’s heart as if it were being scorched by fire.
But after lying low for ten years, after ten years of pain and hate—now that he had returned filled with vengeance—would he really pick up a knife and blatantly go block the gates of the Silver Empire team just because of that?
Shao Zhan getting hurt had never been part of the plan. Blocking their gate wasn’t either.
But Yang Sa understood: behind what seemed like a reckless move, there was clear, deliberate logic.
He needed an image—one of a man consumed by revenge, willing to act on impulse.
That image was meant to lower the enemy’s guard, to draw out their killing blow.
The identity Yang Sa used to sign up for the Silver Empire Cup was a backup one. The original person had been the son of a seriously ill man—a man who had died after Silver Empire’s team delayed his wages and treatment.
The child had been adopted and eventually sent overseas. His story bore a striking resemblance to Yang Sa’s own.
But he never tried to build that kind of image within the Xinghai team.
Partly because he genuinely didn’t want to deceive them—and partly because he knew Shao Zhan and Du Changcheng wouldn’t buy it anyway.
It was like this: he was ninety percent sure Shao Zhan could see through the actions he used as a disguise.
As for the other ten percent, he didn’t dare to hope, nor could he afford to.
Shao Zhan had clearly seen through his intentions, yet still chose to play along.
But what Yang Sa was after—without a doubt—would shatter the reputation Xinghai had spent years building.
So… how was he supposed to choose?
He set the spoon down. The porcelain clinked crisply against the bottom of the bowl.