Chapter Text
Wu Suowei had envisioned his rare night out ending in a highly civilized manner: a quiet walk home, a hot shower, and a solid eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Instead, the moment he unlocked the door to Apartment 4B, he was greeted by the unmistakable, pungent aroma of wet asphalt and soggy fur.
He froze in the entryway. Standing in the center of the kitchen, hands planted firmly on his hips, Suowei stared down at a small, wet, and incredibly scruffy creature shivering on his freshly scrubbed linoleum.
"Chi Cheng," Suowei said, his voice dangerously calm. "Explain why there is a walking mop dripping street sludge onto my floor.”
Chi Cheng stood by the kitchen counter, completely unbothered. He had his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, looking down at the stray dog with an expression that bordered on a deadpan glare.
The dog had one floppy ear, a coat the color of wet concrete, and a gaze that completely ignored Suowei’s rage. It let out a soft whine, shook its entire body, and sent a fine mist of grey rainwater straight onto Suowei’s pristine wooden cabinets.
"Found it outside the drop-off point in the north district," Cheng said flatly. "It was tracking the same perimeter I was.”
"This is the fifth time, Cheng. The fifth time in two months you have brought a stray animal," Suowei hissed, pointing a finger violently at the animal. "You can’t even take care of yourself, let alone raise a dog! Who washes the bloodstains out of your tactical gear? Me. Who ensures you don't succumb to scurvy because your entire diet consists of black coffee and whatever expired protein bar you find in your pockets? Me."
Without a word, Cheng reached onto the counter and dragged a premium five-kilogram sack of high-protein dog kibble out from behind his back, dropping it onto the counter with a heavy thud.
Suowei stared at the bag, his chest heaving. "You think you are taking care of a dog only when you buy pet food? We can't afford to raise a pet at our job! Our apartment is a repository for unlicensed firearms, our hours are entirely unpredictable, and we literally kill people for a living, Cheng! A dog requires stability. A dog needs a normal, safe environment. We cannot provide that."
Before Cheng could utter a single syllable of protest, Suowei marched forward, scooped up the shivering, muddy pup, and carried it straight out to the apartment building's covered back alley exit. He wasn't entirely heartless, though.
Kneeling under the awning, he gently set the dog down in a dry corner, unwrapped his own soft, knitted green scarf, and bundled it securely around the stray's neck.
"There," Suowei muttered, patting its wet head. "Someone normal is bound to adopt you out here. You'll be warm until then. Stay put.”
He marched back inside, thoroughly dusting off his hands, convinced that his life would finally remain uncomplicated and strictly professional.
He was entirely, spectacularly wrong.
Five days later.
The target is a mid-level money launderer who had made the spectacular mistake of skimming from the wrong triad syndicate and was running for his life.
But Wu Suowei was currently much more invested in the structural integrity of a three-tier strawberry shortcake.
He was a cook and a foodie, after all.
"If it tilts even a millimeter to the left, I am holding you personally responsible," Suowei hissed, adjusting his earpiece as he smoothed down the fake white beard of his costume.
He adjusted his glasses, peering through the service kitchen’s double doors into the roaring luxury of the hotel’s grand ballroom.
"Chi Cheng, do you copy? I swear to God, if you’re playing mobile games right now while I’m carrying fifteen pounds of imported dairy—"
"Channel open," a low, entirely unbothered voice droned through the comms. "And I’m not gaming. My battery is at four percent.”
"Then why do I hear the distinct sound of a digital sword slashing?”
"It was a daily login reward. Focus on the target, Suowei."
Suowei let out a sharp, aggrieved breath, checking his reflection in a polished silver tray. He looked exactly like what he was supposed to be: a Santa Claus.
Nobody looking at his bright eyes or his quick, easy smile would guess that his catered events usually ended with a body count and a thoroughly wiped hard drive.
"Target is at the VIP table near the ice sculpture," Suowei murmured, picking up the massive cake tray. "He’s got four guards. Two at the perimeter, two trailing him. What’s your position?"
"Rooftop. Cross-breezes are minimal. I have him in my sights."
"Good. Give me three minutes to get him isolated, then you take the shot. And make it clean, Cheng. If I have to pay a waste cleaning fee because you got messy, we are eating instant ramen for the rest of the month.”
"I like ramen."
"You like malnutrition," Suowei corrected, pushing through the doors into the noise of the party.
He moved through the crowd with practiced grace and a professional smile pasted across his face. He intercepted a waiter, redirected a tray of champagne, and guided the massive cake toward the VIP section, all while keeping his eyes locked on their mark.
The target was nervous, sweating through his expensive silk suit, looking around like a man who knew his time was borrowed. He was right.
Suowei set the cake down on a nearby table, catching the target's eye.
With a smooth, apologetic bow, he stepped back, letting his presence blend into the festive holiday background.
Right on cue, a hired event coordinator, completely oblivious to the trap, approached the mark with an urgent expression, following the routing instructions Suowei had subtly altered on the hotel's main logistics board earlier that evening.
"Mr. Zhang? A private call has been routed to the back office for you. From your associate in Macau."
The target’s face went pale. He nodded quickly, signaling his two primary guards to stay put as he hurried down the quiet, dimly lit hallway toward the back offices.
Suowei followed at a leisurely distance, his hand dropping subtly to the small of his back, where a silenced pistol was tucked securely beneath his heavy velvet coat.
"Cheng. He's moving into the kill zone," Suowei whispered. "Break the window glass on the north corridor to draw the remaining guards, then take him out when he passes the fire exit.”
"Roger.”
A second later, a sharp crack echoed from the far end of the hall as a bullet shattered a decorative glass pane perfectly, sending the target’s guards scrambling in confusion.
The target panicked, sprinting blindly right toward the fire exit, exactly as Suowei had calculated.
But just as the target reached the heavy steel door, it clicked, swinging outward from the exterior alleyway.
It wasn’t Chi Cheng.
It was a small, round four-year-old girl in a puffy, bright pink winter coat, holding a half-eaten lollipop.
She had a small backpack shaped like a frog on her shoulders, and her pigtails were slightly crooked. She looked completely lost, yet entirely unfazed by her surroundings.
Suowei froze.
The target froze.
The little girl looked up, her large, glassy eyes blinking at the bright red costume in front of her. Her gaze locked onto Suowei's fake beard, and her face instantly lit up.
"Mister Santa!" she chirped, her voice a tiny, high-pitched bell in the quiet corridor.
She took two steps forward, tilted her head, and looked up at him with hope. "Are you here to deliver my Christmas wish? I told the letter I want to see my papa!"
Suowei’s heart did an uncomfortable, violent flip.
Underneath the hardened exterior of a contract criminal, he was a massive softie. He glanced at the target who was clearly not acting like a loving father, then back down at her.
"Uh... of course, little one," Suowei said, softening his voice to a gentle, jolly rumble. "Santa always tries his best. But you have to wait just a little bit, okay? Step back inside the doorway for a second."
"What the hell?!" the target muttered, his hand reaching inside his jacket. His paranoia overrode any shred of human decency.
He didn't care who the kid was; she was a witness, or a distraction, or a trap. He pulled his gun, aiming it straight at the child. "Get out of my way!"
Suowei didn't think. His training clicked off, and the pure survival instinct for the little girl took over.
In a split-second panic to shield her and distract the target, Suowei threw his arms out, stepped directly in front of the child, removing his fake beard, and yelled the first absurd thing that popped into his head.
"WAIT! I AM YOUR PAPA!”
The target paused, completely bewildered by the sudden theatrical outburst. That single second of hesitation was all Suowei needed.
He lunged forward, throwing his weight into the target, knocking the man’s arm upward just as a heavy, deafening CRACK shattered the glass behind them.
Chi Cheng’s sniper bullet missed the target’s head by an inch because of Suowei’s sudden tackle, punching cleanly through the drywall instead.
"Suowei, what are you doing?!" Cheng’s voice barked through the earpiece, showing a rare sliver of genuine confusion. "You threw off my trajectory."
"There's a kid! There's a literal baby in the line!" Suowei yelled into his collar, grappling with the target on the floor.
The man was heavy and desperate, swinging a wild fist that caught Suowei right across the jaw. Suowei tasted copper, his disguise glasses flying off his face. He scrambled for his gun, but the target was already scrambling to his feet, raising his weapon again, this time pointed directly at Suowei’s chest.
A shadow fell over the doorway.
Chi Cheng didn't look like an assassin when he dropped from the ceiling rafters; he looked like a grim reaper in a dark tactical jacket. He didn't use his rifle.
He dropped into a crouch, swept the target’s legs out from under him with a brutal, bone-snapping kick, and before the man could even scream, Cheng caught him by the throat, driving him hard into the concrete floor.
A single, muffled thud of a silenced pistol ended it.
Silence descended on the corridor, broken only by the heavy breathing of Wu Suowei as he fumbled around on the floor.
"Are you insane?" Suowei gasped, rubbing his jaw. "You almost shot me!"
"You moved," Cheng said flatly, standing up and holstering his weapon without a single hair out of place.
He looked down at the dead target, then at Suowei, and finally, his dark, deadpan eyes drifted downward.
The little girl was still standing by the doorway. She had dropped her lollipop, but she didn't seem to care about the dead body or the pool of blood expanding near Chi Cheng’s boots. Instead, she was staring intently at the two of them.
She looked at Suowei, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and confusion. "Papa...?" she whispered, remembering his frantic shout from seconds ago.
Before Suowei could even try to explain the tactical lie, the girl's eyes drifted over to Chi Cheng.
She took three tiny, heavy-booted steps forward, reached out, and grabbed a fistful of Cheng’s tactical trousers.
"Daddy!" she beamed, a massive, bunny-toothed smile breaking across her face. "I found you!”
Chi Cheng looked down at his leg as if an alien parasite had attached itself to him. He didn't move. He didn't breathe. He just raised his eyes to Suowei, his voice dropping an octave into pure panic.
"Suowei. Kill it."
"It's a child, you psycho! We are not killing a toddler!" Suowei scrambled up, brushing the dust off his velvet costume. "Where did she even come from? Cheng, check her backpack. See if there’s an ID or a phone or literally anything."
With a deep, long-suffering sigh, Cheng reached out with two fingers, unzipping the small frog backpack while holding it as far away from his body as humanly possible.
He pulled out a few items: a half-empty juice box, a notebook, and a small, handwritten note.
Cheng squinted at the paper. "It says: 'To the man who lives in Apartment 4B. This is Won Sia. She’s your problem now. I’m going to Bali.'"
Suowei froze. He slowly turned his head to look at Cheng. "Cheng... what apartment do we live in?"
Cheng stared back, his expression entirely blank. "4B."
"And who lived in 4B before we took over the lease and cleared out the previous tenant’s... complications?"
Cheng’s eyes drifted toward the dead target on the floor.
"Oh, sweet Mother of God," Suowei whispered, looking down at the little girl, Sia, who was currently trying to climb Cheng's leg like a tree trunk. "She’s the target’s kid. She was looking for him."
Shouts echoed from the end of the ballroom hall. The guards were returning.
"We need to go," Cheng said, turning toward the fire exit and moving with fluid, silent speed.
"Wait! What about her?" Suowei panicked, holding Sia tightly to his chest as she let out a loud "Wheee!" at the sudden movement.
"Leave her. The police will find her.”
"We can't leave her next to a corpse, Cheng! If the syndicate finds out she’s his daughter, they’ll use her for leverage!" Suowei sprinted after him, his Santa costume flapping in the wind as they hit the cold night air of the alleyway. "We take her with us. Just until we figure out a safe house!"
Cheng stopped at the mouth of the alley, his motorcycle gleaming under the streetlights. He looked at Suowei, then at the child who was currently blowing a spit bubble directly onto Suowei’s red shirt.
"If she gets syrup on my bike," Cheng muttered, swinging his leg over the seat, "I’m throwing both of you into the river."
It was now their fifth day in the apartment with the child, and the tension had finally reached its boiling point.
Suowei was practically glowing, completely overtaken by an overwhelming case of baby fever.
He had spent the last hour meticulously cutting crusts off sandwiches and arranging fruit slices into the shape of cartoon characters for Sia, who was happily coloring on the living room rug, completely oblivious to the chaos around her.
Suowei turned back to Cheng, his chest heaving as he gestured wildly toward the little girl. "We are keeping her safe, Cheng! Look at her! She needs us!"
Cheng didn't blink. He slowly turned his dark, unblinking eyes from the living room back toward Suowei.
"We can’t take care of a dog," Cheng echoed, his voice dropping into a perfectly timed, razor-sharp clapback. "But we can raise a child?"
Suowei’s mouth snapped shut. He opened it to argue, closed it, and found himself completely trapped by the brutal efficiency of Cheng’s logic.
From the living room, Sia paused her coloring, looked up at the two arguing men, and pointed a crayon at Suowei.
"Papa, cookie?" Then, she turned her bright eyes to Cheng, flashing her signature bunny-toothed smile. "Daddy, carry!"
"I am not your father," Cheng said, his voice as cold as ice, though he didn't actually move away when she toddled over and grabbed his pant leg again. "Let go of my clothes or I will drop-kick you."
"Chi Cheng!”