Hunted Escape

Chapter Six: The Shadow of the Executed

Excessive terror left He Yan utterly speechless. Her teeth clattered violently, her hands pressed hard against the table, trying to make a sound loud enough to draw attention. She wanted to get up, to bolt for the door. But it was all in vain—her body collapsed, limp in the chair. She didn’t even have the strength to sweep the plate off the table.

Blackness clouded her vision, and just before she slipped into unconsciousness, she saw him sitting there, watching her silently. A faint, cold smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his gaze indifferent and detached.

She didn’t know how long had passed before she awakened from the void. Above her was an oversized crystal chandelier, glittering with blinding light.

“You’re awake?” he asked.

She struggled to sit up, instinctively shrinking towards the direction opposite his voice. The room was large. Fu Shenxing sat leisurely on a sofa in the distance, his lips curled in a satisfied smile. “Miss He, your physical endurance is quite impressive—you woke up half an hour earlier than I expected.”

Indeed, she had always possessed exceptional resilience—both physical and psychological. That was how she had survived the nightmare four years ago. Though fear rendered her panicked and disoriented, reason urged her to calm down. She shut her eyes tightly. When she opened them again, she had already accepted her circumstances. Her voice trembled as she asked, “Are you human or a ghost?”

He gave a mocking laugh. “How could the clever and daring Miss He asked such a foolish question?”

It was a foolish question—one that exposed the depths of her terror. There are no ghosts in this world. Shen Zhijie hadn’t come back from the dead. There was only one possibility: he had never died.

He hadn’t died. He had come back—for revenge.

Her deepest nightmare had taken form before her. He sat there, eyes cold and sharp like blades. Just like four years ago, when he had ordered with chilling calm: “Do it clean. Leave no traces.”

No—this was even worse. Now, he was like a specter risen from hell, come to exact vengeance. Tears spilled uncontrollably, her body shook uncontrollably, but she was no fragile woman who would collapse into pleas. Staring at him, she asked, voice trembling yet steadying within, “What do you want? To kill me?”

“Kill you?” He chuckled and slowly shook his head. “If I wanted to kill you, would I have gone to all this trouble?”

So he wouldn’t kill her. He would torture her.

Tears and begging would only amuse him more. She crushed her fear, thinking fast—there must be another way out. “Shen Zhijie, let’s calm down and talk. Can we speak rationally?”

He narrowed his eyes, intrigued. This woman—always unpredictable. “Talk about what?” he asked. “That I should let you go, and you’ll promise never to report me, and we’ll both forget the past and move on?”

That had indeed been her original plan. She bit her lip, changed tactics. “No. I’m just curious—how did you escape from prison?”

He looked mildly surprised, arching a brow. “Miss He, you never fail to surprise me. It makes me believe our little game ahead will be very interesting.”

She couldn’t read his intentions, only responded cautiously, “What game?”

He sat lazily, legs crossed. “To train a noble, educated woman into a shameless, degraded whore.”

She shuddered uncontrollably.

He was pleased by that reaction. His smile deepened. “You, Miss He—born of good stock, well-educated, respected profession. What a delight to defile someone like you. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

This was the purest cruelty. Filth. Vengeance at its vilest.

A soft knock came from the door. Several men entered. He Yan sensed the danger and rolled off the bed, shrinking back until her back hit the cold wall.

Fu Shenxing walked over, stopped just in front of her, and threw a knife at her feet. “Here,” he said, “show me how you kill.”

It was a fruit knife—short and sharp. Just like the one she’d once used.

A small, wiry man came forward and grabbed her arm. She fought with all her might, managing to seize the knife—but before she could strike, her wrist was caught in an iron grip. The knife clattered onto the floor.

Then came a punch. Her head snapped to the side. Her ears rang. The world is blurred and twisted. In her hazy vision, she saw a man holding a video camera. Others stood watching. And on the sofa—Fu Shenxing, expressionless, watching her.

She stopped struggling and slowly closed her eyes.

Fu Shenxing lounged lazily. “Is that all you’ve got? How boring. Let’s try something else.”

The scrawny man backed off. Three or four others moved in, pinned her limbs, and injected something into her body.

She fell into hell. Groaning in despair, she thrashed violently. “Kill me, Shen Zhijie! Kill me!”

He remained unmoved. “I told you—I won’t kill you.”

The drug took effect quickly. Her mind dissolved. Her body obeyed only base instinct. The room was filled with obscene sounds.

Fu Shenxing remained cold and composed. He glanced at the man nearby. “Ah Jiang, don’t touch her. She’s bad luck.”

Ah Jiang, clearly aroused, awkwardly covered himself. “I wasn’t going to touch her.”

Another man leaned forward, lowered his voice. “Mr. Fu, how long should we keep filming? These guys are from Japan—professionals. They’ll keep going until you say stop.”

Fu Shenxing glanced at the time. “That’s enough. Edit the footage. Let’s see how it looks.”

The final video was professionally made—every struggle, every act, every sound captured in sickening detail. On the large screen, the images were even more graphic than in real life.

He Yan sat curled in a robe on the sofa, lips trembling. She told herself not to cry—but the tears wouldn’t stop. Fu Shenxing turned to her, smirking. “You’re surprisingly photogenic.”

“Really? Thank you.” Her voice cracked like a torn cloth.

He seemed surprised. “Will you go to the police?”

“You have this… how could I dare?”

She had already guessed his next move. She tried to sneer, but tears flowed harder.

He smiled. “I knew you were smart. Let’s set the rules, then. From now on, come when I call. Deal?”

Stay alive. Get out alive.

A voice screamed in her head.

She nodded slowly. “Will you… keep filming this kind of stuff?”

“Probably not,” he said, thinking. “It’s too much trouble. I don’t plan to make you a porn star. But I might ask you to entertain guests. Some people might like your type.”

She shut her eyes. Silent tears fell.

Fu Shenxing called Ah Jiang. “It’s late. Take Miss He home.”

He was letting her go.

She didn’t dare show her joy. She dropped her gaze, moved slowly. Ah Jiang lost patience, yanked her to her feet.

But Fu Shenxing suddenly called out, “Miss He.”

She froze.

He only smiled and said, “Don’t go to the police. You’ll regret it.”

It was a warning. Maybe more.

Before she could process it, Ah Jiang covered her mouth with a drugged cloth.

When He Yan opened her eyes again, she was home.

It was almost no different from any other morning. She was lying in her own bed, covered by a light quilt. Her discarded clothes were neatly draped over the chair beside the bed. Even her phone was in its usual spot on the nightstand.

Sunlight spilled through the window. Judging by its brightness, it must’ve been nine or ten o’clock.

She closed her eyes again—then slowly opened them. Over and over, she told herself: last night was just a nightmare. But her aching body told her otherwise. Brutally and undeniably, it had all been real.

She pulled the quilt over her head and sobbed silently. Reaching for her phone with trembling fingers, she found one missed call from Liang Yuanze, and a message:

“Yanyan, don’t toss your phone around. You didn’t answer my call. Go to bed early. Don’t stay up so late.”

The time was 10:30 p.m. the previous night.

She had been in that devil’s hands at that very moment.

He Yan’s hands shook as she tried calling Liang Yuanze. But all she got was a busy signal. She stared at the phone in a daze for a moment, then suddenly sat up—ignoring the pain—and dressed quickly.

Her car was parked on the garden path. A few elderly women were playing with children in the courtyard. She took a deep breath and forced herself to appear calm.

Driving out of the neighborhood, she kept checking her rearview mirror, scanning for signs of anyone tailing her. Once she was sure she wasn’t being followed, she turned decisively toward the police station.

“Excuse me, what did you just say?” The officer behind the counter looked surprised. “Ma’am, please take a moment. Try to stay calm and explain things clearly.”

But He Yan couldn’t stay calm. Ever since stepping through the doors, all her composure had vanished.

“Shen Zhijie isn’t dead!” she cried. “He’s alive! He calls himself Fu Shenxing now! Go arrest him—now!”

The officer looked even more confused. “Who is Shen Zhijie? And who is Fu Shenxing?”

She opened her mouth but couldn’t find the words to explain it all.

“Officer Chen! I need Officer Chen Jingyan!” she shouted, as if grabbing onto a lifeline. “He knows what happened! He knows everything!”

The officer’s face changed slightly. He looked at her, hesitated, then said, “Officer Chen… passed away in a car accident a few days ago. We just held his memorial yesterday.”

She froze. Thought she must’ve heard it wrong. “What… what did you say?”

The officer gave her a sympathetic look, got up, and poured her a cup of hot water. “Miss He, please don’t panic. Whatever it is, you can tell us. Officer Chen may be gone, but we’re still here. We’ll help you.”

No.

No one could help her now.

First, her parents had suddenly won a “lucky” travel sweepstake and left town. Then Liang Yuanze was sent abroad for training. Now even the one officer she could trust was gone, just days before.

Could all of this really be coincidence?

How could it all be coincidence?

She sat there, numb and speechless.

The young officer leaned forward gently. “Miss He, are you alright?”

He Yan slowly looked up. Her gaze blank, dull. And in that emptiness, she heard Fu Shenxing’s voice again:

“Don’t go to the police. Or you’ll regret it.”