Chapter 6
Around midnight, his wife posted in the apartment owners’ group chat.
It started with photos.
Her husband in the hospital, both arms wrapped, forehead cut open, looking like some tragic victim in a made-for-TV drama. Their son was in one shot too, clutching him with tearful eyes like the child in a public service announcement.
Then came the essay.
A long, dramatic, self-righteous essay about how I had bullied their “kind and honest” family, ambushed her hardworking husband, and turned the neighborhood into a nightmare. She begged the community to stand with them and condemn me.
And for a little while, it worked.
Some neighbors who didn’t really know them started posting sympathy and outrage.
I didn’t answer at first.
I figured she assumed I was collecting screenshots and planning some serious rebuttal.
She had clearly forgotten who she was dealing with.
When the chat finally slowed down, I sent one line.
“If you say one more word, I’ll wipe out your whole family.”
Silence.
Total, immediate, glorious silence.
It was like the entire group could suddenly see me sitting there with a machete in my lap.
Then something unexpected happened.
A neighbor from our building typed, “They’re lying. That family has made this whole building miserable for years.”
Another chimed in.
Then another.
Soon half the building was telling stories about the family across from me—garbage, noise, bullying, threats, all of it. The tide turned so fast it was almost beautiful.
Nobody praised me exactly.
But I didn’t need that.
I only needed them to lose.
And even then, those lunatics still tried to keep fighting. They uploaded a ridiculous video from the hospital. The husband and wife sat there with their son between them, looking solemn, declaring that they would continue the struggle against evil to the end, that justice would prevail, that heaven protects the good.
At the end, their son even spat at the camera.
That made me laugh so hard I nearly dropped my phone.
But watching them sitting there, united like some ridiculous little fortress, I did have one thought.
Fine.
You want to act like your strength comes from being united?
Then I’ll split you apart.
That became my final plan.
I had two people in mind immediately.
One was an old female friend of mine—wild, fearless, rich enough not to care, the kind of woman who had been smoking and drinking since middle school and treated men like disposable toys. Put her in a school uniform and she could still pass for some innocent little dream girl if she wanted.
The other was a male friend so ridiculously handsome it was almost offensive. He had done every kind of shady job imaginable, and for three years he had worked in a high-end club charming women for money. If seduction was a profession, he had tenure.
My strategy was simple.
My female friend would lure the husband.
My male friend would lure the wife.
Then, when the time was right, I’d arrange for the husband to catch the wife in the act.
No amount of group-chat righteousness survives that.
My female friend went first.
She started visiting the husband’s flower shop dressed like a shy college girl, asking sweet questions about plants and admiring everything he said. Within a week he was giving her gifts, sending flowers to her place himself, basking in the attention like a dog in a patch of sunlight.
She let him believe she was interested.
She gave him just enough.
He was halfway gone already.
The wife was harder.
My handsome friend visited her clothing store several times pretending to shop for his girlfriend. She noticed him, of course. Any woman would. But she kept her distance.
So I adjusted the strategy.
I told him to bring an attractive girl into the store and act affectionate in front of the wife.
Jealousy would do what flirting alone couldn’t.
It worked.
The wife’s whole demeanor changed.
Then one Friday she went to Guangzhou to buy stock.
My friend followed.
He arranged a “chance” encounter, dinner, drinks, nostalgia, chemistry.
By the end of the night, they had crossed the line.
He sent me video.
I laughed so hard I nearly fell off my sofa.
The trap was set.
All I had to do now was choose the moment to pull it shut.