The moment the car stopped, Shi Zhou flung the door open and leaped out, slamming it shut in one fluid motion.

The chilly wind cooled the faint blush on his cheeks.

That was my first kiss! In both lifetimes! Sure, it was just a peck on the cheek, but still a first! Who’d believe the notoriously flirtatious Young Master Shi was actually a pure-hearted virgin who only dared to tease verbally?

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Of course, he didn’t know he’d already kissed Qin Yancheng on the face once—on the night he transmigrated—even demanding a kiss in return while drunk.

Shi Zhou continued to sulk. Why did I resort to such a self-destructive move? He refused to admit it was lust clouding his judgment, insisting it was a tactical strike to disorient the enemy. And it had briefly stunned Qin Yancheng.

Qin Yancheng exited the other side, expression unreadable as ever. He glanced at Shi Zhou but said nothing.

Bai Ran waited nearby with two suited men—likely lawyers. She noted the odd tension but didn’t dare pry, especially with Qin Yancheng visibly unwell. Quickly, she led the legal team to negotiate the contract termination.

In the lounge, Shi Zhou lounged on the sofa, carefully placing the perfectly peeled apple skin on the side before casually placing the apple itself on a plate.

Peeling another, then another—

Three apples later, he’d honed his skills, finding the process oddly satisfying. But wasting food felt sinful, so he needed to find a trash can to help him solve this problem. He nudged Qin Yancheng’s ankle with his shoe:

“Hey, Qin sir, want an apple? Peeled it just for you. Great for health—vitamin C and all kinds of nutrition, y’know?”

Qin Yancheng eyed the blatant lie, originally not planning to bother, but looking into those earnest smiling eyes, in the end he took the naked apple anyway, eating it silently before returning to his reports.

Shi Zhou wiped his hands and scrolled Weibo, studying the entertainment industry while saving photos of Qin Yancheng snapped by lucky fans.

Qin Yancheng rarely appeared in public, and although every photo of him that could be found was stunning, there were really not many of them. This sense of mystery made him even more attractive. Everyone knew that this young billionaire with a net worth of hundreds of billions was a man with broad shoulders, long legs and absurdly perfect looks. His many fans were eager to see more high-definition handsome photos of him.

Shi Zhou smirked. After all, he got the real deal right here. All angles, anytime. With enough courage, he could even touch for research purposes.

Qin Yancheng’s phone rang. At the name onscreen, his expression darkened. He muted it and set the phone down as if contaminated.

The calls kept coming. One, two, three…

More than half an hour had passed, and Shi Zhou was wondering what number of calls this was. Neither answering the call nor hanging up, the situation remained in a stalemate. This was rather odd. The person on the other end seemed to be very patient.

So patient that they didn’t seem like a normal person.

Shi Zhou crunched an apple, tilting his head. “Who’s calling? Why not answer?”

Qin Yancheng stayed silent.

Curious, Shi Zhou peeked. The screen read “Zeng Yan”—a woman’s name. Looking at Qin Yancheng’s reaction… could it be an ex-girlfriend?

Bai Ran knocked and entered. “President Qin, we’ve doubled our offer, but they’re stalling. They won’t release the contract.”

Qin Yancheng nodded, unsurprised. Bai Ran hesitated. “Should we raise further? What’s our budget for Mr. Shi’s contract?”

“Ten times the price wouldn’t sway them,” Qin Yancheng shut his laptop coldly. “They think I won’t touch Qixing with the contract in their hands. How laughably stupid.”

Bai Ran understood—Zheng Qi was banking on Qin Yancheng balking at the scandal of Shi Zhou’s contract being auctioned off if Qixing collapsed, or the drawn-out legal battle that would make Shi Zhou a laughingstock.

Shi Zhou never imagined he’d be someone’s human shield. Zheng Qi overestimated his importance.

He and Qin Yancheng weren’t even friends. Expecting Qin Yancheng to spare him for such disgusting things as spying, fantasizing and finding a stand-in? Absurd.

Qin Yancheng stood. “Bai Ran, inform Zheng Qi—since he’s refusing grace, he’d better not regret it.”

Outside the window was a deep and dark night, with the sound of wind blowing past. Shi Zhou lounged in the study, munching chips. “Hey, Qin Yancheng—no, Dear President Qin—will you save me?”

For Qin Yancheng, it wouldn’t be hard. Even a lawsuit would be won effortlessly. The only cost might be bad PR, but freedom trumped reputation. The sight of Zheng Qi’s face alone disgusted him.

“That depends on your performance,” Qin Yancheng replied absently, eyes on his screen.

The gold-rimmed glasses on his nose made Shi Zhou’s heart race. He loved this look—the refined, restrained allure of a gentleman who could ruin you. Made him drool just thinking about it.

A rare sight, since Qin Yancheng wasn’t nearsighted. This “limited edition” view only appeared during paperwork.

Shi Zhou pressed. “Seriously, what’s your angle? Spending money and effort on me? I’m dying of curiosity here.”

Qin Yancheng’s gaze pierced through the lenses, sharp enough to nail Shi Zhou in place. But he offered no answer.

Ugh, cryptic bastard.

Shi Zhou pouted. Whatever. Dead pigs fear no boiling water. Rob him? His pockets were empty. Take advantage? He’d welcome it. Let’s see what Qin Yancheng’s game was.

Before bed, Qin Yancheng quietly left a bruise ointment on Shi Zhou’s nightstand, along with a velvety cake and cherry jelly pudding.

Shi Zhou savored a spoonful of cake, the sweetness melting his annoyance. He touched his neck—barely sore now. Qin Yancheng was really interesting. It seemed that he probably remembered something about what happened last night. Was this an apology?

Treating me like a kid with desserts.

Later, his long-absent agent Li Cheng called, fawning like a grandson meeting his grandpa. “Shi Zhou! I’ve got you an amazing reality show! Eight days of filming, huge buzz already—premiering in two weeks!”

“How generous,” Shi Zhou laughed. “Li Cheng, you’ve gotten funnier.”

The timid, meek Shi Zhou Li Cheng knew was gone. This voice dripped with sarcasm and steel. If not for the same voice, he wouldn’t have even recognized him.

“Cut the crap,” Shi Zhou drawled. “Where were you these past two months? Use that brain of yours—oh wait, it’s only good for adding height.”

Though playful, his tone carried a whip’s sting. “You know the saying: ‘Hindsight is 20/20, foresight is pig-brained’?”

Li Cheng double-checked the caller ID. Definitely “Shi Zhou.”

“Uh… this show’s golden. Everyone’s fighting for it! Qixing pulled strings just for you! Think about it?” Li Cheng plowed on, desperate to fulfill Zheng Qi’s orders.

Shi Zhou toyed with him before relenting. “Fine. I’ve been bored recently. Send me the details.” Then hung up without courtesy.

Playing the aloof big shot came naturally now. Back as CEO, his father had berated him endlessly for being too lax with subordinates, the dinner-table lectures over how a piece of barbecued pork was better than him, treating him as if he was completely useless.

In the end, his father won. He finally turned this “big baby” who was spoiled by his brother into the silly rich second generation who just wanted to lie down into a cool and aloof “Mr. Shi” whose speech and behavior seemed impeccable. He was able to keep his subordinates in check, managed the company in good order, and his work ability was almost impeccable, so he no longer ate his meals to the sound of scolding.

Li Cheng scrambled to send schedules, marveling at Shi Zhou’s transformation. Money and power really remake people. With Mr. Qin backing him even his aura was different.

The offered gigs were enviable, but likely still inadequate as peace offerings to someone backed by Qin Yancheng.

Qixing scrambled to restore Shi Zhou’s ads, endorsements, magazine shoots—anything to appease.

But Shi Zhou only picked local gigs, wary of leaving Beijing while Qin Yancheng’s health hung in the balance. At least wait until the autumn and winter when the incident was most likely to occur before talking about other things. Besides, he could foresee that Qin Yancheng would get his contract back soon, so there was no need to have too much cooperation with Qixing. He could just treat it as a warm-up.

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He carefully selected several commercials that were shot in Beijing, as well as a relatively high-profile fashion gala.

This gala, however, would be his first eye opener. His first taste of this cutthroat world and the many surreal things that occur within.

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Qin Yancheng’s grip loosened instantly, freeing Shi Zhou, who clutched his throat, coughing violently, his heart pounding and vision darkening as the ceiling above seemed to spin.

Too terrifying.

The suffocating near-death sensation surged again, as if he were back in that icy river, ensnared by the terror of death.

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It took a long time for Shi Zhou to steady himself enough to sit up shakily and nudge the motionless Qin Yancheng with his foot.

Qin Yancheng’s eyes were tightly shut, his face as pale as paper. Even unconscious, his brows remained furrowed, his forehead damp with cold sweat.

Summoning his courage, Shi Zhou leaned closer to check on him. Thankfully, it seemed to be just a temporary faint. With great effort, he rolled Qin Yancheng onto his back and pressed a hand to his upper abdomen—the area was already bruising from the kick, the skin cold and taut, spasming visibly.

How much must it hurt to be kicked like that during a cramp? No wonder Qin Yancheng had nearly been knocked out.

Shi Zhou sighed, baffled by Qin Yancheng’s sudden madness. But in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to leave him like this. He fetched antispasmodic medication and forced it down Qin Yancheng’s throat.

A moment later, Qin Yancheng let out a low groan, instinctively curling onto his side, his arms wrapped around his stomach, teeth clenched in silence. Shi Zhou watched as his hazy, confused gaze flickered—still far from sober despite the ordeal.

Just as Shi Zhou turned to leave, Qin Yancheng suddenly bolted upright, ignoring the pain, his face a mask of panic. He staggered to his feet, only to collapse the moment they touched the floor. Before Shi Zhou could help, Qin Yancheng curled into a ball, clutching his head and shouting hoarsely:

“I’m not sick! I’m really not sick!”

He trembled violently, his eyes red, breathing ragged—whether from fear, rage, or agony, it was impossible to tell. Drenched in sweat, his shirt clung to him, leaving him utterly disheveled.

“Qin Yancheng?”

“Qin Yancheng, what’s wrong? Snap out of it!”

No ordinary drunk would act like this. Shi Zhou was genuinely stunned, calling out repeatedly before it dawned on him—Qin Yancheng might have actual psychological issues.

Qin Yancheng wasn’t listening, muttering to himself, “Fuck off… I’m not sick… Let me go…”

Horrifyingly, as he spoke, he began slamming the back of his head against the floor. Shi Zhou lunged forward, cradling his skull to stop him—no need to add brain damage to the mess.

An eternity later, Qin Yancheng finally stilled, his eyes closed.

Shi Zhou tried hauling him back to bed, but the dead weight was far heavier than expected. The struggle was comical—proof that one could lift a 50-pound hyperactive husky but not a 50-pound sack of rice.

After finally wrestling him onto the mattress and peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt, Shi Zhou collapsed in relief.

Qin Yancheng’s lashes fluttered weakly. His eyes opened, and in a hoarse whisper, he murmured, “Shi Zhou?”

Shi Zhou hummed in acknowledgment.

Qin Yancheng’s bloodless lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but he slipped back into unconsciousness.

The next morning, Shi Zhou was lured awake by the aroma of food. Glancing at the clock—past nine. His sleep had been fitful, plagued by nightmares of drowning, jolting awake repeatedly. But sheer hours in bed left him oddly refreshed.

Qin Yancheng sat at the table, phone in hand, “No need. I’ll go personally this afternoon.”

Noticing Shi Zhou’s arrival, he hung up, his tone as detached and polite as ever. “Shi Zhou, breakfast.”

—As if nothing had happened. Yet his pallor and faint weariness betrayed him.

Shi Zhou’s eyes widened, studying him discreetly. Good. He doesn’t remember last night. Better that way.

Shi Zhou easily empathized with others’ embarrassment. No one would want their breakdown witnessed, least of all someone like Qin Yancheng—proud and prominent.

As for the choking? Provoking a blackout-drunk lunatic and forcibly stripping him to grope his abs wasn’t exactly saintly behavior. Besides, Qin Yancheng hadn’t been in control and that kick evened the score.

“Morning, Qin Yancheng. Why aren’t you at the office?”

“Don’t feel like going today,” Qin Yancheng replied tersely.

“Huh? That’s not like you. Mr. Workaholic, always busy.”

Qin Yancheng sipped his tea calmly. “Your bias. I’ve never been a workaholic.”

In truth, he’d woken past midnight to escalating stomach pain, the memories of his drunken antics flooding back with sobriety. The embarrassment was real—as was his guilt toward Shi Zhou.

Between the hangover and sleeplessness, his heart now ached dully. He refused to risk collapsing at the office again in front of subordinates.

Shi Zhou scoffed. If this isn’t workaholic, what is? He’d seen Qin Yancheng merge three meals into one, review proposals past midnight—a true extremist.

Qin Yancheng’s gaze drifted to Shi Zhou’s neck—pale skin now marred by vivid purple fingerprints.

But Shi Zhou seemed uncaring of it, only slurping his noodles. “Heard your call earlier. Going out again tonight? Will you be back for dinner at home?”

He couldn’t face more instant noodles. But with his career stalled and funds dwindling, even three packs seemed a luxury.

“Going to Qixing to buy you today. You’re coming.”

The car ride was spent in a good mood. Shi Zhou swayed to his headphones, ponytail bobbing.

His resilience and inability to hold a grudge baffled Qin Yancheng—like a piece of candy dipped in bitter water, the sweetness beneath untouched by the surface bitterness.

Turning to speak, Shi Zhou suddenly met Qin Yancheng’s unreadable stare and faltered. Recovering, he asked brightly, “Hey, Qin Yancheng, what do you see in me?”

Rumors said this was Qin Yancheng’s first time as a sugar daddy. No one acts without motive. What’s his angle?

Qin Yancheng’s lips pressed together, his cold features flickering with something indefinable. After a pause, he actually smiled faintly. “Don’t know.”

Shi Zhou was baffled. That smile, however slight, felt… ominous. A line from Zweig surfaced: “All fate’s gifts come with a hidden price.”

A windfall this huge—Qin Yancheng had looks, wealth, power, each at their peak—was too good to be true.

Qin Yancheng offered nothing further, leaving Shi Zhou to stew. The more he thought, the more uneasy he grew.

“Hey, just tell me straight—”

Mid-sentence, Shi Zhou felt a weight on his shoulder—Qin Yancheng, exhausted, had dozed off against him.

The scent of Qin Yancheng’s cologne—Kingston Eau de Parfum Cologne for Men, woody with tobacco notes—mingled with mint shampoo, together evoking snow-dusted mountain pines.

Smells quite good. This guy was both handsome and fragrant.

Shi Zhou inhaled deeply, then glanced down at Qin Yancheng’s slender, pale fingers. Compulsively, he brushed one—the cool, smooth touch sent a thrill up his spine. He swallowed hard:

Absolute perfection. Just one more touch.

His earlier doubts—whether to leave Qin Yancheng and run away as soon as possible—evaporated momentarily.

The foolish boy, mind bewitched by the other man’s beauty, shook his head and quickly found a reason to convince himself: Beggars can’t be choosers. I’ve got nothing to lose, nothing he’d want anyway.

In any case, his conscience wouldn’t let him abandon Qin Yancheng before his destined death.

Besides, Qin Yancheng wasn’t so bad. Clearly unwell today, he still personally went to Qixing to “buy” Shi Zhou.

Some time later, Qin Yancheng jolted awake as if from a nightmare, his breathing ragged, gaze unfocused.

Shi Zhou, still covertly holding his hand and having no time to let go (not that he wanted to), quickly shut his eyes and feigned sleep.

Qin Yancheng’s mind buzzed, his vision doubling. The dream so clear and painful it made him tremble—that woman’s voice—clung like a curse:

“Chengcheng…”

“Be good.”

“I love you most.”

“Chengcheng, you’re sick. You need treatment.”

Silence. Qin Yancheng withdrew his hand, then trailed a cold finger along Shi Zhou’s throat, lingering on the bruises. Shi Zhou fought not to flinch, reflexively afraid and also feeling itchy, biting his tongue to stay still.

His acting—once praised by a top director as “limitless”—held up. Qin Yancheng seemed fooled, yet still reached out a hand and gripped Shi Zhou’s ponytail.

A gentle tug forced Shi Zhou’s head back, exposing his marked neck. It didn’t hurt but Shi Zhou was forced to open his eyes at the movement.

Qin Yancheng’s emotions churned uncontrollably. In his mind’s eye, he saw his younger self, hair yanked just like this, that venomously sweet voice cooing as if to a toddler, “Come on, drink your medicine.”

Shi Zhou, bewildered, met Qin Yancheng’s terrifyingly unstable gaze.

Holy shit, he’s losing it again!

Shi Zhou was completely frightened by his mad appearance yesterday. He cursed in his heart, gritted his teeth and stamped his feet, and finally steeled himself—

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—abruptly leaning in to plant a loud, smacking kiss on Qin Yancheng’s cheek!

The sound echoed in the sudden tense silence.

Qin Yancheng woke up suddenly, his hand trembled, and he let go of Shi Zhou’s hair, with a dazed look in his eyes.

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The car was too quiet. Qin Yancheng didn’t speak, and Shi Zhou had nothing to say either, so he drowsily leaned against the window and fell asleep.

At some point, Qin Yancheng parked and turned off the engine but didn’t make a sound. Instead, he quietly turned to look at Shi Zhou:

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Some people are born with faces that make them look younger than they are—Shi Zhou was one of them. At fifteen or sixteen, Qin Yancheng had probably resembled him somewhat.

Though his features carried a hint of sharpness, the overwhelming impression was one of youthful innocence.

His long hair covered half of his fair neck, his lashes lowered, giving him a pitiful, helpless air.

After a long pause, Qin Yancheng’s slender fingers silently clenched into fists—

That feeling of disgust, even hatred, suddenly surged and boiled in his heart again, like fire scorching the last few drops of water on parched land, emitting a dry, sizzling sound.

Qin Yancheng abruptly closed his eyes, as if his rationality was making a final struggle. He didn’t know why he kept Shi Zhou by his side, watching him over and over.

Perhaps it was a reminder—to never forget, to keep tearing off the scab and staring at his bloody wound. Or perhaps he was searching for some turning point that could only be found by traveling through time, hoping to see something different.

Returning to Qin Yancheng’s villa this time, Shi Zhou was already familiar with the place. The housekeepers came forward to take the luggage from the trunk upstairs, but they hesitated when facing Shi Zhou, unsure how to address him.

According to Aunt Zhang’s instructions, this was likely the “official wife”—but since he was a man, calling him “madam” felt awkward.

Noting their youth, Shi Zhou grinned, “Just call me Brother Shi.” He knew everyone misunderstood his relationship with Qin Yancheng, but if asked to define it, even he wasn’t sure.

Sugar daddy and kept actor? That didn’t seem right either. Qin Yancheng was so handsome and self-disciplined—if this were a kept arrangement, it was hard to say who was getting the better deal.

The housekeepers obediently called him “Brother Shi,” then asked Qin Yancheng, “Sir, will Brother Shi be sharing your room?”

Qin Yancheng, too lazy to explain that their relationship wasn’t like that, simply replied, “He’ll take the guest room next to the master bedroom.”

Shi Zhou’s life now wasn’t much different from before transmigrating—still idle and carefree, even happier than before. No longer burdened with playing the responsible corporate heir, no longer exhausted from pretending to be diligent and reliable while enduring his father’s scoldings.

Lounging on the living room sofa, he scrolled through Weibo, studying the entertainment industry’s workings in this world. Qin Yancheng emerged from the gym, heading toward the bathroom.

Shi Zhou inwardly tsked. Here it comes—today’s dose of temptation.

At home, Qin Yancheng dressed more casually, especially after showers. When he worked in his study wearing just a robe, Shi Zhou—from his vantage point—could see everything clearly through the open door.

Putting down his phone, Shi Zhou, who’d initially been too shy to look, now shamelessly ogled.

How had I ever thought Qin Yancheng might be as frail as Lin Daiyu, easy to push down? (TN: a main character from the Dream of the Red Chamber who is known for being sickly and fragile).

This was clearly a beauty who looked slender clothed but was lean and toned underneath. His muscles were defined yet not bulky, the lines perfectly balanced—Shi Zhou itched to touch them.

As a gay man alone with such a stunning beauty, the air practically thrummed with temptation. Though he wasn’t insane enough to fall for a madman, that didn’t stop him from drooling over Qin Yancheng’s body daily.

His phone buzzed. Shi Zhou reluctantly tore his gaze from Qin Yancheng to check:

Another message from Shi Qing. After selling him out to loan sharks, he had the audacity to now claim credit—hinting that without him, Shi Zhou wouldn’t have caught Qin Yancheng’s eye.

Though Qin Yancheng wasn’t in the entertainment industry, he was a national heartthrob, his name legendary. But whether reporters or those who’d witnessed Shi Zhou leaving with him that night, no one dared make him gossip fodder.

The fact that Shi Zhou lived with Qin Yancheng wasn’t public. Shi Qing must have guessed.

Shi Zhou sent a “Fuck off” before deleting him.

Qin Yancheng, now dressed and drying his hair, fastened his cufflinks. “I’m going out tonight. Order whatever takeout you want.”

Aunt Zhang had returned to her hometown yesterday, and the other housekeepers weren’t allowed to stay overnight, so no one was around to cook. This morning, Qin Yancheng had made breakfast himself.

Shi Zhou had been shocked—not only could Qin Yancheng cook, but the results were visually and gastronomically impressive.

Clearing his throat, Shi Zhou eyed Qin Yancheng by the entrance, then asked with dignity. “Sir, may I come with you?”

“Why?”

Previously, Qin Yancheng had turned a blind eye to Shi Zhou’s “Mrs. Qin” charade—it conveniently deterred admirers. But since it was fake, Shi Zhou’s hints and implications were one thing; actively following him around to assert “ownership” was pushing it.

Shi Zhou seemed to read his thoughts. After a stunned pause, his tone turned sharp, “Forget it. Just kidding. Who cares about your stupid dinner?!”

Qin Yancheng frowned, realizing his own assumption might’ve been unfair. As he pondered Shi Zhou’s words, his phone rang—the driver politely urging him to leave before traffic worsened.

Standing at the entrance putting on shoes, Qin Yancheng heard Shi Zhou, sulking on the sofa with a plush toy, suddenly snap, “Don’t drink.”

His tone was cold, almost vicious with lingering irritation.

But after their time together, Qin Yancheng could now distinguish between Shi Zhou’s genuine concern and his acting.

Lowering his eyes, Qin Yancheng felt an odd, fleeting warmth—like a gentle touch—before replying neutrally, “Mnn.”

Hearing the door close, Shi Zhou sighed, staring after him.

The day his brother died had been just like this:

He’d been watching TV on the sofa when his brother, at the door, said: “Sweetheart, don’t eat too much. Wait for me to bring you cake.”

But Shi Zhou never got that cake. By the time he reached the hospital, his brother’s body was already cold.

Even three years later, he vividly remembered the film onscreen—Béla Tarr’s final work, its silence broken only by howling winds over desolation, a towering dead tree beside a crude hut, and a stubbornly resisting horse. Life collapsing, everything tending toward ruin.

Back then, Shi Zhou had thought it an ordinary day, dutifully analyzing the bleak, profound film for class.

Afterward, he never watched such movies again. Their oppressive weight filled him with dread, as though viewing them might summon sudden tragedy.

For years, he’d wondered—if he’d just said “Don’t drink,” his brother, who doted on him, would’ve listened. Then the sudden illness wouldn’t have…

The real reason Shi Zhou wanted to tag along? He was broke.

Never managing a household, he’d had no concept of expenses, spending recklessly by habit. The original host had been bled dry by his leech of a brother, leaving little savings. Now, with barely enough for instant noodles, takeout wasn’t an option.

Borrowing from Qin Yancheng would make their relationship feel truly transactional. Joking about “sugar daddy” was one thing—making it real would complicate things.

Even now, the bastard had nearly accused him of ulterior motives.

After his noodles, Shi Zhou fiddled with the dishwasher, calculating Qin Yancheng’s return time, when the door lock clicked.

A voice asked, “President Qin, how does this lock work again?”

The next second, the fingerprint scanner beeped. Qin Yancheng’s voice, unusually rough and breathy, “Xiao Ni, thanks for today… You can go.”

Xiao Ni, the driver, hesitated—with Qin Yancheng this drunk and no housekeeper around, could he manage alone?

Then a handsome, ponytailed man strolled out, drying his hands, and effortlessly steadied Qin Yancheng’s unsteady form.

Xiao Ni’s eyes widened. Someone else lives with President Qin?!

The face looked familiar—a celebrity! Rich men loved keeping starlets, but he’d never expected Mr. Qin to follow the trend.

Shi Zhou caught the strong scent of alcohol—mixed drinks, and a lot of them.

Though not one to hold grudges, Shi Zhou’s temper flared at the broken promise, “You full of shit? What did I say before you left?”

Most knew of Qin Yancheng’s stomach issues and avoided pressuring him to drink—unless he wanted to.

Xiao Ni thought, this doesn’t seem like a sugar baby’s attitude…

Not daring to linger, he bid Shi Zhou farewell and left. Having been Qin Yancheng’s driver for several years, he knew that being drunk would not affect his memory. Although he might be drunk right now, he remembered everything clearly the next day.

Alone, Qin Yancheng staggered to the sofa and collapsed.

He wasn’t a rowdy or babbling drunk—if not for his unsteady gait and slurred speech, he might’ve seemed sober.

Shi Zhou ignored him, resuming his movie, though his gaze kept flickering over.

On the table sat a half-full glass of water—left by Qin Yancheng that morning, now ice-cold in the autumn chill.

Seeing him reach for it, Shi Zhou’s resolve wavered. Snatching it away, he snapped, “What water? Have more alcohol. I’ll open another bottle—drink yourself to death.”

Drunk Qin Yancheng was entirely different—docilely accepting the warm water Shi Zhou brought.

Shi Zhou nudged Qin Yancheng’s long legs, “Go lie down in your room. Don’t hog the sofa. I’m trying to watch a movie here.”

Qin Yancheng blinked dazedly at him before obediently rising and retreating to bed.

Peeking in later, Shi Zhou saw him curled uncomfortably, left arm pressed to his stomach, legs drawn up—clearly in pain.

Their eyes met. Shi Zhou rolled his dramatically before ducking out.

He decided to make milk to soothe Qin Yancheng’s stomach. As the pot simmered, the creamy aroma filled the kitchen. The familiar scene tugged at memories of doing the same for his own brother—

His eyes stung suddenly. A tear fell without warning.

Startled, he touched his cheek, then sniffled.

Damn it! This body’s tear ducts are too sensitive. He wasn’t that sad—three years had passed. He shouldn’t be crying this easily.

But once the first tear broke through, more followed like a breached dam.

Wiping his face, Shi Zhou thought, thank god no one saw this. How embarrassing—crying like a toddler.

Bringing the milk to Qin Yancheng, who sat up weakly, Shi Zhou’s red-rimmed eyes didn’t escape notice.

“You cried?” Qin Yancheng’s voice was hoarse from drink, laced with a lazy rasp.

Shi Zhou scrubbed at his face, flushing. “None of your business! Hurry and drink up!”

Qin Yancheng frowned, blinking slowly—an oddly innocent look. This endearing contrast made Shi Zhou laugh, his tone softening.

“Really, it’s nothing. Just overactive tear ducts. Better out than in, right? Sip slowly—don’t upset your stomach more.”

After washing the cup, Shi Zhou heard retching. Rushing to the bathroom, he found Qin Yancheng slumped over the toilet, utterly spent.

Helping him rinse, Shi Zhou fetched painkillers at his weak request.

“These aren’t candy—they’re bad for you… How do you even function?”

He made him lie down and took out some stomach medicine for him to take. After waiting for a long time, there was still no relief. Qin Yancheng’s face was still pale with pain.

“Did you buy fake medicine? I don’t think it has ever worked.”

Shi Zhou rolled up his sleeves. Time to showcase his limited culinary skills: congee.

After nearly destroying the kitchen, he produced a decent-looking porridge.

As he entered, Qin Yancheng, silent until now, murmured, “…Thanks.”

Shi Zhou chuckled. So polite, even drunk. “Don’t thank me. You’re just lucky.”

Had the scene not mirrored the past so closely, the pampered young master would’ve never bothered. Apart from Shi Li, no one could make him lift a finger.

He’d learned to make congee specifically for his brother—much to the hoisekeepers’ horror, who’d begged him to spare the kitchen (and their sanity).

Oh well. Qin Yancheng won’t remember this tomorrow anyway.

“Hey, no one dares pressure you to drink. Why torture yourself? And you mixed alcohols, didn’t you?” Shi Zhou had noticed Qin Yancheng’s disregard for his health before.

“Still hurting? Here, let me massage it.”

Rubbing his hands, Shi Zhou seized the chance he’d longed for—to touch those perfect abs. Opportunities shouldn’t be wasted.

“No need.” Qin Yancheng turned away, his slurred words oddly firm.

“I say you need it. My hands are warm—it’ll feel good.”

Planning to change Qin Yancheng’s clothes anyway, Shi Zhou grabbed loungewear, then climbed atop him, swiftly undoing his buttons.

Too drunk and weak to resist, Qin Yancheng’s shirt was yanked open, revealing sculpted chest and abdomen.

“Tsk, I’ve been plotting this, finally I’ve…” Shi Zhou’s voice died.

On Qin Yancheng’s right upper arm were over a dozen horizontal scars—neat, evenly spaced, identical in length, as if meticulously carved.

The right side…

But aside from himself, who would dare harm this heir born with a golden spoon?

As Shi Zhou stared, Qin Yancheng’s eyes flew open—

Like a roused beast, he suddenly gripped Shi Zhou’s throat, flipping them with terrifying strength to pin him down!

Shi Zhou’s scream caught in his crushed windpipe. Qin Yancheng’s grip was iron—immobilizing, suffocating, his cervical vertebrae pressing dangerously on his trachea.

Qin Yancheng’s eyes burned crimson, filled with deranged fury—the look of someone ready to drag the world down with him. It was definitely not an expression worn by someone who was sane and sober.

“FUCK OFF!” Qin Yancheng roared, voice raw with rage. “DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

“Qin… Yan…cheng…” Was he going to be strangled to death?

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Darkness edged Shi Zhou’s vision. Gritting his teeth, he mustered all his strength—

—and kneed Qin Yancheng brutally in the stomach.

The force, enough to hurt his own knee, made Qin Yancheng gasp and collapse sideways, his grip slackening.

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The moment Zheng Qi saw that expression, his left eyelid started twitching violently! Before he could stop him, Shi Zhou’s eyes had already welled up with tears, his voice trembling:

“Ah Qi, I’m leaving. You should cherish the person in front of you, don’t always think about what you can’t have…”

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He deliberately emphasized the words “can’t have,” then let a single crystalline tear roll down his left cheek, dampening his long lashes and fair skin. Shi Zhou paused perfectly, choking up before continuing:

“Duan Nian is a good person. You should live honestly from now on. Besides me, you should also cut ties with those six or seven others outside. It’s dirty—what if you bring back some disease and hurt Duan Nian? And you have to be gentle. You can’t just go in unprepared… it hurts so much.”

Zheng Qi looked like he’d been struck by lightning, his mouth half-open, eyes bulging. Watching Shi Zhou’s crocodile tears flow on command, blood rushed from his feet straight to the top of his head!

Song Duannian, raised in a scholarly family with strict manners, had been carefully brewing tea to serve the guests despite the awkward atmosphere. Hearing Shi Zhou’s words, his hands slipped, sending the tray crashing to the floor. Porcelain and tea splattered everywhere with a piercing shatter.

Qin Yancheng, sitting on the sofa, turned to watch the two of them, the corner of his mouth curling with faint amusement.

Zheng Qi snapped out of his daze, trembling with rage. “Shi Zhou!! When did I ever ‘just go in unprepared’?! Wait—no—when the fuck did I ever touch you?!”

Shi Zhou knew silence was golden at this moment. Sure enough, Song Duannian erupted. “Zheng Qi! You kept telling me there was nothing between you two! He lived here for so long—were you a monk?! How could you not have touched him?!”

“Duan Nian, believe me! I never fucking touched him! God damn it, Shi Zhou, you better explain yourself clearly!”

Shi Zhou blinked innocently. Oh, you definitely didn’t touch the cannon fodder stand-in—because you had plenty of skilled bed partners outside, even bringing them home to play in front of the original host.

Song Duannian demanded, “Then why were you keeping him around? Charity?! Or just for display?!”

Song Duannian was naturally the gentle and fragile type. Whatever lies Zheng Qi had fed him to smooth things over before, this sudden, crude performance orchestrated by Shi Zhou was too much for his delicate sensibilities. Humiliated and furious, he trembled with sobs, barely able to stand.

Shi Zhou felt a twinge of pity, but better a sharp pain now than a long agony. Better he see the scumbag’s true nature early.

Suddenly, Song Duannian seemed to recall the scene of the three of them that day and had an epiphany, murmuring as if enlightened, “I get it now… I get it! I believe you didn’t touch him, Zheng Qi. You really were keeping him for display. So—”

“Whose stand-in was he, really?”

The word “stand-in” dropped like a bomb. Zheng Qi’s brain short-circuited with a deafening buzz!

He hadn’t expected Song Duannian to remember his earlier slip of the tongue, much less bring it up now. He instinctively looked at Qin Yancheng in terror, only to find him still calm, the corners of his lips curled in a mocking smile, his gaze icy as a dagger—as if watching some fool dig his own grave.

Zheng Qi’s heart lurched. He roared, “Song Duannian, shut the fuck up!”

Then, in a fit of rage, he raised his hand and slapped Song Duannian hard across the face!

A crisp “smack” echoed through the room.

Song Duannian staggered from the unexpected blow, collapsing onto the floor. His hand landed on broken porcelain, blood immediately staining the white marble tiles.

He stared blankly, as if unable to process what had just happened—or unable to believe Zheng Qi had actually hit him.

Shi Zhou was stunned too.

If not for Qin Yancheng’s presence ensuring Zheng Qi wouldn’t dare lay a hand on Shi Zhou, that slap would’ve been his.

—What else can this scumbag do besides domestic violence? Later, he’ll escalate to illegal threats, imprisonment, kidnapping—is that all he’s capable of? Even if he later performs some grand repentance act—kneeling, begging, self-harm—does that erase the damage?

Qin Yancheng cleared his throat pointedly, “Shi Zhou, time to go.”

Shi Zhou snapped out of his daze. He wanted to help Song Duannian up, but given the latter’s sensitive pride, pity from someone in Shi Zhou’s awkward position would only feel like further humiliation.

Shi Zhou hardened his heart. Fine, if I’m the villain, I’ll play the role to the hilt. Let’s burn this bridge today and make sure this bastard dies alone!

Unfortunately, Zheng Qi was now hyper-alert to Shi Zhou’s words. The moment Shi Zhou cleared his throat, “Ah Qi, you—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” Zheng Qi roared on the verge of mental collapse, cutting him off in a fury.

So Shi Zhou grabbed two giant suitcases, “burst into tears,” and dramatically fled—

Only to get stuck in the doorway for a second, almost laughing and ruining the act.

Qin Yancheng followed. Before stepping out, he gave Zheng Qi one last inscrutable look, making the latter shudder like a quail, not daring to meet his eyes.

In the car, Shi Zhou sniffled, “Got any tissues?”

Qin Yancheng glanced at him. Shi Zhou’s big eyes blinked, red-rimmed and still misty with tears, his fair cheeks flushed. The sight seemed to trigger some unpleasant memory for Qin Yancheng—his grip on the steering wheel tightened abruptly.

Silently, he handed over a tissue box. Shi Zhou stared out the window, roughly yanking out a few sheets to wipe his tears before slamming his fist on the center console in frustration.

“Fuck! I’m so pissed! It’s like that saying—you can’t save someone hell-bent on destruction. What kind of trash did he stumble into? Worst luck ever!”

He wasn’t talking about himself but Song Duannian. Who knew how their mess would play out now? Given this was a toxic melodrama, even more jaw-dropping, illegal antics were surely coming.

His tone and demeanor were a stark contrast to his current appearance—laced with a roguish, devil-may-care attitude. Qin Yancheng’s lips pressed together, as if seeing Shi Zhou in a new light. Amused, he said mildly, “Good advice can’t save the damned, and great compassion can’t redeem the self-destructive.”

Shi Zhou sighed in agreement—then suddenly felt Qin Yancheng wasn’t just talking about Song Duannian, but hinting at something else.

But he didn’t dwell on it, instead turning his thoughts to practical matters: now that he had his ID, should he rent a place or use his remaining savings for a cheap apartment down payment?

After a brief silence, Qin Yancheng suddenly asked, “How much did Zheng Qi pay you monthly?”

Shi Zhou bounced back quickly, seizing the chance to tease, “Why? Beauty, are you offering to keep me?”

To his shock, Qin Yancheng actually replied with a faint “Mnn.”

Shi Zhou: ???

Earlier, he’d deliberately clung to Qin Yancheng’s coattails for safety under the guise of being the “possible Mrs. Qin,” but he’d never planned to stick around long-term.

To survive, he needed to stay far away from this madman. The less entanglement, the better.

—A cannon fodder stand-in and a cannon fodder white moonlight? Two doomed losers together won’t magically cancel out the doom.

So Shi Zhou put on an exaggerated show of indignation, “How could you insult me like this?! It was always about love! Love, you understand? My heart belongs only to the dashing, tender Ah Qi—”

Qin Yancheng cut in, “After today, Qixing Entertainment will blacklist you completely. You’ll lose all your resources.”

Shi Zhou’s words died in his throat.

Oh right. He’d been so focused on Zheng Qi being a scumbag, he’d forgotten Zheng Qi was also his boss. After today’s chaos, Zheng Qi would surely want to skin him alive.

“Don’t worry. I won’t touch you. I have no interest in men—especially not you.”

Shi Zhou knew Qin Yancheng was capricious, his actions unpredictable. Anything was possible with him.

Still, he couldn’t help being suspicious, “Are you running a charity? Or do you just admire my beauty? Wait—is your real name Lei Feng? Are you his descendant?” (TN: Lei Feng was the object of several major propaganda campaigns in China who was portrayed as a model citizen, and the masses were encouraged to emulate his selflessness, modesty, and devotion to Mao Zedong).

Qin Yancheng actually let out a soft laugh, tinged with mockery. He took off his sunglasses and looked at Shi Zhou. “I find you amusing.”

“…I can cover your contract damages.”

Shi Zhou’s eyes narrowed. This was too good to be true.

Free benefits? As an adult, a purely physical arrangement wouldn’t be a big deal. Shi Zhou, as gay as they come, would’ve paid for a night with this beauty.

Qin Yancheng continued leisurely, “It’s a whim. You have three minutes to decide.”

Shi Zhou was still skeptical—until he suddenly remembered Qin Yancheng’s life was on a countdown. He would die quietly, alone, on some unremarkable day this autumn or winter. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow.

And since Shi Zhou knew the ending, wasn’t it his moral duty to stay and save him? He’d regret it forever if he didn’t try.

Finally, he nodded cheerfully, “Deal.”

Qin Yancheng watched his sunny expression, as if the very air in the cramped car had turned sweet with his joy and felt disconcerted.

As if the tearful performance earlier had never happened. What an actor.

Shi Zhou flicked his braid, wondering privately. Is it because Qin Yancheng’s lonely?

His three-story, 700-square-meter villa housed only Aunt Zhang and four quiet, non-live-in housekeepers.

Every night he returned from work, only Aunt Zhang was there to cook before leaving him alone in the tomb-silent mansion.

What did he even do for fun? From Shi Zhou’s observations, aside from work, it seemed to be just reading, movies, and exercise—what a dull life for a 26-year-old. Even at 62, Shi Zhou wouldn’t be this boring.

“Where are we going now?”

“To—cough cough…!”

Qin Yancheng’s words were cut off by a violent coughing fit. He pulled over, yanked the handbrake, and covered his mouth with his fist, soon coughing so hard he could barely breathe.

Shi Zhou’s nerves immediately tightened, “Qin Yancheng? What’s wrong?”

Qin Yancheng seemed about to cough up a lung, unable to respond.

One of the early signs of an asthma attack. Was Qin Yancheng about to kick the bucket this suddenly?

Did I jinx this?! I haven’t even had time to learn first aid or buy medication!

Just as Shi Zhou secretly dialed “120” on his phone, Qin Yancheng finally stopped, gasping for air before calming down.

He turned to see Shi Zhou staring at him strangely, as if he had some terminal illness.

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“I just choked. Is there a problem?”

Shi Zhou locked his phone instantly, blinking sweetly. “Nope. Just showing proper concern for my sugar daddy~”

AN: Shi Zhou: *Intense staring.jpg* (This is what “proper concern” looks like!) (*￣︶￣)

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