Chapter 8

Qi Yiliao had to be senile, right? Right, right?

Jiao Bai gritted his teeth and choked down another piece of tofu skin. All these old men were crazy. He absolutely had to get away from them, the sooner the better.

The next moment, all the fight went out of him. He couldn't leave—he had to grind his activity value up, and he wouldn't be able to view his friends' profiles until he hit fifty. Who knew what bizarre nonsense was waiting for him after that.

Jiao Bai finished the vegetarian meal feeling like his heart might stop, thinking about how the original owner's ID card was still with the old lady. He puffed up like an angry blowfish—and of course that was exactly the moment Qi Yiliao caught sight of him.

Jiao Bai: "..."

Qi Yiliao strolled over with unhurried, steady steps, holding a lollipop some kid had apparently given him.

He wasn't cold and forbidding like Shen Ji, all keep-your-distance edges. There was almost no sharp, overbearing pressure to his presence; when he smiled, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes folded into a warm, mature charm that worked on men, women, young, and old alike.

Jiao Bai turned around and walked off. He understood now—the man surnamed Qi wasn't senile, he just treated Jiao Bai like some stray cat or dog, the kind of thing you naturally don't bother remembering the name of.

The young man's figure cut through the crowd like an autumn wind—thin and quick. The smile on Qi Yiliao's face didn't waver in the slightest. He turned and handed the lollipop to a little girl who'd been trailing after him the whole way.

"For—for me?" The girl blushed scarlet, clutched the lollipop to her chest, and floated off in a daze.

Qi Yiliao shook his head. "Still an age for dreaming, that one."

Shen Ji, walking up, didn't echo the sentiment, just said, "Drinks again tonight?"

"Can't. Too much on my plate." Qi Yiliao accepted the cigarette Shen Ji handed him. "Next time you're in West City, we'll get together."

Shen Ji didn't press him to stay. He asked, offhand, "Where's Little Zhang? Didn't come with you?"

Qi Yiliao pinched the cigarette butt between his fingers. "Out running an errand."

"Guess that means no sparring with that kid this round." Shen Ji's cold, sharp brows softened a touch—some executive had come by to bid him farewell from a distance, and once that was done he settled back into his usual severe composure.

Qi Yiliao waited until Shen Ji had seen off a few more guests, then said, "Old Shen, I heard from the Old Madam that the wedding's set for Little New Year's Eve this year."

Shen Ji's expression instantly went ugly. "Here to plead her case?"

Qi Yiliao laughed. "It's been this long and you still react like this? It's just a registration, not even a wedding ceremony."

Shen Ji was thoroughly sick of the topic and had no interest in discussing it further. "It's not that simple."

"Actually, I think it's a lot less complicated than you're making it out to be," Qi Yiliao said. "Nobody outside knows the Old Madam picked your bride by fortune-telling. That won't leak. Your life after the marriage stays exactly the same—home and the outside world are two separate things, they don't interfere with each other."

Something in Shen Ji loosened, just slightly.

"And besides, agreeing to marry doesn't mean you've bowed to some fortune-teller's nonsense. You're doing it out of filial piety—of all virtues, filial piety comes first." Qi Yiliao held the unlit cigarette in his mouth, hands in his pockets, as leisurely as if he were chairing a roundtable meeting, and delivered the finishing blow without any hurry at all.

The corner of Shen Ji's mouth twitched. "What terms did the Old Madam offer you?"

Qi Yiliao smiled, refined as ever. "A handwritten copy."

Shen Ji: "Of what?"

"A Buddhist sutra."

Shen Ji: "..."

"One Buddhist sutra was all it took for you to sell me out." Shen Ji loosened his tie, undid his cufflinks, and clapped his friend on the shoulder a few times. He wasn't actually angry—his tone was purely mocking.

At his level of experience and standing, there were precious few people who could joke around with him this freely.

Qi Yiliao didn't pursue the topic further. Who Old Shen chose, and how, held zero interest for him. He was looking instead at the thin figure standing near the ginkgo tree not far off, and said, out of nowhere, "His cold's better, his voice sounds better too. Not bad, actually."

Shen Ji followed his gaze. The figure was thoroughly unremarkable, like a trash bag left on the roadside. "I'll send him over to you in a bit."

Qi Yiliao chuckled. "The Old Madam told you to send him back to Qinxin Garden, not into my bed."

Shen Ji let out a cold, amused snort of disdain.

"Ah Liao, that one... the kid who served me last night," Shen Ji said, arching a brow, "you still need him?" The unspoken message: I was quite satisfied last night—shouldn't he be handed over to me now?

Qi Yiliao lowered his head, one hand cupped to block the wind, the other flicking a dark gray lighter. He tilted his head back slightly, took an unhurried drag on the cigarette, and let it out slowly. "Give it some time."

Shen Ji didn't ask why. "Sure."

Two men who'd known each other for years, a few years apart in age, men whose stamped feet could shift the entire market, stood side by side, laughing and chatting easily. Their friendship stood in for the relationship between their two families.

South Shen, West Qi. Never to become rivals.

......

A little past four in the afternoon, a car pulled out from the Old Residence, heading toward Qinxin Garden.

In the back seat, Jiao Bai pulled his long coat tighter around himself, leaning against the window, forcing his drowsy, drooping eyelids open to breathe in the fresh air blowing past.

The Old Residence sat halfway up the mountain, and this stretch of road had shown up in the comic before—always from Li Jue's point of view. Now that Jiao Bai was actually here seeing it himself, he realized the scenery along the way was even more beautiful than the panels had drawn it. He instantly wasn't sleepy anymore.

But of course, someone had to go and ruin his mood.

"Close the windows."

The moment Shen Ji spoke, every window in the car rose shut.

Then Shen Ji said, "Pull over."

Jiao Bai instantly had a terrible feeling. Before he could get a word out, the old man kicked him and followed it with two ice-cold words: "Get out."

"..." Jiao Bai felt like there was a hair caught in his throat, one he wanted to claw out but couldn't reach. He was about to lose his mind—he could not get out of this car. Not under any circumstances. If he did, step one of his plan would collapse right here.

The cramped space, the air pressure dropping to rock bottom. The driver, reading the room, raised the partition without being asked.

In the dim light, Jiao Bai leaned back against the seat, tilting his head to study Shen Ji's severe profile. Nobody in the Shen family dared act out of line in front of this man—they shrank back, kept their voices down.

Little Chili Pepper Jiang Yan was afraid of him. Qi Shuang was afraid of him. The original owner had been afraid of him too.

Everyone who'd ever been around Shen Ji was afraid of him.

That perpetually cold face, that above-it-all posture he wore at every single moment.

"Sir, there's still a long stretch of mountain road before we get down the hill," Jiao Bai said, tugging down his mask, perfectly earnest.

Shen Ji, utterly unmoved: "No legs?"

Jiao Bai lifted his sharp little chin and grinned. "My old injury's acting up. Can't walk."

He'd dropped the honorific entirely.

Shen Ji noticed something. He gripped Jiao Bai's jaw and leaned in close.

Normally the kid talked with his head down, barely moved his mouth when he spoke, seemed like a total blockhead—but there, apparently, were two canine teeth, sharp as anything.

Jiao Bai was just about to snap at him when he caught, out of the corner of his eye, a scratch mark on Shen Ji's neck. Fresh, by the color. That could only be Jiang Yan's handiwork. No wonder Shen Ji had gone to the hospital that morning—Jiang Yan must have come close to death the night before.

After all, Old Dog Shen never let his little kept lover touch him during their trysts—he kept absolute control over everything, business and personal alike. There was no way he'd let Jiang Yan mark him up and then just carry on as if nothing had happened.

Shen Ji's fingertip pressed against the young man's gleaming canine.

Jiao Bai's mouth was forced open wider, saliva pooling and threatening to spill, his face aching from the grip, and the finger pressing against his tooth started to rub back and forth.

This old bastard wasn't about to pull his tooth out, was he? Jiao Bai bore through the pain in his cheek and clamped his jaw shut, hard.

He bit down on the soft flesh inside his own mouth—and on the old bastard's index finger.

Jiao Bai cried out in pain and spat Shen Ji's finger out, clutching his mouth, tears springing up. A big chunk of flesh had torn open where he'd bitten himself; it hurt like death.

His phone rang. Shen Ji wiped the filthy saliva off his hand onto Jiao Bai's clothes, not sparing a thought for how unreasonable his own behavior had just been, and picked up the call, voice indifferent. "Who is this."

"Hello, is this Shen Er'an's parent? I'm his homeroom teacher—"

Jiao Bai only caught the word "parent" and knew immediately it was a call from the school, which honestly surprised him. Given the state of things between the Shen father and son, shouldn't the emergency contact on file be the housekeeper or the Old Madam? Why was it Shen Ji? Did he even know what grade his own son was in?

The worst of the pain in his cheek had faded, so Jiao Bai perked his ears up and eavesdropped shamelessly. Shen Er'an was textbook school-story gong material: tall, handsome, a good student, introverted, aloof, and quiet.

That was Shen Er'an in his youth.

Once he grew up, his personality changed completely.

A blast of cold air hit Jiao Bai; half his body nearly froze solid.

"Fine," Shen Ji said into the phone, face perfectly calm. "Very good." He even let out a faint chuckle. "Teacher, do whatever you like."

The call ended. Dead silence filled the car.

A few seconds later, the phone was hurled with tremendous force, slamming into the window with a crash like the heavens splitting open.

In reality, the heavens didn't split, the earth didn't crack, the car window didn't shatter into a spiderweb of cracks, and the phone lay quietly in the corner, completely undamaged.

Jiao Bai was baffled. This car's glass was seriously impressive, and the phone wasn't bad either.

"To No. 3 High School." Shen Ji tore off his suit jacket and tossed it aside.

The car started moving again.

Only then did Jiao Bai realize the driver had been in the car this entire time. He couldn't help but be deeply impressed—now that was a true professional, someone who'd clearly weathered storms and kept his composure through anything.

The driver switched the navigation and the car wound smoothly along the mountain road. Jiao Bai kept his distance from the dark-faced Shen Ji, with no idea what Shen Er'an had done, but it was probably going to cost him a layer of skin.

Not that any of that mattered.

Jiao Bai had a sudden jolt of realization—the route was changing now, and he needed to warn Qi Shuang immediately.

Just as Jiao Bai's hand found the phone in his pocket, Shen Ji's voice sounded beside him: "Back to Qinxin Garden."

"..." This old man changed his mind every five seconds.

Jiao Bai pulled his hand back out.

Shen Ji noticed the person beside him had suddenly relaxed considerably, as if someone had unclipped his leash—the picture of ease, practically wagging his tail. He tapped his fingers on the cigarette case. "Come here."

Jiao Bai shot him a sidelong glance.

Shen Ji: "Light my cigarette."

Jiao Bai didn't move a muscle. I'd love to set you on fire and send you straight up to heaven.

Shen Ji's eyes were fathomless and black. "Two years of playing dumb, and now suddenly you're not playing dumb anymore?"

Jiao Bai rolled his eyes and pasted on a fake, ingratiating smile. "Heh heh."

Shen Ji's anger had barely surged up before his rational side stamped it back down. He decided this didn't fit his worldview or his way of handling things—letting some little nothing get under his skin like this was laughable, plain and simple.

Seeing that Shen Ji had stopped ordering him around, Jiao Bai closed his eyes. Waiting was his specialty—he'd trained for it through years of skirmishes with his aunt.

Patience was the first requirement for success.

Smoke drifted through the car. Shen Ji rubbed his temples and smoked, drag after drag, and after a while he got busy—calls coming in nonstop.

When the collision happened, when the accident struck, Shen Ji paid no attention to the driver's shout. The first thing he registered was the glance from the little puppy the Old Madam had leashed for him, looking his way—pure and calm.

In that instant, Shen Ji felt as if the first handful of winter snow had landed on his heart. Not cold, exactly. Just sudden. Utterly unguarded against.

After that, Shen Ji sank into darkness.