Hearing Qi Ji’s response, the homeroom teacher’s tone softened. He leaned back and offered some reassurance. “No need to worry too much. There’s still time. The payment portal will stay open for another week. As long as it’s submitted before then, it’s fine.”
“And the registration fee…?”
The teacher gave a number which, after converting to the exchange rate, came out in the four digits—manageable for Qi Ji.
Still, Qi Ji knew that was far from covering all the costs of an overseas trip.
Sure enough, the teacher continued, “Besides that, there’s also the team fee. Because this is a self-funded trip, and Argentina is in the Southern Hemisphere, the national team decided to organize everyone’s travel together after training. That includes round-trip airfare, hotel, meals, and everything else.”
He recited the amount for the team fee as well.
Qi Ji fell silent.
S City No. 1 High School was the best in the city, a so-called “super high school” with a national reputation. Getting in was almost harder than the college entrance exams themselves. For families of students lucky enough to attend, this kind of expense wasn’t really a problem.
But the Qi family was different.
For the two brothers, this sum was already far beyond what they could reasonably afford.
Qi Ji realized, with a twinge of frustration, that although he had been busy, he wasn’t absent from home—and yet Mingyu hadn’t said a single word about the competition.
Before Qi Ji could respond, the teacher added, “And if parents want, you can join the team as well. The team fee is the same. The other three students from our city already have their parents going along.”
The thin sheet of paper in Qi Ji’s hand crumpled under his grip. The sharp edges dug into his palm, sending stabbing pain through him.
He held the paper tightly and dryly made an excuse. “The parents might not be available. I’ll pay Mingyu’s portion first. Is this also due within a week?”
“About ten days,” the teacher said, “but not too late. We need to book flights and hotels. So, this confirms Mingyu’s participation, right?”
“Yes.”
That was all Qi Ji said. His voice was soft, but there was no hesitation.
“Good,” the teacher said, sounding relieved. “I knew it. Such a rare opportunity—how could anyone let it slip?”
“Oh, and one more thing,” the teacher continued. “The competition agreement also requires a parent’s signature. Has Mingyu shown it to you yet?”
“Not yet,” Qi Ji murmured.
The teacher made a surprised noise. “You see this kid… honestly…”
Qi Ji thought for a moment. “Mr. Yang, do you still have the agreement? Can I come by today to sign it?”
Since Mingyu refused to talk about the competition, it was simpler for Qi Ji to sign at the school.
“Sure, come on over.” The teacher agreed readily and gave him the office address.
As soon as work ended, Qi Ji headed to the high school. Evening study was in session, so by the time he arrived, the campus had quieted down. From the main gate’s iron fence, he couldn’t see a single student—just rows of classroom buildings lit up.
The school kept a tight check on outsiders. Qi Ji first registered at the security office, then called Mr. Yang. Only after the teacher confirmed his identity over the phone was he allowed through.
Walking down the campus avenue, the surroundings were empty yet not dim. Streetlights cast a veil of white light, quieting the usually bustling campus even more.
Following the security guard’s directions toward the senior building, Qi Ji hadn’t even found the floor yet when a voice suddenly barked:
“Hey, you over there! Stop! What class are you in? Running around when you’re supposed to be in study hall?!”
Looking up, he saw a man in his forties with a crew cut, a “Political & Teaching Affairs” badge pinned to his chest, a small notebook in hand, and a very unpleasant expression.
“Come here, now!”
Qi Ji stepped forward. Before he could speak, the man launched into a lecture.
“Running around during evening study… not wearing your uniform… Tell me, who’s your homeroom teacher? Send them to pick you up!”
The man had mistaken him for a student.
Qi Ji opened his mouth. “Sorry…”
“Alright, alright, no excuses. Write down your class and student number.”
The man shoved the notebook toward him.
Qi Ji didn’t take it. “I’m a parent, here to see the teacher.”
He thought explaining would be enough. The man snorted. “You think you can pull that off?”
“Look at your face—wanting to play parent? Do I look blind to you?”
“…”
Seeing that the man wouldn’t believe him, Qi Ji took out his phone and called Mr. Yang again.
“Kids these days… always something new… and you dare bring a phone?!”
Qi Ji held out the ringing phone.
Only after the homeroom teacher explained the situation did the man reluctantly return the phone and let Qi Ji pass.
Even after Qi Ji was gone, he could hear the man muttering to himself about how young parents were these days.
Qi Ji himself wasn’t bothered. With his face, he’d encountered this kind of misunderstanding more than once.
The senior classroom building was deep in the school, surrounded by a tranquil environment to prevent disturbances. Inside, the classrooms were fully lit but so quiet that even footsteps echoed.
He went upstairs and knocked on the office door. Several teachers were inside. A young teacher at the door looked up, puzzled, and asked, “Which class are you from?”
“Excuse me. I’m a parent, here to see Mr. Yang,” Qi Ji replied.
“Ah?” The young teacher blinked.
A middle-aged man standing by the desk looked over his glasses. He was short and stocky but not clumsy. His white shirt was tucked neatly, belt cinched high, a jangling bunch of keys hanging from it.
“Are you Mingyu’s older brother?”
Qi Ji nodded. “Yes, Mr. Yang.”
The homeroom teacher hadn’t expected someone so young.
Honestly, from the start, he hadn’t thought highly of Mingyu’s parents. Senior year was a battle—not just for students but for parents, all highly attentive. But Mingyu’s parents had neglected even the opening ceremony, let alone contacting the teachers proactively.
Yet now, standing before him, this young man looked even younger than Mingyu. The teacher sighed, silently placing the blame on the absent parents.
“Come, have a seat.”
Qi Ji thanked him and sat. The teacher searched through some files, then asked, “Why does Mingyu want to give up the competition? Did he talk to you about it?”
“No. I’ll persuade him when I get home.” Qi Ji unconsciously bit his lip and shifted the topic. “Also… does he need to get a passport now?”
“All that will be organized by the team,” the teacher said. “Once you convince Mingyu, everything else is easy.”
“Thank you and the school for handling this,” Qi Ji said politely. He signed the participation agreement quickly.
Afterward, the teacher stopped him.
“Qi, Mingyu is a real talent. I’ve taught for twenty-three years, and truly, kids this gifted are extremely rare.”
The teacher continued earnestly, “Normally, kids like this are easy for parents to rely on. But no matter how responsible Mingyu is, he’s still a child. There are times when he’s distracted or troubled. Recently, some teachers reported he was inattentive in class. I observed him for a few days myself. The boy seems burdened, troubled… Do you see the same at home?”
Qi Ji was at a loss.
He returned home late at night. Mingyu was asleep, gone before morning. Sometimes they barely exchanged a few words all day.
“How is he… at home?”
“Well… a few days ago, there was a mock test. Mingyu fell asleep as soon as he entered the room. I tried waking him, but he argued with me, joking about calling parents if things didn’t work.”
The teacher sipped his tea and reflected.
“It’s not a big deal, but I think Mingyu might be seeking attention. He lacks care, so he wanted a parent to come. But the parents didn’t. That’s why I called you.”
The teacher’s words were patient but firm. “You’re his brother. You see him now. Tell your parents—no matter how busy, don’t neglect a child, especially one so gifted.”
Qi Ji pinched his wrist; the chain left a mark across the flesh.
“…Yes,” he murmured.
After a few more thank-yous, Qi Ji got up to leave.
Halfway down the stairs, the bell rang like a thunderclap.
Suddenly, everything clicked into place.
He had never told Mingyu about earning prize money from fights—but on the day Mingyu fussed about seeing a parent during the mock exam, it had been the day Qi Ji was at the arena finals.
The bell rang, chairs and desks scraped, and a flood of laughter erupted.
Class had ended.
Qi Ji lagged behind, caught in the narrow stairwell by the throng of students.
The crowd swallowed him. Their casual contact, though not deliberate, was unavoidable.
He still had bandages from the finals. His blood clotted slowly, healing was weak. The pain, which he had deliberately pushed aside, was ripped open again by the crush of bodies.
He felt like a drowning man plunging down a waterfall, his heart electrified by every touch.
Finally, he broke free and found an open space outside the building, drenched in cold sweat.
He staggered, sat on a step, his stomach twisting like someone was squeezing it, temples throbbing. He rested for a long moment, but the nausea lingered.
His hypersensitivity seemed to be worsening.
The autumn evening wind, cool and dry, carried away some sweat. Qi Ji breathed slowly, gradually calming his racing heart.
He hadn’t moved his hand yet when he sensed warmth at his feet, accompanied by a tiny, faint sound.
“Meow…”
Qi Ji opened his eyes. A warm-orange cat had padded in front of him, tilting its round eyes up at him.
“Cough… cough cough…”
He coughed, then, once steadied, used the back of his fingers to stroke the cat’s head.
“Evening,” he croaked.
The orange cat nuzzled his fingers, rubbed against his ankle, and dragged something a few inches long forward.
“Meow!”
The cat dropped it at Qi Ji’s feet and nudged his shin.
Under the streetlight, the step was illuminated.
Qi Ji looked down. The cat had brought a few small dried fish.
He looked at the fish, then at the round-eyed orange cat staring back at him.
The orange cat wasn’t wearing a collar—probably one of the school’s resident cats. Students often fed them, and these campus pets lived comfortably enough.
Yet the dried fish the cat had brought still smelled strongly of salt and fish. To a cat, that aroma was irresistible. Clearly, it wasn’t just leftover student snacks—it had been bought specifically for cats.
“For me?” Qi Ji pointed at himself.
“Meow~” The orange cat nudged the fish closer to him.
Qi Ji let out a soft cough, and a faint smile finally appeared on his pale face.
He had always been favored by small animals, and this cat seemed to regard him as a kindred spirit, generously sharing its treasure.
He hadn’t expected to be comforted by a cat.
“Thank you.”
Qi Ji reached out and scratched the cat’s chin. The cat’s eyes half-closed as it purred softly.
He scratched a little more, until the cat seemed completely content. Then he stopped and rummaged through his coat pocket.
Ever since his low blood sugar had worsened during his freshman year, Qi Ji had carried candy with him for emergencies. Candy wasn’t for the cat, though, so he dug around and found a small piece of dried beef.
It had been handed out by a colleague earlier. He checked the packaging—plain, lightly salted.
Qi Ji unwrapped the beef and placed the thumb-sized piece in front of the cat, letting it know he wasn’t in need.
The orange cat sniffed the beef, then looked up at him.
“Here, you can have it,” Qi Ji said, mimicking how the cat had offered him the fish.
After a few glances, the cat realized Qi Ji really wasn’t hungry, nuzzled his ankle, and grabbed the beef in its mouth.
Qi Ji rested his chin on his knees, watching the cat eat. But before the cat had finished, a shout rang out from afar.
“Hey, you on the steps!”
The cat’s fur along its neck instantly bristled. Snatching up its precious fish, it bolted.
Qi Ji looked up to see the crew-cut man with the “Political & Teaching Affairs” badge turning toward him again.
“Uh… sir, what are you doing here?” His tone was still sharp, but far less hostile than before.
Qi Ji stood and brushed the dust off his clothes. “I’ll leave right away. Sorry.”
He started to walk away, but the man called after him.
“You don’t look well. Are you okay?”
Qi Ji froze. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
The man cleared his throat. “Good… Oh, next time, get a temporary visitor badge from security to avoid being mistaken again.”
“Okay.”
Even as Qi Ji walked away, he could still hear the man shouting back toward the playground, “Hey, you! Why aren’t you in class?!”
Once outside the school, Qi Ji found a quiet spot, took out his phone, and stared at the dark screen for a while.
Then he opened his contacts and dialed a number.
“Hey, Qian, it’s me, Z011.”
His hoarse voice disappeared into the cold night wind.
“Still hiring temp workers at Huating Club? You know, like last time—paid weekly.”
The line was noisy. Qian’s rough voice carried a sneer before he spoke. “Oh? Our champion wants to work again? Weren’t you saying ‘no, no’ a few days ago?”
Qi Ji looked down, ignoring the sarcasm, and said quietly, “Thanks for the trouble, Qian.”
Qian spat loudly into the phone before asking, “Alright, when are you coming to Huating?”
“I have time over the next two weeks.”
Qi Ji needed the money urgently, so the sooner the better.
Someone seemed to call out to Qian in the background. He muttered, cursed under his breath, and then said, “Wait for my signal,” before hanging up.
The phone screen went black. The last trace of light vanished.
Qi Ji drew a deep breath. The darkness of the night seemed to settle into him with the cold air, taking root.
Huating Club was excessively lavish. Those who spent there were wealthy or powerful; for an ordinary person, working there was like wading through quicksand. Not a good choice—but Qi Ji had no other option.
Internship pay wasn’t enough. The design payment process couldn’t be rushed. This part-time job was the only way he could gather the sum in two weeks.
He pinched his wrist, doing the calculations, when another call came in.
The caller was someone Qi Ji had met at the fighting arena. As soon as he answered, the voice exploded: “Why are you still going to Huating?!”
Qi Ji pressed his lips together. “Wu Ge…”
Hearing his voice, the anger on the other end dimmed slightly, but the tone remained full of concern.
“Xiao Qi, you barely got out safely last time as a waiter. Why risk it again? Places like that are easy to get into, hard to get out. Many think they’re fine at first… but end up…”
He trailed off, leaving an ominous warning unsaid.
“Look,” he sighed, “I know you’re in debt, but didn’t you just win money in the finals?”
“The prize money went straight to pay off debts,” Qi Ji said quietly. “My brother has a competition abroad next month—he needs the money.”
There was silence on the other end before Zhang Wu finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse. “Xiao Qi… just be careful.”
“The Huating temp manager knows Qian well. They might deliberately make things difficult for you,” he warned.
Zhang Wu ran the arena but had no authority to interfere. This was as far as he could go—a blunt gesture of goodwill.
“I understand, Wu Ge. Thanks,” Qi Ji said sincerely. “I’ll leave once I’ve earned enough in two weeks.”
“Xiao Qi…” Zhang Wu hesitated, then added, “Take care of yourself.”
“Mm.”
Satisfied with the answer, Zhang Wu changed the subject.
“By the way, I brought a few new flavors of candy—seems like from some… event. And a bag of chocolates. Are you busy tonight? I can bring them over.”
The autumn sun shone brightly, but it couldn’t penetrate the dark-tinted windows of the Bentley.
Inside, a man of unmatched beauty sat like a flawless sculpture. Simply sitting there, he was a feast for the eyes.
Yet unlike rumors of wild playboys, even during the drive he was reviewing stacks of reports and project documents.
The spacious interior allowed him to spread out papers as if on a desk. He went through them swiftly—signing some, tossing the unsigned…
“Swish!” He flicked a crisp white project document into the assistant’s lap without raising his head.
“This one’s rejected. Send it back.”
His low, magnetic voice made hearts flutter, though he himself clearly wasn’t in a good mood.
The assistant adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, turned the page. There were no notes inside.
“Mr. Pei, why reject it?”
“The presentation looks nice, but the direction is all wrong. Spaceships are already everywhere—why are they still researching shuttles?”
Pei Yusheng barely lifted his eyelids.
“All proposals in this area are blocked from now on.”
“Yes, sir.”
After reviewing a few more, Pei Yusheng’s phone rang. He answered, eyes still on the white documents.
“Hello.”
“Er Ge!” A clear, bright voice called. “You still busy?”
The caller was Pei Yusheng’s childhood friend, Lian Qing. When Pei first arrived in S City, they had arranged to meet tonight.
“Already set up everyone for tonight! Including…”
Lian Qing, rooted in S City, had lined up people to introduce to Pei Yusheng.
Pei glanced at a report while listening. One unfinished stack he tossed to the front seat.
“Typos weren’t fixed—send it back,” he said.
“Eh? Sir, what did you say?” Lian Qing asked, momentarily confused.
“Never mind. Continue.” Pei snapped the pen cap closed.
Sensing Pei’s bad mood, Lian Qing didn’t argue. “I found seven or eight people who can deal with Yuntu. When can you come tonight? I can arrange in advance.”
After two video conferences this afternoon and heading to the east side of town… Pei checked his watch, frowning.
His outfit was styled daily. Today, paired with a Brioni suit, he wore a limited-edition Rotonde de Cartier skeleton watch, inlaid with 84 trapezoid diamonds. Low-key luxury, yet the mechanical design made reading the hour difficult at first glance—less practical than a military-issue watch.
Checking the time, Pei said, “After eight.”
“Okay,” Lian Qing said readily. “Where do you want to go, or should I decide?”
Assuming Pei was unfamiliar with S City, Lian Qing had intended to suggest his own clubs. But Pei decided immediately: “Huating.”
“…Huh?”
Huating Club was the city’s most luxurious. Lian Qing was surprised, uneasy even.
“We have so many places… why Huating? And…” he hesitated. “…that Third Fang just returned. You’ve never gotten along with him…”
Pei Yusheng twirled a platinum Montblanc pen, the light glinting sharply.
But not as sharply as his pale eyes.
“I’m going to Huating. I have business there.”
His voice dropped slightly.
He was looking for someone.