When Qi Ji truly saw the scene, he was far calmer than he had expected.
He withdrew his gaze, murmured, “Sorry,” and turned to leave. A few steps later, footsteps followed behind him, accompanied by Pei Yusheng’s voice calling out.
“Qi Ji!”
Qi Ji didn’t look back, quickening his pace until he was practically running. Yet he still couldn’t outrun the man behind him.
Two arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind, breath hot and close, Pei Yusheng’s hoarse voice calling his name: “Qi Ji…”
Emotion pushed to its limit, paradoxically, became extreme composure.
Qi Ji said coldly, “Please let me go, Mr. Pei.”
As if stung by his coldness and the formal address, the man behind him let out a light exhale before speaking softly, “I won’t let go.”
The low, magnetic voice pressed against his ear, no longer alluring—just harsh. Qi Ji had no patience to wonder why he was reacting this way. He acted decisively, grabbing the small arm at Pei’s waist, twisting it behind him in a control lock.
This move would normally sap a person’s strength and leave them unable to resist, but against Pei Yusheng, it would do little beyond forcing a release. Qi Ji had prepared for this, ready for the follow-up maneuver.
Yet he met no resistance.
The arm went behind Pei’s back effortlessly, leaving him immobilized. The move was faster and harsher than expected, because Pei offered no opposition.
Qi Ji frowned slightly in puzzlement but didn’t pause. He turned to push the man away.
Yet something unexpected happened: as he twisted Pei’s arm behind him, his palm brushed against something wet and sticky. Even without resistance, Pei’s breath hitched.
Qi Ji paused, withdrawing his hand—and saw it was covered in bright red blood.
A frantic voice called from nearby:
“Second Young Master! Why did you run out? You’re so badly hurt… Xiao Qi?”
It was Zhao Mingzhen, emerging from the wide-open villa doors. He stared at Pei Yusheng, half-dressed, and Qi Ji, hands bloodied, confused: “What happened?”
Qi Ji glanced at the spot where he’d touched the blood. Pei Yusheng had now donned a light-colored shirt, not perfectly worn, and the dark pattern obscured the exact state of his back, making it hard to see the injury clearly.
But when Qi Ji looked again, his pupils constricted sharply.
Those dark patches weren’t patterns—they were large bloodstains.
Pei Yusheng’s face was pale, breathing heavy. Sweat ran down the tense jawline, and blue veins stood out on his temples.
Despite the pain, he forced his lips open and fixed Qi Ji with a steady, bloodless gaze, uttering two words:
“…Don’t leave.”
Qi Ji frowned, bewildered. What had happened to Pei, and why say that to him?
Zhao Mingzhen hurried over, worry etched on his face as he glanced at Pei’s back. “Second Young Master, what happened?”
Now was no time for questions. Pei’s condition could not be ignored. Unaware of what had transpired between them, Zhao called to Qi Ji: “Xiao Qi, help me get him back inside.”
Qi Ji hesitated slightly. Pei, weak and breathing low, gently gripped his arm through his clothes.
Pei’s gaze remained fixed on him, a faint glimmer of red appearing in his eyes.
Qi Ji drew a deep breath, finally following silently.
His earlier rush of emotion had clouded him; now, slightly calmer, he remembered his employer’s identity.
He didn’t understand Pei’s behavior, but before resigning, he still had to consider the debts he hadn’t repaid.
The three returned to the villa. Qi Ji noticed that Zhao Mingzhen was wearing slippers; the second pair of shoes at the entrance belonged to him. No one else was inside, contrary to Qi Ji’s expectations.
The villa was also a bit disordered; objects in the corners of the living room had been moved and hadn’t been restored.
Zhao helped Pei onto the sofa, questioning, “Why put your shirt back on? The bandages haven’t been changed…”
Seeing Pei’s tense shoulder and neck muscles, and the sweat still pouring down, Zhao stopped, “Forget it, Second Young Master, don’t talk. Save your strength.”
Carefully, he removed the blood-soaked shirt from Pei’s wounds.
Qi Ji, already bracing himself, was shocked upon seeing the full extent of the injury.
He hadn’t expected that after just a few days apart, Pei Yusheng would be so severely hurt.
The once-toned, perfect back was now a mess of deep, overlapping wounds. Each long gash ran the length of his spine, edges split like an explosion, leaving jagged, torn tissue. Although covered in a layer of transparent ointment, fresh blood still seeped out in places, some wounds deep enough to reveal bone. The sight was horrifying.
With injuries this severe, even standing steadily was difficult. How Pei had managed to run after Qi Ji earlier was incomprehensible.
No matter how much Qi Ji wanted to ignore it, he couldn’t remain indifferent to such wounds.
“…Why are the injuries so severe?”
Zhao hesitated, unsure if he should speak.
Pei, hoarse, was the first to answer: “I went back to B City. My father did this.”
Qi Ji frowned.
His father?
Zhao sighed, adding: “With a cane. He used the spikes on it, tearing the flesh as he hit…”
Even spoken, the description sent chills down the spine.
Qi Ji caught one key term: a cane?
He recalled the obvious bruises on Pei’s arm at the beach before—had that also been from his father’s cane?
But why would Pei’s father do this?
Qi Ji asked hesitantly, “Why hit so hard?”
Pei was about to respond when a sudden cough shook him, the sound intensifying the pain. Zhao paused, concerned.
Pei’s voice, hoarse but steady: “It’s because I came out to him.”
Qi Ji’s heart skipped a beat.
…Came out?
Another cough wracked Pei, causing him internal pain. Yet outwardly, he remained composed: “I told him I like men. He disagreed, and he beat me.”
Qi Ji hesitated, unsure what to say. Seeing Pei’s gruesome injuries before him, he finally asked: “Even so… it shouldn’t be this severe. Didn’t you try to dodge? Didn’t Aunt Xu object?”
“She’s in Europe for a meeting, unaware I returned to B City,” Pei exhaled, blood-tinged breath escaping, “I didn’t dodge. It had to be done.”
Qi Ji didn’t understand. “Had to be done?”
“A necessary process to sever ties,” Pei said. “Afterwards, I cut all connections with the Pei family.”
“Sever ties?” Qi Ji was taken aback. “But… it’s so serious…”
Pei pressed his fingers to his forehead, fatigue showing, then spoke in a hoarse voice:
“If I didn’t sever our father-son relationship, he’d install cameras everywhere, constantly monitor me, and I couldn’t resist.”
Legally, the severance held little power, but within the Pei family, it was a formal procedure. Without it, Pei Yusheng’s influence would fall under the surveillance of his father, Pei Xiaolin, even including parts inherited from the Xu family.
To resist, he had to consolidate his own power. Pei deliberately provoked his father, endured public punishment, and used the event to complete the severance ritual under everyone’s witness.
It was hard to grasp, even bizarre. Qi Ji recalled what He Xiu had said about Wen Chuming’s staged death—then, Pei’s father had also been reckless with young lives.
Thinking of this, Qi Ji asked cautiously, “Your uncle is so domineering. Does that mean Mr. Wen is in danger?”
He realized immediately his mistake. This wasn’t his business.
Before he could cover his words, Pei frowned and asked: “Who is Mr. Wen?”
Qi Ji pressed his lips, suppressing unease. “Wen Chuming, sir.”
He thought Pei was feigning ignorance, but Pei’s expression remained genuinely puzzled: “And what does that have to do with him?”
Qi Ji frowned. “Didn’t you come out for Mr. Wen?”
Pei’s expression darkened, and his usually low voice rose: “Why would I come out for Wen Chuming?”
“Why would you think that?” Pei had no idea how Qi Ji knew about Wen, or that it was through He Xiu.
Qi Ji guessed: “Dr. Zhao told me earlier that you developed PTSD after Mr. Wen passed…”
Pei turned to Zhao: “When did you tell him that? How come I didn’t know?”
Though weak from injuries, his aura remained strong.
Zhao quickly explained: “During the last checkup at the villa. We didn’t know he was alive yet. We feared mentioning it might upset you, so we didn’t say anything.”
Pei said flatly: “I don’t have PTSD. Didn’t the tests already show that?”
Qi Ji was stunned.
Zhao nodded: “Yes, the results just came out in the past two days. We hadn’t told Xiao Qi yet.”
Qi Ji’s mind raced with confusion. “But back then, your uncle tried to separate you two. Pei, didn’t you also lose control when you heard about Mr. Wen’s death…”
Pei looked at him. “Heard this from He Xiu?”
Qi Ji paused. “I inferred it from what he said.”
He apologized: “Sorry for prying into your privacy…”
Pei raised a hand to stop him: “No need to apologize.”
He coughed, then looked at Qi Ji, eyes unfathomable: “I’m glad you understand this much.”
Qi Ji froze, averting his gaze, and said nothing.
The atmosphere fell silent for a while, only stirring when Zhao Mingzhen, having finished bandaging the wounds, prepared to leave.
Seeing him about to go, Qi Ji couldn’t hold back: “Mr. Pei’s injuries…”
“All bandaged, don’t worry. I’ve also placed the oral medications on the table,” Zhao said. “I’ve gone over the precautions with the Second Young Master; I’ll come back tonight to change the dressing.”
Qi Ji paused, choosing not to press further about the details.
He saw Zhao out, and as the doctor left, Zhao added, “Sorry, Xiao Qi. Earlier, the information was incomplete, which caused your misunderstanding. But the truth isn’t like that.” He patted Qi Ji’s shoulder. “The Second Young Master will explain, but try not to let him speak too much—he needs to rest.”
Qi Ji nodded.
Returning to the living room, the man on the sofa was still waiting. His condition had improved somewhat after the dressing, though his lips remained pale.
He began recounting the events from two years ago.
“There was no separating us,” Pei Yusheng said bluntly, still attentive to Qi Ji’s earlier words. “Back then, I wanted to retire, but my father disagreed. That’s why he arranged Wen Chuming’s staged death, hoping I’d stay in the military to avenge him.”
No one expected Pei’s luck. His team destroyed the local crime lord’s stronghold in just half a month—a mission meant to take one or two years to complete.
After successfully avenging Wen Chuming, Pei left the military.
“I didn’t sleep for a few days then,” Pei admitted, “but it wasn’t the mission. I blamed myself. I knew my father’s personality and methods—I thought he deliberately harmed Chuming to keep me in the military.”
After the revenge and the mission ended, Pei had no lingering attachments, so he retired. Only recently, after coincidentally meeting Wen Chuming, did he learn of the secret mission he had been assigned.
“Even after retiring, my father considered releasing news that Wen Chuming was alive to lure me back to the military.”
His tone grew cold. For Pei Yusheng, there had never been a fatherly bond with Pei Xiaolin.
“But my uncle, adhering to confidentiality rules, stopped the plan from happening.”
Qi Ji listened, incredulous.
To deliberately stage something like this just to keep a son in the military—Pei Xiaolin’s methods were incomprehensible. And to beat his own son so severely was hardly normal parental behavior either.
“So everything he did… was just to keep you in the military?” Qi Ji asked.
Pei gave a low, confirming nod: “Yes.”
“He’s always been this way, trying to control others’ lives. Any defiance displeases him—an uncompromising control freak.” His expression grew even colder, no longer icy, but calmly detached after cutting ties completely.
“He wanted me in the military, but I had other aspirations. After long negotiations, we reached a compromise: three years of service, then I leave.”
A compromise: Pei agreed to serve, easing his father’s pressure, and planned to pursue his own path after three years. Pei Xiaolin allowed it, intending to trap Pei in the military longer. In the end, Pei succeeded in retiring on his own terms.
“My interest comes from my mother—communications technology,” Pei explained. “Before enlisting, I studied communications at MIT for three years; after leaving the military, I studied at Harvard for a year.”
Qi Ji finally understood Pei’s solid professional foundation. It was no wonder he adapted quickly after parachuting into Yun Tu.
Hearing this, Qi Ji relaxed—Pei’s future hadn’t been ruined. He had simply been pursuing his true path.
“So after retiring, you went abroad to study,” Qi Ji said. “But a master’s program usually takes two years.”
“I finished early,” Pei said, matter-of-factly.
Not surprising, given who he was.
Qi Ji was still processing when Pei asked: “What did you think I went abroad for after retiring?”
Looking up, Qi Ji met his pale eyes, unwavering.
“To escape to a new environment… to heal from Wen Chuming’s death?”
Qi Ji flinched; his fingers tightened.
Pei’s insight was precise, yet he didn’t pressure him for an answer. He clarified: “No. I went to pursue further study.”
“We never had any romantic involvement,” Pei said calmly, voice steady despite his injuries. He stated it as an undeniable fact.
“Not then, because the military forbade same-sex relationships; not now, because…”
He paused. Qi Ji’s heart leapt.
Then Pei seemed to realize something unresolved and asked: “You know Wen Chuming. You must have seen him in S City recently, right?”
Qi Ji froze, before Pei continued: “He’s collaborating with the Jiangning Military District and will be in S City for a while. He Xiu didn’t tell you, did he? But that involves military personnel; he couldn’t.”
He went on, explaining clearly and methodically: Wen’s parents visited, wanted to see him during his rare outing, so he borrowed a car from Pei.
Qi Ji blinked. “…Why are you explaining all this to me?”
Pei looked at him and countered: “Then why do you care?”
Qi Ji frowned.
Pei continued staring, suddenly asking: “When you first saw me at the door, why did you run out?”
Dryly, Qi Ji said: “I thought it would be inconvenient, afraid of disturbing you, so I left first…”
Pei pressed on: “Then hearing about my father, why mention Wen Chuming?”
Three rapid questions left Qi Ji speechless, conflicted.
Pei’s relentless questioning, sharp and logical, revealed that Qi Ji alone was lost, overwhelmed by emotion, anxious and insecure. Pei remained rational, in full control.
Fatigue rolled over Qi Ji like a tide, drowning his body. He drifted, until he heard Pei speak again, soft, almost to himself:
“I want to know why.”
“I have a guess… but even I haven’t dared hope it’s true.”
Seeing Qi Ji regain composure, Pei lowered his voice: “I didn’t know your thoughts before; otherwise, I would have explained Wen Chuming earlier.”
Qi Ji glanced at him, then looked away.
Pei continued: “Since you asked about Wen Chuming, can I take it as what I hoped?”
Qi Ji forced a smile. “What did you hope?”
Pei leaned slightly forward, thin sweat on his neck.
He was in pain, yet not distressed—the pain had transformed into courage.
“Qi Ji,” he said, softly calling his name, “do you know who I came out for?”
“Remember I mentioned my father installed cameras, monitoring me constantly? So I didn’t call or let near the person I wanted to… didn’t let him in my bedroom.”
Pei’s voice softened.
“Because those cameras would have been aimed at him.”
Qi Ji’s heart raced violently, as if it might burst from his chest.
The air grew thin, oppressive for the two alone in the spacious room.
“Qi Ji… will you look at me?”
His low, magnetic voice was like a siren’s song, drawing him in.
“I hope you stop calling me Mr. Pei.”
The long-awaited words—the one he had hoped for—remained unspoken.
Pei didn’t want to overwhelm him, unsure if this was the right moment.
Yet the person he liked was right in front of him, impossible to hide.
He replaced the words he longed to hear with four simple, straightforward ones:
“I like you.”
Silence fell.
The room had no other sounds; even outside, the wind had stilled. When the words ended, the decibel dropped further—he could hear his own breath, heartbeat, blood coursing inside him.
Time stretched, still and long.
Qi Ji didn’t think too much. Most things had already become clear during sleepless nights.
Unlike the hazy nights before, Qi Ji was lucid. He felt like someone chasing an impossible treasure, obsessing over it daily, becoming a miser even he didn’t understand.
But when the treasure appeared before him, his first reaction was panic, fear of losing it.
He even questioned if it was some trap—but happiness didn’t arise. He knew, deep down, he wasn’t worthy of this treasure.
He lowered his eyes, staring at his own hands, throat dry: “Mr. Pei… take care of yourself first.”
Pei paused, whispering: “Qi Qi…”
Qi Ji smiled obediently.
Words from Zhou Li, their shared experiences, everything since their first meeting, made Qi Ji acutely aware of the distance between them. That distance had always existed.
He had longed for his treasure, yet the gap between him and it was insurmountable.
When the treasure appeared before him, he feared stepping forward, falling into the chasm, shattered.
When Pei once helped him with ten bottles of Louis XIII at the club, Qi Ji had felt they were like two planets in different star systems, unlikely to ever truly intersect.
Now, nothing had changed.
Qi Ji understood.
They were never equals—just an employer-employee relationship, with debts so high that even an outrageous five-thousand-a-day salary would take forever to repay.
He said softly: “Mr. Pei… your presence, your warmth… always reminds me of the sun.”
“If you are the sun, then I’m no more than a small stone on the Earth.”
Eyes downcast, voice barely audible.
“No planet can compare to a star; a stone is even less likely.”
He smiled politely: “Thank you for your kindness. Now… let’s discuss the debt, and calculate what I still owe you.”