Hearing Qi Mingyu’s questions, Qi Ji didn’t react with any intensity.
He scooped a spoonful of meatball soup, pouring it over his rice, his tone calm: “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve been working long enough—I earn a salary.”
That familiar, dismissive attitude utterly infuriated Qi Mingyu.
He clenched his fists, raising his voice sharply: “What kind of work lets you pay off twenty million in debt while also covering fifty thousand for me?!”
For a brief moment, the room went silent.
Qi Mingyu still didn’t get the answer he wanted.
Qi Ji simply kept his head down, eating the meatballs in silence.
“You going to answer me?!”
Seeing Qi Ji remain completely unmoved, Qi Mingyu flared up, raising his hand as if to throw his chopsticks.
Qi Ji glanced at him: “If you don’t eat, your stomach will complain tonight.”
Qi Mingyu’s frustration built up like a storm trapped in his chest, choking him painfully, yet he couldn’t find any outlet. He had known Qi Ji’s temper for years—if Qi Ji didn’t want to speak, not even fire or hot iron could force him.
The atmosphere grew oppressively tense.
After a while, Qi Ji finished the last of his meatballs, then finally spoke.
“Your priority right now is studying. Everything else, don’t worry about it.”
“I’m already working. You know the pay at Xinghai is good. I can earn if I work harder. Leave this to me, don’t distract yourself. Focus on finishing your final year first.”
“I’ve got nothing to study for.”
Qi Mingyu laughed bitterly, anger mixed with disbelief.
“I’ve already secured guaranteed admission. I could spend this year working and earning money…”
Before he could finish, the room’s atmosphere had shifted.
The loud “smack” was Qi Ji’s chopsticks hitting the table—he moved faster than Qi Mingyu expected, his palm clamping down on the nerves of Qi Mingyu’s thigh. His pale fingers pressed into the muscle, twisting his wrist just enough to make Qi Mingyu flinch sharply.
Instinctively, Qi Mingyu’s leg jerked, his knee smacking the table with a loud “bang,” shaking the dishes.
Qi Ji didn’t release his grip.
“You’ll have eighty years after graduation to work. How many final years like this do you get in a lifetime?”
His voice was icy, cutting: “Say such nonsense again, and I’ll break your leg.”
Qi Mingyu broke into a cold sweat from the pain but bit his teeth, refusing to cry out. Years of suppressed frustration finally shattered his rational defenses. His eyes reddened as he stared at Qi Ji.
“I never wanted you to spend so much money on me!”
He panted, his voice cracking.
“If it weren’t for me moving to S City for high school, Mom and Dad wouldn’t have…”
The last words choked off in a hoarse whisper. Both understood the unspoken conclusion.
Qi Ji lowered his gaze, staring at his slightly curled hands.
His skin was pale as paper, almost frighteningly so. Veins beneath the surface were thin and bluish, as if a little pressure could snap them.
The room remained silent for a long while. Qi Ji finally got up, retrieved his chopsticks, and sat down again. He picked up his bowl and continued eating without a sound.
Only Qi Mingyu’s rapid breathing broke the quiet.
After finishing, Qi Ji cleared his dishes and got up to wash them.
Before leaving, he left a calm remark:
“If I hadn’t had you with me for the college entrance exams, our family couldn’t have moved to S City. They wouldn’t have been tricked into guaranteeing someone’s loan back home, wouldn’t have gone bankrupt, wouldn’t have had to work day and night hauling goods to repay debts.”
With that, Qi Ji left.
But the wound he had exposed didn’t stop hurting just because the conversation ended.
Qi Ji didn’t understand—how could Qi Mingyu feel it was his fault?
This matter had never once been Qi Mingyu’s responsibility. His guilt was entirely self-imposed.
Qi Ji, however, was the real culprit.
Qi Ji’s household registration was in their hometown, while three-year-younger Qi Mingyu had S City registration. At the time, S City was still absorbing resources from outside. A new policy allowed anyone who bought property locally to gain a newborn local household registration, which is how Qi Mingyu was born.
The city’s growth was rapid, and within two years the policy ended, but it didn’t affect Qi Mingyu’s registration. Everyone thought it was pure luck on the Qi family’s part.
Qi Ji stayed behind in the hometown, counting the days until his parents returned.
Later, when Qi Ji was a bit older and his parents had established themselves in S City, they planned to bring him to study there. But the tightened rules were a disaster: non-local students could no longer take the city’s high school entrance or college exams.
Unable to study locally, Qi Ji had no textbooks, and his father had to take him back home. Only after Qi Ji was admitted to F University in S City could the family finally reunite.
Yet in his final year at home, his parents were deceived by locals and forced into huge debt, nearly selling all their property and running long-distance transport jobs to repay it.
Qi Ji constantly wondered what would have happened if he’d taken the college entrance exam a year earlier. His thoughts pounded like steel needles in his skull—he couldn’t imagine a worse outcome than what had already happened.
Since that day, Qi Mingyu never asked where Qi Ji’s money came from again.
A few days later, Qi Ji received a call from his homeroom teacher, Mr. Yang, saying all documents and procedures were ready; he would depart in two weeks.
Qi Ji thanked his teacher solemnly, finally able to put the matter to rest.
Yet he wasn’t in good condition himself.
To repay the debt, Qi Ji had been working full-time by day and juggling various part-time jobs at night. A tech company wasn’t a place to slack off, and his role in design meant overtime was common.
To reach his part-time job on time, he had to complete more than his daily quota during the day. After the part-time shift, it would be nearly dawn before he returned to the company.
Even youth had limits—he was no iron man.
Additionally, he had worn his body down with stress and developed health issues over the past two years. Mental strain resurfaced whenever he recalled his parents’ debts.
He had bought a large pack of nicotine lozenges to stay alert, but the comfort was fleeting; once the effect faded, the emptiness of reality hit harder.
Worse, on multiple occasions commuting, he felt watched. The eyes were not friendly, but he could never trace them. The sense of being observed made his daily routine uncomfortable.
He had little time to mentally prepare when, a few days later, he received a call.
Qi Ji frowned at the incoming number.
It was Qian Ge.
Qian Ge was a boxing manager and had introduced Qi Ji to a short-term position at Huating Club. The finals were over, and Qi Ji had said he wouldn’t compete again. Their contact should have ended there. Yet when he answered, Qian Ge immediately demanded he return for an exhibition match.
Qi Ji flatly refused: “I’m not going. I don’t have time. I already said I wouldn’t participate again.”
“You may have said it, but the boxing hall doesn’t agree.” Qian Ge’s tone was brazen, almost taunting. “Big champion, you think this is a game? Consider the money you’ve already won—there’s no rule here about leaving after one round.”
Qi Ji pinched the bridge of his nose, irritated. He truly didn’t want to get involved.
Qian Ge spat heavily, cleared his throat, and switched to a different tone: “Fine, fine, just this once, alright?”
He phrased it as if he were making a reluctant compromise: “You need a formal conclusion, right? Can’t just come and go as you please. Otherwise, how will the hall manage future fighters?”
“This ends once and for all. Afterwards, I guarantee I won’t contact you again!”
Qi Ji didn’t relent.
He thought of Manager Wang at Huating Club, the six men who had blocked him in the alley, and the strange, watchful gazes he’d felt these past days.
It was never going to be that simple.
But Qian Ge’s patience was always short.
Seeing that Qi Ji refused to yield, Qian Ge let out a cold laugh and pulled out his trump card.
This time, it was lethal.
He even spoke with a smile: “Z011, you’ve got a little brother, right?”
Qi Ji’s chest tightened violently; the rough, hoarse voice over the phone scraped against his eardrums.
“You…”
“I’m telling you, moving him out of the registration won’t help.”
Qian Ge chuckled darkly.
“Qi Mingyu, right? Male, 17, senior at S City No. 1 High School. Whoa, getting into No. 1—good student, too.”
As Qian Ge’s voice droned on, the phone suddenly vibrated twice.
A message notification popped up at the top of the screen: two photos.
One showed the early morning market. Amid the chaotic background, Qi Mingyu, in his school uniform, stood picking vegetables at a stall.
The other was outside the gates of No. 1 High School. Among a crowd of students, tall, slim, with brown hair, Qi Mingyu still stood out.
In the second photo, behind him and his classmates, a massive electronic screen blazed with the time:
18:10, Wednesday.
Just five minutes before Qi Ji had answered the call.
Qian Ge exaggeratedly clicked his tongue: “See? No. 1 High is just different—even the uniforms look better.”
Qi Ji clenched his fists, nails digging deeply into his palms.
His voice dropped, almost drained of strength, each word forced out between his teeth:
“Don’t touch my brother.”