At the sudden words, Qi Ji froze.
“Fifty thousand a night?”
A vague sense of impending dread settled over him. It felt as if he were caught in a high-viscosity web—the tighter he struggled, the more constricted he became.
His voice dry and hoarse, he forced out a coherent question: “President Pei, you mean… what kind of side job?”
Pale wisps of smoke lingered in the somewhat stifling room. A few steps away, the man raised his hand and pressed out the cigarette in an enamel dish beside him.
There were no ashtrays in the room; all the smoking paraphernalia had been improvised.
The man spoke, his tone now serious, no longer casual.
“Work hours are from ten at night until six in the morning, eight hours a day, no holidays. If you truly need it, you can request leave in advance.”
His words were formal, almost as if this were a legitimate business negotiation.
“The workplace is tentatively this villa, No. 08 Hunan Road. Any changes will be notified. The specific job description will be clearly written in the contract. Probation is one month, during which you’ll earn eighty percent of the salary; after confirmation, full pay applies. Fifty thousand per night, daily pay, settled each day.”
He even added: “Those are the general conditions. Any questions?”
Qi Ji’s mind momentarily failed to catch up.
Were it not for the absurdly high pay, he might have thought he was being interviewed for a normal job.
The tone was, in a strange way, reassuring. After all, a boss trying to squeeze labor from an employee seemed more approachable than one intent on consuming them whole.
But Qi Ji had already been deceived once—at the arena.
Moreover, the information he had on this CEO was minimal. Even with the conditions laid out, he remained wary, wondering if refusal was even possible.
The man clearly noticed Qi Ji’s silent doubt and hesitation and simply said:
“Thirteen million, fifty thousand per night, over 270 days.”
The numbers completely blocked any unsaid refusal. Qi Ji simply couldn’t pay that much.
Pei continued, “The auction provided the data on site. I know you still owe a debt. The side job money can be used to offset your debt daily. You can take that day’s fifty thousand to repay.”
This additional condition almost clutched Qi Ji’s lifeline.
The endless, sleepless effort of the past two years had only been to repay this debt.
But as appealing as it sounded, reality was not so simple.
Some things don’t cease to exist simply because you ignore them.
Qi Ji had gone to the arena for the same soft-hard coercion of a “bright future, must go” reason. The lesson was fresh in his mind.
And now, the terms this man proposed… how were they essentially different from the arena?
Having suffered once, Qi Ji lacked the strength to negotiate again. He resolved to confront the sharpest issue directly.
He looked up, his light brown eyes delicate, yet noticeably hollow and vacant as they studied the man.
“President Pei,” Qi Ji asked, “is the side job similar to what was used at the auction?”
The room fell silent, as if even the sound of breathing had vanished.
Before the man could answer, Qi Ji murmured, “Then I might not be able to handle it.”
He simply couldn’t endure it. His body, overly sensitive from lingering effects of medication, could not withstand violation. His waning survival instincts were equally fragile.
Like an over-stretched string, he had neither the will nor the strength left to bear more strain.
He wished he could endure a little longer, earn a little more, at least carve out some space for his younger brother.
But he could hear the ticking countdown in his ears.
A candle flickering in the wind, barely clinging to life, ready to extinguish at any moment.
Qi Ji’s breaths came in shallow gasps; the faint darkness and suffocating pressure tormented him.
Unbeknownst to him, his condition affected another person as well.
Pei Yusheng looked at the boy, forcing calm but ashen, and frowned.
He suddenly felt he had extinguished that cigarette too soon.
“It’s different.”
The man wiped his lips, speaking briefly and coldly, even colder than Qi Ji.
“If it were that sort of thing, why would I have waited until today?”
Confidence radiated from his words, yet there was an inexplicable edge of irritability. Pei pressed it down, voice steady:
“Your job… is more like…” He paused. “A caregiver.”
The word brought the room to a sudden hush.
Qi Ji blinked, as if unable to process it immediately. The slight daze in his expression made one want to reach out and ruffle his hair.
“A… caregiver?”
Pei Yusheng refused further explanation: “The contract will specify the details. You can decide after reading it. But before that, you must sign a confidentiality agreement, not to disclose the contract.”
His tone had become strictly formal, leaving Qi Ji uncertain.
Had he just… misunderstood something?
Yet on reflection, another question arose. Even for a caregiver, why specifically choose him? With Pei Yusheng’s status and wealth, any caregiver could be hired.
Qi Ji now had no grounds to refuse, yet his wariness of Pei Yusheng remained.
“Thank you for the opportunity, President Pei. May I ask,” Qi Ji inquired, “why did you choose me?”
He saw the man’s lips curl into a faint smile.
Night had deepened; outside, darkness reigned. The entrance light hung behind Pei Yusheng, failing to cross his shoulders. The warm yellow of the living room chandelier merely cast a deep shadow across his high, sharp features, adding to an air of inscrutability rather than warmth.
Pei spoke softly: “Because I need someone who can keep a secret.”
“The safest way to guard a secret is to exchange it with someone who also has secrets.”
Qi Ji paused.
Secret?
After giving his answer, the man said no more. He moved directly toward Qi Ji. Before he could fully process the previous sentence, his vigilance was immediately triggered. He instinctively tried to step back, but behind him was the hard, unyielding redwood sofa.
His injured calf still throbbed; any movement brought a sharp sting that made him shiver.
Before the pain could subside, the man had reached his side, less than half a step away. Qi Ji could clearly smell the familiar, intense scent radiating from him.
The scent made him pause.
Before his scattered thoughts could clear, the man bent down and opened the cabinet beneath the coffee table, seemingly retrieving something.
Qi Ji instinctively shifted to the side, trying to avoid contact. His calf, overstrained and stiff, throbbed painfully with any movement.
“Ugh…”
He had already experienced this pain countless times today, every time trying to avoid Pei Yusheng.
Bang!
A loud noise— the cabinet door slammed shut. Qi Ji, still recovering from the pain, jumped, eyes wide and wet.
The man stood upright, carrying a white square box past Qi Ji and sat on the sofa.
Expressionless, he looked at Qi Ji, chin raised, gesturing: “Come over.”
Qi Ji then saw what the man held—a medical kit.
Seeing that Qi Ji didn’t move, Pei Yusheng remained silent. He opened the medical kit, revealing the genuine medicines inside.
Coldly, he repeated: “Come over. Apply the medicine.”
Qi Ji hesitated. “Where’s Doctor Zhao?”
The moment he spoke, he noticed the veins at Pei’s temple twitch. A chill radiated from him, making the air around him sharp and foreboding.
Qi Ji felt a twinge of confusion.
He had no idea what was wrong with Pei, nor whether he had done something to provoke him.
Yet when Pei spoke again, his tone remained flat, unshaken: “He has surgery. He won’t be back today.”
Step by cautious step, Qi Ji moved toward the sofa, still hesitating internally.
It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the situation; the circumstances were unusual. The effects of the medicine hadn’t completely worn off, and he couldn’t predict how his body might react if touched.
If he accidentally reacted reflexively and kicked the CEO…
The consequences were unthinkable. After all, Qi Ji still valued his position at Yuntu.
Summoning courage, he said: “No need to trouble you, President Pei. I can do it myself.”
Pei lifted his eyelids, eyes on Qi Ji. “The bruise is on the back of your calf. Can you reach it?”
In his hand was a bottle of medicinal oil, the cap already opened. “You also need to massage the bruise open. How will you manage that yourself?”
Qi Ji bit his lower lip, forcing the habitual calm and composure he had perfected over the years. He tugged the corner of his mouth into a small smile: “I usually apply medicine myself. I’m used to it. No trouble for you, President Pei.”
Pei didn’t speak. But as he lifted his hand, Qi Ji instinctively recoiled. Sitting at the far end of the long sofa, barely touching the edge, he shrank back as if ready to leap up and run.
Pei Yusheng: “….”
Only after the instinctive retreat did Qi Ji notice the awkward tension in the room.
He parted his lips several times, wanting to explain, yet unable to find the words. Years of smoothly maintaining his gentle, obedient facade had never prepared him for repeatedly failing it in front of a single person.
Just as he didn’t know what to do, Pei Yusheng’s hand moved again.
This time, he wasn’t reaching for Qi Ji, but for the medical kit between them. He took out a roll of gauze.
Qi Ji watched as Pei, expressionless, unrolled part of it and, with a slight force of his hands—
“Tsh!”
The sturdy gauze, cut but intact, was torn open by Pei’s bare hands.
The medicinal oil, gauze, bandages, and medical tape—Pei arranged everything neatly near Qi Ji, then slammed the kit shut with a bang.
His voice was icy: “Then apply it yourself. Remember to massage the bruise open.”
Qi Ji blinked. “Ah… okay.”
He cleared his throat and added: “Thank you, President Pei.”
Pei put away the medical kit and didn’t look at him again.
“You’ll stay here temporarily. In some time, you may need to move. You’ll be notified then.”
“Yuntu has arranged sick leave for you, with full pay. Return next Monday to cancel the leave.” His tone remained calm, as if discussing an ordinary work matter. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, so you can sign the side-job contract. Go home during the day to prepare; move in tomorrow night.”
As Pei spoke, Qi Ji brought the medicinal supplies closer, sitting back while subtly creating a bit more distance.
He didn’t know if Pei noticed, but the man’s calm demeanor suggested he hadn’t.
Before Qi Ji could relax, Pei suddenly shifted his gaze, freezing him again.
Fortunately, he didn’t say anything else, only suggesting: “If you want, tonight can count as your first day.”
Qi Ji instinctively shook his head, refusing: “No, let’s sign the contract first.”
He still didn’t know the job details. Even if the contract carried little weight, he wanted more information before deciding.
Seemingly accustomed to his caution, Pei didn’t insist.
“After applying the medicine, get some rest. Your body hasn’t fully recovered.”
Only then did Qi Ji’s heart briefly relax.
His previous bedroom was just a few steps from the living room on the first floor. But before he could return, Pei called out again:
“By the way, this is for you.”
Qi Ji looked up. The man had pulled out a dark-colored briefcase, heavy-looking, its contents unknown. Qi Ji assumed Pei intended to hand it to him. Instead, Pei bypassed him, carrying the case toward Qi Ji’s room.
Qi Ji couldn’t help blurting out: “President Pei, I can manage myself.”
He truly couldn’t bear the weight of excessive care.
But the words barely left his mouth before doubt crept in. The entire villa was Pei’s domain. Avoiding someone near his room was self-deception and might even anger him.
—In Qi Ji’s mind, this CEO was unpredictable, capable of crossing boundaries at any moment.
Anxiously, Qi Ji watched as Pei paused, then stopped moving forward.
He set the briefcase down and left without a backward glance.
He left decisively. The living room was empty, with only Qi Ji remaining.
The night wind swept through, adding a crisp edge to the deep autumn chill.
Qi Ji released the bandage from his grip, exhaling low.
His palms were damp, a thin layer of sweat forming.
Pei Yusheng returned to the study on the second floor and opened the surveillance system.
The cameras were newly installed—a full set of 4K high-definition units integrated into the villa’s tight security system, with control privileges granted solely to Pei Yusheng.
Qi Ji was still in the living room, struggling to drag the briefcase. It was heavy, and under normal circumstances, he might have managed fine. But now, with his leg still injured and his body not fully recovered, even walking was a limp, labored effort. Dragging this case made it even more exhausting.
Pei Yusheng watched the screen expressionlessly.
This kid—he always managed to get himself hurt doing anything, yet stubbornly refused any help.
Tch.
On the monitor, Qi Ji labored for a while and finally dragged the case into the bedroom. He exhaled in relief and sat at the edge of the bed, examining the contents carefully. His expression was cautious, meticulous.
Pei Yusheng thought to himself: the kid can’t possibly imagine this is a case full of adult toys, right?
Honestly, seeing the vigilance in Qi Ji’s earlier demeanor, Pei couldn’t resist the little curiosity stirring within him—he wanted to see how Qi Ji would react if it really were adult items.
After all, the kid treated him like a villain. If conditions allowed, Pei might have enjoyed demonstrating just how “wicked” he could be.
Fortunately, the cameras were one-way. Nothing here was being transmitted back. Qi Ji had no idea of the earlier danger. He studied the case for a while, discovered it wasn’t locked, and opened it.
To his surprise, it was a full set of art supplies—paper, brushes, paints, some models—everything Qi Ji commonly used.
He froze for a moment, eyes widening in genuine astonishment.
Pei Yusheng, watching from the screen, felt his mood ease slightly.
Li Xinjie had advised against letting Qi Ji use familiar items while under the drug’s effects to prevent memory confusion. Pei had prepared a fresh set of supplies according to Qi Ji’s preferences.
Seeing the faint, lively expression flicker across the boy’s face subtly soothed Pei’s own emotions.
He had once studied micro-expression analysis in depth, learning to read thoughts through subtle muscle movements—a skill that served him well in business. Pei could instinctively analyze anyone he interacted with.
But not with Qi Ji.
With Qi Ji, he simply liked watching. Watching made him enjoy the boy more. That was all.
Qi Ji stared at the box of art supplies for a while, then, as if suddenly noticing something, pulled out a bag of colored paper.
He blinked. It was origami paper.
He opened the bag—thick, resilient sheets in vibrant colors, complete with origami instructions, practical and thoughtful.
Habitually, he selected a pink sheet and a green sheet, and while examining other supplies in the box, folded a small strawberry.
He dotted the pink paper evenly with black spots, then blew air into it, puffing it up into a plump, round strawberry.
Because of the paper’s texture, this strawberry looked far more delicate than ones he had folded before with candy wrappers. Holding it, Qi Ji felt satisfied and happy.
Watching from the screen, Pei suddenly understood why his mother had installed cameras in the cat rooms and courtyard when raising cats.
He hadn’t previously understood why she, despite being busy, cared so much to watch over them.
Now he realized—it wasn’t a mandatory task, but a comfort for herself.
After folding the strawberry, Qi Ji placed it by his bedside. He put the box aside, then took out the medicinal supplies from Pei, preparing to treat his leg.
But clearly, his definition of applying medicine differed from Pei’s.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he carefully lifted his calf onto his knee. His skin was thin, and now hypersensitive. The recent bump had left the entire calf bruised and darkened.
Even lifting his leg caused pain—let alone massaging the bruise and applying the medicine. Hesitating briefly, he gave up on careful treatment, instead smearing the medicine onto the gauze and roughly wrapping his leg. The bandaging was completed, if a bit hasty.
Pei, watching on the screen, was nearly amused into anger.
Once finished, Qi Ji grabbed his phone. It was still the one loaned to him by Doctor Zhao. Pei could see all his actions in real time, the surveillance software splitting off a small screen for the phone’s display.
Pei had expected Qi Ji to perhaps reach out to someone, given all that had happened. But on screen, Qi Ji opened his work email.
He began handling business documents.
Since he had organized things simply during the day, Qi Ji worked efficiently now. Some items could be replied to immediately, while others required edits or reworking. Looking around, he wasn’t sure if there was a computer in the room. He had asked Doctor Zhao during the day but was told, for rest purposes, he couldn’t work.
Pei quickly noticed Qi Ji’s glance around the room. He typed a command into his computer.
The sudden electronic alert startled Qi Ji.
The boy visibly shivered, like a frightened kitten, fur bristling.
But the alert was mundane:
“Room temperature detected as low. Central air conditioning has activated to maintain temperature.”
Hearing this, Qi Ji hesitated, then cautiously said, “Siri?”
The mechanical voice answered: “Hello, I am not Siri. I am Star. You may also call me Xiao Xing.”
Oh right, Star. Qi Ji remembered. This was the AI developed by Xinghai, integrated into the phone.
Star continued: “Although you called me by the wrong name, I don’t mind.”
Qi Ji: “…”
He apologized sincerely: “Sorry, Star.”
Star generously forgave him: “It’s fine. How may I assist you?”
Qi Ji hesitated, then asked: “Is there a computer I can use in this room?”
He had prepared for being denied access, as this was someone else’s home. Surprisingly, a screen embedded in the wall lit up.
It was recessed into the wall, invisible when off, and revealed only when active. The keyboard was a virtual projection, sleek and high-tech.
With his mobility limited, Qi Ji moved to the chair by the bed and slid closer to the wall. He had used similar embedded computers at Xinghai HQ and found them easy to operate.
He worried about a password lock, but this computer had none. Instead, it opened directly to a mode selection screen.
Star: “Please select a mode: 1. Design, 2. Programming, 3. Architecture…”
Curious, Qi Ji pressed 1.
The desktop lit up. He scanned the icons: full Adobe suite, Sketch, Mockingbot… all his usual design tools were there.
Habitually, he opened configurations and saw the hardware and graphics card were top-of-the-line. He could run multiple programs and renderings without lag.
It was even better suited for a designer than the computers the Yuntu Design Department had spent a fortune on.
Opening a few programs and testing them briefly, Qi Ji was completely captivated within five minutes.
Top-tier hardware made everything run smoothly—pure bliss!
Logging into his email, he quickly downloaded his previous progress and started working. With such high-end assistance, creating drafts felt effortless.
The computer showed no traces of previous usage; either it had been cleaned, or it had a dedicated “owner mode.” Qi Ji wasn’t particularly curious—regardless of being in restricted guest mode, this machine still outperformed any he had used before.
He reasoned that the previous resident must have had high demands for the computer, which now conveniently benefited him, the temporary occupant. Qi Ji had always assumed the room had been lived in before. Though there were no obvious signs of prior habitation, the living supplies were complete, and the four-door wardrobe was fully stocked with clothing.
The brands were ones Qi Ji had only seen in high-end fashion exhibition catalogues. Some even had no labels—likely custom-made. Yet most of the clothes appeared untouched; at most three or four items showed signs of being handled, while the rest were brand-new, tags intact.
Doctor Zhao had suggested he wear these clothes for now. Qi Ji had initially worried it might feel awkward, but lacking his own wardrobe, he borrowed them. To his surprise, the clothes fit perfectly, snug and comfortable in every spot.
Gradually, Qi Ji pictured the room’s original owner: a young person with a physique similar to his own, someone interested in the latest products.
Star’s reminders confirmed this impression.
Having slept for so long, Qi Ji’s work had fallen behind. Though not enough to breach any contracts, the sooner it was done, the better. Coupled with lingering caution, Qi Ji had planned to work through the night.
Yet, just past eleven, Star’s alert sounded.
“Sleep time reached. Please enter rest mode.”
Qi Ji paused in After Effects. “Sleep time?”
Star responded, “Child protection mode activated. Little one, it’s time to sleep. Staying up late will stunt your growth.”
Qi Ji: “…”
So the original occupant of this room had been a child.
Ignoring Star, he continued working.
By 11:10, the computer—still running smoothly after launching the full Adobe suite—stuttered briefly, then a pop-up appeared.
Star’s electronic voice accompanied it: “Sleep time reached. Save your work. The computer will automatically shut down in ten minutes.”
Qi Ji: “…”
He negotiated: “I’m not the original owner. I’m an adult. Can we disable child protection mode?”
Star, unwavering: “No, little one. Time for bed. Early to bed, early to rise; good for your health, with flowers and birds smiling at you.”
A soothing lullaby began to play.
Qi Ji rubbed his temples. He lacked permission to alter the mode.
Reluctantly, he shut down the computer to sleep. Before he did, Star reminded him to take his medication: “Medication record detected. Remember to take your medicine before bed. A real man endures; timely doses aid recovery.”
Qi Ji: …Who programmed this AI? He didn’t recall Xinghai’s AI being so talkative.
Prompted, he obediently took his medicine and lay down. Star turned off the lights.
The bed and blankets were soft—his favorite kind of plush fabric. Without back pain or other discomfort, the softer the bed and cushions, the better. At home, finances limited him to layering extra blankets, but this bed offered genuine comfort, sinking him in immediately.
Honestly, if not for concern about the owner, Qi Ji would have loved this place—the computer, the bed, everything.
The day had been tiring, and though he had planned to work through the night, exhaustion overtook him as soon as he lay down. He ignored the faint aches in his leg, turned onto his side, exposing the calf, and fell asleep.
The room was quiet and peaceful. The connected monitors were silent.
Outside, night blanketed everything; the wind of the day had calmed, leaving a tranquil world bathed in gentle starlight.
After some time, a sudden “thud” reverberated in the silent study, accompanied by deep, hurried breaths.
The man in the wide, soft chair jolted awake, lingering traces of shock in his fingers. His chest heaved violently, sweat slicked his forehead, and his heart pounded as though struck by heavy hammers, each beat sharp and painful.
Instinctively, he looked at the screen. His pale eyes, like those of a startled wild beast, slowly recognized the familiar, tranquil figure, pulling him out of a nightmare and restoring his composure.
Pei Yusheng pressed at his throbbing temples, staring unblinkingly at the soft outline of the boy lying on the screen.
The boy slept deeply, breathing steadily, his expression peaceful, pale pink lips slightly parted, touched by tiny drops of moisture.
A small night lamp cast a warm glow over the sleeping boy.
In this long, cold night, he was warmth, the only light.
After a long moment, Pei Yusheng exhaled, massaging his sore eyes. His rapid breathing slowly normalized.
A mechanical voice chimed: “Sleep duration recorded: fifty-two minutes, ten seconds. This is the longest continuous sleep in the past two months…”
With a click, Pei Yusheng shut it off, severing the sound.
Once his breathing returned to normal, he rubbed his temples, rose, and left the study, heading downstairs.
The villa’s central air system maintained a constant temperature year-round, with the smart system adjusting humidity according to daily weather for maximum comfort.
Yet, in this silent, vast mansion, long nights could still feel cold.
On the first floor, the guest room door opened silently.
Inside, a boy slept soundly.