“Sorry, did the item fall?” Qi Ji’s throat itched, and he cleared it with a cough before finishing, “I wasn’t paying attention just now. It won’t happen again.”
Pei Yusheng reached out to return the square box to its place. Hearing him, he frowned slightly.
Qi Ji kept his gaze lowered, but he happened to catch the faint red mark on the man’s palm as he withdrew his hand.
It was the imprint left by gripping the box too tightly.
“At this point, you’re still worried about whether the box got damaged?” Pei Yusheng said in a low tone. “This is a crystal box—heavy, with sharp edges. If it really fell…”
He never believed in omens or luck, but he left the sentence unfinished.
Finally, he replaced it with: “What if it had hit you instead?”
Qi Ji was slightly taken aback. He clearly hadn’t expected him to say that.
Wasn’t Pei Yusheng angry because the box had been knocked over?
His lips moved several times, but he couldn’t form a sentence. In the end, it was Pei Yusheng’s phone that rang first.
The phone had been left on the table. Just now, seeing the box about to fall, Pei Yusheng had rushed forward without even thinking about it. Hearing the ringtone, he only glanced at it, closed the cabinet, and made sure Qi Ji was seated on the sofa before answering.
Qi Ji held the tablet, staring at the cat-paw pillow in his arms. He couldn’t help but look up at the man taking the call.
The sky had darkened; the man’s expression was stern, half of his deep, striking features shadowed, exuding a dangerous, brooding aura.
Yet unknowingly, it was intoxicating, drawing one in.
Soon, his pale eyes shifted over. Even on the phone, he noticed Qi Ji’s gaze.
Sometimes, Qi Ji truly suspected Pei Yusheng was somehow programmed—any glance his way seemed to alert him.
Before Qi Ji could look away, Pei Yusheng had already hung up.
“What is it?”
Qi Ji clenched the pillow, his palms slightly sweaty. He shook his head. “Nothing.”
Pei Yusheng didn’t press further.
“I’ll be out for a bit,” he said. “I might not be back tonight. You get some rest.”
Qi Ji nodded, watching as the man went to the cabinet and took several bags with him—including the crystal box that had almost fallen on him.
Before leaving, Pei Yusheng added, “These next few days will be busy. Don’t wait up tonight; sleep on schedule.”
Qi Ji asked, “And you tonight…?”
What if he couldn’t sleep again?
Hearing the question, Pei Yusheng’s expression softened slightly.
“By phone,” he said. “I’ve already topped up your account.”
Qi Ji was startled. “I can do it myself.”
“The call might be long. I went ahead and topped it up for you,” Pei Yusheng explained. “Lin Ayi will come by tonight; eat on time and get some rest.”
With Pei Yusheng already at the door, Qi Ji didn’t want to delay him over the phone matter. “Okay. Take care, Mr. Pei.”
Pei Yusheng finally left.
Over the next few days, he indeed didn’t return, only occasionally calling. When the calls first started a month ago, Qi Ji had been nervous, not knowing what to say. Over time, with frequent contact, he grew used to it.
Sometimes, even if they didn’t speak, simply keeping the video on allowed Qi Ji to naturally spend long stretches of time with him.
Everything seemed normal, as if nothing had changed.
Work at Yuntu continued in Pei Yusheng’s absence, especially the construction of the Qingpu Lake new district, which became a top priority. But Qi Ji’s own focus gradually shifted to headquarters. With his official onboarding and the success of the snack plan, his contact with Xinghai’s design department noticeably increased.
Everything progressed step by step, except that Pei Yusheng still hadn’t returned. Just as Qi Ji was about to forget the name Wen Chuming, he received a call from Zhao Mingzhen.
Dr. Zhao invited him to a café after work.
The café was elegant, filled with the rich aroma of coffee—a sign it wasn’t cheap. The booths were ideal for conversation. Surprisingly, Qi Ji was led to an even more comfortable private room.
Inside, it wasn’t just him and Dr. Zhao.
Also present was Lian Qing, a friend of Pei Yusheng whom Qi Ji had met twice before.
Seeing Qi Ji, Lian Qing was surprised. “It’s you?”
Dr. Zhao explained, “Xiao Qi is Second Young Master’s caregiver. He’s been there during all the sleepless nights. That’s why I called him along today.”
He added, “This is the café owner, Lian Shao.”
So the café belonged to the Lian family. No wonder Qi Ji was led to the best room.
“We’ve met before, during the lockdown at the villa,” Lian Qing said, rubbing his shoulder. He clearly remembered being shoulder-thrown.
Qi Ji remembered too: Lian Qing’s body was soft, naturally flexible, and his shoulder throw had been effortless, smooth.
Qi Ji took a seat and ordered a strawberry cheese tea. The drink arrived quickly. Dr. Zhao said, “The materials from Second Young Master’s service were provided by Lian Shao. Today, we want to talk about his experiences.”
Lian Qing chose sweet grapefruit tea, disliking bitterness. “There’s not much left to collect. I’ll share what I know.”
“Alright,” Dr. Zhao prompted. “Can we start with Deputy Captain Wen?”
“Wen Chuming, right?” Lian Qing nodded. “He had a good relationship with Second Young Master. During a leave, Second Young Master even took him around B City.”
Dr. Zhao hesitated. “About that incident back then…”
Lian Qing understood. “I’ve heard a bit. They were on a sea mission. The mission was successful, but during withdrawal, Wen Chuming fell into an ambush. Second Young Master tried to save him but couldn’t.”
His expression darkened.
“Witnesses said the situation was urgent. Wen Chuming pushed Second Young Master into the sea to save himself. The team had insufficient firepower and had to retreat. When they tried to locate Wen Chuming later, he was gone.”
His voice was dry.
“Captured enemies said Wen Chuming was filled with boiling water, tied to stones, and thrown into the sea.”
The room was silent, even breaths barely audible.
“The team searched that area for three days, but found nothing,” Lian Qing sighed.
“In the end, they never recovered Wen Chuming’s body.”
Qi Ji fell silent, the gentle, handsome face of Wen Chuming appearing in his mind. Even knowing some facts, he hadn’t expected such a tragic story.
Dr. Zhao seemed to share the sentiment, pausing before asking, “And Second Young Master…”
Lian Qing nodded. “It hit him hard.”
“That’s why I wanted to tell you—watch his emotions as Wen Chuming’s death anniversary approaches.”
Dr. Zhao was taken aback. “Just now?”
Qi Ji looked at Lian Qing, recalling Pei Yusheng’s recent departure and the brooch he had taken.
Lian Qing nodded. “This Sunday. Three days from now.”
Dr. Zhao furrowed his brows. “Any special reactions in the past?”
“I’m not sure,” Lian Qing said. “Since retiring, he’s rarely been in touch domestically. We didn’t press, not wanting to reopen wounds.”
“But his mother warned a few days ago to watch him. Likely linked to this date.”
Qi Ji remembered meeting Aunt Xu, who had also asked him to look after Pei Yusheng.
Lian Qing continued, “His first episode… was right after retiring. He couldn’t sleep for over half a month, lost control, and drove everyone away, smashing the house.”
Qi Ji clenched his fingers, the warm strawberry tea now bitter in his mouth.
“He was exhausted for three days before being taken to the hospital,” Lian Qing sighed. “So near the anniversary, we wanted to remind you to pay attention.”
Bound by confidentiality, Qi Ji listened quietly. After exchanging further details, Dr. Zhao left to coordinate a targeted plan with colleagues.
As Dr. Zhao was picked up nearby by Li Xinjie, Qi Ji was about to leave when Lian Qing called him back.
“Xiao Qi, here—take this red tea to Second Young Master.”
Lian Qing retrieved the tea, and Qi Ji waited downstairs. The brief flight of stairs made him feel dizzy.
His temples throbbed, heart racing, vision blurred, chest tight. He stepped outside to steady himself.
The cold night air barely cleared his head, only intensifying his discomfort.
When Lian Qing called, he snapped back to reality, receiving two finely packaged boxes.
Coughing softly, he took the tea.
But the moment he held it, he felt a piercing gaze.
Looking up, he saw a young girl in a white cotton dress, smiling sweetly.
She floated like a white butterfly—not toward Qi Ji, but skillfully linking her arm with Lian Qing’s.
“Ah Qing, finally I see you!” she chirped. “I thought I misremembered the time.”
Clearly adept at social skills, even feigning innocence when waiting.
Lian Qing felt guilty. “No, I was delayed by chatting.”
He turned to Qi Ji. “You can head back first.”
As Qi Ji started to leave, the girl glared at him in a shadowed corner.
Qi Ji was keenly perceptive of malice. He felt the hostility piercing, likely the same as earlier when he took the tea.
Yet he didn’t know her, nor was he close to Lian Qing.
After the glare, she returned to smiling brightly, chatting sweetly with Lian Qing.
“Ah Qing, can you make me a grapefruit tea today?”
Confirming he truly hadn’t met her, Qi Ji ignored her and left.
Back at the villa, the house was empty. He stored the tea, sat in the cold living room briefly, then donned his coat and went out.
Pei Yusheng didn’t smoke; the villa had no supplies. Since Qi Ji moved in, all previously stored tobacco had been cleared.
If he wanted to smoke, he had to go buy it himself.
The winter night made even convenience store lights seem pale. He bought a pack, walking silently along the road.
He hadn’t smoked in a long time; chewing tobacco had stopped even earlier. Accompanying Pei Yusheng, he avoided the smell.
But now the craving struck. The phone remained dark, no messages.
—His employer wouldn’t be back tonight.
Not worrying about residual smoke, Qi Ji lit a cigarette with the new lighter.
The harsh tobacco burned his chest with the cold night wind, clearing his foggy mind slightly.
He walked slowly, smoke curling upwards.
Rose Villa wasn’t far from the Pujiang River. Soon he reached the riverside. Night deepened, lights flickered, the area bustling.
Qi Ji avoided the crowd, walking to a quieter edge.
Without lights, the water was dark gray. Smoke drifted and dissipated in the icy wind.
“Cough… cough cough…”
Qi Ji coughed violently. Thinly clothed, nose and ears stung from the cold. The rarely touched tobacco tasted bitter.
He coughed, yet inhaled deeply again.
Like countering poison with poison, the throat itch subdued. Coughs weakened. Damp lashes trembled, and he gazed at the rippling water.
Stars dimmed; he stared at the river, lost in thought.
A massive cargo ship left a long white trail, vanishing quickly.
No matter the grand strokes, the water bore no marks—only the observer remembered.
Lian Qing’s words lingered. Qi Ji recalled that night by the sea with Pei Yusheng, sitting on the sand, listening to waves and wind.
What had Pei Yusheng thought then?
At that time, he had just come to S City, bought a seaside house, and arranged it meticulously. Qi Ji hadn’t considered it before, but now realized the sea must have deep significance for him.
The ash fell, glowing briefly red. Qi Ji rubbed his aching temple.
The night wind was biting, the smoke bitter, but the sharpest pain was in his chest.
It was his own fault.
He couldn’t understand why. He had just learned a tragic story, filling his body with grief and pity for the protagonists. Yet at the same time, selfish, ugly pain surged for himself.
Why?
The one who needed comfort was his grieving employer. The one who should be dutifully working. He knew this clearly, yet in such a difficult moment, he indulged his own desire.
The cigarette burned to the end. He fumbled for another, lighting it, the white smoke leeching heat from his body.
His thoughts remained chaotic, the only clarity being self-reproach. One by one, he smoked, staring at faint red reflections on the water.
Until his phone rang.
The familiar ringtone triggered a shiver through him.
His frozen left hand fumbled twice before grasping the phone.
The caller ID wasn’t familiar—it was an unknown number.
Qi Ji closed his eyes.
Standing at the riverside, his soul felt detached, observing this strange body from above.
The cigarette extinguished. He unlocked the phone with a raspy voice.
“Hello?”
Silence, then a timid young female voice.
“Is this… Qi Ji?”
He frowned, forcing focus. “Yes. Who is this?”
“I…I am…” The voice quivered, hesitant, scared even by Qi Ji’s breathing. “I’m Xia Jing.”
Recognition clicked. “…Cousin?”
Xia Jing was his aunt’s daughter.
By blood, they were close, but after their parents’ deaths, Qi Ji had cut ties with all relatives. He hadn’t contacted this cousin in nearly three years.
The polite “cousin” startled her. She said hurriedly, “Yes, it’s me. Xiao Ji… I didn’t expect you to remember me…”
Qi Ji was preoccupied, cutting to the point: “What is it?”
A deep breath came from the line. Xia Jing stammered, “May I borrow some money?”
Before he could reply, she added, “Not much… two thousand… or one thousand even. I’ll pay it back as soon as I earn it.”
Sure enough, a long-lost relative calling was either for marriage or money.
Out of childhood sentiment, Qi Ji didn’t refuse outright. “What do you need it for?”
Though raised by his aunt, all affection had long worn away. After his parents’ deaths, he severed ties completely.
Xia Jing inhaled again, unable to suppress tears.
“My parents and brother… they passed. I need the money to handle their affairs…” Her voice choked. “I’m sorry, Xiao Ji. I know I shouldn’t bother you, but I have no other way…”
Qi Ji’s breath caught.
Though three years had passed, he hadn’t expected the aunt’s family to be gone.
He looked around, found a wind-sheltered spot, and walked quickly there, voice firm: “What happened?”
With the wind lessening, her voice grew clearer.
“My brother joined some… group, always asking the family for money,” Xia Jing explained, holding back sobs. “Parents gave it, but he wanted more. When they couldn’t give, they all got involved. Eventually, the group demanded they sell the house. Mom refused. My brother threatened, turned on gas… If they didn’t comply, he would kill them.”
“And…” She sobbed. “The valve leaked. My brother left the flame on. They… they…”
Qi Ji frowned. “When did this happen?”
“Last… last week,” Xia Jing stammered.
She hastily added, “I only need the money for the funeral. The authorities caught them, the scammers, the debt collectors… it’s all handled. I’m not lying.”
Qi Ji’s chest jolted.
He removed the phone from his ear, logged into his banking app—his account for regular ten-day transfers. The balance was intact, untouched.
Yet this money should have been withdrawn two days ago.
He checked the old phone—no new messages.
He dialed a number experimentally.
A mechanical voice said the number was invalid.
He paused.
Xia Jing’s weak voice continued, describing the authorities’ investigation and media reports. Qi Ji listened silently, gripping the weathered phone.
The burden of three years, the cause of his parents’ death, the 20 million debt…
Had all… just ended.