Aside from the 20 million owed by his parents, Qi Ji still had 10 million to repay Pei Yusheng.
Originally, the exhibition match at the boxing arena had brought in 37 million. Pei had said they would split it in half, and the part-time contract eventually recorded 13.5 million. Calculating the debt at an average of 50,000 every two days, nearly 11 million still remained.
That didn’t even account for interest.
Qi Ji had always kept careful track of his debts. His suggestion to go over the numbers together was merely to give Pei a clear accounting.
Before he could begin, Pei, silent until now, spoke.
“No need to calculate,” he said, his voice low, weighed down by post-injury weakness and fatigue finally surfacing. “Two hundred thirteen days left.”
“…”
Qi Ji was momentarily speechless at the precision of that number. It came out instantly, as if memorized long ago, not computed on the spot.
He looked at Pei.
By now, the outcome was clear. Yet Pei showed no extreme reaction—no disbelief, no coercion, just a calm, rational demeanor that made Qi Ji wonder if he had even understood what he meant.
But soon, he noticed the cold sweat on Pei’s forehead and neck.
The taut, bare skin had lost its color; transparent beads slid down, as if all the accumulated pain had erupted at once, and the man who had been enduring it suddenly lost his defenses.
The pain converged, forming a turbulent cascade.
Qi Ji’s lips opened and closed several times, but no words came out. His own palm, still healing from a previous injury, throbbed, reminding him that the man in front of him was enduring far greater agony.
Yet the man said nothing—not a word of complaint.
And paradoxically, Qi Ji found it impossible not to think about that pain.
A moment of silence passed before Pei finally broke it.
“I know you might want to repay in another way,” he said, anticipating Qi Ji’s thought, “but at your current salary, earning ten million would take no less than 213 days. And that’s without deducting daily expenses and your younger brother’s college fees.”
Having cooled from the earlier rejection, his words left no room for argument. Qi Ji knew he could hardly find a better part-time job than the one he had.
Moreover, no matter how reasonable Pei might seem, in this employment relationship, he was the employer, the one in control. Unless he chose to terminate the contract, Qi Ji couldn’t resign.
In the end, everything returned to its original place.
Pei had matters to attend to and left first. Even injured, he had no time to rest. Qi Ji retrieved the USB drive and returned to the company.
Still, even with matters clarified, he couldn’t shake unease.
The image of Pei’s torn back and the sweat-soaked jaw and throat lingered in his mind. He had a clear, calm answer to Pei’s confession, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Even a small stone, chasing its path, still clings to the warmth of the sun.
After work, Qi Ji unusually skipped overtime and went straight to the villa.
The doors were wide open, people coming and going. Qi Ji realized the villa was being renovated—to remove the cameras Pei’s father had installed.
The morning he had returned, he noticed signs of movement in the living room—now, the entire villa was being overhauled, eliminating all potential surveillance.
Pei was in a small reception room on the third floor, handling documents. This room had seen little use, and fewer cameras had been installed. As Qi Ji entered, Dr. Zhao arrived, and Qi Ji helped reapply Pei’s dressings.
Thanks to the medical gel, the bleeding had stopped, but his back was still a deep red; the tender flesh around the wound made it hard to touch without wincing.
Pei, however, merely breathed heavily, not uttering a sound.
After Dr. Zhao finished, Qi Ji’s back was covered in cold sweat. He handed over the remaining medical tape, only to hear Zhao puzzled: “Hmm, why is there blood on this?”
Qi Ji instinctively checked Pei’s back. “The wound bleeding again?”
But Pei had turned, locking eyes with him. He furrowed his brow and gently clamped Qi Ji’s wrist.
The grip wasn’t strong, and the movement slow; Qi Ji could have easily pulled away. Yet seeing Pei’s jaw tense over the wound, he found himself unable to dodge.
Pei turned his palm over, frowning deeper.
“Your hand is injured?”
Qi Ji realized the row of bleeding marks on his palm—still raw from a previous incident—had split again when he unconsciously clenched while watching Pei’s wound being dressed.
The blood on the tape wasn’t Pei’s—it was his own.
“What happened?” Dr. Zhao peeked over. “When did this happen… why are the nails scraped?”
Qi Ji hurriedly explained: “Nothing serious, just some scratches. The nails were accidental before, already healed.”
Pei frowned. “Why are there two wounds?”
Qi Ji’s palm showed an old and new mark, both from nails. Even disregarding the scratches excuse, the first wound was clearly a few days old.
When had he developed this habit of digging into his palm?
“Last time too… accidentally scratched it… no big deal,” Qi Ji said. He felt embarrassed using his own injury to delay someone so badly hurt.
Pei said nothing, yet never released his wrist.
Dr. Zhao treated the wounds; the nail marks were deeper than Qi Ji let on, and contact with the antiseptic made him shiver in pain. Qi Ji had always been sensitive to pain.
But what truly captured his attention wasn’t the pain, but the hand around his wrist.
Pei’s body heat remained high; the hand felt hot and clinging. The grip wasn’t tight—just enough to help Dr. Zhao stabilize it. Yet the care in Pei’s expression for this small wound outmatched how he looked at his own injuries.
Qi Ji’s fingertips twitched slightly.
Pei noticed immediately: “Hurts?”
Qi Ji hesitated, shaking his head. “No.”
Pei eased his movements, gently taking Qi Ji’s fingers in his other hand, warming the slightly cold tips.
“It’s fine,” he said softly. “Almost done.”
Qi Ji remained silent. His wound might not have been as severe as the motion could suggest, yet the warmth in Pei’s words made his ears burn and tingle.
Once the wounds were dressed, the construction foreman came up to report, then left. Hearing the drill downstairs, Qi Ji asked, “Will this take long?”
Pei replied, “The entire surveillance system is being replaced.”
Qi Ji was surprised. “All of it? I thought just a few cameras…”
“There are new cameras,” Pei said. “But the old system was infiltrated internally; even replacing the software would leave backdoors. Better to install a completely new system.”
Qi Ji blinked. “Infiltrated internally?”
Pei nodded, expression cold. “By Zhou Li.”
Though the system itself was secure, Zhou had villa access. With technical support from Pei Xiaolin, he had hacked the security system.
Qi Ji froze, remembering the name.
“Assistant Zhou? He…”
“He works for my father,” Pei said quietly. “When I returned to Yun Tu to work, my father disagreed. The terms I negotiated were to handle the Jiang family and accept Zhou Li as CEO’s assistant.”
From the start, Zhou had been part of Pei Xiaolin’s surveillance plan.
Qi Ji recalled what Chen Zixuan said—Zhou Li was more mysterious than Pei, never involved in Xinghai’s operations. Now it made sense.
The sound of drilling downstairs returned. Qi Ji asked, worried about Pei’s rest: “Will the renovation continue tonight?”
“Work stops at eleven,” Pei said.
“And for tonight’s rest…”
Dr. Zhao, having packed up, said: “Pei’s injuries are on his back; he can’t sleep in a normal bed. Tonight, he’ll rest at the medical facility.”
Unlike the last psychiatric care center, this facility specializes in treating physical injuries.
Qi Ji packed up and accompanied him to the recovery center.
To be honest, although the part-time arrangement had been agreed upon to continue as usual, Qi Ji still hesitated a little when he thought about the “sleeping over” matter from that morning.
Going to the recovery center this time gave him a temporary buffer.
In the following days, Qi Ji resumed his role as caretaker, staying overnight just as he had before, sharing the room but sleeping in separate beds. As time passed, Pei Yusheng’s injuries gradually healed, and Qi Ji’s own unease slowly faded.
They returned to their previous rhythm.
Qi Ji would stay overnight, while during the day he continued with his work. At Yun Tu, although Pei wasn’t in the office full-time yet, his CEO assistant had quietly been replaced.
The new assistant wasn’t a newcomer—it was the former CEO’s assistant, Shang Te. After the previous CEO left, Shang Te had gone abroad for a fellowship; now, he returned to take over Zhou Li’s former position.
Shang Te was familiar with Yun Tu and had good relations throughout the company. He needed little adjustment and immediately got to work, smoothly coordinating with Pei. Compared with the always cold Zhou Li, everyone naturally preferred this familiar face.
Privately, Chen Zixuan had even complained to Qi Ji and Li Anbei that Zhou Li always seemed like a placeholder assistant, and once the “real” one returned, he’d inevitably be replaced. Many shared the same impression. Even after leaving, Zhou had left behind almost no information; everyone still knew nothing about him.
Mysterious, like a mannequin—this was Chen Zixuan’s verdict.
Qi Ji agreed.
Previously, because of Pei, he’d been a little mentally unsteady. At the tea lounge, a few pointed words had sent him into a fluster. But looking back, Qi Ji felt Zhou Li’s behavior that day had been overly theatrical.
In Li Anbei’s words: “very dramatic.”
Though Qi Ji hadn’t studied him deeply, working in the same company meant some unavoidable interactions. He didn’t know Zhou well, but he could tell Zhou’s conduct that day didn’t match his usual personality—especially since Zhou and Qi Ji had no real conflict.
Not only were his entrance and departure mysterious, but even Zhou’s mocking of Qi Ji that day seemed artificial.
As Qi Ji regained his composure, he realized the words Zhou used had many inconsistencies.
For instance, the snack proposal selection had been blind—no personal info involved. Multiple proposals were considered, but Qi Ji’s just happened to be received best and gradually evolved into a long-term project.
Pei could give Qi Ji’s proposal a leg up but couldn’t influence subsequent development.
Qi Ji let it go, refocusing on his own work.
Soon, winter break arrived.
Although there were still supplementary lessons, Qi Mingyu had moved back home. With him around, Qi Ji couldn’t stay out constantly, and had to take more leave from Pei.
Sometimes, Qi Ji would work overtime during the day and return home at night, even going two or three days without seeing Pei. Their interactions, already back to a former routine, became even less frequent.
Qi Ji felt this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
During the first week of Qi Mingyu’s break, Qi Ji stayed home for over half the nights. Pei said nothing, but on the last two days, he resumed calling Qi Ji at night.
Qi Ji felt he should return to the villa for a few days. Pei no longer needed to stay at the recovery center, but his injuries still required extended care.
Before Qi Ji could mention weekend overtime to Qi Mingyu, his brother beat him to it:
Eric was coming to S City again—this time for a large, multi-school lecture. Qi Mingyu was responsible for hosting him.
Eric, the Ukrainian mathematician Qi Mingyu had met by chance during the IMO in Argentina, was internationally renowned, but rarely visited Asia. Last time, invited by Old Master Xue, he only attended a half-day meeting. This time, he was giving a full lecture, drawing far more attention, including inquiries from renowned professors wanting to interact with him.
Even more commercial companies sought to collaborate with him.
For a high school student like Qi Mingyu to serve as Eric’s local guide was truly lucky. Beyond Eric, he could meet other academic figures.
Qi Ji was genuinely happy for him.
The lecture was at F University. When Qi Mingyu suggested Qi Ji accompany him, Qi Ji hesitated but ultimately gave up the idea of staying with Pei, agreeing to go with his brother instead.
After all, such an opportunity was rare.
The lecture was in the morning, followed by a lunch banquet, and then an afternoon exchange session. Qi Ji was surprised by the scale—it was far grander than expected. The familiar auditorium, seating thousands, was decorated magnificently, with numerous commercial sponsors.
One of the biggest sponsors was Xinghai.
The reason for this treatment, besides Eric’s academic accomplishments, was his creation of a coding scheme a few years ago. Eric specialized in mathematics and independently proposed polar coding theory—a powerful framework in mobile communications.
In other words, polar codes had immense commercial value.
This was why so many companies were interested in the lecture.
The brochures and posters highlighted this, and Qi Ji grew increasingly impressed, feeling proud that his brother could meet such a luminary.
During the lecture, Qi Mingyu stayed close to Eric, acting as his interpreter, in the best position to observe and assist. Qi Ji admired his brother’s skill.
After the lecture, they went to a nearby five-star hotel for lunch. Attendees included Eric’s team, professors, and outstanding students. The lunch was lavish, with expensive drinks, and free for all guests—again thanks to sponsorship.
Even knowing some background, Qi Ji marveled at the generosity, aware from his experience at Yun Tu’s events that this level of spending was significant, reflecting both Eric’s value and the sponsor’s generosity.
Half a year of work had shifted Qi Ji’s perspective—he couldn’t help thinking in terms of company strategy among all these numbers-obsessed professors and students.
Yet he kept these thoughts to himself, quietly grabbing a few plates from the buffet, planning to enjoy the meal silently. After all, he wasn’t a mathematics expert and couldn’t contribute meaningfully.
But his “free meal plan” was interrupted when he spotted a familiar figure at the dessert counter.
Qi Ji froze.
Instinctively, he checked the packaging—no markings, certainly nothing saying “Produced by Wonder.”
Yet the man standing beside him was unmistakably Pei Yusheng.
“…Pei is here?”
“This banquet is sponsored by Xinghai,” Pei said.
After a few days apart, he looked calm, showing no sign of resentment at Qi Ji’s recent absences. He even helped Qi Ji reach a piece of Black Forest cake placed high on the shelf.
“…Thank you, Pei,” Qi Ji said stiffly. “Are you here to collaborate with Professor Eric?”
“Yes,” Pei replied. “For research on polar codes. Xinghai has been funding his university, but some patents are still tricky to use. I came to discuss collaboration.”
Qi Ji was puzzled. “Does it require you to come in person?”
“Polar code applications are highly valuable and a project Xinghai wants to sign. But Eric isn’t keen on commercial partnerships from Xinghai. I came to show sincerity.”
Eric’s reluctance wasn’t due to commercialization—his team also operated under corporate sponsorship—but his ideology and the international perception of Xinghai created resistance. Previous collaboration requests were ignored.
Pei had to come in person this time.
Qi Ji finally understood. Seeing that Pei was here for business, he relaxed—no longer feeling like he’d been caught taking too much leave.
Before he could fully exhale, Pei said, “I didn’t know you’d be here. With so many people, it’s hard to find you, so I came to the dessert area.”
He smiled. “And here you are.”
Qi Ji: “….”
It wasn’t an illusion—he had been caught.
“Go ahead with your work first. Aren’t you here for collaboration?” Qi Ji said dryly.
Pei, having teased him enough, nodded. “Right, I’ll head over.”
Qi Ji nodded, but Pei asked, “Do you know where your brother is?”
“Mingyu?” Qi Ji pointed. “He’s over there translating for Professor Eric. Why do you ask?”
“Eric has strong biases and rarely visits Asia,” Pei explained. “We planned to approach his team first, but upon learning he came at a friend’s invitation, we adjusted our strategy—first influence his friends, then discuss collaboration.”
Naturally, those friends were Professor Xue and Qi Mingyu.
Before Professor Xue arrived, Qi Mingyu became Pei’s first target. Qi Ji found it surprising that Pei could connect with Mingyu—what a small world.
With Qi Ji pointing the way, Pei went toward Mingyu. Coincidentally, Eric had gone to the restroom, leaving Mingyu alone, so Pei could speak to him directly.
Mingyu reacted more calmly than Qi Ji had anticipated.
Pei’s assistant explained the purpose. Mingyu listened, noncommittal, and said: “Can I speak with you alone?”
The assistant glanced at Pei, received approval, and left.
Mingyu swirled his drink, the light refracting through the clear liquid, yet the brightness didn’t compare to the calm, composed look in his eyes.
He looked at Pei, raising an eyebrow. “He confessed to you?”
Like last time, Mingyu immediately dropped a bombshell—but this time, its impact was even greater.
Pei paused. “This is your assumption?”
It couldn’t have come from Qi Ji himself.
Mingyu slowly sipped his drink—water, though he held it like fine wine.
“It’s a fact.”
Compared to before, he seemed completely composed, almost a different person.
After all, fortunes turn.
Pei said nothing. Mingyu didn’t either, first glancing toward Qi Ji.
Qi Ji, already having picked up dessert, focused on selecting soup, oblivious to the subtle tension across the hall.
Mingyu withdrew his gaze, then looked at Pei again, smiling.
Though he and Qi Ji shared strong resemblance, his smile lacked any meekness, only giving a mischievous impression.
“He rejected you, didn’t he?”
Pei Yusheng: “….”