Qi Ji had thought it was already about as unlucky as one could get when the company president caught him moonlighting, but he hadn’t expected things to get even worse.
Because he had refused to continue competing at the fighting arena, the manager’s attitude toward him had already soured noticeably this time at Hua Ting. Qi Ji, however, was thorough and precise in his work, leaving the manager with no obvious faults to pick, and he had expected to get through the week without incident.
Yet he hadn’t anticipated the manager would throw a tantrum the night before payroll, changing the rules without warning.
Qi Ji’s role at Hua Ting was serving drinks, not entertaining. The pay was generous and calculated weekly; two weeks of work could cover Qi Mingyu’s overseas competition fees.
It was far from an easy job.
Beyond appearance and etiquette, Qi Ji’s greatest advantage was his phenomenal memory. Hua Ting was one of S City’s most luxurious clubs, with a vast variety of premium alcohol. Just for wine alone, there were hundreds of labels across nearly a hundred brands. Most bottles had labels in foreign languages—English, French, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese. For an ordinary server, remembering all of that was a massive task.
Add to that the different ideal serving temperatures, special decanting methods, appropriate glassware, and mixers for each drink… following the proper procedure usually required four to five months of training and passing three rigorous exams with at least a 90% score to go on the floor.
Qi Ji, however, had watched all the training videos in just two nights, practiced for three more, then passed three consecutive exams in a single week—earning his official badge in record time.
Training came unpaid, so every day counted.
With prior certification, Qi Ji started on the floor immediately, performing the same duties as before.
But after six days, just before payroll, the manager suddenly imposed a new condition.
“You must open 200,000 worth of drinks this week. If you don’t, don’t even think about getting paid.”
Qi Ji froze.
The manager had never mentioned a quota before. Tonight alone, he had only served under 50,000 worth. Expecting him to meet 200,000 by tomorrow was impossible.
“Manager, you never mentioned a 200,000 quota…” Qi Ji tried to protest.
“Don’t waste my time,” the manager snapped. “Hit that 200,000 or you won’t see a dime tomorrow.”
“But I still have my base pay—”
“Cut the crap! You think just chatting with a client gives you skill?”
He was referring to Qi Ji guiding Lian Qing back to the room.
The corridor had excellent sound insulation, and the camera in the corner was broken, so the manager raised his voice.
“Don’t think leading rich people around will earn you brownie points. Finish the task, or don’t even think about your pay!”
He then pulled a new badge with a barcode from his pocket and tossed it at Qi Ji.
“Switch to this one. Don’t let me catch you using someone else’s drinks to inflate your numbers, understand?”
Qi Ji took the new badge; the cold, sharp corner dug into his palm. Under the manager’s pressure, he lowered his head to swap it.
The old badge collected, the manager snorted and left without another word.
Qi Ji stood there, hair falling over his forehead, teeth biting his lower lip until it bled bright red.
Warm light from above could not add warmth to his pale skin.
Days of working the day job, moonlighting, and finishing design commissions before dawn had left him sleeping less than three hours a night.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out. At the top of the screen was a new email alert.
From the International Mathematical Olympiad: “Reminder: 2 days left until registration and payment deadline…”
A few bytes in memory, yet the weight felt like the last straw on his fragile, emaciated shoulders.
Qi Ji stared at the screen, unblinking, until it went black.
A crystal-clear droplet slid down, splashing softly on the surface below.
Under the warm golden light, the boy raised his hand and silently wiped his eyes. Wet streaks marked the pale back of his hand, veins faintly visible beneath the skin.
From start to finish, he had been so quiet, so utterly still that even his shallow, hurried breaths made no sound.
Suddenly, he lifted his head, frowning down the corridor.
The bright passage was empty, only the ornate decorations gleaming coldly.
…No one.
Perhaps it was an illusion. He lowered his gaze, pocketed the phone, and glanced down at the barcode badge on his chest.
Closing his slightly darkened eyes, he took a long, deep breath.
When Pei Yusheng returned to the private room, Lian Qing, who had been sent back earlier, was unconscious on the sofa.
Others, tired of singing and not wanting to disturb Lian Qing, had moved on to other games.
The lights were brighter now, with empty bottles scattered on the table. Drinks from the second round were served, and more attendants arrived. The last one was still familiar.
Pei Yusheng noticed him: head lowered, thick lashes casting shadows over delicate eyes, still quiet, looking obedient and gentle.
Pei Yusheng brushed his upper lip with his fingers.
The boy’s fair skin made the faint redness at the corners of his eyes stand out even more—enough to make one imagine how moving it would look if tears fell there.
Ice cubes clinked in the glasses. Pei Yusheng leaned an arm on the back of the sofa, glancing down at the boy’s badge.
Earlier, standing in the corner, Pei had overheard the manager and Qi Ji but hadn’t seen their actions clearly. He remembered Qi Ji’s previous badge only had identification numbers—no barcode.
Coincidentally, a companion came to toast, a playful young rich man. Pei Yusheng raised his glass, chatting casually, then casually asked about the badge with the barcode.
The companion, who had been to Hua Ting more often, glanced at Qi Ji and said knowingly, “Oh, that’s a mission badge. It means this server has a mandatory drink quota to complete. The barcode has to be scanned with the bottle’s barcode each time a drink is served, so the system can track the quota.”
Pei Yusheng thought for a moment. “Not all servers have a drink mission?”
The companion, eager to chat, elaborated: “No, ordinary servers just have a minimum quota. If they don’t meet it, they might lose a little bonus. But a mission badge is different—the target is set impossibly high. The only way to reach it is if a client is willing to order specifically from that server.”
He smiled. “So even though it’s not openly advertised, hanging the barcode basically signals availability. Scan it, and you can see the price. Regulars know exactly what it means.”
Pei Yusheng’s fingers tightened around the glass he was holding, his light-colored eyes darkening as he glanced at Qi Ji.
The companion didn’t notice, swirling his own glass. “Also, the badge means the server hasn’t done any accompanying yet. Interested clients can pick them. Some think the usual accompanying servers are overexposed, so they purposely choose someone fresh, like this one.”
He chuckled, recalling that Pei Yusheng hadn’t ordered any accompanying servers since arriving and had shown interest in the badge. “So… Second Young Master, are you planning to pick this server?”
The young man, like other second-generation heirs, was open-minded. Gender didn’t matter; their previous choices had included both male and female servers—it was all just for fun.
The companion looked toward the boy serving drinks and stroked his chin. “He does look good. Are you really going to order him?”
In fact, it wasn’t just the two talking; several other partially sober guests had noticed Qi Ji.
During the first round, dim lighting had obscured him, but now, in the brighter light, his features were visible—and instantly drew attention.
Even among the colorful crowd of accompanying servers, he stood out the most.
And now he had a badge with a visible price.
Though still in his server uniform, the guests understood. Many were already watching him with keen interest, while the accompanying servers—whether sultry, coquettish, or delicate—cast guarded or envious glances.
Just as the companion finished speaking, Pei Yusheng smiled.
He had long been known as the “Second Young Master,” but meeting him in person confirmed his aura: someone from an even higher circle. Wealth could fluctuate, but charm and composure could not be faked.
No wonder so many had offered him toasts tonight, attending a dinner originally out of respect for the Pei and Lian families.
And now, with that smile, the companion could feel not only his presence but also the striking force of his looks.
The man’s lips curved, expression languid yet commanding, his handsome features catching the light. Half-reclined on the sofa, he seemed as if he were standing under a spotlight on stage.
He raised a crystal-clear glass, tilting it slightly toward the server under everyone’s gaze.
“Come here.”
The low, magnetic voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through all the noise. Qi Ji, who had just set down a bottle, paused, looking toward him. Hesitant, he ultimately walked over under that steady gaze.
He stopped half a meter from the sofa. As soon as he did, the man stood.
The tall figure instantly radiated overwhelming pressure. The next second, his right hand extended, and Qi Ji instinctively held his breath.
Yet the cuffed, defined wrist merely brushed past him, placing the swaying crystal glass on the coffee table.
Qi Ji thought he’d imagined it. Just as he exhaled slightly, his spine stiffened again.
The man’s gaze was now fixed squarely on him.
Less than half a step apart, the closeness was ambiguous, almost intimate. Qi Ji could even sense the man’s presence above his head—and hear a low, reverberating laugh that made his eardrums tingle.
Qi Ji clenched his palms.
For a fleeting moment, he felt like prey, immobile, observed with deliberate, satisfied interest.
The sensation made him instinctively step back, wanting to escape the threatening magnetism. Yet before he could move, the man’s hand reached for him again.
This time, not a glass.
A long, strong hand grasped Qi Ji’s wrist, the span covering half his forearm.
Like shackles, like restraints impossible to break.
The room’s noise faded, leaving a sudden, profound silence.
From the moment Pei Yusheng spoke, all eyes had turned. Seeing him speak, most guests, though disappointed, lost interest in competing and didn’t attempt to approach him.
The accompanying servers, relieved it wasn’t their clients, felt a momentary ease. But upon seeing the man’s face, envy flared again—why wasn’t it them he had chosen?
Everyone assumed Pei Yusheng had his eyes on this server, planning to claim him.
And Pei Yusheng’s next action confirmed it.
He stood before the boy, holding the slender arm. One sweep of his hand could easily draw him into his embrace.
Yet in that quiet, tense moment, in front of all eyes, Pei Yusheng’s words were simply—
“Ten bottles of Louis XIII. You open them.”