Once the words left his mouth, the room fell silent.
No one had expected that the Second Young Master Pei had summoned this particular server—not to “book” him, but to open wine.
That was the first reaction. The second reaction was:
Louis XIII? Ten bottles??
After all, this was the top-tier club in all of S City. Opening expensive bottles to show off was common. For example, the young crowd favored the “Dragon Set,” six bottles of different champagnes opened at once—routine at Hua Ting.
But ten bottles of Louis XIII? That was a completely different scale. Louis XIII, aged at least fifty years in barrels, was the pinnacle of luxury liquor; the price of a single bottle could cover multiple rounds of a Dragon Set.
And now it was ten bottles.
At first hearing, everyone couldn’t believe their ears.
Most of the young guests called here by Lian Qing were second-generation heirs like themselves, accustomed to living off their family’s wealth and yet not capable of independently running businesses. They were aware of money’s value, even as they splurged for fun.
Someone like Pei Yusheng, able to treat Louis XIII like soda, was rare even among the second generation.
Yet the Second Young Master’s voice was low, deliberate, and precise—there could be no mistake. One companion, snapping back to reality, slapped his own thigh:
“Second Young Master is decisive!”
“Impressive, Second Young Master!”
“Ten bottles! Let’s go!”
The others quickly caught on, cheering and even whistling.
Qi Ji, the reluctant center of attention, froze for a moment.
Honestly, he hadn’t expected this. His strongest impression of the new president had been that overpowering, invasive aura—and the earlier deduction of his pay for unapproved absences.
Capitalists embodied capital itself. Qi Ji never imagined he would one day be on the receiving end of such indulgence.
He was close to Pei Yusheng, whose single hand gripped his wrist. Though separated by uniform and bandages, the nearness was uncomfortable, suffocating even.
Moreover, this man carried a natural intimidation.
Pei Yusheng’s grip was precise, palm perfectly covering the bandaged forearm, as if he could sense Qi Ji’s injuries.
Qi Ji frowned inwardly.
In front of this man, he felt utterly exposed. No disguise could hide him.
Beyond the grasp of his wrist, all eyes in the room seemed to crystallize into weight, pressing down on him. The mingled scents in the room made it hard to breathe.
Standing so close, Pei Yusheng’s presence was tangible, as in their first office encounter—an almost fiery aura with a faint trace of aftershave, evoking the warmth of sunlight across a field, a summer breeze.
Gradually, that presence blanketed the room, isolating Qi Ji from the chaos, and he felt a fleeting calm.
“Yes, sir,” Qi Ji replied softly.
He was about to step back when the grip on his wrist tightened sharply.
“…”
Pain shot through him. His lowered eyelashes trembled; he bit his lip and swallowed down a stifled groan.
Pei Yusheng’s palm pressed directly against the bandage. The momentary soft grip had been manageable; now the pressure felt like punishment.
Perhaps sensing his flinch, Pei Yusheng relaxed slightly, letting go of his wrist.
Qi Ji withdrew his arm and bowed lightly. “Please wait a moment.”
He stepped out of the room to retrieve the wine.
Even at Hua Ting, ten bottles of Louis XIII were no small affair. And Pei Yusheng had ordered the most expensive selections, including two Black Pearl Crystal editions. The total cost easily exceeded two million, not including service fees.
Just as Qi Ji reached the first-floor cellar, the manager arrived, hurried by the order.
Lian Qing was already a VIP; now with an order of ten ultra-expensive bottles, the manager dared not slack off. But when he realized the server requested by name was Qi Ji, suspicion crept across his face.
This was a penniless kid who had once owed debts he could only pay with underground boxing earnings—how could he possibly be involved with these wealthy young men?
Yet the order was unmistakable. The manager’s expression soured, recalling his earlier words: “Don’t think leading rich clients around will get you anything.”
Seeing Qi Ji arrive to pick up the bottles, the manager opened his mouth several times, finally gritting out a grudging, “Careful delivering those bottles!”
Qi Ji remained silent. Ten slots of ice boxes were already open. He scanned each bottle’s barcode against his badge in turn.
Each beep of the scanner rang out sharply—ten beeps, each like a slap to the manager’s face. By the tenth, the manager looked almost green.
Once the bottles were logged, they needed to be served at peak quality. Ten ice buckets were quickly arranged. Though Qi Ji alone would open the wine, nine other servers plus three sommeliers assisted, moving as a coordinated team into the room.
Tables had been temporarily cleared, and the manager hustled to greet the guests. He approached the sofa to speak to the primary client—the one who had ordered the wine.
Pei Yusheng lazily lifted his eyelids and smiled faintly.
Before the manager could react, Pei Yusheng stood, walked over, and took the first bottle of Louis XIII from Qi Ji’s ice bucket.
Cold droplets ran down the crystal bottle, leaving a crisp trail. Passing the manager, Pei Yusheng murmured something. The room’s background chatter and music muffled it, even Qi Ji only caught fragments.
The manager’s expression instantly shifted; beads of sweat formed on his shiny temple. He looked at Pei Yusheng, mouth opening, but the man didn’t glance his way again.
“Come here,” Pei Yusheng said, tilting his head at Qi Ji.
As he obeyed, he felt the manager’s tremble at his side.
Holding the ice buckets, ten people assisted, but Qi Ji alone would open the wine. He wiped the bottle with a napkin, prepared a foil cutter, removed the seal, wiped the neck again, and used an Ah-So opener to slowly ease out the cork.
Every motion was fluid and precise, a rhythm of its own. His long, pale fingers, pink at the tips, contrasted sharply against the dark bottles. The wrist bones subtly protruded, disappearing into the neatly tailored sleeve, enticing glances.
By simply standing there, Qi Ji was a striking vision.
Stage-like lighting bathed the room; eyes followed his every move, and even the chatter quieted.
Among all, Pei Yusheng was closest—close enough that a stretch of his hand could have pulled Qi Ji into his arms.
He watched the boy, admiring his delicate silhouette. Though the wine was worth six figures, the boy—unaware of his own allure—was even more tempting.
As the first bottle was opened and taken by a sommelier, Qi Ji moved to the second. Pei Yusheng suddenly stepped behind him.
His arm brushed Qi Ji’s side, almost encircling him, covering his hands.
The touch was cool, slender, yet not weak; soft yet firm, like a boy’s but seasoned by subtle strength.
Qi Ji flinched at the sudden contact and warmth.
This closeness was overwhelming—he could have turned and touched the man. Through the uniform, he could feel Pei Yusheng’s heat.
The hand was a full size larger than his own, enveloping his fingers entirely. Long, strong, faintly veined, palm warm and reassuring, with callused patches that sent a subtle electric tingle to his fingertips.
Qi Ji, sensitive as always, felt the touch prickling like static.
Yet before he could recoil, he recalled the retired special forces soldier who had taught him to fight as a child.
That man had calluses in precisely this spot—“gun calluses.”
And it wasn’t only Qi Ji who was momentarily startled; those around him hadn’t noticed anything unusual.
They were still in a daze when they saw Pei Yusheng holding the server’s hand, guiding it with an almost intimate closeness. With suggestive, deliberate movements, he helped slide the Ah-So opener into the bottle and slowly ease out the cork. The added presence didn’t disrupt the flow at all—the motions remained smooth, perfectly synchronized as if they were one person.
But the difference in their statures meant that, once Pei Yusheng encircled him, no one could see the server’s actions fully anymore.
It was as if he was deliberately hiding the boy in his embrace, forbidding anyone from looking.
The remaining eight bottles of Louis XIII were opened together by Pei Yusheng and Qi Ji. Each bottle, once opened, was handed to one of three sommeliers standing by.
At Hua Ting, such premium wine was typically opened solely by professional sommeliers. This time, Pei Yusheng had specifically designated the server to open the bottles. The club still assigned sommeliers to ensure the guests could enjoy the wine at its absolute best.
The sommeliers’ movements were flawless—decanting, swirling, pouring—each step executed with elegant precision. Decanters, pipettes, the exquisite “Light’s Praise” crystal glasses: every accessory bespoke luxury. Even the simple act of pouring showcased their top-level skill, inspiring admiration for Hua Ting’s pedigree.
With Pei Yusheng’s subtle yet clear attention on Qi Ji, the other guests naturally diverted their gaze, now appreciating the sommeliers’ pouring instead.
Watching the three execute such graceful motions, the rich aroma of the wine spreading through the air, everyone murmured in admiration. Their interest in the tasting increased a notch.
Freed from the weight of the crowd’s eyes, Qi Ji still couldn’t relax.
The pressure came entirely from the man behind him.
This close proximity inevitably reminded Qi Ji of their first office encounter. Despite company rumors and Pei Yusheng’s seemingly casual demeanor, when the man grew serious, his authority and presence were incomparable. Those three years in special forces were evidently no mere anecdote.
And Qi Ji, unused to excessive intimacy, felt this wine service drag on endlessly.
Still, Pei Yusheng’s scent was clean and not unpleasant. His large, warm palms—with those familiar gun calluses—reminded Qi Ji of the retired special forces soldier who had taught him to fight as a child, making the closeness somewhat easier to bear.
Though his back tensed, Qi Ji didn’t overreact.
What surprised him more was that, despite the suggestive positioning, Pei Yusheng never made a single inappropriate move.
From the third bottle onward, once the crowd’s attention shifted to the sommeliers, Pei Yusheng completely took over the opening. To any onlooker, the gesture still appeared intimate—but only Qi Ji, wrapped in his arms, knew that Pei Yusheng was opening the remaining bottles himself, sparing him all effort.
No matter how vigilant, Qi Ji couldn’t fathom the reason behind it: why would this high-and-mighty CEO suddenly take it upon himself to help open the wine?
Qi Ji was used to pain. Though his wrist had flinched earlier from the bandage pinch, he had long since forgotten it.
And in his eyes, Pei Yusheng was hardly the type to show thoughtfulness.
Finally, as the tenth bottle’s rich aroma seeped from the cork, Qi Ji allowed himself a private exhale.
It was nearly over.
Not just the mental pressure—his palms had grown icy from holding the chilled bottles. Though the back of his hands stayed warm, his fingertips had turned pale, almost translucent.
But before relief could fully settle, Pei Yusheng’s voice whispered in his ear, breaking the silence.
“You don’t like being touched?”
The two were so close that the man’s breath brushed against Qi Ji’s neck. The icy chill from the Louis XIII seemed to vanish in an instant, replaced by a flush of warmth across his ears. His sensitive body reacted instinctively, betraying him.
“….”
By the time Qi Ji processed it, it was too late to answer. And he couldn’t think of a proper response anyway—it would have sounded awkward no matter what.
Standing behind him, Pei Yusheng’s expression was hidden; Qi Ji had no idea how much of his reaction was visible. But he didn’t need to answer, because Pei Yusheng continued himself.
With a soft “pop,” the final bottle opened. Pei Yusheng didn’t hand it to a sommelier but held it himself, lowering his gaze to Qi Ji in his arms.
“Want a glass?”
Qi Ji’s eyes fell on the exquisitely crafted crystal, the wine itself almost a work of art.
He hadn’t expected Pei Yusheng to ask.
The man’s low voice lingered at his ear, the suggestion of wine already flowing subtly into him.
“It’s wine. A small sip helps digestion, nourishes the blood, good for the body.”
Qi Ji hesitated.
He didn’t like drinking, but refusal might offend Pei Yusheng—and he had no idea what consequences that could bring. He couldn’t defy his superior, nor could he disrespect a guest in this setting.
Finally, he nodded. “As you wish, sir. I’ll—”
“No need.”
Pei Yusheng’s words cut him off effortlessly.
He didn’t hand the cup to Qi Ji or the sommeliers. With one hand, he took a “Light’s Praise” crystal glass, whose facets glimmered cold and brilliant under the chandelier.
Right hand tilted the bottle, poured with practiced elegance—every movement as skilled as the three professional sommeliers.
Louis XIII’s aroma was delicate; even a small mismeasure could affect the scent. Pei Yusheng didn’t use any of the sommelier’s special pipettes. Yet when finished, the liquid sat precisely at the optimal mark in the crystal. Even the sommeliers couldn’t help but lightly applaud.
The rich aroma wafted instantly. The glass was before Qi Ji.
“…Thank you,” he murmured.
He looked down—the amber liquid bright and rich, the hue alone remarkable.
He sipped a small amount. Sweet, as he liked, with the faint bite of alcohol lingering. Though it was good wine, Qi Ji’s tolerance was low; two sips slowed his motions instinctively.
Pei Yusheng watched closely, noting every subtle change. As Qi Ji hesitated, the glass was quietly taken from him.
Startled, Qi Ji looked up—clear, wide eyes, innocent as a fawn in a distant forest.
Pei Yusheng chuckled softly. “No need to force it.”
He placed a warm, disposable towel in Qi Ji’s empty hand. “Drinking is just leisure, after all.”
A ten-thousand-dollar wine reduced to casual amusement by his words. The towel’s warmth seeped through, chasing away the chill. Qi Ji instinctively held the heat in his palm.
Looking up again, Pei Yusheng had turned his attention elsewhere.
Other guests remained, though many were already tipsy. The ten new bottles had altered the dynamic.
Pei Yusheng now looked at the manager, sweating and fidgety.
“Manager Wang,” he said, his tone leaving no room for boldness, “bring a glass to your boss. Tell him it’s on me.”
“Se…Second Young Master…” The manager paled, drenched in sweat, nearly speechless, almost ready to kneel.
Other servers watched, wide-eyed. Even regular guests noticed the manager’s reaction, grasping the weight of Pei Yusheng’s authority.
With trembling hands, the manager delivered the glass. Harmony returned to the room. Pei Yusheng reclined lazily on the leather sofa, chatting lightly with those nearby, his voice and manner still relaxed.
But no one could forget the previous scene for a long while. Only after another round of wine did the atmosphere ease.
Pei Yusheng called Qi Ji over.
“Get two people and take him to the guest room to rest.”
He handed Qi Ji a room key, indicating the passed-out Lian Qing. Qi Ji led the two servers, helping Lian Qing to the top-floor guest rooms.
Once out of the main room and freed from prying eyes, Pei Yusheng finally took the remaining half-glass himself, savoring it slowly.
Sweet, delicate, with abundant fruit and floral notes, a legacy of over fifty years of barrel aging, its finish lasting nearly an hour.
Pei Yusheng idly held the glass. The Louis XIII bottle’s understated color revealed its brilliance only when poured, the amber liquid glowing warmly—like the boy, layered in subtle allure without realizing it.
Nearly three million spent, yet the generosity showcased the patron’s power. Pei Yusheng remained popular throughout the evening, raising toasts endlessly.
After finishing his half-glass, he didn’t drink further, merely chatting briefly with anyone approaching.
Having opened ten bottles in one go, he drank only what Qi Ji had touched.
As the gathering dispersed, the room became chaotic. Servers assisted guests, while Pei Yusheng, coat slung over his arm, left first.
His phone vibrated.
“Hello?” Connecting via Bluetooth, he asked, “What’s up? Lian Qing?”
A voice, cold and sharp as jade striking stone, replied:
“He’s with me.”
“I handled Wang Zhe. He said he was hired to hassle that kid. With him out, there may be others targeting him.”
“The kid”—of course—was Qi Ji.
“Shift change is approaching. Should someone escort him?”
Pei Yusheng paused. Behind him, the commotion of the room continued. He gestured for servers to clear the remaining drunkards.
Once mostly cleared, he asked, “Qi Ji is connected to that villa?”
Since manager Wang Zhe had targeted someone surnamed Jiang, Qi Ji’s involvement was inevitable.
The voice confirmed his suspicion.
“He’s been to the fighting ring.”
Pei Yusheng considered for a moment. “I’ll go take a look.”
“I’ll send you the exit he’ll take.”
Hanging up, Pei Yusheng separated from the others, heading for the club’s back exit.
Not far along, a message popped up:
【Side door, Exit B.】
He turned toward the side door and, even before the next surveillance alert, spotted his target.
A master of moving-target shooting and long-distance sniping, Pei Yusheng’s vision caught the familiar, slender figure and six hidden, unwelcome figures in the shadowed alley.
One, two, three… six.
Each roughly a hundred meters from Qi Ji, concealed.
Pei Yusheng smirked.
The intel proved unnervingly fast.
Only five hundred meters from the club, the boy was already surrounded.