Late-morning sunlight at a little past ten filtered through double-pane glass and sheer white curtains, illuminating the quiet room in crystal clarity—
Clothes were strewn across the living room floor. Further in, the bedroom door hadn’t been closed, and more clothes lay scattered on the floor, along with shoes—one by the doorway, the other completely elsewhere near the nightstand. A corner of a thin blanket draped down from the bed, which was made with white sheets.
On the bed, beneath the soft, thin quilt, were two pairs of bare feet—different in skin tone and size, yet equally naked.
The four feet lay close together, the tops of them pointing in the same direction.
Above them rose the undulating outlines of bodies beneath the covers.
There were two men lying in the bed.
Neither was awake; both were still fast asleep.
One of the men, with the darker complexion, had an arm tucked beneath the neck of the paler man. His other hand rested outside the quilt, draped over the younger man in an intimate embrace.
The younger man being held had several ambiguous red marks on the neck and shoulder exposed above the covers.
The air still carried the lingering scent of sex.
More than enough to suggest what had taken place in this hotel suite the night before.
At the same time, downstairs at the hotel entrance, a Rolls-Royce slowly pulled up to the wide revolving doors. A bellhop in uniform and white gloves hurried over and opened the rear door. A fashionably dressed, youthful-looking woman stepped out.
She glanced at the hotel entrance, her expression saying: Oh, so this is the place.
Then a man stepped out from the other side of the car. The woman smiled at him. “Honey, let’s go up.”
They entered the hotel together, the woman linking her arm through the man’s as they headed straight for the elevators—
Luo Zhenting, chairman and CEO of the multinational Leo Group, and for the past two years, Asia’s richest man.
At his side was his wife, Ju Yaxin.
According to official figures, the couple’s combined net worth was approximately 750 billion, ranking them at the top of Asia’s rich list.
They had two sons.
The eldest, Luo Feng.
The younger, Luo Xiao.
Luo Feng aside, Luo Xiao had been giving Luo Zhenting and Ju Yaxin headaches for the past two years.
Ever since graduating from Stanford at twenty-two, over the last six or seven years he’d had no proper job, instead “wandering” around.
Yes—wandering. In the eyes of his own mother, Ju Yaxin, that’s exactly what it was. Hiking, traveling the world—just nicer words for it.
Every time she saw Luo Xiao, wasn’t he dusty and scruffy?
Asia’s richest man’s precious son?
Purely a drifter.
Ju Yaxin got a headache every time she saw him.
This time, they both happened to be in C City, and they were meeting again. Ju Yaxin had already made up her mind: she had to talk to him again, no matter what.
She wasn’t even asking him to get a serious job—could he at least stop being a drifter?
What kind of son was this?
A perfectly good rich second-generation heir, refusing to be one, insisting on being a drifter instead.
A headache.
Ju Yaxin said nothing while holding Luo Zhenting’s arm in the elevator.
But once they stepped out, the elegant woman in her tailored suit and long curls spoke gently yet firmly to her husband.
“No. Even knowing Luo Xiao will find me annoying, I still have to say it.”
“If he insists on hiking, can’t he at least hike looking handsome?”
“Every day he looks like a homeless man.”
“Just looking at him gives me a headache.”
“I raised such a fine son—every piece of clothing he wore growing up was Chanel or Hermès—and now that he’s grown up, instead…”
She complained all the way.
Then she added, “He’s already twenty-eight. No dating, no marriage.”
“If Luo Feng doesn’t date, fine—he’s busy with work.”
“But how can Luo Xiao not date?”
“No! He has to start dating!”
“Before thirty, no matter what, he has to get married…”
Talking like this, the couple arrived at the door of Room 2028.
Just as Luo Zhenting was about to knock, he noticed that the bedroom door of 2028 was ajar, not locked.
The lock seemed broken or low on power, emitting a faint beeping alarm.
What…?
Luo Zhenting and Ju Yaxin exchanged a puzzled look.
Why wasn’t the door locked?
Knowing they were coming, did he deliberately leave it open?
“Luo Xiao?”
Ju Yaxin knocked lightly and pushed the door open as she spoke.
She stepped inside, about to say, “Your door isn’t closed,” and froze.
Because she saw the clothes on the floor.
Luo Zhenting, entering right behind her, saw them too—and stopped short as well.
The couple exchanged another look.
This…?
Something’s not right!
Those clothes clearly didn’t belong to just one person!
Could it be…!?
Ju Yaxin’s expression shifted with realization.
Then, instantly, it turned into joy.
So Luo Xiao isn’t alone after all!?
At that moment, a hoarse voice cut through the room, thick with shock and confusion:
“Who the hell are you!?”
Ju Yaxin heard it and froze: “?”
Luo Zhenting: “!”
“Luo Xiao?”
Both Ju Yaxin and Luo Zhenting called out tentatively, but neither moved forward—they didn’t want to intrude at such a delicate moment.
Inside the bedroom, on the bed, a fair-skinned young man huddled under the blanket, eyes wide with shock and confusion, staring at the man standing by the bed with a large towel wrapped around his waist.
It was Luo Xiao.
He raised both hands in a “calm down, I’m not coming closer” gesture, then glanced toward the living room—he’d heard Ju Yaxin and the others, but ignored them.
Returning his gaze to the young man on the bed, Luo Xiao asked, “You don’t remember?”
Wen Ran froze: “…”
“I…”
“You…”
Wen Ran stammered for a while but couldn’t get a coherent sentence out; his face flushed crimson.
He remembered—yesterday, he had gone to a bar with Shang Ge.
The day before, Wen Ran slumped over his desk in frustration—his latest chapter had been rejected by the editor again.
The editor said the plot was dull, the characters’ conflicts insufficient, the pacing like a mundane diary.
Wen Ran couldn’t help but feel depressed.
He leaned back, gave up drawing for a moment, and sent Shang Ge a message: [Got a knife?]
[Bring it.]
[Stab me.]
[I seriously don’t want to keep going.]
Shang Ge responded instantly: [Penguin shaking cocktail.jpg]
[Hey, it’s not a big deal.]
[Just a bad chapter.]
[Let’s quit.]
[Fire the editor straight away.]
Wen Ran: [Talk realistically.]
Shang Ge: [Then come out and have fun.]
[Change the mood.]
[Drink a bit?]
Wen Ran: [Okay.]
Shang Ge: [Location.]
[Come at nine.]
[I’ll wait.]
[Oh, and dress a little flashy.]
Wen Ran: [Stockings?]
Shang Ge: [Sure.]
Wen Ran: [Smile.jpg]
[Yeah right.]
[Put it on your head.]
Shang Ge: [Stick out tongue slightly.jpg]
After confirming with Shang Ge, Wen Ran reopened his computer to glance at the chapter the editor had rejected.
He admitted—the story was indeed flat, lacking conflict. But he wasn’t writing palace intrigue or martial arts—just a cute slice-of-life comic.
Wen Ran felt his hair thinning. He closed the tablet, pushed the computer aside.
Wen Ran, 24, from C City, a webcomic artist, wasn’t famous online and relied on comics for a modest living. Fortunately, his family was well-off. His mother, Wen Pingping, still gave him some monthly allowance and had provided him a house and car after graduation, letting him work comfortably.
Of course, there were strings attached.
Mom had already sent him another set of matchmaking photos:
[Photos] [Photos] [Photos]
[See any you like?]
[All from your aunts’ friends.]
[Good backgrounds, decent jobs.]
Wen Ran sighed deeply at the island counter while drinking water.
He couldn’t ignore her, so he carefully typed: [Later, Mom.]
[I’m swamped with chapters.]
[Editor not satisfied.]
[Need to redraw.]
No sooner had he sent it than a 60-second voice note popped up. Wen Ran’s scalp nearly tingled—why a 60-second voice note instead of text?
He converted it to text and saw the usual nagging: Wen Ran was always slacking off, never paying attention to relationships, doomed to be alone every year, while others paired up. Why not seize youth and find a good man before it’s too late?
Wen Ran knew the drill. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to date—he simply couldn’t find anyone.
He reluctantly typed back: [Got it, okay, I understand. I’ll follow your advice.]
Setting the phone aside, Wen Ran thought: maybe he really hadn’t achieved much. His university peers were doing well, while he was scraping by, drawing comics.
But he quickly comforted himself: whatever, this is the path I chose. If it fails, I’ll deal with it later.
He rummaged through the fridge for yogurt and snacks, nestling into his bedroom to binge snacks and watch anime.
At night, with a belly full of snacks, Wen Ran drove to the new bar to meet Shang Ge.
Upon entering, a few patrons glanced at him frequently, but Wen Ran ignored them, heading straight in.
He met Shang Ge, who was already at the high table, dressed flamboyantly, and sipping a low-alcohol cocktail. Leaning close, Shang Ge whispered excitedly:
“Just saw your type!”
“Tall, broad shoulders, double-breasted, so manly! And such a skin tone difference!”
“Exactly like the characters you draw in… well, the adult ones!”
Wen Ran nearly choked.
“My comics are normal!” he protested, “I just… occasionally draw…”
Occasionally draw… colored illustrations featuring guys with noticeably different body types, in various scenarios—explicit parts pixelated.
Wen Ran muttered: “Too much stress from rejected chapters makes me want to let loose.”
Shang Ge looped an arm around his neck, leaning in: “Why pixelate? Pixel yourself!” He gestured around: “All men, pure gay, pick a handsome one, sleep, relax, break your 24-year-old virginity.”
Wen Ran’s single line stopped Shang Ge: “Excuse me?”
“Eh~” Shang Ge sipped, awkward: “Some things need fate.”
“Waiting for you to go first.”
“You first.”
They clinked glasses.
Shang Ge glanced at him: “Too bad for that face of yours.”
“If I were you, I’d have started sleeping with men in college.”
“Start with the son of the richest guy in Asia!”
“Not a rich kid? Fine.” Wen Ran opened his phone: “Check my latest drawing—pretty good, right?”
Shang Ge got excited instantly: “Love that pose!! The bottom guy on top!!”
Drinking and watching adult art in a bar—rare in that place.
What they didn’t notice: not far away, someone was looking at them constantly.
Luo Xiao was tapped on the shoulder by Zhang Zuming: “Bro, what are you looking at?”
Just as he had turned away, Luo Xiao glanced again: “There, those two, at the high table, looking at the phone together.”
“Ah.” Zhang Zuming looked and nodded: “So?”
“Do you know them?”
Luo Xiao asked because Zhang Zuming was the bar owner.
“What’s the big deal?”
Zhang Zuming casually pulled out his phone: “Wait, I’ll get their WeChat.”
Before leaving: “Which one are you into?”
Luo Xiao didn’t need to ask.
The one in the white shirt, obviously.
“Wait here.” Zhang Zuming walked quickly toward them.