Sui Ran tossed out the 2-dot tile, but Qiao Jin still didn’t respond.
Fu Linxiao was about to draw, but Sui Ran stopped him and nudged Qiao Jin: “Push it if you’re ready. Stop trying to wait for the perfect draw.”
Qiao Jin glanced at him, then stared at his tiles for another moment before finally pushing his hand forward. “Win.”
“Damn,” Fu Linxiao retracted his hand and laughed. “This is straight-up favoritism.”
Sui Ran flipped his tiles face down and pushed them away, grinning with narrowed eyes. “President Qiao really has luck on his side tonight.”
Coming out of the bathroom, Lu Pingzhang heard that familiar “President Qiao” echo from down the hallway.
He instinctively slowed his pace, listening in.
Inside, someone was saying, “My company happens to be short of a human resources manager—President Qiao, when are you coming to help us out?”
HR… President Qiao. Those two words together set off alarm bells. Lu Pingzhang stopped walking.
Bei Kaiyuan looked at him, puzzled. “Someone you know in there? Want to take a look?”
Lu Pingzhang figured it probably wasn’t Qiao Jin. He glanced at the time—9 p.m.
Qiao Jin was likely done with his shower by now, curled up on the hanging chair by the window, reading a book. Beside him might be a cup of hot water, or maybe a few mandarins.
Even as he told himself otherwise, Lu Pingzhang’s legs refused to move. He tilted his head and peeked through the crack in the door.
The person sitting with their back to the entrance had jet-black hair. As they leaned forward, the back of their neck came into view—fair, smooth, and somehow even more striking than the crisp white collar of their shirt.
Every time he reached for a tile, his shoulders moved just slightly, tracing a line from his long fingers to the curve of his waist—a line fluid and uninterrupted.
Lu Pingzhang recognized Qiao Jin’s silhouette immediately.
He reached out and pushed the door open.
Everyone at the table froze and turned to look toward the door.
Qiao Jin, unaware of the growing tension, turned to look too.
Lu Pingzhang stood at the threshold, his gaze slowly sweeping across the room. In the dim, ambiguous lighting of the hallway, his expression turned sharp and dangerous, so cold it was hard to meet his eyes.
Qiao Jin stared back at him, body slightly twisted in his seat, seemingly frozen.
Standing behind him, Lu Pingzhang’s shadowed gaze shifted slightly and landed on Fu Linxiao.
“Fu Linxiao, right?” he said, voice low as his eyes dropped to him. “Gambling, whoring, drinking, partying—which of those have you dragged him into?”
Startled, Fu Linxiao jumped to his feet, knocking over the tiles in front of him.
The commotion made Qiao Jin press his lips together tightly. He shot a cold glance at Lu Pingzhang. “I came here on my own. This has nothing to do with anyone else.”
Worried things might escalate, Bei Kaiyuan hurried in to smooth things over: “…Oh, Qiao Jin’s here too? Perfect timing—we’ve got a table open on our side. Come join us?”
Lu Pingzhang turned back to Qiao Jin.
Their eyes met. After a long beat, Qiao Jin asked, “Am I not allowed to come here?”
His skin and lips looked paler than usual tonight—maybe it was just the lighting in the room.
He didn’t fit in here at all, and yet, here he was.
He sat casually, but the clean line of his shoulders and neck only emphasized the elegance of his build—a stark contrast to the decadence of the place.
Lu Pingzhang’s temples throbbed. He took a deep breath, trying to rein in the anger bubbling under his composure.
Bei Kaiyuan’s phone rang. He picked it up and spoke quickly: “Yeah, come over. Ran into someone we know. We’re in…”
He stepped out to check the room number. “206. Come on, we need one more for the table.”
Before he could hang up, Lu Pingzhang took a deep breath and asked Qiao Jin, “Are you coming or not?”
Everyone at the table looked around at each other—no one dared speak.
Qiao Jin didn’t flinch. He kept his eyes on Lu Pingzhang, calm and steady, like a quiet winter night blanketed in snow.
Lu Pingzhang shifted slightly, his voice heavy with pressure. “Or are you planning not to come home tonight?”
The silence in the room was thick and stifling—but thankfully, it didn’t last long.
Qiao Jin rose in front of everyone, composed and polite. “Let’s play again another time,” he said to Fu Linxiao and Sui Ran. “I’m heading home.”
Lu Pingzhang’s eyes locked on him, and the words another time made his expression grow even darker.
He turned and walked out first. Qiao Jin followed quietly behind.
“Lu,” Bei Kaiyuan called after him, “You still playing or what?”
Lu Pingzhang took a few more steps, nearly to the exit, before replying through gritted teeth, “Not playing. Going home.”
The doorman opened the door for them, and, sensing the tension, wisely refrained from saying “Please come again.”
The wind outside was biting, whipping the edges of their coats.
Qiao Jin stood on the steps, under the flickering neon sign that read Golden Domain Club, and softly repeated the question he’d asked before:
“Am I really not allowed to come here?”
Lu Pingzhang looked at him. The light caught the bridge of his nose, highlighting the cold, unyielding structure of his features—making him seem even more detached and severe.
“I thought you were just checking whether I’d be home tonight,” Lu Pingzhang said, his voice heavy with smoke, “but turns out you had your own plans.” He asked, “If I hadn’t run into you just now, were you really planning not to come home tonight?”
Xiao Chang pulled the car up and opened the back door for them.
Qiao Jin didn’t move.
Lu Pingzhang asked, “Are you getting in on your own, or do I need to carry you?”
Qiao Jin pressed his lips together. After a pause, he walked down the steps and got into the car.
Lu Pingzhang slid in beside him. Xiao Chang said nothing, quietly starting the engine.
Streetlights flashed by as they drove. Lu Pingzhang received a video message—he opened it. It was footage from the private room earlier, showing Qiao Jin and the others playing mahjong.
A voice message from Bei Kaiyuan followed: “I checked it already—just regular mahjong, nothing else going on. You need to loosen the leash a little. Let the man relax—it’s just a game.”
Lu Pingzhang’s anger settled—slightly. He replayed the video.
Qiao Jin glanced at the screen but said nothing, eyes fixed on the passing street outside the stiflingly silent car.
Lu Pingzhang scrubbed through the second half of the video and watched it again. He frowned. “Who’s the guy sitting across from you?”
“Just a friend,” Qiao Jin said.
“A friend who feeds you tiles? Who keeps discarding the exact ones you need?” Lu Pingzhang couldn’t hold back anymore. “Turn around. Look at me.”
Qiao Jin paused but complied, slowly turning to face him.
“I’ll ask you one more time,” Lu Pingzhang stared him down, his tone already dark with restrained rage. “Who is he?”
Qiao Jin looked like he might be getting carsick, but he kept it hidden. He just frowned slightly.
“You told me you weren’t coming home tonight,” he said softly. “I thought that meant I was free—that I could manage my own time however I wanted.”
Lu Pingzhang replied coldly, “I told you that so you could go to the hospital and visit your mom.”
“I did,” Qiao Jin said, voice quiet under the shifting lights. “It was still early after that, so I…”
“So you went out fooling around?” Lu Pingzhang cut in. He was clearly trying to stay calm, but the way that guy in the video had looked at Qiao Jin—he couldn’t take it. “You do know what kind of place Golden Domain is, right? And you still had the guts to go play mahjong there?”
“Of course I don’t know as much as you do,” Qiao Jin shot back, his voice rising with frustration. “You can pull up surveillance of me whenever you want. The moment you call, I’m expected to drop everything and follow. Isn’t that enough?”
Lu Pingzhang stared at him, stunned.
Qiao Jin’s tone made it sound like he was the one being unreasonable—like Lu Pingzhang was the one picking a fight.
Xiao Chang shrank behind the wheel, pulling the car to a stop but not daring to get out and open the door.
In the next second, Lu Pingzhang slammed down the lock and kicked the door open with one explosive motion.
“You’ve got some nerve,” he said, the rage he’d been holding back the entire way home now bursting to the surface. He yanked Qiao Jin out of the car and, without giving him a chance to resist, lifted him up and strode toward the house.
Qiao Jin was tall and long-limbed—not exactly small—and being carried like this made him feel genuinely unsafe.
“Lu Pingzhang,” he called out, pale from motion sickness, “Lu Pingzhang! Put me down!”
But Lu Pingzhang didn’t listen. He carried him through the front door and kicked it shut with a heavy thud. Without breaking stride, he marched straight into the bedroom and tossed Qiao Jin down onto the bed.
Qiao Jin tried to sit up, but Lu Pingzhang followed immediately, pinning him by the throat.
The pressure made Qiao Jin tilt his head back. For a split second, it looked like he was about to say something, but the words caught in his throat and never came out.
He always did this—with Lu Pingzhang, he was the one who backed down first. Even when they fought, even when they argued, he was always the one to soften first.
And the moment Qiao Jin showed that hint of surrender, that silent truce, Lu Pingzhang found himself powerless.
In a low voice, he muttered, “I’ve never once let you near those kinds of places.”
He could feel the pulse in Qiao Jin’s throat, delicate and frantic beneath his fingers—his own blood was pumping faster now.
“I didn’t even let you change the damn fingerprint lock, in case something happened and someone cut off your hand. I won’t even let you drive,” his voice dropped, dangerously quiet. “And what do you do? Track my whereabouts and sneak out at night? Qiao Jin, what—am I not in charge of you anymore?”
They panted in silence for a moment. Then Lu Pingzhang reached over and flipped on the light. The sudden brightness made Qiao Jin close his eyes.
Lu Pingzhang’s fingers brushed over his skin, thumb pausing to trace him—watching the way Qiao Jin’s lashes trembled in the harsh light.
Qiao Jin had calmed down by now, slipping back into that quiet, harmless state.
“You are in charge,” he whispered.
He seemed so fragile—like if you applied too much pressure, he’d never speak again.
He lay sunk in the soft bedding, not struggling at all. The veins at his temples were so pale they looked like they might vanish.
In this moment, it was all too easy for Lu Pingzhang’s anger to ebb away.
“…Why were you really upset today?” he asked.
Qiao Jin’s chest rose and fell with his breath, but his voice stayed even: “When you’re not home, I still have my own life. My own friends.”
“That’s not it,” Lu Pingzhang cut him off, his hands softening, the cold metal of his ring still pressing against Qiao Jin’s skin. “I’m asking about this afternoon.”
He leaned down and kissed Qiao Jin’s eyelid, speaking close enough that their breath mingled: “When you went to sign the contract with Nanji Film, why were you angry?”
Qiao Jin blinked at him, confused, not yet adjusted to the light—his eyes narrowed slightly.
And at that moment, he looked maddeningly sexy.
Lu Pingzhang hooked an arm around him and kissed him, hard and hot and one-sided.
“Their business manager said you got mad,” Lu Pingzhang said between kisses, “because their artist ruined my reputation. Isn’t that right?”
Qiao Jin pressed his lips tightly shut and turned his face away without a word.
Lu Pingzhang stared at him, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Is it?”
The light was too harsh. Qiao Jin tried to sit up and turn it off, but Lu Pingzhang wouldn’t let him. Instead, he reached over, grabbed a satin ribbon from the headboard, and blindfolded him.
Qiao Jin instinctively pulled back, but Lu Pingzhang moved in faster, pinning him down with nowhere left to go. His voice dropped low: “Leave the light on. I want to see you.”
The pressure of what was coming was unmistakable. Qiao Jin tensed instinctively, bracing himself.
Lu Pingzhang watched him, watched the way his face twisted in hesitation under the blindfold.
Qiao Jin parted his lips. He knew exactly what to say at this moment to douse Lu Pingzhang’s fire.
He knew him too well.
“I won’t go out to clubs at night anymore,” Qiao Jin whispered, his lips parting softly, his voice laced with submission and a quiet plea. “I’ll come home on time, go to bed early, wake up early… and wait for you.”
The lips that had been pale all day finally flushed with a warm, feverish red in the middle of the night.
Lu Pingzhang’s gaze landed on them—and didn’t move again.
Maybe keeping the lights on wasn’t the best idea. It was distracting, pulled his focus away, made him drown in the desire of the moment.
But maybe it was the right choice after all—because he was already falling deeper, willingly sinking without resistance.
