Shen Yuan finished all his enrollment procedures, picked up his new semester schedule, and then actually went to resign from the student council. As the vice president, he should’ve been the one handling the freshman welcome events after the previous president, Qiao Jun, graduated.
The instructor was baffled. Of all people, Shen Yuan was the least likely to resign — no warning, no hints, not even a casual complaint last semester. He never whined, never slacked off; whatever task they gave him, he handled flawlessly.
Half-truth but said with utter seriousness, Shen Yuan explained, “My uncle is sick. I’ll have to take care of him for the next few months. And with a heavier course load this term, I won’t have time to handle student council work.”
Family illness wasn’t something you could argue with. The instructor didn’t doubt him at all, only felt it was a pity. “I’ll hold the position for you. After your uncle gets better, you can come back, alright?”
Shen Yuan shook his head. “If I’m not doing the work, I shouldn’t be taking the spot.”
Then he rushed off to hand in his jewelry design submission for the Tiangong Award to his major instructor. He was the first in the class to submit — everyone else was still goofing off after summer break. Who actually worked on assignments during vacation? And there was still more than half a month before the deadline. They’d just rush it at the last minute as usual.
The Tiangong Award was established by the Z-Nation Jewelry Association to discover promising new designers. It was held annually and was already in its fifteenth year — one of the most prestigious jewelry design awards in the country. The gold prize came with 100,000 yuan. Designers who stood out in this competition often received offers from major jewelry companies or gained a shiny credential for applying to international jewelry design schools.
As a side note, Shen Yuan’s mother, Ye Xueyao, had been the gold prize winner of the third Tiangong Award. With that achievement, she’d earned admission to the Royal Jewelry Design Institute in Country E for her postgraduate studies.
After finishing all his school tasks, Shen Yuan didn’t even stop to rest; he drove straight to the hospital.
The hospital was close to the event location where the accident happened, but quite far from his school. Even with no traffic, it took at least half an hour to get there.
All the friends and relatives who needed to visit Qiao Hailou had already come by. The ward was quiet that evening.
Lying in bed, Qiao Hailou suddenly called out dramatically, “Ah-Ben, come smell me. I think I’m starting to stink.”
Shen Yuan actually leaned down and sniffed. “I don’t smell anything. You’re fine.”
Qiao looked pitiful. “It’s been days. I feel like I’m stinky. Get me some hot water so I can wipe myself down.”
Shen Yuan’s face flushed, but when he thought about how miserable it must be to not be able to shower, he sighed and agreed.
He mixed a basin of hot — almost too hot — water, closed the door, pulled the curtain, and began wiping Qiao down. The more he wiped, the more embarrassed he felt. They’d had plenty of physical intimacy before, sure, but never anything this… detailed. And he never allowed Qiao to touch him so carefully either.
Shen Yuan worked patiently down the list — face, neck, arms, chest, hands — then changed to a fresh towel and wiped the uninjured leg.
When he finished and started packing up, Qiao craned his neck and said, blatantly, “That’s it? There are places you didn’t wipe. Your service is incomplete, student Shen. Needs improvement.”
Shen Yuan had known the old pervert was itching to flirt. He ignored him until Qiao said it outright. Exasperated, Shen Yuan snapped, “Can you not be a pervert right now?”
“Nope,” Qiao answered without shame.
Shen Yuan threw the towel into the basin. “I wiped you, didn’t I? You already have someone taking care of you, so stop being picky. If you don’t like how I wiped you, find someone else to do it! I’m done! You disgusting old pervert!”
Qiao grabbed his wrist quickly, coaxing, “No, no, I’m not finding someone else. I don’t want anyone else. I want you, okay? Only you.”
Shen Yuan’s ears went red. “Who wants to touch you?”
Qiao said calmly, “You always touch me. Haven’t you touched me enough?”
Shen Yuan opened his mouth to argue — but then hesitated. Thinking about it… it was usually him who pushed Qiao down. Technically, Qiao wasn’t wrong. Qiao puffed up, righteous as ever. “What’s wrong with me touching you? Were you uncomfortable? If you don’t want it, then fine.”
Then he added, shamelessly, “Nothing uncomfortable about it. It feels good. You touch me all the time — what are you shy about now? You’ve touched way more than this.”
Shen Yuan glared at him. The nerve of this man.
People really did forget things fast.
The first two days after Qiao got hurt, Shen Yuan had been moved, genuinely worried that Qiao — old and injured — might end up with permanent damage. If Qiao really became disabled because of him, he’d feel guilty for life. But then he saw how quickly Qiao was recovering — and how unbearably cheeky he was — always picking fights, always provoking him. It was like the man would feel unwell if he didn’t get scolded a few times a day.
Taking advantage yet still complaining.
Shen Yuan reminded himself that agreeing to take care of Qiao until he healed didn’t mean he was bowing down to him.
The old man was getting bold — too bold. Someone needed to put him in his place.
“You want to be a pervert, hm?”
Shen Yuan took a breath and smiled sweetly. “Okay then. I’ll wipe you. I’ll make sure you’re very clean.”
A little alarm went off in Qiao’s head. What was this kid planning?
He found out quickly.
The brat didn’t like being flirted with, so he went ahead and flirted first — aggressively.
Qiao’s mind went blank. This… this was amazing. Perfect. He wanted applause. He wanted an encore.
It was Qiao’s first time doing something like this in a hospital. Shen Yuan’s too. Even though it was a private room with the door closed and the curtain drawn, there was still the illusion that someone could walk in at any second. It was even more thrilling than their past rendezvous.
Both of them got carried away.
Afterward, Shen Yuan immediately regretted it. What the hell had he just done? Qiao didn’t even say anything — he was the one who started it. He’d only planned to tease Qiao a little, to see him flustered. But it had been a while since they’d done anything, and… he’d lost control.
One slip, then another.
Hotel or home was one thing — but a hospital? Was he insane? Shameless? Completely immoral?
He must’ve caught Qiao’s shamelessness like an infectious disease.
Meanwhile, Qiao had zero shame. Still unsatisfied, he asked, “The nurse won’t do rounds this late. Want to go again?”
Shen Yuan blushed furiously. “Go your damn self!”
After quitting at Brilliant Jewelry, Wang Ziqin finally lowered his head and made peace with his father. The two reconciled at last.
He became the Wang family’s eldest young master again, and naturally his old crew of spoiled rich friends swarmed back — maybe out of fear of retaliation, or maybe hoping for favors. They apologized, brought gifts, introduced pretty girls, treating him exactly as before: their rich, gullible, easily exploited buddy.
This time, Wang Ziqin saw through them clearly. He didn’t bother confronting them or lecturing them — he still hung around, but he kept his guard up. He answered them lazily, rarely went out with them, and stopped getting dragged into nonsense.
He didn’t humble himself in front of them either; he kept his usual arrogant persona, otherwise they’d look down on him. But his behavior had changed — steadier, calmer. No more reckless spending, no more flaunting wealth just because someone flattered him.
He finally understood the value of money — not like before, when he’d been a complete idiot and proud of it.
He only yielded to Shen Yuan — Shen Yuan was the exception. He didn’t know why, but Shen Yuan simply wasn’t like the rest of them.
Soon, everyone realized Wang Ziqin wasn’t so easy to manipulate anymore.
Sometimes they invited him to go out and play, and he actually replied, “I have class. Not going.”
Shock. Utter shock.
Wang Ziqin… attending class??
Who would believe that?!
But when they investigated, they found out it was true — he’d gone back to school and actually started studying. Sure, he’d wasted nearly two years, and catching up would be hard, but better late than never.
He knew Shen Yuan’s academic record. He’d even mocked Shen Yuan before, calling him a bookworm destined to work under him. Thinking back, no wonder Shen Yuan hated him.
Shen Yuan had said he’d never forgive him — but Wang Ziqin wasn’t giving up yet. He wanted to bring his grades up so that the next time he faced Shen Yuan, he wouldn’t look like some useless bum.
He didn’t tell anyone about Shen Yuan and Qiao Hailou dating. Shen Yuan refused to see him, and Wang Ziqin didn’t have the face to bother him now. He thought he’d wait — achieve something first — then go see him.
But he didn’t think Shen Yuan and Qiao would last. Their age gap was huge. He even asked his father about Qiao’s relationship history. From Qiao’s playboy past, he clearly wasn’t reliable.
Ugh. That old man who slept around everywhere.
Wang Ziqin scoffed — conveniently forgetting he used to be just as bad.
Now he did nothing but study in monk-like purity. Every time he remembered Shen Yuan calling him a “stud horse,” he completely lost interest in chasing girls.
But even if he avoided trouble, trouble didn’t avoid him.
One day after class, just as he was heading back to his dorm — yes, he’d even lowered himself to live in a four-person student dorm — he got blocked on the road.
It was Han Feng and his crew, calling him out to “go have fun.”
“We checked the class schedule. Didn’t you already finish class? You never hang out with us after school anymore—aren’t you giving us a little too little face?” Han Feng said. “Don’t tell me Young Master Wang really got scared and lost his nerve? Planning to be a good boy who never steps out of the house now?”
Wang Ziqin rolled his eyes, annoyed. “Let me drop my backpack off at the dorm first.”
He followed them to the nightclub.
The hazy neon lights flashed across their bodies, music thumping while men and women swayed on the dance floor. The whole scene gave Wang Ziqin a strange, unreal feeling. He didn’t feel hyped at all.
How could he have been stupid enough to waste his time—his whole life—on this kind of meaningless partying?
He sat on the sofa with a glass of whiskey, silent.
Han Feng nudged him. “See a girl you like?”
“Not in the mood? Want me to call Shen Yuan over?”
At the second mention of “Shen Yuan,” Wang Ziqin’s ears twitched. Something clicked in his memory. He snapped his head toward Han Feng, brows tightly furrowed, eyes dark.
Han Feng shifted uneasily. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t say his name,” Wang Ziqin said with a flick of his hand. “I don’t want to hear ‘Shen Yuan’ coming out of your mouth ever again.”
Han Feng stared at him, stunned. “He pissed you off? Shen Yuan? He actually knows how to offend people? What happened?”
Wang Ziqin let out a cold laugh. “I just think hearing those two words from you makes them dirty.”
Han Feng blinked, unable to process it.
Wang Ziqin suddenly shot to his feet and walked out.
He finally remembered. No wonder Qiao Hailou’s face had felt familiar…
That day when Shen Yuan accidentally drank the drugged wine Han Feng had spiked, Wang Ziqin had briefly seen a man carrying someone down the hallway outside the bathroom. The more he thought about that back view, the more it looked like Qiao Hailou.
“Talking about how your precious Yuan finally lost his virginity.”
“He said he was going to the bathroom and then never came back.”
“So Shen Yuan got deflowered, huh?”
“I—I just grabbed some random chick to take care of it. What else was I supposed to do?”
“Young Master Wang, don’t joke around with me…”
Wang Ziqin didn’t hesitate. He went straight to the nightclub manager, slammed down money, and bought the surveillance footage from that night three months ago. He searched through the recordings based on his memory of the approximate time, watching frame by frame—until he finally found it.
The colors were washed-out and the image blurry, but Wang Ziqin recognized them instantly.
His chest constricted with pain. He shut his eyes.
It felt like his heart was bleeding.
As if the entire scene was unfolding in front of him all over again.
—That was Shen Yuan and Qiao Hailou.
Shen Yuan had drunk Han Feng’s drugged wine.
And then he ran straight into Qiao Hailou.
Qiao Hailou took him away.
He had clearly seen it.
He had watched with his own eyes as Shen Yuan was taken away.
“Do you want to keep watching, Young Master Wang?” the manager asked carefully, sensing the murderous aura radiating off him.
“No. That’s enough. Thank you,” Wang Ziqin forced out, barely holding himself together.
Fury churned in his chest. He clenched his fists and headed back to where the group was gathered.
Han Feng hadn’t left yet.
When they saw Wang Ziqin return, everyone fell silent. Something was terribly wrong—he looked like he was wrapped in pitch-black hostility, terrifying in a way he had never been before.
A completely different kind of danger.
Wang Ziqin suddenly smiled at them—a smile that sent chills down their spines.
Without a single word, he grabbed Han Feng, slammed him to the floor, and started beating him like a madman.
Bottles shattered on the table and clattered to the ground, screams erupting all around.