A week ago, Ming Qi joined the production of Scheming the World as the actor playing Young Master Lan Yue.
At a dinner that night, Jiang Jianian’s cousin, Jiang Haoze—one of the investors—demanded that Ming Qi drink with him.
They had known each other for years. Ming Qi knew exactly what kind of malicious intentions Jiang Haoze harbored.
Even so, he chose to down the entire glass of liquor in one go, unwilling to cause unnecessary trouble for the production.
But while he was trying to be considerate, the director clearly wasn’t.
The room card he was given… belonged to Jiang Haoze.
Ming Qi had been unsteady from the alcohol but still retained some awareness. The moment he stepped into the room, he noticed the strange items laid out on the bed. After a brief stunned pause, he didn’t hesitate—he turned and ran.
Unfortunately, Jiang Haoze had anticipated this. He was already waiting by the elevator with two burly bodyguards.
At the critical moment, however, another guest happened to open a door, took in the scene, and said:
“Do you need me to call the police?”
Ming Qi never told Meng She about this. So Meng She assumed the director had left him out in the freezing cold for four hours just to curry favor with the male lead—never knowing it was actually punishment for Ming Qi resisting Jiang Haoze.
Now, hearing that voice again—more venomous than poison—Ming Qi’s lashes trembled slightly.
But unlike that night, there was no panic in him now.
His voice was calm, steady.
“You can try.”
He lifted his head, those affectionate-looking eyes fixing on the man. A faint curve touched his lips, but there was no warmth in it.
Softly, almost gently, he added:
“My life’s worthless anyway. Worst case—we all die together.”
Jiang Haoze’s face darkened instantly.
…
After leaving the Jiang villa, Ming Qi trudged through the snow, one unsteady step after another.
The Wanghe Mountain villas were quiet precisely because of their remoteness. And with it being New Year’s Eve afternoon, there wasn’t a single car to hail. Ming Qi didn’t want to trouble Meng She, so he simply followed the road toward the city.
In his hand was an umbrella—given to him by a security guard who’d noticed the snowfall. It shielded him from most of the wind and snow.
He didn’t know how long he had been walking.
His hand gripping the umbrella had gone stiff with cold. Each step felt as heavy as if his legs were filled with lead. The freezing wind seeped into his limbs, yet every breath he exhaled carried the burning heat of a returning fever.
Rationally, he knew he shouldn’t keep going.
But he continued forward anyway, almost self-punishing.
Winter nights fell quickly. Soon, a pale gray veil covered the sky. Streetlights flickered on, illuminating his solitary figure, making him look even more pitiful.
Then, the roar of a sports car cut through the silence, kicking up snow as it approached from behind.
A black Koenigsegg slowed down, like a silent beast retracting its claws, and came to a stop beside him.
“Mr. Ming.”
The low voice stirred his sluggish mind back to life.
Ming Qi turned his head, his eyes misty with haze, and saw the car window roll down—revealing a face so striking it could almost be called breathtaking.
In the subzero weather, Yu Qinzhou wore only a black shirt inside the car. Two buttons at the collar were undone, exposing a stretch of cool, pale skin and sharply defined collarbones. His left arm rested casually on the window frame, index finger tapping lightly against the steering wheel.
The effortlessly elegant man looked at Ming Qi without asking why he was wandering the snow in such a bedraggled state.
He simply asked:
“Need a ride?”
Ming Qi looked down the endless road ahead, then felt the warmth spilling out from the car window. The frozen blood in his veins seemed to start flowing again.
He parted his lips, glanced at his phone—no messages, no notifications.
After a long pause, he suddenly let out a small laugh. His voice was hoarse, like sand scraping together.
“Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Yu.”
Not missing the small movement, Yu Qinzhou only raised a brow slightly and replied, “Don’t mention it.”
The passenger door opened and closed.
Yu Qinzhou’s gaze flicked over the young man’s slightly damp black hair. He reached into the storage compartment, pulled out a clean towel, and tossed it over.
“Dry off.”
Ming Qi lowered his eyes to the towel. Its soft texture alone suggested it was far from cheap. He swallowed against his dry throat.
“Thank you.”
As he placed it over his head, he added quietly:
“I’ll transfer you the money later.”
Caught off guard by that remark, Yu Qinzhou curved his lips into a faint, ambiguous smile. “Do you think I care about that little bit of money?”
Ming Qi fell silent.
Of course Yu Qinzhou didn’t lack money. Just last month, the Yu family had changed hands, and the eldest young master—who had only recently returned to the country—had become the one in power overnight. With a fortune worth hundreds of billions behind him, how could he possibly care about the cost of a single towel?
But for Ming Qi, it wasn’t right to take advantage of him for no reason.
They didn’t bring up the towel or the money again. Ming Qi quietly dried his hair. The heater made his complexion look even more flushed, a thin layer of sweat forming on his skin. He loosened his scarf and hat but kept his mask on, remembering that he still had a fever.
The car moved steadily down the street. For a long stretch, Yu Qinzhou didn’t initiate any conversation. Ming Qi wasn’t familiar with him either, so he remained silent—until he felt his eyelids growing heavier, his vision gradually blurring. Instinctively, he reached out, trying to grab Yu Qinzhou’s sleeve.
He didn’t make it.
The next second, he lost consciousness.
…
When Ming Qi woke up again, it was already fully dark.
His gaze wandered blankly around the room until it landed on the man sitting on the sofa.
Long legs wrapped in tailored trousers were casually crossed, his left hand resting on his knee, a silver ring catching Ming Qi’s eye. In his right hand, Yu Qinzhou held a report. The light behind him illuminated his lowered brows and eyes, making his skin look like polished jade. The small red mole at the corner of his eye resembled a plum blossom in a white porcelain vase, adding a striking touch of allure.
Only then did Ming Qi remember—people in Jing City always described Yu Qinzhou as breathtaking.
A pity that beneath that beauty lay a ruthless nature.
“You’re awake?” Yu Qinzhou tossed the report aside and stood, walking over to the bed. Looking at the young man whose complexion had mostly returned to normal, he spoke lazily, “I thought Mr. Ming had something against me—passing out on New Year’s just to scam me.”
Ming Qi caught the meaning behind his words and felt a bit embarrassed.
After all, picking up someone out of kindness only for them to suddenly faint—it really was unsettling.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I caused you trouble, Mr. Yu.”
“It wasn’t much trouble,” Yu Qinzhou replied. “Just that my New Year’s Eve dinner got ruined.” He lifted a hand and pointed at the wall clock. The hour hand sat between eleven and twelve—it was already close to midnight.
Just as guilt began to rise in Ming Qi’s chest, Yu Qinzhou’s tone shifted.
“But you waking up makes up for it. Not bad.”
Before Ming Qi could fully process what he meant, Yu Qinzhou unexpectedly leaned down.
A cool, clean scent of grass and wood filled Ming Qi’s senses. He instinctively lifted his face in confusion—perfectly allowing Yu Qinzhou to press a hand against his forehead.
Though Yu Qinzhou was lightly dressed, he had been indoors for hours, so the temperature of his hand wasn’t much different from Ming Qi’s. It didn’t really tell him anything.
Startled, Ming Qi froze, not daring to move. He never expected the dignified head of the Yu family to check his temperature so casually—with the back of his hand. The whole situation felt strangely surreal.
The close proximity made him uncomfortable, almost like being enclosed in an embrace. Surrounded by that faint woody scent, he found it hard to breathe. Nervously clutching the blanket, he suggested in a small voice, “M-maybe… you should use a thermometer.”
“Is that so?” Yu Qinzhou straightened. As he withdrew his hand, his fingertips seemed to brush lightly against the young man’s soft cheek. He gave a faint, unreadable smile. “Then I’ll have a doctor take a look instead.”
He stepped back and pressed the call button by the bed.
A doctor arrived quickly. After taking Ming Qi’s temperature, he let out a sigh of relief. “The fever’s gone. Just keep warm, avoid the wind, and stick to light meals.”
Ming Qi nodded repeatedly.
After the doctor left, Ming Qi glanced at the clock again. Feeling a bit embarrassed, he asked, “Mr. Yu, are you hungry? Should I order you some food?”
He still remembered Yu Qinzhou mentioning the ruined New Year’s dinner.
Of course, he couldn’t just order something cheap—he was already thinking about calling one of the well-known restaurants in Jing City.
Just as he lowered his gaze in thought, there was another knock at the door. A young butler stood outside, his expression neutral, his voice gentle as if afraid of startling anyone inside.
“Sir, dinner is ready.”
Yu Qinzhou turned to look at Ming Qi. Seeing the confusion in his eyes, he raised a brow with a smile.
“I forgot to tell you—this is my residence in Jing City, not a hospital. And at this hour on New Year’s Eve, there’s probably no delivery service anyway.”
The tips of Ming Qi’s ears flushed red.
He had already thought the room didn’t look much like a hospital ward, but the white décor, the call button by the bed, and the doctor’s sudden appearance had made him assume he was in a private hospital owned by the Yu family.
Yu Qinzhou’s gaze swept over the faint blush rising at the back of the young man’s neck. His fingers rubbed together slightly, almost unconsciously. The face had been soft to the touch—he wondered what it would feel like to grip the back of that neck.
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he lowered his gaze, concealing the desire in his eyes. When he spoke again, his tone had returned to its usual lazy ease.
“Want it brought up here, or will you come downstairs with me?”
Ming Qi rubbed his empty stomach. Too embarrassed to ask for it to be brought up, he chose to go downstairs with Yu Qinzhou.
Only after getting out of bed did he realize he had already been changed into a set of clean, soft, dark-colored pajamas. They were clearly too large for him.
Looking down at the oversized sleeves, he lifted his arm slightly. The silky fabric draped heavily, slipping down from his slender, pale wrist to his elbow, revealing skin as smooth as jade.
…Definitely too big.
Following behind Yu Qinzhou down the stairs, he focused on rolling up his sleeve with his left hand, completely absorbed. Naturally, he didn’t notice that the pant legs were just as long. As he stepped forward in his slippers, he stepped on the hem before reaching the next stair.
The sudden forward tilt made his eyes widen in alarm. Letting go of his sleeve, he reached out for the railing—
Thud.
Instead of falling, he crashed straight into the chest of the man who had somehow turned around in time.
Surrounded once again by that faint woody scent, Ming Qi felt the man’s chest vibrate slightly—followed by a low, meaningful chuckle by his ear.
“Throwing yourself into my arms, Mr. Ming?”