Ke Mingxuan was surprised by his return and even more shocked by his proposition. After a moment of stunned silence, he slowly curled his lips into a smirk, stood up, and began to remove his clothes.

He threw his jacket onto the sofa, flexed his fingers, and rotated his neck from side to side, his joints cracking loudly. Then, with a finger, he beckoned to the man across from him, his gesture brimming with provocation.

“Come on, beat me, and I’ll let you fuck.”

The bloodthirsty and brutal instinct was instantly provoked by those words. Bian Yiqiu gathered all his strength and lunged at him, delivering a fierce hook punch that whistled through the air, aiming straight for his face.

“Don’t hold back!”

“Anyone who holds back is a coward!” Ke Mingxuan dodged swiftly and countered with a fierce strike.

The fight was eerily quiet yet incredibly intense, stretching on for an unusually long time. Bian Yiqiu’s fists burned with rage, each strike hitting Ke Mingxuan with the force of a wildfire. His punches seared the skin, the pain sharp and raw. Every blow, every ounce of power, every direct, unrelenting attack spoke of his overwhelming fury.

Bian Yiqiu had completely lost control, his rage unlocking a ferocity he’d never shown before. Wrist grabs, elbow strikes, neck pulls, knees to the gut, low blows—he didn’t care about technique. It was all-out chaos, every move fueled by sheer anger and frustration. Even Ke Mingxuan’s own tricks were thrown back at him, turned into weapons in this desperate clash.

He wasn’t fighting to win, nor was it really about who was fucking whom. He was fighting to release the storm inside him—the anger, the humiliation, the helplessness.

The shame of being toyed with by Ruan Chengjie. The fury at Ke Mingxuan’s lies. The guilt, the crushing weight of his company’s troubles. He’d done everything—spent money, sent gifts, begged for connections—but it wasn’t enough. None of it could change the cruel reality of a few careless words from those privileged elites.

A gang boss? The president of Jiu’an? In the end, he was nothing but a frog in a well, puffing himself up in his little world, blind to the truth. One small stone was all it took to block the patch of sky he thought was his.

Is it fair? No, the world had never been fair. It was brutal and unforgiving. The strong ruled, the weak were crushed. If you couldn’t claw your way to the top, you were destined to be stomped into the dirt.

So he fought. He struggled. He climbed. Other people’s lives didn’t matter. The money in his account didn’t matter. Obedience was bought with cash, rebellion crushed with a gun. For his brothers, he’d give his life, but for traitors, he had no mercy. At least, in his kingdom, it was his rules or nothing.

But in Ke Mingxuan’s eyes, he was nothing more than a resilient rat, a creature he could amuse himself with whenever he pleased. When Ke Mingxuan got tired of him, he could simply move on to someone else. That, perhaps, was the real reason why his photo ended up in Ruan Chengjie’s hands.

Bian Yiqiu’s heart clenched painfully at the thought, his focus slipping for just a moment. In that instant, Ke Mingxuan’s elbow struck him hard in the chest.

It hurt.

He gritted his teeth, forcing down the metallic taste of blood rising in his throat. With his left hand, he swung a punch toward Ke Mingxuan’s head. As Ke Mingxuan raised his arm to block, Bian Yiqiu feinted, withdrawing his hand in a flash. At the same time, his right hand, fingers tightly pressed together, gathered force and shot toward Ke Mingxuan’s throat.

Ke Mingxuan hadn’t expected him to turn a fake move into a real attack. His throat was exposed, but instead of retreating, Ke Mingxuan quickly twisted his body. Bian Yiqiu’s fingertips grazed his neck but failed to land. In a fluid motion, Ke Mingxuan grabbed Bian Yiqiu’s wrist, twisting it outward as he stepped back. His body shifted and dipped low, and his right elbow, which should have smashed into the side of Bian Yiqiu’s neck, held back at the last moment.

Instead, he used the momentum to trap Bian Yiqiu’s arm and force him down onto the carpet. Ke Mingxuan’s legs locked tightly around Bian Yiqiu’s, pinning him in place and leaving him unable to move.

Their breaths intertwined in the oppressive closeness, noses nearly touching. The space between them was so tight that even the curve of each other’s lashes was vividly visible. The labored breathing from their intense exertion filled the silent room, amplifying the tension. Their racing hearts and heaving chests made it clear how much effort they had put into trying to bring the other down.

And once again, it was Ke Mingxuan who ended the fight.

Bian Yiqiu lay on the floor, glaring at him with seething defiance, neither speaking nor moving.

Ke Mingxuan hovered over him, sweat dripping from his dampened hair, tracing the sharp angles of his jaw before falling onto Bian Yiqiu’s face.

Plop—

The faint yet jarring sound shattered the silence. Bian Yiqiu thought bitterly, It’s over.

He raised his hand, intending to push Ke Mingxuan off, but his wrist was once again seized, quickly pinned to either side of his head.

Then, a kiss landed. Overbearing yet tender, it stole his breath and scattered his thoughts in a dizzying whirlwind. He clenched every ounce of his self-control to stop himself from responding.

Ke Mingxuan didn’t care about the silent rejection. His lips moved with deliberate gentleness, void of lust, filled instead with an unsettling warmth. If Bian Yiqiu hadn’t known the truth, he might have mistaken this for love—a deep and unwavering affection.

Finally, Ke Mingxuan pulled back, his lips lingering close as he let out a helpless sigh. “Bian Yiqiu… just listen to me.”

Listen to me, so I can help you.

Listen to me, so I can make amends for the pain and damage I’ve caused.

Listen to me, so we can end this hollow relationship… and start something real.

Bian Yiqiu opened his eyes, his gaze clear as water, but beneath it was a layers of ice. He stared at Ke Mingxuan coldly, his lips curling into a mocking smile. “Like those little playthings you keep around?”

Ke Mingxuan froze. The words he had been preparing to say stuck in his throat. Before he could react, Bian Yiqiu shoved him off, stood up, and dusted off his clothes. He looked down at him with an imposing air.

“Ke Mingxuan, your dick’s decent, but I’m tired of it. From now on, we go our separate ways.”

With that, Bian Yiqiu turned and walked away, his steps firm, his resolve unshaken.

Ke Mingxuan’s rare, tender expression vanished in an instant, replaced by panic and a sudden surge of rage. “Bian Yiqiu, stop right there!”

Bian Yiqiu didn’t stop. Instead, he quickened his pace toward the door.

“Bian Yiqiu, if you dare walk out, I swear I’ll break your damn legs!”

But the words barely finished before a sharp click echoed. The door swung open. Standing there was Chu Yi, who had just arrived to drop by and was about to input the door code. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with the infamous Bian Yiqiu. The two of them locked eyes, and before Chu Yi could even mask his expression, Bian Yiqiu gave him a quick glance, then turned on his heel and walked toward the elevator without a second look.

Ke Mingxuan, disheveled and still fuming, stormed out of the living room, only to halt abruptly when he spotted Chu Yi.

Chu Yi wisely stepped aside with a shrug. “Want to chase him? I can entertain myself.”

“Chase my ass.” Ke Mingxuan’s frustration exploded as he swept his hand across a nearby table. A priceless antique vase crashed to the floor, shattering into countless pieces.

Chu Yi glanced at the shards, shaking his head in regret. But as he stepped into the living room, surveying the chaos that looked like a full-scale war zone, he figured the vase probably got off easy.

Bian Yiqiu walked downstairs and got into the car, his entire presence surrounded by a cold, oppressive aura that made Meng Jianyu, sitting beside him, instinctively consider switching to the passenger seat.

But anyone with a shred of self-preservation knew better than to provoke Bian Yiqiu in this state. Meng Jianyu stayed silent.

Zuo Cheng, on the other hand, seemed to lack such survival instincts. “Where to now?” he asked, breaking the tense silence.

“Anywhere,” Bian Yiqiu spat, his tone sharp as shards of ice.

Taking the order literally, Zuo Cheng drove them straight to a high-end club.

Hours later, Zuo Cheng sat staring at a drunken, completely collapsed Bian Yiqiu and felt nothing but regret.

This wasn’t like last time at the company’s annual party, where Bian Yiqiu had at least been able to stagger a few steps. Tonight, he was utterly out of it, reduced to a motionless heap. And so, to the amazement of all the club staff, Zuo Cheng had no choice but to sling their usually formidable boss over his shoulder and march him into a private suite upstairs.

Bathing him was out of the question. Zuo Cheng settled for removing his jacket and shirt, laying him down on the bed before heading to the bathroom to fetch a hot towel.

When he returned, the room was quiet. Bian Yiqiu, who had been completely unresponsive all night, suddenly murmured, his voice distant and hoarse, “Why the hell should I listen to you…”

Zuo Cheng reflexively replied, “I didn’t ask you to listen to me.”

Bian Yiqiu: “Bastard…”

Zuo Cheng: “…”

______

Whether it was Ke Mingxuan’s intervention that left Ruan Chengjie struggling to keep up, or if he simply wasn’t planning to fully crush Bian Yiqiu just yet, Jiu’an found itself free from new threats for the time being.

Haotian Investments owned 19% of Jiu’an’s shares. Even if Huarui bought up all the circulating shares on the market, they still couldn’t surpass the combined holdings of Bian Yiqiu and Haotian, eliminating any further threat to Jiu’an’s control.

Amid the constant flow of news, the negative online comments slowly faded away, and the stock price gradually returned to its normal levels.

As the Spring Festival approached, a cold front swept southward, sending snowflakes swirling through the city skies. Frost bloomed like icy flowers on glass panes, while homes everywhere began decorating with red “Fu” characters and spring couplets, creating a festive and auspicious atmosphere. Wrapped in coats and scarves, passersby strolled through the streets, occasionally accompanied by the sporadic crackle of firecrackers.

Zuo Cheng was driving to He Xu’s house when he suddenly received a call asking him to buy a bottle of steamed fish soy sauce. Conveniently, there was a supermarket across the street, so he parked the car by the roadside, turned to Bian Yiqiu, and said, “Boss, wait for me here,” before stepping out to grab it.

The company had given everyone a few days off early, and Lawyer He had gotten the sudden idea to show off his cooking skills. Bian Yiqiu hadn’t planned on joining the fun, but he couldn’t resist when Zuo Cheng looked at him with those expectant, eager eyes, like a puppy waiting for a treat. As his bodyguard, if Bian Yiqiu didn’t go, Zuo Cheng naturally couldn’t go either. After silently resisting for ten minutes, Bian Yiqiu reluctantly agreed.

The sudden chill left the streets nearly empty. The wind howled, and snow swept through the air, blurring the view.

Bian Yiqiu glanced to the side and spotted an elderly man selling candied hawthorns not far away. The man wore a cotton coat that offered little warmth, hunching his back as he leaned against the wall, seeking shelter from the wind.

Bian Yiqiu’s gaze fell on the strings of shiny, syrup-coated hawthorns swaying in the snowy breeze. The sight brought back a faint memory of their sweet and tangy taste, and before he knew it, he stepped out of the car.

The vibrant red, round candied fruits had an inexplicable pull on him. He pulled out his wallet and counted a few fresh, pink bills, then, in an almost extravagant tone, said, “I’ll take them all.”

The old man was both startled and overjoyed, with a hint of disbelief mixed in.

“Remember to put it in the fridge if you can’t finish it. You can eat it for a few more days.”

“Got it,” Bian Yiqiu nodded. “It’s cold. You should head home soon.”

The old man, trembling, held out the money, repeatedly thanking him. Bian Yiqiu stood there, holding dozens of sugar-coated hawthorns, looking somewhat comical in the gusting wind at the street corner.

Two children, around six or seven years old, ran up from the other side of the street. Seeing the sugar-coated hawthorns in his hands, one of them asked, “How much is one?”

Bian Yiqiu replied, “Five yuan.”

The child said, “That’s too expensive.”

“Then how much wouldn’t be expensive?” Bian Yiqiu asked.

The child replied, “At our school gate, they sell for two yuan each.”

“Not selling for two,” Bian Yiqiu said flatly.

The kid made a face and was about to leave, but his friend grabbed his arm. “Five yuan’s fine. I’ve got money.”

The first kid scowled, “Are you dumb? Even if you’ve got money, you shouldn’t waste it.”

“Don’t you like to eat them?”

“I don’t like them anymore.”

“…If it weren’t for you whining about candied hawthorns, do you think I’d be out here freezing?”

“But I don’t like them now, so what?”

“Fine, I’ll buy them and eat them myself,” the second kid declared, pulling out a ten-yuan note. “Two sticks.”

Bian Yiqiu suppressed a laugh. “Didn’t you just say you’d eat them yourself? You really think you can finish two?”

The little “big spender” puffed up with pride. “I’ll save one for tomorrow.”

The first kid chimed in again. “Don’t sell them to him, he’s losing his baby teeth!”

“You’re not spending your money, why do you care so much?”

“Because I care! Are you going to listen to me or not?”

“Why should I listen to you?”

“Because you like me.”

Bian Yiqiu, who had been thoroughly entertained by their bickering, suddenly froze. His expression shifted, and he turned to leave.

“Who likes you? Hey! Hawthorn guy! Why are you running? Get back here!” The shout made Bian Yiqiu pause. He turned and walked back.

The two kids, startled by his imposing figure and the forceful way he walked, took a step back. The one who had refused to buy the sugar hawthorn stepped forward, protectively shielding the little rich kid behind him. “What do you want?”

Without a word, Bian Yiqiu handed each of them a stick of candied hawthorns, then turned and left again.

The little rich kid shouted at his retreating figure, “You haven’t taken the money!”

Bian Yiqiu simply waved a hand without looking back, his tall and upright figure disappearing quickly into the car.