Cheng Ji had only one IV bottle of saline, and it was done in just over half an hour. As he walked out of the infusion room, he still hadn’t realized that his every move was under surveillance.

His first stop was Changkang Hospital. After circling twice, he noticed that Wang Beifeng, whose vigilance was relatively low, was no longer in the ward. Instead, a sharp and capable man, Chen Chuan, had taken his place. Frustrated, Cheng Ji had no choice but to leave.

Feeling restless, he suddenly thought of the house in the Workers’ New Village. The thought sent a chill down his spine.

He’d left in a hurry that morning, leaving the house under Qi Beisong’s watch.

Who knew what that man might do in his absence? Would he wreck the place out of spite? Although someone who could casually wear a single outfit worth tens of thousands of euros probably wouldn’t care about the junk in their house, it wasn’t impossible for him to trash it just to vent.

If the stuff inside got ruined, that wouldn’t be too big a deal. But the house was already technically someone else’s. If a wall panel got torn off or a window was broken, he might even have to compensate for the damage.

Cheng Ji rushed home. The entrance to the building seemed normal. The door to his unit didn’t feel out of place either. But as he opened the front door, he saw Qi Beisong lying on his bed, watching TV. The volume was muted, and the eerie silence was enough to startle anyone.

Cheng Ji stumbled back in shock. Using a classic, exaggerated description, it was as if a herd of alpacas galloped past him, leaving clouds of dust in their wake.

“You—”

Qi Beisong said lazily, “Look how responsible I am, guarding your house all this time.”

“You—you actually didn’t leave this whole time?”

“Correct,” Qi Beisong nodded.

He lied. The truth was that he’d noticed Cheng Ji’s little tracker moving from Changkang Hospital toward this area, so he arrived slightly ahead of him.

Incidentally, not only had he failed to properly watch over the house, but the last time he left, he’d forgotten to lock the door. Luckily, no thieves had visited during that time, and a strolling older woman had even helped him open the building’s main door just now.

“Do you know breaking and entering is a crime?” Cheng Ji said, trying to steady his voice. “In countries where guns are legal, I’d have shot you already.”

“You trespassed into my private room last time,” Qi Beisong countered. “This time, I’m just helping guard your house. We’re not even close to being even, and you owe me a favor.”

Cheng Ji squatted helplessly. “Mr. Qi, what exactly do you want? How about this—I’ll apologize, okay? I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Qi Beisong turned his gaze away and continued watching the palace drama on TV with disinterest. “What’s the use of an apology?”

Cheng Ji said, “If an apology isn’t enough, then I still have those compromising photos of you. Surely those are useful?”

“They are,” Qi Beisong said. “You can take them out and admire them from time to time—my face, my physique, the size and shape of that part of me. It might keep you company on lonely nights.”

Cheng Ji’s face turned pale. Due to well-known reasons, looking at naked men wouldn’t excite him. Especially if it was Qi Beisong—it would only make him want to throw his phone away.

“Mr. Qi,” Cheng Ji said, gritting his teeth, “I admit I was in the wrong that night. I broke the law. But do you know why I did it? It was because you had intentions of harming others.”

Qi Beisong interrupted, “Who did I harm?”

“That bartender,” Cheng Ji replied.

“Oh, I’d almost forgotten about him until you brought it up,” Qi Beisong said indifferently.

Cheng Ji regretted giving Shen Zimo a few hundred yuan and telling him to hide in some remote village. That scoundrel Qi Beisong hadn’t even spared a second to track Shen Zimo and had instead focused all his energy on pestering him.

Qi Beisong said, “That day at the company didn’t go well. I was in a bad mood that evening, drank a bit too much, and lost control. Normally, I’m not like that.”

Cheng Ji thought, Is this an explanation? Why are you explaining to me? Have the guts to explain it to the victim instead.

“I made a mistake, Mr. Qi, but so did you. Let’s take a step back, okay?” he said sincerely.

“Step back?” Qi Beisong repeated. “I won’t.”

“Fine, then. Could you at least stop lying on my bed, smoking, and cracking pine nuts?” Cheng Ji asked.

“I couldn’t find an ashtray,” Qi Beisong replied. “These pine nuts taste a bit rancid. How long have you had them?”

Cheng Ji handed him a disposable paper cup, holding it right under the young master’s nose.

Qi Beisong took it without hesitation and used it as a trash bin. Meanwhile, Cheng Ji opened the windows to clear out the smoky air in the room. In that moment, enemies shared a small space, separated by less than two meters, and yet there was an odd sense of calm.

Cheng Ji didn’t hate Qi Beisong; he simply had no way of dealing with him. It was like provoking a fierce dog—one that chased and bit you. You couldn’t escape, but you wouldn’t fundamentally despise it because it was just acting on instinct.

Moreover, Young Master Cheng had a broad heart. He didn’t even hate the person who had led to his death. Why would he hate a passionate and dramatic CEO? He just had to wait for him to burn out.

Suddenly, Qi Beisong turned off the television, put away his things, took off his jacket, and said, “Come on.”

“What for?”

In typical fashion, one might have expected the reply, To deal with you, but instead Qi said, “To spar.”

He explained, “Cheng, I’m not mad about how you looked ridiculous that day or how you barged in and freed that waiter. No, I’m mad because you said I wasn’t capable.”

“When did I ever say that?”

“Don’t deny it. Words once spoken are like water spilled. You said I was well-trained but useless in a fight.”

“Well, you’re not exactly great at it.”

Qi Beisong stood straight on the bed. Given his height and the low ceiling of the old house, his head almost hit the ceiling lamp.

“Which is why I’m going to prove it. Am I capable or not?” he declared.

“Here? In my house?”

“If we break something, I’ll pay you ten or even a hundred times its value.”

“But there’s no space to move here.”

“Lei Jing said you’re trained in military and police combat techniques,” Qi Beisong remarked. “So, who taught you?”

“No one taught me. I learned from watching TV,” Cheng Ji replied.

Qi Beisong chuckled. “Really? Makes me want to learn too. Come on, let’s fight one more time. Win or lose, it’s on me. You can’t escape anyway. My men are stationed nearby.”

“…”

Cheng Ji suddenly didn’t feel like running anymore. He took off his jacket, stretched his neck, shoulders, and wrists, and prepared to settle things once and for all.

“Mr. Qi, since you want to learn, I’ll share a principle with you. Of course, I also picked it up from TV,” Cheng Ji said.

“What’s that?”

“Try to end it in one move,” Cheng Ji said softly. “Because you won’t get many chances.”

With that, he jumped onto the bed, delivering a flying kick toward Qi Beisong’s groin but stopping short. When Qi instinctively bent over to protect himself, Cheng Ji struck his temple with a punch.

The punch wasn’t hard, and Cheng Ji used the flat of his fist instead of the knuckles. While Qi wasn’t seriously hurt, the softness of the winter bed caused him to lose balance and tumble onto the floor.

Standing on the bed, Cheng Ji looked down at him and said, “There are a few follow-up moves, but I won’t use them. They’re too damaging.”

Qi Beisong clambered to his feet and shouted indignantly, “That doesn’t count! Why do you always aim for the face?”

“You’re welcome to hit mine,” Cheng Ji offered.

“No hitting faces!”

“Fine.”

Qi Beisong climbed back onto the bed. “Again.”

This time, he attacked first, throwing a right straight punch at Cheng Ji’s head.

Cheng Ji blocked it with his left hand while threading his other arm over Qi’s shoulder and locking it around his neck from behind.

“…”

Cheng Ji abruptly pivoted, pressing his hip against Qi’s, bending his knees, and twisting his torso. With a burst of force, Qi was flipped over Cheng Ji’s shoulder.

He didn’t land on the bed this time. Instead, he hit the floor and collided with the bedside table. His legs were too long; the narrow 1.5-meter bed couldn’t contain him.

In the chaos of their movements, Cheng Ji’s short hair brushed against Qi Beisong’s face. Though slightly prickly, it somehow made Qi’s heart warm. It reminded him of the heat from that morning in the small forest when Cheng Ji had leaned against him, feverish and burning.

There was something hard to define about Cheng Ji’s youthful energy. Perhaps it was his scent or just his presence—fresh and invigorating, like a bamboo grove after the rain. A drop of dew falling from the bamboo leaves added to the vivid imagery.

Undeniably, Cheng Ji was refreshing. He stood before you clean and bright, and it seemed like he always would be.

Cheng Ji saw Qi Beisong lying there, not getting up, so he squatted down and asked, “What’s wrong?”

He hadn’t yet started muscle training and was a good deal shorter and lighter than Qi Beisong. The move just now was all about technique. To be honest, it took a lot out of him. Try using technique to throw around three bags of rice and see how it feels.

He said, “If this were a real fight and you got thrown out like that but didn’t get up quickly, you might end up stabbed or beaten to the point where you couldn’t get up again.”

Qi Beisong replied, “A real fight?”

Cheng Ji said, “I saw it on TV. Do you like watching martial arts movies?”

Qi Beisong nodded, “You’re quite the little genius, managing to fight like it’s real just from watching TV.”

He pulled off his high-necked cashmere sweater, revealing a black, tight-fitting t-shirt underneath. This guy was running hot—wearing so little in the dead of winter. Tossing his sweater aside, he bared his forearms in the chilly 5–6°C room and said irritably, “Again.”

Cheng Ji said, “We can’t go again. If we do, my bed’s going to collapse.”

“If it collapses, I’ll go to Europe and custom-order a luxury brand, two-meter-by-two-meter, full leather bed for you. Then we can continue.”

Cheng Ji thought, Two meters by two meters? That might barely fit in my room, but it’d leave space for nothing else.

“Come on, again,” Qi Beisong urged.

Before Qi Beisong could steady himself, Cheng Ji suddenly bent down and grabbed his left leg.

“…”

Cheng Ji extended his left leg between Qi Beisong’s legs, locking it in place, and quickly twisted his body. Using the rotational force of his entire torso, he swept out Qi Beisong’s supporting right leg.

Qi Beisong lost his balance and fell backward. Cheng Ji didn’t let go, pressing down on his right leg while tightly gripping his left leg. Then he gave it a sharp, upward yank, producing a distinct “pop” from Qi Beisong’s joints.

“…”

Cheng Ji let go as Qi Beisong clutched his groin in pain, tumbling off the bed. That forced stretch of his hips caused intense pain in the ligaments between his legs—it felt like he was about to be torn apart.

Qi Beisong understood that in a contest of raw strength, Cheng Ji wouldn’t stand a chance. But the guy knew exactly when to unleash his power and where to strike. If not for countless past fights, how else could his moves be so sharp and precise?

Lying on the floor, Qi Beisong refused to make a sound or even roll around in pain, purely out of pride. He just gritted his teeth and endured, stubbornly holding on.

Cheng Ji summed up the round: “You’re too stiff. If it were me, it wouldn’t have hurt like that.”

It took over a minute for Qi Beisong to recover. When he heard Cheng Ji’s comment, he couldn’t let it slide. “Yeah, I’m super stiff. Want to find out how stiff? It might just blow your mind.”

He wasn’t lying—he had actually gotten aroused, starting from the moment he caught the scent of Cheng Ji. The instant Cheng Ji grabbed his leg, his mind was in turmoil.

But why?

Facing someone attractive yet utterly oblivious to romance, someone who was beating him up for fun, someone he didn’t even particularly like, how could he…?

Qi Beisong’s preferences had always been for men, but he wasn’t some oversexed stud. If he were, surrounded by men every day, would he get anything else done besides… certain physical activities?

This made him all the more confused. He quickly tried to suppress his reaction, berating his lower half for being so out of line. Thankfully, he still had some pride left.

Cheng Ji, oblivious to the awkward situation, just smiled wryly. No harm done—he wasn’t going to hold a grudge.

“I told you we shouldn’t fight in the room, especially not on the bed. You’re too tall; cramped spaces work against you.”

Qi Beisong insisted on salvaging his pride: “I like how my first time in bed with someone isn’t for romance but for this. It’s thrilling.”

“…” Cheng Ji’s face darkened. Thrilling for you, maybe. For me, you’ve crushed all my hopes for the future. My first time in bed with someone… and it’s for this.

Finally, Qi Beisong stood up. Cheng Ji thought he was gearing up for another round, so he struck a ready stance. But to his surprise, Qi Beisong said mysteriously, “I’ve figured out your weakness.”

Cheng Ji froze.

“Why didn’t you go for a chokehold?” Qi Beisong asked. “You’ve been fighting me standing up this whole time. Where’s your ground game? Was it the limited space, or is something hurting you?”

Qi Beisong wasn’t stupid. He’d noticed that Cheng Ji was deliberately protecting his left chest.