Cheng Ji felt a pang of guilt, his expression betraying a slight shift. He began to suspect he had overestimated himself.

If Qi Beisong weren’t both intelligent and sharp, how could he have started going head-to-head with the family elders over his sexual orientation at the age of sixteen and quickly gained the upper hand? How could he have risen so swiftly in Hongsheng despite his young age?

He was simply born into too high a status, with too many resources, and everything came too easily. That’s why he didn’t need to flaunt his intelligence outwardly.

Qi Beisong pressed, “Is it your ribs that hurt?”

“No,” Cheng Ji replied.

“If not, then why are you protecting them?” Qi Beisong asked. “What illness have you come down with these past two days?”

“You knew I was sick, and you still fought with me?”

“You’re the one who started it.”

The two were still arguing when the bed suddenly collapsed.

This bed was even older than Cheng Ji—a simple, old-fashioned wooden bed with a plank resting on a wooden frame. The wrestling match between the two had long loosened the joints of the frame.

Cheng Ji was standing at the head of the bed, and Qi Beisong in the middle, less than a meter apart. The part that collapsed was the head of the bed.

Caught off guard, Cheng Ji fell backward, trying to steady himself against the headboard. Qi Beisong, however, couldn’t balance himself. Though the drop beneath his feet wasn’t steep, there was nothing around to support him. He suddenly leaned toward Cheng Ji, and their heads collided.

Cheng Ji wasn’t prepared for Qi Beisong’s sudden lunge. What’s more, his head was turned to the side, and Qi Beisong’s forehead slammed right into Cheng Ji’s temple.

This was karmic justice—don’t keep aiming for others’ temples; even Buddha keeps tabs.

Qi Beisong only heard a loud “thud” as a sharp pain shot through his forehead. He hurriedly braced himself against the wall with one hand, only to see Cheng Ji slumping to the floor in front of him.

No way.

Clutching his reddened forehead, he called out, “Hey, Cheng!”

“Cheng Ji!”

“…”

“Did you really faint?”

Qi Beisong jumped down from the tilted bed, crouching to check on Cheng Ji. For a moment, he was at a loss for words.

What kind of situation was this? He, the esteemed Young Master Qi, CEO Qi, handsome Qi, had managed to subdue his opponent not through strength, charm, or even power, but through sheer brute force with his head.

If word of this got out, he wouldn’t be able to show his face within ten miles.

So, sorry, he wasn’t going to admit it.

And he had his reasons. From a realistic standpoint, his iron head accounted for only 20% of the outcome. Another 30% was due to Cheng Ji’s weak physique, and the remaining 50% was because Cheng Ji had caught a cold these past two days, already dealing with dizziness and headaches.

“Get up. The floor’s cold,” Qi Beisong said.

Seeing no response, he had no choice but to pick Cheng Ji up off the floor, carrying him to another room and laying him on Ms. Cheng’s bed.

Cheng Ji’s limbs were limp, and he seemed thoroughly unconscious. Even being moved didn’t wake him.

Qi Beisong caught that familiar scent again—a mix of fresh tea leaves and green bamboo, subtle yet persistent. He suddenly remembered—it was the fragrance of a certain soap he had used as a child.

Back then, his parents were constantly busy with work, so he lived with his grandfather and grandmother.

Despite having gone through hard times when they were young, his grandparents maintained a sense of frugality and a spirit of hard work, no matter how high their status rose later. Their daily necessities—soaps, toothpaste, shampoo—were all cheap, generic items from the supermarket.

Who would have thought something costing just a dollar could smell so good?

Standing foolishly by the bed for a while, Qi Beisong finally pulled the blanket over Cheng Ji and leaned in to study his face.

He thought, Wang Beifeng wasn’t exaggerating. Cheng Ji really is good-looking.

His beauty wasn’t just skin-deep—his bone structure was striking, and his features were attractive. If there was any flaw, it might be that his eyebrows were a bit too light, lending him a subtle, unintentional softness. But it didn’t matter; once he was awake, his sharp, spirited aura would return.

Qi Beisong had seen countless beautiful people and had his fair share of flings. Cheng Ji wouldn’t rank in the top three for looks or the top five for physique. If Cheng Ji hadn’t treated him so poorly, Qi Beisong might not have even spared him a second glance.

Because one glance was enough to see Cheng Ji was straight. And Qi Beisong, followed by a devoted crowd of admirers—actors, models, influencers, and second-generation tycoons all clamoring to be his lover—didn’t waste his time on straight men.

So why was this straight guy flirting with him?

No, “flirting” implied interest and intentions, and Cheng Ji clearly had no follow-through. Based on their recent skirmishes, he was someone who hit and ran, completely noncommittal and irresponsible.

“What do you want, really?” Qi Beisong asked softly.

“Everyone else who approaches me has a purpose. What’s yours?”

Cheng Ji didn’t answer. His lashes, like still black butterflies, rested quietly. The temple where he had been hit was slightly red, but his lips were pale.

He turned over Cheng Ji’s hand and saw two needle marks from IV drips—one from yesterday, one from today.

Lei Jing had called him a few hours ago, saying Cheng Ji was sick and receiving an IV. He had instructed Lei to back off, but here he was, showing up to confront Cheng Ji himself—a move that was anything but dignified.

Qi Beisong touched Cheng Ji’s forehead and, finding it cool, felt slightly reassured.

Wait—reassured? Why should he feel reassured? What right did Cheng Ji have to make him worry or feel at ease?

“…”

Qi Beisong abruptly stood up, threw on his coat, and stepped out onto the balcony for a cigarette.

The swirling smoke and cold wind tousled his hair as his mind raced with thoughts: Should he stay or leave? Should he take Cheng Ji to the hospital? Should he keep chasing him down or let him go?

Unfortunately, only the worst idea stuck.

If Cheng Ji had taken advantage of his fainting spell to take revealing photos of him, why couldn’t he repay the favor in kind?

He flicked the cigarette away, strode back into the room, and pulled back Cheng Ji’s blanket with a sinister determination. Since you’re heartless, don’t blame me for being ruthless.

Cheng Ji lay there, his face slightly turned, completely defenseless. Earlier, during their scuffle, he had only been wearing a sweater over a loose thermal shirt.

Qi Beisong took out his phone and yanked up Cheng Ji’s shirt. Ten seconds later, he let it fall. Then he lifted it again. And let it fall. And lifted it yet again.

The little…nipples looked quite nice. No, wait—that wasn’t the point!

He knew what he was seeing but couldn’t reconcile it with Cheng Ji.

The object had been removed, but the marks were still there.

He’d never been into this sort of thing before—Qi the Handsome had no interest in BDSM—but he recognized it immediately. It was a ring, primarily used for visual stimulation and enhancing intimacy.

Typically, it would be used in bed, during those intense moments, where pain intertwined with pleasure, and shame mixed with aggression.

But this was Cheng Ji! The Cheng Ji who was like bamboo groves and green tea, the Cheng Ji who could subdue him with a single move. Who would dare to do this to him?

For something like this to happen, the two people involved must have been extremely close—skin against skin, emotions heightened to their peak.

But Cheng Ji wasn’t the type to cry, bleed, or break. He didn’t even take Qi Beisong seriously, so who could possibly make him submit willingly?

An ex-boyfriend? Nonsense. Impossible.

So who? Which lunatic, which reckless fool, had dared to lay hands on Cheng Ji, to touch him in such an intimate way?

(Here, the script briefly substitutes the missing plot explanation: Cheng Ji’s intimate piercing and adornments were instigated by the troublemaker Xu Lele. At the time, Cheng Ji was feeling emotionally overwhelmed and sought physical pain as a way to relieve his inner turmoil. Cheng Ji, both the person he was and the person he is now, remains pure; Qi Beisong is just wildly overthinking.)

Qi Beisong let go of Cheng Ji’s shirt, pulled the blanket back up to cover him, and began pacing the room in frustration, clutching his head.

He couldn’t make sense of it.

His instincts had never been wrong—Cheng Ji was as straight as a ruler. But in certain aspects, he wasn’t so straightforward: the ex-boyfriend, the intimate adornments, and…the fact that someone had clearly been involved with him in a way that included a variety of kinks.

So what was going on here? Was Cheng Ji schizophrenic?

Just as Qi Beisong completed his twentieth lap around the room, Cheng Ji opened his eyes. Those dark, pitch-black pupils silently, eerily, locked onto him.

Qi Beisong froze mid-step, turning to meet Cheng Ji’s gaze.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, and Qi Beisong began to wonder if he himself was losing his mind.

Seeing that Qi Beisong neither spoke nor moved, Cheng Ji pressed a hand to his throbbing temple and said hoarsely, “No more fighting. Let me rest. I really can’t today. Let’s just say I owe you one.”

To smooth things over, he even flattered Qi Beisong with a reluctant compliment: “You’re really… tough.”

That sentence conveniently left out the word head, a gesture of great patience and self-sacrifice.

This sentence struck Qi Beisong deep in his heart, making him flinch involuntarily. To cover up his reaction, he frowned and said, “You have a problem.”

“Right, I have a problem.”

“You have a big problem.”

“Yeah, it’s a big problem.” As long as Qi Beisong didn’t continue to cause trouble today, Cheng Ji would go along with whatever he said.

Qi Beisong, afraid of revealing too much, refused to look at him. He grabbed his coat and said, “I’m leaving.”

“Huh?” Cheng Ji didn’t expect him to be so easy to dismiss. He was surprised and propped himself up on one side of his body.

“Forget about today. I’ll come back tomorrow,” Qi Beisong said.

Cheng Ji grimaced, “Let’s forget about tomorrow too. Anyway, whatever I owe you, money or life, I’ll accept it. Can we both just have a few days of peace? Didn’t you want to spar with me? Then give me a few months to work on my abs; otherwise, I won’t be able to perform to my true level.”

“No,” Qi Beisong said.

Even without abs, he could still beat him like this. If he had abs, it would be unimaginable.

Cheng Ji sighed helplessly.

Qi Beisong reached the door, but before leaving, he asked without turning back, “Why don’t you hit him?”

Cheng Ji asked, “Hit who?”

“Hit him…” Qi Beisong started to speak, but stopped himself. “Forget it. I’m leaving.”

Cheng Ji watched him leave the room, cursing inwardly, What’s going on? Is there anyone else in this world who needs a beating besides you?

Suddenly, Qi Beisong returned and said, “The bed next door collapsed. Don’t move, I’ll have someone bring a new one soon.”

“No need.”

“Wait.”

“No need.”

Qi Beisong shut the door and left.

Cheng Ji slumped back onto the bed, and after a few minutes, the numbness in his head turned into sharp, stabbing pain, coming in waves. It was a mixture of Qi Beisong’s doing and his still-unhealed cold.

He remembered there was a pharmacy at the entrance of this old neighborhood and decided to buy some painkillers. But as soon as he stood up, he bent over and vomited. He hadn’t eaten much today, so all he brought up was some sour liquid, and his throat burned with a painful heat.

“Damn,” he cursed Qi Beisong. Could he have knocked me out with that?

He had no choice but to lie back down, close his eyes, and try to steady his breathing. Maybe it was the headache, or maybe it was the increasing sense of injustice, but tears unexpectedly began to fall.

He opened his eyes, sniffed, and thought he should restrain himself. But things didn’t go as planned. The tears flowed freely, spilling down his face and into his hairline. He didn’t even know what he was crying about.

It was getting dark, and snow was expected tonight. The heavy, low-hanging clouds seemed to press against the corners of the building.

There was no heating in the house, and the old windows didn’t seal well. Cold drafts crept in through the cracks. He touched his face, which was cold and damp, his face looking like a picture of desolation in the harsh wind and rain.

He decided to wallow in his misery for five more minutes, then pull himself together and go buy those painkillers. No matter what, he was still alive. Heaven had given him a second chance at life, not to lie in bed and cry.

He couldn’t stay here today. He had to go back to Changkang Hospital.

Mrs. Cheng’s condition wasn’t good. In the afternoon, while she was receiving an IV at the Fourth Hospital, the bed doctor from Changkang Hospital had called him, saying that many of her indicators were nearing collapse and she might not make it more than ten days.

Patients in hospice care don’t receive aggressive treatment. They pass away quietly, and no matter their consciousness at the time, they need their family by their side.

He needed to be with Mrs. Cheng, praying for her peaceful passing. So he couldn’t lie here—he had to get up.

Cheng Ji struggled a bit before sitting up. His head still ached. He understood that Qi Beisong hadn’t done it on purpose; it was just an accidental move.

Sigh, he thought. Truly, Qi Beisong is something else. Even luck is on his side.

Suddenly, he heard the front door open and quickly wiped away his tears, shifting to see Qi Beisong enter again.

“You…”

He was about to ask how he got in when Qi Beisong said, “I twisted the lock when I left, but I didn’t lock the door.”

“…”

Well, he really came and went freely, treating this place like his own home.

Cheng Ji wanted to say something, but Qi Beisong suddenly asked, “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Cheng Ji blinked and said, “I’m just cold.”

Cold enough to cry? Is it that cold?

Qi Beisong looked at him skeptically, then tossed something to him.

“This is painkiller. Two pills at a time, three times a day. Even if it hurts a lot, don’t take it less than four hours apart.”