In front of the small building of Shuiyue Mountain Villa, Qi Beisong hesitated for a long while before getting out of the car. Everyone has a head on their shoulders, but in the past, he carried his head high with arrogance. Today, however, it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

After he left, Chen Chuan parked the car and hurriedly called Lei Jing.
“Boss Lei, hurry and come to the rescue!”

Lei Jing had just gotten home and was playing with his son. Hearing this, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s a big deal,” Chen Chuan said. “Old Qi has been driven mad by someone. He sat in my car lamenting life with tears in his eyes. I was terrified! You need to come and take over!”

“Who messed with him?” Lei Jing asked.

“That kid with the surname Cheng,” Chen Chuan said. “I don’t know if he cursed him, hit him, or did something worse. Even when Hai-ge sent some gifts over, they were refused. Anyway, Old Qi’s completely dejected, questioning his entire existence.”

Lei Jing asked, “Where are you?”

“At Shuiyue Mountain Villa.”

Lei Jing chuckled. “Don’t worry about him. As long as he doesn’t pull out a gun and start shooting people, let him stew in it. This is good. Finally, someone can keep him in check.”

Manager Zhou, who had been chatting casually in the lobby of the most private clubhouse in Shuiyue Mountain Villa, suddenly saw Qi Beisong’s car pass by through a crack in the door. Panicking, he immediately looked for a place to hide.

Someone nearby asked, “Brother Zhou, why are you hiding?”

“From the God of Wealth,” Zhou said, predicting trouble as he crouched and fled. “The God of Wealth may scatter money, but he also takes lives. Let’s just pretend he never saw me.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Qi Beisong stormed in, his expression fierce and full of grievances. Everyone realized Manager Zhou had wisely avoided trouble.

Qi Beisong, however, specifically wanted to see Zhou Zhiwen. The moment he sat on the sofa in room 388, he asked, “Where’s Zhou Zhiwen?”

The sharp-witted young attendant replied, “Manager Zhou twisted his ankle yesterday and can’t even walk. He’s resting at home today.”

Qi Beisong sneered, turned to Chen Chuan, and said, “Did you hear that? Anyone who crosses me never ends up well.”

Chen Chuan couldn’t follow the logic. He thought to himself, *That kid Cheng crossed you—fine, at least he’s young and good-looking. But Zhou? He’s almost forty, plain as can be, full of nonsense, and not even doing his main job. Yet you’re bothered by him too?*

‘Old Qi, I must’ve misjudged you. You’re messier than I thought.’

Qi Beisong snorted. “It’s fine if he doesn’t come. He’s in cahoots with Cheng anyway. Just thinking about it annoys me.”

Since Zhou refused to show up, someone had to take the fall. Zhou’s deputy and other managers had no choice but to step forward reluctantly.

For context, Zhou was a legitimate executive in charge of operations at Shuiyue Mountain Villa. His side gig of managing other affairs was more of a charity effort because he didn’t trust others to handle it properly.

In the past, Qi Beisong was sparing with his words at Shuiyue Mountain Villa. Today, however, he broke his usual demeanor, scolding the middle management one by one. They were left trembling and bewildered, unsure who had provoked him.

Manager Zhou, observing from behind the scenes, prepared to send someone in to take over the beating. But before he could act, Qi Beisong got up to leave. Apparently, he had come solely to vent.

A middle manager cautiously asked, “Uh, Young Master Qi, are you leaving already?”

Qi Beisong rolled his eyes. “Should I stay here with you? Just look at yourself. If you so much as touched me, I’d be the one at a loss.”

The middle manager forced a laugh. “Yes, yes, of course.”

Qi Beisong returned home.

He didn’t live with his family. Instead, he owned a luxury apartment in a high-end neighborhood near the bay. The apartment was a top-floor penthouse, about 250 square meters, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering stunning sea views.

He loved his little nest and never brought anyone there. Besides his family, bodyguards, and domestic staff, no one knew about it.

Chen Chuan watched him enter the elevator and called Lei Jing again.
“It’s over, it’s over!”

“What’s over?” Lei Jing asked. “Where’s Qi Beisong?”

“At home, eating vegetarian now,” Chen Chuan replied. “You’d better find him a temple to stay at. He’s showing signs of enlightenment. He went to Shuiyue Mountain Villa, didn’t cause any trouble, and left without even a shred of desire. At this rate, he might transcend worldly affairs in a few days.”

Lei Jing sighed. “Quit joking.”

Chen Chuan burst into laughter. “Anyway, he’s home. My task is done, and I’m off work. Have Zhao Jiarui pick him up at nine tomorrow morning—I’ve got something to do.”

“What do you need to do?”

“I need to write,” Chen Chuan said earnestly. “I’m going to write a story about a handsome fool who, at the age of 25, fought valiantly against mental illness but ultimately succumbed.”

“Shut your mouth,” Lei Jing snapped.

Chen Chuan laughed uncontrollably. “Seriously, that kid Cheng is something else. The country needs talents like him. I should take notes from him. He managed to deal with Qi Beisong, of all people—arrogant, unruly Qi Beisong. Though ten thousand stood in his way, he didn’t back down! Hahaha!”

Before Lei Jing could scold him, Chen Chuan hung up and drove off, still laughing.

Lei Jing, holding his phone, muttered, “This illiterate fool didn’t even finish high school, yet he’s quoting books.”

He thought for a moment and decided to visit Wang Beifeng at Changkang Hospital, just in case he was grumbling too much. When he arrived, however, he found Wang Beifeng playing chess with Cheng.

Wang Beifeng, seeing him, slapped the bed and exclaimed, “Perfect timing! Boss Lei is here. Now we can play cards with three people!”

Cheng smiled obediently and greeted him, “Brother Lei.”

Lei Jing walked up to him and said, “You.”

Cheng replied, “Your boss agreed to a 24-hour ceasefire, so I came to accompany my mom and enjoy some rare peace.”

“What exactly did you do to him?” Lei Jing asked.

Cheng simply smiled and said nothing.

Lei Jing asked again, and Cheng Ji had no choice but to reply, “I just did whatever he told me to. Nothing inappropriate.”

“He’s been acting very unusual today,” Lei Jing said.

Cheng Ji tilted his head, thinking for a moment, then concluded, “That probably has nothing to do with me.”

Lei Jing pressed, “This afternoon—”

Clearly not wanting to continue the conversation, Cheng Ji was saved by the arrival of their food delivery. To get through the cold winter night, he had brought two bottles of huangjiu from home and ordered some braised snacks to pair with the wine.

Opening the box of braised dishes, Cheng Ji pulled out a bottle of warmed huangjiu from a basin of hot water, seemingly like performing a magic trick. He also produced several small wine cups, placing one in front of each person. Even near the pillow of his sleeping mother, he set one.

He poured only a half cup for his mother and whispered, “Mom, let’s have a drink,” before filling the others’ cups to the brim. Raising his own, he said, “Thank you.”

Wang Beifeng asked, “Thank us for what?”

Cheng Ji explained, “First, thank you and Brother Lei for staying with my mom during her hardest time. To be honest, if you weren’t here, I would’ve been really scared. Second, thank you for not prying. And lastly, though we barely know each other, you’re willing to sit with me in this hospice ward, drinking together. I’m truly grateful.”

Wang Beifeng burst into laughter. “You’re calling this ‘keeping company’? I’m not here for your mom, you know. I’m here to monitor you on behalf of Old Qi!”

“I’ve asked my fair share of questions too,” Lei Jing added.

“Still the same,” Cheng Ji said before downing his drink in one go, showing the empty bottom of the cup.

The alcohol brought a faint flush to his clean, handsome face. He ran his tongue over his slightly moist lips and glanced at the bottle in his hand, focusing on its ordinary label.

“Life is really damn good,” he suddenly remarked with a sigh.

Lei Jing sipped his wine, waiting for more.

“The past few days have been so gloomy. It’s been snowing constantly, and I haven’t seen the sunset once,” Cheng Ji said, his eyes shining. “I love sunsets. When the sky is ablaze with fire clouds spreading across the west, surging like ocean waves, the backdrop is a bottomless blue-gray. Buildings are edged with golden outlines. I lie beneath it all, not thinking about anything, just dumbly staring in peace. No matter what, I want to see another sunset.”

Wang Beifeng quickly interrupted, “Hey, kid, we can talk this out! Don’t make it sound like a farewell letter. You’re not even twenty yet! You’ll see so many sunsets that you’ll get tired of them.”

Cheng Ji froze for a moment before laughing and apologizing.

At the moment of his death in his past life, the sky had been painted in vibrant sunset hues. Shot in the chest, his blood pooled into a bright red puddle beneath him. Strangely, there was no pain—only weakness—but he still tried to keep his eyes open to watch the serene sky where the evening glow burned.

“I’m saying it on behalf of my mom. She’s been unconscious all this time,” Cheng Ji clarified.

“Prepare yourself mentally,” Lei Jing advised.

Cheng Ji swirled his cup and murmured softly, “Mm.”

Madam Cheng’s skin was swollen, her face pale and lifeless. It was clear to everyone that her time was running out.

The three men continued drinking and eating. For the most part, Wang Beifeng entertained with his wild stories while Cheng Ji mostly stayed quiet. Lei Jing drank slowly, silently observing Cheng Ji.

There was no denying Qi Beisong had suffered at Cheng Ji’s hands, but his intense interest in the young man was unusual.

Qi Beisong wasn’t raised in a bubble. Despite his arrogance, he’d encountered his share of challenges and grudges. Yet he rarely retaliated personally—it was never necessary.

But with Cheng Ji, Qi Beisong was completely out of his depth, acting like an impulsive fool who repeatedly sought trouble.

Lei Jing pondered. By looks, Cheng Ji wasn’t superior to the models and celebrities in Qi Beisong’s circle. His speech wasn’t particularly eloquent, and his demeanor wasn’t especially striking.

But it was his attitude.

Cheng Ji was calm and unaffected—neither fawning nor manipulative, with no calculated behavior.

In other words, he didn’t care who Qi Beisong was. He wasn’t like the models who over-laughed, over-cried, or tried hard to impress. Nor did he feign coldness or play hard to get.

Instead, Cheng Ji was simply focused on fixing his chaotic life while maintaining composure and treating others as equals, offering the most genuine feedback.

And this, Lei Jing realized, was what Qi Beisong’s world lacked the most: normalcy. He had admirers and enemies but no one who dared to speak plainly to him.

“Do you hate Qi Beisong?” Lei Jing asked.

“No,” Cheng Ji replied.

“Really?”

Cheng Ji shook his head, his ink-black eyes glinting. “I just don’t want to play along with him.”

It was the truth. For someone who had faced death, there was no interest in petty games—only the desire to savor life.

Lei Jing smiled and clinked glasses with him. “But he wants to play with you. Here’s to a 24-hour truce. I’ll finish my drink; you can do as you like.”

Cheng Ji didn’t hold back, downing the whole cup.

Huangjiu wasn’t strong, but it could get you tipsy. The three of them drank two bottles, and by the end, they were all a little light-headed. As the gathering broke up, Lei Jing walked home, leaving his car behind, while Cheng Ji and Wang Beifeng stayed on watch.

At five the next morning, Qi Beisong arrived at the hospital, his mood restless after a sleepless night. The first thing he saw was Cheng Ji and Wang Beifeng asleep, tangled together.

Two grown men shared an 80cm-wide hospital bed. Cheng Ji cradled Wang Beifeng’s head, while Wang Beifeng held Cheng Ji’s slim waist.

Standing before the bed, Qi Beisong’s expression froze. The air around him grew heavy, his face dark as a storm loomed over the silent scene.