[Lu Zhuonian is already starting to suspect him]

Lu Zhuonian turned around.

He was tall, and Chen Zemian, in order to hear the phone, had been standing on his tiptoes and leaning forward slightly to get close.

With Lu Zhuonian’s sudden movement, Chen Zemian instantly lost his balance. Top-heavy and unsteady, he stumbled forward, crashing into Lu Zhuonian’s arms.

Though Chen Zemian was heavily drunk, his physical reflexes were still intact. Just before his forehead could collide with Lu Zhuonian’s chest, he quickly grabbed something solid to steady himself.

It was Lu Zhuonian’s arm.

Beneath the luxurious fabric, Chen Zemian’s form spoke of honed power. Chen Zemian felt the sleek, sculpted lines of well-trained muscle, firm and full to the touch. The tautness of his tendons hinted at a contained energy, like a leopard coiled and ready to unleash its boundless strength.

Chen Zemian had once had such impressive muscles himself, but that body was gone now.

Chen Zhe’s frame, on the other hand, was lean and frail. To achieve such perfect muscle definition, he’d first need to bulk up, then spend half a year in the gym with intense training just to get a rough outline.

Even then, it’d be all show and no substance—not this powerfully alive.

In the original book, the protagonist Lu Zhuonian stood at the pinnacle of power. He was always flanked by bodyguards wherever he went and, given his status, rarely got his hands dirty personally. But among his character traits, he had a love for combat sports.

He enjoyed all sorts of extreme activities.

This muscle texture certainly matched that description.

Chen Zemian enviously squeezed the tight, solid muscle, not yet having the chance to mourn his lost vitality and strong physique, when he suddenly snapped to a realization—

The person in front of him might, probably, perhaps… actually be the protagonist, Lu Zhuonian.

Oh no.

Rumor had it Lu Zhuonian had a severe case of mysophobia. He recoiled from any living thing getting close and absolutely despised physical contact.

How could someone mess up this badly?!

On his very first night after transmigrating, Chen Zemian had not only lost his temper and smashed a bottle on Xu Shaoyang’s lackey Wu Xu, but he’d also recklessly barreled into his one and only lifeline.

Chen Zemian slowly lifted his head, locking eyes with an expressionless Lu Zhuonian in a silent standoff.

On the other end of the phone, Xiao Kesong was still talking, but no one was listening anymore.

Lu Zhuonian put away his phone.

Chen Zemian quietly shifted his gaze away.

As long as he didn’t feel awkward, the awkwardness would fall on Lu Zhuonian.

Chen Zemian let go of his arm, stepping back half a pace as if nothing had happened, maintaining a breezy facade while secretly scanning for an escape route.

Unexpectedly, just as he safely stepped back, Lu Zhuonian suddenly reached out and grabbed Chen Zemian’s wrist with force.

Lu Zhuonian’s grip was astonishingly strong, clamping down like iron tongs, making Chen Zemian let out an involuntary whimper.

‘Didn’t he hate being touched? Buddy, why are you grabbing me?’

‘Let go, you jerk!’

Chen Zemian’s nose stung, and his eyes almost instantly turned red.

To clarify, if this were based on his original pain tolerance, he could absolutely endure this level of discomfort. The fact that he couldn’t help but whimper was entirely due to Chen Zhe’s frail body.

It couldn’t handle pain at all.

Not even a little.

A misty haze clouded Chen Zemian’s vision, teetering on the edge of tears as he glared up at Lu Zhuonian.

“How did you get over here?” Lu Zhuonian yanked Chen Zemian closer, lowering his gaze with an icy tone. “Where are the bodyguards?”

Chen Zemian stammered.

If he fought back with all his strength, he was confident his combat skills could probably kick Lu Zhuonian away and make a run for it.

But a person couldn’t—or at least shouldn’t—offend both major powers completely right after transmigrating.

He had to survive, didn’t he?

Though he was determined to get revenge on the young masters who humiliated Chen Zhe, that would require a plan, a process. Besides, in the original book, the protagonist was portrayed with a lot of class and never resorted to bullying others with his status.

So how could he escape without kicking Lu Zhuonian over?

Seeing Chen Zhe’s eyes grow unfocused, clearly starting to zone out, Lu Zhuonian tightened his grip on the wrist a bit more and said coldly, “Speak.”

Chen Zemian nearly whimpered again.

It really hurt.

Forcing down a sob, Chen Zemian bit his inner lip to endure the sharp pain. Before he could say anything else, a single word slipped out: “Hurts.”

Lu Zhuonian: “…”

Chen Zemian: “…”

Lu Zhuonian stared at Chen Zemian’s slightly reddened nose tip, thinking to himself, So delicate, before slowly loosening his hold on his wrist.

The slender, elegant wrist was circled with a red mark, looking pitiful.

Chen Zemian hadn’t felt this humiliated in a long time. He clutched his wrist, head lowered, glancing left and right as if searching for something.

People tend to act busy when they’re flustered.

Lu Zhuonian asked, “What are you looking for?”

Chen Zemian was furious but didn’t dare voice it. With a stubborn streak, he spat out two words: “My dignity.”

Lu Zhuonian pulled out a silk handkerchief, wiping his hands while giving Chen Zemian an odd look. “How come I never noticed you were this… eccentric before?”

“…”

Chen Zemian now just wanted to bolt, to vanish from Lu Zhuonian’s sight, find a quiet corner to sort out his thoughts, and plan his next move.

Lu Zhuonian was a man of his word, decisive and ruthless. In the original story, his attitude toward Chen Zhe was lukewarm—neither particularly caring nor deliberately harsh. Yet even without Lu Zhuonian actively targeting him, Chen Zhe had already been tormented miserably by the other young masters.

If Chen Zemian handled this poorly today and left a bad impression, getting on this princeling’s bad side, Lu Zhuonian wouldn’t even need to lift a finger. A casual remark from him would be enough to send countless people scrambling to grind Chen Zemian down on his behalf.

Given the circumstances, Chen Zemian had no choice but to swallow his pride.

So, reluctantly, he expressed his gratitude as a closing statement: “Thanks for today, Young Master Lu. It’s late, so I won’t trouble you any longer.”

“Wait.”

Lu Zhuonian stopped him, tossing the handkerchief into a trash bin. Instead of letting Chen Zemian go as Chen Zemian had hoped, Lu Zhuonian asked, “I sent two bodyguards to take you to the hospital. Where are they?”

Chen Zemian froze at the question.

Uh, the bodyguards.

Before he’d crossed the corridor to find Lu Zhuonian, it seemed two people had tried to lead him in the opposite direction. Chen Zemian had struggled a bit, and one of the bodyguards used a standard grappling move, twisting his arms behind his back and pushing him outward.

That overly precise, professional combat maneuver triggered Chen Zemian’s muscle memory. He twisted free of the hold, struck back with a swift chop from each hand, landing precise blows on the carotid arteries of both bodyguards’ necks…

Chen Zemian hesitated over his wording: “They… fell asleep.”

Lu Zhuonian: “?”

Chen Zemian flashed Lu Zhuonian a placating, harmless smile.

Two minutes later, Lu Zhuonian stood looking at the two bodyguards sprawled unconscious in the corridor, taking a quiet, deep breath.

Chen Zemian stood three steps away, gazing at the sky, the ground, the signs—anywhere but at Lu Zhuonian.

Lu Zhuonian was so exasperated he almost laughed.

The bodyguard captain examined the two men and reported in a low voice: “Young Master Lu, these two were struck heavily on their carotid arteries, causing a brief lack of blood flow to the brain and fainting. The person who attacked them…”

The captain glanced at Chen Zemian, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, before continuing: “The attacker was swift and precise, with perfect control of force—one strike, no excess damage. A real expert.”

An expert.

Lu Zhuonian mulled over those words, his mind flashing back to when he was on the phone and Chen Zhe’s head had suddenly popped up over his shoulder, catching him off guard.

He hadn’t heard any footsteps or sensed Chen Zhe’s presence at all.

Lu Zhuonian carefully replayed the moment in his head—if Chen Zhe hadn’t come over like some lunatic to eavesdrop on the call, but instead had attacked his carotid artery with the same clean, precise strike he’d used on the bodyguards, would his own reflexes and response have been faster than those of his battle-hardened guards?

Could he have dodged Chen Zhe’s attack?

The Lu family’s bodyguards were rigorously selected—mostly retired armed police or mercenaries. Someone capable of knocking out two of them in an instant wasn’t unheard of, but that someone absolutely shouldn’t have been Chen Zhe.

Chen Zhe had no combat experience. How could he transform overnight into the “expert” the bodyguard captain described?

Though, it did explain the gash on Wu Xu’s head.

Everything Chen Zhe had displayed tonight—his skills, his demeanor—was a stark departure from before. It wasn’t just his physical ability; his personality had shifted too.

The once-transparent, paper-thin Chen Zhe had suddenly become a cloud of mist—unreadable, untouchable.

This change was dangerous enough, yet intriguing enough.

Lu Zhuonian’s gaze deepened as he silently sized up Chen Zhe, standing two meters away.

Chen Zemian offered a polite, slightly awkward smile.

Lu Zhuonian looked at Chen Zemian and quietly ordered the bodyguard captain, “Go pull the surveillance footage.”

Chen Zemian’s heart skipped a beat when he heard Lu Zhuonian wanted to check the cameras.

Combat skills were like martial arts moves—any expert could tell at a glance what style they belonged to and where they’d been learned. If Lu Zhuonian reviewed the footage of him taking action, it’d be no different from stripping Chen Zemian’s secrets bare on the spot—Chen Zhe shouldn’t have such impressive skills.

Lu Zhuonian was already suspicious of him.

In a desperate bid to deflect, Chen Zemian said, “Young Master Lu, isn’t it a bit much to have your people make a big show of pulling the restaurant’s surveillance? Lushui Pavilion prides itself on its privacy as a top-tier private kitchen. If the footage gets shown to outsiders so casually, won’t that hurt its reputation?”

Lu Zhuonian replied coolly, “Lushui Pavilion is a Lu family property.”

Since it was Lu family territory, he hadn’t bothered having his bodyguards follow him earlier when he took the call.

Who could’ve imagined that in just two or three minutes, across a distance of less than two hundred meters, such a massive slip-up would occur?

Chen Zemian hadn’t realized Lushui Pavilion belonged to the Lu family, and a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.

Lu Zhuonian caught the shift in his expression and kept his gaze fixed on him, asking in a calm tone, “Do you have anything to say?”

The subtext was clear—‘Before the footage comes back, I’m giving you a chance to explain yourself.’

Unfortunately, Chen Zemian misunderstood.

After all, their previous exchange had been about Lushui Pavilion’s ownership.

Chen Zemian sighed sincerely, “I really didn’t expect that.”

Lu Zhuonian’s brow furrowed subtly, and he signaled with his eyes for Chen Zemian to continue.

So Chen Zemian, in a half-sycophantic, half-perfunctory tone, piled on the praise: “Young Master Lu, you’re amazing. A place this classy is actually your private property, and hardly anyone knows… Xu Shaoyang even dared to set up a trap for me here. He’s destined to crash and burn.”

Lu Zhuonian cut to the chase: “Wouldn’t he crash and burn no matter where he set it up? You even dared to take down my bodyguards—afraid of a mere Xu Shaoyang?”

That word “dared” carried a subtle weight.

Chen Zemian mumbled in defense, “I didn’t know they were your people, Young Master Lu.”

“Didn’t know they were mine?”

Lu Zhuonian paused, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. “You called me by name back there. Forgot that already?”

Chen Zemian had been racking his brain for a way to brush off the fact that he hadn’t recognized Lu Zhuonian earlier.

Lu Zhuonian’s casual ‘Forgot?”’ sparked a new idea for him.

As long as he stuck to the story of amnesia, no matter who questioned him next or what they asked, he could brush it off with a simple “I don’t remember”—dodging everything effortlessly.

Sure, it sounded absurd and a bit shameless, but it was actually a pretty solid strategy.

Mainly because he couldn’t come up with a convincing excuse on the spot to fool someone as “deeply calculating and highly suspicious” as Lu Zhuonian.

Chen Zemian rubbed his temples, deciding to go all in with a defeated air. “Yeah, I forgot. I probably drank too much and lost my memory. I really didn’t recognize you.”

Lu Zhuonian seemed unprepared for Chen Zemian to be this brazen. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “Chen Zhe, do you know what happened to the last person who spouted nonsense in front of me?”

Chen Zemian also felt that “drinking into amnesia” was a bit too ridiculous.

He cleared his throat lightly, his brain racing.

Got it.

In a flash of inspiration, Chen Zemian shifted the blame to Wu Xu. “Earlier, over at Second Young Master Xu’s side, Wu Xu suddenly attacked and hit me on the head.”

It’s true that people sometimes laugh when they’re speechless.

Lu Zhuonian’s sharp brows furrowed slightly. “Wu Xu hit your head, and yet he’s the one with a bleeding skull? Some kind of cosmic redirection?”

Chen Zemian: “…”

Everyone knows that one lie requires countless more to cover it up, but the habit of letting your mouth run wild is a tough one to break.

Chen Zemian gritted his teeth and kept bullshitting. “I fought back too. His bleeding is an external injury; my amnesia is an internal one.”

“An internal injury, huh,” Lu Zhuonian nodded. “Very good.”

Very good?

Chen Zemian had no idea what was “very good” about his internal injury, nor did he want to find out. All he knew was that if Lu Zhuonian kept pressing him, he’d end up spewing even more nonsense.

Thankfully, Lu Zhuonian didn’t ask further for the moment. Instead, he pulled out his phone, his thumb moving as if replying to a message.

Chen Zemian waited a bit before cautiously asking, “Young Master Lu, can I go now?”

Lu Zhuonian’s tone was calm but firm. “No.”

Chen Zemian’s vision darkened. “Do you have any other orders?”

Lu Zhuonian flipped his phone around, flashing it in Chen Zemian’s face like an FBI agent showing a badge. “Care to explain why, with a head injury, your fighting skills suddenly got so impressive?”

The phone screen played a video—the surveillance footage from the corridor.

In the video, Chen Zhe, hands pinned behind his back, bent slightly forward. His arms twisted at an impossible angle as he grabbed a bodyguard’s wrist with his right hand, using the leverage to execute a midair side flip to break free. The moment he landed, he struck the first bodyguard’s neck with a chop, not even glancing back before immediately turning to deliver a second chop to the other bodyguard.

Both guards dropped to the ground within a second.

The video was slowed to 0.5x speed, but even then, Chen Zhe’s flip was so fast it blurred, making it impossible to discern how he’d pulled it off.

The short video lasted only seven seconds, and even at half speed, it was just fourteen seconds. It finished playing once quickly, then looped back to play a second time.

Lu Zhuonian turned off the phone screen with a flick. “Anything else to say?”

Chen Zemian looked up at Lu Zhuonian, his eyes earnest. “Can you send me a copy of the video? I didn’t realize I’d look this cool.”

Lu Zhuonian’s fingers tightened unconsciously around the phone. His refined upbringing barely restrained the urge to smash it into Chen Zhe’s face.

Reading people and gauging intentions were mandatory skills for safe socializing in elite circles. Lu Zhuonian hadn’t been good at it as a child and had suffered for his naivety. Later, he deliberately trained himself in it.

Lu Zhuonian excelled at everything he put his mind to—no matter how difficult, as long as he studied it seriously, he’d achieve satisfying results.

He observed everyone he met without drawing attention, consistently building a sample size and deducing patterns. Now, with just a glance at someone’s eyes or movements, he could roughly guess their thoughts and intentions with ease.

But today, that keen insight and deductive ability kept failing him when it came to Chen Zhe.

Chen Zhe seemed to exist outside the realm of normal logic, defying Lu Zhuonian’s twenty years of life experience.

There was a contradictory shift in him that Lu Zhuonian couldn’t see through or comprehend.

Reason told Lu Zhuonian to eliminate unstable variables, but the human instinct to explore the unknown made him itch to unravel the mystery himself.

It had been a long time since Lu Zhuonian’s emotions had fluctuated like this. He looked at Chen Zhe, his expression mostly unchanged, his voice so cold it could freeze. “I’m asking you to explain why a head injury would make your fighting skills better.”

Chen Zemian opened his mouth, nearly blurting out, “Maybe it unlocked my Ren and Du meridians.”

But a split second before spouting more nonsense, his long-dormant survival instinct kicked in. His sixth sense blared like an alarm, warning him not to provoke Lu Zhuonian further.

Chen Zemian subtly peeked at Lu Zhuonian’s expression, thinking he was being discreet.

Lu Zhuonian remained composed, noticing Chen Zemian’s glance and meeting it with a calm stare.

Chen Zemian’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously.

Worthy of a male-lead protagonist—truly deep, unfathomable, and hard to read.

This Lu Zhuonian seemed incredibly dangerous and, in reality, was not safe at all.