[It must be because of Chen Zhe

Chen Zemian licked his dry lips, then clamped his mouth shut again.

Lu Zhuonian raised an eyebrow. “Why’d you stop talking?”

Chen Zemian asked warily, “Young Master Lu, do you think this amnesia thing of mine… sounds ridiculous?”

Lu Zhuonian didn’t respond.

A chill crept up Chen Zemian’s neck, making the hairs stand on end. “Then I’ll go home and think it over. Maybe it’ll clear up in a few days.”

Lu Zhuonian remained silent, only staring at him with deep, unreadable eyes.

Chen Zemian felt like a rabbit eyed by a python. He hastily tossed out, “Good night, Young Master Lu. See you, Young Master Lu.”

Before the words fully landed, Chen Zemian had already darted past Lu Zhuonian, making a swift escape.

Four bodyguards stepped out from behind Lu Zhuonian, lining up in a row to block the corridor completely, cutting off Chen Zemian’s path.

Chen Zemian’s expression shifted in an instant, his face tightening into a cold, statue-like mask. “You can’t stop me.”

Footsteps echoed as four more bodyguards circled around to his front.

Eight burly men filled the hallway, their sheer presence oppressive even without making a move.

Chen Zemian’s expression didn’t falter. He merely rolled his neck, loosening it. “Then bring it on.”

The bodyguard captain glanced at Lu Zhuonian questioningly.

Lu Zhuonian took a pair of leather gloves handed to him by a bodyguard and slipped them on slowly. The black leather encased his long fingers, the soft, high-quality lambskin gleaming with a warm, luxurious sheen under the light.

Chen Zemian took half a step back, on high alert.

In the original story, Lu Zhuonian putting on gloves was an iconic move.

Due to his extreme mysophobia, Lu Zhuonian always wore gloves before getting his hands dirty himself.

The black lambskin gloves symbolized restraint and abstinence, yet the action hinted at the violence about to unfold.

This stark contrast built massive anticipation among readers, practically a legendary scene—  

The calm, controlled protagonist, even in a rage, remained composed. He’d slip on the gloves unhurriedly, then strike with swift, brutal precision, each punch landing hard, leaving his opponent bloodied. Afterward, he’d rise calmly, look down at them with the disdain one might spare a dog, toss the blood-stained gloves to the ground, and walk away. The tension was off the charts, driving readers wild with excitement.

But given Lu Zhuonian’s lofty status, he rarely needed to act personally. The “glove scene” was a rare and thus iconic moment in the novel, occurring only a handful of times when someone had truly crossed his principles and bottom line, prompting him to deliver a lesson himself.

But now, Lu Zhuonian was actually putting on gloves?!

‘What did I do?’

Chen Zemian stood there, utterly dumbfounded.

‘I didn’t even say anything outrageous.’

‘Why is Lu Zhuonian putting on gloves? Which of my words crossed his principles and bottom line?!’

‘Undo, undo, undo.’

Chen Zemian’s pupils dilated slightly as he froze in place, mentally hammering Ctrl + Z.

Lu Zhuonian was quite pleased with Chen Zemian’s reaction.

He leisurely rolled up his sleeves, folding them to his elbows, and said lightly, “So, can I stop you?”

Chen Zemian’s pupils shrank. He turned and bolted.

Lu Zhuonian, quick as a flash, grabbed Chen Zemian by the back of his collar.

Chen Zemian didn’t care about appearances anymore. He yanked up the hem of his shirt with both hands, intending to shed it and pull off a cicada-shedding-its-shell escape.

As he lifted the hem, a sliver of his slim waist peeked out, his skin so pale it seemed to glow.

Lu Zhuonian tugged back on Chen Zemian’s collar and reached out to clamp down on his neck.

Chen Zemian wondered what kind of move this was. He tilted his head to dodge, only for Lu Zhuonian to grab his wrist instead. Following the momentum, Chen Zemian twisted downward, pressing against Lu Zhuonian’s tiger’s mouth. ^[1] In the context of martial arts, “tiger’s mouth” (虎口, hǔkǒu) refers to the webbed area of the hand between the thumb and the index finger.

Lu Zhuonian frowned slightly and called out in a low voice, “Chen Zhe.”

Chen Zemian stopped short, easing off the pressure. When he looked up, he couldn’t quite suppress the defiant spark in his eyes. “You can’t stop me either.”

“I might not be able to stop you, but I’m betting you wouldn’t dare hit me.” Lu Zhuonian yanked Chen Zemian closer abruptly. “So you’ve got no choice but to come with me.”

Chen Zemian’s skills were impressive—too much for the bodyguards to handle.

Lu Zhuonian stepping in himself wasn’t because he was a better fighter; it was because he was certain Chen Zemian wouldn’t dare lay a hand on him.

Catching the implication in Lu Zhuonian’s words, a flicker of disbelief crossed Chen Zemian’s eyes. He hadn’t expected Lu Zhuonian to play this kind of logic.

Kind of shameless.

“Are you really Lu Zhuonian?”

As he was shoved into the car, Chen Zemian had only one question in his mind.

In the original story, Lu Zhuonian held himself with dignity, lofty and untouchable. How could he resort to something as absurd as using himself to threaten someone?

Lu Zhuonian sat calmly in the back of the business car, composed and unruffled. “Want me to show you my ID?”

“Forget it,” Chen Zemian resignedly slumped back into the seat. “Where are you taking me?”

Lu Zhuonian: “Didn’t you say you had an internal injury and amnesia? I’m taking you to the hospital for a checkup.”

A flicker of hope sparked in Chen Zemian. “If they don’t find anything wrong, can I leave?”

Lu Zhuonian shot him a sidelong glance. “You’re amnesiac—how could there not be something wrong?”

Chen Zemian realized Lu Zhuonian was starting to doubt him, and his heart sank halfway. “What if they don’t find anything?”

Lu Zhuonian’s tone was casual, almost offhand. “Then they’ll keep checking until they do. Until something’s found, you can settle into the hospital. I’ll send people to protect you.”

Chen Zemian’s heart sank completely.

Protection? More like surveillance.

Chen Zemian protested under his breath, “This is restricting my personal freedom—illegal detention.”

Lu Zhuonian gave a slight nod. “Mm, go ahead and call the police.”

“…”

Chen Zemian was speechless.

Is this guy really Lu Zhuonian?

In the novel, he was a steady, dignified figure. Why is he so petty and sly in reality?

His personality deviated a bit from the original text, but his appearance was spot-on.

Lu Zhuonian had clear, handsome features and a straight nose. The orange light cast shadows on his youthful, striking face, accentuating his superior bone structure. His sharply defined features and cold, profound demeanor carried an air of aloof nobility between his brows, along with an authority that seemed beyond his years.

He looked a tad younger than Chen Zemian had pictured from the book.

The car’s interior was warm and clean, with a fresh scent—none of the usual leather or gasoline smells, nor any overpowering mishmash of air fresheners.

Chen Zemian, prone to motion sickness after drinking, surprisingly felt fine this time.

The driver’s skills were excellent, the vehicle gliding smoothly forward, the engine’s rhythmic hum lulling Chen Zemian into drowsiness.

Propping his head up with one hand, Chen Zemian stared at Lu Zhuonian. As he watched, his eyes gradually closed, the drunken haze taking over. Within moments, he was asleep.

Lu Zhuonian glanced sideways at Chen Zemian, whose breathing had deepened, and found him increasingly intriguing.

The business car pulled into the parking lot of a lavishly built private hospital—a Lu family property. Within thirty seconds of the special license plate being scanned at the entrance, word had spread throughout the hospital that the young master of the Lu family had arrived for treatment.

The car stopped at the emergency entrance, and a gentle jolt from the brakes woke Chen Zemian from his nap.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw over a dozen people in white coats—head doctors, nurses—standing at the entrance to greet them. Anyone unaware might’ve thought the car was carrying a critical patient teetering on the edge of death.

The driver got out and opened the door, and several nurses rushed forward, practically lifting and dragging Chen Zemian onto a stretcher.

Chen Zemian repeated, “I can walk, I can walk,” several times before finally freeing his arms from the nurses’ firm grips.

Before he could say anything else, a swarm of doctors ushered him into the lobby. In a whirlwind, he underwent a dozen tests—blood draws, CT scans, MRIs, the works. They stopped just short of performing a lumbar puncture to check his cerebrospinal fluid for meningitis.

“Intellectual decline is a primary symptom of brain damage. Let’s do a lumbar puncture.”

Chen Zemian was lying in the observation room, zoning out, when he overheard Lu Zhuonian’s devilish whisper from outside the door.

With the young master’s orders, the doctors didn’t dare disobey. They entered with a nurse, instructing Chen Zemian to lie on his side, stay still, tuck his chin, and curl up with his knees to his chest to prepare for the procedure.

The nurse retrieved a puncture needle from the medical cart—a thick, long needle with black measurement markings, at least 12 centimeters in length.

The silver tip gleamed coldly under the shadowless lamp.

Chen Zemian snapped awake in an instant.

Blood draws and scans are one thing, but draining his spinal fluid? No way.

Chen Zemian rolled off the bed in a flash, shouting, “Lu Zhuonian! Lu Zhuonian!”

Lu Zhuonian didn’t respond at first, only stepping slowly into the observation room after Chen Zemian called his name several times. “What’s wrong?”

Chen Zemian pushed past the crowd, zeroing in on Lu Zhuonian’s sleeve with pinpoint accuracy, pleading, “I was wrong, Young Master Lu, I was wrong. Don’t let them draw my spinal fluid—it really hurts.”

A faint, barely noticeable smile flickered in Lu Zhuonian’s eyes. “Wrong about what?”

Chen Zemian said, “Everything. I’m not sick, please don’t make me do more tests, I’m begging you.”

Lu Zhuonian looked down at Chen Zemian, his expression teetering on a smirk. “Begging already? I thought you had more backbone—figured you’d hold out at least until the colonoscopy or bronchoscopy before giving in.”

Colonoscopy? Bronchoscopy?

Threatening him with those—Lu Zhuonian was a demon, wasn’t he?

The human trachea is incredibly fragile. Even choking on water can leave you coughing for ages, let alone having an instrument inserted. That sensation is a hundred times more intense than choking—impossible to cough out, with the device probing deeper, moving around inside the airway. The drowning-like, near-death feeling could drive anyone to the brink of madness.

Under the threat of various endoscopic exams, it’s hard for anyone to hold onto their dignity.

Chen Zemian caved instantly.

He clung to Lu Zhuonian’s sleeve as if it were a lifeline, softening his tone. “I don’t have an ounce of backbone. I’m super compliant.”

Lu Zhuonian glanced at his sleeve. “Hands.”

Recalling Lu Zhuonian’s mysophobia, Chen Zemian immediately let go, even grabbing an alcohol wipe from the medical cart and making a show of dabbing the spot he’d touched.

Lu Zhuonian was satisfied.

In his mind, Chen Zemian clenched his fists, silently chanting a hundred times, ‘Don’t bully the young and poor—someday I’ll crush you beneath my feet,’ just to suppress the urge to headbutt Lu Zhuonian and wipe that smug look off his face.

Watching Chen Zemian’s outward obedience paired with inner defiance, a rare spark of amusement stirred in Lu Zhuonian’s heart.

It was a thrill more exhilarating than any extreme sport.

Since birth, Lu Zhuonian had effortlessly obtained whatever he desired.

Because it came so easily, it was dull. Tasteless.

His smooth, privileged life was like a grand, elegant court symphony—majestic, radiant, dazzling—but also predictable, unchanging, without ripples or waves.

Day after day, life was steady and monotonous. Lu Zhuonian could see his future at a glance without even needing to think.

A repetitive old tune, played on an ancient instrument, until tonight—when a strange new note suddenly broke through, striking an unexpected chord.

Lu Zhuonian should’ve corrected it, fixed him, distanced himself.

But this Chen Zhe was too alive.

He brimmed with vitality and strength, so vivid he felt like the first real, living person Lu Zhuonian had encountered in twenty years.

Just threatening him with a lumbar puncture had turned him pale with fright, shouting Lu Zhuonian’s name in the observation room, clinging to him pitifully, begging for mercy and rescue.

In that moment, the pleasure Lu Zhuonian felt surpassed bungee jumping or skydiving.

He’d always thought himself a highly moral person, with principles and boundaries far above society’s average. He shouldn’t find joy in tormenting others. If deriving happiness were this crude and simple, he would’ve become a bully back in middle school.

So why did teasing Chen Zhe bring him such delight?

Why not anyone else—why specifically Chen Zhe?

Lu Zhuonian pondered for a moment and concluded it probably wasn’t his fault.

It had to be something about Chen Zhe.