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Chapter Six

On Friday night, Zheng Qiuyang asked Fang Shiqing out for drinks.

The moment they sat down in the bar, Zheng Qiuyang immediately pulled out his phone, opened his album, and started showing off his girlfriend. Judging from the looks of the guys around him, this was clearly his routine—every time he met someone, he just had to flaunt her.

Fang Shiqing glanced at the photo. Sure enough, it wasn’t the same girl as before. Out of courtesy, he praised, “Nice boobs.”

Zheng Qiuyang grinned and shoved a drink toward him. “She’s super clingy. Tonight she even wanted to tag along, but I chased her back. At least she listens. I’ll let you guys see her next time—she looks even better in person than in the pictures.”

Everyone laughed it off. None of them took his girlfriend seriously anyway. They all knew if he found a pair of nicer boobs, he’d swap again without hesitation.

At first glance, Zheng Qiuyang might look similar to Wang Chao, Wang Qi’s younger brother. But in truth, he was a little different.

The Zheng family was a long-established jewelry clan, while the Wang brothers’ father was just a nouveau riche mine owner. Their upbringing wasn’t even on the same level. Zheng Qiuyang studied business management, then even went abroad to study jewelry design. Whether he was actually talented was another question, but at least he wasn’t as spoiled and useless as Wang Chao, who was good for nothing but fooling around.

But Zheng Qiuyang had his own problem: he was his father’s illegitimate son. The official wife had a son too, and naturally, the legitimate heir got the lion’s share, while Zheng Qiuyang only got the scraps.

Since he couldn’t touch anything important in the family business, he just lived without a care every day—holding a token position at the company, occasionally sketching jewelry designs, but mostly spending his time organizing parties and chasing girls.

He and Fang Shiqing hit it off by chance when they met on a flyover. They found each other agreeable, so whenever Zheng Qiuyang gathered people, he always called Fang Shiqing, and whenever Shiqing had time, he would join in.

Although they hadn’t known each other long, their brotherly bond had grown quickly.

After several rounds of drinks, Fang Shiqing went to the restroom. On his way back, he spotted a familiar face at the bar.

It had been a while since he last saw Yuan Rui, and he hadn’t heard any news about him either. From afar, Yuan Rui was sitting alone, no companions around, pouring and downing drinks by himself, drinking fast and hard—clearly drowning his sorrows.

Fang Shiqing had no intention of greeting him. He just looked for a couple of seconds before heading back to the private room.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t curious about Yuan Rui’s current life. Was Yuan Rui upset because of career setbacks, or was it trouble with that married man he’d been involved with?

But whatever the reason, it had nothing to do with him. Rushing over to ask would only make him look like a clingy ex who couldn’t let go.

To be fair, he wasn’t as obsessed with Yuan Rui as he had been back then.

Inside the private room, people had split into groups—some playing dice, some singing, some hitting on girls. Everyone was doing their own thing. Fang Shiqing found a corner, pulled out his phone, and started playing Happy Eliminate.

Zheng Qiuyang noticed him alone and came over with a bottle of liquor, watching him play, even giving tips: “Careful, you’re gonna run out of chicks! You gotta crack the egg first! The egg! Hey hey hey, there’s a magic bird right there! Damn, what a waste!”

Fang Shiqing failed the level twice in a row. Zheng Qiuyang couldn’t take it anymore, snatched his phone, and said, “Here, I’ll play, you watch.”

He breezed through the level easily and moved on to the next one, while still chatting with Shiqing. “Your relative—he’s worse than you. Carries his phone around all night, going door to door begging people to help him pass levels.”

Fang Shiqing thought a moment before realizing. “You mean Wang Chao?”

“Of course,” Zheng Qiuyang said. “He sucks at every game… I heard his big brother is a gaming god? Is that true?”

“I’ve never seen my brother-in-law play phone games. Long time ago, I saw him play PSP. He was pretty good.”

Zheng Qiuyang raised his eyes and laughed. “Wang Chao says his big brother used to beat him up like a punching bag. Is that true?”

“More or less.” Fang Shiqing took a swig of liquor. “He did get beaten up a lot. My brother-in-law practiced Sanda, so maybe he hit a little hard. But he deserved it—always causing trouble. If you don’t beat him, who else are you gonna beat?”

Zheng Qiuyang chuckled. “Judging by the way you talk, I bet your brother-in-law never hit you.”

Fang Shiqing tossed aside his empty bottle, opened another, and sighed. “Right now, I actually wish he would just beat me up and get it over with… I don’t know what’s going on with him and my sister, it’s getting weirder and weirder.”

Zheng Qiuyang absentmindedly tapped the screen and asked casually, “What do you mean?”

Drinking, Fang Shiqing said, “He’s been contacting me a lot lately. Probably on my sister’s orders. The other day, we were supposed to eat together, the three of us, but my sister got busy last minute, so it was just me and my brother-in-law. He hardly said a word the whole meal, just kept staring at me. The more I think about it, the creepier it feels.”

Zheng Qiuyang didn’t think it was a big deal. “Maybe he’s pressuring you to get married?”

Fang Shiqing nodded furiously. “Yes, yes, how did you know?”

Zheng Qiuyang, in the tone of someone experienced, said, “That explains it. Wang Chao always says his brother treats you like a son. Seems true. Parents love to pull this trick. My mom started nagging me about marriage last year—bringing it up every other day like a lunatic. Actually, she just wants to drive me crazy until I give in and settle down. Easiest way to handle it is just ignore them.”

“…My brother-in-law isn’t like your mom,” Fang Shiqing muttered.

“What’s the difference?” Zheng Qiuyang asked.

Fang Shiqing couldn’t explain, so he changed the subject: “Forget it, let’s drink.”

The gathering lasted past midnight. They ended with a round of dice. Fang Shiqing was ridiculously unlucky—if he bet big, it was small; if he bet small, it was big. He was forced to drink a lot, got tipsy, staggered when walking, his speech slurred. Luckily, his mind was still clear enough.

He and Zheng Qiuyang stood side by side on the roadside waiting for a cab. Zheng was in slightly better shape—at least he could still walk and talk normally.

When a cab came, Zheng all but shoved Fang into the backseat. Just as he was about to close the door, he got worried and climbed in too.

Fang Shiqing slurred, “Why are you getting in?”

“I’ll drop you off first, then head home. Taxis are hard to get right now anyway.”

“Oh.” Shiqing leaned against the window, half-asleep, messy brown curls covering half his face.

The more Zheng Qiuyang looked at him, the more he felt he was right to come along. “You really don’t look safe walking around like this. Too good-looking for your own good.”

When they arrived at Shiqing’s apartment building, Zheng mischievously pinched his cheek. “Little beauty, you’re home. Go upstairs and sleep.”

He didn’t speak loudly, but at that late hour, with the whole neighborhood silent, it sounded like he was shouting through a megaphone.

Shiqing was clearer now than when he’d left the bar, but being jolted awake after dozing off left him with a headache.

He lived in a serviced apartment. The lobby had couches near the big glass windows, and the taxi stopped right outside.

Zheng glanced over and chuckled. “Your neighbors sure are something. Sitting there stargazing at this hour?”

Shiqing was used to his eccentric neighbors and didn’t even bother looking. He got out of the car. “Go home. We’ll hang out again sometime.”

Zheng suddenly remembered something and leaned his head out the window. “Hey, how about a gunfight the day after tomorrow?”

He meant wargames. They both loved it, but every time they’d tried to schedule, Shiqing had been too busy.

“Sure,” Shiqing said. “It’s Sunday anyway—enough time to play from morning till night.”

The cab driver gave them a strange look.

They said goodbye. Shiqing went upstairs, Zheng went home.

The cab drove a long way before Zheng realized why the driver looked like that. Gunfight could mean something else. And they’d openly said they’d play from morning till night…

He stared at the back of the driver’s head, thinking, With an imagination like that, it’s a waste you’re just driving taxis.

Meanwhile, Shiqing staggered to his front door, fumbled for his key, and unlocked it. But when he tried to pull the key out, it slipped, clattering to the ground. As he bent to pick it up, someone shoved him from behind. He stumbled forward, fell onto the carpet in the entryway, and the door swung open with the impact.

Before he realized what was happening, the door shut behind him. The light from the hallway was cut off. The apartment was pitch-dark.

But he was certain—the person who pushed him… had come inside too.

A home invasion?!

He didn’t know if the intruder had a weapon, so he didn’t dare make a sound or move recklessly. Quietly, he reached for his phone in his pocket.

He heard shoes scrape against the carpet near the door. Shiqing instantly froze, playing dead on the floor.

The man took a few steps in, stopping less than half a meter from Shiqing’s head.

By now, Shiqing’s eyes had adjusted a little to the dark. He could make out the outline of the man’s legs and shoes.

Definitely a man. Judging from his shoe size, probably around size 45 or 46.

The man crouched down. Shiqing’s heart leapt to his throat. If he could see the man’s outline, then the man could see him too.

He had nothing on him that could be used as a weapon. He hated clutter, so his apartment had no useless knickknacks—nothing within reach to defend himself.

A direct fight was hopeless. The only option was to escape and call the security guards.

When the man reached out his hand, Shiqing thought he was aiming for his throat. In desperation, he braced his elbow against the floor and lunged upward, slamming into him.

If he could just knock him over, he could bolt out the door and hit the emergency alarm right outside. He’d be saved!

But he overestimated his weight and strength.

He did hit the man—but the man didn’t budge. Instead, Shiqing smashed his own nose against the man’s solid chest, pain shooting through his face as if his nose had snapped. Tears almost came.

The man reached for him again. Panicked, Shiqing blocked with both hands, but within seconds his arms were pinned across his chest. The man’s other hand touched his face, squeezed his nose, then rubbed along the bridge.

Shiqing was stunned… wasn’t this intruder supposed to strangle him? What the hell was he doing?

The pain in his nose eased, but his mind went blank.

The man studied him in the dark, then used the pressure on his chest to shove him flat onto the carpet. Leaning over him, the man suddenly kissed him.

Shiqing’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

Then the man started groping him through his clothes. His touch was clumsy, unskilled—just like his kissing: messy, insistent, relentless.

After being kissed and groped for a while, Fang Shiqing finally exploded.

“You pumpkin pervert! How the hell did you find my place?!”