But the pain he’d expected never came.
The world went still for several seconds before Chi Zhan realized—Cen Chi had caught him.
The damp, earthy scent of plants flooded his senses like wild vines finally nourished, creeping madly through his limbs and bones, clinging to every nerve.
Cen Chi’s scent was… strange. Not bad, though. In fact, kind of pleasant…
“You drank too much,” Cen Chi said softly, cupping his face and meeting his gaze.
Chi Zhan’s cheeks were flushed a deep, drunken red. His eyes, usually clear and sharp, were now veiled in a dreamy haze, shimmering with a glassy wetness.
His body was burning up—hot enough to feel like he was coming down with a fever.
The wine earlier… he’d had too much.
Chi Zhan blinked slowly, struggling to focus. Suddenly, there were two Doctor Cens standing in front of him.
Everywhere Cen Chi touched felt cool.
The smooth, fitted fabric of his suit jacket pressed against Chi Zhan’s cheek with a distinct chill, soothing his feverish skin.
Instinctively, he leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around Cen Chi’s waist.
“Where’s Zhou Yanxing?” Cen Chi asked, voice low now that there was no one else around. “Why’d he leave you here alone?”
Just hearing Zhou Yanxing’s name seemed to sober Chi Zhan slightly.
“President Zhou… I have to find him.”
But as soon as he tried to stand, the world tilted around him like a ship in a storm.
“I’m gonna… wash my face,” Chi Zhan muttered, turning to go back—but Cen Chi caught his wrist.
“Ah-Zhan, come with me.”
“But President Zhou…”
Chi Zhan’s brain was already starting to go fuzzy.
That was the cruel thing about being drunk—it crept in silently, like dew soaking through fabric. One moment you were fine, the next, you couldn’t string a thought together.
“You’re drunk,” Cen Chi said firmly. “Whatever it is, it can wait until you’re sober.”
Chi Zhan had never had a strong tolerance. Light liquor was fine, but tonight’s party had nothing but high-proof cocktails, mixed with god-knows-what. But what could he do? Not drink?
Zhou Yanxing had downed even more than he did.
Cen Chi brought him into a room, helped him off with his jacket, and laid him down on the bed.
Sleep took him almost immediately.
There were soft rustling sounds nearby—Cen Chi was probably on the phone. After a while, someone gently propped him up and helped him drink some warm, sweet water.
“Sleep,” a low voice murmured beside him, soothing as a lullaby.
“But… President Zhou…”
Chi Zhan’s foggy mind still clung to the thought. He remembered—there was something important.
“You can tell him after you rest,” Cen Chi said patiently, his voice impossibly gentle. “If you don’t sleep now, you’ll have a headache tomorrow. Good night.”
Cen Chi sat quietly at the edge of the bed. He didn’t touch Chi Zhan—his gaze remained fixed on the faint red mark on Chi Zhan’s wrist.
His brows knit.
Who the hell did this to you?… Was it Zhou Yanxing?
No, Zhou Yanxing was tearing through the ship looking for you. Something must’ve happened. But who?
Cen Chi leaned down and, from the back of Chi Zhan’s collar, plucked out a tiny bent paperclip.
Surveillance Room.
“All surveillance footage from the past ten minutes blacked out. Completely unrecoverable,” the head technician stammered, drenched in cold sweat. “We’re already trying to fix it…”
Zhou Yanxing said nothing.
His expression remained eerily calm, but the pressure radiating off him was suffocating. It felt like one step too close and you’d be crushed under the weight of his presence. No one in the room dared to even breathe too loudly.
Before the party began, Chi Zhan had said he was stepping out to use the restroom. Zhou Yanxing let him go.
But he never came back.
When the opening dance started, Young Master Bai had tried to invite Zhou Yanxing, but the man didn’t even let him finish before turning and walking out.
The ship was sealed—adrift at sea. No one could get off. But now, even the surveillance had been preemptively tampered with. Clearly, this had been planned.
“I found him! Just now, he appeared again!” someone suddenly shouted. “Look—this guy, is it him?”
The screen showed footage from five minutes ago, after the cameras had come back online.
Chi Zhan was stepping out of the restroom.
He ran into Cen Chi. They exchanged a few words, then left together.
For a moment, everyone in the room thought they’d narrowly escaped disaster. But then, for reasons they couldn’t explain, the air pressure dropped even further.
Zhou Yanxing watched the footage with a cold, expressionless face. When it ended, he turned and left without a word.
Everyone in the room finally exhaled.
Zhou Yanxing walked straight to Cen Chi’s room. Before he could knock, the door opened.
“That was fast. Let’s talk outside. He’s asleep—don’t wake him.”
Zhou Yanxing’s gaze was frigid.
“Was it you, Cen Chi?”
“Of course not,” Cen Chi replied calmly. “The footage made it clear. I just happened to be passing by when I saw Secretary Chi.”
“But you really expect me to believe that? What a coincidence—he steps out and just happens to run into you.”
“It was a coincidence,” Cen Chi said, hands raised in mock surrender. “And no, I can’t prove it. But Yanxing, unless you find solid evidence against me, I’ve got no reason to do something like this. We’ve known each other for years. Whatever else we may be, we at least understand the kind of people we are.” Cen Chi’s tone softened. “Right now, what we should be doing is finding whoever did this—not fighting each other.”
Zhou Yanxing shoved past him and walked into the room.
Chi Zhan was fast asleep. His breathing was soft, his posture neat. His jacket hung on a chair nearby.
Zhou Yanxing had chosen this outfit for him himself—from the shirt down to the tailored jacket. He remembered every detail.
It took him one glance to spot what was missing.
The silk ribbon at the collar was gone.
Zhou Yanxing remembered that restroom. There had been only one occupied stall at the time.
And inside… it had been Chi Zhan.
Why didn’t he say anything? He clearly heard his voice—why didn’t he call for help?
Rage surged through him, black and all-consuming. But on the surface, Zhou Yanxing didn’t move a muscle.
He simply stood there, staring down at Chi Zhan, tracing every line of his sleeping face with his eyes.
