It’s just too unfair.
Chi Zhan tried to stand up, but Chu Xingxiao knelt on the sofa with one knee, blocking his way. The sharp features of his face fell into deep, intense shadows as he continued unbuttoning his shirt, one by one, in sync with the music.
Chu Xingxiao really did have an impressive physique. Years of running and physical training, combined with the demands of singing, had given him explosive core strength. Push-ups, planks—none of it was a challenge. As a result, his muscles were firm and defined, the kind that looked sculpted—yet no one had ever seen them before.
No one except Chi Zhan.
As the shirt fell open, Chu Xingxiao still hadn’t made a move. He just stared at Chi Zhan, deeply and steadily, yet Chi Zhan’s fingers were trembling as though scalded by the sheer heat of his body, too afraid to even touch.
Their mingled breathing was about to melt into the air.
Chu Xingxiao rarely showed this mature, commanding side in front of Chi Zhan. Most of the time, he was obedient and well-behaved, like a sweet neighbor’s kid. As Tao Ran had put it, he was the trendy “puppy boyfriend” type.
But in this moment, Chi Zhan suddenly realized—there was something dangerous about him.
His touch was gentle, but it didn’t allow for refusal. There was a smile in his eyes, yes—but there was also an unmistakable trace of danger. All these layers, all this heat, were completely hidden from view before.
The young idol smiled faintly, breath searing, and leaned down to whisper to Chi Zhan.
“Wanna see something more thrilling than a livestream, gege?”
***
Onstage, the rising idol always wore a rebellious, untamed look. But now, in the golden afternoon light that streamed across his messy black hair just after waking up, with one arm braced lazily against the sofa, the tear mole at the corner of his eye was clear as day.
And he was unabashedly seducing him.
Chi Zhan recalled him saying he liked his cousin’s boyfriend—his mind now flooded with tangled ethics, conflicting desires, and an avalanche of messy, forbidden thoughts.
Chi Zhan averted his gaze, forcing calm into his voice.
“Get up first. I have something to ask you.”
Chu Xingxiao saw Chi Zhan turn his head away on purpose. He’d been about to tease him a little more, but it was clear Chi Zhan had made up his mind—he wanted to talk. After a short silence, Chu Xingxiao relented, sat up straight, and said, “Talk about what?”
Chi Zhan sat up as well. Chu Xingxiao remained by his side, one arm resting on the back of the sofa, his whole posture languid and casual. Not a single button was done back up. He didn’t seem to care at all, letting his faint abs and muscular lines show through the loose pajama top.
“You… button your shirt first.”
Chi Zhan turned his head to the side, refusing to look at him.
He was a romance target, after all. How could he have no sense of male virtue? Does he show his abs to everyone?
Chu Xingxiao chuckled but obediently did his buttons back up. His eyes softened as he reined in that dangerous edge, returning once more to the harmless, sweet-faced youth.
Chi Zhan glanced at him and slowly said, “What I’m about to say, I want you to listen to carefully. If I’m wrong, correct me. If I misunderstood you, I’ll apologize.”
From Chi Zhan’s grave tone, Chu Xingxiao sensed something serious coming. His heart dropped.
“That day on Young Master Bai’s birthday—on the yacht. The one who kidnapped me and tried to use me to contact Zhou Yanxing…” Chi Zhan enunciated each word. “Was it you?”
Chu Xingxiao froze. His Adam’s apple moved ever so slightly. Chi Zhan locked eyes with him, and just as he opened his mouth to respond, Chi Zhan interrupted.
“Let me finish first.” Chi Zhan continued, “You were on the guest list for Young Master Bai’s birthday party. That night, you were supposed to perform. But you didn’t show up, did you?”
Chu Xingxiao stayed silent.
“I didn’t see the man’s face that night. His voice… it was nothing like yours. But you studied voice acting. You can mimic a lot of voices. The guy was tall—that fits. And… His body was in great shape—the kind of build only possible through regular training,” Chi Zhan continued, eyes narrowing as he pieced it together. The memory was blurry, but the critical details—the ones that haunted his dreams—remained crystal clear.
I smelled lemon and alcohol on him. And he knew Zhou Yanxing.
“But most importantly…”
Chi Zhan looked at the wristband Chu Xingxiao always wore. If he was using it to hide a scar, then everything made perfect sense.
Just now, when Chu Xingxiao leaned in close, Chi Zhan had once again caught that familiar scent of lemon and liqueur. This time, he couldn’t possibly dismiss it as just some afterparty booze.
“Was it you?” Chi Zhan asked. But he already knew the answer in his heart.
Chu Xingxiao looked at him, his expression still painted with confusion. “If I said it wasn’t… would you believe me?”
“Yes. I’d believe what you say.”
As he said it, Chi Zhan unknowingly tightened his grip on his phone.
In truth, earlier that morning, he had already asked someone to pull the company’s phone logs from that afternoon. The report had been sent to him—but he hadn’t opened it yet.
If he opened it now, everything would be set in stone.
Chu Xingxiao was on the verge of saying “I don’t know.”
The words were at the tip of his tongue, fighting to stay down.
The real reason he had approached Chi Zhan in the beginning… was revenge. He’d wanted to get back at Zhou Yanxing. Their first meeting had been anything but friendly. Driven by blind anger, he’d lashed out—forcing himself on Chi Zhan while he was drunk.
After returning from that night, Chu Xingxiao had still been seething. His manager’s endless nagging only made it worse. Frustrated, he ended up wandering the deck late into the night.
Fireworks were still being set off over the sea.
And that’s when he saw Chi Zhan.
The young man stood at the railing, both hands resting lightly on the edge, a faint smile curving his lips as he stared out into the distance, utterly captivated by the fireworks.
His eyes were full of stardust, glittering like the lights exploding over the ocean.
The entertainment industry was full of pretty faces—models, idols, actors. In reality, most people scored about an eight out of ten. You got used to it.
But Chi Zhan was different. He didn’t fit the mold of your typical showbiz heartthrob. He was like an ancient ink painting—unremarkable from afar, but once you stepped closer, he pulled you in without warning. And once you did, even if you couldn’t fully understand him, you couldn’t stop reading. You just wanted to keep looking, keep unraveling him, until every line made sense.
