Meow-Meow had somehow wandered over without anyone noticing and was now quietly lapping milk from a small dish nearby.
Man, cat, and man—each quietly eating breakfast. The scene was unexpectedly warm and peaceful.
Suddenly, Chi Zhan remembered that Cen Chi couldn’t see color. Wouldn’t that make eating feel joyless?
He voiced the question.
“I’m used to it. Even if I can’t see the exact colors, I can still taste flavors. Same goes for cooking—by gauging the depth of color tones, I can roughly tell whether something’s cooked through. Of course, when I first started, I didn’t know what was normal. I burned several dishes before getting the hang of it.”
Chi Zhan found that a little puzzling. Given Cen Chi’s background, it didn’t seem like he’d ever need to cook for himself. Was it a personal hobby?
Cen Chi seemed to pick up on the unspoken question and added, “My family’s upbringing was a bit… unconventional. The clan rules required every younger member to live independently once they reached high school. No hired help allowed.”
“There’s really a rule like that?” Chi Zhan blinked, genuinely surprised. He’d never heard of anything like it.
Cen Chi smiled faintly but didn’t elaborate.
The Cen family didn’t place much value on familial affection. In order to mold their descendants into power-hungry competitors and weed out the strongest heirs, they demanded complete self-reliance and proficiency in various survival skills from an early age.
Everyone was treated the same—no exceptions. Even though Cen Chi was born colorblind, he never received special treatment.
At age eighteen, each junior in the family had to undergo a coming-of-age trial: fifteen youths, isolated on a remote island for two weeks. They were given only limited fresh water—no food. Unless facing imminent death or an emergency, no one would come to retrieve them.
Even a healthy person would face countless dangers in such an environment—predatory beasts, poisonous plants, all lurking in the dense forest. A single misstep could spell disaster.
Each person carried an “Heir Candidate” tag, and when the trial ended, the one holding the most tags would be eligible to inherit the family legacy.
Cen Chi’s congenital color blindness immediately put him at a disadvantage. Everyone assumed he would lose.
Instead, Cen Chi took every single tag—then tossed them all into the sea.
He had zero interest in being the heir.
In a world forever muted and colorless to him, he had no use for fame or fortune. The things others craved held no appeal.
And yet, from that detached vantage point, he could see the unchecked ambition in the people around him with piercing clarity. Coupled with his background in psychology, he understood their motives down to the finest thread.
He’d always been extremely sensitive to people who approached him with hidden agendas.
Only Chi Zhan… was different.
At first, Cen Chi thought it was another carefully engineered “coincidence.” He’d long been searching for a cure to his condition, but nothing had ever worked.
A doctor cannot cure himself.
And then Chi Zhan appeared—the one person who let him see in color.
Cen Chi’s first reaction was, “What does he want from me?” But he quickly realized Chi Zhan wanted nothing. Their meeting had been pure chance.
That, more than anything, made Cen Chi curious.
What began as cautious testing turned into fascination, then spiraled into obsession—like a soda bottle finally uncapped, everything rushed out beyond his control.
“Can you see color now?”
“A little.”
“And if I touch you, you can see it normally?”
“Yes.”
Chi Zhan still couldn’t wrap his head around it. It defied all science, and no known medical condition explained it. It was surreal.
But then again, this was a game world. Strange things were par for the course.
He paused. Watching Cen Chi eat so earnestly, something in his chest gave a soft jolt.
Cen Chi had never once asked him for physical contact—not even to regain his ability to see color. But how could he possibly give that up so easily?
“Do you want to… hold hands for a bit?” Chi Zhan’s voice was quiet.
Cen Chi paused mid-bite, turning to look at him with faint surprise.
Then he smiled and shook his head.Â
“No need. I’m used to it. Even if I can’t see, it doesn’t affect my life. It doesn’t bother me. I didn’t tell you all this to make you feel pressured. I just wanted to share my story—not to earn your pity.” Cen Chi’s tone shifted slightly, laced with meaning. “I’m not like… certain people.”
Chi Zhan reached out his hand.Â
“It’s not about that. Just… for this breakfast. This incredible breakfast—you deserve to see it. Don’t overthink it. Just for the length of one breakfast.”
Chi Zhan’s hand was beautiful. Long fingers, elegant joints—piano hands, as they were called.
Cen Chi seemed momentarily dazed.
It was probably the first time Chi Zhan had ever initiated physical contact with him.
If he pointed that out, though, Chi Zhan might get flustered and lash out.
Cen Chi gazed at him deeply, lips curving.Â
“Then I’ll gladly accept.”
He took Chi Zhan’s hand—as if he were holding something fragile and priceless.
Ah-Zhan had a kind heart.
Even those who had already fallen into darkness couldn’t help but reach out for that soft, glowing moonlight.
And someone like that… who wouldn’t want to have them?
***
Chu Xingxiao suddenly sneezed.
His manager jumped in alarm. “What happened? Are you getting sick? You’ve got a show coming up—what if your voice goes hoarse?!”
“It was just a sneeze, not a death sentence,” Chu Xingxiao said coolly. He’d already run a background check on his previous manager and found out the guy had been overstepping his bounds, using empty authority to try and control him. Naturally, Chu Xingxiao had fired him and replaced him with someone new.
