“Not as fun as you.”
These four words carried many interpretations.
Chen Zemian said them without thinking—no hidden meaning, just habit.
Whenever he talked with Lu Zhuonian, black or white didn’t matter; somehow, the conversation always veered into something inappropriate.
That, too, was a kind of soul connection.
But Lu Zhuonian, who’d minored in philosophy, had a tendency to overanalyze. He focused on the sentence’s core implication:
“Not as fun as you” = Playing.
Chen Zemian couldn’t deny it. He had been playing—and loudly. Almost everyone at Fanlou who hadn’t booked in advance ended up in his box. At its peak, it felt like a concert.
Lu Zhuonian didn’t criticize or accuse him.
But Chen Zemian sensed a deeper kind of disappointment—the kind that comes without words.
His boyfriend had just taken a 15-hour flight to send him back to China, only to stay at the airport for two hours before flying out again. Meanwhile, he’d walked straight into an entertainment venue.
Damn it.
Chen Zemian watched Lu Zhuonian’s expression closely. “Are you angry?”
Lu Zhuonian said, “No.”
But Chen Zemian’s instincts screamed otherwise.
Trying to ease the tension, he opened his location sharing. “I’m going home now.”
Lu Zhuonian replied calmly, “I can already see your location. Phones with the same OS can track each other. Didn’t you know?”
Chen Zemian: “…”
Lu Zhuonian then exited the sharing feature. “If you don’t want to be found, change your account. I won’t check it again.”
Chen Zemian took the blame immediately. “Come on, check all you want. I haven’t done anything shady. Over forty male and female models can vouch for me.”
Lu Zhuonian paused. “More than forty?”
Chen Zemian coughed. “Anyway, I was at Fanlou for work. You’ll understand later.”
He’d spent a full week at Fanlou trying to dig up clues for business.
It was more exhausting than actual work.
At least a job gave him weekends off. But for this, he went all seven days, dropping money like water, tipping generously, quickly topping the monthly spender list.
Every time he walked in, from the manager to the waiters, everyone stopped what they were doing, bowed 90 degrees, and greeted him, “Hello, Mr. Chen.”
“Seven figures a week for three words,” he muttered while steering into Fanlou’s parking lot, phone still to his ear. “And they even gave me a reserved spot.”
Staff rushed to guide his car to the nearest space, moved the No Parking cone, and waved him in.
Lu Zhuonian acknowledged his effort. “That’s impressive.”
Chen Zemian didn’t get out. He leaned over the wheel, still on the phone. “But I haven’t seen a shadow of the ‘Little Golden Pill,’ let alone figured out if it’s the same as Yuanqi Drink.”
Lu Zhuonian kept it short. “If something like that exists, it wouldn’t be sold publicly. You don’t stay overnight at Fanlou, so you’re not their target customer.”
Chen Zemian thought about it. Fair point.
The Little Golden Pill’s main effect was to trigger and amplify pleasure. But he just sat around watching performances. His brand of fun was tame. His box had all the thrill of a school talent show. No dealer would waste product on him.
No wonder Lu Zhuonian hadn’t objected. He probably figured any dealer would write him off as a waste of drugs and time.
Chen Zemian made a U-turn. “If you’d just told me, I wouldn’t have gone through this. Total waste of money and energy. I’m going home to sleep.”
Lu Zhuonian sounded aggrieved. “You only told me yesterday why you were going to Fanlou.”
Chen Zemian smirked. “Don’t pretend. I’ve been going for five days straight, and you didn’t even ask. You definitely knew.”
As he watched the GPS marker drift away from Fanlou, Lu Zhuonian’s expression softened.
He said gently, “You’re at the age to play. How could I stop you?”
That struck a nerve. Chen Zemian responded with four sharp words, “I’m not at that age.”
The mention of “age” triggered a memory in Lu Zhuonian. “Isn’t your birthday coming up? I saw that Chen Zhe’s is late October.”
“Yeah, October 29,” Chen Zemian replied casually while turning into the snack street, stomach growling. “I don’t really celebrate, so don’t plan anything.”
Lu Zhuonian checked his calendar. “It’s a Wednesday. We have packed schedules before and after—we might not make it back.”
“That’s fine,” Chen Zemian said. “I don’t do birthdays. Focus on your studies. What’s the number one priority while studying abroad?”
Expression blank, Lu Zhuonian answered mechanically, “Networking.”
Chen Zemian nodded, pleased. “Good. Spend your weekends on social events, not flying back to see me.”
Lu Zhuonian, clearly tired of the lecture, muttered, “Then tell me—who exactly am I supposed to network with?”
Chen Zemian: “You wouldn’t believe me.”
Lu Zhuonian: “Try me.”
Chen Zemian listed off casually, “A Saudi prince, a count’s eldest daughter, the son of a chaebol chairman, the crown prince of Kingdom Y, and some Wall Street bigwigs.”
Silence.
A long one.
Then Lu Zhuonian murmured, “Is that what the world’s really like?”
Chen Zemian rubbed his nose and clung to the last thread of plausible deniability. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Lu Zhuonian chuckled softly, something sly in his tone. “Chen Zemian, I just realized—you’re a Scorpio.”
Chen Zemian: “…”
Lu Zhuonian didn’t explain. Just that one ambiguous sentence, and it instantly made Chen Zemian nervous.
He knew it was bait, but he bit anyway. “What’s wrong with Scorpios?”
Lu Zhuonian answered evenly, as if reciting from a profile: “They’re calm, rational, tough, mysterious… and very cunning.”
Chen Zemian straightened his back. “I am cunning.”
Lu Zhuonian said only, “Okay, okay.”
There was something dismissive in those two little words. It annoyed Chen Zemian.
“My phone’s dying. Hanging up.”
Lu Zhuonian asked calmly, “You’ve worked hard these days. Do you want me to reimburse the nightclub expenses?”
Chen Zemian’s finger froze above the hang-up button.
Lu Zhuonian: “I already transferred it.”
When he saw the bank notification, Chen Zemian raised an eyebrow. “I’m not that wasteful. I wouldn’t spend this much even if I booked the whole of Fanlou.”
Lu Zhuonian replied, “I just want you to know—you’re more important than Fanlou or any Little Golden Pill.”
Chen Zemian didn’t want his boyfriend, thousands of miles away, to worry too much. So he softened.
“Alright,” he said easily. “Nothing to dig up anyway. I’m done with Fanlou. Just passed the snack street and smelled octopus balls. I’ll grab a bite and head home.”
Lu Zhuonian said, “Okay, then be careful. I’ll head back to class. Message me on WeChat when you get home.”
Chen Zemian gave a short reply and hung up.
He circled the snack street twice but couldn’t find a parking space. In the end, he left the car behind the shop and rented a shared bike.
When he returned with the snacks, another car had blocked his. It wasn’t even in a proper parking space—just squeezed into an empty gap, leaving barely enough room for anyone to get out. Maneuvering was going to be a pain.
I hate this kind of parking. No sense of decency.
He turned on the 360-degree camera and prepared to edge the car out slowly, reversing inch by inch.
Then the radar beeped. The image flagged a humanoid shape behind the left side of the car. Chen Zemian slammed the brakes and checked the rearview mirror.
Nothing there.
Every hair on his body stood up. Goosebumps prickled his arms.
He knew it was probably a glitch in the detection algorithm, but on a deserted street in the middle of the night, it still unnerved him.
This is an urban novel, this is an urban novel, no ghosts, no supernatural nonsense.
Still wary of blind spots, he didn’t risk reversing. He turned the wheel forward again, slowly.
A glance at the mirror.
A hand.
Chen Zemian: “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
There was an arm on the ground behind the rear left bumper.
Not just an arm—an entire person.
Good. A real person. Not a dismembered limb, not some thing.
The tight knot in his chest loosened.
If it’s human, no matter what they’re after—trouble, money, anything—he could handle it. He could deal with people.
He had no weapons on him, but that didn’t matter. Chen Zemian was strong. He stepped out of the car, gripping a skewer of octopus balls.
The sight nearly made him snap.
Someone had passed out under his car.
Seriously? Who gets drunk and lies down here of all places?!
Does no one know how dangerous that is?
Good thing he’d been cautious—if he’d backed out blindly, he would’ve run them over. This is why they make you walk around the car during your driver’s test. Because this world is full of bizarre people, and you never know when one of them might appear under your tires.
He shoved the man, called out a few times, but got no response. The guy was out cold.
The stench of alcohol clung to him. Judging by the smell, he’d probably staggered out of Fanlou. His outfit was expensive but subtle—tailored clothes, a platinum watch. He looked about thirty, clean-cut, unfamiliar.
Xue Duo might know him.
Chen Zemian turned his face, snapped a photo, and sent it to Xue Duo.
No reply. It was already 2 a.m.—Xue Duo was probably asleep.
Chen Zemian pulled the man out from under the car and shook his shoulders.
The man frowned faintly. Even the muttered words from his half-conscious mouth carried a trace of authority. “Don’t make noise.”
Chen Zemian shook him harder and said bluntly, “The ground’s freezing. Don’t sleep here.”
The man’s eyelids fluttered. His eyes opened slowly, unfocused, then started to close again.
Chen Zemian poked him with the skewer. “No, buddy. I can’t move the car with you under it.”
The man groaned, glanced at his arm, then looked up at Chen Zemian. He said nothing, just stared.
Chen Zemian waved a hand in front of his face. “Don’t blank out. Can you walk? If not, I’m calling the police.”
That seemed to jolt him awake. He rubbed the back of his head, then said, “Help me up.”
Chen Zemian grabbed his arm and hoisted him to his feet with ease.
The man looked genuinely surprised. He leaned against the nearby car, fished out a wad of cash, and handed it to Chen Zemian. “Thanks.”
Yep, definitely a rich guy.
Chen Zemian raised an eyebrow, said nothing, and took the money.
The man noticed he wasn’t leaving. He frowned. “What? Not enough?”
Chen Zemian stayed silent and pressed his car key.
The lights on the car behind them flashed.
The man froze for a few seconds. Suspicion crept into his face. “Something else?”
Chen Zemian said, “You’re in my way.”
The man: “…”
A sudden commotion broke out nearby.
Chen Zemian tensed, but the man reacted instantly. He grabbed Chen Zemian and pulled him into a squat behind the car. The move was sharp, fluid—far too clean for someone supposedly drunk.
Chen Zemian stared, stunned.
The man pressed a hand over his mouth. His breath, still tinged with alcohol, hit Chen Zemian’s ear. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, tracked the approaching noise. In a low voice, he said, “Don’t make a sound.”
Several men armed with sticks burst from Fanlou’s back door.
“He ran this way!”
“Damn thief’s fast—don’t let him get away.”
“Didn’t Brother Gao say we’d lock him up when we catch him?”
“Shit, he jumped out the window!”
The alley was dark, cars parked in messy rows. No one noticed the two crouched behind the vehicle.
The gang ran past them, disappearing down the alley.
The man loosened his grip, smoothed his clothes, and muttered, “I’m not a thief. I’m—”
“You’re a cop,” Chen Zemian said flatly.
*****
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Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal wondering in the void and falling into the translation abyss.
