The skeet competition was abruptly halted.
During the contest, Lloyd fired his gun prematurely, nearly injuring a staff member by mistake. This was a grave violation, and as a result, his scores were canceled. To make matters worse, Lu Zhuonian directly fired at his opponent, an act that outraged everyone present. Both of them lost their qualifications simultaneously; consequently, there was no winner that day.
Lloyd noticed that Lu Zhuonian’s right hand was inconvenient, yet he was unwilling to let this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity slip away. Eager to win, he disregarded the cold attitude of his opponent. After Lu Zhuonian lowered his pistol, Lloyd immediately chased him, insisting on a rematch no matter what.
This behavior was uncharacteristic of Lu Zhuonian, who was rarely so rude. In a sudden burst of anger, he threw the Beretta 92 pistol to the bodyguard behind him, then pulled Chen Zemian — who was watching the spectacle — and, without hesitation, pushed Lloyd aside. The group strode away from the shooting range with an air of authority.
Lloyd, undeterred, followed closely behind, chattering incessantly. His familiar rhetoric spilled out — nothing more than claims like, “I haven’t met anyone who truly understands guns in all these years,” and, “I thought we were kindred spirits, but I didn’t expect you to be just like those others.” His tone was persistent, almost desperate.
Lu Zhuonian, on the other hand, simply regarded Lloyd as if he were a barking dog, paying him no mind. Meanwhile, Chen Zemian turned his head to look at Lloyd.
Lloyd caught Chen Zemian’s gaze and, with a faint smile, said, “Nian, you seemed so angry just now. Was it because I almost hurt your friend by mistake? Or perhaps because you realized you had little chance of winning, so you decided to end the game that way?”
Chen Zemian stopped abruptly.
Lu Zhuonian, who was holding Chen Zemian’s wrist, did not move forward as Chen Zemian came to a halt. Lloyd’s intentions, however, were now plainly exposed. “You know that with my shooting skills, I couldn’t possibly hurt him. If you’re still worried about that, we could skip shooting altogether and settle this in a fight instead.”
Hearing this, Chen Zemian’s eyes flashed with a hint of coldness.
Seeing that Lu Zhuonian was slowly changing the magazine — a process notably more sluggish than usual — Lloyd hesitated for a moment, then shifted the topic to “fighting.” He was willing to do anything to beat Lu Zhuonian, even abandon basic sportsmanship.
Chen Zemian and Lu Zhuonian exchanged a meaningful glance.
Lu Zhuonian gently grasped Chen Zemian’s wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his glove — an emotion of shock and fury gradually calming into steadiness.
Lloyd, sensing the shift, continued provocatively, “Why not have one more round? Or are you afraid of losing?”
Chen Zemian’s fingers curled into a fist, barely containing his irritation.
Lu Zhuonian gently tugged at Chen Zemian’s wrist, signaling him to ignore Lloyd’s taunts.
With a resigned sigh, Lloyd feigned disappointment. “Ah, in L country, no one dares challenge me. Nian, I thought we were evenly matched, but I guess I was mistaken…”
At this, Chen Zemian suddenly interrupted, his tone resolute. “I challenge you.”
The moment these words left his mouth, every person present turned their attention, their eyes converging on him with surprise and curiosity.
Chen Zemian’s voice was cold and unwavering. “Lloyd, don’t tell me you’re just interested in gambling for guns. I’ll compete with you.”
Lloyd was momentarily stunned, then sneered with disdain. “You’re brave, young man. But honestly, you’re not qualified to compete with me.”
Behind Chen Zemian, Lu Zhuonian stood firm like a towering mountain. “Chen Zemian can represent me. If he loses, I will lose to you.”
Chen Zemian suddenly turned to look at Lu Zhuonian, his expression blank with disbelief.
Lloyd’s eyes flickered with a hint of triumph. “Are you sure about that?”
Lu Zhuonian answered Lloyd with unwavering confidence, locking eyes with Chen Zemian. “I’m certain he won’t lose.”
Lloyd shook his head dismissively, underestimating the young man before him. He was convinced of victory and didn’t even entertain the possibility of defeat.
Snatching, after all, required no special venue — just two identical guns and a table. They didn’t need to return to the competition area; instead, they found a nearby exhibition hall to settle the matter.
Chen Zemian and Lloyd sat facing each other on a sofa in the lounge area, with two M249 light machine guns laid out on the round table between them.
“My father is a gun expert,” Lloyd said kindly before the match began. “I grew up around guns. I disassembled this M249 when I was just three years old.”
Chen Zemian simply gestured politely with a “please” and waited.
The referee pressed the timer.
“Five, four, three, two, one…” A soft “ding” sounded.
Both men attacked simultaneously.
Lloyd was well-versed in disassembling guns. He knew how to assemble a pistol with his eyes closed — speedily and methodically, he attached the trigger, firing seat, hammer, barrel connecting shaft, barrel, and barrel sleeve in quick succession.
Under his skilled hands, the disassembled parts seamlessly came together, transforming into the complete weapon in just ten seconds.
The spectators watched intently, their eyes fixed on Lloyd’s swift and precise movements — an impressive display, truly worthy of a son of the gun king.
But suddenly, someone was faster.
At the twelfth second, a loud “click” announced the magazine being loaded, drawing everyone’s attention to Chen Zemian.
He slapped the assembled gun onto the table, then raised his hand to press the timer.
It stopped — thirteen seconds.
Lloyd stared in disbelief as Chen Zemian calmly looked at the timer, then reached out to press it himself. The seconds ticked by — fifteen.
The verdict was clear.
Lloyd’s pupils shrank, his blue eyes swirling with turbulent emotions — like a tsunami ready to crash. Sweat poured down his face, and his fingers trembled uncontrollably. It felt as if he’d been struck by lightning.
Meanwhile, Chen Zemian sat quietly, his expression as calm as thunderclouds, a gloomy shadow cast over his face.
Lloyd muttered in disbelief, repeating in English. “Impossible. This pistol was a toy I played with as a child. I could put it together with my eyes closed. This is impossible.”
Chen Zemian rose slowly, looking down at Lloyd slumped on the sofa. “Then, shall we do it again — with our eyes closed?”
Lloyd lifted his head in confusion. “What… what?”
Chen Zemian disassembled the gun he had just assembled with one hand, then sat back on the sofa, chin raised toward Lu Zhuonian. “Boss, please cover my eyes.”
Lu Zhuonian regarded Chen Zemian quietly for a moment before walking behind him.
Chen Zemian tilted his head slightly.
Lu Zhuonian lifted his arm, covering Chen Zemian’s eyes with his gloved left hand.
A trace of determination flickered across Chen Zemian’s lips as he demonstrated firsthand what it truly meant to “assemble with your eyes closed.”
For more than ten seconds, the scene was utterly silent as he fought against blindness.
Lloyd, meanwhile, felt as if he’d been thrown into a frying pan — every second an excruciating ordeal.
He never imagined he would lose, let alone in such a manner.
Unbelievable — simply unbelievable.
This astonishment was shared by everyone. Witnessing Chen Zemian assemble a machine gun in just thirteen seconds was shocking enough; but watching him do so blindfolded, with such speed and precision, was nothing short of remarkable.
Some observers scrutinized Chen Zemian’s movements, some watched to confirm whether he truly couldn’t see at all, while others secretly laughed at Lloyd’s expense.
Yet, amidst the crowd, only Lu Zhuonian’s gaze remained fixed on Chen Zemian — not on the gun, nor on his speed, but on him.
He was just looking at him.
After Chen Zemian finished assembling the gun, he gently touched the table to ensure no parts were missing.
He then raised his hand, covering Lu Zhuonian’s glove, and tilted his head slightly. “Have you finished?”
Lu Zhuonian responded in a deep voice, “Yes.”
Without hesitation, Chen Zemian lowered his hand from his eyes and pushed the assembled gun toward Lloyd. “Your turn — try assembling it with your eyes closed.”
Lloyd suddenly stood up, sweeping everything off the table in a fit of rage. “Impossible! This is impossible! You’re just the logistics staff responsible for setting up the guns at the exhibition! How do you know so much about guns?”
“Exactly. I am logistics,” Chen Zemian said calmly, leaning back on the sofa. “So, when you agreed to let a logistics staff replace Lu Zhuonian in this challenge, how badly did you want to win?”
The surrounding athletes and coaches frowned, exchanging disapproving glances, their expressions largely sympathetic toward Lloyd.
Lloyd’s face flushed crimson, veins bulging on his neck as he gasped, unable to find words.
The piercing silence felt like needles stabbing him from every direction, suffocating and painful.
Although no one explicitly said anything, Lloyd’s ears buzzed with a voice — an almost haunting whisper. It’s a pity. No matter how hard you try, you lost to an unknown — someone you looked down on.
His gaze fixed on Chen Zemian, red-rimmed eyes brimming with fury. Blood almost seemed to drip from his gaze.
Blindfolded gun fighting isn’t an uncommon activity, and many can perform it swiftly. But what shocked everyone most was that the person who achieved this wasn’t a professional shooter or athlete — he was Chen Zemian, the behind-the-scenes worker everyone overlooked.
Before this, Chen Zemian had never demonstrated his gun skills publicly. His image in everyone’s mind was that of an unknown behind-the-scenes staff member. Lloyd, careless in his arrogance, had underestimated him. He had believed that in a country where guns are banned, it would be impossible to find someone who truly understood them.
But he had met one.
Chen Zemian’s speed in gunplay was so remarkable partly because of his hobby, but mainly because he inherited the professional talent of his father, a former special police officer.
In China, where obsession with speed runs through many pursuits, the word “fast” is a constant obsession. Chen Zemian had limited opportunities to handle real guns before, but he practiced with countless models of the M249 light machine gun. After coming to the shooting range for work, he felt like a fish in water when handling real firearms.
He had seen Lu Zhuonian’s gun-fighting speed — so graceful and swift — and secretly trained himself. His plan was to reveal his skills “inadvertently,” to give this cool male protagonist a little shock and to challenge Lu Zhuonian’s super-speed for a whole year.
Perhaps because Lu Zhuonian was such an omnipotent figure, Chen Zemian sometimes unconsciously regarded him as a rival. If he could surpass Lu Zhuonian in some aspect, he secretly felt a quiet sense of happiness.
Male competition is a deeply rooted human instinct. When you encounter someone stronger than yourself, even if you don’t actively seek to compete, a subconscious sense of crisis inevitably arises. This, perhaps, explains why Lloyd is so obsessed with defeating Lu Zhuonian.
However, Chen Zemian never imagined that the skills he practiced solely to challenge Lu Zhuonian would eventually be used against Lloyd. It felt as if something was amiss — yet, at the same time, he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Still, he shrugged internally; it was fine to shock Lloyd. This guy was too pretentious anyway.
And, seeing Lu Zhuonian remain silent at the moment — focused solely on himself — it was clear that he had seen through Chen Zemian’s actions. It was unexpected, but perhaps even more meaningful — your little brother is secretly working hard, striving to surpass you.
Feeling a quiet sense of satisfaction, Chen Zemian stole a glance and raised his eyebrows at Lu Zhuonian, a playful smirk curling on his lips.
Lu Zhuonian’s Adam’s apple moved subtly as he turned his gaze away silently, giving no indication of how he truly felt.
Having defeated Lloyd — the son of the gun king — Chen Zemian was already feeling somewhat flattered. Yet, when he noticed Lu Zhuonian, the hero of this cool novel, didn’t dare meet his eyes, he was so radiant with pride that he almost forgot who he was.
He nudged Lu Zhuonian’s shoulder lightly, tilted his head, and asked with a grin, “Am I awesome?”
Lu Zhuonian looked at him steadily and simply replied, “Awesome.”
“Why is your voice so hoarse?” Chen Zemian tilted his head, leaning in slightly to touch Lu Zhuonian’s forehead. “Do you have a cold? Does your throat hurt?”
Lu Zhuonian hesitated, silent.
Ever since the “milk pot explosion” incident, Chen Zemian had become doubly concerned about Lu Zhuonian’s health. Hearing his hoarse voice, he immediately shifted his focus from victory celebration to worry about his companion’s well-being.
He raised his arm and gently stretched the collar of Lu Zhuonian’s coat. “You wear so little every day — you must have caught a cold.”
Lu Zhuonian’s eyelids drooped slightly as he looked at Chen Zemian’s hand holding his collar, choosing not to reply.
“My boss isn’t feeling well anymore,” Chen Zemian said softly, pushing the round table forward and looking down at Lloyd from above. “You can’t beat me, let alone Lu Zhuonian. So, you might as well stop dreaming.”
*****
“You really defeated Lloyd in a gunfight?!” In the employee lounge, Yan Luo’s eyes sparkled with admiration.
He put down his textbook, looked up at Chen Zemian, and his gaze was full of awe. “The whole shooting community is talking about how Lloyd — a true gun king’s son — lost to an unknown.”
Chen Zemian, ever the innovator, raised an eyebrow. “Do you guys use 6G networks for gossip? How come the news spreads faster than I walk?”
Yan Luo shook his phone, grinning. “We have our own forum, and this thing has gone completely crazy!”
“You didn’t do well on your test paper and swiped your phone again,” Chen Zemian teased, rubbing Yan Luo’s hair before taking the phone away and slipping it into his pocket. “I confiscated it.”
Yan Luo looked at him with a cold, aloof expression, but inside, he was a good boy. He didn’t resist when his phone was taken, simply saying “oh” obediently, though his eyes still glowed with excitement and happiness.
Liu Yuebo, standing nearby, explained, “That Lloyd guy always bullies others by abusing his power. He uses Yan Luo’s family background to force him into gun competitions.”
Chen Zemian, who had been searching for clothes in the closet, paused when he heard this. He turned to ask Yan Luo, “Is there anything else?”
Yan Luo shook his head. “No.”
Chen Zemian had heard about this from Manager Wang before, but considering Yan Luo’s mood, he pretended to be just hearing it for the first time, giving Yan Luo a sense of being valued. He chuckled softly. “It’s okay — I’ve vented your anger for you!”
Yan Luo nodded vigorously, “Yeah!”
Since Chen Zemian hadn’t been to work for nearly half a month, the employee lounge remained in order. The dust on the table had been wiped away, the bedding on the single bed had been changed, and everything was tidier than before. It was obvious that Yan Luo had been diligently cleaning for him.
As Chen Zemian rummaged through the closet, Yan Luo asked, “Brother Chen, what are you looking for?”
Chen Zemian replied, “I remember I put a thick black cotton coat here.”
Yan Luo approached and found the coat. “Is it the one you said was too big and leaky?”
Chen Zemian nodded, holding the coat up for comparison. He then looked at Liu Yuebo. “Come on, stand up.”
Liu Yuebo, used to Chen Zemian’s instructions, didn’t ask what he was doing and simply stood.
Chen Zemian examined Liu Yuebo and compared the shoulder width of the coat. Liu Yuebo’s birthday was approaching, and he secretly hoped this meant he might receive it as a gift. Since his card had been suspended, he hadn’t bought new clothes in a long time — everything he wore was last year’s.
He coughed lightly, trying to appear nonchalant. “I’m 190 centimeters tall, shoulder width 54 centimeters, chest circumference 110 centimeters, leg length 115 centimeters.”
Chen Zemian looked at him with a strange expression. “What are you talking about?”
Liu Yuebo was stunned. “Aren’t you going to give me clothes? What’s with the gestures? Why don’t you just ask me directly?”
“Why should I give you clothes?” Chen Zemian raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Lu is wearing so little today — probably caught a cold. I found this cotton coat for him. You’re about the same height as him — let me compare whether you can wear it.”
Liu Yuebo immediately refused, pushing the coat aside and saying angrily, “Mr. Lu has mysophobia. He wouldn’t wear your clothes!”
Chen Zemian said, “What’s wrong with mysophobia? It’s not touching your body.”
“Then he can’t wear it either,” Liu Yuebo argued, holding the coat up. “See? It’s tight on me, but Mr. Lu’s chest is bigger than mine.”
Chen Zemian’s mind flashed with Lu Zhuonian’s perfect chest muscles. He had to admit Liu Yuebo was right. He hurriedly stuffed the coat back into the closet and took out an oversized fleece sweatshirt. “Then take this one. Put it under the windbreaker. He can wear it or not.”
Liu Yuebo thought Lu Zhuonian wouldn’t wear it.
Yan Luo shared the same thought.
Chen Zemian, not holding out much hope, simply regarded it as a gesture of kindness. Even if Lu Zhuonian didn’t wear it, at least he wouldn’t catch a cold in the future.
He then carried the sweatshirt into Lu Zhuonian’s office. When the bodyguard outside saw him, he merely raised his chin in greeting, not asking any questions.
Inside, Lu Zhuonian had removed his gloves and was applying lotion to the burn on the back of his hand. After two consecutive matches, the thick scab — formed with great difficulty — had cracked, leaving red, swollen, and hot edges. Light yellow tissue fluid oozed out, indicating inflammation.
Chen Zemian quickly set down his things and took a cotton swab. “Oh no, it looks inflamed.”
Lu Zhuonian glanced at the sweatshirt on the table. “Is this the thick coat you found?”
Chen Zemian applied the lotion, blowing on the wound to speed the drying. “Yes, but I don’t know if you can wear it — you’re too tall.”
Lu Zhuonian retracted his gaze and looked at Chen Zemian. “You’re not short.”
“But your shoulder width is quite different,” Chen Zemian said, eyeing his chest. “I originally found a thick cotton coat, but Liu Yuebo said you can’t wear it.”
He then looked at Lu Zhuonian’s chest. “He also said you have a big chest.”
Lu Zhuonian raised his hand to cover Chen Zemian’s eyes. “Don’t look around.”
In an instant, Chen Zemian couldn’t see anything — without using any force or lightness, he accidentally poked Lu Zhuonian’s hand with the cotton swab.
Lu Zhuonian hissed softly.
Chen Zemian pushed his hand away, annoyed. “You always block my eyes — you poked yourself!”
Lu Zhuonian, who had just applied medicine to his hand, left it unwrapped to let it dry. Instead, he picked up the sweatshirt Chen Zemian brought and examined it.
Chen Zemian said, “Young master, don’t be so picky — I washed it properly before wearing it.”
Lu Zhuonian slightly lowered his head, like a proud cat, then sniffed the sweatshirt condescendingly. “It’s wearable.”
Chen Zemian, speechless, responded, “You don’t have to make do with it. Whether it can be worn or not is another matter.”
Lu Zhuonian then put the sweatshirt over his shirt, adjusted the collar, and declared, “It’s wearable.”
Chen Zemian tugged at the shoulder. “Is it too tight?”
Lu Zhuonian remained calm. “No, it isn’t.”
The sweatshirt, a drop-shoulder style made of soft space cotton, fit him surprisingly well. Lu Zhuonian rarely wore such light-colored sweatshirts, so he looked very different from before.
Chen Zemian looked around and praised, “Handsome.”
Lu Zhuonian nodded in agreement. “You have a good eye. If you have time, come shopping with me.”
Chen Zemian hesitated. “Xiao Shao…”
He initially wanted to say, “Xiao Shao is also good at choosing clothes,” but then remembered he left Xiao Kesong in the preparation area after the competition. They exchanged a quick glance, and Chen Zemian thought about Xiao Kesong’s delicate mood today. Worried he might cry if he was late, Chen Zemian decided not to say anything further and quickly ran toward the preparation area — like a nimble hare, he turned and escaped.
“Don’t run,” Lu Zhuonian predicted his behavior perfectly. He raised his hand and grabbed the hood of Chen Zemian’s down jacket. “I’m going to find Xiao Kesong. You go drive.”
Chen Zemian nodded in agreement. If Lu Zhuonian found Xiao Kesong, even if Xiao Kesong stayed in the preparation area for three days and nights, he wouldn’t dare hug him and cry.
People are often afraid of the strong, after all.
Chen Zemian touched his chin thoughtfully. In the future, he decided, he’d learn from Lu Zhuonian — be as cold-hearted as iron.
“Where are you going?” Chen Zemian asked.
Lu Zhuonian smiled. “Let’s have dinner tonight to celebrate your success.”
When Chen Zemian heard they’d be dining together, he asked, “Will you bring Yan Luo and Liu Yuebo?”
Lu Zhuonian chuckled. “You also have your little brothers, Chen Zemian.”
“What little brothers?” Chen Zemian felt a bit embarrassed. He scratched his head, then suddenly remembered — he had promised Liu Yuebo he would take him out next time. Yan Luo had been studying hard lately; he should take him out to relax.
Lu Zhuonian looked at him thoughtfully. “You should invite all your friends to your celebration party.”
Chen Zemian hesitated. “Can I invite Xue Duo?”
Lu Zhuonian nodded. “Sure.”
Chen Zemian searched his mind, realizing that although many people belonged to the “young master circle,” few could truly be called friends. Most were merely drinking buddies — friends for eating and fun, not for deeper connection. Inviting them seemed pointless.
Seeing Chen Zemian mention only one name, Lu Zhuonian asked, “Who else do you want to invite? I’ll make the arrangements.”
Chen Zemian hesitated again. “Then how about Shen Qingwan? Yan Luo said she sent me small cakes several times, but I never saw her.”
Lu Zhuonian immediately refused. “No.”
Chen Zemian pressed further. “So, I can invite anyone since I didn’t say otherwise just now?”
Lu Zhuonian’s tone was firm. “Girls can’t do that.”
Chen Zemian was puzzled. “Why?”
Lu Zhuonian cast a glance and answered simply, “No means no.”
*****
If you enjoy what we do, consider supporting us on 
! Every little bit means the world!
Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal. A little support goes a long way! If you’d like to help me keep creating, you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/lazyhermitgal
