Chen Zemian had no idea what Lu Zhuonian truly thought of him.
He didn’t see the undercurrent of desire in Lu Zhuonian’s eyes, nor did he grasp the depth of the other man’s possessiveness and need for control.
All he noticed was that Lu Zhuonian’s episodes had been happening more and more frequently lately. What he didn’t know was that, in the past, Lu had been taking three times the regular dosage of medication just to seem normal around him—just to act like nothing was wrong.
The withdrawal effects were no small thing.
But Chen Zemian was unaware of all that. He only knew one thing: Lu Zhuonian’s needs were increasing.
Sure, the doctor had warned him that sex addiction often escalated over time. Still, Chen Zemian hadn’t expected it to happen this fast.
And while he was more than willing to help treat Lu Zhuonian, the kind of “treatment” Lu seemed to need now… it was beginning to cross a line.
If it really did come to that—what would he do?
Should he just go with the flow, give in, ditch the idea of being “just brothers” and become… something else?
Or should he punch Lu Zhuonian and send him packing, cut ties completely, not even remain friends?
Neither option felt remotely acceptable.
So, Chen Zemian clung to the status quo.
He didn’t want to move forward, didn’t want to step back. He just wanted to stay exactly where they were now.
It was perfect: pleasurable, yet still harmless. No major emotional damage. No broken bones.
At least, not yet.
And by “bones,” he meant more than the physical kind—emotional, relational, psychological. All of it could be shattered.
Badly shattered.
This wouldn’t be your run-of-the-mill sprain or strain. It would be internal damage. Deep, irreversible trauma.
A broken leg could be seen to in a hospital. But if he got hurt this way, he’d be too embarrassed to even walk into one.
Ever the responsible learner, Chen Zemian decided to do some research—scientifically, of course. He combed through pages and pages of websites, even pulled up a video to study.
He watched it for a long time, trying to analyze it objectively. No matter what angle he looked at it from, it was impossible to imagine Lu Zhuonian being the one underneath, gasping and crying out like that.
Which meant…
The one wailing like that could only be him.
The realization made his stomach churn. His mouth went sour. He ended up throwing up his lunch.
Lu Zhuonian brought him a cup of warm water and asked with concern, “Did you eat something bad again? Is your stomach acting up?”
Chen Zemian lay weakly on the couch, clutching his abdomen and shaking his head.
He hadn’t eaten anything he shouldn’t have. He’d just seen something he never should’ve looked at.
His eyes felt polluted—violated.
He’d overestimated himself. He wasn’t as open-minded as he’d thought. There were some things he simply couldn’t handle.
From that day on, Chen Zemian started avoiding Lu Zhuonian.
Not because he was afraid of what Lu might do to him, but because he was afraid he might not refuse if Lu tried to do something.
After all, hadn’t he resisted mouth stuff at first, too?
Better to keep some distance for now. Cool his head, do some mental housekeeping, try to piece together whatever scraps of his broken boundaries were still lying around.
Conveniently, this all happened just as the new game Peace Battlefield got approval and went live. Chen Zemian was busy running between his studio and the shooting range, his schedule packed tight.
After the new semester began, Lu Zhuonian had stopped showing up at the range much. His second semester of sophomore year was heavy with classes, a lot of 8 a.m. starts. Sometimes, when Chen Zemian worked overtime, he’d use it as an excuse not to go back to Shengfu Huating. He’d say he didn’t want to disturb Lu’s rest, that he’d just crash elsewhere.
One or two days was nothing. But over time, even the densest person would start to notice something was off.
The problem was, Chen Zemian thought he was hiding it well.
Lu Zhuonian, however, didn’t say a word. He simply let him go.
Xiao Kesong, noticing that Chen Zemian had been flying solo a lot lately, found it strange. He pulled Ye Chen aside and whispered, “Why’s Chen Zemian always alone these days? Did he and Zhuonian have a fight?”
Ye Chen replied coolly, “Worry about yourself first.”
Xiao Kesong shot him a glare. “I am doing just fine, thanks!”
Ye Chen raised an eyebrow. “How’s your English going?”
Xiao Kesong visibly deflated. “Not great… Is Zhuonian really not going abroad anymore?”
Ye Chen gave a slight nod. “Most likely not.”
“Why?” Xiao Kesong asked, bewildered.
Instead of answering, Ye Chen posed a question of his own: “Why do you think?”
Xiao Kesong was practically fuming. “I don’t get it anymore—him, or Chen Zemian. Last time, I asked Chen Zemian to hang out last time, he didn’t show. I told Zhuonian to call him, but he didn’t even pick up. Did they fall out or something?”
Ye Chen let out a sudden laugh and replied, “Relax. No one’s falling out with anyone. Those two? Not a chance. Chen Zemian’s just really busy these days. As for Zhuonian…”
He paused, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint, knowing smirk.
“…Might be playing hard to get.”
Xiao Kesong narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Ye Chen’s smile deepened. “I don’t know.”
“…”
Xiao Kesong grew more and more annoyed. “Both of them are impossible to make plans with. I can’t even tell if they’re actually busy or just pretending.”
Well—Chen Zemian was genuinely busy.
Aside from game development, there was another thing eating up all his time—
Though officially a game designer, someone had somehow managed to circulate the rumor that he was some kind of educational guru.
The story spread like wildfire through the elite circles of Beijing. Before long, practically every wealthy family in the city knew about this “miracle-working young man” who could apparently reform spoiled heirs.
And honestly, it wasn’t baseless. Both the Liu and Ye families had undeniable success stories to show for it. Two famously unruly young masters, now practically model citizens—living proof that had many people convinced.
Soon, calls started pouring in. Rich families were eager to send their unmanageable sons to Chen Zemian for “training and life experience.”
Today it was a dinner invitation, tomorrow it was tea—everyone wanted to meet him and “discuss in detail.”
Zemian declined again and again, firmly stating he had no interest in running some kind of “Young Masters’ Reform Bootcamp.” What had happened with Liu and Ye was pure coincidence, not a planned transformation. Please, he insisted, stop spreading rumors.
He was a game developer. Helping Liu Yuebo was just to save up funds to build his own studio. As for “curing” Ye Xi’s gaming addiction—well, that just happened to fall within his professional domain.
Especially now, with the mobile game launch finally approved, Zemian was knee-deep in work. His studio was a ragtag crew—undercapitalized and overworked. He had to personally handle everything: investment meetings, promotional campaigns, daily operations, even game maintenance. He could barely keep up with his actual job, let alone take on someone else’s problematic child.
He’d just said all this to someone the day before, and then—
The next day, the studio received no fewer than five investment proposals.
One particularly generous offer even included a full “operational takeover” agreement. If they partnered, the investors would assign a dedicated operations team from within their company to handle everything: marketing, support, infrastructure, you name it. Zemian and his team would be free to focus purely on development and updates.
It was practically a dream deal.
They offered money and manpower, asked for an unusually low profit share, and—shockingly—attached no gambling-style performance clauses. No traps, no tricks. It was as close to free support as you could get.
Zemian stared at the agreement, stunned, and eventually suggested, “Shouldn’t we increase your profit share at least a little?”
The investment rep smiled politely. “No need to be modest, Mr. Chen. Our chairman, Mr. Zheng, personally approved this. Oh, and speaking of sending help—his son just graduated. We heard you were looking for a personal assistant. Would you be open to letting Zheng Shao shadow you and learn a thing or two?”
Zemian set his pen down. “So that’s what all this was for.”
The rep chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t call it scheming, exactly. Our chairman has invested in hundreds—maybe thousands—of projects, but he only has one son. Helping Mr. Chen focus on his work is the least we can do if we’re asking for a favor.”
Chairman Zheng was a veteran businessman—smooth talker, smoother operator.
And the deal really was too good to pass up.
With such a highly beneficial and harmless ‘Investment Agreement’ placed before him, Chen Ze’s heart couldn’t help but be moved. Unable to restrain himself, he asked, “So what does Chairman Zheng want me to do?”
The investment company representative said, “As long as Zheng Shao shows up to work on time and leaves on time, that’s already a win. Chairman Zheng originally had him assigned to a branch office, but you know how it is—how can subordinates be expected to discipline the chairman’s own son? Zheng Jr. comes and goes as he pleases, and he’s out clubbing and bar-hopping every night, never coming home until morning. Chairman Zheng’s so angry his blood pressure’s gone through the roof.”
Chen Zemian hesitated. “So… if he wants to go out at night, do you need me to drag him out of the club myself?”
The rep chuckled. “No need for that. Just keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t mess around too much with his usual gang of bad influences.”
Chen Zemian asked, “Then… can I take him out to do other things?”
The rep raised a brow. “By ‘other things,’ you mean?”
Chen Zemian replied, “Shooting ranges, racing, video games—stuff like that.”
The representative stepped out to call Chairman Zheng. When he returned, he relayed the message:
“As long as he’s not out there seducing women in nightclubs, he can do whatever he wants.”
Chen Zemian smiled. “Then that won’t be a problem.”
The Investment Agreement was signed that morning.
By three in the afternoon, Chairman Zheng’s son had already shown up to report in.
His name was Zheng Huaiyu—a strikingly handsome young man, with the kind of looks you’d expect from a male model.
Since arriving in this world, Chen Zemian had seen more than his fair share of beautiful men and women, but few men could truly be described as pretty.
Zheng Huaiyu was one of those rare exceptions.
His beauty wasn’t the clear, luminous kind like Chen Zhe’s—it was lavish, decadent, almost overwhelming. His eyes were soft, his smile always a step ahead of his words, and his whole presence was like a peony in full bloom: lush, sweet, and dangerously alluring.
No wonder Chairman Zheng had used the phrase “drawing bees and butterflies” to describe his son. It wasn’t an exaggeration—it was dead-on.
When Chen Zemian walked into the lobby, Zheng Huaiyu was lounging casually on the sofa, propped up by one arm, making idle conversation with the front desk receptionist.
The moment he saw Chen Zemian, Zheng Huaiyu raised a brow almost imperceptibly and turned to the receptionist.
“Is that your boss—President Chen?”
The receptionist glanced over and saw Chen Zemian approaching. Her face instantly flushed bright red. “President Chen.”
Zheng Huaiyu lifted his chin lazily, offering a half-smile. “Hello, President Chen.”
Chen Zemian had only planned to pop in for a quick look before leaving Zheng Huaiyu at the studio, but it hadn’t even been ten minutes and the guy had already charmed their receptionist into a blushing mess.
To prevent further bee-and-butterfly-drawing incidents, Chen Zemian decided it was safer to supervise Zheng Huaiyu personally.
After giving him a quick rundown of the day’s work, Chen took Zheng Huaiyu with him to the shooting range.
The parking lot outside the office building was packed with cars, but none were quite as eye-catching as the deep violet Pagani Fengshen.
Zheng Huaiyu let out a soft whistle. “President Chen, you’ve got your own studio and still go to work at the shooting range every day?”
Chen Zemian opened the car door. “Yep.”
Zheng Huaiyu casually reached for the seatbelt. “Does the salary at least cover the gas?”
Chen Zemian had just opened his mouth to reply with a “Barely,” when his phone began to ring.
It was Lu Zhuonian.
Chen Zemian picked up the phone. “Lu Shao.”
Zheng Huaiyu’s gaze shifted slightly. He turned his head to look at Chen Zemian.
Lu Zhuonian’s voice came calmly through the earpiece. “Are you coming home today?”
Chen Zemian slipped on his headset, turned the steering wheel, and pulled the car out of the parking lot. “I need to stop by the shooting range first. I’ll head home after I’m done.”
Lu Zhuonian replied coolly, “I’m at the shooting range.”
Chen Zemian hadn’t expected that. He froze for a second. “Huh? Don’t you have class today?”
“It’s Saturday,” Lu Zhuonian said evenly. “Chen Zemian, have you flipped your schedule again? Don’t even know what day it is anymore?”
Those words hit Chen Zemian like a sudden tug to the chest.
Lu Zhuonian continued, “The housekeeper made seafood congee this morning. She remembered you liked it, so she made extra. Brought it over only to find you weren’t here. It’s the end of the month, and I had to come to the range to check the books, so I brought it along. It’s in the clay pot, still warm in the cafeteria. Make sure you eat it when you come back.”
Only then did Chen Zemian start to sense something off.
Lu Zhuonian probably knew he’d been avoiding him.
Chen wanted to say something, maybe explain—but before he could, Lu Zhuonian spoke again.
“I’m heading home now.”
His tone was steady and composed, as if they were discussing nothing more than the weather. He didn’t question why Chen was avoiding him, nor did he press for answers. Instead, with deliberate courtesy, he offered a graceful retreat—as if to say: You’re safe to come now. I’m leaving.
Every word Chen Zemian had wanted to say got caught in his throat, pressing hard against his chest. All he could manage was an awkward: “You’re leaving already?”
Lu Zhuonian answered, “Mm. I’ve finished checking the accounts.”
Chen glanced instinctively at the GPS. “I’m still forty minutes out from the range.”
Lu Zhuonian’s voice didn’t waver. It was flat, factual. “I’ll be home by then.”
Chen opened his mouth to speak, but the words faltered. He ended up swallowing them again. His gaze fixed on the steady stream of cars ahead, fingers unconsciously tightening around the steering wheel.
Lu Zhuonian didn’t say another word.
The call fell into sudden silence. In the earpiece, only the sound of their breathing remained.
Neither of them hung up.
Zheng Huaiyu, sitting beside Chen, could only catch vague fragments of the conversation. He couldn’t hear clearly what this “Lu Shao” was saying.
But he didn’t need to.
The tension between the two men was obvious—undeniably present in the air, thick enough to feel.
Especially since Chen Zemian’s responses had been riddled with contradiction.
At first, his tone clearly suggested he wasn’t planning on going home. Then, when he found out Lu Zhuonian was at the shooting range, he’d stiffened, visibly startled.
And yet, after just a few brief words from the other end, Chen Zemian’s entire demeanor had shifted.
First, he asked, “You’re leaving already?”
Then, he followed it up with, “I’ll be there in forty minutes.”
The meaning behind those words was obvious.
Even if he didn’t say it directly, anyone listening carefully could tell—it was a gentle plea for him to stay.
Given that just a few seemingly casual words from this “Lu Shao” could subtly sway Chen Zemian’s decisions, it was clear that the man on the other end of the call possessed both high emotional intelligence and sharp intellect. And more importantly, he must know Chen Zemian quite well.
With the trifecta of high EQ, high IQ, and deep familiarity, it was impossible for Lu Shao not to pick up on Chen Zemian’s hidden intention to make him stay.
And yet, he chose to act as if he hadn’t understood.
Unless he was deliberately pushing Chen Zemian to say it out loud—to make the first move—Zheng Huaiyu couldn’t think of any other explanation.
Putting all the pieces together, a conclusion gradually formed in his mind:
The man on the other end of the call was probably pursuing Chen Zemian. But from the looks of it, Chen Zemian wasn’t quite ready. He seemed to be keeping his distance. The two of them likely hadn’t seen each other in a while. This call… was bait.
Zheng Huaiyu had seen his fair share of love games. Normally, he wouldn’t have thought much of deducing something like this.
But this was that “Young Master Lu.”
Before being assigned by his father, Director Zheng, to work with Chen Zemian, Zheng Huaiyu had done his homework. He knew Chen Zemian was acquainted with quite a few wealthy young men, but the only “Lu” among them—
Was Lu Zhuonian, the crown prince of Beijing’s elite circle. The legendary Young Master Lu.
Now that made things interesting.
After all, for years, Lu Zhuonian had kept his life impeccably clean—no scandals, no flings, no ambiguous relationships with men or women, young or old. Now, out of the blue, he was actively chasing someone. And not just anyone—but a man.
This was news. Shocking news.
Zheng Huaiyu tilted his head and looked at Chen Zemian again. He had to admit, Lu Zhuonian had excellent taste.
And exceptionally high standards.
Someone as stunning as Chen Zemian was rare, but not entirely unheard of. What set him apart was that edge—that cool, untouchable aura.
More vivid than moonlight, clearer than a mountain spring, and more free-spirited than the wind itself.
Noticing Zheng Huaiyu’s gaze, Chen Zemian turned slightly and met his eyes.
In that moment, Zheng Huaiyu paused.
Those eyes—deep, radiant, heartbreakingly beautiful—were like stardust melted down and condensed into a single, gleaming gaze.
A strange sense of kinship stirred in Zheng Huaiyu’s chest.
He’d finally met another of his kind.
He had always felt a profound fondness for all beautiful creatures, believing with quiet certainty that they belonged to a rare species of their own.
And someone like Chen Zemian—top of the top—deserved protection. Even if it was the heir of the Lu family chasing him, it shouldn’t come easy.
Just as Chen Zemian lifted a hand to his earpiece and prepared to speak—to take the bait—
Zheng Huaiyu let out a soft laugh, low and sudden, cutting cleanly through the quiet tension between the two men like a blade through silk.
Sure enough, Lu Zhuonian immediately responded from the other end of the line.
“…Who was that?”
*****
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Author: LazyHermitGal
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