“……”
His lips twitched.
“You think I’m the one who’s lost it? You’ve got some nerve—maybe you need help!”
He could only regret not having a camcorder on hand earlier. If he had, he would’ve played back that scene on a giant high-def screen for Cen Chi on loop—eighty, maybe a hundred times—until the enemy’s morale was completely destroyed.
But then he thought of how Chi Zhan had looked just moments ago, and the desire to broadcast it to the world disappeared. He just wanted to burn that moment into his memory, a treasure only he knew about, one he wouldn’t share with anyone—not even a second of it.
When Chi Zhan returned and sensed the strange tension at the table, it suddenly hit him—he’d made a critical mistake when he sent Zhou Yanxing off.
He’d forgotten to forbid him from going around announcing their relationship. Which led to… well, this.
“Ah-Zhan,” Cen Chi said, smiling lightly as if making idle conversation. “I heard you and Zhou Yanxing are together. Is that true?”
Though his lips were curved into a casual smile, the air around him pulsed with danger.
Cen Chi and Zhou Yanxing were polar opposites. Zhou, when assertive, was like a wolf—quick, ruthless, and precise. Cen Chi, however, was more like a lurking presence in the dark, patient and constricting, the kind of danger that slowly tightened its grip until its prey was crushed under the weight of psychological pressure.
Both were a pain to deal with, honestly.
Chi Zhan glanced at Zhou Yanxing, who said bluntly, “What, are your ears broken too? How many times do I have to say it? Also, stop calling him ‘Ah-Zhan.’”
Zhou Yanxing had been annoyed at that nickname for ages but hadn’t had the right to interfere—until now. Finally, he could assert his claim openly.
“I want to hear it from Ah-Zhan himself,” Cen Chi said, ignoring Zhou entirely as his gaze remained fixed on Chi Zhan. “Tell me with your own mouth—you’re really with Zhou Yanxing?”
Chi Zhan cradled his coffee cup and braced himself.
“…Yes. We’re together.”
But contrary to expectation, Cen Chi didn’t explode. He just looked at Chi Zhan with a probing gaze, as if trying to figure out where exactly things had gone wrong. After a long silence, he asked no further details—only said quietly, “You’re sure… you’re choosing Zhou Yanxing?”
Chi Zhan had no intention of getting tangled up in dangerous emotional knots with Cen Chi again. And since Zhou and Cen were close friends, maybe he could even use Zhou as a shield?
With that thought, he said firmly, “I’m sure.”
“You heard him.” Zhou raised a brow, done with acknowledging Cen Chi, and turned to Chi Zhan. “So, after lunch, where do you want to go?”
Chi Zhan blinked.
“There’s only thirty minutes left before work starts. Go where?”
“Not going back,” Zhou replied casually. “Nothing urgent this afternoon. We can skip it. I’ll take you out.”
“……”
Did I just hear that right?
Of all things, Chi Zhan hadn’t expected Zhou Yanxing to do a complete one-eighty after getting into a relationship. This was the same workaholic who’d once driven himself into the ground—now saying “nothing urgent, we can skip it” like it was nothing?!
“No, absolutely not.” Chi Zhan straightened up. “There are three meetings this afternoon. I have to be there.”
Zhou frowned.
“Can’t they be rescheduled?”
“Of course not,” Chi Zhan enunciated.
Just as he’d feared.
Once Zhou Yanxing got into a relationship, he’d basically become that emperor who stopped going to court—leaving a mountain of work to his poor secretary, who had to handle everything alone.
Cen Chi looked up, silently watching the interaction between the two. After a moment, he said, “Ah-Zhan, can I talk to you in private?”
“What’s left to talk about?” Zhou asked, clearly annoyed.
“It’s important.”
Chi Zhan considered it and nodded.
“Okay.”
“I’ll be in the next room. It won’t take long, you don’t need to worry.”
That last sentence was directed at Zhou Yanxing.
As expected, Zhou didn’t like this one bit. Leaving Chi Zhan alone with Cen Chi? Way too risky. No chance he’d be okay with that.
“What’s with all the secrecy? What could you possibly need to say that I can’t hear?”
Since the moment they got together, Zhou had become way more prone to jealousy. Chi Zhan turned to him and whispered, “President Zhou, you’re still in your probation period. If I’m not satisfied, I can revoke it at any time, right?”
“……”
He hadn’t expected his own words to come back and bite him in the ass this hard. Grinding his teeth, he forced himself to sound magnanimous. “…Fine. Go.”
Chi Zhan found the entire scene pretty amusing.
He hadn’t thought one sentence would be enough to shut Zhou up. What a useful trick.
Normally, no one could rein in Zhou Yanxing’s temper.
If Zhou stayed in the probation phase indefinitely, maybe he could just keep using this strategy…
But of course, it wasn’t a foolproof plan. Zhou rarely listened in the first place. And even if he did hold back, forcing him to repress things too long might lead to… something dangerous.
“But don’t you think,” Zhou said suddenly, grabbing Chi Zhan’s wrist, “that if you’re going to talk alone with another man, you should offer your boyfriend some kind of compensation?”
Chi Zhan had expected this. Zhou Yanxing wasn’t the kind to let things go easily. Resigned, he asked, “Then, President Zhou, what kind of compensation do you want?”
He thought Zhou might ask for a kiss or something similar. But instead, Zhou said:
“Stop calling me ‘President Zhou.’ Couples should have affectionate nicknames, don’t you think?”
***
The restaurant’s private dining rooms offered far more seclusion than the public areas set up for couples. Once the door was shut, all outside noise was cut off.
Cen Chi sat straight-backed, his fingers interlaced—posture that signaled this was a serious conversation.
Chi Zhan rarely saw him like this and couldn’t help but grow curious—and a little confused.
What could possibly be so important between him and Cen Chi?
But then Cen Chi’s first words struck like thunder.
“Ah-Zhan, in your mission,” he said quietly, “there’s nothing about ending up with any of us… is there?”
