“I trust you.”
“If the hypnosis works, I could give you any command. Even one that leads to death.” Cen Chi paused, then added, “Knowing that… you still trust me?”
Chi Zhan didn’t hesitate.
“You wouldn’t do that.”
It was strange, really. Cen Chi had never made Chi Zhan feel uneasy. Even though he occasionally showed flashes of danger, Chi Zhan had a gut instinct—Cen Chi would never harm him. Would never do anything to hurt him. It was a dangerous kind of instinct to have.
Under hypnosis, Cen Chi could ask him anything—and Chi Zhan would have no power to resist.
Cen Chi gazed at him deeply for a few seconds, then smiled and shook his head, as if he had no choice.
“You really dare agree to something like that? You’ve got some nerve. But— I’m honored you trust me.”
Meanwhile, Zhou Yanxing was growing increasingly impatient in the outer hall.
It had been over half an hour. Why hadn’t Chi Zhan come out yet?! He knew Cen Chi was up to no good. What if that bastard was using the opportunity to threaten him?
Zhou had already been restless since the first minute Chi Zhan left. Unable to take it anymore, he paced a few laps around the terrace. A server nearby mistook his agitation and politely said, “Sir, the restroom is down the right-hand corridor.”
Zhou suddenly blurted, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
The server blinked.
“I do, but… um, sir?”
“If your boyfriend was in a room alone with someone who liked him—for over half an hour—wouldn’t you go check on him?”
The server thought, Only half an hour? Isn’t that a bit much? But wait, there was a love rival involved? Oh. Then of course—he absolutely should go.
Zhou Yanxing looked satisfied and muttered to himself, “Mm, that’s right. So I’m totally justified.”
He handed the server a hefty tip and strode off the terrace with long, decisive steps.
The server stared in disbelief at the wad of cash, moved to the brink of tears.
He’s a goddamn saint. I should just call him Daddy.
Zhou approached the door and knocked—not aggressively, but with exaggerated politeness, more courteous than even the server’s earlier manner.
He didn’t want to scare his boyfriend, or risk losing relationship points.
But no one answered. The room was so well-insulated that not a single sound escaped. Zhou knocked again, then cautiously turned the handle.
He’d already prepared his excuse: “We’re gonna be late for work.” Reasonable, non-confrontational—Chi Zhan wouldn’t be mad.
But the moment he stepped inside, the smile froze on his lips.
There, curled in Cen Chi’s arms, Chi Zhan was sound asleep.
It felt like Zhou’s very soul had been doused in gasoline and set ablaze.
He stormed over to them, fists clenched, ready to launch into a tirade—but then saw Chi Zhan’s sleeping face, peaceful and soft.
Instead of yelling, Zhou could only choke out a few words between gritted teeth:
“What the hell is this?”
He’d assumed they were talking about something serious. And sure, he’d guessed Cen Chi might bring up the whole identity thing—but how had it ended with Chi Zhan asleep?! And in Cen Chi’s arms, no less!
Even now, Zhou couldn’t bring himself to wake him.
Cen Chi lowered his gaze to the man in his arms.
“He’s exhausted. Hasn’t been sleeping well lately, has he?”
That’s none of your damn business. Zhou’s face darkened.
“He wouldn’t just fall asleep somewhere like this. What did you do to him?”
Chi Zhan was notoriously alert in public—he never slept deeply outside, and even during lunch breaks, the slightest sound would wake him. The fact that he’d dozed off in a packed restaurant was highly suspicious.
Cen Chi’s lips parted, just about to respond—when Chi Zhan stirred with a soft “mm.”
His eyelashes fluttered like delicate butterfly wings. He was waking up.
Both men fell silent.
Chi Zhan slowly opened his eyes. The drowsiness melted away as quickly as it had come. For a fleeting moment, he thought: If Cen Chi ever went into sleep ASMR like Chu Xingxiao, he might be a huge hit.
But something felt… off.
There was a chill crawling over his skin. A cold, familiar gaze zeroed in on his face.
“…President Zhou?” he blurted, startled. Then realized—to his horror—that he was curled up in Cen Chi’s arms.
He’d clearly been sitting across from him before falling asleep!
Zhou’s expression was… not great. But he held back from snapping, instead asking in a tightly controlled voice, “What are you supposed to call me?”
Chi Zhan froze. Then remembered their earlier conversation.
“Couples should use… affectionate nicknames?”
His head throbbed. Honestly, “President Zhou” rolled off the tongue so easily. But the way Zhou looked—so intent, so insistent—told him that wasn’t going to cut it.
“Then… how about,” Chi Zhan offered tentatively, “one of the names they use in Cen Chi’s hometown? Ah-Yan? Or Ah-Xing?”
Zhou scoffed inwardly. As if Cen Chi has special nickname traditions. What a gullible fool. Still, he said nothing.
Truth was, what Zhou really wanted was for Chi Zhan to call him something far more intimate—but that was too ambitious. He didn’t want to share the same nickname as Cen Chi either. After several failed ideas, Chi Zhan finally suggested:
“…Yanxing? Would that work?”
Zhou gave a grudging hum of approval.
Should he say it now?
Chi Zhan hesitated, then called softly, “…Yanxing.”
Only then did Zhou look truly appeased. He let the earlier nap situation slide and even shot a glance of smug triumph at Cen Chi.
So what if you’ve got a nickname? I’ve got one too.
The esteemed President Zhou could be more childish than a teenager when it came to romance. Chi Zhan was caught between laughter and tears. Then he glanced at the time—and realized they were late.
Instinctively, he started apologizing to Zhou.
Zhou waved it off.
“It’s not like anything important was scheduled. So we’re late. I’m late too, aren’t I?”
But Chi Zhan genuinely felt guilty.
There was this persistent feeling that he’d somehow corrupted Zhou Yanxing.
The once diligent workaholic now spent his days scheming to cut class—no, skip work.
