“This is the third time,” Qi Song said flatly, eyes lowered. “The third time you’ve decided to abandon me.”
Something about those words struck a nerve in Chi Zhan. His lips trembled involuntarily, fingers curling into fists as he murmured under his breath, “…I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. It’s just that, compared to Zhou Yanxing and Chu Xingxiao… you don’t like me as much.”
Chi Zhan said quickly, “That’s not what I meant, I just—”
Of course, he couldn’t reveal his plan to Qi Song. But that simple sentence had cracked something open—and Qi Song seized on the weakness instantly. His pale eyes locked onto Chi Zhan’s, and he said in a low voice, “If you don’t like me, then push me away.”
With that, he leaned down and kissed him.
Because Chi Zhan was lying flat on the couch, there was little he could do to leverage himself up. Qi Song’s hand was holding his wrist, neither tightly nor loosely, but enough that even if Chi Zhan had wanted to push him away, he couldn’t.
Qi Song’s kiss, as always, was gentle and steady—like sunlight dancing on the rippling sea at noon, warm and golden. But the waves gradually swelled, growing more turbulent, and Chi Zhan—like a small, unmoored boat—was helplessly carried along. The sail was soaked, the cabin drenched, and a chill like snow on pine branches seeped through him from the inside out.
Qi Song’s gaze never once left Chi Zhan—not for a single second.
The more the fire of jealousy burned in his chest, the calmer and more composed he appeared on the surface.
The first time, Chi Zhan’s account went gray without warning. From that day on, his avatar never lit up again. At first, Qi Song could convince himself that Chi Zhan was just busy. Every day and every night, he checked the account repeatedly, praying to see it light up again—but each time brought deeper disappointment and confusion.
The second time, Chi Zhan broke up with him. That day felt like a hurricane had ripped through Qi Song’s heart, tearing everything to shreds. But he still forced himself to stay composed, telling himself that it was because Chi Zhan didn’t love him deeply yet.
Feelings can’t be forced—but love is fate. And for someone like Qi Song, aloof and restrained by nature, once he fell for someone, it was carved into destiny, impossible to change.
Qi Song was never weak-willed. He didn’t know how to curry favor, and he wouldn’t change for anyone. Deep in his bones, he was fiercely rebellious and unyielding.
Once he made up his mind, not even ten thousand years could make him change course.
His passion for esports drove him to give up his inheritance without hesitation, walking away from his family to forge a path destined to be difficult and full of thorns. But it hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Unlike Chu Xingxiao, who always acted on impulse and followed his whims, Qi Song weighed every choice with meticulous care—assessing risks, forecasting outcomes, preparing contingency plans to ensure everything was watertight.
If Chu Xingxiao was emotion, then Qi Song was logic, through and through.
But Chi Zhan—Chi Zhan was the one variable he could never calculate.
No matter how many outcomes he accounted for, none of them applied to Chi Zhan.
It was driving him mad.
“Mn… no…”
Chi Zhan could only manage a barely audible gasp. Whenever he tried to speak, Qi Song would kiss him again, never giving him a chance to respond. There was a trace of jealousy in those kisses—subtle, but Chi Zhan could feel it. Qi Song was silently telling him:
Don’t speak.
Don’t leave.
Don’t reject me.
Those slender, sculpted fingers he used during livestreams now interlaced tightly with Chi Zhan’s, cold at first but slowly warming, burning hot like a flame that would never go out. Qi Song’s grip only tightened, refusing to let him slip away.
Their breathing grew more ragged.
Outside, the wind picked up. Rain lashed against the windows, forming small puddles. The air inside grew dense, sticky. The air conditioner hummed steadily in the background, occasionally interrupted by faint, barely discernible sounds—impossible to notice unless one listened closely.
The atmosphere spiraled further out of control.
Knock knock knock.
Suddenly, a knock at the door jolted Chi Zhan back to himself.
Chen Che, half-heartedly playing match-three games and rolling around on the bed, had finally waited out the clock till dinnertime. Perking up, he bounded over and started knocking on Qi-ge’s door.
But after a while with no response, Chen Che grew suspicious. Had they gone out together? That’d make sense—who stays holed up in a room for romance? Obviously, you’ve got to find somewhere with a little ambiance…
He was still busy speculating wildly when the door opened.
Qi Song stood there.
“What is it?”
His tone was calm, but the air pressure had clearly dropped. His hair was tousled, half his face shrouded in shadow. His black suit jacket hung open, sleeves casually rolled up. The collar of his dress shirt was undone by two buttons. Though he’d tried to tidy himself, the signs were still obvious—he looked thoroughly disheveled, nothing like his usual fastidious self.
As WT’s designated team clown, Chen Che knew Qi Song well. Normally, Qi-ge dressed like the sun itself would burn him if he showed a single inch of skin—buttoned up to the neck, sleeves buttoned all the way. Even when he stayed up until six in the morning, he’d still show up the next day perfectly groomed.
But now…
Chen Che’s high IQ kicked into gear, and he instantly reached a groundbreaking, earth-shattering conclusion.
He asked cautiously, “Qi-ge… did you and Secretary Chi get into a fight? Domestic violence is a serious no-no, y’know!”
Qi Song didn’t even blink. “Nothing. I’m closing the door.” He started pushing it shut.
But Chen Che would never let a golden opportunity like this slip by. He lunged forward, blocking the door with a foot and coaxed, “Come on, Qi-ge, it’s dinner time! Secretary Chi just got off work—he probably hasn’t eaten yet. He must be starving, right? Let’s all go eat together!”
As he spoke, Chen Che peeked past the doorway. It was oddly dark inside. No movement either. Why hadn’t they turned on the lights? Surely they weren’t asleep already? It’s not Earth Hour or something…
