Chi Zhan had always known Doctor Cen as the kind of man who wore gold-rimmed or silver-framed glasses, exuding a gentle, refined aura. Polite and composed, his lips always carried the hint of a smile—disarming enough to lower anyone’s guard, no matter how wary they were.
But perhaps it was the heavy rain. Cen Chi had casually taken off his glasses, and with that simple motion, something about him shifted. Gone was the graceful, jade-like demeanor. The eyes that once held a constant trace of warmth now gleamed with unfamiliar chill and sharpness.
In that fleeting moment, Chi Zhan was reminded of the vines lurking in the dark—coiled, hidden, and dangerous.
Yet in the blink of an eye, Cen Chi was back to his usual self.
It looked like he wanted to say something but ultimately said nothing. He merely adjusted the umbrella in his hand.
What Chi Zhan didn’t notice was that Cen Chi’s gaze had briefly drifted toward a car parked across the street from the hospital. It seemed like nothing more than a casual glance, yet under the curtain of rain, sight and sound had both grown unclear.
They got into the car. The interior smelled faintly of incense. The windshield wipers swept rhythmically, and a plush black cat swayed back and forth in front of the dashboard. The engine started, and the warmth kicked in almost immediately. Chi Zhan’s fingers were ice-cold, and Cen Chi wasn’t in much better shape—his clothes were soaked through, and droplets slid down from the strands of his wet hair.
“There’s a towel in the glove compartment.”
Chi Zhan retrieved a towel and offered it to him.
“You should dry off. Don’t worry about me.” Chi Zhan, still dry, handed the towel over insistently. “I barely got wet. You’re soaked—if you don’t dry off, you’ll catch a cold.”
Cen Chi chuckled.
“That sounds like something I should be saying to you.”
He stopped protesting and accepted the towel.
Chi Zhan sat in the passenger seat. The rose petals, wet from the rain, had scattered across the seat like fallen confetti. Cen Chi rested his fingers on the steering wheel, occasionally tapping lightly, as though lost in thought. The downpour was muffled by the closed windows. The inside of the car was unnaturally quiet.
Chi Zhan thought about making small talk, but they’d just had a less-than-pleasant parting earlier. Trying to smooth things over now felt premature. Instead, he pulled out his phone and idly swiped through it.
That was when Cen Chi suddenly leaned over.
A wave of damp rain-scented air swept over him. Chi Zhan froze, his whole body tensing, eyes fixed on Cen Chi’s hand reaching across him to buckle the seatbelt.
Click.
Stray strands of hair brushed lightly against Chi Zhan’s cheek. Warm breath lingered at his collarbone. The overly intimate proximity stirred a reflexive resistance in him. But Cen Chi seemed unfazed, fastening the seatbelt with a calm, unreadable expression.
“If it feels tight, you can loosen it a bit.”
…Had he overreacted again?
Maybe Doctor Cen hadn’t thought anything of it at all.
He needed to stop overthinking. Cen Chi had only acted out of kindness—it was his own mind that had gone running wild.
The car’s music system clicked on. A soft English ballad began to play.
“Doctor Cen, thank you for driving me back. I’ll head out now.”
Cen Chi reached for an umbrella in the back seat and handed it to him.
“Don’t get soaked.”
Chi Zhan took it, only to find Cen Chi’s fingers still holding onto it. The man’s lids lifted slowly, as though waiting for him to say something.
“……”
Doctor Cen could be surprisingly childish at times.
“Well then, I’ll borrow this for now,” Chi Zhan said with a smile. “If there’s a chance, I’ll treat you to a meal next time.”
“I’ll take that to heart. I hope there is a next time.”
Chi Zhan was caught off guard. For a moment, it felt like Cen Chi could see right through him. Because, honestly, he’d only meant it as a polite gesture.
“Of course… But Doctor Cen, you’re busier than I am. Just contact me when you’re free.”
In the rain, Cen Chi turned slightly, his hair still damp, his face elegant and striking. He looked at Chi Zhan.
“Got it. I’ll start looking forward to our next meeting starting today.” He smiled softly. “So… See you next time.”
Chi Zhan opened the umbrella, exchanged farewells, and turned to leave.
Rain drifted into the car. The window had never been rolled up. The smile in Cen Chi’s eyes slowly faded, replaced by a murky shadow. He watched Chi Zhan’s figure disappear into the rain, the grey-blue haze dissolving into a monochrome silhouette—returning once again to a world he knew all too well.
Maybe Chi Zhan really had nothing to do with Zhou Yanxing. But judging by Zhou Yanxing’s attitude, he clearly liked him.
If he didn’t make his move soon, someone else might.
Still… given Zhou Yanxing’s family background, there was no need to rush.
The previous probe had been a bit aggressive. What was needed now was a more patient, meticulous, and comprehensive plan—an invisible web with no weight yet impossible to escape, perfect for capturing a butterfly so light and beautiful.
And besides… Chi Zhan had taken both the umbrella and the clothes.
That might just be a convenient way to keep in touch.
***
The next day, Chi Zhan returned to his desk. His phone beeped with new messages, and the familiar faces and fast-paced atmosphere of work snapped him right back to reality.
“Secretary Chi! You’re finally back!” one of his colleagues in the secretary department looked like they were about to cry. “You have no idea—while you were gone, the Demon King Zhou’s temper hit record highs! None of us dared go near his office!”
Tearfully, they recounted how Zhou Yanxing had criticized their coffee, their PowerPoints, their work attitude—in short, life had become one big “redo.”
Chi Zhan went around offering comfort, then demonstrated his masterful coffee-making skills, encouraging them to keep practicing until they could brew the perfect health-conscious blend that satisfied the Demon King’s very specific tastes: three parts milk, two parts sugar, just right—neither too bitter nor too sweet.
If even his dating preferences included “can make good coffee,” then clearly, coffee-making was the key to winning over President Zhou’s heart.
Zhou Yanxing was in a remote video meeting with a branch office, wearing a Bluetooth headset and a pair of flat lenses. The glasses only made his gaze sharper, more intimidating—he could probably scare ten kids just by looking at them. Even through a screen, the pressure was real.
Chi Zhan silently placed a cup of coffee on the desk, just as he was about to leave, Zhou Yanxing tapped the table twice with his fingers, then pointed to a stack of documents beside him.
A clear signal: Read this.
