President Zhou sat silently in the car. Xiao Wang didn’t dare speak either, not until Zhou Yanxing spoke up.
“Are you married?”
Xiao Wang blinked.
“No, President Zhou. I’m still single.”
“Anyone in our company married?”
Xiao Wang thought for a moment.
“I don’t think so. Everyone’s still single. President Zhou… are you getting married?”
After all, office romances were strictly forbidden at their company, and since most employees practically lived at work for the majority of the year, even if someone was dating, they’d never dare make it public.
Zhou Yanxing shot him a glance—sharp as a blade.
“Don’t talk about this once we’re out of the car. Especially not to Secretary Chi. Got it?”
Xiao Wang immediately shrank back in his seat, heart pounding like a drum.
Why couldn’t Secretary Chi find out? SOS—did he just stumble upon some top-secret internal information again?!
Meanwhile, Chi Zhan was having an unusually relaxing day. No Demon King looming over him, no work to stress about. He lounged comfortably in the hotel, enjoying a well-earned rest. Around noon, a server arrived with a delivery, informing him that Mr. Zhou Yanxing had ordered lunch for him.
Chi Zhan opened it—an entire spread of revitalizing tonics and nourishing stews filled the table.
The already dead chicken soup was launching an assault on him.
Was he really looking that awful? Frowning, Chi Zhan checked himself in the mirror. Sure enough, the sleepless night and recurring nightmares had taken their toll. He looked like he’d been drained of all vitality.
He texted Zhou Yanxing: Thanks for your concern, President Zhou, then dutifully sat down to drink the soup.
It was good soup—flavorful and rich—but something about it felt… off.
Halfway through, the doorbell rang.
Standing at the doorway was Cen Chi. The tailored trench coat flattered his tall, slender frame, and he wore the same gold-rimmed glasses from the first time they met. Polished and refined, he looked like he’d just come in from the cold, a lingering chill clinging to him.
“Doctor Cen?”
Chi Zhan blinked in surprise. Cen Chi smiled warmly.
“Not going to invite me in?”
“Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable.”
Chi Zhan gave him a quick once-over. It must’ve been freezing outside. Catching his puzzled look, Cen Chi took off his coat, revealing a light knit sweater underneath.
A very preppy, campus-style outfit.
Considering how young he was, the look suited him well—like a gentle upperclassman from a college romance drama.
“I was giving a medical seminar at a nearby university,” Cen Chi said as he glanced around the room. “Then Zhou Yanxing called me, asked a few questions, and told me to come check on you.”
His gaze swept over Chi Zhan.
It lacked the oppressive weight Zhou Yanxing’s eyes always carried—no sharp edge, no hidden pressure. Instead, it was like the quiet patter of spring rain, tender and soothing.
Chi Zhan, still distracted by the excessive supplements on the table, responded absentmindedly, “Have you eaten, Doctor Cen? If not, join me. Oh, right—what did President Zhou talk to you about?”
Chi Zhan was dying to know why Zhou Yanxing was acting so strange today.
“I told him,” Cen Chi said with a mild smile, “that once a man is thoroughly drunk, it’s impossible for him to get it up. Unless he’s faking it.”
Chi Zhan choked on his soup mid-sip, coughing uncontrollably.
“What on earth… gave him that idea?” Cen Chi chuckled softly, but a shadow flickered in his eyes. Watching Chi Zhan’s reaction, a look of comprehension settled on his face, and his smile deepened.
He pulled a tissue and handed it over. Seeing Chi Zhan still wheezing, he stepped forward and gently patted his back.
“…Thanks,” Chi Zhan mumbled, eyes watering from the coughing fit. He was just about to wipe his tears when his chin was suddenly tilted upward.
A faint, cool scent—like damp moss deep in a forest—filled his senses. Cen Chi’s voice landed lightly beside his ear.
“Close your eyes.”
His tone was impossibly soft. Instinctively, Chi Zhan obeyed.
The tissue brushed gently over his eyelids. He couldn’t see it, but there was a subtle heat in Cen Chi’s eyes, and the fingers holding the tissue lingered warmly at the corner of his eye.
With his other hand, Cen Chi casually grazed Chi Zhan’s throat, watched his Adam’s apple bob, and finally rested it against the bandage on his neck.
Beep. A faint chime. The room card scanned, and the door slid open automatically.
Zhou Yanxing stepped inside—and froze at the scene.
The two were practically entangled. Cen Chi bent low, one hand cupping Chi Zhan’s cheek, while Chi Zhan tilted his head upward, eyes closed. His side profile was stunningly perfect.
If filmed, the shot would be peak romance drama—a tender, lingering pre-kiss moment.
Zhou Yanxing’s chest tightened, as if a fist had clamped around his heart and squeezed. Sourness surged up so fast it ignited a blaze of inexplicable fury.
“What are you two doing?” he asked, voice icy.
Chi Zhan opened his eyes and met Zhou Yanxing’s thunderous expression. The tension was so thick it felt suffocating. Only then did he realize how suggestive his position with Cen Chi must have looked.
He hurriedly scooted away.
Cen Chi, on the other hand, simply smiled.
“You said Secretary Chi was seriously hurt, so I came to check on him.”
This guy—he really knew how to turn the tables.
Zhou Yanxing would never have asked a romantic rival to treat Chi Zhan. He’d only called to ask a few questions, driven by concern. But this sly fox had taken the opportunity to show up under his name—flirting with his secretary, drinking his soup.
Zhou Yanxing’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“And what did you find?”
The two began their verbal tug-of-war, volleying back and forth, making Chi Zhan’s head spin.
“Why don’t we all sit and have some soup?” Chi Zhan tried to smooth things over. “It really is quite good. President Zhou, please.”
Zhou Yanxing sat down—right next to Chi Zhan.
The dining table wasn’t small, but somehow all three ended up huddled together.
Cen Chi tactfully shifted away.
Sometimes pressing too hard did more harm than good.
Especially with someone like Zhou Yanxing—playing it straight would only backfire.
Still…
In love, the one who lays down their cards first is usually at the greatest disadvantage.
Now that the two had finally settled down, Chi Zhan pulled out his phone to check in with the others, asking when they’d be arriving in Province A.
Only Seven hadn’t replied.
Zhou Yanxing glanced at the name on the screen, his voice frosty.
“What are you chatting about with that male streamer? You look so happy.”
“What male streamer?” Cen Chi looked up from his soup, fingers elegant around the spoon. “The one we played with last night?” he asked, raising a thoughtful brow at Chi Zhan.
