In truth, Zhou Yanxing hadn’t wanted to call Cen Chi at all.
The reason was obvious—he wished Cen Chi would disappear from Chi Zhan’s life altogether and never show his face again. But he couldn’t deny one thing: when it came to medical expertise, if Cen Chi was second, no one dared claim first.
Chi Zhan’s injury took top priority. There was zero room for error.
Cen Chi gave him a subtle gesture to step outside, then sighed softly and began the examination.
After the last time he’d been treated, Chi Zhan was already familiar with the entire process. But it had only been a few days, and somehow the distance between him and Cen Chi felt wider now—like a subtle unfamiliarity had crept in again.
More importantly, Chi Zhan had learned a secret.
Cen Chi liked him.
There are three major illusions in life:
Your phone is vibrating.
He likes me.
I can pull off a comeback.
Chi Zhan often experienced the third illusion—and usually got utterly destroyed in the process.
But he wasn’t the self-absorbed type. Even with the system’s confirmation, he still wasn’t completely sure.
Yet, thinking back, there were plenty of scattered, seemingly insignificant moments that, when pieced together, formed a clearer picture.
Like how the always-gentle, seemingly harmless Doctor Cen had once mistakenly assumed there was something going on between him and Zhou Yanxing.
And while laboring under that misunderstanding—he’d still flirted with him.
Those fleeting touches, those barely-there remarks—they all crossed the bounds of normal social interaction, yet never quite overstepped.
He remembered the night at the bar, when he found out Zhou Yanxing had actually been sober the whole time. Then what about Cen Chi?
Could one of them have been stone-cold drunk while the other stayed completely sober?
One step forward was obvious flirting; one step back was elegant restraint. Cen Chi had mastered the art of staying perfectly in between. Chi Zhan had never given it much thought, only occasionally feeling like something was off.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Cen Chi asked, pulling a diagnostic tool from his medical kit. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as he glanced at Chi Zhan’s lower back, though his voice remained calm and gentle. “What happened this time? Mind telling me?”
Cen Chi was highly skilled at putting people at ease. It was a crucial trait in medicine—soothing patients who were afraid of pain. He also had a strong background in psychology.
Chi Zhan briefly explained the situation. As he spoke, he felt Cen Chi’s gloved fingers, cool through the thin barrier, gently touch his lower back. His muscles tensed instinctively—only to elicit a hiss a second later.
“Relax. Don’t tense your back,” Cen Chi said as he began to gently massage the area. “If it hurts, say something.”
For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Chi Zhan had no problem crying out in pain to Zhou Yanxing if only to distract him. But in front of the serious, composed Cen Chi, the words just wouldn’t come.
Only the occasional sharp intake of breath escaped, but aside from that, his expression was remarkably composed. But Cen Chi didn’t want to see the “perfect” Secretary Chi.
He would’ve much preferred to see Chi Zhan whine, pout, even throw a little tantrum.
Chi Zhan had long been used to maintaining his polished secretary persona in front of others, but Cen Chi knew how much he was forcing himself to endure. He teased lightly, “Secretary Chi, why are you shy all of a sudden?”
“…Who’s shy—ah, shit.”
“There?” Cen Chi hadn’t even pressed hard, just identified the primary areas. “If you don’t say anything, I won’t know how bad it is. Honesty is important, you know.”
Honesty is important.
That phrase… hadn’t Zhou Yanxing said the exact same thing to him before?
“Doctor Cen, shouldn’t you be the one taking that advice first?”
Cen Chi paused briefly. Then smiled.
“Ah-Zhan, which particular matter are you referring to?”
Effortlessly smooth. Completely unbothered.
It was the Cen Chi everyone knew so well—unflappable, even when he clearly sensed the implication behind Chi Zhan’s words.
Even if someone wanted to catch him off guard, there was nowhere to get a grip. Without the system, Chi Zhan would probably still be in the dark.
If Cen Chi went into politics, no one would ever beat him.
It wasn’t that he was angry—just…
When it came to matters of the heart, he didn’t have the experience to deal with someone like this. And it was honestly frustrating.
You try baiting him—he doesn’t react.
You try probing him—his lips are sealed.
If you outright reject him, he’ll probably turn it around and say you’re imagining things.
If this were a fighting game, Cen Chi’s white coat would be covered in [Reflect] buffs. Completely broken.
He was outmatched.
Chi Zhan tried a different tactic.
“Doctor Cen, are you still going on blind dates these days?”
“Lately? Hmm… would hanging out with colleagues at a conference count?” Cen Chi mused. “Actually, a junior of mine confessed to me at the event.”
Chi Zhan raised an eyebrow.
“And?”
“That was it. I turned him down. Didn’t like him.”
“Planning to go on more dates in the future?”
“You’ve suddenly taken a big interest in my love life,” Cen Chi said with a smile. “Ah-Zhan, are you asking me out?”
Jiang Yi’s words came back to him—Scumbag.
“I just remembered it all of a sudden,” Chi Zhan said, expression blank. “Seems like you’ve got plenty of admirers.”
“Do I?” Cen Chi replied in a tone that sounded genuinely puzzled. “Do rotten peaches still count as flowers?”
“……”
If the players heard that, you’d be hung on the forum bulletin board for a month.
Cen Chi chuckled.
“Besides, they don’t actually like me. How should I put it… I’m not sure what it is they want from me. But I can tell one thing for sure—they do want something.”
Of course they did.
When players tried to pursue a character, what they were after was always the same—Favorability Points.
Chi Zhan didn’t have the player system and didn’t know all the mechanics, but he was aware of the basics. Raise favorability, and players could exchange it for items—maybe a card, maybe an object, maybe even unlock a hidden storyline.
