War
In the afternoon, taking advantage of Lu Mengzheng’s afternoon nap, Qi Ying went out to stroll around the hallway outside the monitoring room.
The space on this level was massive. The other end of the corridor seemed to lead to another containment cell no smaller than this side. Since a glass door blocked his path in the middle, it was hard to tell if prisoners were kept there as well. Throughout his walk, the mechanical electronic eyes on the ceiling continually scanned the areas he passed, verifying his identity every few seconds.
Everything was lifeless and ice-cold.
He quickly lost interest. Walking back along the corridor, he unexpectedly spotted a butterfly with orange patches on its wings lying dead on the floor.
He wondered if it had accidentally followed the elevator up, only to end up trapped on this floor.
Qi Ying picked it up and placed it deep within a flower planter. Though the planter was filled entirely with fake flowers and artificial grass—a scene of hollow prosperity—it was the only somewhat appropriate spot.
Having explored most of this level, he walked up to the elevator, only to discover that pressing the button required a keycard scan. He didn’t possess the authorization clearance to leave this floor.
In reality, he was no different from Lu Mengzheng; he was virtually under house arrest here as well. Thinking about this made him even angrier. That baby-faced lieutenant couldn’t have been more wrong—he had lost both his “legs” and his freedom.
On his way back, his phone rang. It was a check-in call from Ning Jiaxin.
“Administrator Qi, how have things been the past few days?”
Qi Ying desperately wanted to slam a gavel like a storyteller and perform a thrilling tale titled “Qi Ying Outsmarts the Fried Chicken Drumstick while the Mysterious Man Endures a Violent heat.” But at the thought of that steep confidentiality penalty, he swallowed the words right back down.
Kicking a hanging artificial branch nearby, he squatted on the spot: “Bored, Princess Ning! I am beyond bored!”
Unfortunately, human joy and sorrow are rarely shared. Through the receiver, he could distinctly hear the clinking of wine glasses and the lively thrum of disco music.
“Ning Jiaxin!! You’re out having fun?!”
“Playing cards—everyone misses you so much.”
Before she could even finish, chorus after chorus of jeers erupted around her. They had lost enough money to him; the kid knew how to count cards, played like a phantom, and sometimes even cheated. It was best if he didn’t show up. Unable to help a laugh, Ning Jiaxin stood up, took a few steps outside, and covered her phone mic slightly. “You can just play cards in Storage Room 105 too.”
“With whom?”
“Those soldiers are bored out of their minds and love playing cards. Just grab a few of them to play with.”
Qi Ying recalled the second lieutenant’s expressionless face and felt less than optimistic about that idea. In comparison, Lu Mengzheng was actually easier to talk to.
The two exchanged a few more pleasantries. Ning Jiaxin mentioned that Zhuang Jiming was there too. Qi Ying’s gossip meter flared up again, and he asked how things were progressing between them and whether she had accepted Zhuang Jiming’s courtship.
Ning Jiaxin sounded a bit embarrassed, her tone slightly bashful: “The current situation is hard to say; who’s in the mood for romance? Zhuang Jiming just returned from the New Asia Republic last month. He said border control suddenly confiscated his phone, and he barely managed to leave the country. He hasn’t decided whether to scale back his cross-border business.”
Lowering her voice, she added: “Zhuang Jiming also said there are differing opinions within the New Asia Republic over whether to keep wearing down Jasu. There are hawks and doves, so internal conflict is inevitable. The radicals might take new action against Jasu. Supposedly, they recently developed a high-performance missile successfully. My dad seems to be studying this matter all day long in the Senate too.”
At the thought of Lu Mengzheng in Storage Room 105, Qi Ying felt even more anxious holding onto this unspeakable secret alone: “You need to stay safe too. Fortunately, your dad is well-informed. If anything really happens, head to West Africa to lay low first.”
“You’re coming with us when the time comes.”
Qi Ying let out a silly laugh: “Nah, you guys go ahead. I don’t have the status to leave the country; West Africa won’t approve my visa.”
“Aiya, that’s not something you need to worry about,” Ning Jiaxin interrupted him. “I’ll have my dad figure something out. There are plenty of fake identities on the black market.”
Qi Ying sniffled with emotion, only for Ning Jiaxin to call him gross, prompting him to hang up the phone in huff.
Qi Ying stood frozen in place for a moment. There had been a massive influx of information lately, frying his CPU. But after turning it over repeatedly in his head, he realized that neither the missile nor Storage Room 105 was something he could influence. He was merely an insignificant nobody—not even qualified to step onto the battlefield, let alone alter the course of events. Thinking about it was pointless.
So he returned to the monitoring room, sitting there boredom-scrolling through short videos for a while: news about tentative peace talks between Jasu and the New Asia Republic on the 2nd of next month, curry noodles on a clearance sale at 30 yuan for 6 packs, celebrities doing the Doma Doma dance… Scrolling until he grew bored again, he stood up, walked over to his suitcase, and dug out a deck of playing cards.
He shuffled the deck twice, counted the cards, and passed half of them through the conveyor belt.
“Lu Mengzheng, want to play cards?”
Having just woken up, the Alpha’s voice sounded deep in his chest, his low frequency carrying a hint of indifference: “No.”
“If you don’t play, what else are you gonna do? You look bored to death too,” Qi Ying said. “Keep me company for a bit.”
Lu Mengzheng felt he was still in a volatile state. He adjusted his suppressant bracelet—which he had lowered that morning—back to the highest setting.
“You can see my cards through the monitor, but I can’t see yours. You could claim you’re playing whatever card you want.”
Qi Ying bristled with righteous indignation: “Slandering my character! Do I look like the type of person who’d cheat?”
“Yes.”
“…” Qi Ying was so furious he paced back and forth across the room. “Are you really not playing?”
“Not. Playing.”
“How about this then: tomorrow, I won’t eat your chicken leg.”
The playing cards were picked up.
“What are we playing?”
“Let’s keep it simple—High-Low.” Qi Ying thought about it and realized more complex card games weren’t suited for playing across a camera. “High-Low is also called War. It fits our current… well, stances.”
Lu Mengzheng shuffled the cards layer by layer in his hands: “What stance do you have?”
Qi Ying knew he was asking whether he supported war or peace. But since he was just taking money to do a job, he didn’t side with either Jasu or the New Asia Republic. Thus, he answered slyly: “My stance is the prison guard; yours is the prisoner.”
Lu Mengzheng gave a faint, indifferent smile: “What are the terms if you lose?”
Qi Ying realized his head was filled with nothing but the drinking games Ning Jiaxin used to play with him—nothing wholesome: “Truth or Dare?”
“How far does a Dare usually go?”
Qi Ying recalled: “Taking off… clothes?”
Lu Mengzheng raised his eyes to look at the camera. His heterochromatic eyes shone brightly, and his well-defined fingers rested against his collarbone. For some reason, this sight appeared inexplicably alluring. Qi Ying held his breath subconsciously, but after rubbing his collar left and right for a moment, that hand moved away.
With a mocking expression, Lu Mengzheng said, “So a Senior Colonel’s military uniform can just be taken off so casually?”
“I certainly haven’t!” Spurred by that single glance, Qi Ying sprang up from his chair. “At most, the most I’ve ever lost was a jacket!”
Whether this statement was true or false, Lu Mengzheng didn’t care to delve into it. Returning his elbows to his knees, he let his wrists dangle casually: “There’s no camera pointed at you, and I’m not interested in seeing you unclothed anyway. Let’s go with Truth. But I reserve the right not to answer questions regarding the war situation.”
Damn, what a pretender.
Who wanted to strip for you anyway?!
“Truth it is then! I won’t ask questions you don’t want to answer either!” Qi Ying gritted his teeth. “But Truth questions will be answered turn-by-turn each round. Otherwise, settling at the end of a full game makes the pacing too slow. Whoever runs out of cards first gets the ultimate punishment. Deal?”
Lu Mengzheng shrugged, making a “whatever you want” gesture toward the camera: “Who plays first?”
Qi Ying said generously, “You go first.”
Lu Mengzheng flipped a card from the top, displaying it toward the camera. It was an Ace of Hearts.
An Ace was the highest card in the deck. No matter what Qi Ying flipped, it would be taken by Lu Mengzheng.
Gritting his back teeth, Qi Ying slapped his card onto the table: “8 of Spades. Ask away.”
Lu Mengzheng asked, “How many cameras are in this room?”
…
Qi Ying hadn’t expected him to use this game to gather intel on his surroundings. He had told him last night that escaping was impossible—why was he still dreaming of a prison break? Still, this question was trivial; whether he knew it or not didn’t change the fact that he was locked up. After all, as long as the electronic leg shackles remained on, he had nowhere to hide.
“9.”
In the second round, both flipped a 3 of Hearts. With equal card values, each laid down three face-down cards and flipped a fourth to compare. Lu Mengzheng won again, sweeping all the cards on the table.
“Which underground floor is this?”
“…I don’t know.”
Lu Mengzheng knitted his brows: “You don’t know?”
“I really don’t,” Qi Ying replied. “Some slick, polished guy brought me down here. Besides, I can’t leave either—I don’t have authorization clearance to move around freely.”
Lu Mengzheng seemed to believe him, leaning his body back again.
“Do you even know how to play? Can you ask some useful questions?” Qi Ying stifled a yawn, feeling like the intended way to play this game had somehow veered off course.
“Like what?”
“Like whether you prefer Omegas or Alphas, whether the person you like is present, if you’ve ever kissed anyone, if you’ve ever done the deed, how many times you’ve done it, the longest duration…”
Lu Mengzheng slowed his speech down: “What is… doing the deed?”
“Don’t play dumb with me!” Qi Ying poked a finger wrathfully toward Lu Mengzheng across the screen. “You’re a grown 23-year-old man—what’s with pretending to be a innocent little white flower?!”
Lu Mengzheng shrugged, giving away neither whether he understood nor whether he didn’t. Pinching a card between his fingers, he continued showing it to the camera. “10 of Hearts.”
“…7 of Diamonds. Your turn to ask.”
Lu Mengzheng let out a faint, placid smile.
“Then have you ever done the deed?”
…
Fuck, a boomerang! The guy sure knows how to apply what he learns!
“I… haven’t!” Qi Ying’s eyes darted away from the video monitor at lightning speed. “Haha, so now you know what ‘doing the deed‘ means?”
Lu Mengzheng said casually, “I don’t, but if you say you haven’t, then you haven’t—Sir.” He then nonchalantly displayed a new card. “Jack of Hearts.”
“! Ace of Spades.” Qi Ying slapped the playing card onto the table with a loud clack, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “What about you? Have you done the deed?”
Lu Mengzheng said, “I haven’t either.”
“?” Qi Ying found it utterly incredulous. An S-rank Alpha relying purely on willpower and suppressants to survive a heat period while enduring immense agony was practically rarer than a baiji dolphin. “You have to tell the truth in this game.”
“It is the truth.”
“Then do you actually even know what ‘doing the deed‘ means?”
Lu Mengzheng answered, “Anyway, you haven’t done it.”
“What on earth are you so smug about?! It’s not like you’ve done it either, alright…” Qi Ying’s world went dark, and he slumped back into his seat. “This game is boring beyond belief. Lu Mengzheng, how can a mere 200 square meters manage to gather two whole virgins?!”
Lu Mengzheng gathered up the cards: “Then we’re not playing?”
“No way.” Qi Ying kicked off the floor and propped himself right back up in his chair. “I still want to ask if you have an Omega you like, or if you’ve ever kissed someone.”
“Are you freelancing as a tabloid reporter?”
Qi Ying crossed his legs and grunted, “Bored, that’s all…”
“You’ll be even more bored after asking.” Lu Mengzheng revealed his card. “5 of Diamonds.”
“King of Hearts.” Qi Ying asked, “So do you have an Omega you like or not?”
“No.”
“…”
Sure enough, it got even more boring.
“Are you a monk?”
Lu Mengzheng reminded him: “That’s another question.”
“Forget it—if you’re a monk, I’m not playing with you anymore.”
“Alright, I am.”
“…”