Cen Jing knew the moment he spoke that he wasn’t joking.
This was a man who followed through on what he said.
Psychopath!
Cen Jing cursed under his breath, then thought back over the novel’s plot to make sure he hadn’t remembered it wrong.
In the years before He Cidong had established himself in business, he’d been the target of plenty of underhanded schemes. The white moonlight happened to be abroad at the time, and the original Cen Jing had taken advantage of the opportunity to get into He Cidong’s company.
The important part was that the two of them had slept together.
The book only mentioned it twice, and both times rather obliquely. He Cidong only touched him when he had physical needs, but never stayed the night. He treated Cen Jing worse than a kept lover.
At least a kept lover got paid. He Cidong wouldn’t give him a single cent.
Cen Jing looked at He Cidong with a cold smile. “You get what you want, then turn around and deny everything. You’ve got some nerve.”
A textbook example of a man who was ruthless the moment he’d gotten off.
He Cidong stared at Cen Jing’s face, narrowing his eyes.
His look was doubtful and appraising.
But Cen Jing had no intention of looking away.
By this point in the book, Cen Jing barely had a role to play, and there wasn’t much of the original plotline left to follow.
If he really did follow it, the only thing waiting for him was a dead end.
This last year, He Cidong would launch an all-out assault on the Cen Family, take his career to new heights, and have the white moonlight confess his feelings to him.
As for Cen Jing, he was a tragic figure from beginning to end, hateful, but also pitiful.
At a crossroads between life and death, if he couldn’t even live a little recklessly, what was the point of being alive?
He Cidong finally let go of him and stepped back.
He took out a tissue from somewhere and methodically wiped his palm, as if he’d just touched something filthy.
As he did, he looked up and said, “I don’t care if you’re lying to yourself, and I don’t care what game you’re playing now. But if you make me sick, I think you’ve forgotten what happened the last two times you drugged me. If you have, I don’t mind reminding you.”
Cen Jing: “?!”
In the book, there had been no mention of drugs when it talked about He Cidong’s physical needs.
He Cidong tossed the crumpled tissue into the nearby trash can, then turned back to raise an eyebrow at him. “You’re doing a pretty convincing job of pretending you’ve lost your memory.”
Now Cen Jing really couldn’t tell whether the book had left things out or this bastard He Cidong was lying.
Frowning, Cen Jing made one last attempt to argue. “Even if I did drug you, that doesn’t change the fact that you slept with… me.”
Shit, that sounded awkward no matter how he put it.
He Cidong gave him a contemptuous smile.
Then he abruptly pulled out his phone and made a call. Cen Jing didn’t know who was on the other end. He only heard him say:
“Send me the video.”
A minute later, Cen Jing caught the phone He Cidong tossed him. The first thing he saw was a naked body, pale as snow.
The room was completely bare except for a large bed in the middle. The image quality and camera angle alone were enough to tell that someone had been hired to record it.
The person on the bed was thin, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.
He looked to be in agony, curling up one moment, then tossing and turning across the bed the next.
Even through the screen, Cen Jing could see his sweat-soaked hair and bloodshot eyes.
Cen Jing had never had much color in his face, but this time he went utterly white.
Because the person in the video was him.
The phone was suddenly snatched from his hand.
“I’ve been more than decent to you, Cen Jing. You should be grateful the drug you gave me wasn’t worse. Otherwise, filming you wouldn’t have been the only thing I did. This is just a little warning. Understand?”
He put the phone in his pocket and turned to leave.
After taking two steps, he suddenly looked back. “And one more thing. I wouldn’t touch you before, and I won’t touch you in the future. You disgust me.”
Still reeling from the video, Cen Jing took a while to understand what the man had said.
“And you’re so clean?” Cen Jing snapped at the man, who hadn’t even turned around. His cold, heartless back was infuriating. Cen Jing tugged irritably at his tie, then finally couldn’t hold back and shouted, “Go to hell!”
He hadn’t expected the original Cen Jing to have left He Cidong with such leverage over him. His expression darkened. He was the one living in this body now, and seeing himself like that had given him a serious headache.
Cen Jing wanted to ask the original Cen Jing why he couldn’t have fallen for someone else. Why did it have to be a man as vindictive as He Cidong?
Fine, he’d fallen for him. But then he’d gone and handed He Cidong ammunition, too.
The banquet had been a miserable experience, and Cen Jing had no desire to stay any longer.
On his way out, he called Liu Chong.
Liu Chong’s full name was Liu Chong. He was the second-born in his family, so everyone around him had gotten used to calling him Liu Chong. He was probably the only friend in the world who had ever truly cared about Cen Jing.
Having read the book, Cen Jing knew the two had known each other for a long time.
Long enough that Cen Jing had still been living with his mother, who worked in the red-light district.
But after his mother died and the Cen Family took him back in, Cen Jing had rarely kept in touch with anyone. Mostly, his own vanity had gotten in the way. He didn’t want anyone seeing reminders of the life he’d left behind.
He’d always thought he could fit in with the so-called second-generation rich, that he could leave his old life behind and live well.
As it turned out, he’d failed.
The call connected almost immediately. There was a note of disbelief and hesitation in the voice on the other end. “Jing?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Half an hour later, Cen Jing took a cab to the address Liu Chong had given him.
The area was a bustling night market, full of the warmth and bustle of everyday life. Vendors called out cheerfully, oil sizzled in the pans, and the scene was the city’s most unremarkable corner, yet also its most genuine.
From a distance, Cen Jing spotted someone hard at work at a barbecue stall.
The young man wore a plain T-shirt and shorts. He was a little chubby, with a cheerful face. He bustled around, grilling food while making time to greet customers, a smile never leaving his face.
Only when Cen Jing stepped up to the stall did Liu Chong look up. He stared for two seconds.
Cen Jing lifted a hand and smiled. “Long time no see.”
“Jing?!” Liu Chong’s eyes widened. He suddenly dropped the handful of lamb skewers he was holding and hurried around the stall. “Damn, it really is you! When you called, I wasn’t sure I believed it.”
He’d been about to clap Cen Jing on the shoulder, but when he noticed the suit, his hand stopped awkwardly in midair.
Cen Jing understood why. He smiled wryly and had to remind him, “Hey, hey, your skewers are burning.”
“Shit, shit, shit!” Liu Chong cursed as he dashed back to the stall.
“Go ahead and do your thing. I’ll find somewhere to sit.”
He said he’d sit by himself, but less than five minutes later, Liu Chong came over with a plate of barbecue and two bottles of beer.
He set the bottles down with a clatter. “If we’re friends, we’re drinking till we drop.”
Cen Jing nodded and smiled. “Sure.”
He popped open a beer with practiced ease, then glanced at the stall and asked Liu Chong, “You hired an employee?”
“Yeah.” Liu Chong handed him a disposable cup and rubbed his nose, suddenly looking a little embarrassed. “Well… my girlfriend and I are thinking of buying a place and getting married, so I’ve got to work even harder.”
Cen Jing paused, surprised. “When did you start dating?”
“Almost six months ago,” Liu Chong said. “She usually comes by to help out, but she’s working overtime tonight. I’ll introduce you next time.”
“Sure.” Cen Jing clinked his cup against Liu Chong’s. “Congratulations.”
For a moment, Cen Jing felt as if his life had split in two.
Half of him was still at the glittering banquet, playing the role of He Cidong’s legal spouse. The other half was right here on an ordinary street, drinking beer, listening to the couple at the next table argue, and hearing his buddy talk about buying a house and marrying his girlfriend.
Life was always so full of drama, both in the past and now.
By then, Cen Jing had taken off his suit jacket and casually draped it over the back of his chair. It no longer looked like a piece of high-end custom tailoring.
He had his sleeves rolled up and ate with easy, natural movements.
It was easy to fit right in.
After downing two beers, Liu Chong looked at Cen Jing hesitantly. “Jing, tell me the truth. Are you going through something?”
Looking into Liu Chong’s sincere eyes, Cen Jing answered honestly. “Sort of. Things have been a mess.”
He couldn’t decide whether to get a divorce on his own. The Cen Family wouldn’t let him go that easily, either.
And that video was still in He Cidong’s hands. He had to get it back.
And then there was the money. Nothing was going right.
Liu Chong thumped his cup down on the table and looked at Cen Jing earnestly. “If you’re unhappy, just come back. After you went with… with your dad, I figured you didn’t want anything to do with us anymore. I really do understand! But I also know rich families can be complicated. If you come back, you can start a small business with me. Your mom’s old house is still there, even if it is a little run-down…”
He stopped and scratched the back of his head. “Aw, once I get talking, I can’t stop. You probably don’t like hearing all this…”
“That’s not true.” Cen Jing cut in and looked around. “I think the way you’re living is great. I mean it.”
Liu Chong grinned.
There was something adorably earnest about him, sincere and a little foolish.
Cen Jing didn’t know if the original Cen Jing, given a chance to live again, would choose a different path. But he, at least, quite liked this kind of life, so full of ordinary warmth.
Even in his previous life, Cen Jing had never truly experienced anything like it.
He’d been a work machine, the toughest high-powered lawyer in the legal world.
His daily life had been dull and monotonous, though he’d never been short on money or fame.
Before they knew it, their rambling conversation had carried them past eleven at night. Cen Jing finally remembered he needed to go home.
They’d both had quite a bit to drink. They said their goodbyes and agreed to meet again soon.
By the time Cen Jing got into a taxi, his head was already swimming.
His current body wasn’t fit to drink. He was in poor shape, with all sorts of stomach and digestive problems. But he couldn’t refuse Liu Chong.
Cen Jing gave the driver the address and promptly fell asleep. He only came to when the driver called out to him.
He got out with his jacket in hand and headed toward the villa.
The whole area was filled with traditional Chinese-style villas. When Cen Jing first woke up in the house, he’d been impressed. But after thinking about He Cidong, he couldn’t imagine that man liking this kind of place.
After all, there were old-fashioned, imposing double wooden doors with carved panels, a stream running over little bridges in the courtyard, koi swimming in the water, and lucky bamboo growing nearby.
Even the butler and the housekeeper had apparently been with He Cidong for years.
It didn’t suit He Cidong’s cold, ruthless nature, or the image of the business world’s legendary self-made man he’d eventually become.
Luckily, he hadn’t been staying here lately.
At this hour, the housekeeper and driver were surely asleep, and there wasn’t a light to be seen from outside.
The gate was designed to look old-fashioned, and at night it was shut from the inside with a massive wooden bar. Cen Jing stood outside for five minutes, then suddenly lost the urge to knock.
He tossed his jacket on the ground nearby, took two steps back, and sat down on the stone steps in front of the gate.
Something in his pocket dug into his thigh. Cen Jing reached in and pulled out half a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
They belonged to Liu Chong.
They’d both been drunk, and Liu Chong had slung an arm around his shoulders and reminisced about old times. At some point, he must have slipped them into Cen Jing’s pocket by mistake.
Cen Jing suddenly felt like smoking.
The original Cen Jing hadn’t had the habit, but Cen Jing himself was an old hand. He’d been holding back since arriving here, worried about his health. Now that the cigarettes were in his hand, the craving surged.
His stomach was hurting, too, which only made him want one more.
Five seconds later, the flame lit up half of Cen Jing’s lean profile. He turned his head to light the cigarette between his lips, his hair falling in a tousled mess.
He tossed the lighter aside, stretched one leg out down the steps, and braced his right elbow on the step behind him.
Tilting his head back, he narrowed his eyes and blew out a smoke ring, looking unusually relaxed.
Cigarettes really were a wonderful thing, Cen Jing thought.
He sighed in satisfaction, and the next second, heard footsteps coming up the steps beside him.
Cen Jing was a little dazed. Keeping the same pose, he turned his head to look left.
First came a pair of gleaming leather shoes, then suit trousers and a shirt.
The man had to be at least six-foot-two, maybe taller, Cen Jing guessed.
He’d had drinks, and he’d had a cigarette.
His mood was decent now, and he didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable being looked down on.
He curled his lips into a faint, puzzled smile. “Hey, what brings you home tonight?”
Had the wildflowers outside lost their charm, or had his lovers’ beds grown too cold?