Chu Ci took another half step back and frowned slightly, staring at Han Yue.
When Han Yue spoke again, he had already lost his patience. He snapped sharply, “—Come here!”
Zhao Ting stood to the side, watching nervously. He wanted to intervene but hesitated, his gaze constantly shifting between the two of them. His presence only made Han Yue more irritated. In a sudden stride, Han Yue rushed forward, grabbed Chu Ci, and clamped his iron-like fingers tightly on his shoulder.
“Come inside with me, properly!”
Chu Ci struggled violently, but could not break free. Whether from pain or disgust, his brows furrowed even deeper, a deep crease forming between them.
Han Yue was very familiar with that expression. Chu Ci was someone who frowned often. Most of the time when he was unhappy, he would say nothing—just stand silently to the side, watching, brows slightly knit, giving off a quiet but clearly displeased aura.
He had never given Han Yue a smile. Not even a slightly softer expression. At home, he barely spoke; when he did, he used the fewest possible words to get things done.
His presence was so faint that sometimes he would sit motionless by the window, staring outside in silence, eyes calm yet faintly aged. Han Yue had noticed that Chu Ci often looked at the window’s height. At times, he even felt that when Chu Ci stared out like that, he might actually be thinking about jumping—ending everything in one go.
That thought made Han Yue restless. It made him want to explode, smash things, and at the same time force Chu Ci to soften and speak to him properly. Of course, if Chu Ci were willing to be gentler with him, smile more, talk to him properly, then he would absolutely never lose his temper or break anything. He would do everything possible to coax him, even pluck the moon from the sky if needed.
At times, Han Yue felt stifled with frustration. Look—if you were just a little softer with me, everything would be fine for both of us. But you insist on being so stubborn with me, yet you can smile and talk so pleasantly with others. Are you deliberately trying to drive me crazy?
“Right now we’re outside—I won’t deal with you here.” Han Yue pulled Chu Ci closer, leaning in to warn him coldly by his ear, then yanked him forward again. “Come with me. Inside!”
Chu Ci staggered from the force and was dragged stumbling through the entrance.
Han Yue’s temper was still boiling. He strode forward aggressively, gripping Chu Ci’s hand tightly as he walked, completely failing to notice that Chu Ci’s bones were creaking under the force. Before entering the banquet hall, he forced himself to take a deep breath, barely regaining a somewhat normal expression, then dragged Chu Ci inside.
“Oh, engineer Chu is here! Good, good, now we can start cutting the cake!” Pei Zhi greeted them first with a smile. But he immediately sensed something was wrong—the atmosphere between them was tense, Chu Ci looked pained, and Han Yue’s eyes were burning with rage, veins standing out on his hand as he clamped down on Chu Ci.
Hou Yu also came over without reading the room. “Second Young Master Han, you’re not being honest. Where did you sneak off to? Leaving us here eating dust…”
Pei Zhi quickly stepped in front of Hou Yu and gave him a look, shaking his head slightly.
Han Yue forced a smile. “Didn’t go far. Just went downstairs to smoke a cigarette and sober up.”
Pei Zhi pulled him aside. “Alright, you’ve sobered up, you’ve brought the person back. Time to come drink with us. Everyone’s here except you! Oh Hou Yu, engineer Chu just got off work and hasn’t eaten yet—take him to order something.”
Han Yue still refused to let go of Chu Ci. Pei Zhi patted him. “Let him relax a bit. No one’s going to eat him here! Even if someone had the guts of a bear, they wouldn’t dare touch your ‘heart’s treasure.’”
Only then, still half drunk and half enraged, did Han Yue finally react. He loosened his grip.
The moment he did, he noticed something on his fingers—stained red with blood. Looking closer, he realized that during his earlier forceful grip, he had torn the skin on Chu Ci’s knuckles. Blood was now running down his hand.
Han Yue was startled. “You… are you okay?”
Chu Ci covered his hand and shook his head without speaking.
Now Han Yue felt uneasy. He hurried forward to check the injury, but Pei Zhi, fearing he might explode again, quickly pulled him toward the table.
“I saw it—it’s just a superficial wound. A bandage will do. Go drink, everyone’s waiting.” He then called out, “Hou Yu, get Lao Zhao to bring some liver dish for Engineer Chu to replenish blood!”
Hou Yu and the others immediately led Chu Ci toward the dining area. Han Yue was forcibly dragged toward the banquet table by Pei Zhi, still looking back step by step, reluctant to leave.
Pei Zhi sighed repeatedly at his expression. “Second Young Master Han, if you don’t actually want to be with him, just let him go. What’s the point of all this fighting and forcing things? You could’ve been friends, but you’ve turned it into hostility.”
Han Yue muttered after a pause, “I really like him.”
“But he doesn’t like you,” Pei Zhi replied bluntly. Then, seeing Han Yue’s look, he quickly raised his hands. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m just stating the truth. You’ve had him for a year or two now. Even raising a cat or dog would develop some affection by now—has engineer Chu shown any feelings for you at all? Don’t glare at me. If you can, go ask him yourself.”
Han Yue stared at him for a long while, then gave a cold laugh. “I… I’m not asking!”
He said that, but his mind was unsettled.
The rest of the drinking session was restless. Han Yue kept worrying about Chu Ci’s injury while also seething over Zhao Ting “poaching” him—though Zhao Ting likely did not see it that way. He kept thinking about slipping away to find Chu Ci, but as the main host of the night, he was surrounded by guests and couldn’t leave.
Eventually, the banquet ended: cake was cut, gambling tables were opened, women were called over, and groups scattered into their own entertainment. Only then did Han Yue manage to break free from his drunk friends and slip alone toward the restaurant area.
But the moment he arrived, his heart sank.
There, at the bar counter, Chu Ci was sitting sideways, talking to Zhao Ting.
His posture was relaxed, long legs crossed comfortably, chin slightly raised, a faint friendly smile on his face—completely unlike his usual rigid, cold demeanor. Under the warm lighting, he looked strikingly beautiful.
Zhao Ting sat beside him, deliberately telling amusing stories and laughing ingratiatingly, thoroughly enjoying himself.
The sight made Han Yue feel as if his heart had been split open. The alcohol in his body felt like it had burned straight into his marrow, and a surge of rage nearly made him vomit blood.
Zhao Ting suddenly turned and saw Han Yue. He quickly stood up. “Oh, Second Young Master Han, this is…”
His eyes were bloodshot as he stared fixedly at Chu Ci, his chest rising and falling heavily, clearly struggling to contain his emotions. He looked extremely dangerous. Chu Ci turned his face away, frowned, and stepped back toward Zhao Ting.
That single step backward completely enraged Han Yue. Just some smooth-talking, silver-tongued pretty boy, and you actually treat him that well?!
Zhao Ting seemed to sense something was wrong; his expression subtly changed. “S-Second Young Master Han, you’re here too? What a coincidence, I actually have something to attend to, so I— I’ll just—”
Han Yue fixed him with a vicious stare like a malevolent ghost. After a moment he let out a cold laugh. “Why are you leaving? Weren’t you two just getting along so well? Now I show up and you want to leave—are you avoiding me?”
Under that stare, Zhao Ting felt a chill run through him and could barely form coherent words. “Th-that’s not what I meant. A misunderstanding, really just a misunderstanding…”
“A misunderstanding?” Han Yue shifted his gaze to Chu Ci, forcing out each word through clenched teeth. “Then you tell me—what exactly am I misunderstanding?!”
Chu Ci turned his head away with visible disgust, forcing himself to speak calmly. “You’re drunk. Just take a taxi home. I’m going back first.”
Han Yue couldn’t possibly let him leave. He strode forward, grabbed him, and hoisted him onto his shoulder. The movement was too violent; Chu Ci’s stomach slammed against Han Yue’s shoulder bone, and he cried out in pain.
Zhao Ting panicked. “Second Young Master Han! Please, calm down! We can talk this out—”
“I’ve got nothing to say to you about this.” Han Yue pointed at him, his eyes completely red, terrifyingly so. “Listen carefully, Zhao Ting. Stay the hell away from my man. If you push me, I’ll kill you.”
His voice was already booming. Many people nearby clearly heard it. Zhao Ting was shaking, his expression cycling between pale and flushed.
Han Yue ignored him completely and carried Chu Ci upstairs without looking back.
In the suite upstairs, he threw Chu Ci onto the bed, slammed the door shut, and immediately moved in with aggressive intent.
Chu Ci reflexively tried to get up and run, but Han Yue grabbed his waist and flipped him back down hard. His head hit the bed frame with a dull thud, and he immediately curled up, clutching his head.
The bandage on his knuckle—covering the torn skin from earlier—was still there, faintly stained with blood. The sight briefly pulled Han Yue back from his drunken rage. He paused. “What happened? Did you hit your head? Let me see.”
Chu Ci ignored him completely, keeping his head tightly covered.
Han Yue’s temper flared again. He forced Chu Ci’s hands away. “I’m just looking! Damn it—fine for him to see, but not me?!”
The moment he said it, Chu Ci suddenly struck him hard across the face.
The punch landed squarely on his cheek with unexpected force. Han Yue was knocked to the side of the bed, his face going numb. Only after a moment did he taste blood in his mouth.
That snapped everything loose.
Han Yue was not someone who took hits lightly. He grew up fighting in military compounds, used to violence and dominance. His first instinct was to retaliate immediately.
He kicked out in a blind, violent reaction. In the drunken, enraged state he was in, he didn’t even register where he was aiming—only that he struck something soft, with no bone resistance.
Even through the haze, he immediately felt something was wrong.
A human abdomen has no bony structure. And a strike there…
A muffled cry followed instantly. Chu Ci curled up tightly, clutching his abdomen, completely unable to move.
Han Yue sobered instantly—completely, abruptly. He rushed forward, panic rising. “Where did I hit you? Where?!”
Chu Ci lay curled on his side, his body fully contracted. He couldn’t speak at all, only making strained, grinding sounds through clenched teeth. His face had gone completely pale, cold sweat pouring down his forehead.
Han Yue tried to pull him upright, but his hands were shaking too badly to unfold him. Realizing the severity, panic set in fully. He abruptly turned and grabbed his phone.
At that moment, Ren Jiayun’s phone rang. He was downstairs drinking when he picked it up casually.
“Hello? Three missing one?”[1]literally means “three missing one?”
It’s a shorthand phrase from mahjong culture. A full mahjong table needs 4 players. If only 3 people are present, they say “三缺一” (“three short … Continue reading jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_2511187_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_2511187_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });
“Shut your damn mouth!”
Han Yue’s voice sounded extremely abnormal—there was even a faint tremor in it. “Call your hospital right now and send an ambulance! I beat Chu Ci!”
“Chu Ci? Who’s that? Haven’t you beaten enough people already, old man?” Ren Jiayun froze for a moment, then suddenly reacted with an “oh!” “You beat your lover again?”
“Cut the crap. Go call the ambulance!”
“How badly did you even beat him that you need an ambulance? Am I, a chief surgeon, dead or something? For normal external injuries, just bandage it up. You always make a huge deal out of nothing and end up making it public—aren’t you just increasing his psychological burden…”
“Get lost!” Han Yue snapped. “It’s very likely internal bleeding. He can’t even move right now. If the ambulance isn’t here within ten minutes, I’ll shoot you!”
Ren Jiayun froze. Then the line clicked—cut off.
References[+]
literally means “three missing one?”
It’s a shorthand phrase from mahjong culture. A full mahjong table needs 4 players. If only 3 people are present, they say “三缺一” (“three short one”), meaning they’re missing one player and asking if someone wants to join.
In context here, Ren Jiayuan is jokingly assuming Han Yue is calling to invite him to play mahjong or drink/gather socially with a group of friends.
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