Contrast
Cen Xie stepped forward, glanced at the body, and said, “Let’s go. My people will handle the cleanup. I’ll get you out of here first.”
Ying Zhu nodded, holstering his gun. “Pin it on the Free Army.”
Cen Xie remembered the bridge incident; Ying Zhu was becoming a pro at making the Free Army his personal scapegoats.
As they resumed their journey in the Little Pea, Cen Xie kept glancing sideways at Ying Zhu.
“Watch the road,” Ying Zhu muttered.
Cen Xie quickly faced forward. “I honestly thought you’d call the police to handle that.”
That was why Cen Xie had hesitated earlier—he assumed Ying Zhu’s “public official” status would get in the way. He hadn’t expected the man to be more decisive than a mob boss.
“Usher is almost at capacity,” Ying Zhu said tonelessly. “We’re already looking at another expansion.”
He let out a weary sigh. “The city’s current spending on prisons is five times what we spend on education. Like I said, it costs 50,000 a year to house a criminal, but only 8,000 to provide a child’s living expenses for school. You saw me kill one man, but the money saved by his death is enough to put twenty children through elementary school.”
Cen Xie remained silent for a long moment.
“Do you think I’m being unreasonable?” Ying Zhu asked.
Cen Xie shook his head. “Not exactly. I just didn’t expect you to think that way.”
The logic was sound, and the math was undeniable. What felt “wicked” to Cen Xie was the fact that a high-ranking government official held such views. It was one thing for a criminal to think like that, but for Ying Zhu…
He couldn’t quite put it into words, but his opinion of Ying Zhu had shifted significantly.
In a good way.
“These are desperate times,” Ying Zhu added. “As long as the objective is right, the methods can be overlooked.”
“Won’t you overcorrect?” Cen Xie asked.
“To fix a crooked beam, you must bend it past the center,” Ying Zhu replied. “Mild reforms can’t fight deep-seated rot. Even if we have to adjust back later, it’s better than letting everything continue to decay.”
….
The journey to the bridge was long, and the Little Pea’s battery was nearly dead by the time they arrived. Ying Zhu’s driver was waiting by the roadside. He opened the car door to get in, then paused and looked back at Cen Xie.
“Get in. I’ll have the driver take you home after we get back.”
Cen Xie left the dead “Little Pea” on the curb and followed Ying Zhu back to the West District. It was now pitch black outside. They had been trapped in that bunker all day and had eaten nothing but sugar-water nutrients.
Ying Zhu was starving and figured Cen Xie was too. Once they reached the West District, he decided to find a place to eat before sending Cen Xie on his way.
“Go to Golden Vienna,” he told the driver.
Golden Vienna was an ultra-high-end Western restaurant with a soaring domed ceiling and a 360-degree view of the Star County skyline. Despite not having a reservation, Ying Zhu’s presence secured them a private room instantly.
The service was impeccable. Ying Zhu ordered a lavish spread with practiced ease. Cen Xie didn’t think much of the special treatment; he assumed this was just how the elite lived.
He found himself staring at Ying Zhu’s crisp, snow-white collar—spotless and perfectly pressed. In the bunker, he’d smelled a faint floral scent on the man. He imagined Ying Zhu’s daily routine was like that of a flower fairy: a swarm of servants scenting his clothes with petals, bathing him in milk and blossoms, and giving him a cup of nectar before bed…
Cen Xie’s imagination was wandering into strange territory until he noticed Ying Zhu looking at him with a bizarre expression.
“What are you looking at?” Ying Zhu asked eventually.
Cen Xie snapped back to reality and sat up straight. “Nothing.” He glanced around. “Do you come here often?”
“Not really,” Ying Zhu shook his head. “It’s too much of a hassle.”
Hassle? Cen Xie didn’t get it. The service was so attentive they practically wanted to chew the food for you. Then the appetizers arrived.
A single, bite-sized appetizer required four servers. The first placed a leaf, the second a slice of pear, the third a drizzle of juice, and the fourth a dollop of sauce.
Once the servers left, Cen Xie leaned in. “Watching them put food on my plate one by one… I feel like I’m begging for scraps.” He paused. “Crowdfunded scraps. Does a tiny snack really need that many people messing with it?”
Ying Zhu let out a rare, genuine chuckle. “That’s exactly why I find it a hassle.”
Cen Xie popped the whole thing into his mouth. “I don’t get it. Is this designed to satisfy a rich person’s curiosity about what it’s like to be a beggar?”
Ying Zhu laughed again and turned to the head waiter. “Just bring the main courses directly.”
His word was law; large steaks were served shortly after. Both were starving and began to eat in earnest. Even though Ying Zhu ate quickly, his movements remained fluid and elegant—a stark contrast to Cen Xie’s more rugged style.
As they finished, Ying Zhu wiped his hands and adjusted his sleeves. “That project you mentioned before—bring the blueprints to me tomorrow so I can take a look.”
He was referring to the deal they struck when the escapees fled to the East District—Cen Xie had blackmailed him with the prison’s loophole in exchange for free infrastructure work.
Cen Xie stopped eating and looked at him.
“What?” Ying Zhu said without looking up. “Your man is already inside Usher, isn’t he?”
Cen Xie hummed. “Yeah.”
“Then it’s settled. Business is business. I’ll handle your project for free, and in exchange, you’ll tell me exactly what that prison loophole is.”
As the meal ended, the brief, rare moment of ease between them evaporated. Mutual threats, utility, and leverage—this was the true face of their relationship.
“Let’s go,” Ying Zhu stood up. “The driver will take you back.”
…..
After sending Cen Xie back to the East District, Ying Zhu took a cab home. He went straight to his study to review the prison’s financial reports.
Post-war reconstruction was everywhere, and prisoners were the cheapest labor available. Since taking over Usher, he had run it like a corporation. He wasn’t just a Warden; he was a shrewd businessman.
Who had a better advantage than him? He had tens of thousands of free laborers at his beck and call, with labor costs at zero and efficiency driven by high-pressure deterrence.
He also “took bribes.” Construction contractors in constant competition often sought him out, offering money and gifts, pleading with him to stay his hand and not participate in project bidding.
Ying Zhu would take the money from one side and still bid on the other; after all, there were plenty of projects to go around. He played both sides like this, squeezing these ruthless criminals for every drop of profit like marrow from a bone.
The massive influx of funds went into unknown accounts. No one knew exactly how much he had earned over the years through the inmates of Usher Prison. His family background was already substantial—they were titans of wealth before the war—and he had no extravagant hobbies. People couldn’t understand why he was so obsessed with hoarding money.
It wasn’t until he became a Councilor and announced his candidacy for Mayor that people realized he was preparing for his campaign. With the next election only a year away, his secretary was surprised that Ying Zhu would approve a pro bono project at such a critical time, but said nothing.
……
Usher Prison Office
The secretary left with the blueprints. Cen Xie sat on Ying Zhu’s guest sofa with his legs crossed, looking around. Ying Zhu’s office was sparsely decorated. He sat behind a mountain of documents, tapping away at a keyboard, calculating something unknown.
After a long while, he looked up and started when he saw Cen Xie. “You’re still here?”
Cen Xie withdrew his gaze. “That’s it? I gave you the blueprints, and then what?”
Ying Zhu rubbed his temples. “Who drew those blueprints?”
“I did,” Cen Xie answered candidly.
“No wonder.”
Cen Xie frowned, sensing that wasn’t a compliment. Before he could ask, Ying Zhu continued, “The drawings are amateur, but I understand the requirements. I’ll have an engineer redraw them.”
Cen Xie gave a noncommittal “Oh.” When Ying Zhu saw he still wasn’t moving, he added, “It will take three to five days.”
Cen Xie nodded but remained seated.
Finally losing his patience, Ying Zhu said, “So, you can leave now.”
Cen Xie sat up straight and watched him for a moment. “What about the memory card thing you mentioned last time? You haven’t told me what the situation is.”
“I told you, I’m waiting for the seller to contact me. When that happens, I’ll—”
Mid-sentence, his private phone buzzed. Ying Zhu glanced at the text, then looked up at Cen Xie. “The seller just contacted me.”
……
The Café
Ying Zhu wore a hat, glasses, and a mask, wrapping himself up tightly. Sitting across from him was a male Beta in a grey professional suit, who pulled several memory cards from a briefcase and handed them over.
Ying Zhu took them and began testing them one by one using VR glasses. After a few, he finally found a card related to himself.
This memory didn’t start with the usual “instant action.” It began with a kiss. For the first few seconds, Ying Zhu’s vision was dark because Cen Xie had his eyes closed. The two were kissing passionately and deeply. When Cen Xie finally opened his eyes, Ying Zhu saw his own face.
Both were naked in bed. Ying Zhu stopped the playback there. As before, to prevent any leaks, he bought all the cards the man had.
Stepping out of the café, he got into a low-profile black sedan parked at the curb. Cen Xie was in the driver’s seat, staring out the window while on the phone. “The one in the grey suit. Male Beta. Follow him,” he instructed.
Hanging up, Cen Xie turned to Ying Zhu. “My people are on him. We’ll find his workplace and residence. We can pay him a visit anytime.”
Ying Zhu’s lip curled in a half-mocking, half-serious smile. “Professional.”
Cen Xie didn’t mind the jab; he was more interested in the cargo. “Is there one in this batch?”
Ying Zhu hummed and handed him the confirmed card. “See for yourself.”
Cen Xie reached into the glove box. “I think I have a splitter in here.” A splitter would allow multiple people to view the same card through VR glasses simultaneously.
“No need,” Ying Zhu said. “Watch it yourself.”
He could guess exactly what was on it. He’d seen enough, and even if he hadn’t, he didn’t want to watch it with Cen Xie.
Cen Xie didn’t push. He plugged in the card, donned the VR glasses, and began to read.
Cen Xie’s experience was subtly different from Ying Zhu’s. He couldn’t quite describe it, but the moment the data hit, he knew it was his own memory. The physical resonance and the sensory feedback told him so.
Darkness first. He was kissing someone. It felt incredible—a surge of physical and emotional pleasure that nearly overwhelmed him. Slowly, he opened his eyes. When he saw the face inches from his own, he froze.
The “contact” Ying Zhu mentioned… was this kind of contact?
Their lips parted reluctantly. Then, like a falling mountain, he pinned Ying Zhu down and began to thrust. Ying Zhu had his hand over his eyes, biting his lip, his voice thick with a sob: “Slow… slow down…”
Cen Xie pulled Ying Zhu’s hand away and realized he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Ying Zhu must be severely nearsighted; without glasses, his eyes were unfocused. He looked at Cen Xie with watery, trembling eyes. Every fragmented sob and cry sounded like spring water hitting stones.
Cen Xie heard himself asking: “You don’t like it like this?”
Ying Zhu shook his head. “I… I can’t take it… ah!“
Cen Xie hadn’t realized he was such a menace in bed. Why was he being so relentless? Ying Zhu was begging like that, and yet he was being so fierce. Then again, looking at it from his own perspective, Ying Zhu seemed to be enjoying it. His mouth said no, but his body was honest.
The usually icy, repressed, and formidable Warden was lying submissively beneath him, as soft as a vine, every limb trembling and twitching. Gradually, his cries became low and hoarse. He buried his face in Cen Xie’s neck, mouth half-open, letting out wet, needy whimpers.
The Warden’s legs were strong, wrapping around Cen Xie’s waist so tightly they almost hindered his movement. Cen Xie gave him a hard thrust, pulled out, flipped him over face-down, and pinned him.
Ying Zhu’s entire back was exposed—firm, smooth lines that became defined as his muscles tensed. White and flawless, his back tapered down to a narrow waist with two distinct dimples. Further down, the pale, rounded curves were flushed red from the impact.
The sharp sound of skin hitting skin accompanied the blur of motion. Ying Zhu reached forward, gripping the sheets tightly, the excessive pleasure driving him to the brink of madness, his fingers spasming.
Then, he stopped. He leaned down and pressed a kiss onto Ying Zhu’s blemish-free back—slow and tender.
The memory ended with that kiss.
…..
The VR glasses went dark. Cen Xie sat motionless. It lasted so long that Ying Zhu became concerned. “Cen Xie?”
Cen Xie finally reacted. He took off the glasses and looked at Ying Zhu with an incredibly complex expression. “Do you know what’s in there?”
Ying Zhu’s gaze was sharp and cold—the polar opposite of the man in the memory. The contrast was so jarring it gave Cen Xie a sense of surreal dissociation.
Ying Zhu looked out the window. “I know. I’ve read three of them. They’re all like that.”
Cen Xie’s expression turned even more complex. He opened his mouth. “You…”