Cut out his eyes—
Meng Xinghui’s body stiffened. He turned his head slowly, trembling. It was him. “You… you saved me?” His questioning tone was laced with disbelief.
“Yes. Surprised?” Shen Qiu held a knife, slicing through fruit. He sat with his legs crossed in a relaxed pose, the very picture of a refined, elegant gentleman.
Meng Xinghui found a freshly sliced apple in his hand. “No,” he muttered, chewing the fruit to hide his expression.
What a coincidence. He had saved him. Before losing consciousness, Meng Xinghui had been certain he was going to die.
Actually, dying wouldn’t have been so bad. No one would have cared anyway.
He finished the apple under Shen Qiu’s cold, wolf-like gaze.
“Now that you’re awake, let’s get down to business.” Shen Qiu produced a prepared bill.
Meng Xinghui’s eyes widened as he stared at the total. “How? How can it be this much? 1.23 million?”
“That’s the total. You suffered hemorrhagic shock, requiring a joint consultation from specialists across multiple fields. The surgery lasted over ten hours. You’re currently in a private VIP ward with top-tier doctors and professional nurses on call 24/7. You should be grateful you only lost consciousness for a few days. Otherwise—”
“Otherwise it would be even more?” Meng Xinghui murmured.
Shen Qiu gave a soft grunt of affirmation and withdrew the medical bill.
Meng Xinghui fidgeted helplessly, picking at his fingers. He had no money, and his meager savings weren’t even close to covering the exorbitant medical bills. The astronomical sum spun in his mind as he pressed his lips together. “Thank you for saving me. I’ll work hard to pay you back, but… it will take a long time.”
He raised his hand in a solemn vow. “I swear I’ll pay you back. Please believe me.”
Shen Qiu chuckled. “Believe you? At the rate you’d be killing yourself to earn that kind of money, I’d be waiting another seventy years!”
Meng Xinghui’s head hung lower and lower. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money, I—”
“Meng Xinghui, you don’t need to apologize.” Shen Qiu walked over and produced the documents he had prepared.
A contract appeared before him. The title read “Labor Contract.” Below it were the rights and obligations of Party A and Party B, with terms stating that Party B must be on call at all times and follow Party A’s instructions, among other conditions.
“I’ve already arranged for the hotel to terminate your contract. This is a new labor contract between you and the Group. Your only job will be to serve as my secretary-assistant, reporting to me and Secretary Lin.”
Meng Xinghui couldn’t even process the news of his termination from the hotel, let alone the “pie in the sky” opportunity he was being handed.
Shen Qiu took out another contract. “This is the live-in housekeeper contract. I need you to be with me or at my place outside of working hours.”
Meng Xinghui took the contract, stunned. He couldn’t decide if he was the one going crazy, or if Shen Qiu was. Had Shen Qiu finally found his conscience? Or had he just taken a trip to the Heavenly Court and the Underworld and come back enlightened?
The combined salary for these two jobs was two or three times that of a hotel dishwasher.
“Are you…?” The unspoken rules—Meng Xinghui curled up, pulling the blanket tight in a defensive posture, his earlobes flushing crimson.
Shen Qiu’s lips twitched, unable to form a smile. What was going through his head?
In his mind, System 003 laughed shamelessly. Shen Qiu reasonably suspected the sound could be heard all the way down in the Mariana Trench.
Meng Xinghui trembled with fear, his almond-shaped eyes flickering. His pale, bloodless face wrinkled up like a shriveled dumpling, ready to burst at the slightest touch.
Shen Qiu pinched Meng Xinghui’s cheek. “What are you thinking? The unspoken rules? What do you have that I could possibly want?”
“Nothing,” Meng Xinghui muttered. Was he overthinking it? He wasn’t as good-looking as the celebrities in the entertainment industry. His skin wasn’t fair, and he was clumsy.
Dazed, his bandaged head lowered until it nearly touched the blanket.
Shen Qiu’s heart stirred, and his fingertips involuntarily tightened. An emotion surged within him, leaving him speechless.
It was a deep, yet vast feeling, like a freshly brewed cup of West Lake Longjing tea—an aftertaste that lingered.
Shen Qiu leaned in, his voice a low murmur in Meng Xinghui’s ear, “But there is one thing you’re truly good at: being honest and hardworking!”
Meng Xinghui’s cheeks flushed crimson at the praise.
“Sign it. You start at the company on the first of next month.” Shen Qiu handed him a fountain pen.
Meng Xinghui had no choice. Since the Grim Reaper had passed him by, he would cling to life for a few more days. He carefully wrote his name, stroke by stroke.
Shen Qiu took back the contract and stood up to leave.
“May I know your name?” Meng Xinghui asked, biting his lip and keeping his head lowered.
“Shen Qiu!”
The sound of leather shoes faded down the hospital corridor.
A car door opened.
Shen Qiu rubbed the space between his brows. He was exhausted after watching over Meng Xinghui for five days. The moment Meng Xinghui had opened his eyes, his heart had finally found peace. “To the Group headquarters,” he commanded. “Let’s see what tricks they’ve been playing.”
The black Mercedes pulled away from the hospital.