Chapter 57 Part 1

Shen Li had no idea what Qian Xingzhi was playing at.

Back when they were together and things occasionally got heated, the man had been so lousy in bed that Shen Li had wanted to crash in his office every single night.

Now that his husband had become his ex-husband—and after being apart for so long—Qian Xingzhi had somehow picked up a few tricks.

The problem was, Shen Li didn’t think a person could practice that sort of thing solo. Yet Qian Xingzhi claimed he hadn’t slept with anyone else. So, was he lying or what?

Shen Li’s expression gradually cooled. He lowered his gaze, shooting Qian Xingzhi a sidelong look tinged with rare seriousness.

But all he saw was Qian Xingzhi pausing for a beat, the darkness in his eyes growing more pronounced. His lips pressed into a thin, cold line, curving downward in unmistakable displeasure.

“Was I really that bad before?”

His restless, probing gaze lifted upward.

Shen Li’s lean frame trembled faintly, but those beautiful, aloof eyes stared back at him calmly, as if he’d just asked the stupidest question.

A half-second later, Shen Li seemed unwilling to dwell on it and averted his eyes.

“What do you think?” Using his good leg, Shen Li shoved at the ex-husband’s encroaching chest, pushing it back another half-inch. He clearly wanted no part of the contact, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper.

“Out of a hundred points, how many do you think you’d score?”

When Shen Li got serious, it felt like he was dissecting a math exam paper.

But to Qian Xingzhi, compared to seven years ago, that air of cold abstinence clinging to Shen Li was even stronger. He looked even less tolerant of nonsense now—just one cool glance was enough to set a man’s blood racing.

Fortunately, Qian Xingzhi was calm enough these days, with self-control to match.

So as he watched those lips of Shen Li’s part and close, his mind churned slowly. The years of post-divorce speculation and analysis seemed to have paid off. Conservatively, he threw out a safe number:

“Fifty-nine.”

The words had barely left his mouth when Shen Li’s elegant brows knitted even tighter.

Shen Li released his tie, his gaze turning icy as he stared at Qian Xingzhi before looking away again. Instinctively, he tried to press his thighs together.

“…Are you sure you’re not overrating yourself?”

Qian Xingzhi froze, that icy stare flickering. He instinctively wedged his way between Shen Li’s knees as they tried to close, leaning in closer with dominant intent. He reached out, forcing Shen Li’s evasive face back toward him until their eyes locked.

Four eyes met.

The air hung heavy, thick with unspoken heat.

Qian Xingzhi’s tone carried a chill of arrogance, but he was clearly rattled. “…Then you tell me. How many?”

Smack.

Shen Li slapped the wrist pinning him, shoving the hand away. He yanked his clothes over to cover his exposed body first. His calm gaze held an unusual judgment—almost amusement.

“There’s always someone trying to sell a five-buck-ninety-nine item for fifty-nine bucks.”

Qian Xingzhi: ?

“So all those times you refused before—saying you had work, classes, overtime, meetings—that was because—”

Shen Li’s voice was neutral and even as he cut him off. “Not entirely. Sometimes I really did have things to do.”

Qian Xingzhi’s face darkened further. “…And when you didn’t?”

Shen Li’s breath ghosted warm against his chest, those refined eyes tolerant as moonlight.

“What do you think?” Shen Li shot back.

Qian Xingzhi: .

In that cool voice, Shen Li added, “Figure it out yourself.”

…

Truth be told, after the divorce, Qian Xingzhi had done a thorough self-audit.

He’d always figured Shen Li’s reluctance stemmed mostly from being too busy, with over-rationality and innate frigidity as secondary factors. Only further down the list did he rank his own “big equipment but lousy skills.”

But Shen Li’s deep, cool gaze held no trace of joking—it flatly rejected that self-assessment.

The silence stretching between them had no weight, yet it pinned them both in place, not even their lashes daring to flutter lest they shatter some precarious balance.

After a long moment.

Finally, Shen Li dropped his gaze to Qian Xingzhi’s toned body and that strikingly handsome face. The irritation bubbling inside him surpassed even the tensions of the past few days.

“—You still haven’t answered me,” Shen Li said.

“What?” Qian Xingzhi seemed to have forgotten the question.

A vein twitched in Shen Li’s forehead. His brows furrowed deeper as he pressed the point. “You say you haven’t been with anyone else. So how exactly did you practice?”

Qian Xingzhi’s peach-blossom eyes fixed unblinkingly on Shen Li.

Instead of answering, he countered, “Do you really think I’m so bad that I needed to practice with someone else?”

Shen Li: .

Shen Li met his gaze, his own darkening sharply. His throat bobbed with frustration, but after a beat, he said neither yes nor no.

The next second.

Shen Li felt Qian Xingzhi’s gaze sweep over him gloomily—lingering on his collarbone, chest, waist, and lower still.

Danger prickled.

And sure enough—

Qian Xingzhi’s kisses fell silent and erratic, rough yet restrained. He carefully skirted the knee of Shen Li’s right leg while boldly parting his lips with insistent tongue and teeth. Only when Shen Li was gasping for air did he hear:

“…Sorry.”

Qian Xingzhi’s apology came out of nowhere, utterly baffling.

Shen Li’s vision swam, his mind blanking. His slender frame was drawn into a gentle embrace. It took a moment for the realization to sink in:

Qian Xingzhi was apparently apologizing for his old 5.9-level skills.

Shen Li awkwardly looked away.

In that cold, heavy voice, Qian Xingzhi explained, “I didn’t practice with anyone, but I watched some videos myself.”

Shen Li: …

What took you so long?

Shen Li frowned. “Nothing else?”

Unabashed, Qian Xingzhi replied with upright propriety, “Just a few toys.”

Shen Li’s stunning eyes slid away coolly. At that moment, Qian Xingzhi released him and added, polite and composed as if negotiating terms, “If you’re willing, we could try a few more times.”

Shen Li narrowed his eyes: ?

Qian Xingzhi clarified, “I mean, within the 49 days.”

Shen Li schooled the flicker in his eyes, offering no immediate reply.

Just like back then—when Qian Xingzhi had asked if he’d marry him, sleep with him, date him—Shen Li had pondered just as long.

And so,

In those dragging seconds.

Even someone as rational and cool-headed as Shen Li seemed to run the pros and cons through his mind a thousand times.

In the end, though, he gave in.

“Fine.”

Shen Li agreed, his ironclad expression suggesting deep deliberation before he laid out his terms with cautious precision. “But if you still can’t satisfy me, we call it quits.”

Qian Xingzhi’s gaze stilled. He lowered his eyes, inching closer to his former lover despite himself.

Whether through sheer acting skill or iron will, Qian Xingzhi barely concealed the obsession in his eyes. Calmly, he asked Shen Li, “And if you are satisfied?”

Their noses nearly touched. Perched on the bathroom counter, Shen Li’s refined features shone with moonlit candor. “…If we fit well in daily life too, then we remarry. If not… we can just keep things physical.”

Qian Xingzhi’s eyes widened slightly, puzzled.

“What?” He narrowed them dangerously.

Shen Li feigned innocence. “What’s wrong? You don’t want to?”

“…I figured a sexually cold guy like you wouldn’t go for just a physical relationship.”

Shen Li looked away, mulling for two or three seconds before answering coolly and honestly. “I don’t, actually.”

“Then why—”

Shen Li paused, choosing his words with care. “…I mean, if daily life doesn’t mesh, we don’t have to live together. No point making each other miserable every day. Better to keep something simpler.”

“By ‘simpler,’ you mean no remarriage—just a fuck-buddies arrangement?”

No way.

Had Shen Li lost his mind?

Qian Xingzhi had never imagined Shen Li suggesting something like this. He knew him too well, which made it all the more jarring.

The shattered assumption hit like a shockwave, numbing his brain—

Desperate and frantic, he needed to know why a sexually cold person like Shen Li would propose, “If daily life doesn’t work but the bedroom does, let’s keep it physical”?

Just something “simpler”?

Wasn’t that basically friends with benefits?

Had Shen Li ever had that with someone else?

But Shen Li just analyzed it all calmly. “I’m saying, if you have needs and aren’t intolerable at it—and daily life just doesn’t click—yeah, a purely physical thing could work. Provided you have no other partners, of course.”

By the time Shen Li finished, he’d already averted his gaze, avoiding Qian Xingzhi’s eyes.

His real intent was: if the bedroom still didn’t click, no remarriage—and no further contact. Qian Xingzhi, with his intense sex drive, could find someone else down the line.

But after learning he’d diligently practiced and stayed celibate for seven years just for this one shot…

Shen Li found him a little pitiful, a little laughable—and couldn’t help feeling a twinge of pity.

It was only yesterday that Shen Li had truly grasped how severe Qian Xingzhi’s sex addiction had been—bad enough to force a divorce, and he’d never even noticed.

That urge to make amends had snowballed out of control.

When Qian Xingzhi bit him earlier, Shen Li had considered his likely deep-seated fantasies—and felt some genuine improvement. That’s when he’d blurted out that half-baked, impulsive idea.

But judging by Qian Xingzhi’s reaction, he seemed… surprised.

And maybe a bit angry?

“…Forget it if you don’t want to,” Shen Li said, looking away and trying to backtrack.

But Qian Xingzhi’s stern face darkened with pride. He mulled over the meaning for a long time before asking lowly:

“So you’d accept a ‘purely physical’ thing with someone else?”

Shen Li was at a loss, brows pinching coldly. Still, he answered honestly. “…Not with anyone else.”

“So you’re willing to do this with me because I’m special?”

Qian Xingzhi’s eyes narrowed. “Or out of guilt? Pity for my condition?”

Shen Li: .

“You’re overthinking it,” Shen Li said flatly. “I’m not completely without needs. What I said assumes you’re not a 5.9—and it’s not some self-sacrifice.”

“Hm?”

Qian Xingzhi frowned, lost in the logic.

It was like Little Tongqian, dizzy from the foxtail grass his owner kept waving back and forth, finally slumping into a pouty puppy-dog face.

Qian Xingzhi stared coldly at Shen Li.

Shen Li stubbornly insisted, “I just think you’re clean. You probably don’t have any diseases.”

Qian Xingzhi’s face remained cold as he quirked the corner of his mouth. His broad, warm palm gently covered Shen Li’s icy knee. “And what if Zhou Yulin doesn’t?”

Shen Li frowned. “…What?”

“So, did the two of you actually date or not?”

The mere mention of that man made Qian Xingzhi grow aggressive, but Shen Li was famously the type who yielded to a soft approach but dug in his heels against force.

Qian Xingzhi’s possessiveness made it understandable—probing into unknown territory was like a hunter’s instinct to strike down prey.

But understanding didn’t mean acceptance.

“…What does it have to do with you?”

“Can’t I ask?” Qian Xingzhi loomed over him, expressionless.

Shen Li met his gaze with cool composure, his refusal perfectly justifiable: “A husband can. An ex-husband cannot.”

Qian Xingzhi: .