Chapter 4: You Can’t Leave

Yan Xinfeng thought he had finally lost it.

Those solemn vows he had once made—”forget it,” “let it go,” “harbor no emotions whatsoever”—all turned into a joke the instant he truly saw that person. A surge of nameless rage shot straight from his chest to his forehead, burning away the last remnants of his reason in a puff of smoke.

The next second, the maddening hallucination actually smiled at him, even provocatively raising a hand and wagging a finger.

It was not a hallucination.

“Wei—Ting—xia—!!”

Yan Xinfeng ground those three words out from between clenched teeth. After roaring out Wei Tingxia’s name, he felt that it was probably the last thing he could say that day.

The fire blazed wildly in his chest. Yan Xinfeng’s vision blurred, his head spun, as if he would vomit blood at any moment. His fingertips spasmed uncontrollably, and he gripped the railing so hard that it creaked.

Wei Tingxia. A living Wei Tingxia.

This realization was like a dull knife, grinding repeatedly against his nerves.

How did he have the face to come back? How did he have the face to stand before him and smile so happily?!

Yan Xinfeng’s vision had already grown hazy, blood vessels crawling across his retinas. Every breath carried the taste of rust—hot, painful. The shadows of the observation deck spread at the edges of his field of view, as if they meant to swallow him whole.

He could not imagine what he looked like, but he really could not stand steady anymore. Yan Xinfeng staggered back half a step, his left hand clamping down on the railing, knuckles turning white.

His mind teetered on the brink of collapse under the onslaught of rage and a jumble of other emotions. Furious and frantic, Yan Xinfeng roared once more but could say nothing else. He tried to take a deep breath, only to nearly have his vital energy surge chaotically to his heart and pass out right there—all propped up by that provocative smile at the corner of Wei Tingxia’s mouth.

To hell with it. The one who did wrong was Wei Tingxia; it had nothing to do with him. If anyone was going to faint, it should not be him.

Yan Xinfeng clenched his teeth so hard he nearly drew blood.

It was at that moment that someone burst onto the observation deck.

“Holy shit!!”

Lu Zhao’s startled shout exploded over the deck. When this almost-groom charged in with his group, he nearly had his soul fly out of his body at the scene before him. He darted his gaze back and forth between Yan Xinfeng and Wei Tingxia like he had seen a ghost, finally fixing on his brother’s ghastly pale face.

“Doctor! Call a doctor quick!”

The scene instantly descended into chaos. By the time the ship’s doctor arrived with a stretcher, Yan Xinfeng could no longer speak.

He stood rigid like a statue, face deathly pale, only those pitch-black eyes still nailed fiercely on Wei Tingxia—if looks could kill, Wei Tingxia would have been pinned through the deck long ago.

In a strict sense, Wei Tingxia suspected he had suffered a vital energy surge to the heart and lost his voice.

But even without making a sound, amid the clamor, he still kept those dark, shadowy eyes open, staring fixedly through the chaotic crowd in Wei Tingxia’s direction.

If eyes could do anything, being stared at like that would have bound Wei Tingxia with iron chains, rendering him immobile.

“Ventilator! Do we need the ventilator?”

Lu Zhao was nearly losing his mind, terrified his good brother would die right before his wedding. Sweat poured from his forehead; he even considered having the doctor prep the defibrillator. “Deep breaths! Yan Xinfeng, deep breaths!”

The group panicked in their own ways. The real culprit was right there on site, yet no one had time to deal with him. Wei Tingxia thus got to stand off to the side and watch the whole thing.

Interrupted by Lu Zhao and the others, Yan Xinfeng’s emotions clearly stabilized a great deal. After several deep breaths, his color improved somewhat, but he still kept staring at Wei Tingxia, occasionally closing his eyes as if utterly exhausted—only to snap them open again right away, afraid Wei Tingxia would slip away while his eyes were shut.

How much hatred that must be, Wei Tingxia thought to himself.

They had all forgotten they were on a ship. Even if Wei Tingxia wanted to leave, he could not; his only option would be jumping into the sea and getting eaten by fish.

He tentatively shifted two steps toward the door, wanting to test Yan Xinfeng’s reaction and see if he was still conscious.

But before the key figure could speak, the ever-vigilant Lu Zhao intercepted first, striding over to block his path.

“You can’t leave!” Lu Zhao grabbed Wei Tingxia’s wrist. “You absolutely cannot leave right now.”

His words sounded like negotiation or a plea, but the iron grip of his hand made it clear he was calling the shots.

He would not allow Wei Tingxia to leave.

“Why can’t I leave?” Wei Tingxia let him hold on, asking back in a relaxed posture.

“You still have the nerve to ask?” Lu Zhao laughed in fury, jabbing a finger toward the center of the deck. “You’re the one who left without a word, and now you’re the one back to turn everything upside down—”

His words cut off abruptly. In the gap as the doctors scattered in panic, Yan Xinfeng’s ashen face flickered into view.

Wei Tingxia carelessly raised a brow. “That’s unfair. I just said hello, and he…”

“You!”

Smooth talker, silver tongue—why didn’t heaven strike him down with lightning?

Lu Zhao’s vision darkened, a vein bulging at his temple, knuckles cracking. Just as he was about to erupt, a hoarse voice suddenly pierced the stagnant air.

“Do you think—”

The threatening words had not even finished when someone interrupted.

“Lu Zhao.”

Yan Xinfeng had somehow propped himself up at some point. That hoarse voice pierced the stagnant air, halting all of Lu Zhao’s prepared actions and his private schemes for all the Manchu eighteen tortures.

Wei Tingxia followed the voice forward, meeting Yan Xinfeng’s eyes just right.

They were eyes that had not yet hidden their stubbornness—gloomy, brimming with rage. They should not have held his gaze captive, yet behind that explosive surface emotion lurked something more secretive and indefinable, making it impossible for Wei Tingxia to look away.

He did not look away, and naturally, Yan Xinfeng did not back down.

Holding that staring contest, Yan Xinfeng said flatly to Lu Zhao, “Let go. Let him leave.”

The hand gripping Wei Tingxia tightened for an instant, then stiffly released.

Wei Tingxia turned and left, without looking back once.

…

Once he was gone, the atmosphere on the entire observation deck changed.

Friends unaware of the inside story had long since tactfully departed. After the ship’s doctors fulfilled their duties and took the stretcher away, only a sparse few remained— all of whom had lived through that mess five years ago.

Since everyone knew, Lu Zhao dropped the pretense.

“Have you gone mad?” he demanded outright. “You let him leave? Are you sick?”

Though he had recovered somewhat, Yan Xinfeng’s face was still ashen. He leaned weakly against the railing and, hearing the question, listlessly lifted his eyelids.

“Where can he go?”

“…”

Lu Zhao paused. “What do you mean?”

“We’re on a ship,” Yan Xinfeng said. “If he wants to leave, his only option is jumping into the sea.”

Lu Zhao: “What if he really jumps? If he feeds the fish, you won’t be able to fish him back up!”

Yan Xinfeng laughed.

It was not like his usual smile; it carried a hint of viciousness, and paired with his pallid face, it sent a chill through the heart.

“If he didn’t want to see me, there are so many ships in the world—he could board any one of them. But he chose this one…”

He gave a low chuckle. “He came to see me on purpose.”

As his initial fury and panic cooled, reason returned. Yan Xinfeng instantly analyzed Wei Tingxia’s motives.

This encounter was no coincidence; someone had planned it.

And if it was planned, then it was manageable.

With a final glance at Lu Zhao’s dumbfounded expression, Yan Xinfeng shakily stood up and tossed out, “It’s fine. He can’t leave.”

With that, ignoring the varied gazes behind him, he headed for the door.

From start to finish, Yan Xinfeng had never considered simply letting bygones be bygones and allowing Wei Tingxia to appear in his life only to vanish again.

…

Back in the crew rest area, Wei Tingxia ran straight into Zhu Ying.

“Hey, where’d you go?”

Her scrutinizing gaze ran from his shirt to his shoes. Zhu Ying eyed him warily, afraid her waiter had done something he should not have.

Wei Tingxia could not explain what had just happened, so he just smiled obediently. “Just took a stroll. Didn’t do anything.”

It was break time, and late at night to boot. As long as the waitstaff caused no trouble, management allowed deck walks.

Zhu Ying nodded and said no more. Brushing past Wei Tingxia’s shoulder, she hurried off—she had other business.

[Wang Yufei has already contacted the captain, requesting to disembark at the nearest port.] System 0188 said.

Free love did not mean no financial entanglements. That girl’s family background offered strong support to the Wang family’s business expansion. If Wang Yufei’s messy personal life caused a fallout, his father would break his legs.

“Good,” Wei Tingxia said approvingly. “Keep a close eye. Once that girl seems ready to forgive him, send her some fresh material.”

Wang Yufei had plenty of dirty laundry over the years. System 0188 had compiled a compressed package that could be sent in batches.

Wei Tingxia returned to his dorm, changed into pajamas, and prepared to take a shower.

Then he heard footsteps outside his room—uniform and steady, clearly from someone specially trained.

At this hour…

Wei Tingxia opened the door to face four pairs of eyes, one belonging to an old acquaintance.

“Hey!” he greeted enthusiastically. “Hard work out there.”

“…”

No one responded. After a brief staring match, the four bodyguards specially assigned to watch him simultaneously averted their gazes, turning themselves into doorposts.

Wei Tingxia closed the door.

[They’re so afraid you’ll run,] System 0188 chatted idly, [they even sent their own security captain.]

Among the four bodyguards, the tallest at the lead was surnamed Hu—Hu Yao. Five years ago, he had been personally selected by Yan Xinfeng’s father as security captain and remained highly trusted.

Wei Tingxia had seen him in action: fists like sandbowls, knocking out two six-foot bruisers with one punch each and granting them baby-like sleep.

“Having someone guard my door makes it awfully convenient for any midnight moves.”

Wei Tingxia sat cross-legged on the bed, recalling Yan Xinfeng’s expression on the observation deck earlier.

A moment later, he murmured, “If he wants to silence me tonight, I really have no other way…”

Showing up right in front of Yan Xinfeng today had been half premeditated, half because Wei Tingxia was certain the issues would be the same no matter the opening move.

So he chose to appear bluntly and aggressively.

—And nearly infuriated the man to death.

In his pre-sleep routine recap, he analyzed with System 0188, “Excessive emotional fluctuations mean he hasn’t let this go at all.”

[Yes.]

“Since he hasn’t let it go, that means there’s still room to turn things around.”

System 0188 pulled up the world collapse data chart for Wei Tingxia to see himself.

The line, which had barely held steady before, skyrocketed the instant Yan Xinfeng encountered Wei Tingxia, forming a sheer vertical spike. A glaring red glow flashed like a bomb’s pre-explosion alert—no sign of any turnaround visible.

System 0188’s verdict: [If the world explodes, we’ll both die together.]

It bore the title of top-tier system its whole life; task failure was worse than death.

Wei Tingxia: …

“I’ll do my best,” he said earnestly.

[You’d better.]

With that, System 0188 went offline.

Wei Tingxia slept a night staring at the world collapse warning chart glowing red.