Chapter 64

Qi Yang left behind a casual “I’ll be over in a bit” before hanging up with panache. Mu Yicong lowered his phone, stared at it for a moment, then pressed his lips together and leaned back against the rear seat.

“I told you, you didn’t need to come today,” Ren Wei said, twisting around from the passenger seat to study Mu Yicong’s expression in the passing streetlights. “That team from City Construction—the more you indulge them, the more problems they cause. The project group and I can hash it out eventually.”

“How long have you been hashing it out?” Mu Yicong didn’t open his eyes, and his tone carried no blame—just a faint, indifferent question.

Ren Wei fell silent. He turned his head to glance at the driver, then sat back awkwardly.

Truth was, Ren Wei wasn’t wrong. Tonight’s occasion didn’t really require Mu Yicong’s presence.

Mu Yicong was just feeling restless—he’d been restless a lot lately, so he’d thrown all his energy into the company, finding things to keep himself busy.

“Want some water, Yicong?” Ren Wei couldn’t stay quiet for even half a minute before craning his neck around again. “I’ve got ibuprofen ready for you.”

Mu Yicong didn’t respond. He kept his eyes closed.

“He’s asleep,” Ren Wei said with a sheepish chuckle, then reminded the driver, “Take it slow.”

Mu Yicong did have a slight fever, but not so high that closing his eyes actually put him to sleep.

He was thinking about Qi Yang.

Thinking about that phone call tonight, and the attitude in his words.

A tangled mess of thoughts churned in his head. Mu Yicong silently opened his eyes, only for Ren Wei to catch him in the rearview mirror and call out, “Yicong?”

Mu Yicong rolled his eyes—they felt a little hot—and looked at him.

Ren Wei repeated his earlier offer of water. After Mu Yicong refused, he lowered his voice and asked an obvious question: “That was Qi Yang on the phone just now, right?”

Qi Yang had never thought much of Ren Wei.

Mu Yicong could sense it even back in school.

He didn’t even need to sense it—Qi Yang was interesting like that. He looked at everyone with a certain impatience, especially Mu Yicong. He’d find fault with him more than anyone.

But when it came to people Qi Yang truly despised deep down, he kept a noticeable distance.

He didn’t nitpick their flaws, didn’t stab them in the back, and even when Liu Dameng and Cui Wu ganged up on Ren Wei, Qi Yang wouldn’t say a word.

It was complete and utter disregard.

“You seem pretty focused on him,” Mu Yicong said, looking at Ren Wei. “Ten years, and you’re still telling me to stay away from him?”

“Huh?” Ren Wei froze, not expecting Mu Yicong to be so direct. He scrambled to backtrack. “No, no—I mean, we have a partnership with Che Li, right? I was just thinking, him calling you so late, maybe there’s something wrong with the cooperation. Just asking.”

Mu Yicong hadn’t been interested in continuing this topic, but after studying Ren Wei for a moment, he suddenly asked, “What’s your take on Qi Yang?”

Oh, he was insufferable.

Ren Wei would never forget their reunion, when Qi Yang had directly asked him if he’d gotten a nose job.

That lingering, almost fearful dislike had deep roots. It had only intensified after Qi Yang’s attitude at the class reunion and peaked on the day he’d refused to discuss the contract with Ren Wei.

But now, Ren Wei’s annoyance toward Qi Yang was tinged with something else—confusion.

Why, when Qi Yang had nothing left, did the closeness between him and Mu Yicong still feel different from everyone else’s?

All these years, it was Ren Wei who’d worked to stay in touch with Mu Yicong. So why did Mu Yicong always make concessions for Qi Yang and push Ren Wei away?

Just like in school.

The world breeds confusion and jealousy for far more than love. Friendship and workplace dynamics can be even worse.

“Me and Qi Yang?”

Thoughts aside, Ren Wei had matured. He wouldn’t be as foolish as he was in his youth, blurting out his feelings to Mu Yicong.

“He’s all right, I guess.”

“Pretty resilient.”

He gauged the intention behind Mu Yicong’s question, carefully observing his eyes as he answered cautiously.

Mu Yicong looked at him for a moment. The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint, ambiguous curl—so subtle that before Ren Wei could even decide if the mockery was real, Mu Yicong turned toward the window and closed his eyes again.

Maybe it was because there were too many people like Ren Wei out there, Mu Yicong thought.

All these years, from childhood to now, the faces around him were always sycophantic and ingratiating. So he’d drifted for a decade, his memory always holding onto Qi Yang’s shadow. Meeting him again, he was still effortlessly drawn in.

Really annoying.

Both Qi Yang and the version of himself in this state.

Qi Yang parked the car beneath Mu Yicong’s apartment building and sneezed.

Did the sick guy infect him from a distance?

He shook his head, grabbed the gift box, and got out. His mind quickly flashed through a scene: Mu Yicong infecting Qi Yang, then Qi Yang infecting Qi Xing—all three of them with red noses and runny noses.

When the elevator reached the floor, he stepped into the outer hallway and suddenly thought: Did Mu Yicong even have medicine at home? He should have called ahead to ask on the way.

He pressed the video doorbell. While waiting for the door to open, he squinted at the peephole out of habit.

Mu Yicong answered the intercom and saw Qi Yang leaning on the wall by the door, bending over to peer into the camera.

Mu Yicong had gotten home only ten minutes earlier. He’d just taken his medicine and hadn’t even changed clothes yet. He stared at Qi Yang outside the door for two seconds, then turned to glance at himself in the full-length mirror before unlocking the door.

“You have a fever?” It had been two weeks since they’d last seen each other, but Qi Yang’s first words were a raised-eyebrow confirmation.

And not just verbally—with a casualness that felt utterly natural, he reached out, brushed aside Mu Yicong’s hair, and pressed a hand to his forehead.

A little warm.

But his complexion didn’t look too bad.

Mu Yicong didn’t flinch. He let Qi Yang hold his forehead for a few seconds before lowering his hand.

“Why did you actually come?” he asked.

“What else? You think I was messing with you this late at night?” Qi Yang handed him the box, swapped his shoes, pushed past him into the apartment, and looked around. “Ren Wei didn’t drive you back?”

“I didn’t let him come up.” Mu Yicong closed the door behind him, opened the gift box for a glance, then turned his gaze to Qi Yang’s back.

The moment Qi Yang heard Ren Wei answer the phone, he’d imagined how that probing look would be if Ren Wei saw him visiting Mu Yicong at this hour—how he’d pry and ask all sorts of questions. And he’d already figured out how to deal with Ren Wei’s annoying small talk and pleasantries.

Not having to meet was better. Once was enough for Qi Yang to learn the ropes. Without waiting for Mu Yicong to offer, he went and got himself a glass of water.

“Low-grade fever, so no drinking,” he said, walking over to Mu Yicong with the cup. He sniffed the air—the alcohol smell was strong today.

“Did you take your meds?” He raised his eyes and locked onto Mu Yicong’s gaze.

At this distance, Mu Yicong would usually make a move of some kind.

But today, he showed no such intention. No action, no expression—almost completely devoid of emotion. He just let out a quiet “Mm,” then lifted the gift box.

“Thanks,” he said to Qi Yang, then set the box on the table. “Return it. You’ve got a lot of expenses lately.”

With that, he walked past Qi Yang toward the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt to change into sleepwear.

If before tonight, the idea of Mu Yicong pulling away was just a suspicion, now Qi Yang had a concrete answer.

Something was wrong with this guy.

“Mu Yicong.” Qi Yang didn’t follow him into the bedroom. Instead, he leaned back against the chair, flicked the sunglasses case on the table, took another sip of water, and said, “Come here. I’ve got something to ask you.”

Mu Yicong had just taken off his shirt, hadn’t even shaken out his sleepwear yet. He thought for a moment, then walked back out bare-chested.

The guy’s body was better than expected.

Qi Yang couldn’t help but glance—broad shoulders, a narrow waist, skin taut and full. But his face wore a faint, distant expression.

“You got a problem with me?” Qi Yang didn’t beat around the bush. That wasn’t his style. He went straight for it.

“About what?” Mu Yicong walked over, pulled out a chair, and sat down, asking back.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here asking you.” Qi Yang yanked a chair over with a sharp scrape against the floor.

He spun it around and sat facing Mu Yicong. Throughout the whole process, his gaze never left Mu Yicong’s eyes.

“We’re both adults. Neither of us is stupid.”

Qi Yang sat loosely, one arm draped over the back of the chair, his chest and waist forming an open, uninhibited line. He fixed his eyes on Mu Yicong.

“The way you’re keeping your distance from someone is too obvious. Not even a transition—half a month of this lukewarm crap.”

“You can just say what you’re thinking.”

“Decided that little trial dating experiment of yours isn’t fun anymore?”

Qi Yang’s words were so straightforward that, hearing them, Mu Yicong almost wanted to laugh.

He crossed one leg, met Qi Yang’s gaze, and answered just as plainly: “Kind of.”

Qi Yang had asked the question, but when Mu Yicong gave that answer, he froze.

The high-rise duplex with its one-apartment-per-floor layout was utterly silent at night. Silence flooded the room like seawater. Qi Yang didn’t move a muscle, his expression unchanged, as he stared at Mu Yicong for a long time.

“Then let’s end it,” he said after a few seconds, pulling at the corner of his mouth with indifference.

Even bare-chested, Mu Yicong exuded the natural elegance of the wealthy, from his posture to his demeanor.

He held Qi Yang’s gaze and gave a slight nod. “Fine.”

If Qi Yang were true to his nature, he wouldn’t say another word. Like breaking up with any ex—once the meaning was clear, all reasons and explanations became meaningless. He wouldn’t waste time dwelling.

He nodded back like Mu Yicong had, stood up, and headed for the door. Without looking back, he threw out a final line: “Keep the sunglasses.”

That would be a classy breakup scene.

Was it a breakup?

He thought in a flash amidst that imagined scene.

What he’d blurted out was “end it.” Even his subconscious understood that a “trial” relationship didn’t even warrant the word “breakup.” It was like a contract with no terms—at best, it was just over.

In his mind’s fantasy, by now he’d be in the underground garage. But Qi Yang himself still sat frozen in the chair.

“Do you have some kind of problem?”

He didn’t know where this heavy, suffocating irritation came from. Maybe it was Mu Yicong’s unexplained change and casual attitude. Or maybe it was himself—the fact that he couldn’t just leave, couldn’t be the carefree person he usually was.

“You were the one who suggested ‘trying it out,'” he said, throwing all his frustration back at Mu Yicong, pressing on. “So why are you suddenly pulling this crap on me?”

Mu Yicong had drunk more than usual tonight. The alcohol and low-grade fever together burned behind his eyes, making them black and almost unsettling.

He didn’t speak, didn’t answer Qi Yang’s question. He just stepped closer, reached down, and cupped Qi Yang’s chin, looking down at him for a few seconds. Then he leaned in and kissed him.

Along with that heated kiss, his other burning-hot palm landed on Qi Yang.

His vital spot seized, even Qi Yang’s pupils dilated. He jerked his head away reflexively and slammed Mu Yicong’s hand down hard.

“What the—” Qi Yang was already irritated, and this sneak attack made him even angrier. He barely stopped himself from cursing.

But when he met Mu Yicong’s eerily calm gaze, he froze. The words got stuck in his throat.

“Are you gay, Qi Yang?”

Mu Yicong stood tall and straight before Qi Yang, brushing his hair aside, just like the night Qi Yang had agreed to “try it out.”

Qi Yang opened his mouth but couldn’t speak.

“The trial really wasn’t fun,” Mu Yicong continued. “I thought it would be enough to wear down all my desires for you. But things didn’t turn out like I expected.”

“You can’t change. Neither can I.”

“We don’t have any real connection. Continuing like this doesn’t mean anything.”

After saying these words calmly, Mu Yicong went to the wine cabinet and poured himself a drink, not giving Qi Yang another glance.

“I’ll keep the sunglasses,” he said in a polite dismissal. “It’s late. Qi Xing’s still at home.”

Qi Yang could barely remember how he walked out of Mu Yicong’s apartment, how he got to the garage, or how he drove all the way back.

The security barrier at the neighborhood gate rose, and he realized he was home. His mind seemed blank the whole drive, but at the same time, he’d been replaying Mu Yicong’s words over and over.

Pure recollection.

Again and again, every word, every tone—just memory without thought.

Sister Li was sitting on the living room couch playing on her phone. When she heard the front door open and close, she stood up and came over. “Back?”

“Yeah.” Qi Yang answered, changing his shoes while glancing toward Qi Xing’s bedroom door.

“She’s asleep. Didn’t come out,” Sister Li said.

“Thanks for your trouble.” Qi Yang went over, pushed the door open a crack to peek inside, and nodded to Sister Li.

Sister Li left as briskly as she’d arrived. Qi Yang’s return home was just as brisk as his trip to Mu Yicong’s.

The difference was that in that short hour, nothing had happened for Sister Li. But between Qi Yang and Mu Yicong, something major seemed to have shifted—though on closer thought, nothing had really changed.

They’d just gone back to their respective, normal life trajectories.

Just like Qi Yang had once hoped for: no interference, no connection.

He lit a cigarette, collapsed onto the sofa, and stared blankly at the light.

In Qi Yang’s logic, the outcome of everything had only two directions: results or no results.

No distinction between good and bad, superior and inferior, reasonable or absurd. A plate used to hold food was one outcome. Dropping it and breaking it was another.

Signing a contract was one outcome. Not signing it was another.

Accepting Qi Dahai’s return was one outcome. Moving out with Qi Xing was another.

Ending the trial with Mu Yicong was one outcome. There was no other outcome.

He’d gone to Mu Yicong to ask why things had cooled off recently. Mu Yicong had proposed ending it. That was the result. Qi Yang was used to getting results, not delving into how they came about.

Even back in school, he’d liked homework with direct answers, not the kind that required thinking and deduction.

It really wasn’t fun.

In the time it took to smoke one cigarette, Qi Yang’s mind whirled chaotically. A strong sense of unreality hit him—the past six months with Mu Yicong felt like a dream. It had started for no reason and ended just as inexplicably. Mu Yicong really was a businessman—quick with the knife, cutting through the tangle without dragging it out.

A long ash fell onto his chest. He sat up and brushed it off.

As he brushed, his hand slowly stopped. He stared off into space, frozen.

Damn it.

Why did it feel like he’d been dumped?

And why did it suck so much?