Chapter 14: Doctor Bottom x Celebrity Top

The morning sun shone brightly, a gentle breeze swaying the shadows of the trees.

When Jing Chi woke up, he habitually reached for the spot beside him and found it cold to the touch.

He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and saw the bedding unchanged from last night. He knew right away that the man hadn’t come back to the bedroom all evening.

Jing Chi headed to the study, but it was empty too.

“Fine,” he muttered to himself. “Looks like he’s off at the hospital again.”

He grumbled under his breath, convinced that the man had the narrowest mind imaginable. What was the big deal, anyway? To still be sulking this long?

Jing Chi ate breakfast alone, then decided he’d better go find him at the hospital.

He sent Feng Qinghan a WeChat message: he’d drop by at noon.

By the time Dr. Feng emerged from the conference room, it was already past twelve.

That’s when he noticed Jing Chi’s message.

With the office empty, a pang of disappointment he hadn’t even realized he felt washed over him.

He knew he shouldn’t care, but he couldn’t help himself. He went up front and asked the nurse anyway.

“Dr. Feng, no one came looking for you around noon. Is it something important?”

Dr. Feng shook his head with a word of thanks, his lips pressed into a thin line as he turned away, gripping his phone tightly.

Back in his office, he lasted less than ten minutes before he grew restless.

Something felt off. Jing Chi wasn’t the type to say he was coming and then ghost. He wouldn’t toy with him like that.

Dr. Feng dialed Jing Chi’s number. All he got was a cold, mechanical voice:

“The number you’ve dialed is powered off…”

That was when Dr. Feng realized something was wrong. He changed out of his scrubs, got approval for leave, grabbed his car keys, and hurried out of the hospital.

~~~

Why was Jing Chi’s phone off? Rewind to ten that morning.

His original plan had been to head out at ten, arrive at the hospital a bit after eleven, and wait for Dr. Feng’s lunch break.

But not long after stepping out, Jing Chi noticed a car tailing him.

He shared his suspicions with the System, which checked immediately and confirmed it. With starry eyes, it said, “Host, you’re amazing!”

Jing Chi waved it off. “No big deal. I even know it’s that shady manager who sent them.”

“Should I call the cops for you, Host?” The System sounded worried, afraid something might happen to him.

“No, no. I actually need their help with something.” Jing Chi quickened his pace, his expression grave.

The car behind them must have realized they’d been spotted. They stopped hiding and sped right up to him.

It screeched to a halt in front of Jing Chi. Several burly men piled out and lunged at him.

Jing Chi put up a token struggle, then pretended to be overpowered. They sealed his mouth, bound his hands, bagged him over the head, and tossed him into the trunk like clockwork.

The car bumped along for about an hour—Jing Chi was nearly dozing off by the time they arrived.

They shoved him roughly into a room and strapped him to a chair, hands tied behind the backrest.

Pitch black inside the bag, and with no one else there yet, Jing Chi messaged the System in his mind:

“System buddy, can you livestream this scene from inside here later?”

The System tinkered for a few minutes. “No problem, Host.”

Just then, an anonymous stream popped up in a popular streaming app.

Curious viewers who clicked in saw an empty room with a bagged figure tied to a chair, facing two hulking bruisers who looked like bad news.

It had all the hallmarks of a kidnapping script for one of those interactive murder-mystery games, so they stuck around out of curiosity.

Then a fourth person entered the frame.

None other than the manager, Brother Liu.

Grinning smugly, Brother Liu waved at the two men. “Yank that bag off him.”

Jing Chi, finally seeing light again, blinked slowly.

Spotting the man in front of him, he feigned shock and let out muffled “mmph mmph” sounds.

“Rip the tape off his mouth too.”

Brother Liu figured he’d pulled off a flawless snatch—no one the wiser. Little did he know, the System had already broadcast the whole thing live.

At first, viewers couldn’t make out Jing Chi’s face. But once the bag came off and the tape too, his features were clear as day.

The live chat started scrolling:

[Hey, this kidnapped guy looks kinda familiar.]

[Isn’t that Jing Chi?]

[So what’s going on? Is he filming a movie or something?]

As soon as someone dropped Jing Chi’s name, viewers started flooding into the live stream.

“Brother Liu, what do you mean by this?” Terror flickered in Jing Chi’s eyes, and his voice quivered.

The manager relished the fear on Jing Chi’s face. “What do I mean? Can’t you figure it out? I’m here to take you out, obviously.”

He made a slashing gesture in the air, then closed in on Jing Chi. Yanking the phone from his pocket, he smashed it against the concrete floor. “Let’s see you record anything now.”

Jing Chi’s body shuddered, as if he’d been truly rattled.

In reality, he found the whole thing ridiculous. In a society ruled by law, what made this guy think he could brazenly talk about offing someone?

Was it because this world had spun out from a novel?

That was the only explanation Jing Chi could come up with.

“Why?” He drew in a shaky breath, his voice heavy with despair. He hung his head low, hiding his expression from view.

“Why?” The manager let out a mocking chuckle. “You think I’d buy that you scrubbed that recording clean? Only the dead stay quiet for good.”

Jing Chi abruptly shifted gears. “Brother Liu, there’s something I’ve always wanted to ask. Back when all those scandals had me under siege, I’d prepped a ton of statements to clear my name. But they all vanished into thin air. Why was that?”

“What good does rehashing that do now?” Brother Liu sneered down at him. “Fine, I’ll indulge you out of the kindness of my heart. You had it coming for being such an idiot. I hooked you up with a chance to cozy up to President Wang—that was a huge honor. But you blew it off, and I ended up pissing him off. Lost me a fat payday.”

“How could I let you set the record straight after that? The more you suffered, the better. Had to show my crew what happens when you cross me.”

The manager’s glee built as he ranted on, his features twisting into a savage snarl. This guy’s done for anyway, he thought. Might as well twist the knife:

“And that father of yours? Most selfish, brainless bastard I’ve ever heard of. Sold you out for pocket change—two hundred grand—and happily dumped all the filth on your head.”

He blabbered on in smug satisfaction, oblivious that every word and gesture was streaming live across the internet.

[Holy crap, Jing Chi’s had it rough.]

[This is straight-up kidnapping! Someone call the cops!]

[I knew Jing Chi was innocent. Poor guy.]

Meanwhile, Feng Qinghan sped back to the villa in his car. When he arrived and found it empty, his worst fears were confirmed: something had happened to Jing Chi.

He raced to the police station, laid out the situation, and they dove into the surveillance footage along the route from the hospital to the villa.

There it was, clear as day on one camera: Jing Chi being shoved into a car.

They pulled the license plate from the video, and the police traced it immediately.

But it felt agonizingly slow. Feng Qinghan’s heart burned with urgency.

Then an officer’s phone rang with a tip line call. He turned to Feng Qinghan. “We’ve got confirmation: Mr. Jing Chi’s been kidnapped. And the whole thing’s live-streaming online—it’s already blowing up the trends.”

Feng Qinghan whipped out his phone. Sure enough, #Jing Chi Kidnapped# topped the charts.

He locked eyes on the screen, watching the young man tied to a chair, head bowed. His chest tightened.

“Netizens are pointing to the Lianchi Bay Abandoned Factory area.”

“Copy that. Dispatch now.”

Feng Qinghan jumped into the squad car and tore off toward the site.

His face was set like stone as he stared at his phone. The young man was curled on the floor now, shaking all over.

For the moment, all Feng Qinghan could do was watch through the screen, guarding Jing Chi from afar.

His fingers brushed the image of Jing Chi, trembling faintly.

He regretted it all. If not for their standoff, Jing Chi never would’ve been snatched on his way over.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the feed cut out—their only lifeline gone.

The screen flashed: Live stream ended.

Panic hit Feng Qinghan like a freight train.

He clutched the phone so hard his knuckles bleached white.

He couldn’t bear to picture what might be happening to Jing Chi. He’d seen it all too often before.

Blood pooling across the floor. The room reeking of iron and death. Nothing but red carnage in every direction.

Feng Qinghan’s vision swam. He fought to steady himself.

He pressed the phone to his forehead, voice rough and broken. “How long until we get there?”

The unflappable man was shaking now, even in his words.

The officer nearby tried to soothe him. “Almost—fifteen minutes tops.”

The scene flashed back to the moment the manager mentioned Jing Chi’s father.

No sooner had he finished speaking than Jing Chi suddenly burst into laughter.

That laugh sent a chill down the manager’s spine. Enraged, he kicked the chair hard, sending Jing Chi tumbling awkwardly to the ground.

The manager bellowed at him, “What the hell are you laughing at?”

“I’m laughing at how pathetic I am,” Jing Chi replied, tilting his head back to meet the manager’s gaze with flat indifference, utterly unconcerned for his own safety. “And I’m laughing at how pathetic you are too.”

“I’ve told you already—I have nothing left to lose. I’m not afraid to die. But you? You’re different. Kill me, and you think you can escape the long arm of the law?”

The manager let out a cold snort. “Your death? What does that have to do with me? It’ll just look like some drunk guy who slipped and fell into the river.”

Jing Chi’s smile faded, his eyes darkening. “So you’ve pulled this trick on someone else before?”

The manager crouched down and patted Jing Chi’s face—smeared with dirt but still strikingly handsome—his murky eyes gleaming with venom.

“That’s right. Under that big bridge. No one’s ever finding his body. And you? You’re next.”

He was convinced Jing Chi was as good as dead, so he didn’t give a damn how unhinged his words sounded.

Little did he know, as Jing Chi lowered his gaze, satisfaction filled his eyes.

He hadn’t expected the man to be so dimwitted and vicious—spilling every last detail without a fight.

“Host, what do we do? The police are still twenty minutes out. You’re in way too much danger right now.”

The System eyed the menacing figure across from them, terrified that its host might end up in a pool of blood any second.

“Plenty of time. More than enough.” Jing Chi answered calmly.

The System was dumbfounded. “That long?”

Jing Chi cut in, “Cut the live feed right now.”

Unsure of his plan but obedient as always, the System complied. “Got it, Host. Live feed’s cut.”

Jing Chi’s serene gaze, laced with faint contempt, finally pushed the manager over the edge into humiliated fury.

“Come on, give him a beating first,” he snarled at the burly men by his side. “Then toss him in the river. Let’s see how cocky he is after that.”

But in the next instant, Jing Chi snapped free of his ropes, shoved himself up from the ground, and rose to his feet.

He brushed the dirt off his clothes, then lifted his head to fix the manager with a shadowed stare. A wicked grin curled his lips.