Chapter 48

The moment Shen Li heard Zhou Yulin’s voice, a chill flickered in his eyes. He yanked the bathrobe off the door and threw it on.

In the instant he pulled the door open, Qian Xingzhi stood right there on the threshold, his face calm but tinged with gloom.

The man thrust the phone toward him, his gaze like two hooks dipped in poison, pinning Shen Li in place. His eyes raked down from Shen Li’s neck and collarbone along the carelessly draped bathrobe—where droplets of water traced the hollow of his collarbone toward his waist, cinched tight by the sash at his hips into a sharp, breathtaking angle.

Qian Xingzhi’s knuckles turned white around the phone. But before he could react, Shen Li snatched it away.

His fingertips never even brushed Qian Xingzhi’s.

Shen Li’s expression was far from friendly.

He was irritated with both Zhou Yulin, who had said “talk later” only to call right back, and Qian Xingzhi, who had answered without asking. Shen Li simply wasn’t one to lash out.

So he merely shot Qian Xingzhi a cold glance before saying “hello” into the speakerphone.

Zhou Yulin’s voice came through, mild as warm water. “Sorry. Technically, if you said you were busy, I shouldn’t have called anyway.”

Shen Li fell silent.

“What is it?”

Shen Li averted his gaze from Qian Xingzhi. He wanted to turn off the speakerphone but knew that would look even worse.

He just hoped the call with Zhou Yulin would end quickly.

“Yeah, there are two things I need to confirm with you as soon as possible.”

“What are they?”

“First, the feasibility report for transferring the school to public management. Didn’t you originally ask Zhang Yiyu to review it?”

Shen Li paused.

“Yeah.”

“But Yiyu’s been swamped lately, so he passed it to me.” Zhou Yulin’s tone stayed gentle, without a hint of aggression. “I put it together and sent it to your email. Focus on the sections about the school’s current status, acquisition costs, and social benefits analysis—check if anything looks off. Once we get the preliminary review from the Education Bureau, budget approval from Finance, and staffing confirmation from the Editorial Office, we can move to the asset transfer procedures.”

Shen Li let out a silent sigh and instinctively murmured his assent.

Before joining the show, he had sent the application materials for the school transfer to Zhang Yiyu, hoping the expert could offer some pointers on how to draft them properly. He hadn’t planned to impose the full writing on him—that part he’d handle himself.

He hadn’t expected the guy to turn around and outsource it to Zhou Yulin—and for Zhou Yulin to complete the whole thing solo.

The three of them had been tight since their slacker days; there were no issues of trust or awkwardness. But ever since Zhou Yulin had re-added him on WeChat three years ago and started his bold pursuit, Zhang Yiyu had clearly been playing matchmaker.

His “busyness” was probably deliberate.

Still, submitting the report a day earlier meant reviews could wrap up sooner. No point fussing over who did it.

“Thanks. I’ll take a look soon,” Shen Li said gratefully. “You’ve done me a huge favor. Let me treat you to dinner when you’re free.”

Zhou Yulin’s voice dropped low. “I could have just left a message, but I did have my own motives.”

Shen Li’s breath hitched, his brows knitting together in instinctive wariness. Just then, a shadow of intimacy fell over him as Qian Xingzhi stepped closer, blocking most of the light.

His eyes glowered darkly at Shen Li.

Shen Li gave the man a flat look and ignored him.

Then Zhou Yulin continued, “The second thing—I watched your show. I have to ask: are you seriously considering remarrying now?”

Shen Li went quiet again.

He glanced up instinctively at Qian Xingzhi.

If Qian Xingzhi weren’t standing there, he would have told Zhou Yulin honestly that yes, he was considering it. But with Qian Xingzhi’s cool stare fixed on him, Zhou Yulin pressed on:

“Little Li, your ex-husband is decent in some ways, sure. But he’s not right for you.”

Same old song and dance.

Even without Shen Li venting in their group chat, Qian Xingzhi’s sabotaging of his work, controlling his friendships, and other toxic behaviors had long spread through their circle.

Everyone always urged breakup, never reconciliation.

“When I pursued you before, you said you hadn’t gotten over him yet. What about now?”

As Zhou Yulin’s words landed, Shen Li’s brows furrowed tighter.

Qian Xingzhi’s gaze slithered over him like a snake’s tongue licking at his collarbone.

Shen Li turned away in discomfort, but Qian Xingzhi suddenly closed in—without warning, he nipped at Shen Li’s left cheek, like a wild wolf tasting its prey before the kill.

Shen Li’s throat bobbed.

A vein throbbed wildly along his neck from the kiss.

His irritated glare chased after Qian Xingzhi’s eyes, only to meet a gaze brimming from those alluring peach-blossom eyes, like the tip of a knife freshly licked clean of cream.

Shen Li couldn’t recall what he’d meant to say—or even what Zhou Yulin had just asked.

He shot Qian Xingzhi a warning glare.

But Zhou Yulin’s voice rang out again: “If you haven’t decided yet, could I—”

Smack!

The phone hit the floor.

It drowned out the rest of Zhou Yulin’s words.

Shen Li found himself pinned against the door.

The next second, Qian Xingzhi crushed their lips together, forcing his way past Shen Li’s teeth with brutal intensity.

Shen Li struggled on instinct.

But a large hand clamped his waist, while the web of another gripped his jaw tight—the four long fingers digging into his cheeks, the thumb prying into his mouth to force his teeth apart and wrench his head back into place.

In that forced tilt of his head, Qian Xingzhi’s lips—tasting of blood—plunged deep, like a honed blade sliding home into its sheath.

Their breaths grew ragged, mingling in the crush of noses.

Shen Li wasn’t sure if it was shame or raw discomfort that made his lashes glisten with unshed tears, like shattered ice sinking into a marsh.

Then came an even bolder command in Qian Xingzhi’s low, raspy voice, not bothering to whisper—and who knew if the phone had picked it up:

“Open your mouth. Don’t move.”

Shen Li snapped back to reality and shoved hard!

As he jerked his face aside, tension strung his jaw to neck like a bowstring about to snap, frost across his skin devoured inch by inch by the heat blazing from his ears.

Smack!

Shen Li’s slap landed with full fury on Qian Xingzhi’s face.

It rang out sharp and clear.

Qian Xingzhi barely smirked, as if unbothered—until he pulled back a fraction. Then his eyes gleamed with triumph as they flicked to the phone on the floor.

Zhou Yulin had already hung up.

He must have pieced together what happened and ended the call himself.

He might even have gotten the wrong idea.

“Are you happy now?”

Shen Li’s voice cut like a blade tempered in ice water, laced with a faint, nearly imperceptible tremor amid the chill.

Shen Li clenched his fists until his knuckles blanched white.

Clearly.

He was someone who cared about his dignity; Qian Xingzhi was not.

He kept his emotions private, never airing them for outsiders; Qian Xingzhi did the same, in his way.

He bottled his anger for years—seven parts festering in his chest, two parts lodged in his throat, leaving just one part leaking out weakly, like lava seeping between his fingers. Even in fury, he rarely confronted like this. Qian Xingzhi was the opposite.

Qian Xingzhi was the type whose feelings loomed larger than a collapsing sky.

Sure enough.

What hadn’t worked seven years ago wouldn’t magically fit seven years later.

Like so many couples who split and reunited, only to part again no matter how passionately they loved—bridges led back to bridges, roads to roads.

Shen Li lifted his weary eyes, but Qian Xingzhi was already reaching for his hand like nothing had changed.

“You’re mad?” Qian Xingzhi asked.

His tone assumed it was true.

Shen Li shook his head faintly, too drained to argue, letting Qian Xingzhi support his limp, chilled body.

“Sorry.”

Qian Xingzhi’s apology rang hollow, especially followed by his baffling next words:

“He likes you.”

“Yeah.”

“When did you find out?”

“Eight years ago.”

The year before the divorce.

Shen Li answered mechanically.

Qian Xingzhi’s hoarse voice turned indifferent. “But I knew eighteen years ago.”

“So what?”

Shen Li couldn’t parse his meaning—and didn’t care to. He didn’t even meet Qian Xingzhi’s eyes.

His next words were blunt: “So because he likes me, you kiss me in front of him without my consent? What am I to you—some trophy to flaunt?”

Qian Xingzhi paused, sensing something off.

Shen Li was truly angry this time.

Even if his triggers were always peculiar.

Anything smacking of staking a claim seemed to genuinely rile him up.

Back in senior year, when they first got together, Shen Li was dozing at his desk. A girl who clearly had a crush on him crowded him with questions after class, not even giving him bathroom breaks. Qian Xingzhi pretended to be half-asleep, grabbed Shen Li’s hand mid-calculation, and planted a kiss on the back. Shen Li fumed for two days straight.

After graduation, picking schools, Zhou Yulin would drop by with gifts for Shen Li or his mom, eyes glued to Shen Li. Qian Xingzhi deliberately held Shen Li’s hand in front of Zhang Yiyu, shoving it deep into his pocket—too forcefully, brushing Shen Li’s crotch by accident. Shen Li turned green and wouldn’t speak to him for three days, no matter the excuses.

Married life meant long separations; Shen Li was too striking and drew unwanted attention—even from victims’ families in cases. Qian Xingzhi had warned him repeatedly that the guy was interested, but Shen Li insisted he was overthinking and refused to wear his ring. It took nearly getting groped—and Qian Xingzhi bankrupting the man’s company—for Shen Li to offer a mild “spare him if you can.”

“I never saw you as a trophy,” Qian Xingzhi said flatly, staring at Shen Li.

Shen Li shook his head, signaling he was done talking.

Qian Xingzhi picked up the phone and handed it over. Shen Li’s voice came low, as if mustered with effort:

“Get out. I want to finish my shower.”

“Fine.”

Qian Xingzhi released him and turned to leave.

Shen Li stood frozen for five more seconds, then headed to the bathroom.

He twisted the shower on—cold water only. He gave his body a quick scrub, sighed, and washed his face.

The bathroom door swung open once more. As the heater flicked on, Qian Xingzhi placed an electric kettle full of hot water and a basin just outside the glass door.

“Use the water from the kettle first,” he called from beyond the door. “I’ll have them boil more—it’ll take about five minutes.”

Without waiting for a reply, Qian Xingzhi walked away. Shen Li sat motionless on the shower stool the program group had specially modified for him, staring at his palm for what felt like ages.

Five minutes later.

Qian Xingzhi knocked lightly on the door to signal that the fresh hot water was ready, then turned to hang up the freshly washed clothes.

From behind him came the faint creak of the door.

Shen Li stepped out, his hair dripping wet and his bathrobe hanging loose to expose his sharply protruding collarbones.

Qian Xingzhi averted his eyes, his gaze darkening, but out of the corner of his vision, he caught sight of Shen Li gripping the wall for support as he slowly shuffled over—

The window loomed right behind him.

A faint pink flush colored Shen Li’s ghostly pale skin. Water droplets trailed down his neck, disappearing into the shadows. Veins throbbed beneath the thin sheath of his flesh, his wrist bones more fragile than the edge of a blade. His face gleamed as pale as jade, devoid of joy or sorrow, his expression serene and gentle as the bright moon.

The next moment, Qian Xingzhi heard Shen Li speak.

“…I do still like you.

“I’ve told you all my red lines.

“Let’s try again.”