Chapter 59

【120320】

Beep beep.

Incorrect password.

That made sense.

Qian Xingzhi had once said they hadn’t checked the almanac before getting married—that day was an inauspicious black day on the gangster calendar, bad for everything.

So Qian Xingzhi probably wouldn’t have set that date as his password.

Shen Li tried Qian Xingzhi’s birthday next, then the birthday of the anime character Qian Xingzhi had loved as a boy, and even the dog’s birthday.

Until the system prompted that the phone was locked out and to try again in one minute.

A faint frost finally gathered between Shen Li’s brows. He raised his brow bone slightly, a chill like a frozen pool lurking beneath his lashes.

Only then did he belatedly realize that his actions seemed like an ex overstepping his bounds.

He was just about to return Qian Xingzhi’s phone to the bedside table when he glanced at the supposedly sleeping man.

But those deep peach-blossom eyes were narrowed in an ambiguous half-smile. No one knew when Qian Xingzhi had woken up or how long he had been watching.

A few slender rays of morning light slipped through the curtains, falling on Qian Xingzhi’s handsome face.

They brought out a triumphant ease, like a hunter savoring his victory.

Shen Li: .

He lifted his chin a fraction, his brow furrowing slightly.

Instead of setting the phone down on the table, he tossed it onto Qian Xingzhi’s chest like a brick.

It landed with a dull thud.

“Unlock the phone. I need to use it,” Shen Li said.

Qian Xingzhi didn’t seem to mind. He curled his lip in a faint smile, glanced at Shen Li, and unlocked it with his face before handing it back like evidence being surrendered.

The two narrow beds weren’t pushed right up against each other; a gap of less than a meter separated them.

Because of that, as the phone passed between them now, it was impossible not to remember how Shen Li had handed Qian Xingzhi a condom the same way yesterday.

Afterward, those beds had been shoved this way and that, pulled and adjusted endlessly to find the perfect angle—one that let Shen Li take it more comfortably.

Unfortunately, Shen Li had still worried about the soundproofing. He hadn’t even dared let out a low moan.

Not wanting Qian Xingzhi to drag the beds around and make too much noise, they’d ended up lying face-to-face atop one of them. Shen Li had stayed silent, letting Qian Xingzhi kiss him and touch him. But even at the end, Qian Xingzhi hadn’t gone all the way in, so the condom had only been used halfway.

.

Shen Li turned his head away, his expression aloof and icy, as if he’d forgotten all about it.

But the moment he took Qian Xingzhi’s phone and saw the home screen, his pupils contracted sharply, and his face burned.

Then Qian Xingzhi spoke up. “You never used to touch my phone.”

Shen Li sneered. “You never used to change your password.”

Qian Xingzhi’s tone was infuriatingly smug, utterly without remorse. “Oh? We’re divorced now. Should I keep using your birthday?”

The room fell silent.

Shen Li was left speechless by the comeback. He shot Qian Xingzhi a cool glance, his chest rising and falling faintly.

After a long moment, Shen Li finally said, “We’re divorced, and you’re still using that kind of photo as your wallpaper? Have you no shame?”

The lock screen was normal enough—a flashy promotional still from one of his own dramas. It fit Qian Xingzhi’s narcissism perfectly; Shen Li hadn’t given it a second thought.

But the home screen wallpaper…

One look, and Shen Li remembered. It was a frame grabbed from a video Qian Xingzhi had taken after they’d finished one time.

It wasn’t blatantly explicit, but it reeked of the aftermath.

Shen Li’s face was cropped to just half, leaving only a sharp jawline visible. The RED camera’s pixels were movie-grade sharp, the tones cool and the lines crisp, but the details didn’t bear close inspection.

The water stains on his face stood out especially, lending the entire frame a subtle, pervasive dampness.

Qian Xingzhi had shown him that screenshot at the time.

Shen Li hadn’t recognized himself right away. He’d only thought the person’s skin was an unearthly pale white, and under the brutal clarity of 8K resolution, the half-face was smeared with something tantalizingly white. It looked pretty erotic.

He’d figured it was promo material for some low-budget art film Qian Xingzhi had taken on.

Why else show it to him? To make him jealous of a co-star?

Or what?

Then Qian Xingzhi had swiped to the next image in the gallery: a muted video.

Suddenly, Shen Li saw the recording from last night, where Qian Xingzhi had made a mess all over his face—utterly indecent.

“You shameless bastard… why screenshot something like that?”

That’s what Shen Li had snapped back then, though his bluster rang a bit hollow.

They’d been in a cab at the time. The driver’s glance in the rearview mirror had made Shen Li lower his voice considerably, as if it wasn’t entirely honorable.

“…Why not screenshot yourself?”

Qian Xingzhi pocketed the phone leisurely. “You’re better looking. Why would I screenshot myself? Turn into a pervert?”

“Delete it,” Shen Li had commanded coldly.

Qian Xingzhi, utterly shameless, had taken advantage of the driver paying the toll to plant a kiss on Shen Li’s face. “You agreed to the video. What’s wrong with a picture?”

Shen Li had shot him a furious glare and shoved him away. “Get lost.”

Shen Li had wondered if he spoiled Qian Xingzhi too much. The video idea had come from Qian, who was facing at least two months alone on a business trip. He’d begged and pleaded for days before Shen Li finally relented and set up the camera.

But what excuse was there for the screenshot?

Qian Xingzhi had looked so smug, his voice brimming with delight. “Ha! If you ever start something and don’t finish it, I’ll make this my wallpaper.”

Shen Li had rolled his eyes at him coldly, not wanting to say another word.

What else had Qian Xingzhi said after that?

He couldn’t remember.

.

But Qian Xingzhi’s attitude was just as cocky now. “So what? I warned you ages ago. I’m a man of my word.”

Part of Shen Li wanted to correct him—Shen Li wasn’t the one who’d started something and abandoned it. Qian Xingzhi was the one who’d wanted the divorce.

But he could already imagine how whiny and self-pitying it would sound, so he held his tongue.

Shen Li’s throat tightened with a tremor. He averted his eyes, dodging Qian Xingzhi’s gaze, too lazy to say anything more. “Go find the charging cable for me.”

A flat-out order.

Qian Xingzhi rolled off the bed, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. He deliberately flexed his muscles, his handsome face twisted in a scowl, his tone icy. “You barking orders at a dog?”

Shen Li used to give Tongqian commands like that.

Or, occasionally afterward, when Qian Xingzhi had fucked him too hard to get out of bed.

“I told you not to touch my stuff.” Shen Li swiped through the phone. No office apps—not even WPS.

“Oh yeah? Then why touch mine? Compensate me or something—hiss, where’d I put it?”

Qian Xingzhi’s bare, sculpted torso was distractingly in the way as he paced the room, flashing back and forth.

Shen Li found it irritating. He closed his eyes for a moment, then glanced at the other apps.

WeChat showed 99+ messages.

Weibo: 99.

QQ: 99.

Alipay: 99.

…

Neatly lined up like holiday greetings.

Shen Li’s mind flashed back to that night, when he’d accidentally seen the barrage from Su Xilan. He’d immediately lowered his brows in cool indifference, not wanting to pry.

He opened the built-in browser to look something up.

A string of search history popped up:

[“My dick’s too long—wife’s in too much pain, what now?”]

[“My dick’s too big—wife doesn’t like it, what to do?”]

[“Didn’t go all the way in—how to make wife feel good anyway?”]

…

Shen Li stared at the long list of searches, his eyes watering as if he’d been sexually harassed.

His fingertips trembled as he slammed the browser shut.

Qian Xingzhi came back with the charging cable and caught the look on Shen Li’s face. A cold, mocking smile finally crept across his stunningly handsome features.

“Find anything good? Am I pure as the driven snow?”

Shen Li’s brow furrowed at the phrasing. He tossed the phone back onto the bed like a hot potato. “Didn’t look. Here—take it.”

He turned to grab his own phone.

But Qian Xingzhi reached out and intercepted it first—advantage of proximity. His broad, bare back blocked Shen Li’s hand.

By the time Shen Li’s cool palm brushed bare skin and he reflexively pulled back, Qian Xingzhi already had the phone in hand.

Conveniently, he plugged the charging cable into Shen Li’s dead phone and powered it on.

“I’ve shown you mine. Fair’s fair—let me see yours?” Qian Xingzhi asked.

Shen Li said nothing, but he was getting angry.

He truly hated anyone touching his phone—even back when Qian Xingzhi was still his husband, he’d never allowed it.

The difference was, he’d never snooped on Qian Xingzhi’s before, either.

But today…

Snatching it back now would smack of a double standard.

Sure, there was nothing shady on his phone, but Qian Xingzhi could twist anything he saw…

No!

He couldn’t let Qian Xingzhi see the pinned WeChat chat.

Shen Li’s eyes darkened. He snatched it back with lightning speed—professional training in action.

Qian Xingzhi hadn’t expected him to grab it so aggressively. By the time he reacted, the phone was back in Shen Li’s hand, and all Qian Xingzhi held was the charging cable.

In that instant, Qian Xingzhi’s face darkened.

Shen Li’s posture remained aloof, his expression distant and unyielding. He flicked a cool glance from those long, narrow phoenix eyes and added a perfectly reasonable excuse, as if it were nothing.

“…I didn’t look through yours. I gave it back already.”

Back before the divorce, a situation like this would’ve sparked a huge fight.

It might’ve ended with Shen Li storming out—or Qian Xingzhi pinning him down for a round to settle things.

But now…

They were divorced.

He had no right to demand Shen Li’s “loyalty,” no right to force a look at the phone—even if he’d handed his own over out of sheer masochism, his own stupid choice.

Qian Xingzhi’s face was stormy, lost in who-knew-what thoughts.

Shen Li powered on his phone and unlocked it at top speed, offering a half-hearted explanation. “There are some confidential case files on here that I can’t share…”

“You take me for a moron?”

Before the words had even left his mouth, Qian Xingzhi let out a chuckle that cut his lie short. “Listen to yourself—does that even make any sense? Your boss didn’t tell you to delete them when you left the job, and the case files have just been sitting there for a whole year? You think I won’t report you?”

Shen Li fell silent.

That one line left Shen Li speechless. Then he heard the man counter, as if trying to salvage his own dignity:

“You don’t actually think I want to see them, do you?”

Shen Li was utterly baffled, even tempted to laugh. “If you don’t want to see them, then why are you in such a rush?”

Qian Xingzhi’s godlike features turned icy cold. He lowered his gaze to meet Shen Li’s eyes and said, “Which one of your eyes saw me panicking?”