Chapter 13

Chapter 13

As if he hadn’t gone looking for him himself.

Ji Qingyu feigned deafness and quickly departed, bringing the conversation to an end.

He didn’t sleep well that night. The dry air carried a fleeting chill, and his body habitually broke out in cold sweats—a condition that hadn’t occurred in a long time but had returned today.

In the middle of the night, Ji Qingyu awoke. He sat up, turned on his phone, and saw that it was already three in the morning. Headline notifications flooded his screen, including a clip about Ji Ran’s edited segment.

Ji Ran hadn’t stayed hidden for long before appearing on a new variety show.

Bleary-eyed, Ji Qingyu skimmed through it and noticed that Ji Ran was now promoting their brotherly bond, trying to leverage their so-called high school friendship as evidence that Ji Qingyu had willingly given him the copyright.

“My brother and I didn’t have much contact when we were young. We reconnected during summer vacation when he was working at a bar and was about to be harassed—I went and rescued him,” Ji Ran said, sitting sideways casually, a smile still playing on his lips.

“What a coincidence—weren’t you and Fu Han also from the same school back then? The three of you really share a fate,” the host pressed, not missing any explosive material, digging into Ji Ran’s most talked-about scandal.

“Yes, actually, I became familiar with Fu Han because he used to bully my brother. We started by clashing,” Ji Ran replied, as if recalling something, and smiled apologetically. “Their relationship didn’t seem great back then. I remember going backstage to find Ji Qingyu and seeing Fu Han pinning him in a corner, almost as if he was threatening him.”

“I always thought Mr. Fu and your brother had a good relationship in high school,” the host said, trying to gloss over it before changing the subject. “So, what other interesting stories do you have about you and your brother later on?”

Ji Ran sat there with an innocent expression, like an exquisitely understanding doll, easily stirring sympathy from others.

“There is one more thing,” Ji Ran said. “During his senior year, my brother seemed to offend Fu Han and was pressured into dropping out. He was in a really bad state back then—I was the one who helped him.”

Fu Han seemed to hear some noise, groggily turning Ji Qingyu’s phone face down and burying his face against Ji Qingyu’s neck. His breath was hot, his tone harsh. “Go to sleep.”

Ji Qingyu obediently lay down, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't fall back asleep.

Ji Ran’s words were a mix of truth and lies, making it impossible to explain away. Ji Qingyu didn’t know what chaos might follow. Truthfully, he had no grand ambitions and couldn’t understand why Ji Ran always felt so threatened by him.

The next day, he decided to talk to Ji Ran. Ji Ran agreed readily, and they met at a café.

When Ji Qingyu arrived, Ji Ran’s coffee sat untouched. He was gazing out the window, paying no attention to Ji Qingyu’s presence.

“Brother, sometimes I really envy you,” Ji Ran said, as if nothing had ever happened between them, his smile gentle. “Even when you fell into such a state, you always have things turn around for you. Meanwhile, I have to rely on myself.”

Rely on himself to harm others, steal songs, and create public opinion?

Ji Qingyu stayed silent as Ji Ran took a sip of his coffee.

Outside, the traffic flowed busily, but their secluded spot, shielded by privacy-tinted glass, remained quiet and hidden from view.

“I won’t go against you. This was an accident—I won’t affect you again, and I won’t compete for anything,” Ji Qingyu said calmly. All he cared about was Lin Ying’s safety; everything else could wait. “I promise you.”

“Not go against me?” Ji Ran looked down, spinning the luxury brand ring on his finger, his face expressionless. “You don’t have to lift a finger to write songs like that. You don’t have to sacrifice anything to gain Fu Han’s favor. What gives you the right?”

A flicker of indescribable emotion crossed Ji Ran’s face before being masked by a smile. “You could’ve just stayed quietly as a decoration, but now I have to deal with your matters. If you weren’t useful, I wouldn’t let you sit here properly.”

Useful? Ji Qingyu fell silent, nearly forgetting how much the Ji family had gained from Fu Han. This marriage had indeed been a highly profitable arrangement—the Ji family had maximized his value.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” Ji Qingyu said. He always came out defeated in front of Ji Ran, with no say in anything.

Even after such an incident, Ji Ran remained composed, quickly regrouping and finding new ways to corner him.

In front of Ji Ran, Ji Qingyu always lost, always giving others leverage, forever forced to lower his head. Ji Ran knew Ji Qingyu wouldn’t dare defy him—even a small misstep was intolerable.

Ji Qingyu bowed his head, feeling like a dog that could only obey Ji Ran.

Without needing to be told, Ji Qingyu would strive desperately for the bone placed before him, enduring any humiliation.

He never dared to disobey Ji Ran, knowing full well that Ji Ran was truly ruthless. If Ji Qingyu ever stepped out of Ji Ran’s control, he would be discarded like useless trash.

He slowly stirred his coffee. Outside, people hurried by, each with their own lives to live. Only he remained stuck, trapped in the shadows.

The sky looked like an ink-washed oil painting, rain pouring down and washing over the city's steps. Ji Qingyu felt a pang of sadness but ignored the feeling.

“Alright, brother, you’ve done your best to try to make amends. I believe you—this was just an accident. You’ve been doing well lately, and Dad is pleased. We might need you to do even more in the future,” Ji Ran said, sliding a document across the table—a hospital diagnostic report. “You know Auntie’s condition has improved, right? Persist a bit longer, and she might see the light. What do you think?”

He stood up, putting on his sunglasses. “Go home. There’s a surprise waiting for you. Since you’ve been so… accommodating, I ought to repay you.”

Repay him? Ji Qingyu tightened his grip on the coffee cup. Ji Ran’s manager was waiting by the door. As Ji Ran passed by, he casually poured the whole cup of coffee onto Ji Qingyu.

Ji Qingyu froze, not moving to avoid it.

A server, about to clear the table, stared in shock before hurriedly offering tissues. Ji Qingyu wiped his face and waved it away, saying it was fine.

He went to the restroom and tried to clean the coffee stains from his hair and clothes in front of the mirror. He’d worn white today.

Alone, he had been calm at first, but for some reason, his nose suddenly stung. Trembling, Ji Qingyu felt his eyes burn, a piercing pain rising up inside.

He repeatedly tried to wipe away the stains, but it was useless.

When he returned to his seat, his hair was dripping with water. He opened the report—the first page stated that the patient’s condition had improved.

His heart throbbed with pain, yet a smile touched his lips. The photo of Lin Ying in the medical record was from before she fell ill, her smile vivid and alive.

He stared at it for a long time, over and over.

Until the server approached. “Sir, we’re closing.”

Only then did he realize it was already dark.

Like a lost soul, Ji Qingyu didn’t know where to go, even though it was dinnertime. Eventually, he instinctively went to the performance hall, sitting alone on the edge of the stage. He changed out of his stained clothes and put on a stage costume.

His neck, which had almost healed, suddenly began to ache again. Not just his neck—all the bones in his body ached dully.

He opened his mouth, trying to make a sound, but after several attempts, he sighed. What more could he hope for? He could barely even feel the pain anymore. Sitting there blankly, Ji Qingyu suddenly remembered what Ji Ran had said in the interview.

Six years ago, Fu Han had indeed given him trouble. It was near the end of summer vacation, and Ji Qingyu was waiting backstage for Ji Ran. They had plans to get late-night snacks together.

Ji Ran treated him differently from others—warm, gentle, and enthusiastic. Unlike Fu Han’s aggressive demeanor, Ji Ran was always considerate. They even shared the same surname.

Ji Qingyu thought that if he had a younger brother, he would probably be like Ji Ran.

Come to think of it, Fu Han was younger than him too, but Fu Han’s mature and intimidating manner often made him forget that.

Someone knocked on the dressing room door. Ji Qingyu’s eyes lit up, but before he could say “come in,” Fu Han strolled in leisurely, wearing a muzzle, his gaze fixed on Ji Qingyu’s scarf.

He seemed to be holding something, but Ji Qingyu didn’t pay attention, watching as Fu Han drew closer. Ji Qingyu’s muscles tensed, his back drenched in cold sweat.

Fu Han stopped in front of him. Ji Qingyu finally saw what he was holding—flowers. Fu Han tossed the bouquet casually onto the table and reached to undo Ji Qingyu’s scarf.

Ji Qingyu forced a dry laugh, raising a hand to stop him. “Wh-what are you doing?” he stammered.

“I looked into that omega from before summer vacation. Didn’t find anything concrete, but she’s dropped out. Probably my family’s doing,” Fu Han ignored his protest, unwrapping the scarf and examining Ji Qingyu’s gland carefully. Ji Qingyu’s ears turned red, his heart pounding like a drum, but Fu Han soon released him. “My family situation is complicated.”

“I know. It’s fine.” The temporary mark was fading, but whenever Fu Han was near, his body reacted—nervous, heart racing, gland heating up. He thought their compatibility must be quite high.

Ji Qingyu lowered his head, thinking Fu Han would leave after finishing what he had to say, but the shadow remained standing before him. Fu Han gripped the back of his head, forcing him to look up.

Ji Qingyu’s mind went blank. Fu Han’s fingers traced his lips, looking down at him: "Have you ever kissed anyone?"

"...Huh?" Ji Qingyu stammered, stammering. He didn’t know what was happening—his whole body felt like a fish tossed into boiling water, thrashing uncontrollably, heart pounding.

Fu Han’s fingers pushed into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. "You’re an adult now. You should experience things. I can teach you."

"That day, I heard Ji Ran call you 'brother.' I’m younger than you too," Fu Han said with a mocking, playful tone. "I suppose I should call you 'brother' as well."

Ji Qingyu’s thoughts were a muddled mess. Part of him wanted to say, "No, I should be calling you 'sir,'" as anything else felt like it would shorten his lifespan. Another part wondered what would happen if he bit Fu Han’s finger right then.

"Never mind. If I take off the muzzle now, my self-control isn’t that reliable." Fu Han lowered his head, toying with Ji Qingyu’s lips. He was pulled up and shoved against the wall, with controlled force. Fu Han pinned him by thrusting a knee between his legs, immobilizing him. Leaning close to his ear, Fu Han’s voice was like the deepest, most refined cello, but the words that followed were so vulgar they were unbearable: "I’ll teach you something more exciting. Tell me if you don’t want it."

Fu Han pressed closer with his knee. Ji Qingyu was forced to tears, the intense stimulation making him release his pheromones uncontrollably. The scent of rain filled the entire lounge.

Fu Han’s metal muzzle rubbed against Ji Qingyu’s scent gland. Ji Qingyu’s hands on Fu Han’s back clenched and loosened. The door was knocked again, and Ji Ran’s voice came through: "Brother, are you in there? If it’s convenient, I’ll come in?"

Startled, Ji Qingyu shoved Fu Han away abruptly, trembling as he grabbed a nearby coat to wrap around himself, hiding desperately behind Fu Han. Fu Han turned back, glaring darkly at Ji Ran.

"Fu Han?" Ji Ran was also stunned, his tone tentative and somewhat knowing. "What are you doing here?"

"What’s it to you?" Fu Han replied dismissively, turning his head lazily back at Ji Ran. The muzzle gleamed with an ominous cold light, his body still shielding Ji Qingyu.

The two faced off, the air thick with tension—a single spark could ignite the cramped room. Chaos, pain, and panic flooded Ji Qingyu all at once; his brain froze.

Fu Han and Ji Ran began arguing, their voices sharp, words fierce. Ji Qingyu only vaguely caught one line: "Fu Han, have you even sorted out your family's troubles? How do you have time to mess with others? Aren’t you afraid of dragging innocent people into it?"

The dispute died down.

Ji Ran rushed over in a flash, pulling Ji Qingyu away from Fu Han’s side. Fu Han didn’t stop him.

Confused, Ji Qingyu looked back anxiously and saw Fu Han staring at the jasmine flowers on the table, his face hidden in the shadows of the dressing room. Ji Qingyu couldn’t make out his expression. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something—maybe "thank you," or something else—but it was too late for any words.

Author's Note: