Category: How To Use His Feathers (Page 1 of 7)

Thank you very much, Vi, for the ko-fi! :blobhighfive:

Thank you so much for the appreciation guys! :googleredheart:

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2024.10.20 Sunny

He said this was a small recording light screen developed by the institute next door. Because of its compact and portable design, it’s more suitable for brief daily recordings and can also sync to the cloud in real-time. So, he told me to try using it as a diary.

I’ve never liked writing diaries—things like this feel meaningless. Important memories stay in the mind, and that’s enough.

…But since he asked me to test it for a while and give feedback, I’ll just go ahead and casually record here today.

2024.10.24 Cloudy

Since I’ve already written the first one, it’s not impossible to write another one.

Today, we argued about the wedding date.

It’s now 11:32 PM. I’ve already washed up, but he’s still holed up in the lab pod and hasn’t come back… Again. If I had known earlier, I shouldn’t have agreed to buy this stupid egg.

I don’t think I’m in the wrong. He’s running for District Seven’s Chief position at the end of the year, and I believe it would be more appropriate to hold the wedding after the election. After all, a matter this important should be carefully refined and meticulously planned.

But he said he doesn’t want to delay it too long. He wants to hold the ceremony before the election so he can feel more at ease.

He’s thinking too simply. Preparing a wedding isn’t a small matter. Right now, just preparing for the election keeps him in the lab until the early hours of the morning before he comes back. In the end, has he even considered whether his body can handle it…

Forget it. I’ll go find him later and save this file.

2024.10.31 Sunny

We made up.

The wedding was finally set for late March next year. By then, the election will be over, and it will be the beginning of spring when the weather starts to warm up. We’re both very satisfied.

2024.11.3 Light Rain

While strolling around Tan City today, I saw a coat with a pretty decent design that suited him well.

But he wouldn’t let me buy it, saying I had already bought him a similar one before and that it would be a complete waste of money.

However, I must clarify—the materials of the two coats are completely different. The one I saw today is made of vicuña wool, whereas the one I bought him before was a small cashmere. The collar design, length, and tailoring are also quite different… In any case, it’s impossible to reason with this person. Every time we go shopping, all he knows is how to stuff food into his mouth.

In the end, I asked Aunt Ye to pay a deposit. We’ll just say it’s a gift from the brand. That way, when he starts his campaign speech tour at universities, he’ll have something appropriate to wear.

2024.11.5 Sunny

He said the diary light screen now has an image-uploading feature and told me to try it out.

A couple of days ago, I went to a friend’s newly opened sculpture exhibition. Some of the pieces conveyed really interesting concepts that are worth documenting. [/Image] [/Image] [/Image]

He insisted on coming along and claimed it was just a few little clay figures, nothing he wouldn’t understand. But in the end, while listening to my conversation with my friend on the couch, he dozed off on my shoulder.

It was really rude and embarrassing—I don’t even want to remember it.

…But I did take a picture of him sleeping at the time. Might as well upload it here too. [/Image]

2024.11.7 Overcast.

He peeked at my previous entries and said that a diary is meant to record my own life, not just things related to him.

This person really knows how to flatter himself. Isn’t it because a diary is a medium for recording life and that he just so happens to constantly bounce around in my life every day?

2024.11.13 Sunny

Unexpectedly, it’s been two weeks since my last entry.

He said that if I really don’t know what to write, I might as well just record our daily life together.

At some point, a drawing feature was added. He told me to give it a try.

[Directly below this line, on the left, is a white fox with crescent-shaped, smiling eyes. The fluffy texture of its ears and tail is precisely outlined with delicate strokes. On the right stands a green peac0ck with its feathers fully spread, standing tall and full of spirit, guarding the white fox’s side.]

He said I made his spirit form look too cunning, but that’s originally how it looks. I don’t know how that became my fault.

2024.11.17 Sunny

A while ago, I acquired a teardrop-shaped intense pink diamond at an auction—perfect for my sister. I’m quite satisfied with it.

I also got a wild pearl with exceptional size and luster. The moment I saw it, a flood of earring design ideas came to mind, which was kind of a surprise.

Honestly, his temperament suits wearing earrings in formal settings, but unfortunately, he doesn’t have pierced ears, and clip-ons aren’t comfortable for long wear. Hmm… Adjusting it into a necklace might be a good alternative. I’ll ask him which he prefers after the election.

Tomorrow was his final campaign speech. He never seems to get nervous. I don’t know if I should say that the person’s mental capacity is just too much, or if I should say that he’s always been so heartless.

…For some reason, I feel more nervous than he does.

2024.11.18 Sunny

He did it.

2024.12.15 Light Rain

Things have been busy lately—though, of course, it’s mostly him who can’t find the time.

After all, as the new Chief of District Seven, interviews and speeches are inevitable. But he’s too good-natured, too soft-hearted—he never knows how to refuse.

…It’s already been a week since he last came home.

Only three months until the wedding. If we don’t start planning, booking venues, and making preparations soon, we’ll run out of time. But since he hasn’t mentioned it these past couple of days, I can’t seem too eager either.

…Maybe I’ll have Aunt give him a little nudge.

2024.12.24 Heavy Rainstorm

Argued with him again.

2024.12.31 Moderate Rain

It’s been a week, and we still haven’t made up.

That day, we had an appointment to discuss wedding details with the designer, but everything was a mess from the start.

For example, the banquet menu. Shen Ying had recommended a catering team from District Two that specializes in wedding cuisine—elegant presentation without losing prestige. Even the wedding designer said it was a great choice.

But I have no idea what was going through his mind—he actually suggested having a hot pot banquet. Who serves hot pot at a wedding? The smell, the noise; it’s not like we can’t eat hot pot any other time—why must it be at our wedding?

These minor issues aside… The real problem was the wedding’s primary color scheme. He was truly unreasonable.

I envisioned the main color of the venue to be white, and had envisioned it in my head countless times.

He had never expressed any opinions on the wedding aesthetics before, but in the middle of the discussion with the designer, he suddenly said that white was too common and conventional—he wanted green as the theme color instead.

Green wasn’t a traditional color for wedding ceremonies. Aside from the difficulty of matching decorations and floral arrangements… How could our wedding be green?

So, we fought.

…In the end, I just want this most important day to align with my idea of “perfection.” What’s wrong with that?

[Unlike the neat handwriting above, a bold and flamboyant scrawl appears at the bottom of the entry:

Mr. Xiao Xi, please don’t misunderstand, I don’t have a habit of peeking in your diary. It just so happened that this diary of yours synced to my light screen’s cloud account, so it practically threw itself into my eyes.

After reading through your previous entries, I feel the need to defend myself.

The hot pot might be a bit over the top, but the restaurant you originally chose was frighteningly expensive一enough to scare someone to death. The portion sizes wouldn’t even satisfy a bird. So let’s not point fingers at each other—how about we just let the planner handle it properly?

As for the color scheme, let me clarify—green may not be a conventional choice, but it’s unique and refreshing. Besides, a wedding is supposed to be a joyous occasion. If everything is just a sea of white, doesn’t that feel a little lifeless?

And you know me, I’ve never been fixated on color aesthetics. It’s just that when I imagined our wedding, I couldn’t help but think that a green backdrop would perfectly complement our Dish Soap’s tail feathers.

I also just want the final result to be as close to my vision of perfection as possible. What’s wrong with that? Can’t we communicate a little more?

And since you’re so eager to save a file, why are you still lying in bed with your back to me, pretending to read but stuck on the same page for 15 minutes? Can’t you just turn around and say it to my face? ^_^]

2025.1.1 Moderate Rain

Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.

First of all, peeking at someone else’s diary is highly unethical. And after invading other people’s privacy, he even had the audacity to leave his own smug little note—only he could do something like that.

I’ve changed my cloud account, but it seems like he knows all my passwords anyway. If he keeps trying to peek … There’s really nothing I can do about it.

Feng Jiachi came to District Seven for business recently and I had dinner with him last night. He said that when he and Tan Yu were planning their wedding, they fought seventy times—big and small arguments combined—and even got into physical altercations twice. Compared to that, what happened between us is practically nothing.

…Might as well go find him and save a file.

2025.1.21 Sunny

The wedding plans are finally settled.

After consulting many people, we ultimately decided to leave everything to a professional wedding planner. In the end, the main color scheme isn’t green nor is it white. Instead…

Well, in any case, let’s just hope everything goes smoothly.

Things will get busy from here on out, so I’ll stop recording for a while.

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Xi Xianqing and Zhu Ming’s wedding was held in early spring of March.

Given their statuses—one as the current representative of District Six and the other as the newly elected Chief of District Seven—most people expected an extravagant and opulent affair. However, from the glimpses captured in photos, the wedding setup turned out to be… surprisingly fresh and relaxed.

As for the wedding’s main color scheme… there wasn’t one. Or rather, it was a rainbow of colors.

—Flowers from different districts were carefully selected, the banquet tables and chairs were boldly mismatched in vibrant hues, and guests were asked to dress in the same color as their spiritual manifestation.

The final result wasn’t a single, coordinated palette but a dazzling explosion of colors—bright, lively, and filled with warmth. It didn’t feel like a traditional wedding but more like a cheerful and intimate gathering with family and friends.

Amidst the applause and floral bouquets, only the two grooms stood on the stage, dressed in pristine white suits, locked in an embrace and a kiss. At their feet, the green peac0ck stood tall with an air of arrogance, its fanned tail feathers trembling ever so slightly—a subtle hint of its owner’s exceptionally good mood. Beside it, the white fox, eyes curved in a contented smile, wagged its tail and nestled into the peac0ck’s embrace.

This wedding theme was later hailed as a “dopamine-infused trend” and took the wedding design industry by storm for quite some time. Many couples followed suit, requesting the same vibrant colors and setup.

After returning home, Zhu Ming, who was so tired that his whole body was limp, rested on Xi Xianqing’s lap, scrolling through his phone before suddenly bursting into laughter.

“These media people ah, really can blow,” he flipped through the comments. “I bet even if we held our wedding in an outhouse, they’d blow it as a masterpiece of minimalist rural aesthetics.”

At that time, both of them felt that they had a point, and neither of them could convince the other whether green or white was the better choice. So, they simply went to ask other people’s opinions.

Zhu Yingying adored pink, Zhou Zhou suggested a trendy yellow, while Yang Jiahe argued that blue had a certain elegance. The discussion quickly became a pot of porridge.¹A complete mess. Zhu Ming figured that it would be better to drink it while it’s still hot—so they went with a wedding bursting with every color. Unexpectedly, it turned out better than they had imagined.

Xi Xianqing didn’t respond. Instead, he absentmindedly played with the strands of hair near the ear of the person on his lap, tracing the curve of his earlobe before his fingers came to rest on the smooth, lustrous pearl adorning it.

“I just didn’t expect you’d actually get your ears pierced just for the wedding,” He said after a long silence.

“It wasn’t entirely for the wedding,” Zhu Ming shifted into a more comfortable position, continuing to lounge lazily on his lap with a big grin. “Ear clips hurt when worn for too long. Mainly, I was thinking about a certain great designer who wrote in his diary that he wanted to give me a whole collection of sparkling earrings. Piercing my ears just makes things more convenient.”

“…You’re really full of yourself.” Xi Xianqing immediately withdrew his hand, his expression stiff. “From now on, you’re not allowed to peek at my diary anymore.”

Zhu Ming just looked at him with a smile.

Xi Xianqing remained silent for a moment before lowering his gaze and pressing his lips against Zhu Ming’s.

From the early, awkward kisses disguised as asking for medicine to now, where every movement and rhythm had become second nature, they no longer needed words to communicate their understanding. Their breaths intertwined, melting together, the rustling of fabric gradually shifting the pace.

It wasn’t until every button on his shirt had been silently undone by a certain great designer that Zhu Ming finally pressed a hand against Xi Xianqing’s chest, creating a small gap between them. “By the way, we should probably start thinking about where to go for our honeymoon.”

“Back when you were going through assessments, we only visited Districts Two, Four, and Six. We’ve never been to District Three together.” Zhu Ming’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he softly suggested, “How about a trip to District Three?”

Bringing up his own request at such a crucial moment was certainly a smart way to make it difficult to refuse.

Xi Xianqing, propping himself up on one arm, glanced behind Zhu Ming at the white fox’s swaying tail and responded slowly, “District Two is a well-known vacation destination. It would be a much safer choice for a honeymoon.”

Zhu Ming didn’t waver in the slightest. “Tan Yu told me that District Three’s ski season lasts until the end of April. That sounds a lot more fun than just soaking in hot springs.”

“District Three is too far.”

“District Two is too hot.”

“…”

“Mr. Xiao Xi, don’t you think it’d be a waste to spend our wedding night arguing? How about this—we go to District Three for skiing and adventure first, then head to District Two for a relaxing vacation. How does that sound?”

“It’s not impossible.”

“Great, I’ll look into the details of our itinerary when I get back… Hey, how many times have I told you, not the neck. I have to give a speech at T University tomorrow afternoon, did you forget? Xi Xianqing, are you listening—”

“Can’t hear.”

2025.3.27, Light Rain Turning Sunny

We got married.

It rained in the morning and it was rare to see a rainbow. [/Photo]

But he was too exhausted last night and is still sleeping. I’ll show him the picture when he wakes up.

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Author’s notes:

That’s it for the Peac0ck and the Fox’s story la! They may not be perfect individuals, but they are truly lovable, I really adore them!

A new story is still in the works. You can follow me on Weibo @芥菜糊糊 oh!

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Jie Jie: Seems like this’ll only be the extra chapter? :gentleblob:

Again, thanks so much, everyone for reading and your support! :blobsnuggle:

Thank you so much, nilvy2003reserve/Fun~Osh, for the ko-fi!!! :blobaww:

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Within just one week, three major hotspot events erupted in Xi Star.

The first was a heavyweight announcement: Xi Jianfeng, the current representative of District Six, declared that he would step down next month. Furthermore, District Six would implement a dual-representative system, with Xi Xianqing and Xi Sen jointly assuming the representative position.

As soon as the news broke, it caused an uproar. Netizens, who always enjoyed watching dramatic power struggles in wealthy families, found such a peaceful and harmonious resolution unbelievable. Some even speculated that this entire evaluation process might have been a meticulously orchestrated publicity stunt by the Old Master Xi from the very beginning.

The second incident stirred up intense discussion within District Seven—although Qin Weisheng’s imprisonment was kept strictly confidential, his dismissal from his teaching position was officially announced on K University’s campus website.

Shortly after, K University officially introduced a new talent for its Spiritual Manifestation Anomalies Research Institute—Zhu Ming, the only person in District Seven’s history to achieve a perfect score on the medical exam and a former employee of T University.

The long-standing rivalry between these two prestigious universities was well known. Some joked that Zhu Ming was a top school collector and speculated that his move to K University was aimed at competing for the next Chief position. Others dug up footage from the auditorium on the day Ruan Min publicly reported Qin Weisheng, suspecting there might be hidden details behind the matter. However, due to a lack of solid evidence and the seemingly far-fetched nature of the theories, the speculation eventually faded away.

The third incident was quite intriguing and cleverly connected to the protagonists of the previous two events—paparazzi captured Xi Xianqing, whose personal schedule had been hectic lately, occasionally appearing outside K University’s research institute to pick up Zhu Ming and return together to their residence in District Seven.

Paparazzi who staked out overnight discovered that this pair, who had only recently finalized their divorce, would usually stay together for the entire night. This left netizens feeling as if they were being toyed with.

“Do I have an extra memory segment? Last time these two made it to the trending list, weren’t they… getting their divorce certificate? Ah, ah, ah?”

<As Divorced>

“No, no, I zoomed in on the pictures, and it looks like they put their rings back on… Is this some kind of relationship kink? Or a new style of dating? Does breaking up and getting back together make love more thrilling?”

“Wait, am I the only one wondering if they’ll have a wedding if they remarry? After all, they never had a proper ceremony the first time ah. A District Six representative’s wedding is bound to be an aesthetic masterpiece… Rubbing my hands in anticipation…”

“Has anyone considered that if Zhu Ming wins the next Chief election, the combination of District Six’s representative × District Seven’s chief might be a bit too good to ship…”

As winter neared its end and the ice and snow of early spring began to melt, everything gradually returned to normal.

For Xi Xianqing, taking on the heavy responsibility of District Six’s representative after the assessment was no easy task. The numerous affairs he inherited from Xi Jianfeng kept him overwhelmed, with one social event following another. His private studio was also fully booked with client orders, leaving him completely swamped.

Zhu Ming was even busier, to the point where he barely had a moment to rest—he had just officially signed with K University, and his laboratory was still in its infancy. Moving, renovations, equipment procurement—every step required his personal attention.

Although District Six and District Seven weren’t far apart, commuting still took a considerable amount of time. The two could only squeeze in whatever moments they could, occasionally managing to meet after work.

One afternoon, Xi Xianqing came to pick up Zhu Ming from work.

Zhu Ming had been in meetings from morning till night and slept the entire way. When he woke up, he groggily stared at the unfamiliar villa and surroundings outside the window for five seconds. “Excuse me, which planet am I on right now?”

Xi Xianqing was clearly satisfied with his reaction. With his arms elegantly crossed over his chest, he glanced at him. “You’re in our home.”

Still half-asleep, Zhu Ming obediently nodded. “Oh, oh, so it’s our home ah.”

Five seconds later, Zhu Ming fully woke up. “…Where am I? What did you just say? Say that again?”

Xi Xianqing’s solution to their long-distance relationship was simple and straightforward—he had directly purchased his own property in District Seven, complete with a swimming pool and garden, and had moved most of his private studio’s belongings there.

Zhu Ming often struggled to understand this nobleman’s peculiar spending habits, but he had to admit—money did solve most of life’s troubles.

Zhu Ming’s villa in District Seven housed Zhu Yingying, while Xi Xianqing’s estate in District Six was home to Xi Mufei, making certain matters inconvenient to handle. Though this new place was extravagant… it was far more practical than a rose made of gemstones.

Thus, they officially began living together.

Zhu Ming’s new laboratory was finally renovated, and its members were brimming with enthusiasm, their ambition far exceeding his own. Meetings related to their research projects were practically drowning him.

One Friday, just as he was preparing to leave work, Liu Kuan suddenly knocked on his door, poked his head in, and said that some newly obtained experimental results were difficult to interpret. He asked if Zhu Ming could stay an extra half hour to discuss them with the team.

Although Zhu Ming had repeatedly emphasized that overtime was strictly prohibited in his lab, he couldn’t bring himself to turn away those genuinely eager for knowledge. So, he sent a message to Xi Xianqing: “Working late today, might be home a bit later.”

When he arrived at the break room, he was surprised to find that at some point, the space had been decorated like a small party. Zhou Zhou, Ruan Min, and several other researchers were gathered around the table, all smiling as they looked at him.

Liu Kuan raised his glass, while his capybara spiritual manifestation swayed its round body. “Professor Zhu, this little party was planned by everyone as a way to thank you. Thank you for joining our team and giving us the opportunity to come together here…”

Thinking about how he had sent emails to Zhu Ming for years without ever receiving a reply, Liu Kuan glanced outside at the well-organized lab and was so overwhelmed that he nearly choked up, unable to form a complete sentence. Beside him, Qian Duo quickly took over. “Professor Zhu, come on, let’s have a drink.”

“I appreciate your kind gesture, but you all should know—there will be plenty of hardships ahead. Just don’t start cursing me behind my back later.”

Zhu Ming blinked playfully, patted Liu Kuan on the shoulder, then glanced hesitantly at the alcohol on the table. “But let’s skip the drinks ha. I tend to get a little crazier when I’m drunk…”

Liu Kuan and Qian Duo assumed he was just being modest. “Just one drink! If you get drunk, we’ll take you home.”

Zhu Ming found it hard to refuse and reluctantly accepted the glass.

Ten minutes later, the break room had become an entirely different scene.

“Everyone, stand still and be quiet!”

Seated in the center of the room, Zhu Ming’s cheeks were flushed, his expression solemn. Drunkenly, he slammed a hand on the table. “Listen carefully to my next instruction!”

Everyone in the room: “…”

Qian Duo trembled as he whispered, “H-how could this be? We only gave Professor Zhu two glasses of fruit wine ah…”

Zhou Zhou took a deep breath in agony. “Forget two glasses—he can’t even have a single drop. Last time he drank, he straight-up forced a kiss on someone… Anyway, his alcohol tolerance is absolutely terrible.”

Qian Duo immediately clamped a hand over his mouth: “…”

“Now, release your spiritual manifestations—”

Zhu Ming hiccupped, paused for a moment, then planted his hands on his hips and commanded with full authority, “…Release your spiritual manifestations so I can inspect them!”

Everyone: “…”

Five minutes later, a line of trembling rodents stood in formation inside the break room. Zhou Zhou’s roe deer and Ruan Min’s sika deer were positioned at the very end, while the rest exchanged wary glances at Zhu Ming, who sat upright with a solemn expression.

With his cheeks flushed red, Zhu Ming wore sensor gloves and meticulously examined each one.

After checking Zhou Zhou’s roe deer, Zhu Ming nodded in satisfaction. “Very healthy. Keep it up.”

Zhou Zhou grinned widely and scratched his head, pleased.

When it was Ruan Min’s turn, Zhu Ming picked up the sika deer’s hoof, observed it carefully, and then touched its antlers. “Slight malnutrition. You need to rest more.”

Ruan Min lowered his gaze and softly responded, “Okay.”

Finally, when it was Liu Kuan’s turn, Zhu Ming, still drunk, squinted at the stout and solid capybara on the floor, studying it in deep thought.

“Your spiritual manifestation’s BMI has exceeded 35. That puts it in the category of second-degree obesity.”

Zhu Ming spoke in a serious tone, patted the capybara’s belly and vaguely instructed, “…Turn around so I can assess the fat distribution on your butt.”

Liu Kuan broke out in a cold sweat and stammered, “P-Professor Zhu, I-I’ll watch my diet, but… my butt… can we just let that slide..”

Zhu Ming turned his head, covered his mouth, and let out a hiccup, just about to voice his dissatisfaction. But Zhou Zhou’s gaze suddenly shifted behind him, his expression changing drastically as he started frantically signaling with his eyes. “Zhu—Zhu-ge, maybe you should rein it in a little first—”

Zhu Ming didn’t appreciate being interrupted in the middle of a consultation. He frowned, his drunken eyes hazy, and let out a questioning “Hm?”

Turning around, he saw Xi Xianqing standing at the entrance of the break room. He was wearing a long dark brown trench coat, his expression cold as he crossed his arms over his chest.

His gaze landed on Zhu Ming’s hand resting on the capybara’s round body. After a few seconds, he spoke in a flat tone, “So this is the overtime you were talking about?”

Lying about working late, attending a party instead, “inspecting” other people’s spiritual manifestations at the party, and getting caught red-handed in the process of caressing.

The consequence of all this was that when they got home, Zhu Ming was pinned down in the study by Xi Xianqing for an intense “overtime” session.

The desk in the new home was spacious, and the bookshelves were large. Zhu Ming braced one hand against the desk and the other against the shelf, his fingers turning pale from the pressure. The books above wobbled slightly with each movement.

His drunkenness had mostly worn off on the way back. At first, he had tried to pretend he was still drunk to muddle through, but when his voice began to change, he could only hoarsely plead to move to the bed instead.

Usually, Xi Xianqing had a soft spot for him acting spoiled. But today, the cold-faced peac0ck, clearly in a bad mood and immune to any coaxing, remained unmoved no matter what Zhu Ming said. He simply kept his head down, focused on his actions, using a force heavier than ever before.

Strangely, this stirred an indescribable thrill within Zhu Ming, a mix of fear and something he couldn’t quite name. He wasn’t sure if it felt good or unbearable, but his body reacted instinctively. Tears welled up and slipped down his beautifully flushed eyes, and his white fox tail trembled in waves. One person and one fox were exhausted to the point that they didn’t even have the strength to move a finger.

By the time they were in the bathroom cleaning up, Zhu Ming could do nothing but cling to Xi Xianqing, at the mercy of the other party.

Reflecting on the night’s events, Zhu Ming realized that he might have made a few too many mistakes. So, he hooked his arms around Xi Xianqing’s neck and began eliminating possibilities one by one.

He tested the waters first. “I… won’t drink anymore?”

Xi Xianqing didn’t respond, just lifted his eyelids and glanced at him.

Zhu Ming thought for a moment before continuing, “I’ll report my schedule in time from now on and leave work on time.”

Xi Xianqing seemed slightly more satisfied, but he still didn’t say anything. He simply lowered his gaze and continued rinsing the lingering soap suds from Zhu Ming’s backside with the showerhead.

Still the wrong answer.

Suddenly, Zhu Ming remembered something. He tapped Xi Xianqing’s chest with his index finger and softly tested the waters by whispering in his ear, “From now on, this hand will only touch our Dish Soap?”

He felt Xi Xianqing’s arm around him pause abruptly.

The password was correct.

Xi Xianqing finally looked at him. After a long moment, he spoke in a faint tone. “…You can touch whoever you want. I’m not so petty as to stop you from practicing medicine.”

Zhu Ming blinked and explained warmly, “I never said you were stopping me ah. I’m doing this completely of my own free will—is that not allowed?”

“But besides Dish Soap…”

Amid the hazy steam, Zhu Ming smiled and tilted his face up at him, while his hand restlessly trailed down from Xi Xianqing’s firm chest. Slowly sliding down, it finally settled somewhere unexpected—though, perhaps, not entirely out of their expectations. “There are indeed a few other meaningful places worth touching.”

Xi Xianqing’s breath grew noticeably heavier. Then, a soft, teasing voice whispered, “…Haven’t we never tried it in the shower?”

The mist blurred everything, but Zhu Ming’s damp eyelashes couldn’t hide the mischievous glint in his gaze—an invitation, clear as day.

The showerhead fell to the ground. His breath hitched—Xi Xianqing lowered his head, pressing the person in front of him against the cool bathroom wall, claiming his lips without hesitation.

Zhu Ming’s laboratory at K University’s research institute had officially begun operations. Upon joining, he received numerous well-wishes and gifts.

Shen Ying’s cake shop in District Two had officially opened, and she specially sent over several boxes of exquisitely crafted cupcakes in various flavors. Her baking skills were exceptional, earning unanimous praise from everyone in the lab.

Additionally, two tightly sealed parchment paper bags arrived, carefully labeled with handwritten heating instructions. Upon opening them, he found an abundance of sweet pancakes imprinted with lamb and cherry blossom patterns—undoubtedly a heartfelt gift from Ji Rong.

Tang Yu and Feng Jiachi also sent their congratulations. They were currently vacationing in District Three but didn’t forget to mail over a few newly developed robots from their company.

Each robot had different functions—some assisted in recording experimental data, others transported and replenished lab supplies, and some could even automatically clean test tubes and beakers, significantly saving valuable time during experiments.

At 5 p.m. on Friday, most of the lab members clocked out on time. As they passed his office, they each stopped by to say goodbye to Zhu Ming.

Zhu Ming responded with a warm smile to each of them. Since Xi Xianqing would be arriving a bit later to pick him up, he still had some time, so he took the opportunity to organize the files on his desk.

Most of them were medical cases and treatment plans he had accumulated over the years. With the patients’ consent, several fascinating and unique cases could be incorporated into his future research projects.

Zhu Ming printed and bound them together, flipping through the pages now, feeling a deep sense of accomplishment.

Of course, among all these cases, the most unique one—the only one he had bound separately—was titled “How To Use His Feathers.”

As Zhu Ming read through the file, the smile in his eyes grew even brighter. He kept flipping until he reached the last blank page, where he paused thoughtfully.

Yes, this case was still incomplete.

Picking up the pen beside him, he pondered for a moment before adding the final record.

[Spiritual Manifestation Abnormality]: Congenital inability to control tail feathers.

[Reason for This Record]: Fully recovered, now able to control and spread tail feathers at will.

(Note: In moments of shyness or intense physiological fluctuations, the tail feathers may still occasionally tremble uncontrollably at high speed.)

The pen halted over the [Treatment Plan Summary] section. The white fox’s ears twitched slightly as Zhu Ming set the pen down, momentarily at a loss for how to describe it.

Typically, this section contained details about medication names, dosages, and administration frequencies. But Xi Xianqing’s condition was something beyond the realm of drugs, data, and scientific explanation.

Just as he was caught in indecision, a knock sounded at the door. Looking up, he saw the patient himself standing there, his expression composed.

Zhu Ming raised an eyebrow and put down his pen. “Why’d you come up directly? You could’ve just called—I’d have come downstairs.”

Xi Xianqing calmly lifted the bag in his hand, while the green peac0ck behind him squinted its bead-like eyes in visible contentment. “Brought some decorations over on the way.”

Zhu Ming: “…”

When he had first moved into K University’s research institute, Xi Xianqing—whose aesthetic standards were exacting and who pursued a refined lifestyle—had visited his office once. From the moment he stepped in, his brows had remained furrowed the entire time.

At first, Zhu Ming had been quite satisfied with his setup, but after being scrutinized by that sharp, critical gaze, he suddenly started to feel like the place was indeed a bit shabby. “How about… you help me spruce it up a little?”

Zhu Ming had said “a little”, but clearly, he and Xi Xianqing had vastly different interpretations of that phrase.

At first, the decorations Xi Xianqing brought were relatively normal—just small ornaments. But as time went on, they became increasingly extravagant: high-relief vases, enamel music boxes… and even a massive oil painting.

And now, in his hands was yet another excessive addition—a bonsai plant so meticulously pruned and obviously expensive that even the pot alone screamed wealth.

Zhu Ming took a deep breath. “This is my office, not a museum.”

Xi Xianqing stared at him for a long time without speaking. Behind him, the green peac0ck blinked its bead-like eyes, and its slightly raised tail feathers drooped down quietly.

Zhu Ming let out a soft sigh and looked at the bonsai. “But it is really beautiful… Alright, I’ll trouble you to set it up for me.”

Only then did Xi Xianqing respond with a faint “Mm.” He turned around and faced Zhu Ming’s nearly overflowing bookshelf, searching for the perfect spot.

Zhu Ming watched his movements, then glanced at the green peac0ck behind him, which was now happily fluffing up its tail again. His lips twitched slightly as if reminded of something, and he picked up his pen once more.

After adjusting the bonsai to the perfect angle, Xi Xianqing turned back and found Zhu Ming smiling faintly, writing something down on paper.

He glanced over, “What are you writing?”

Zhu Ming quickly blocked it with his hand, “Secret.”

“…” Xi Xianqing exhaled, then picked up the coat from the nearby rack, spread it open, and held it up behind him. In a calm tone, he said, “The movie starts in half an hour.”

Only then did Zhu Ming reluctantly set down his pen and stand up. “Coming, coming.”

He obediently slipped his hands into the sleeves, letting Xi Xianqing fasten the buttons for him while making a perfectly justified request. “After the movie, I want to eat that coconut chicken hotpot we saw last time.”

“Okay.”

“But I’m already starving ah… Hmm, let’s get a bucket of popcorn before the movie. Oh, and a buttered corn on the cob. And an iced cola… I’ll go pick up the tickets, and you go buy them for me.”

“…

“Xi Xianqing, don’t pretend you didn’t hear me again. Did you remember everything or not?”

“…Got it.”

The office door clicked shut behind them. In the hallway, their fingers intertwined, their shadows stretching long under the golden hues of the setting sun.

Behind them, the white fox flicked its soft, fluffy tail, while the green peac0ck lifted its dazzling, slender feathers. Side by side, they followed their masters’ footsteps, gradually disappearing at the end of the corridor.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the clouds in tranquil shades of orange and violet. The golden afterglow spilled gently across the sky, and a soft breeze stirred, rustling the papers on the desk.

On the last page of the “How To Use His Feathers” case file, under the section labeled “Final Treatment Plan,” was the line Zhu Ming had just written in bold strokes:

—Incurable by medicine, only love can heal.

[How To Use His Feathers] End of Main Text.

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Author’s notes:

It’s finished la!

Longtime readers probably know that both the plot and characters in this story were outside my comfort zone. Before starting, I had to do a lot of mental preparation, and after writing, I realized many of my shortcomings. It was exhausting and made me pull my hair out, but at the same time, it was incredibly fulfilling!

No matter what, I’m really happy that I was able to present the story of the peac0ck and the fox completely and satisfyingly for everyone. ^_^

I’ve been really busy lately, so the extras will have to wait for a bit before I start writing them. Feel free to comment on what you’d like to see～

Last but not least, if you enjoyed this book, please follow my Changpei author’s column and my Weibo @芥菜糊糊—it would mean a lot to me ψ(｀∇´)ψ

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Jie Jie: Thanks so much, everyone! This novel’s main text is finally done! :blobhighfive:

Thank you for your support! If you can, please support the author! Here’s the novel’s raw link :googleredheart:

I’ll be posting the extra chapter this week! I’ll monitor it from time to time to see if there’ll be more extras from the author :blobsnuggle:

Thank you so much, nilvy2003reserve/Fun~Osh, for the ko-fi!!! :blobaww:

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The space in the lab pod was ultimately quite small, and with various reagents scattered messily across the table, it was not an ideal place to continue.

So, after some back and forth, they eventually returned to the villa. Zhu Ming was particularly concerned about the value of the gemstone crown and entered the bedroom first, carefully placing it on an absolutely secure cabinet.

Just as he let out a breath of relief and turned around, Xi Xianging’s kiss descended upon him like a tidal wave.

They had indeed held back for too long—Xi Xianging gripped Zhu Ming’s hair with one hand, kissing him fervently, while the other hand unhesitatingly worked to unbutton Zhu Ming’s shirt. Zhu Ming responded with a muffled laugh, his own hands restlessly trailing downward until they finally settled over Xi Xianqing’s zipper.

Though they had made thorough preparations and taken precautions, they were both novices, so the beginning was inevitably somewhat clumsy and tentative.

The green peac0ck spread its dazzling tail feathers, trembling at a rapid frequency, every movement cautious and gentle. Yet, the white fox still instinctively shrank back from the pain, the tip of its tail trembling slightly. As if mindful of the peac0ck’s emotions and dignity, it endured the discomfort and nuzzled the peac0ck’s slender, magnificent feathers with its nose in an affectionate gesture.

The peac0ck tilted its head and neck slightly upward in pleasure, its feathers quivering with increasing delight.

The white fox had mentally prepared itself long ago, but it still hadn’t expected that a young, healthy male green peac0ck would be so exceptionally developed—not only physically impressive but also naturally refined and elegant. The peac0ck’s unhurried nature made every step gentle and slow.

However, this didn’t make it any easier for the white fox; it only left him insatiable, tormented by an unquenchable longing.

So, during the intermission, Zhu Ming, his cheeks flushed red and his eyes glistening with moisture, braced a hand against Xi Xianging’s chest, panting as he tactfully suggested, “Mr. Xiao Xi, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but you don’t have to be this considerate of my feelings. We can indulge… a little.”

Xi Xianging propped himself up on his arms beside him, condescendingly gazing down at Zhu Ming’s face. His sweat-dampened hair clung to his prominent nose bridge, and he remained silent.

“You said it yourself.” After a long pause, he responded in a low voice.

At first, Zhu Ming didn’t understand what he meant

Of course, he soon understood.

—The white fox, who had only just regained control over his legs, had no concept of the stamina of a peac0ck in its prime, let alone the consequences of recklessly suggesting they “indulge a little.”

At first, he could barely keep up, holding his own. But as things progressed, the exhausted white fox no longer even had the strength to tremble his tail to beg for mercy. Gasping for breath, he struggled to escape, but after barely taking two steps, he was unceremoniously dragged back into the territory by the green peac0ck, who was experiencing indulgence for the first time.

Zhu Ming could no longer bear it. He tried to inch silently toward the edge of the bed, his voice trembling slightly at the end, “Enough, enough, we don’t have to be this indulgent. I think moderation is important sometimes…”

Before he could finish, his hand suddenly clenched the edge of the bed. His eyes widened in disbelief, and the rest of his words were swallowed by a deep, lingering kiss.

The green peac0ck remained calm and silent the entire time, completely focused. At first, the white fox still whimpered delicately once or twice, but by the end, he didn’t even have the strength to make a sound.

Zhu Ming wanted to cry without tears. Burying his face into the pillow, Zhu Ming interlocked his fingers with the sweat-dampened hand of the young man behind him. He had a sinking feeling that if this went on any longer, he’d be back in a wheelchair tomorrow. With what little breath he had left, he weakly called Xi Xianqing’s name, “…Xi Xianqing, Xi Xianqing, listen to me first!”

Xi Xianqing paused slightly, panting as he leaned in close to Zhu Ming’s ear.

Zhu Ming tilted his face up, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss to his Adam’s apple before whispering in his ear, “…I love you.”

Xi Xianqing’s body abruptly stiffened. Zhu Ming immediately sensed a change, his breath hitching as a faint gasp escaped his throat. Only after a long moment did his body finally relax, his breathing gradually evening out.

Goal achieved. After a while, Zhu Ming lifted a hand to hook around the young man’s neck, his beautiful eyes glistening as they curved into a teasing smile—

“It seems like you love hearing that sentence just now, huh? Then from now on… I’ll say it to you more often?”

“…Mm.”

“Alright, go take a shower first. Tomorrow afternoon, I have an appointment with Qian Duo and Liu Kuan at K University to research… Wait, you’re not serious, are you? Xi Xianqing? Just how much stamina do you—ugh—”

“It’s the last time, relax.”

…

Naturally, the meeting scheduled for the next afternoon never happened—it was postponed to the day after.

Even with two days to recover, Zhu Ming hadn’t ended up back in a wheelchair, but he still had to call Zhou Zhou over to serve as his human crutch.

In the end, with his left hand gripping the foolish roe deer and his right hand supporting himself against the wall, Zhu Ming barely managed to walk into the research institute building at K University.

Zhou Zhou simply assumed that Zhu Ming’s legs hadn’t fully recovered and didn’t think much of it.

However, since they were standing close together, Zhou Zhou quickly noticed the faint marks scattered across Zhu Ming’s neck while assisting him. “Goodness ya, Zhu-ge, what the hell bit your neck like that… Wait a minute, does District Seven actually have mosquitoes in winter? These bites look vicious—could it be some genetically mutated new species? The mouthparts evolved to be this intense…”

The corner of Zhu Ming’s mouth twitched as he tugged his collar up with some effort. “…Probably some kind of new mutant species that evolved a beak.”

While Zhou Zhou was still lost in confusion, Zhu Ming’s steps suddenly slowed, stopping in front of an office door.

This was the third floor of K University’s Institute of Spiritual Manifestation Anomalies. Most of this area had originally belonged to Qin Weisheng’s team. Now that Qin Weisheng was in prison, his team had disbanded and scattered, leaving the entire lab deserted and desolate.

Zhu Ming quietly looked at the interior of Qin Weisheng’s office.

The bookshelves had been cleared of awards, and the desk was completely empty—there wasn’t a single trace of Qin Weisheng left. But perhaps the staff at K University had cleaned in a hurry, the only thing there was the potted Thousand-Star Tangerine on the windowsill, heavy with ripe fruit, left behind and forgotten.

Zhu Ming exhaled lightly, walked to the windowsill, and gently brushed his fingers over the textured leaves. After a moment, he bent down and picked up the Thousand-Star Tangerine, cradling it in his arms.

“I’ll carry it, Zhu-ge. I’m stronger,” Zhou Zhou offered immediately.

Zhu Ming shook his head, “It’s fine, I want to carry it myself for a while.”

They walked slowly and quietly through Qin Weisheng’s laboratory. Just as they turned a corner, they unexpectedly ran into someone.

—Ruan Min stood at his workstation, meticulously spraying alcohol and wiping down every corner.

He was doing it with great care. This had long been his routine in the K University lab—every day, before starting any experiments, he would always clean everything thoroughly. Over the years, he had repeated this process tens of thousands of times.

And today, it was destined to be his last.

So this time, he cleaned even more attentively, carefully wiping down every edge and crevice, as if bidding farewell to the past. A small sika deer spiritual manifestation crouched quietly at his feet, its eyes lowered, silently keeping him company.

When he unintentionally lifted his head, Ruan Min saw Zhu Ming and Zhou Zhou standing in the distance and froze. “Z-Zhu, Mr. Zhu…”

Zhu Ming’s expression remained natural. “Packing up?”

Ruan Min nodded awkwardly. “Yes.”

Zhu Ming studied his face for a while before asking, “Any plans for the future?”

“Most of the team members have already found new labs, but there are still two junior colleagues who haven’t been able to find a professor willing to take them in. I can’t help but worry about them.”

Ruan Min said softly, eyes downcast. “So I’m helping them revise and refine their research proposals, sending applications to universities outside K University. I’ll keep doing it until I find a lab willing to accept them.”

Zhu Ming nodded, “And you?”

Ruan Min was momentarily stunned, as if he hadn’t expected Zhu Ming to care about his future.

To outsiders, Ruan Min and Qin Weisheng were undoubtedly cut from the same cloth. Even though he had personally reported Qin Weisheng, his only source of support, he was still seen as a tumor to be avoided by other university labs—no one was willing to take the risk of hiring him.

“I don’t know,” Ruan Min’s voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. “Maybe I’ll go back to my rural hometown, visit my family, take a break, and then think about the future.”

“I’ll just take it one step at a time. Maybe I’ll become a teacher or a tutor—both are good options.” He lowered his head and forced a small smile. “Of course, that is if… anyone is willing to hire me.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Zhu Ming didn’t respond right away, but Zhou Zhou’s expression grew complicated.

K University, as a top-tier institution, only admitted the best of the best—students who had passed through rigorous selection and interviews. In Ruan Min’s remote rural hometown, where educational resources were extremely scarce, it took centuries for even one student to get into K University.

He wasn’t an unparalleled genius, but to emerge from such an environment was already an exceptional feat.

Yet now, someone so outstanding had been reduced to this. Qin Weisheng had destroyed far more than just Zhu Ming’s life.

After a long silence, Zhu Ming placed the Thousand-Star Tangerine onto the nearby lab bench.

He glanced around the room before saying, “Ruan Min, I’m establishing my own research group at K University. It’ll focus on spiritual manifestation abnormalities, and the lab will likely be on the floor below this one.”

Ruan Min stared at him in a daze. “Congratulations.”

Zhu Ming’s tone was calm yet firm. “The lab is just getting started. It’s not a big team yet, but it’s well-equipped, and everyone has a lot of ideas. We’re planning to recruit researchers in related fields—especially those with solid experience.”

Ruan Min stood there blankly, and even the little sika deer at his feet blinked in confusion. “That sounds great ah.”

Zhu Ming: “…”

It was rare to see someone with such an incredibly slow reaction time. Even Zhou Zhou, who was usually oblivious, couldn’t help but cover his mouth and stifle a laugh with a cough.

Ruan Min looked between the two of them, finally realizing what was happening. His breathing quickened, and the sika deer at his feet widened its round eyes. “I-I don’t deserve—”

“Why wouldn’t you deserve it?”

Zhu Ming smiled slightly. “I may not be the best mentor either. It might take me a long time to fully adapt to this new role as well. But aren’t we starting from the same point?”

“I once made a small promise to my lover—to do my best to compete for the next Chief position.”

He raised his hand and lightly shook the wedding ring on his finger, letting out a soft sigh. “Since I’ve said it, if I don’t achieve it in the end, I’d be a little embarrassed in front of him.”

“So, we have to give it our best shot. It shouldn’t be too difficult, right?” He grinned.

Even the most well-funded and high-profile labs in District Seven wouldn’t dare to set such an audacious goal.

Yet, coming from him, it sounded effortless—like status and fame held no real appeal to him. What he truly cared about was simply fulfilling a small promise to his lover.

Zhu Ming’s lips curled slightly. “So, Ruan Min—would you consider joining my lab?”

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Author’s notes:

That (eyes darting around) just in case anything unexpected happens in the future (poking fingers together), you guys can follow my Weibo in advance ha @芥菜糊糊.

And we’re almost at the finale! I’d love to get some starfish!¹Another way to help the author boost their novel. (wiggles)

Thank you so much, nilvy2003reserve/Fun~Osh, for the ko-fi!!! :blobaww:

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Although Zhu Ming hadn’t expected it to happen today, he understood that since they were both men, just kissing without doing anything else didn’t make much sense.

They had both reacted to each other before, and it had taken until today to reach this point. In fact, their progress was already quite slow.

And Xi Xianqing obviously wanted it too—because the green peac0ck by the bed was trembling like a sieve, its tail feathers fully fanned out as it twisted and turned in circles around the bedroom.

Zhu Ming actually enjoyed seeing Xi Xianqing feigned composure. His expression remained cold and arrogant, but the flush on his ears and the blatant reaction of his spiritual manifestation betrayed him completely.

The bedroom was very quiet, the atmosphere thick with intimacy. Xi Xianqing braced his arms on either side of Zhu Ming. After a moment, he shifted slightly, as if about to lean in.

Zhu Ming, with his collar hanging loose, curved his lips slightly. Just as he lowered his gaze to respond, he saw Xi Xianqing press his lips together briefly before deliberately turning his face away.

As if struggling to endure, Xi Xianqing took a deep breath. Then, restraining himself, he grabbed the nearby blanket and unceremoniously threw it over Zhu Ming.

And then… he wrapped Zhu Ming up?

Zhu Ming, now cocooned like a silkworm and unable to move, looked utterly baffled. “…What are you doing?”

Xi Xianqing straightened up, deliberately putting distance between them. Standing by the bed, he said, “I can’t sign for it yet.”

Zhu Ming wondered if there was something wrong with his ears. He found it both amusing and absurd. “Mr. Xiao Xi, you were the one who asked for the gift. My clothes are already stripped off like this and delivered to you—how can you refuse to accept it now?”

“What? Is it because you don’t like this gift, so you don’t want to sign for it?” He blinked as if feeling a little pitiful, his voice turning soft.

Xi Xianqing’s eyes darkened instantly. He took a deep breath as if struggling to restrain himself.

“I want it very much.” After a long time, he said rarely and straightforwardly.

“But I don’t want to obtain it this way. Maybe it’s just because too much has happened today, or perhaps you were moved by my own work, causing a temporary surge of emotions, which led you to half-heartedly decide to give me this gift.”

He didn’t look directly into Zhu Ming’s eyes as he spoke, enunciating each word carefully. “Right now, all I need is for you to rest, calm down, and think carefully about our relationship.”

When he said to think carefully about our relationship, his tone seemed to deepen slightly. A faint blush climbed up the side of his face, and he discreetly glanced at Zhu Ming.

“And then… consider whether you are truly willing—whether you genuinely want to give me this gift,” he said hoarsely.

Zhu Ming: “…”

He understood where Xi Xianqing was coming from, but given how far things had already progressed, it was hard to just snap out of it. “I get your reasoning, but you—”

Before he could finish, the bedroom lights suddenly dimmed. The next moment, he felt the mattress behind him sink slightly.

“No buts.”

The young man behind him cut him off coldly without explanation and unceremoniously pulled him into his arms, holding him firmly. “Close your eyes. Sleep. Get some proper rest now.”

Although Zhu Ming was baffled by Xi Xianqing’s actions—like opening a gift halfway only to shut the box again—wrapped in a thick blanket in the depths of winter, with the steady warmth from the man behind him, he slept more comfortably and peacefully than ever before.

Of course, when they woke up, they would have a lot to deal with.

The commotion in the auditorium had been far too sensational—after all, Qin Weisheng, driven by selfish motives, had invited numerous media outlets and even broadcasted the event live across all of Xi Star.

Online discussions surged like a tidal wave, quickly dividing into two major factions.

People in District Seven were busy eating melons, eagerly debating Qin Weisheng’s academic misconduct while also speculating whether the Chief Researcher position, now vacant after Ruan Min’s dismissal, would remain open for a year or if the next election would be held ahead of schedule.

Outside District Seven, netizens were focused on analyzing Xi Xianqing’s work—some were amazed by the flowing mercury mechanism inside the trophy, while others wondered whether the now-colorless piece could still be evaluated. Most passersby, however, fixated on the massive golden trophy that had changed color: was there really no way to restore it?

The news of Qin Weisheng’s imprisonment and investigation, on the other hand, didn’t spread widely. On one hand, Zhu Ming didn’t want anyone—especially Zhu Yingying—to know about it. On the other hand, K University was actively distancing itself from the incident, deliberately suppressing its impact on public opinion.

Unexpectedly, the police relayed information quickly—Qin Weisheng had voluntarily confessed to all his past crimes, detailing every aspect of hiring an assassin and orchestrating the car accident. His only request was to meet Zhu Ming in the detention center, even if just once.

But Zhu Ming refused. Whether it was a belated confession or a plea for forgiveness, he neither needed nor cared for it. Deep down, he knew he could never truly forgive this person.

Xi Xianqing was also busy—the final stage of the evaluation had arrived, and he, along with Xi Sen, was summoned back to the Xi Family estate for Old Master Xi’s final assessment.

Even though he wasn’t the one being tested, Zhu Ming, waiting at home for the results, found it even more nerve-wracking than waiting for his own exam scores back in school.

So, he decided to find something to do to distract himself. Following Xi Mufei’s guidance, he went to the storage room and retrieved the lab pod that had been left behind.

The small pod had been unused for months and had gathered quite a bit of dust. After all, its previous and only patient had already recovered, so it had naturally been left aside.

Zhu Ming cleaned out the expired reagents and medicines from the fridge. When he looked up again, he realized night had already fallen. Through the small window of the pod, he saw Ye Lu and Xi Xianqing standing in the garden, who should’ve just got off the car and arrived home.

Xi Xianqing had his back to him, so Zhu Ming couldn’t see his expression. But Ye Lu, facing him, had a subtle look on her face, making Zhu Ming’s heart suddenly sink.

The next second, Xi Xianqing turned his head, and their eyes met from a distance.

After exchanging a few words with Ye Lu, Xi Xianqing began walking toward Zhu Ming.

Zhu Ming couldn’t wait and immediately asked, “How was it? What did the Old Master say?”

Xi Xianqing parted his lips slightly, his expression growing somewhat complicated as if carefully considering how to phrase his words.

“Is it because the Old Master isn’t satisfied? Or does he think the damaged work doesn’t count? Or maybe he feels that since there was no official scorer…”

Zhu Ming had already imagined an entire dramatic scenario in his head. Rolling up his sleeves, he was about to rush out of the lab pod. “No. He doesn’t know the real story behind this. I’m going to explain it to him—”

“…” Xi Xianqing was genuinely impressed by his imagination. He grabbed Zhu Ming’s arm and sighed. “No, Grandfather knows what happened.”

“And he really likes the piece,” he added after a pause. “In fact… he’s never praised any of my works the way he did today.”

Zhu Ming’s breath hitched.

His heart had never experienced such drastic ups and downs in such a short time. Clutching his chest weakly, he asked, “Wait—this is clearly good news. Then why do you look like that?”

Xi Xianqing didn’t speak.

Five minutes later, Zhu Ming’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Dual representatives?”

“Yes.” Xi Xianqing let out a breath. “Grandfather said that, in fact, he had already decided on this… before the assessment even began.”

Both Xi Xianqing and Xi Sen were exceptionally talented, shining brilliantly in their respective fields. But they also had flaws in personality and decision-making. To outsiders, they had always been seen as equally matched rivals.

However, they didn’t necessarily have to be competitors. Instead of fixating on a winner and loser, they could share resources, collaborate, and move forward together. By jointly holding this position—maintaining healthy competition and a balanced dynamic—it would be a far better outcome than one person monopolizing the role while the other faded into obscurity.

When Xi Xianqing and Xi Sen heard Xi Jianfeng’s decision, they didn’t feel shocked, anger, or resentment. Instead, there was an indescribable sense of relief.

Not long ago, they had briefly experienced life as the representative—endless social engagements and business networking consumed nearly all of their time. Not only did it squeeze out space for their personal careers, but even focusing on drawing the assessment sketches became a luxury. Their daily rhythm was completely disrupted, time became a scarce commodity, and the important people and matters in their lives were inevitably neglected.

Though the idea of “dual representatives” sounded absurd, it wasn’t necessarily an unworthy experiment.

Regarding Old Master Xi’s decision, Zhu Ming found it somewhat reckless at first, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed strangely reasonable. He mused, “So, District Seven has no Chief now, while District Six’s next term has two. Isn’t that just a kind of energy conservation?”

Xi Xianqing remained silent for a moment before suddenly saying, “The Chief Researcher position in District Seven won’t remain vacant forever, will it?”

Zhu Ming was momentarily stunned, then quickly understood what he meant. He chuckled and shook his head. “I appreciate your high expectations for me, Mr. Xiao Xi, but I’m well aware that after being away from academia for so many years, I’d have to start from scratch, rebuilding everything from the ground up. The amount of effort it would take, and how slim the chances are… I’m not that unaware of my own limits ha.”

Xi Xianqing said nothing, just looked at Zhu Ming for a while.

Then, he took a few steps back, opened a small drawer under the corner of the lab pod, and pulled something out.

Zhu Ming was surprised. “Wait—this is my lab pod. Why do you seem more familiar with it than I am?”

Looking closely, he realized that what Xi Xianqing was holding wasn’t just anything—it was a velvet box.

It was fairly large, though one corner was dented as if it had suffered a heavy impact.

After the night market incident, Zhu Ming had developed an intense PTSD toward anything packaged too finely. Instinctively, he took a step back. “Hold on, what is that? Keep it away from me…”

“The birthday gift I prepared for you back then,” Xi Xianqing said flatly.

Of course, he didn’t mention that after their divorce, in a fit of anger, he had thrown both the gift and the lab pod into the storage room.

“This piece isn’t like traditional jewelry—it’s not something convenient for everyday wear.”

Xi Xianqing paused for a moment. “But for some reason, at the time, I… still really wanted to design it for you.”

He opened the box, and inside, lying quietly in the center, was… a crown.

The platinum crown had a sleek, semi-circular design. At its center, two yellow diamonds, exquisitely cut, were shaped like sly yet gentle fox eyes. The metal framework behind them outlined the graceful form of a fox, while the tail end of the crown was adorned with small, densely set diamonds, forming the soft, fluffy shape of a white fox’s tail.

“Back then, I wanted to tell you—despite missing your opportunity all those years ago.”

He took a deep breath, the tips of his ears turning slightly red again. Yet his deep green eyes remained steady, his expression growing even more striking and profound as he spoke with sincerity, “in the eyes of the patients you once healed, you are still an exceptional and responsible doctor.”

He lifted the crown and gently placed it atop Zhu Ming’s head, carefully adjusting its position. “Zhu Ming, you deserve to fight for this chance again.”

No stage lights, no applause from an auditorium—within the small confines of the lab pod, this was a coronation ceremony meant for them alone.

“Just like how you convinced me to complete the assessment back then—can you also promise me to try and fight for this position again?” he asked.

For a long moment, Zhu Ming’s eyelashes quivered. He sighed. “Tempting me with sweet words, good looks, and a sparkling crown all at once—you really aren’t leaving me any room to refuse ah.”

“Do you realize how much effort I’ll have to pour into the lab just because of this one short sentence from you?”

Zhu Ming sighed again, running his fingers lightly over the crown on his head. “I’ll have to travel across all of Xi Star, attend academic conferences, give lectures, campaign… go through that whole experience of burning time and energy like a race against life itself. Do you know how exhausting that is?”

Xi Xianqing gazed at him calmly. “But you like that feeling, don’t you?”

The white fox at their feet flicked its tail. Zhu Ming remained silent for a moment, then raised a hand to press against his chest. “…Stop talking. Seriously, stop talking.”

The fox’s tail thumped lightly against the floor. Zhu Ming lifted his hand, carefully tracing the outline of the crown on his head with his fingertips. He smiled slightly, tilting his face up to meet Xi Xianqing’s gaze. “I really like this gift.”

“By the way,” he said, “now that the assessment is over and everything has settled, I finally have an answer to the question you asked me before.”

Xi Xianqing didn’t respond, but the green peac0ck at his feet blinked its beady eyes and silently shuddered its tail feathers twice.

Lowering his gaze, Zhu Ming spoke softly. “Our relationship is hard to put into words. But the one thing I’m certain of is that we’re probably… not suited for dating.”

There was a trace of melancholy and helplessness in his expression. Xi Xianqing’s chest sank. “But—”

“Dating is a process where two people whose sentiments are mutual, gradually build their relationship—testing, adjusting, and figuring out whether they’re truly compatible.”

Zhu Ming’s eyes curved slightly. “But along the way, we’ve already come to understand each other deeply—our lives, careers, families, and future goals… There’s hardly anything left for us to figure out.”

“There’s no point in wasting more time, is there?” he asked lightly.

Xi Xianqing froze as if sensing what was coming next.

As Zhu Ming spoke, he lowered his head and reached behind his neck, undoing the clasp of his necklace.

With a soft smile, he hooked his index finger through the chain, letting the ring at its center sway gently. “So how about putting this ring back where it truly belongs?”

Xi Xianqing’s breath quickened uncontrollably, his chest rising and falling in silence.

After a long moment, his fingers trembled slightly as he reached out, taking the necklace from Zhu Ming’s hand. He removed the wedding ring, held it carefully between his fingers, and murmured in a low voice, “Okay.”

Outside the lab pod, the moonlight was bright and clear, casting a glow over Xi Xianqing’s deepening gaze. He stared at Zhu Ming’s face, lifted the ring in his hand, and was just about to speak. “Will you—”

But his words came to an abrupt halt. He realized that no matter how he phrased the crucial question, it would sound awkward—”Will you marry me again?” or “Let me marry you once more?” Neither felt quite right.

After a long pause, he finally raised his eyes again, locking onto Zhu Ming’s gaze, and rephrased, “Zhu Ming, will you be my attending physician forever?”

Zhu Ming’s eyes curved with amusement. He lifted his hand, extending it toward Xi Xianqing with ease.

“This difficult patient, I’m willing,” he said cheerfully.

This marriage proposal in the lab pod was not in the least bit romantic—not to mention the small space in the pod, the lab bench was still cluttered with expired reagents, and the entire scene was a chaotic mess.

But this agreement, tied to curing the disease—this bond that had begun under the name of doctor and patient—was precisely the foundation of their connection. It was meaningful, a serendipitous full circle.

Xi Xianqing lowered his gaze and slid the ring back onto Zhu Ming’s ring finger.

The white fox, now adorned with both a crown and a wedding ring, tilted his head playfully, a bright smile on his face. “Does it look good?”

Xi Xianqing let out a soft “mm,” paused briefly, then borrowed a phrase Zhu Ming often used: “Sparkly.”

Zhu Ming chuckled and leaned against the shelf holding the reagents, raising his hand to admire the blue diamond ring under the light. “Young Master Xi, rich and noble as ever—may I be so bold as to ask, which is more expensive? This little ring on my finger, the little hat on my head, or that fake bouquet you gave me the other day—”

A soft “click” cut him off mid-sentence.

The lab pod was suddenly plunged into complete darkness. Zhu Ming froze for a second before realizing—someone had turned off the incandescent light inside the pod.

For a moment, Zhu Ming was at a loss. “…Xi Xianqing?”

It was already late at night, the moonlight hazy and indistinct. The darkness carried an inexplicable sense of mystery, heightening every sensation.

Yet, Xi Xianqing remained silent. Zhu Ming, momentarily puzzled, carefully removed the crown from his head and set it on the lab bench. At the same time, he groped blindly along the wall, searching for the light switch.

But instead of finding the switch, his hand brushed against another long finger, cool to the touch—In the next second, his wrist was gently restrained by the person behind him, and he was pressed against the lab bench. At the same time, a firm arm circled his waist, holding him tightly in place.

Immediately afterward there was a fiery kiss, landing on the nape of his neck.

The skin on the back of his neck had always been sensitive. The itchy dampness made Zhu Ming’s breathing subtly shift. He had a vague premonition, but still, with a breathless chuckle, he asked knowingly, “…Mr. Xiao Xi, what exactly are we doing?”

The person behind him didn’t speak.

Their bodies were pressed together with no space between them. In the darkness, Zhu Ming’s pupils contracted slightly. He could distinctly feel it一what burned against him wasn’t just Xi Xianging’s breath, but something undeniable, something hot and rigid pressing against him from below…

“Not doing anything.”

After a long pause, he finally heard the low murmur from the young man behind him. “I just want to finally unwrap this gift I’ve been holding back from opening for far too long.”

---

Author’s notes:

A prim and overly reserved peac0ck in the tea room (tilts head arrogantly): I am a calm and principled person. I will only take that step with you once you have truly thought through our relationship.

The very second after officially confirming the relationship: Can’t wait to devour the little fox.

Thank you so much, nilvy2003reserve/Fun~Osh, for the ko-fi!!! :blobaww:

---

The vast auditorium, with hundreds or even thousands of spectators, fell into complete silence in an instant.

On the seat in the corner of the stage, Zhu Ming’s eyes suddenly widened as he looked incredulously at Xi Xianqing’s profile on stage.

He immediately realized that the silver liquid slowly flowing down from the center of the golden trophy was none other than mercury.

The moment gold came into contact with mercury, a chemical reaction occurred, forming a grayish-white gold amalgam compound on the surface. To the audience, this created a visual effect of decay and fading.

Zhu Ming hadn’t originally planned to come today. Although he could accept Xi Xianqing creating this piece—after all, he was the one who encouraged Xi Xianqing to complete this assessment—it didn’t mean he wanted to witness in person as Qin Weisheng accepted the work with his own hands.

But for some reason, while Xi Xianqing had completed the previous two artwork photography sessions alone, this time, he specifically asked Zhu Ming to come along. So, Zhu Ming and Ye Lu sat in the corner of K University’s auditorium and watched the entire ceremony.

It wasn’t until this moment that Zhu Ming realized Xi Xianqing’s true purpose in asking him to come.

Under the gaze of the crowd and the glare of the spotlight, Qin Weisheng’s expression seemed to contort for a brief moment.

But he quickly regained his composure, maintaining a gentle demeanor as he calmly asked, “Mr. Xi, is there some kind of misunderstanding between… us?”

“I’ve been in this position for so long—baseless accusations are nothing new to me.”

He reminded in a warm tone, “You’re young, full of vigor, and from an outside district. It’s easy to be swayed by rumors—I can understand that.”

“But making arbitrary comments without distinguishing right from wrong is sometimes not the best course of action.” He narrowed his eyes slightly as if sighing helplessly. “Do you have any evidence for what you just said?”

After a long pause, Xi Xianqing replied, “I don’t.”

The corners of Qin Weisheng’s lips lifted slightly just as he was about to speak, but Xi Xianqing interrupted him calmly, “But there is someone who can provide all the evidence.”

Xi Xianqing turned slightly to the side, making space for the backdrop behind him.

The moment the person emerged from behind the curtain, the smile on Qin Weisheng’s face froze.

Ruan Min walked to the center of the auditorium with his eyes downcast, his face pale.

He held a thick stack of papers in his hands. The moment he saw Qin Weisheng, he instinctively avoided eye contact and took the microphone from Xi Xianqing.

“I am… I am Ruan Min, a postdoctoral researcher at K University’s Institute for Spritiual Manifestations Anomalies.”

Ruan Min’s voice trembled uncontrollably. His fingers, gripping the microphone tightly, turned pale from the pressure, as if speaking a complete sentence had drained all the strength from his body.

Taking a deep breath and pausing briefly, he finally gathered the courage to continue, “…Today, I stand here alongside 23 doctoral, graduate, and undergraduate students from the institute to publicly report my mentor, Professor Qin Weisheng, under our real names.”

It was like a drop of cold water falling into a pot of boiling oil—instantly vaporizing and erupting with explosive bubbles. In an instant, the audience broke into a flurry of murmurs and discussions.

“Qin Weisheng has long coerced students in his team into fabricating experimental results, disregarded the side effects and dangers of clinical drugs, arbitrarily falsified experimental data, and repeatedly colluded with and bribed journal reviewers to publish in top-tier journals.”

As he spoke, he raised the thick stack of documents in his hand. “Moreover, he frequently used the threat of delayed graduation and future career prospects to deprive students of their rightful authorship on papers. During the Chief Researcher selection process that year, he also employed illegal means to persecute and interfere with other competitors. All the evidence and records of his misconduct have been compiled here, and I have already submitted them to K University and the District Seven Academic Committee this morning.”

“Meanwhile, as another beneficiary in this matter,” he took a deep breath, “I voluntarily relinquish the Chief Researcher position and willingly accept the committee’s investigation and any disciplinary action from the university.”

“I know that saying this now may be meaningless…” Ruan Min opened his mouth slightly, but after a long pause, he bowed deeply to the audience below the stage, “but I still want to say sorry to those I have hurt.”

His voice trembled continuously. He was still afraid—perhaps he had already realized that the moment these words left his mouth, his academic career would come to an end as well.

But in the end, he still said it.

As soon as his words fell, the auditorium instantly plunged into chaos. The murmurs from earlier quickly escalated into loud discussions. Seeing the situation spiral out of control, K University’s staff urgently shut down the live broadcast. Qu He, her expression slightly stiff, worked to maintain order and began evacuating the audience from the auditorium.

Beads of sweat appeared on Qin Weisheng’s forehead as his hand slowly clenched into a fist.

Stay calm. He told himself. As long as he remained at K University, as long as it was still an academic matter, everything would still be within his control. He had to stay calm.

As the audience was gradually ushered out of the auditorium, the smile on his face vanished completely. He no longer bothered to mask his true expression, staring intently at Ruan Min’s pale profile.

“Ruan Min.” Qin Weisheng let out a cold laugh, gritting his teeth slightly. “The choice you’ve made… is truly foolish.”

“Professor, in all these years, aside from today—how many choices have I truly made for myself?”

Though his voice remained soft, this time, Ruan Min finally didn’t avoid his gaze. “For the past two years, aside from gaining this title, I’ve lost everything—my conscience, my friends, my original aspirations. So now, I have nothing left to fear.”

“Nothing to fear.”

Qin Weisheng repeated the words with a cold, dark gaze. Then, he looked toward Xi Xianqing, who stood silently behind Ruan Min, and let out a low, ambiguous chuckle. “You’re all still too young. You don’t understand that some ideas and actions can’t be realized through courage and justice alone.”

“Perhaps,” Xi Xianqing spoke calmly. “But before that, the one who must pay the price is you, Professor Qin.”

The door to the auditorium was suddenly pushed open from the outside.

Following the direction of the noise, Qin Weisheng saw that the people pouring in were not ordinary spectators but police officers dressed in matching dark navy uniforms.

A sense of unease—one he had never experienced before in his life—suddenly gripped his heart.

His hands began to tremble involuntarily. As his stiff gaze shifted, he suddenly noticed a figure standing in the dimly lit corner of the auditorium, silently watching him.

A young man with a delicate face and dark, bright eyes.

“Professor Qin,” the young man spoke. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Zhu Ming.”

Zhu Ming… The name made Qin Weisheng pause for a moment before he quickly made the connection.

“You’re the one from T University who scored full marks on the medical exam that year.”

Qin Weisheng let out a sneering laugh from deep within his throat, mocking, “I knew it—there’s no way someone as weak and pathetic as Ruan Min could have suddenly developed the courage and intelligence to make such a decision on his own.”

Qin Weisheng’s impression of this young man Zhu Ming, was considered profound, back during the Chief Researcher selection, Zhu Ming had been the hardest obstacle to remove.

Young, outstanding, with an exceptionally valuable research project. What made Qin Weisheng even more resentful was that before Zhu Ming, District Seven had never produced a single medical student with a perfect score.

Zhu Ming had been too dazzling, too great a threat. So from the start, Qin Weisheng had never intended to leave him unscathed.

After the car accident, seeing that Zhu Ming was already crippled beyond repair, Qin Weisheng decided that dealing with a dead man would only cause unnecessary trouble. So he hadn’t gone further. Now, in hindsight, he should have made sure to clean up more thoroughly…

“You look much older than the photos my mother gave me, Professor Qin.”

Zhu Ming suddenly spoke, interrupting Qin Weisheng’s thoughts with a completely unrelated remark.

Qin Weisheng frowned, not understanding what he meant. “…What?”

For some reason, an inexplicable panic slowly crept over Qin Weisheng’s heart.

“That pot of Thousand-Star Tangerine, are you raising it well now?”

Zhu Ming spoke softly. “Or let me put it another way—do you still remember the female student of the Department of Botany who used the alias Jiang Ju 27 years ago?”

Memories surged into his mind, and Qin Weisheng’s expression changed drastically. “How do you know—”

His voice was abruptly cut off.

At Zhu Ming’s feet, glistening neural protons slowly coalesced, forming the figure of a white fox with a bushy tail. It emerged on the ground, lifting its quiet, obedient gaze toward Qin Weisheng’s face.

At that moment, Qin Weisheng suddenly felt as if the world had gone silent.

A sharp ringing echoed deep within his eardrums, veins bulged at his temples, and his face turned ashen as if the entire world had collapsed in an instant. Beads of cold sweat rapidly formed, covering his forehead in mere moments.

“Nice to meet you, Professor Qin.”

Zhu Ming’s lips curved slightly, his voice soft and gentle. “Even though we have never met before. Even though you never fulfilled a single day of your duty as a father.”

He lowered his gaze to his own legs and continued, “But in every possible way, you have left an indelible mark on my life.”

Qin Weisheng stared fixedly at Zhu Ming’s spiritual manifestation, shaking his head in disbelief. He took two steps back, bloodshot eyes wide with shock, his voice hoarse to the point that he could barely make a sound. “No, it’s impossible…”

“Thanks to my aunt’s guidance, I didn’t become another you. Thanks to fate, I survived that car accident.”

Zhu Ming continued to watch Qin Weisheng with a calm smile, enunciating each word with absolute clarity. “Thanks to my lover’s blessing, I now stand before you, watching as you receive the retribution you deserve.”

Qin Weisheng stared at Zhu Ming’s face in a daze, his mind crashing like a system failure. He couldn’t string together a single coherent sentence. “You, you—”

Zhu Ming shook his head, raised a hand, and made a “shh” gesture before lowering his gaze to the police officers below the stage. He took a step back.

“Whatever you have to say, take your time explaining it to the police inside,” he said.

Qin Weisheng was ultimately arrested by the police on charges of attempted murder. When he was taken away, he didn’t resist or argue.

His state was both wretched and dazed—he simply stared at Zhu Ming’s face, as if his soul had already drifted away from his body, leaving behind only ragged breaths, like a fish stranded on the shore.

Zhu Ming watched in silence as Qin Weisheng was detained and escorted into the police car, following him with his gaze until the vehicle turned a corner and disappeared completely.

It wasn’t until a sudden pain shot through his arm that Zhu Ming snapped out of his daze, taking two steps back and turning to the person beside him. “What’s wrong?”

Only then did he realize that Xi Xianqing’s brows were furrowed, his entire posture tense.

“I called your name many times.” Xi Xianqing stared directly into his eyes. “You didn’t respond.”

After a long time, Zhu Ming smiled at him and said, “I’m fine.”

Xi Xianqing remained silent. Zhu Ming exhaled slightly, knowing the young man before him wouldn’t be able to let it go.

So he said, “Let’s go home, Xi Xianqing.”

He really was fine—it was just that the weight pressing on his heart had suddenly disappeared, leaving him feeling momentarily weak.

Even after leaving the auditorium, getting into the car, and returning to Xi Xianqing’s villa in District Six, he still hadn’t fully recovered from the daze.

So when he got out of the car, even though he could now walk like a normal person, he still wobbled unsteadily, stumbling forward a couple of steps. Fortunately, Xi Xianqing caught him in time, preventing him from falling straight to the ground.

Seeing Zhu Ming’s condition, Xi Xianqing had no hesitation at all—without a word, he picked him up in his arms and carried him into the villa. Zhu Ming wrapped his arms around Xi Xianqing’s neck, leaning against his chest without resistance.

After carrying Zhu Ming all the way to the bedroom and setting him down, Xi Xianqing noticed that he remained silent. Something about his state felt completely off. Taking a deep breath, Xi Xianqing knelt halfway by the bed and said, “Zhu Ming, rest for a bit. Take a nap, okay?”

Zhu Ming stared at Xi Xianqing’s face for a while

“Xi Xianqing,” he suddenly asked softly, “The final product of your assessment is ruined now, and the person responsible for grading it is in prison. What will happen to… your assessment score?”

Xi Xianqing had expected him to ask about Qin Weisheng. He hadn’t anticipated that, at this moment, Zhu Ming would be worrying about his assessment results instead.

“If being a representative requires disregarding moral boundaries and betraying my true intentions, then even if I ultimately secured that position, I would end up like Ruan Min—plagued by guilt, unable to forgive myself.”

Xi Xianqing looked into Zhu Ming’s eyes. “I’ll explain it to my grandfather. No matter what he thinks in the end, at least I know that by doing this, I won’t have any regrets in the future.”

Zhu Ming looked at his face and still didn’t say anything.

Though Xi Xianqing had no regrets, he still felt a bit uneasy. After all, he had promised Zhu Ming that he would complete the assessment properly, yet he had changed course midway. And more than that…

After a long pause, Xi Xianqing finally spoke in a hoarse voice, “Should I not have asked you to come today? No matter what, he was still—”

“No, thank you for calling me over.”

Zhu Ming shook his head, exhaling softly as he interrupted him. “Only by facing him directly could I fully understand, without any lingering illusions, what kind of person he truly is.”

Xi Xianqing’s heart stirred. Just as he was about to say something, he heard Zhu Ming call his name, “Xi Xianqing.”

Before Xi Xianqing could react, Zhu Ming reached out, cupped his face, and kissed him.

The bedroom was quiet. Zhu Ming sat on the bed while Xi Xianging knelt on one knee beside it. They had never kissed at this height difference before—without warning, without anticipation, without any preparation. Zhu Ming simply closed his eyes and leaned in, kissing him deeply and heavily.

Their tongues entwined, breaths intermingling. It wasn’t a long kiss, though, because soon after, Zhu Ming pulled back on his own, panting lightly as he rubbed the tip of his nose against Xi Xianging’s.

“…Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Thank you for helping me face it all and for leading me out of it.”

He said, “And most of all, thank you for being there for me.”

Xi Xianging’s breath was warm as he gazed into Zhu Ming’s eyes and let out a soft “mm.”

“You don’t need to say thank you to me,” he said.

Zhu Ming softly said, “Good.”

They remained like that, forehead to forehead, sharing a moment of silence and warmth.

It was unclear how much time had passed before Xi Xianging suddenly spoke again, his tone deliberately casual yet hoarse, “If you’re truly grateful, then there are some promises you made… that I hope you’ll fulfill soon.”

Zhu Ming was momentarily stunned before he realized what “some promises” referred to. He let out a small laugh. “Mr. Xiao Xi’s memory is truly exceptional ah. Seems like you haven’t forgotten about that ‘grand gift’ these past few days.”

The way he laughed immediately eased the tension in Xi Xianging’s chest, because it meant Zhu Ming had genuinely recovered.

So Xi Xianging gave him a light glance, then turned his face away. “You said it yourself— you’ll keep your word.”

“There was even a stamp and a receipt.” After a moment, he added this out of nowhere.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Zhu Ming nearly laughed aloud. “But don’t rush me. Since it’s a grand gift, at least give me some time for delivery.”

Xi Xianging had yet to figure out what exactly Zhu Ming meant by “delivery” when he saw Zhu Ming’s eyelashes flutter, his gaze lowering with a smile brimming in his eyes.

He took Xi Xianqing’s hand and guided it to his chest.

With his hand resting on Xi Xianging’s arm, Zhu Ming slowly led Xi Xianqing’s index finger to undo the first button of his shirt.

Beneath the fabric, his collarbones were delicate and well-defined. Xi Xianging’s breathing became uncontrollably heavy. Yet Zhu Ming said nothing. He simply looked at him with those smiling eyes, gently pulling his hand downward, guiding it to the second button.

Like personally unwrapping a gift, the buttons were undone one by one, from his collarbone to his chest, sliding lower over his lean yet resilient waist, until finally reaching the last button just above his lower abdomen.

But it didn’t stop there. Zhu Ming continued leading Xi Xianging’s hand, pressing his palm against the taut skin of his abdomen.

Xi Xianqing’s breath hitched instantly. Zhu Ming also seemed to shiver slightly before letting out a soft laugh, teasing, “Your palm is pretty hot, Xi Xianqing.”

Xi Xianging’s lips parted as if to say something, but his pupils trembled subtly—because in the next second, Zhu Ming’s arm wrapped around his neck, while his other hand traced down to the zipper of Xi Xianging’s trousers. His fingertips lingered there, rubbing it gently and slowly in a circular motion for a few seconds before hooking onto the zipper and giving it a light tug toward himself!

“Ding-dong, your gift has arrived. Please sign for it.”

The distance between them was extremely close in an instant. Zhu Ming’s soft, jet-black hair fanned out over the bed, his eyes lazily half-lidded as he smiled up at the young man before him. “It’s a fragile gift. Remember to handle with care when unwrapping oh.”

---

Author’s Notes:

Been craving for a long time, Qing.

Thank you so much, nilvy2003reserve/Fun~Osh, for the ko-fi!!! :blobaww:

I used both names, I don’t know which one you’d prefer :blobsmilesweat::blobsmileopenmouth:

---

Xi Xianqing didn’t answer directly, only casting a fleeting glance at Zhu Ming.

He averted his gaze and then looked at the surrounding scenery. “Don’t you really love snacks like sauced pancakes and stinky tofu?”

“Loving food is loving food, but is that the point?”

Zhu Ming’s expression was a mix of emotions. “Why are you making such a big deal out of this? And how on earth did you even manage to reserve an entire snack street—”

“I just wanted you to enjoy your favorite food without having to wait in line or be disturbed by others.”

Xi Xianqing spoke calmly. “Is that not allowed?”

Zhu Ming had expected Xi Xianqing to come up with an excuse like “I don’t like crowded places,” so for a moment, he didn’t quite know how to respond. “Not exactly, it’s just…”

In the end, he sighed. Sticking to the principle of “the money’s already spent anyway,” he didn’t continue to be pretentious. He strolled leisurely through the snack street with the white fox, indulging in the feast before him.

When his stomach could no longer handle full portions, he simply took a small bite of each item and handed the rest to Xi Xianqing to hold, before moving on to the next stall.

The scene soon became quite amusing—Zhu Ming and the white fox darted around the snack street with great enthusiasm, while Xi Xianqing, expressionless, stood there holding an armful of snacks. Behind him trailed a green peac0ck with round, beady eyes, and an elegantly long plume, following step by step.

Zhu Ming had to admit that ever since leaving the teahouse, his mood had been somewhat heavy. But after this stroll filled with eating and exploring, his breathing felt noticeably lighter.

It was just that his appetite capacity was destined to not allow him to indulge further. Eventually, he stopped in front of a pudding shop, deciding to end this sinful night with a delicious dessert.

Digging a spoonful of cocoa pudding into his mouth, Zhu Ming’s eyes brightened. With one cheek puffed out, he turned around and mumbled, “This is really good. Do you want to try—”

His words abruptly stopped.

The evening breeze was gentle, and the clouds were tinted a soft orange-pink by the last rays of the setting sun.

Xi Xianqing’s dark green eyes were steeped in the glow of the dusk, making them appear even deeper. He didn’t speak, only stood there, gazing at Zhu Ming in silence.

And all the snacks he had been holding had disappeared. Instead, he was now carrying something that looked like a bouquet. Step by step, he walked toward Zhu Ming.

“Zhu Ming,” he called Zhu Ming’s name, “I have something for you.”

Zhu Ming blinked, swallowing the pudding in his mouth with an audible gulp.

Xi Xianqing lowered his gaze, seemingly gathering his thoughts. Just as he was about to speak, Zhu Ming turned his head away with a light sigh, raising his hand with his palm facing Xi Xianqing’s face—a silent gesture that said, Please don’t come any closer.

Valentine’s Day, a snack street, the golden hues of sunset blending with the evening breeze—Zhu Ming’s heart and stomach were already filled to the brim.

If he were to receive a passionate bouquet of roses now… maintaining his boundaries would become an incredibly difficult task.

“This candidate, no matter how much you try to tempt me, it won’t work anymore.”

Zhu Ming said, “I told you, until you properly complete your assessment, I will only be an impartial invigilator. I won’t give you my answer.”

Xi Xianqing seemed to have anticipated this response. His expression remained calm as he said faintly, “You don’t have to overthink it. This isn’t a real bouquet.”

Zhu Ming: “Hmm?”

Half skeptical, he took the bundle from Xi Xianqing’s hands and lowered his head to take a look. His breath caught in his throat—

In a certain sense, Xi Xianqing hadn’t lied—because the bouquet in his hands was indeed not made of real flowers.

Rather, it was an entire bouquet… of roses made from gemstones.

Zhu Ming knew nothing about jewelry design, but even he could tell how intricate the craftsmanship was—large, deep pink gemstones were seamlessly set together to form the petals, emeralds shaped into lush green leaves, and delicate, glistening pearls nestled along the petal edges like dewdrops.

The heavy bouquet cradled in his arm was stunningly beautiful, so much so that it made him instinctively hold his breath.

“I don’t expect you to give me an answer right now.”

Xi Xianqing lifted his chin slightly, his expression haughty and calm. However, behind him, the green peac0ck swayed its butt in delight, its long tail feathers slowly but uncontrollably fanning open.

“But you’re not in a position to stop me from earning some extra points for myself before the assessment,” he said.

Zhu Ming stared at the bouquet in his hands, remaining silent for a long time.

“I’m sorry, as a fair and impartial exam, we don’t set any additional questions.”

After a long pause, he finally lifted his head and said softly, “However, considering how diligently you’ve been studying, I suppose I can give you a small reward.”

While Xi Xianqing didn’t say anything, the green peac0ck behind him narrowed its beady eyes slightly, and its tail feathers seemed to fan out even faster.

“But when I think about it carefully, you don’t seem to lack anything,” Zhu Ming sighed, pondering for a moment. “Then, how about this—”

He tilted his face up and placed a light kiss on Xi Xianqing’s cheek.

“Will this do as a reward?” His voice was soft and gentle.

Xi Xianqing’s shoulders rose and fell slightly, while behind him, the green peac0ck had, at some point, silently spread its tail feathers to their entirety.

“It’ll do,” he said after a long while.

Zhu Ming lowered his head and sniffed the scentless bouquet, the glow of the rubies making his skin appear even fairer. “But the value of this bouquet is honestly a bit outrageous. I think the reward I just gave… might not be quite enough?”

His eyes curved as he smiled. “Do you want to come and claim the rest yourself?”

Xi Xianqing’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

The space between them unconsciously grew smaller, the setting sun casting a warm, tranquil glow over their wind-tousled hair and the tips of their noses as they drew closer.

They had kissed many times before—some things needed no verbal agreement to be understood. At this moment, Xi Xianqing lowered his head, cupping Zhu Ming’s face with one hand, while Zhu Ming, smiling slightly, tilted his head and let his lashes droop, rubbing his cheek intimately against Xi Xianqing’s palm.

This time, Xi Xianqing had no intention of waiting. He rarely took the initiative, but now, he lowered his head, ready to claim his reward.

Just as their lips were about to touch, Zhu Ming suddenly raised a finger, pressing it lightly against Xi Xianqing’s lips.

His fingertips were cool against the heat of Xi Xianqing’s lower lip. He gently rubbed the surface, saying nothing.

The gift had already been unwrapped, ribbons undone, yet the cunning little fox suddenly went back on his word, and was unwilling to give it away. Xi Xianqing frowned slightly, his gaze cold as he lifted his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I thought about it again. If I give you your reward now, you might not study properly anymore.”

Zhu Ming sighed. “Let’s do it this way, I’ll set up a scheduled delivery. Once the assessment is over, I’ll personally deliver you a grand gift. How about that?”

Xi Xianqing was clearly dissatisfied, but at the mention of a “grand gift,” the green peac0ck behind him gave a small, silent tremor, its tail feathers quivering.

After a moment, he finally spoke. “You’ll keep your word?”

Zhu Ming grasped the hand that Xi Xianqing had been cupping his face with, tilted his head, and lowered his lashes, pressing a soft kiss onto his palm.

“Here, I’ll stamp it for you as proof.” He smiled as he met Xi Xianqing’s gaze. “I’ll keep my word.”

Whether it was the lure of that grand gift or the rapidly approaching deadline of the assessment, for the next two weeks, the lights in Xi Xianqing’s study never went out.

Yang Jiahe and the craftsmen occasionally came by for visits. The study door often remained slightly ajar, but this time, Xi Xianqing didn’t show Zhu Ming his drafts. Not that Zhu Ming was particularly interested in the details of the piece.

When passing by, he could vaguely hear them discussing design concepts—Xi Xianqing seemed to be creating a trophy for Qin Weisheng.

Zhu Ming couldn’t quite say how he felt about it. It was complicated, but more than anything, he felt relieved—because he knew that this was probably exactly what Qin Weisheng wanted.

As far as Zhu Ming was concerned, as long as Xi Xianqing could pass this assessment safely and smoothly, that was enough.

Two weeks later, the K University auditorium was packed.

K University’s research institute placed great importance on Xi Xianqing’s visit, so for the exhibition and group photo session, they invited all students and faculty to attend in person while broadcasting the entire event live.

Thus, this ceremony wasn’t just for the audiences of District Six and District Seven—it was being presented to the entirety of Xi Star.

Of course, most of the attendees from District Seven understood what this so-called exhibition truly was—Qin Weisheng’s coronation.

Standing backstage behind the deep red velvet curtains, Qin Weisheng gazed through a narrow gap at the students, the media, the cameras, and the dazzling lights converging at the center of the stage—the very spot where he was about to stand.

He closed his eyes with a smile and stretched out his arms behind the curtain. The suffocating weight that had coiled within his chest for years finally eased as he exhaled.

He was 60 years old now, not lacking honors and titles, and is considered as a living legend at K University for so many years. He had been District Seven’s top scorer in the college entrance exam, missing a perfect score in the medical exam by only three points. He had once been the youngest full-time professor appointed at K University. All the way up to the present, there has never been anyone who has denied Qin Weisheng’s talent.

Yet this smooth journey had also cultivated a self-esteem that teetered on the edge of pathology and paranoia.

Many had speculated why he had never run for Chief Researcher himself. Some said he no longer needed additional titles to prove himself. Others believed he was indifferent to fame and preferred to leave the opportunity for the future generation.

But only Qin Weisheng himself knew the truth—he had never been qualified to compete.

In his first year as an undergraduate at K University, he cheated on an exam.

It was actually just an insignificant basic statistics quiz. But at the time, Qin Weisheng forgot the formula for the final problem, and his mind went completely empty.

Bean-sized cold sweat trickled down his forehead—As if demons and gods were at work, he had tried to sneak a glance at the book tucked beneath his chair—only to be caught red-handed by the proctor.

Very few people knew about this incident, and compared to his later achievements, that tiny mistake was utterly insignificant. Even if he had failed to solve that final problem, he still would have ranked first in that exam.

But the cheating incident had been formally recorded in District Seven’s academic archive—a record shared across all universities to ensure fairness and mutual oversight. And that meant, despite Qin Weisheng’s overwhelming influence at K University, there was no way he could erase this small cheating record.

—And the first requirement for a District Seven Chief Researcher candidate was a spotless academic history.

For countless nights of tossing and turning, Qin Weisheng felt that God was playing a trick on him.

Even though he had already become the most prestigious professor at K University, even though he was the proud son of God in the eyes of outsiders, even though he had swept nearly every top award in his field—Qin Weishing still felt it wasn’t enough. Because the Chief Researcher he could never obtain had become his lifelong obsession.

His heart became paranoid and twisted.

No matter what, he had to get this position.

At first, he had wanted to groom his own child to become Chief Researcher. But heavens played another big joke on him—Years of overwork in his youth had taken their toll, and long-standing emotional strain compounded the issue. Despite trying every medical intervention available, he and his wife had never been able to conceive.

So he had chosen Ruan Min instead, determined to prove to the entire Xi Star that even someone utterly talentless could ascend to District Seven’s Chief—so long as they had Qin Weisheng to back them.

And today, under the attention of ten thousand people, he was finally about to receive the honor that should have been his all along.

The assistant gently reminded Qin Weisheng in his ear, “Professor Qin, the ceremony is about to begin. Please go to the stage and take your seat.”

Qin Weisheng opened his eyes, regaining his composure as he put on a smile. “Alright, I’m coming.”

On stage, two chairs were positioned side by side—one for Xi Xianqing, the other for Qin Weisheng. Standing between them was Qu He, as tonight’s host, who began the ceremony with polite formalities.

Qin Weisheng smiled and raised his hand, signaling that he wished to speak first.

“Before this ceremony officially begins, I have something I’d like to say.”

Qin Weisheng took the microphone and spoke in a warm tone, “This piece was a gift that my student, Ruan Min, insisted on giving me. As the current Chief Researcher of District Seven, he has endured hardships over the years and devoted himself tirelessly to his academic pursuits. I have witnessed all of it. So, I hope that everyone here can first give him a round of applause.”

Thunderous applause erupted from the audience as Qin Weisheng smiled and handed the microphone back to Qu He.

Qu He said, “Now, let us invite Mr. Xi Xianqing to share the inspiration and design philosophy behind this piece.”

Xi Xianqing, who had remained silent until now, took the microphone.

“The inspiration for this piece primarily stems from Professor Qin’s unwavering dedication and guidance toward his students.”

Xi Xianqing’s voice was flat. “I must admit, this is the most intricate and painstakingly crafted piece I have created throughout my assessment.”

The cameras swiftly zoomed in on the central lift platform, focusing on the unveiling of his final assessment piece.

As the platform ascended, Xi Xianqing’s last piece of assessment was finally revealed under the audiences’ collectively held breath.

—Revealing a tall, elegantly contoured trophy. The base consisted of multiple layers, while two graceful, curved handles extended from either side of the cup. It was, without a doubt, an exquisite masterpiece.

But what captured the audience’s attention the most was the trophy’s unique design. Around its main structure, a series of golden spiral staircases wrapped around layer upon layer.

Ant the most shocking aspect was… that the large trophy was made purely out of gold.

Those familiar with Xi Xianqing’s work knew that gold had never been his material of choice. Even when he did use it, it was typically for accenting or complementing other primary stones.

Yet, this piece was composed entirely of large, unbroken expanses of gold. To outsiders, it was dazzlingly extravagant and unreservedly ostentatious.

Even Qu He seemed momentarily stunned by the trophy’s brilliance. It took her a moment to regain her composure before asking, “Mr. Xi, could you introduce the details and meaning behind this design?”

Xi Xianqing: “Of course.”

“In the eyes of outsiders, Professor Qin has selflessly nurtured his students with knowledge, fostering countless outstanding and brilliant researchers.” His tone remained neutral.

As he spoke, the camera provided a closer view, allowing the audience to notice four small buttons embedded in the trophy’s base.

Xi Xianqing pressed the first button. From the center of the first level of the spiral staircase, delicate golden saplings slowly emerged, creating the striking illusion of seedlings breaking through the earth.

“In the eyes of Professor Qin’s students, he is undoubtedly a teacher they can rely on and trust. Under his guidance, his students have flourished.”

—On the second tier of the staircase, the golden saplings continued to grow, sprouting new branches and tender leaves. The delicate gold-veined foliage was exquisitely detailed, lifelike in its intricacy.

“Chief Researcher Ruan Min once told me that Professor Qin has been a mentor who shielded him from the storms, a guiding light in his life. Without Professor Qin, he would not have achieved what he has today.”

The third tier slowly rose. A golden sika deer stood beneath the now lush and thriving tree, its face lifted, gazing quietly toward the distant summit.

At the same time, at the very top of the trophy, a golden fox sculpture—symbolizing Qin Weisheng—emerged. The fox bore a gentle smile, its eyes lowered, looking tenderly upon the students beneath it.

Xi Xianqing’s voice remained steady. “From nurturing saplings, to the sprouting of leaves, to the growth of strong branches—behind this flourishing forest stands Professor Qin, who has watered each student with his sweat and blood.”

Then, he pressed the final button. From beneath the golden fox, at the very center of the trophy, a stream of liquid began to flow.

It was a unique silver-white fluid, resembling liquid metal. Smooth as a mirror, it spilled over the golden trophy’s edges, cascading down the spiral staircase, rippling and winding its way downward.

Like a silver waterfall, the cold, enigmatic fluid first drenched the sika deer’s hooves, then soaked the tree’s branches and leaves, finally seeping into the saplings at the lowest tier. Soon, the entire trophy and the staircases beneath it were immersed in this liquid.

For a moment, the audience collectively held their breath.

—The flowing silver liquid looked like scattered stardust, like a shimmering Milky Way in motion. As it cascaded over the dazzling golden trophy and the intricate staircase, the scene under the spotlight was breathtaking, nearly indescribable in its brilliance.

Then, realization dawned upon them. This was the silver fluid, the so-called “sweat and blood of Qin Weisheng,” in Xi Xianqing’s words.

Even Qin Weisheng himself momentarily forgot to breathe. The last time they met, he had suggested an unforgettable interactive element—Xi Xianqing had actually made it a reality.

His wish was about to come true.

In the midst of this flowing splendor, he was almost obsessively looking at the golden fox at the top of the trophy, as if the distance between them had never been closer.

But in the very next second, from the audience, scattered murmurs broke the silence.

Some faces in the audience twisted with confusion, while others exchanged hushed whispers, their gazes flickering toward the trophy. A few scattered murmurs of “What’s happening?” could be heard

Then he heard Xi Xianqing faintly ask, “Professor Qin, this is how you see yourself, right?”

Something clenched tightly in Qin Weisheng’s chest. His eyes snapped back to the trophy. And in the next moment, his face drained of color, his pupils trembling violently—

It was then that he noticed that everywhere the silver liquid had touched on the gold trophy… had lost its luster!

The once radiant golden trophy was now mottled with ashen gray streaks. The delicate saplings and branches, previously so vibrant, had withered into something lifeless and dull. The intricately carved golden sika deer, which had exuded vitality only moments before, now stood there, its body eerily drained of its former brilliance, as if its very soul had been stripped away.

From resplendent grandeur to utter decay in an instant. The deer’s once spirited eyes turned vacant, its gaze woodenly fixed upon the highest point.

Yet atop the trophy, standing at its absolute peak, the fox alone remained untouched—still gleaming in pristine gold. And beneath its feet, the silver liquid continued to flow, endlessly pouring downward, draining the life from everything it touched.

The once-kind smile on the fox’s face now seemed strange—it looked like it was standing condescendingly at the apex like it was a culprit behind all of this. Smiling and eerily watching everything beneath its feet wither away under its own relentless hunger.

Qin Weisheng’s heart suddenly sank, and he fiercely looked toward Xi Xianqing.

—Only to find Xi Xianqing seated at a distance, legs crossed, watching him with unnerving calm, as if he had been waiting for this moment all along.

“But I’m really curious.”

Xi Xianqing spoke again, his voice ringing clear in the vast auditorium, each syllable deliberate and weighted. “To take the fruits of others’ labor for your own selfish gain. To threaten students with their futures in order to feed your greed. To stop at nothing, even at the cost of destroying other people’s lives by any means necessary, just to claim this position for yourself. Can you really accept this gift with a clear conscience?”

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Author’s Notes:

This chapter took a long time to write, and I kind of lost control over the word count. I’ll try my best tomorrow, but there’s a high chance there won’t be an update oh, sorry (>_<)

Thank you so much, Yartizt & Mystic, for the ko-fis!!! :blobaww:

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Late at night, at Xi Xianqing’s home.

After venting their emotions, confessing the past, and voicing everything they had kept inside, they should have sat down properly by now—perhaps awkwardly inquiring about each other’s recent life, or softly exchanging heartfelt words, spending a warm and tender night together.

But their situation was a little different—

In the living room, Zhu Ming rested his chin on his hand. “Open.”

Xi Xianqing sat expressionlessly at the other end of the sofa. At his feet, the green peac0ck stomped, then, after a brief moment, its tail feathers quivered and slowly, bit by bit, unfurled.

Zhu Ming let out a hum as he recorded on the light screen while giving another command. “Close.”

Xi Xianqing took a deep breath. On the dining table, the green peac0ck, which had just struggled to spread its feathers, blinked its beady eyes, wiggled its butt, and once again, its long tail feathers slowly folded back.

Zhu Ming hummed again, continuing his notes. Just as he was about to speak and give another command, Xi Xianqing finally lost his patience. “Are you done yet?”

Only then did Zhu Ming reluctantly put down the light screen. “Alright.”

The green peac0ck held its head high, puffed out its chest, and proudly flicked its long, elegant tail feathers. Zhu Ming, while putting on a pair of sensory gloves, remarked in amazement, “It’s actually… able to control it freely now.”

Xi Xianqing glanced at him without responding. Zhu Ming lightly patted the peac0ck’s butt. “What’s wrong? Say what you want to say.”

Xi Xianqing’s gaze landed on Zhu Ming’s bare ring finger. After a long pause, he said indifferently, “Nothing. You sure took off your ring quickly.”

Zhu Ming smiled slightly. “Mhm, and you never told me that the ‘cheap’ substitute ring I had you modify was actually worth tens of billions of Xi Star coins, Mr. Xiao Xi.”

Xi Xianqing’s body stiffened. “Who told you that? It was just an ordinary…”

“District Four’s Kulite Mine blue diamond, now completely depleted.” Zhu Ming enunciated clearly, cutting off all his escape routes. “Your mentor told me personally.”

Xi Xianqing’s expression didn’t change, but beneath Zhu Ming’s sensory gloves, he felt the green peac0ck’s butt suddenly twitch.

When he ran into Yang Jiahe at the café, after spilling hot chocolate on his hand, she was at least ten million times more nervous than Zhu Ming himself.

Panicked, she pulled out some tissues, grabbed his hand, and tried to rescue it—only to see his ring finger was bare. Instantly, she let out a long sigh of relief. It was at that moment that Zhu Ming learned the true value of the ring.

Xi Xianqing remained silent for a long time.

Zhu Ming removed the sensory gloves, and as he sat back down, he reached into the depths of his collar. His fingertips hooked onto a delicate chain, and hanging from it was none other than their wedding ring.

After the divorce, with the media watching their every move, wearing the ring on his finger was no longer an option.

Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to put it back in its box and let it gather dust, so he found a compromise—wearing it on his chest. Of course, after learning the true price of that tiny blue diamond, he now felt a little anxious every time he turned over in his sleep.

Xi Xianqing stared at the brilliant, crystal-clear blue resting against Zhu Ming’s chest. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and after a long pause, he looked away. “…The chain is a bit long. Shortening it would look better.”

Zhu Ming looked directly at him. “Then adjust it for me.”

“Alright.”

Zhu Ming lowered his head slightly, and Xi Xianqing stepped closer, raising his hands as well.

Zhu Ming’s hair was jet-black and soft. When he lowered his head, the curve of his nape appeared smooth and fair against the contrast. Xi Xianqing’s fingers hooked onto the chain, and after a long while, he spoke in a seemingly casual tone. “So, what do you think we are… considered now?”

“I don’t know. I might need some time to figure that out.”

Zhu Ming answered without hesitation, “But I know that at least right now, it’s not just an agreement. Everything that happens between us no longer needs to be disguised as something unrelated, and that makes me feel relieved.”

Xi Xianqing’s brows furrowed as his fingertips unfastened the metal clasp of the necklace. He knew Zhu Ming was telling the truth, but it wasn’t the answer he wanted.

Thinking back on his own words just now, Xi Xianqing felt his ears heat up, as if he wanted to erase the memory altogether.

Keeping his expression taut, he tightened his fingers slightly, adjusted the length of the chain, and then let go.

Zhu Ming obediently lifted his face, running his fingers over the newly adjusted necklace. Their gazes met in midair.

Looking as if he didn’t care, Xi Xianqing asked, “Then when exactly can you think about it?”

Zhu Ming didn’t reply. His fingers lightly rubbed over the ring resting just above his collarbone. Beside him, the white fox flicked its tail, and one person and one fox raised their eyes in thought, staring at Xi Xianqing’s face.

Xi Xianqing felt uncomfortable under his gaze, as if every thought in his mind had been seen through.

After a moment, Zhu Ming smiled slightly and beckoned him over.

Xi Xianqing pressed his lips together and leaned in.

“When you finish your drafts properly and seriously complete your final assessment,” Zhu Ming tilted his head slightly, whispering in his ear, “I’ll tell you my answer.”

Using the “answer” as bait, Zhu Ming kept Xi Xianqing hanging, leaving him no choice but to continue the assessment properly.

Xi Xianqing knew Zhu Ming meant well, but he was visibly dissatisfied with such a vague response.

That was until Zhu Ming added, “For the second half of the assessment, I’ll be there to supervise and accompany you the entire time.”

Only then did Xi Xianqing casually say, “Alright.”

“But before officially putting pen to paper, there’s someone… I want to meet,” he said.

District Six, the entrance to the private tea room.

A young man dressed simply, carrying a backpack, stepped through the tea room’s entrance with his head lowered and softly asked, “Excuse me, is Mr. Xi here?”

The server led him toward a private room. The boy lowered his eyes again and followed behind, while the sika deer at his side glanced around timidly before cautiously stepping forward.

At first, Ruan Min didn’t understand why Xi Xianqing had requested this meeting—he had already transferred the opportunity to produce his work to Qin Weisheng, and as far as he knew, Xi Xianqing and Qin Weisheng had already completed a meeting.

However, the moment the private room door opened, Ruan Min’s gaze fell on the person beside Xi Xianqing, and he froze in place as if struck by lightning. “You—you’re…”

Zhu Ming rested his hand on the edge of the dining table, slowly stood up, and spoke gently, “Mr. Ruan, a pleasure to meet you.”

Ruan Min’s shoulders trembled involuntarily. His gaze dropped, and he stared in disbelief at Zhu Ming’s legs. “Your legs—”

“At that time, I had just woken up from a coma. While I was hospitalized, I received an anonymous delivery of nutritional supplements and fresh flowers every week.”

Zhu Ming’s gaze shifted behind Ruan Min as he spoke softly. “The nurse told me that the sender insisted on remaining anonymous, but all they knew was that his spiritual manifestation was a sika deer.”

Ruan Min’s body tensed slightly.

“Mr. Ruan, you can choose to leave, or you can sit down and have a cup of tea with us.”

Xi Xianqing spoke from the side. “We just want to know the truth about what happened. And we also know that some things… may not have been your decision.”

Ruan Min’s hands clenched around the straps of his backpack.

He looked visibly uneasy, even as if he wanted to escape. But after a long moment, he let out a breath, lowered his head again, and took a seat in front of them.

“You guys can ask,” he said softly.

Zhu Ming stared at him for a long moment before asking: “Why?”

Why did Qin Weisheng do this? Why was Ruan Min willing to be a puppet on a string? And why on earth did everything… end up the way it did?

It took a long time before Ruan Min finally raised his head again.

“Mr. Zhu, you might not realize what your perfect score on the medical exam means to someone as mediocre as me.”

His voice was barely audible. “I was 40 points away from a perfect score. But that was already my best result after an extra year of studying, after exhausting myself, after countless days and nights of struggle.”

K University, U University, and T University were known as the “cradles of Chief Researchers,” the dream of every District Seven student since childhood. The year Ruan Min barely got into K University, his mother made him a lavish meal, and his older brother bought a small cake.

On the cake, written in wobbly chocolate, were the words: “Wishing the future Chief Researcher of District Seven a boundless future.” It was just a kind blessing, but at that time, Ruan Min had been full of hope for what lay ahead.

But once he arrived at K University, surrounded by top-tier talent, he realized that talent was just the bare minimum, and hard work was nothing more than an insignificant bonus. Too many prodigies, too many people with powerful backgrounds—he was drowned in the crowd. Everyone was striving for the title of Chief Researcher.

Perhaps he was a pearl with a decent luster, but among thousands of dazzling gemstones, his worth became insignificant. He no longer stood out.

Gradually, he grew accustomed to his mediocrity, accepting that he would never reach the top. He comforted himself—at least he was researching something he loved, and that was enough.

Until one late night, after finishing his last experiment, he turned around in exhaustion and saw Qin Weisheng standing behind him, smiling as he sized him up.

Qin Weisheng was the most sought-after mentor in K University’s Institute for Spiritual Manifestation Anomalies. He had too many students under him, and ever since Ruan Min joined his research team, he had spent most of his time working with senior assistant mentors. He rarely had the chance to interact with Qin Weisheng directly.

That day, Qin Weisheng talked to him for a long time. Ruan Min spoke about his original ambitions, and Qin Weisheng could clearly see how much his will had been worn down. By the end, Ruan Min even felt a little embarrassed.

The entire time, Qin Weisheng gazed at him with gentle, almost pitying eyes. And finally, in a soft voice, he asked, “Ruan Min, do you want to be the next Chief Researcher of District Seven?”

“At that moment, I felt like I was dreaming. Why me? There were so many outstanding senior students he could have chosen, yet he picked me to cultivate instead.”

Ruan Min’s gaze drifted far away. “Later, I finally understood—a puppet only needs to be mediocre and weak enough. And in the entire lab, I was the one who fit those two traits best.”

His complexion was so pale it was almost bloodless. “He told me I didn’t need to do anything—just listen to him.”

“And just like that, little by little, he molded and packaged me into what a Chief Researcher was supposed to be.”

Ruan Min’s voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible. “The research projects completed by my seniors—he directly put my name as the first author, without caring that it was someone else’s hard work, without caring how others would see me. Drugs that tested positive for osteotoxicity—he could alter the clinical data as he pleased. After all, the peer reviewers in the field were all his trusted people.”

Xi Xianqing frowned, “Why don’t you report him?”

Ruan Min said nothing. Zhu Ming studied his face. “Someone did report him—but it was useless, wasn’t it?”

After a long time, Ruan Min nodded.

“Not only was it useless, but it will bury your own future along with it.”

Ruan Min tugged at the corners of his lips. “Everyone was being exploited by him, but no one dared to resist. He had already taken complete control of the institute. Just getting into K University had already drained us; we had invested too much time, effort, and resources into our research. Who had the energy or courage to start over from scratch?”

“So when the final stage of the Chief Researcher competition came and he started using disgraceful methods… I had neither the power nor the right to say a single word.”

Ruan Min said softly, “Back then, the competitors I faced—those who lacked talent were naturally not a threat. As for those who were on equal footing… Qin Weisheng had plenty of ways to take them down.”

“First, he’d dig for academic misconduct. If there was nothing to find, he’d guide them into making mistakes. Some people could resist temptation, but no one was completely flawless.” He paused, then looked up at Zhu Ming. “But on the contrary, you…”

But Zhu Ming was spotless. And, on top of that, he was brilliant. Qin Weisheng was nearly powerless against him, and in the end, he could only resort to the most disgraceful means.

Zhu Ming said nothing.

After a long silence, he asked, “Why did he go through so much trouble to push you into the Chief Researcher instead of taking it himself?”

Ruan Min’s lips twitched, and after a long pause, he let out an extremely mocking smile. “Because he couldn’t.”

Xi Xianqing and Zhu Ming were both stunned. But Ruan Min only lowered his eyes and shook his head, refusing to continue that topic.

“Over the years as Chief Researcher, I’ve gotten used to the cold shoulders, the dismissive looks, and the silent contempt—because I truly don’t deserve the title.”

His gaze dropped to Zhu Ming’s legs, and his eyes turned red. “But after all these years, the one thing I still can’t come to terms with is…”

His voice trembled to the point of choking. Zhu Ming shook his head and said, “It wasn’t your fault.”

Ruan Min looked at him. “But if I had been a little stronger—”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” Zhu Ming cut him off. His gaze seemed to be focused on something far away. “Even if it wasn’t you, it would’ve been someone else. There would always be someone forced into that position, unable to resist.”

Ruan Min’s shoulders trembled slightly.

The phone on the table vibrated. Zhu Ming lowered his eyes, let out a quiet breath, and stood up. “I’m going to take this call.”

Zhu Ming got up and left the private room. Ruan Min wiped the corners of his eyes, gripped his backpack tightly, and stood up with his head lowered. “Mr. Xi, I think I should go—”

Xi Xianqing called out to stop him. “Mr. Ruan, please wait.”

He lifted his gaze, looking straight at Ruan Min. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

After hanging up on Zhu Yingying’s call asking if he would be home for dinner, Zhu Ming stood at the entrance of the tea room, watching the flow of traffic on the road, letting himself breathe for a moment.

He could have returned the call later or even answered it inside the private room, but with every additional word Ruan Min spoke about Qin Weisheng, the air in that space seemed to grow thinner.

In the end, he just couldn’t sit there any longer—he knew better than anyone what a hypocrite Qin Weisheng was.

It was just that they still have that undeniable blood relationship between them. Hearing Ruan Min recount every detail out loud—was something he wasn’t mentally prepared to process.

When he turned around, he saw Xi Xianqing standing at the entrance of the tea room, looking at him.

Zhu Ming froze for a moment. “He left?”

Xi Xianqing nodded, looking at Zhu Ming’s face for a while before simply asking, “Do you want to get something to eat?”

Xi Xianqing wasn’t the type to be good at comforting others, and Zhu Ming wasn’t someone who liked meaningless reassurances. That was why, at times, they got along surprisingly well.

Zhu Ming was briefly stunned before he smiled. “Sure.”

But where Xi Xianqing told the driver to stop was something Zhu Ming never expected—a street food market.

This street food market was located near a university, and Zhu Ming was quite familiar with it. He remembered that it was always packed with students, making it almost impossible to move through the crowds. But today, parking was surprisingly easy, and for a moment, he felt like his luck was pretty good.

As soon as they stepped through the entrance, a store attendant in a pink apron handed him a small paper cup of yogurt. “Hello, sir. Valentine’s Day special yogurt—sea salt rose flavor. Please enjoy a free sample.”

Today is Valentine’s Day?

Zhu Ming was stunned for a moment, then took the pink paper cup and drank two sips of the yogurt. It tasted pretty good, so he didn’t think much of it.

But after walking a few more steps, when snacks with names like “Valentine’s Day Special Extra-Spicy Grilled Squid,” “Strawberry First Love Cotton Candy,” and “Winter Romance Cherry Cream Waffles” were all handed to him as free samples, he finally sensed that something was off.

He had only been walking for less than five minutes, hadn’t spent a single cent, and was already close to being full from all the samples—how was that normal?

Earlier, he had been too focused on accepting the food to notice. But now, as he took a closer look at the street, he realized something strange. Although there were plenty of people standing around, they were all shop employees. Their gazes kept subtly drifting toward him and Xi Xianqing, trays or baskets in hand, looking eager to stuff even more samples into Zhu Ming’s hand.

Yet, from one end of the street to the other… there wasn’t a single other customer?

Zhu Ming inhaled sharply in silence—because he suddenly recalled that he had experienced something similar once before, back at that luxury mall in Tan City.

He turned around violently.

In the glow of the setting sun, Xi Xianqing followed behind, holding an oversized pink cotton candy given by a store attendant. The breeze ruffled his hair as he casually gazed at the scenery along the street.

But under the warm and romantic hues of dusk, the tips of his ears were tinged with a faint pink—betraying the fact that he wasn’t as calm as he appeared.

“…Xi Xianqing.” Zhu Ming took a deep breath. “Did you clear out the entire street?”

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Author’s notes:

The Overbearing CEO Little Bird—Limited-time comeback^_^

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Jie Jie: Advanced Happy Valentine’s Day! :blobsmileopenmouth:

Thank you so much, Yartizt & Mystic, for the ko-fis!!! :blobaww:

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Zhu Ming’s breath was slightly heated. In an instant, his heart felt as if it had sunk into soft, warm clouds.

Hearing someone who had always preferred to avoid facing his own emotions—whose words were even harder than titanium—confess so directly was undeniably shocking.

It was as if he had finally revealed the deepest, most unspoken secret buried in his heart. Without any hesitation, Xi Xianqing looked directly into Zhu Ming’s eyes and said, “So, Zhu Ming, I don’t want to continue this assessment anymore.”

Zhu Ming’s chest tightened abruptly, unable to untangle the causal links between everything.

He instinctively raised his hand to grasp Xi Xianqing’s sleeve. “Why? Do you lack inspiration? But you have to draw, even if—”

Xi Xianqing shook his head and interrupted, “I won’t draw.”

“I know what you’re going to say—that even without inspiration, I can force myself to create a piece.” Xi Xianqing’s gaze was deep as he continued after a long pause, “But right now, it’s not that I can’t draw—I don’t want to.”

“A work of art requires emotions and devotion to be created. Shen Ying and Ji Rong’s shared past, Feng Jiachi and Tan Yu’s years of love—every stroke I draw is a reflection of my understanding and empathy for their life stories.”

Xi Xianqing stared at Zhu Ming’s face for a long time. “I can’t convince myself to create a piece that praises the so-called achievements of a sanctimonious man who exploits students, pursues status and power by any means necessary, and even—”

“Even a potential murderer who could render his own son unable to walk.” He took a deep breath and finally chose to continue. “I won’t design and create a work that glorifies his deeds.”

The color drained from Zhu Ming’s face, bit by bit.

He stood frozen in place. After a long time, his eyelashes trembled slightly. “Aren’t you supposed to be creating this for the Chief of District Seven…?”

“The current Chief of District Seven, Ruan Min, is just a puppet,” Xi Xianqing shook his head. “He gave this opportunity to his mentor, Qin Weisheng—the one truly pulling the strings behind the scenes.”

This was actually the first time they had formally discussed the District Seven evaluation face-to-face.

Zhu Ming might have known the name Ruan Min—after all, he was the nominal Chief of District Seven—but logically speaking, he shouldn’t have had any impression of the name Qin Weisheng.

Yet, the moment those three syllables were spoken, Xi Xianqing saw Zhu Ming’s pupils tremble imperceptibly. That was when he knew—his guess had been correct.

“Zhu Ming, from the very beginning, you refused to accompany me to the District Seven evaluation.” Xi Xianqing’s voice trembled faintly. “Was it not just because you didn’t want to face those people from the Research Institute, but also because—”

That rare Thousand-Star Tangerine, the fact that it too was a fox-type spiritual manifestation, and the information Ye Lu had gathered over the past few days—all of it had made the answer in Xi Xianqing’s heart clearer than ever.

But as he gazed at Zhu Ming’s pale face and realized the harm his next words would bring, he forcibly swallowed them back down, choosing instead to remain silent as he stared into Zhu Ming’s eyes.

A long time passed before he saw Zhu Ming nod. “Yes.”

“He probably knows my name, knows that I studied at T University, knows that I was the only one to achieve a perfect score in the medical exam, and knows that I was once in the running for Chief Researcher.”

Zhu Ming spoke softly. “But the one thing he doesn’t know is that I share this kind of connection with him.”

Xi Xianqing felt an unbearable tightness in his chest, to the point that he could barely make a sound. “When did you…”

He couldn’t even finish the question, because everything implied by it was far too heavy, too dramatic. So much so that even if Zhu Ming chose to evade, to refuse to answer, Xi Xianqing would have completely understood.

Yet, after a moment of quiet contemplation, Zhu Ming lifted his gaze and, surprisingly, gave Xi Xianqing a faint smile.

It seemed like relief, like nonchalance. But Xi Xianqing knew—Zhu Ming had always been this way, habitually curving his eyes into a smile, the expression light yet never truly reaching their depths. It was nothing more than the mask he had long used to conceal his true thoughts.

“After the car accident that year, I found out,” he said.

To outsiders, Zhu Manman—Zhu Yingying’s delicate and reserved older sister—had made many unwise choices.

—Unwisely choosing the niche field of botany, unwisely having a fleeting romance with an unknown man, and, in the end, most unwisely insisting on giving birth to Zhu Ming.

At six months pregnant, she was diagnosed with cancer. By the time she gave birth to Zhu Ming, the cancer had already spread uncontrollably.

Before passing away, she left behind a birthday gift for Zhu Ming for every year of his life—one gift per year, each accompanied by a letter, all the way until he come of age.

There were many gifts: flower seeds stored in small embroidered pouches, tiny socks she had hand-knitted and embroidered with a little white fox, and the first engraved fountain pen that every child in District Seven received from their parents when they started formal schooling.

Though she couldn’t personally give him these gifts, Zhu Manman tried her best to remain a part of the important moments in Zhu Ming’s life. She had even anticipated that he would be exceptionally intelligent and specially prepared gifts for when he skipped grades.

On Zhu Ming’s 18th birthday, he received the last birthday gift from Zhu Manman—a small diary.

It was evident that this diary, like the previous letters, had been written by Zhu Manman while she was holding on in her final days. When eighteen-year-old Zhu Ming opened it, he found that she still addressed him the same way she had in the very first letter she had left for him all those years ago—calling him “Baby.”

“Baby, you’ve grown up.”

Zhu Manman wrote in the diary: “Mom once thought it might be better to keep this a secret. But then I realized—you have a long life ahead of you, and you have the right to know who he is.”

Zhu Manman never revealed the man’s name, keeping all details vague.

She portrayed the story as short and beautiful. Through them, Zhu Ming learned that his father had been a university professor—an outstanding, gifted man.

Their first meeting had been a brief conversation about the cultivation of Thousand-Star Tangerine. The other party had never known Zhu Manman’s name and had likely long forgotten that conversation.

But for the young Zhu Manman, it marked the beginning of an unspoken, one-sided crush—one that she entered with full awareness. She knew he was a professor, and she was a student. Their story was one that could never work out.

Then, one night at a banquet hosted by the academy, Zhu Manman unexpectedly encountered him again—this time, drunk. On that summer night, with the sound of cicadas failing to mask the tremor in her heart, Zhu Manman made a choice. She used a false name and allowed herself to sink into that fleeting moment.

When morning came, she chose to walk away. The other party never sought her out either—perhaps because they both understood that their lives were meant to remain parallel, never meant to intersect. Returning to their original paths was the best choice for both of them.

What Zhu Manman had never expected was that, from that one night, Zhu Ming would come into existence.

At the end of her diary, Zhu Manman wrote an apology to both Zhu Ming and Zhu Yingying. She said she knew she should have made amends for her selfishness, but her life had turned out to be shorter than she had imagined. In this lifetime, she wouldn’t be able to repay them for much.

On the final page of the diary, there was a small, clipped-out photograph from a publication, a side profile of a refined, scholarly man—Yes, they didn’t even have a single photo together.

For the little Zhu Ming at the time, this diary and that picture didn’t give him the complete family he longed for, but they still meant a great deal.

He learned that his father had never deliberately abandoned him—he simply never knew of his existence. And in Zhu Manman’s words, his father had been an exceptional researcher.

This also gave Zhu Ming a lot of motivation—Though Zhu Ming possessed an extraordinary talent that set him apart, District Seven was a world filled with geniuses. The grueling years he spent enduring at the research institute—day after day, night after night—were all sustained by his desire to repay Zhu Yingying and the words left behind in that small diary.

Of course, Zhu Ming had always known that the man likely had a family and a new life by now. That was why he had never tried to seek him out, nor had he ever wanted to know his name.

He held onto a quiet hope—that one day, in the future, they might cross paths at a lecture or an academic conference. Even if only in passing.

Just exchanging a simple greeting as a stranger would be enough.

But Zhu Ming never could have imagined that he would learn Qin Weisheng’s name in such a way.

Later, many people asked him how the car accident had happened. Zhu Ming would always respond with a faint smile, saying it was just bad luck—that he had encountered a driver suffering from fatigue. Even when Xi Xianqing had sensed something was wrong, Zhu Ming had brushed it off lightly, saying there was no need to overthink it. Perhaps it truly had just been an accident.

But from the very first moment he regained consciousness after the coma, Zhu Ming had been certain—this was no simple accident.

It was too much of a coincidence for it to happen just before the final round of the Chief Researcher selection. It was too strange that the police had suddenly become evasive.

So, he began his own investigation, step by step. Yet, there were too many people who envied his talent—even narrowing it down to just those within the research institute had been an arduous task.

Half a year passed this way. By then, he had no choice but to accept that he would never walk again. Forced to learn how to use a wheelchair, forced to come to terms with the reality of spending the rest of his life with a half-paralyzed body—only then did he finally trace everything back to Ruan Min.

From there, he dug deeper, uncovering the research team from K University that had backed Ruan Min. He sifted through one person after another until, at last, he arrived at the name Qin Weisheng.

That night, he trembled as he looked at Qin Weisheng’s face on K University’s official website. Beside him lay Zhu Manman’s old diary, its pages open, the small photo within worn at the edges from years of his touch.

He hadn’t wanted to believe it. He had clung to the faint hope that it was just a resemblance—that perhaps the photo had aged too much, distorting reality.

But with every new piece of information he uncovered about Qin Weisheng, the details aligned ever more closely with the biological father described in the diary.

Then, Zhu Ming found a video recording of Qin Weisheng’s university lecture from years ago. He watched as Qin Weisheng stood on stage, full of ambition and eloquence, and at his feet—stood his red fox spiritual manifestation. At that moment, Zhu Ming suddenly found life incredibly absurd. So absurd it was almost laughable.

In that instant, he realized that, in the hands of fate, he was nothing more than a tiny, insignificant pebble—one that could be toyed with without dignity, turned over and over, and then, in the very next moment, be hurled mercilessly to the ground, shattering into countless pieces.

Zhu Yingying had thought that his collapse back then was because of his legs. Zhou Zhou had believed that he had given up on scientific research because of the betrayal from those at the institute.

But only Zhu Ming knew—the most fatal blow had come from his own biological father, the man to whom he was bound by blood.

“At the time, I kept thinking—why did it have to be such a coincidence? Why did it have to be so dog-blooded? Why was it him? And why did it have to be me?”

A faint smile tugged at Zhu Ming’s lips. “Later, I figured it out. Fate isn’t something that can be explained. Life doesn’t always follow a plan. Compared to others, maybe I was just a little less lucky.”

He was still smiling, as if by keeping the corners of his mouth lifted, he could somehow offset all the bitterness behind his words.

“I know you don’t want to make this piece for him because you care about me. You don’t want him to receive that kind of honor.”

Zhu Ming looked at his face. “But most of the time, life isn’t about making choices based on passion or justice alone. The most rational decisions come from calmly assessing the situation and looking at the bigger picture before acting.”

Xi Xianqing stared at his face and said, “Zhu Ming…”

“Xi Xianqing, if you had been just another patient, and if I had only ever seen our relationship as an agreement, then I wouldn’t have divorced you.”

Zhu Ming didn’t give him a chance to continue. His voice trembled despite himself. “Because if that were the case, then your success, your future, and your life would have nothing to do with me.”

“But it’s precisely because you matter to me—your dedication for so many years, your feelings for your sister, and because I understand exactly why you’re struggling right now.”

Zhu Ming’s eyes burned, his blood boiled all over his body, and his breath came hot, so hot that his vision blurred. But he forced himself to keep his eyes wide open, trying to see Xi Xianqing’s face clearly. “I don’t need you to think about who Qin Weisheng is. I don’t need you to fight for my sake right now. I just want you to complete this assessment and fulfill your own dream—because right now, that’s what matters most to me.”

“So… can you not give up on this assessment? Can you keep drawing and fighting for what belongs to you? Please?” he asked.

The voice had clearly come from Zhu Ming’s throat, yet for a moment, he felt as if his own words sounded distant and indistinct as if they were coming from somewhere far away.

He lifted his head and found Xi Xianqing staring intently at him, lips slightly parted but saying nothing.

Zhu Ming wanted to ask—why was Xi Xianqing looking at him strangely like that? Why hadn’t he responded for so long? He was saying something important.

However, in the next second, Zhu Ming saw Xi Xianqing raise his hand.

—He felt his face being cupped in Xi Xianqing’s palms, his chin gently tilted upward, and then he felt the dry pads of Xi Xianqing’s fingertips brush across his cheek.

“…Don’t cry, Zhu Ming.” He heard Xi Xianqing say this.

Cry? Who was crying?

He blinked in confusion as if he didn’t understand what Xi Xianqing meant.

Raising a hand to his face, he finally realized—at some unknown moment, warm tears had already streamed down his cheeks.

Every time a tear slipped down, Xi Xianqing would wipe it away, but they wouldn’t stop. And in the end, he couldn’t bear to see Zhu Ming cry any longer.

So he reached out his hand and directly took the person in front of him into his arms.

Why was he crying? With his cheek pressed against the warmth of the young man’s chest, Zhu Ming thought blankly—he hadn’t cried when he got into the accident, hadn’t cried when he thought he’d never walk again, hadn’t even cried when he found out who Qin Weisheng was.

Why was he crying in Xi Xianqing’s arms at this time?

But emotions weren’t something one could pull back the moment they wanted to. He wanted to explain himself, but when he opened his mouth, his voice came out so broken it was barely comprehensible. “I don’t know why I’m crying, I just—”

From above, he heard Xi Xianqing’s voice. “I know.”

Zhu Ming was tempted to ask, I don’t even know myself, so how could you know? But in the next moment, he felt Xi Xianqing’s hand settle on his shoulder, whispering beside his ear, like a quiet promise. “I promise you, I’ll complete this final assessment piece.”

Zhu Ming didn’t say anything else—suddenly, he no longer felt embarrassed. In fact, he felt like crying had been worth it.

Resting his face sideways against Xi Xianqing’s firm, broad shoulder for a while, Zhu Ming sniffled and then, a little worried, added, “Not just finishing it. You have to take it seriously, and design it properly. No scribbling.”

The young man above him was silent for a long time before finally, as if gritting his teeth, he promised, “…Alright. I’ll draw it seriously.”

Only then did Zhu Ming let out a soft breath. His head nudged slightly against Xi Xianqing’s chest, and the warmth of his lingering tears slowly seeped into the fabric of Xi Xianqing’s shirt.

After a moment, Xi Xianqing hesitated. His hand hovered in the air for a while before finally landing lightly on Zhu Ming’s head, fingers brushing through his hair in a soft, hesitant caress.

A long time passed before the person in his arms murmured, “Xi Xianqing.”

His voice was thick with emotion, and the ending note stretched out just slightly, making it sound almost like he was acting spoiled. Something stirred silently in Xi Xianqing’s chest. The hand on Zhu Ming’s head retracted as if nothing had happened. “Hmm?”

“Your pecs are pretty firm.”

“…”

Zhu Ming still didn’t lift his head, his face continued to be buried against Xi Xianqing’s chest. “How much did this shirt cost? I think I might keep crying for a while, but I don’t really want you to see. Can I bury my face here a little longer?”

After a moment, he heard Xi Xianqing say, “It’s fine.”

Zhu Ming was quiet for a while as if weighing whether “it’s fine” meant the shirt was expensive or not. He struggled to lift his head. “It’s not actually really expensive, right? I think I caught a glimpse of some engraving on the buttons. Maybe I should switch to another…”

—A large hand pressed his head firmly back against Xi Xianqing’s chest.

“Just cry,” came the voice from above. “I don’t lack it.”

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Author’s Notes:

The ever-cheerful little fox shed tiny pearls, and the big peac0ck clumsily offered his strong chest muscles for comfort!

Babies with the book signings + the start of the school term + jet lag made me struggle a bit these days. After wrapping up this final plot point, we’ll have some sweetness, and then the story will be nearing its end. I want to handle everything carefully and properly, so if I can’t update, I’ll leave a notice in the comments section in advance oh. Sorry about that~

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Jie Jie: This chapter was posted last October 5, 2024. So, the author was busy that time. No worries, the novel is completed—for the main text. There’s an update for an extra chapter last month. Let’s see if there’ll be more extras as days go by!

Thank you so much, Yartizt & Mystic, for the ko-fis!!! :blobaww:

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Zhu Ming felt like he had never been so angry in his life.

It was as if a fire was burning in his chest, and every breath he took felt hot enough to scorch his lungs.

Fueled by this anger, he took a taxi straight to District Six, arriving at Xi Xianqing’s doorstep. Ever since the day his legs had recovered, he had never moved this swiftly or decisively.

He knew full well that not seeing Xi Xianqing right now might be the best choice, but he couldn’t sit still. He felt everything seem incomprehensible. In the end, he pressed the doorbell.

The person opening the door could only be one of a few possibilities: a servant, Xi Mufei, or Xi Xianqing. Zhu Ming had already prepared for each scenario.

But what he hadn’t expected was that the first thing to meet his eyes when the door opened would be a green peac0ck, curled up quietly in the entryway.

Zhu Ming had never seen Dish Soap in such a state before—it hung its head low, curled up on the floor as if utterly devoid of security. The moment the door opened, it wearily lifted its small, beady eyes and looked at him dully.

The once proud peac0ck that used to sway its butt to flaunt its magnificent plumage now had tail feathers that looked like lifeless, withered branches, splayed weakly on the ground.

A sudden tightness gripped Zhu Ming’s chest. It took him a long moment to suppress the sour ache welling inside him before he lifted his gaze to the person standing behind the green peac0ck.

It was already evening in District Six, and only the dim entryway light was on.

Xi Xianqing stood behind the door, dressed in a thin shirt. His slightly disheveled bangs hung down, partially obscuring his sharp and handsome features.

He seemed completely unprepared for Zhu Ming to be standing there. A flicker of shock passed through his cool, dark eyes before they lit up slightly.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he stared blankly at Zhu Ming’s face. “You—”

Under normal circumstances, a reunion between divorced partners would be at least somewhat awkward. But their current situation completely avoided that—because Zhu Ming was furious.

“Why did you give up on the assessment?”

Zhu Ming had no patience for pleasantries. He pushed the door open, striding straight to Xi Xianqing and getting straight to the point. “Why did you stop putting effort into your drawings?”

He didn’t understand why Xi Xianqing was treating the assessment with such indifference. Was it out of spite because of their divorce? Or was he just throwing a tantrum because the assessment process wasn’t going well?

Regardless of the reason, Zhu Ming couldn’t accept Xi Xianqing choosing to “give up.” He could be stubborn in District Two, he could be willful in District Four, but now that he had made it to the final step, how could he suddenly decide to quit?

After hearing Zhu Ming’s question, Xi Xianqing’s gaze darkened. His Adam’s apple moved slightly as he shifted his gaze away. After a long silence, he finally spoke in a dry, emotionless voice: “Because I don’t want to draw anymore.”

Zhu Ming had never felt such suffocating frustration in his life. His chest ached with anger, his organs seemingly twisted in pain. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You don’t want to draw anymore? Why not? Do you even hear yourself right now? You—”

Xi Xianqing stared intently at his face and suddenly interrupted, “What does me giving up on the assessment have to do with you?”

“…What?”

“…We’re already divorced, aren’t we? And according to you, our relationship was always just an agreement.”

Xi Xianqing looked away, his voice dry as he continued, “So what if I give up on the assessment? So what if I don’t become a representative? What does it have to do with you? Why do you care so much?”

If earlier Zhu Ming had only hated the iron for not being steel, now he truly felt his vision darken.

“Xi Xianqing, your sister, Aunt Ye, Teacher Yang—so many people love and care about you. Have you thought about what your decision means to them? Have you considered what it means to the version of yourself who has worked so hard for this position all these years?”

His scalp tingled from the surge of anger, and he had to grip the doorframe to steady himself. “At such a crucial moment, how much longer are you going to act like a child? Do you even know that for the sake of your assessment, how much I—”

The moment he was about to blurt it out, reason abruptly yanked Zhu Ming back to cold reality.

He choked on his words, closed his eyes for a moment, then staggered back a few steps.

Xi Xianqing, however, suddenly lifted his head and looked straight at him. “For my assessment, what did you do?”

Zhu Ming froze in place, shook his head blankly, and stepped backward into the thick darkness of the night. He didn’t look at Xi Xianqing again and turned to leave.

Naturally, Xi Xianqing wasn’t about to give him that chance.

“What did you do for my assessment?”

He grabbed Zhu Ming’s wrist and yanked him inside with force, pinning him against the cold wall of the living room. His breath was rapid as he pressed on, “What do you know? Or… did someone tell you something?”

“…Let me go!”

With his wrist restrained and his back aching from the impact against the icy wall, Zhu Ming’s anger flared. He lifted his gaze and met Xi Xianqing’s eyes with a cold stare. “Xi Xianqing, you’re right. None of this has anything to do with me. Whether you take the assessment or not, whether you draw or not, I—”

His attitude only reinforced Xi Xianqing’s suspicions. He gripped Zhu Ming’s shoulders tightly, pressing him even harder against the wall. “Did you divorce me because someone told you something?”

In that instant, Zhu Ming’s body trembled under the force of Xi Xianqing’s arms caging him in.

Xi Xianqing didn’t miss even the slightest change in his expression. His voice shook as he quickly narrowed down the possibilities. “Was it Grandfather who came to you…? No—was it Aunt Ye? Did she say something to you before?”

The friction of their clothes filled the tense air, breaths growing heavier. Zhu Ming couldn’t meet his gaze, only closing his eyes briefly before forcing out a stiff, breathy response from deep in his throat. “…Of course not.”

If it were in the past, Xi Xianqing probably would have really been enraged by this provocation, thus letting Zhu Ming go. But this time, he stayed calm and finally caught the barely perceptible panic in Zhu Ming’s expression.

His chest rose and fell as he said with certainty, “You’re lying.”

“Xi Xianqing, I already made things very clear to you back then.”

Completely thrown off inside, Zhu Ming simply gave up struggling and broke the pot as well. While trying to free himself from Xi Xianqing’s grip, he deliberately made his words as cruel as possible. “I divorced you because I didn’t want to keep hiding it from my aunt, because this agreement no longer holds any value for me. Can you stop thinking of yourself as—”

Before he could say “so important,” his words were abruptly cut off by a sharp gasp of pain. His eyes widened in disbelief.

As if he could no longer bear to hear any more of these unpleasant words, Xi Xianqing’s gaze turned ice-cold. He gripped Zhu Ming’s hand tighter, forcefully pressing him against the wall. Then, without warning, his dry, thin lips crashed down like a violent storm.

It was as if he was consumed by hatred—there was no warmth in the clash of lips and teeth. He bit down on Zhu Ming’s lips with fierce urgency and aggressiveness.

It was almost laughable. Aside from that one accidental brush of lips during Old Master Xi’s birthday, this was the first time they had ever kissed without the excuse of “medication.”

Of course, this wasn’t a traditional kiss at all—there was no hesitation, no tenderness. Xi Xianqing’s tongue invaded Zhu Ming’s mouth with unrelenting aggression, anger laced with biting force as if trying to make Zhu Ming swallow back all the unpleasant words he had just uttered.

Zhu Ming’s breath grew uneven, breaking apart in his throat. He wanted to escape, but his chin was forcibly tilted up, leaving him no choice but to endure the relentless onslaught with no way out.

It was a sensation of complete domination, like being swallowed whole. The sting of pain sent a numbing shock through his scalp, reigniting the anger Zhu Ming had barely managed to suppress.

Fueled by rage and raw instinct, he didn’t hesitate—his hand shot up, yanking Xi Xianqing’s hair hard, and he tilted his head back, biting down on Xi Xianqing’s lips without a shred of mercy.

—They were similar in nature, both childish to the extreme.

Xi Xianqing must’ve been in real pain too. His pupils trembled, and his breathing turned ragged, but he refused to back down. Amid the relentless biting and the clash of lips and teeth, beneath the pain and anger, there was something else—an indescribable longing.

It had been far too long since they had last kissed. Their breaths intertwined, saliva mixing, until the faint taste of blood spread through their mouths. Only when Zhu Ming’s body silently weakened did Xi Xianqing finally release him. He lifted a hand, wrapping an arm around Zhu Ming’s back, bringing an end to this battle.

What had started as a tense, on-the-brink confrontation had now left them both panting, foreheads nearly touching, neither having the strength to continue arguing.

The air suddenly grew still.

“…Zhu Ming.” In the suffocating silence, just when time itself seemed to come to a halt, Zhu Ming heard Xi Xianqing’s hoarse voice beside his ear. “It was Aunt Ye, wasn’t it? What did she say to you?”

Those deep, ink-black eyes—Zhu Ming had seen them filled with indifference, cold and distant. He had seen them filled with frustration when Xi Xianqing contradicted himself. But he had never seen them like this—urgent, almost sorrowful, desperately seeking an answer.

He could no longer meet those eyes, nor could he continue lying.

“…Your grandfather found out about our contract marriage.” After a long silence, Zhu Ming finally parted his lips, his breathing unsteady. “He told you to choose between being the representative and getting a divorce, didn’t he?”

Xi Xianqing visibly froze for a moment.

“He did say that, but things aren’t the way you think—”

Xi Xianqing faltered, then suddenly realized something. He took a deep, pained breath, his gaze burning as he locked eyes with Zhu Ming. “Then why didn’t you come and ask me? Why did you lie to me?”

Zhu Ming looked straight into his eyes and shot back, “And what about you, Xi Xianqing? Did you ever take the initiative to tell me?”

Xi Xianqing couldn’t speak.

Zhu Ming shook his head again. “Even if I had asked, what answer could I have gotten? Would I have asked whether you wanted to choose this marriage or the position of representative? That wouldn’t be a question—it would be indirectly forcing you to choose me.”

“And besides, for me, this was never a choice to begin with.”

He let out a hurried laugh. “I could never allow myself to drag you down because your talent, your hard work, and your perseverance have brought you this far. I can’t accept… watching it all go to waste in the end.”

“Drag down.”

Xi Xianqing repeated the words hoarsely, nodding slightly. “Just because you don’t want to be a burden to others, every time you make a decision, you always cut yourself out of their lives without hesitation, thinking that’s the best choice for them. Is that it?”

Zhu Ming’s shoulders shook silently.

Xi Xianqing’s gaze burned into him as if trying to see through him. “But have you ever asked the people who love you how they feel? Have you ever asked if they wanted to be forced into a choice like this? Have you ever asked your aunt if she wanted you to sacrifice for her in this way? Have you ever asked me—”

He abruptly stopped, turning his face away as he panted. His sharp jawline tensed as if the words he was about to say were so difficult that they refused to leave his throat.

“…Have you ever asked me whether I need you or not?”

But as if making some kind of decision, he took a deep breath, looked directly at Zhu Ming, and spoke each word with unwavering certainty. “You say you’re afraid of becoming a burden and a hindrance to me. But have you ever considered that without you, I might never have made it to this final step?”

The palm of the youth in front of him was so hot that through the thin fabric, it seemed to burn through the small piece of skin on Zhu Ming’s shoulder.

Zhu Ming’s pupils trembled slightly as he stared blankly at Xi Xianqing, his breath growing unsteady.

“You say you can’t let yourself be a hindrance to my future, but have you ever thought that you were part of my future plans all along?”

“Have you ever considered that my inspiration, my ability to smoothly pass every assessment up to now, wasn’t just because of my talent—but because of your constant, inescapable presence in my life?”

His voice carried a gritted-teeth frustration, his gaze burning with resentment, yet every word he spoke was filled with deep grievance and accusation. “When I walk into the kitchen, I think of the white jade bayberries and sauce-flavored pancakes we ate together. When I see jewelry, I think of all the names you never once got right. Even—”

He suddenly stopped. His chest heaved as he panted, his gaze dropping to the green peac0ck curled up quietly on the floor.

After a brief, difficult pause, he spoke again in a hoarse voice, as if speaking to Zhu Ming, or perhaps to himself. “Even when I look at my own spiritual manifestation, all I think of is you.”

For someone like Xi Xianqing, saying all of this in one breath had already pushed past the deepest barrier in his heart.

His ears were so red they seemed about to drip blood, yet he still fixed his gaze deeply on Zhu Ming’s face. “You once said that kissing was just a temporary remedy to help me display my feathers and that finding a true cure… would take a long time.”

“But while you were gone, I already found the real cure,” he said.

Zhu Ming’s pupils shrank, “What?”

Xi Xianqing didn’t answer.

As if sensing something, the green peac0ck, which had been keeping its head down, slowly lifted it. Its tail feathers trembled slightly.

In the next moment, under Zhu Ming’s bewildered gaze, the peac0ck’s long and beautiful tail quivered, then slowly, shakily, began to spread open bit by bit—

“Kissing and other forms of intimacy don’t trigger its display because of the actions themselves.”

Xi Xianqing’s gaze flickered with a deep, unreadable light. He hesitated for a moment before finally speaking again. “It’s because all of this… was done with you.”

It took Zhu Ming a long time to grasp the meaning behind his words. “But we just—”

Xi Xianqing turned his face away and hoarsely interrupted, “But while you were gone, even without any physical contact with anyone else, it still displayed its feathers several times on its own.”

Zhu Ming couldn’t believe his ears. “What?”

“The truth is… we had already found the cure long ago. It’s just that you were too focused on finding a scientific explanation.”

A faint flush spread up Xi Xianqing’s neck as he averted his gaze and said hoarsely, “And I myself never realized it. Or rather… I just didn’t want to let myself realize it.”

“The answer was always simple,” he said. “All I have to do now is see you, or even think about you just a little bit in my mind when I can’t see you—”

As he spoke, the green peac0ck at his feet finally stopped trembling. Its magnificent emerald tail feathers unfurled before Zhu Ming’s eyes, opening up in full, healthy splendor.

Though its posture was still weak and listless, the green peac0ck lifted its legs, swayed its butt, and toddled step by step to Zhu Ming’s side. Lowering its head, it affectionately rubbed its face against the white fox’s tail.

Zhu Ming looked up in a daze, only to find Xi Xianqing staring at him unblinkingly.

The emotions in those beautiful eyes were complex—there was a barely perceptible awkwardness and shyness, a heat so intense it was impossible to meet head-on, and buried deep within his pupils, a kind of youthful yet searing determination that Zhu Ming had never seen before.

“Zhu Ming, the cure is you.” he heard Xi Xianqing say, “It has always been only you.”

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Author’s notes:

Please accept the awkward yet passionate love of the big peac0ck!^_^

Thank you so much, Yartizt & Mystic, for the ko-fis!!! :blobaww:

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The massive blizzard in District Seven some time ago had caused major universities to suspend classes. As a result, it had been nearly a month since the two last met.

At that time, Xi Xianqing had vaguely sensed an odd and indescribable tension between Qin Weisheng and Ruan Min. However, the main source of strangeness lay in Ruan Min’s overly timid nature, so he hadn’t suspected Qin Weisheng too much.

But at this very moment, the conversation between those two at the pantry entrance echoed in his ears. Xi Xianqing’s eyes remained fixed, cold and piercing, as he stared at the back of the man in front of him.

Xi Xianqing and Zhu Ming’s relationship was no secret within Xi Star. Their recent divorce had been widely discussed, yet whether it was in their last conversation or this current meeting, Qin Weisheng’s speech and demeanor showed no flaws whatsoever.

If he truly was the mastermind behind Zhu Ming’s car accident all those years ago… then the depth of his scheming and the strength of his mentality had already far surpassed what ordinary people could reach.

Qin Weisheng stopped in his tracks and, with a gentle smile, pulled open the office door. “Please, come in.”

Suppressing the storm surging within him, Xi Xianqing stepped inside. Almost involuntarily, his gaze once again landed on the bookshelves with a strong sense of presence.

The last time, he had only caught a glimpse and found the sight somewhat peculiar. This time, as he looked carefully, he realized that in the middle of this bookshelf—packed so tightly with honors that not a single gap seemed possible—there was actually… an empty spot.

—As if it had been deliberately left open, waiting for something of utmost importance.

“You should be able to tell that this dull old man has spent his entire life immersed in academia. The most significant events of my life have all happened in this laboratory.”

Noticing Xi Xianqing’s gaze, Qin Weisheng smiled and picked up the teapot beside him. “I don’t have many hobbies, just a bit of an obsessive habit. I like to record and collect these various milestones in this way. Over the years, it’s become a habit.”

“So this time,” a faint mist rose from the cup, momentarily making Qin Weisheng’s voice sound somewhat hazy, “I’d like you, Mr. Xiao Xi, to help me record it the same way.”

It took Xi Xianqing a long moment to grasp his meaning. “You mean… you want me to make a trophy for you?”

Qin Weisheng blew on the water in his cup and shook his head. His gaze followed Xi Xianqing’s to the bookshelf. “Not exactly. A trophy, a medal—it doesn’t really matter. To be precise… I want you to make a memento for me.”

“A memento… to commemorate the honor of the Chief Researcher position.” His gaze lingered on the empty spot in the bookshelf, his expression tinged with a sense of reminiscence.

From the very first time they met, Qin Weisheng had always presented himself to Xi Xianqing as gentle, refined, and impeccably composed.

Only in this moment did his thoughts seem to drift unconsciously with his memories, so much so that he failed to notice the subtle shift in expression between Xi Xianqing and Ye Lu behind him.

A few seconds later, Qin Weisheng belatedly realized the oddity in his own words—because the true Chief Researcher of District Seven now was Ruan Min, not him.

For something that technically didn’t belong to him… his vision for it was almost too precise and detailed.

He quickly gathered himself, his smile unfaltering, and calmly added, “Most importantly, it’s also a tribute to the years of hardship I endured in nurturing such an outstanding student as Ruan Min.”

For a moment, the air in the room seemed to freeze.

Xi Xianqing looked into Qin Weisheng’s eyes and, after a long pause, said, “Then, do you have any specific ideas for this memento? I can try to replicate it as closely as possible.”

Whether or not he sensed the underlying probe in that question, Qin Weisheng smiled faintly. “Not really—after all, who would’ve thought that Ruan Min, this child, would hand me the opportunity to have this piece made?”

“But Qu He told me that your family’s assessment tradition, Mr. Xi, includes a very important group photo session after the completion of the piece.”

Qin Weisheng paused briefly. “The Academy wants to arrange this session in the institute’s auditorium for colleagues and students to witness. So I was thinking, if we could add some interactive elements to surprise the audience during the presentation, it might make the event more memorable and meaningful.”

“But I’m an outsider in this field, and some of my ideas may not be very practical.”

He placed his teacup on the table and spoke warmly. “Ultimately, this is your assessment, Mr. Xiao Xi. Everything should be guided by your inspiration and vision—whatever feels right for you.”

Qin Weisheng’s words were flawlessly crafted. On the surface, he seemed to be making a self-deprecating remark, but at the end of his sentence, he subtly reminded Xi Xianqing that this was his “assessment.”

The final evaluation before Elder Xi would come from Qin Weisheng. In essence, Xi Xianqing and he were in the positions of examinee and evaluator.

Their gazes met in the air without a sound. Qin Weisheng’s smile remained unchanged. A moment later, Xi Xianqing replied lightly, “I’ll do my best.”

“It’s been hard on you for listening to me ramble. Getting older makes me talk too much sometimes.”

With a sigh, Qin Weisheng stood up and glanced at the time on the wall. “I have a lecture coming up soon, so I won’t keep you any longer.”

Their polite exchange ended at just the right moment. Qin Weisheng rose to see them off, and Xi Xianqing followed suit, getting up from his seat.

The moment he stood, his peripheral vision swept past Qin Weisheng’s shoulder and landed on the potted plant behind his chair.

Previously, when he had looked from outside the door, his vision had been too blurred to make it out clearly. But now, at this very moment, Xi Xianqing finally saw it in its entirety—radiating, block-like fruits tinged with green and yellow, with a rough, pitted surface so irregular and unsightly that it looked nothing like a product of natural evolution.

Xi Xianqing suddenly froze in place.

His eyelid twitched involuntarily, an unsettling sense of unease surging through him. His gaze slowly moved upward from the potted tangerine plant, finally landing on Qin Weisheng’s face. From their very first meeting, there had been an inexplicable, eerie sense of familiarity in Qin Weisheng’s features—now, that feeling wrapped tightly around Xi Xianqing once more.

That same gentle smile, those slightly narrowed eyes, the subtle upward curve at the corners.

In a flash, a deafening “boom” erupted in the depths of his mind. Xi Xianqing’s pupils dilated sharply, his limbs frozen, but his thoughts raced.

…Impossible.

An identical potted plant meant nothing. The resemblance in features was just a trick of his own perception.

The association was so absurd that Xi Xianqing immediately dismissed it. But when his gaze fell once again on those strangely shaped fruits, a suffocating sensation gripped his body, as if something had locked him in place.

Noticing his stillness, Qin Weisheng asked in mild confusion, “What’s wrong?”

Following Xi Xianqing’s gaze, Qin Weisheng seemed to understand and remarked, “This, ah. It’s a rare variety cultivated by the Department of Botany a long time ago. They say the fruit’s scent has a calming effect, so I just left it here in my office to purify the air. What was it called again…”

Thousand-Star Tangerine. The words trembled in Xi Xianqing’s mind.

“Thousand-Star Tangerine. Quite a novel fruit, isn’t it?”

Qin Weisheng gave the answer almost at the same time. Looking at Xi Xianqing, who was still frozen in place, his expression turned puzzled. “What’s wrong, Mr. Xiao Xi?”

“…Nothing.”

Xi Xianqing slowly spoke, his voice hoarse. “I just remembered that our last meeting was rather rushed, and I never had the chance to properly greet you, Professor Qin. That was rather impolite of me.”

At his feet, mental quark particles gathered and coalesced. A few seconds later, a proud and stunning green peac0ck materialized on the ground, its gaze lowered, its tail feathers drooping slightly as it stood coldly and arrogantly by its master’s side.

This was the first time in Xi Xianqing’s life that he had ever taken the initiative to release his spiritual manifestation as a greeting.

Xi Xianqing was notoriously aloof and indifferent. At this moment, not only with the rare proactive reveal of his spiritual manifestation, but he had also paired it with such a clear gesture of goodwill. Qin Weisheng couldn’t help but be momentarily stunned.

“No, not at all.” A few seconds later, Qin Weisheng’s lips curved slightly as he responded warmly, “If anything, it’s this old man who was impolite.”

As he spoke, crystal-clear proton particles began to gather at his feet, slowly forming a hazy outline.

—An adult red fox with a reddish-brown coat appeared on the ground. Its tail was relaxed and soft, while its round, amber eyes narrowed with a cunning sharpness.

It tilted its face upward, scrutinizing the green peac0ck’s crest feathers. After a moment, it lowered its head and lightly touched the peac0ck’s beak with the tip of its nose.

Xi Xianqing’s breathing couldn’t help but become ragged.

The room was utterly silent, yet inside his mind, it felt as if fireworks had exploded. His hands clenched unconsciously, fingers tightening into a fist with such force that his knuckles turned slightly pale.

He heard Qin Weisheng chuckle and say, “Then, Mr. Xiao Xi, I’ll be counting on you to put your heart into this piece.”

Zhu Ming nestled at home for a several days in a row.

Life was relatively peaceful, except for the occasional anonymous delivery of high-end fruits and pastries. But even without much thought, he could easily guess that they were most likely from Liu Kuan and Qian Duo.

Although he hadn’t given them a definite answer yet, Zhu Ming couldn’t resist looking into their research output over the past few years. He realized that while Liu Kuan’s words that day had been somewhat boastful, the reason their team had managed to establish itself in a top research institute like K University was due to its abundant resources, strong foundational knowledge, and innovative ideas. Moreover, their current research projects were indeed showing promising developmental trends.

Although Zhu Ming hadn’t been active in the academic field in recent years, he had never truly been idle. He had accumulated a significant number of case studies on rare spiritual manifestation disorders, along with a substantial amount of clinical data. If he could integrate these with Liu Kuan’s existing research, there was indeed considerable potential for development.

However, the decision to return to academia still carried too much weight for Zhu Ming—especially at K University… He remained unable to make a final choice.

But he also knew that when one hesitates between different paths, the answer is often already clear in their heart.

While sorting through past case files, he accidentally came across a folder labeled ‘How to Use His Feathers.’

The last edit date on the document was from a month and a half ago. Zhu Ming’s fingers hovered over the file for a long time before finally clicking the small “X” in the upper right corner.

Zhu Ming took the initiative to arrange a meeting with Liu Kuan, deciding to have a formal and proper discussion about their collaboration.

This time, instead of meeting at the K University lab, he chose a café. At first, Liu Kuan seemed a bit uneasy and cautiously probed, “Is there something wrong with the lab environment? Please don’t hesitate to point it out—we’ll do our best to adjust things according to your preferences.”

Zhu Ming paused for a moment, then smiled and brushed it off vaguely. “No, I just didn’t want to risk the elevator being under maintenance again and end up having to take the stairs.”

They discussed Liu Kuan’s current research projects and future directions, and to their surprise, their academic perspectives aligned remarkably well.

Of course, Zhu Ming also laid out some conditions for joining the team, the most important of which was—all team members must have weekends off and observe all national holidays. Working hours would be strictly 9 AM to 6 PM, no overtime, and they must leave on time to prioritize physical and mental well-being.

As for salary and title, he didn’t care much—whatever they offered was fine. The only real requirement was that his office needed to have sunlight coming in.

Liu Kuan had mentally prepared himself for some outrageous salary demands, so when faced with these unexpected conditions instead, he was visibly stunned and sweating as he hesitantly asked, “If team members voluntarily want to work late, can they stay just a little longer? The Chief’s team next door keeps even their undergraduates working until midnight…”

Zhu Ming was all smiles. “At most, one hour of overtime. Once the experiment is done, everyone must leave. No sneaky overworking.”

In the end, Liu Kuan left the coffee shop with mixed feelings.

Zhu Ming sat alone by the window, holding a cup of hot chocolate, absentmindedly gazing at the street outside.

Just as he was about to leave, the wind chime at the door jingled. The café door opened, and an unexpected person walked in.

Yang Jiahe, dressed in a neatly tailored trench coat, stepped inside. The moment she spotted Zhu Ming, the purple iris of her spiritual manifestation swayed slightly in the breeze. “Zhu Ming?”

Zhu Ming felt a twinge of helplessness at his tendency to run into acquaintances everywhere. He paused briefly before greeting her, “Teacher Yang, long time no see.”

Yang Jiahe ordered coffee and settled down beside him.

Zhu Ming noticed that despite the lipstick she wore, Yang Jiahe’s complexion still looked somewhat pale.

Their connection had always been through Xi Xianqing, but right now, that was a subject neither of them could touch. So after exchanging updates on their lives and making small talk about the weather, they quickly ran out of things to say. They sat side by side in silence, watching the scenery outside the window, falling into a subtle and unspeakable cold silence.

Zhu Ming asked, “What brings you to District Seven?”

Yang Jiahe took a sip of her black coffee, hesitating to answer.

“No need to go out of your way to avoid the topic.”

Realizing what was on her mind, Zhu Ming chuckled and placed his cooling hot chocolate on the table. He mentally calculated the time. “He should have already met with District Seven’s Chief for the second time by now, right? Did everything go smoothly?”

It was a polite question, the kind that only required a simple “Yes” or “It went okay” in response. But the moment the words left his mouth, Zhu Ming noticed the sudden bitterness in Yang Jiahe’s expression.

After a long pause, she shook her head and gave an answer that Zhu Ming had never expected. “He… might be giving up on this round of the assessment.”

The cup in Zhu Ming’s hand trembled abruptly.

The warm, brown liquid trickled down the back of Zhu Ming’s hand, but Zhu Ming had no time to care. His gaze snapped to Yang Jiahe’s face, and for a moment, it felt as if the blood in his veins had turned ice-cold. “Give up?”

“Did you burn yourself? Wipe it off quickly.” Yang Jiahe was startled, hastily handing him a napkin. Seeing the sudden change in his expression, she hesitated before speaking again. “Actually, ever since you two…”

She paused, realizing how her words might come across as emotional blackmail. Instead, she brushed past it vaguely and let out a sigh. “He hasn’t… been able to draw anything for a long time.”

Zhu Ming’s hand that clutched the napkin wordlessly tightened.

“At first, I thought it was just a temporary lack of inspiration. Artists go through creative blocks all the time. I figured that after a few more meetings with District Seven’s Chief, maybe he’d find some inspiration.”

Yang Jiahe shook her head wistfully. “But now, it’s been almost a week since their second meeting. When I went to check on him, he still hadn’t even started on the most basic conceptual drafts… And he told me that, for the time being, I don’t need to review his sketches for him anymore.”

“I used to think that the previous him was merely unable to draw.

Pressing her lips together, Yang Jiahe exhaled softly. “But now… it feels like he no longer wants to make this piece at all.”

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Author’s Notes:

A Little Spoiler

The little bird is just temporarily lost but won’t give up—both of them will succeed in their careers in the end ^_^

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Jie Jie: Up to you if you want to check it. Although, that’s already a given ending (not because I just wanted to try this dropdown, no) :blobrofl: