Eleven years passed, and Min Min never mentioned it again.
She played games, gossiped, binged dramas, and laughed with the group, as if that painful disaster left no mark on her spirit.
But the symbol of setting sail, she still couldn’t bear to glance at.
Ning Zhuo neither sympathized nor pitied her.
That wasn’t what she needed.
Those abandoned by this mad world, he’d take in, he’d handle.
After understanding this mission, Shan Feibai smiled thoughtfully.
He pulled two tickets from his pocket, waving them lightly. “Ning-ge, ever seen a musical? …If you’re free, let’s go on a date.”
…
The tickets were for two days later.
They had ample time to rest and prepare.
After three months of inventory, “Panqiao” reluctantly moved their entire operation into “Haina.”
“Haina” cleared the thirteenth floor for their dorms.
At first, “Panqiao” assumed Shan Feibai would join them there.
But he returned to pack, saying he’d still share a room with Ning Zhuo.
Kuang Hexuan was indignant.
He fumed, “Boss, that Ning guy doesn’t trust you!”
Shan Feibai, bustling happily, joked without turning, “Maybe he just likes me.”
Kuang Hexuan: “…”
Terrified of homosexuality, Kuang Hexuan recalled the unusual flush on Shan Feibai and Ning Zhuo’s lips entering the cafeteria that day, his scalp tingling.
Had the boss been seduced? Tamed in bed?
After long contemplation, Kuang Hexuan clenched his fists, resolved, and strode out.
He found Ning Zhuo in the training room.
Word was, when not on missions, Ning Zhuo trained there daily without fail.
Entering, Kuang Hexuan saw Ning Zhuo sparring with a wooden dummy.
The dummy, coated in tung oil, was rock-hard.
Yet Ning Zhuo, expressionless, pitted his flesh against it, each move fierce and graceful, swift as a gale, utterly precise.
Kuang Hexuan barely saw effort before Ning Zhuo’s leg swept, the dummy’s neck cracking with a horrific “snap.”
Its featureless head twisted grotesquely.
A chill ran down Kuang Hexuan’s neck, his spine aching faintly.
Steeling himself, he called out, “Hey, Ning… Ning Zhuo.”
Ning Zhuo paused, glancing coldly, lowering his leg.
No one knew how those runway-worthy legs were trained to kill so effortlessly.
That single look made Kuang Hexuan’s heart falter.
But with no retreat, he gritted his teeth and stated his purpose: “…Let’s fight.”
Kuang Hexuan figured, as Shan Feibai’s subordinate, they couldn’t keep dodging Ning Zhuo like mice from a cat. The more they hid, the worse it got.
They needed to earn face for their boss, so he could stand tall before Ning.
After stating his challenge, Kuang Hexuan swallowed, bracing for Ning Zhuo’s mockery.
Surprisingly, Ning Zhuo calmly flexed his wrist, saying simply, “Come.”
They’d clashed before, Ning Zhuo breaking his bones.
But in a non-lethal spar, Ning Zhuo found Kuang Hexuan’s skills unexpectedly solid.
Far better than Jin Hu’s lackeys, he was gifted, excelling at rapid attacks, agile, durable, and resilient. He took hits without flinching, rolling and rising unfazed.
Seeing his disciplined style, Ning Zhuo focused, trading moves seriously.
In prison, Shan Feibai had claimed Kuang Hexuan was “Panqiao’s” best fighter.
Ning Zhuo scoffed, saying if that was “best,” Kuang Hexuan should switch to selling sweet potatoes while young.
Shan Feibai shrugged, “We don’t spar with Kuang-ge much; he only trains with programmed bionics. He’s actually strong, just can’t show it.”
Ning Zhuo: “So, he scores sixty because the test is only worth sixty?”
Shan Feibai nodded earnestly, “Exactly.”
Now, Ning Zhuo saw Shan Feibai’s insight.
Kuang Hexuan grew stronger against tough opponents, adapting swiftly. After taking a loss, he’d dodge similar moves next time, countering effectively.
Five minutes later, they paused, retreating to opposite corners of the training area to catch their breath.
Kuang Hexuan didn’t know Ning Zhuo’s rock-bottom opinion of him had improved.
Wiping sweat from his chin, panting, he felt frustrated.
In dozens of exchanges, he’d only landed two kicks, neither solid.
Meanwhile, his chest, shoulders, throat, and thighs took hits.
Adrenaline masked the pain during the fight, but now, his muscles ached.
He pressed his left toes over his right foot, sulking.
As he wallowed, Ning Zhuo spoke: “You favor low stances to attack. I only need to guard the midline. Too easy.”
Kuang Hexuan blinked, retorting, “You think I didn’t notice? I’m already adjusting! It’s just habit!”
His response confirmed to Ning Zhuo that he fought with strategy and brains.
Ning Zhuo nodded slightly. “Then get used to it fast.”
The odd remark gave Kuang Hexuan the fleeting illusion that Ning Zhuo was teaching him.
After another intense round, he realized Ning Zhuo was indeed instructing.
The second bout slowed, shifting from savage combat to semi-training.
Even so, Kuang Hexuan couldn’t gain an edge.
His goal had been to earn face for his boss in front of Ning Zhuo.
But as Ning Zhuo ended the second spar, giving him a slight nod and turning to leave, Kuang Hexuan blurted out, “…Um, I, I… Can I come find you again in the next couple of days?”
He looked at Ning Zhuo, his eyes burning with an intensity even he hadn’t noticed.
Ning Zhuo paused, thinking.
“Busy the day after tomorrow,” he said. “Come tomorrow afternoon.”
Kuang Hexuan stood rooted, staring at Ning Zhuo’s retreating figure, admiration bubbling uncontrollably, his mind echoing a crude awe: Damn, badass.
Before, their fights were life-or-death, Kuang Hexuan always on the receiving end of a thrashing.
As someone Ning Zhuo could crush anytime, Kuang Hexuan’s focus was survival, leaving no room to appreciate how electrifying Ning Zhuo was while pummeling him.
Replaying the bout, Kuang Hexuan grew more excited, fists clenched, understanding for the first time why Ning Zhuo’s subordinates revered him.
Kuang Hexuan’s brain only shone in fights; otherwise, his thoughts were painfully simple.
Adrenaline surging, he thought, If I were a woman wanting kids, I’d have them with a guy like that.
It took ages for him to realize what nonsense he was entertaining.
He froze, then slapped himself hard, the sting jolting his fevered mind back to normal.
Cradling his hot, slapped cheek, he muttered, Beaten stupid, huh?
…
Ning Zhuo hadn’t fought so freely in ages.
Drenched in sweat, he showered in the communal bathroom on the twelfth floor.
Draped in a white towel, wiping his wet hair, he walked the corridor, planning to discuss money with Jin Xueshen to ease his constant fretting.
Mentally crafting excuses, he turned a corner and bumped face-to-face with Boss Fu, who was cleaning.
Boss Fu, gripping a broom, straightened. “Yo, you’re back?”
He didn’t pry about Ning Zhuo’s whereabouts.
Ning Zhuo nodded. “Yeah. Any jobs while I was gone?”
Boss Fu scratched his nose, answering without hesitation, “Small jobs, sure. No big ones. We just merged factions; our foundation’s shaky, so people are watching.”
Ning Zhuo shrugged it off.
The money he’d earned in three months could let “Haina” and “Panqiao” live idly for half a year.
He asked, “Panqiao folks behaving?”
Boss Fu chuckled. “You two vanished, leaving them leaderless. They bicker, have petty clashes, but can’t stir up anything big.”
Ning Zhuo grunted.
He wasn’t too worried.
With Boss Fu around, “Panqiao” wouldn’t cause real trouble.
As he fell silent, Boss Fu gave him a deliberate once-over.
Catching his look, Ning Zhuo’s gaze drifted aside, sighing inwardly.
…Here comes the nagging.
Sure enough, Boss Fu started, “It’s winter. Even if it’s warm indoors, don’t run around post-shower with your arms and legs bare. You’ll get arthritis when you’re old.”
Ning Zhuo inhaled deeply, replying stone-faced, “Won’t happen. I won’t get old. I won’t live past eighteen.”
With that, he kept wiping his hair, long legs striding forward.
Boss Fu blinked, then remembered.
When Ning Zhuo was a kid, he burned through his body like firewood, heedless of self-care.
Back then, Boss Fu, full of good intentions, nagged him relentlessly, coaxing and scaring, warning he’d “not live past eighteen.”
Chuckling wryly, Boss Fu muttered, “…Still holding a grudge after all this time?”
Shaking his head, he turned, only to lock eyes with Yu Shifei, standing close.
Unsure how long he’d been listening, Yu Shifei’s purple eyes held curiosity and scrutiny. “Boss Fu, five nights ago, a client came. Raven said you handled it. A client picking such a time, in my experience, isn’t for a small job.”
“Oh, that one.” Boss Fu shrugged lightly. “Price didn’t work out, so he left.”
Yu Shifei blinked, seeing no sign of deceit, and replied docilely, “Got it.”
But Boss Fu didn’t resume his tasks. Broom in hand, he stared quietly at Yu Shifei’s face.
Yu Shifei: ?
Always direct, he asked humbly, “I recall you looking at me like this once before.”
Glancing at his clothes, he added, “Is something odd about me?”
“…Nothing.”
Boss Fu looked away, resuming his sweeping, joking, “Just admiring your good looks.”
The broom scraped the floor with steady, forceful “shush” sounds.
When he said “nothing,” the straightforward Yu Shifei took it at face value.
He bowed politely. “Sorry to bother.”
As Yu Shifei left, Boss Fu continued cleaning, seemingly focused.
But after a while, he spoke abruptly to the air: “…Looks like you. Talks nothing like you.”
Author’s Note:
Some Schrödinger’s homophobia.
