Chapter 141: Extra 3: Chronicles of Drunkenness
Ning Zhuo’s tolerance for alcohol was, frankly, mediocre.
He had the reckless bravado, but his capacity was severely limited.
Back in Silver Hammer City, strict prohibition measures were enforced due to limited food supplies and the need to maintain order.
Yet, alcohol was the poor’s only solace, a numbing elixir for the spirit. Despite bans, it couldn’t be stamped out. Instead, bootleg liquor thrived, fueling the rise of black-market gangs and mercenary groups. Some even mixed industrial alcohol for a stronger kick, poisoning or killing scores of people.
Because of this, Ning Zhuo rarely touched alcohol unless absolutely necessary for social obligations, and even then, he was exceptionally restrained.
Ping’an Island’s main island, however, was rich in grain and had preserved its drinking culture.
When the first batch of chicks sent to the island successfully hatched, the main island delivered fresh supplies, including thirty crates of fine wine.
Everyone was ecstatic, gearing up for a grand bonfire party.
Having endured so much hardship, they knew better than anyone how to seize the moment and revel.
After three rounds of drinks, the tipsy crowd gathered around the fire, dancing in their own chaotic styles. As mercenaries, none had formal training, so they danced shamelessly, gloriously uncoordinated, their movements raw and primal, like an ancient sacrificial rite.
But they loved it, throwing themselves into the frenzied, joyful mess with abandon.
Ning Zhuo didn’t dance.
He was the boss. A boss had to act like one.
Amid the raucous festivities, he sat upright, almost statuesque, a pillar of solemn dignity.
As he raised his glass to his lips for the third time, Shan Feibai pressed down on the rim. “Bro, don’t overdo it.”
Ning Zhuo shot him a sideways glance. “Think I can’t handle it?”
Shan Feibai smiled faintly. “You always forget things when you’re drunk.”
Stung by the jab, Ning Zhuo gritted his teeth but kept his composure. “That was just one time.”
Then he caught Shan Feibai’s cryptic retort: “‘Just one time’?”
Ning Zhuo frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Shan Feibai coughed lightly, sidestepping the question, and extended a hand. “Come on, let’s dance.”
Ning Zhuo grabbed the offered hand but yanked Shan Feibai into his arms instead, pressing, “What did you mean?”
Shan Feibai tilted his head up to meet Ning Zhuo’s gaze.
He was wearing corrective glasses today.
Through the pink-tinted lenses, he clearly saw Ning Zhuo in the flickering light and shadow—eyes lowered, brows furrowed, his stare searing.
He’d seen this scene before.
…
Back then, “Haina” and “Panqiao” were still rivals.
After a fierce clash, they were forced to collaborate immediately.
At the time, Shan Feibai’s arm was still healing from a fracture, and Ning Zhuo’s right calf bore a bullet wound from Shan Feibai.
Carrying these indelible scars from each other, they were tasked with investigating who was behind death threats sent to a wealthy young heiress.
Following a tangled web of clues, they uncovered the “culprit.” Both Ning Zhuo and Shan Feibai realized why the heiress hadn’t hired “White Shield” for this criminal case and had turned to them instead.
They faced a girl not yet seventeen, her home reeking of potent medicine.
Her family had lived in the lower district, running a small street-vending business—shady, perhaps, but it was their livelihood.
But an upper-district heiress was about to turn eighteen.
She wanted to build a private golf course named after her lover.
She’d taken a liking to this decent plot of land in the lower district and demanded it from her father.
Her father, of course, indulged his princess.
Compensation for relocation?
Sorry, your buildings are all illegal. Demolition is only proper.
They’d been offered “resettlement housing” in another part of the lower district.
When the girl’s family arrived at the site, they found their “new home” was a crumbling, storm-battered deathtrap.
They had no money to fix it.
Before her parents could protest, they were arrested by “White Shield” for illegal trade.
By the time they were released, they found out their old home had been mercilessly razed into rubble.
Seeing their life’s work flattened, her father, in a fit of rage, vomited blood and soon died of a massive heart attack.
With her father gone, her mother collapsed, unable to afford treatment in black-market clinics. Infected lungs left her coughing and gasping, a skeletal bellows of a dying woman.
Desperate, the girl sold her body to a bodyguard of the president of the upper-district heiress, scraping money while coaxing out her contact information.
Gritting her teeth, she sent the threatening letter, hoping to frighten her.
It was the only revenge she could muster.
Naively, she thought the heiress, close to her age, might feel fear, guilt, or lose sleep.
She hadn’t expected Ning Zhuo to track her down so quickly.
Her eyes red, she asked, “Are you here to take me away?”
Ning Zhuo tucked his gun under the hem of his trench coat, patted his pockets, frowned slightly, then abruptly shoved Shan Feibai, who was curiously eyeing the girl’s dilapidated furnishings, against the wall. Without ceremony, he began rifling through Shan Feibai’s pockets.
Cold fingertips grazed his chest, waist, and the four pockets of his jeans.
After thoroughly frisking him, Ning Zhuo tossed the spoils onto a nearby table.
A half-eaten pack of fruit candy, a sleek silver-plated lighter, and an anonymous ID card.
Ning Zhuo: “Password.”
Shan Feibai shrugged, complying with this blatant robbery and dutifully reciting the password.
After ensuring the girl memorized it, Ning Zhuo removed his watch and placed it atop the pile.
Then, icily, he told the bewildered girl, “Today’s Christmas. We’re Santa Claus. …Merry Christmas.”
With that, they closed the door behind them.
The elevator was perpetually broken.
They descended the aluminum spiral staircase one after the other, its rusty creaks shrieking as if it might collapse under their weight, sending them plummeting from the 12th floor to a shattered end.
Shan Feibai, hands in pockets, trailed behind. “Let’s find a scapegoat later. I’ve got a list—plenty of people in Silver Hammer City who deserve to die.”
Ning Zhuo: “Mm.”
Shan Feibai: “So we’re Santa Claus?”
Ning Zhuo: “Mm.”
Shan Feibai craned his neck from behind. “Santa doesn’t work in pairs.”
Without turning, Ning Zhuo replied, “You’re the reindeer.”
“But it’s only the 24th,” Shan Feibai muttered. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
This time, Ning Zhuo turned, puzzled. “What’s the difference?”
Shan Feibai grinned and shrugged again. “Nothing, really. Hey, Ning-ge, let’s grab a drink somewhere.”
Ning Zhuo shot him a wary glance.
To him, everything about Shan Feibai was suspect—his tolerance during the frisking, his aggressive warmth cloaked in smiles, even his constant “Ning-ge.” All of it.
In Ning Zhuo’s eyes, Shan Feibai was a wild, unpredictable beast.
Facing Ning Zhuo’s skeptical stare, Shan Feibai was unfazed. “I just bled dry back there. The money in my card could buy fifty of your watches. You’re paying for drinks.”
Ning Zhuo: “…”
He’d assumed Shan Feibai’s generosity meant the card held little value.
On a grimy evening as light snow began to fall, Ning Zhuo and Shan Feibai slipped into a small tavern disguised as a diner.
A drink to warm up, to prep for the dirty work ahead.
But halfway through, Ning Zhuo’s condition started to slip.
He poured himself a drink with a delicate touch, then slammed the bottle onto the table.
Shan Feibai blinked, peering curiously over his glass at Ning Zhuo.
Ning Zhuo said, “Why kill others? We should just kill her. A life for a life, a debt repaid.”
Shan Feibai knew instantly he was drunk.
“Her” meant the heiress.
Sober, he’d never voice such thoughts aloud—only think them, then act in silence.
Shan Feibai slid to a stool in front of Ning Zhuo, speaking softly, “Oh, come on, didn’t she just cheat on you? Why so mad?”
The eavesdropping patrons, catching the comment, relaxed, assuming it was juicy domestic drama. They sipped their drinks, smirking, ready for a show.
Luckily, Ning Zhuo was too drunk to hear clearly. “What?”
A mischievous glint sparked in Shan Feibai’s eyes. He grabbed Ning Zhuo’s hands, saying earnestly, “Well, since you two are done, isn’t it time we got serious?”
Three or four patrons choked on their drinks.
…What kind of messy guy-on-guy drama was this?
Taking advantage of the stunned crowd, Shan Feibai hoisted Ning Zhuo up and hauled him to a nearby motel.
In this state, Ning Zhuo was in no shape for serious business.
But delaying a day wouldn’t hurt.
Shan Feibai, after much effort, got Ning Zhuo into the room. Glancing around, he immediately wanted to bolt.
The place was damp, with mold in the corners and foggy, filthy windows—practically a pigsty.
But as he turned to leave, Ning Zhuo suddenly shoved him, sending him stumbling.
Leaning against the wall, Shan Feibai steadied his shaky legs, standing tall, still statuesque.
“I know who you are,” Ning Zhuo said coldly. “Ungrateful wretch. Get out.”
Ning Zhuo wasn’t light, and after a sweaty trek through the snow, Shan Feibai was already irritated by the filthy room. Now, with old grudges dragged up, his temper flared. “Ungrateful? I should leave you to freeze in the snow! In this weather, who doesn’t see a few bodies by the road?”
Ning Zhuo didn’t look back, heading for the door.
Shan Feibai wasn’t having it. He lunged, wrapping his arms tightly around Ning Zhuo’s waist. “Where are you going? You’re not leaving!”
Ning Zhuo struggled, limbs sluggish from alcohol and cold, unable to break free. “Freeze me, then.”
But with his body pressed against Shan Feibai’s, his struggle caused his hips to grind against him.
“Why are you so stubborn?” Shan Feibai snapped, tempted to bite him. “You were like this before, and you’re still like this! Dropping me like I’m nothing, after I dragged you all the way here!”
Ning Zhuo, fueled by an old, buried anger, shot back, “Should we be on the same path? Are we the same kind of people?”
Shan Feibai countered, “Why not? Aren’t I just like you now?”
“You’re more like that heiress,” Ning Zhuo retorted. “Without that incident, would you have become like her? Killing for a golf course?”
That was as good as an insult.
Shan Feibai fell silent, his face drained of color. “…Is that what you think of me?”
Ning Zhuo went quiet too.
Even in his muddled state, he knew it was a vicious, baseless accusation.
But apologize to Shan Feibai? Impossible.
In the silence, his lower back was suddenly jolted, making him lurch forward.
Ning Zhuo’s breath caught, a low “mm” escaping him.
Shan Feibai stared at him for a long moment, threading his steel fingers through Ning Zhuo’s, pulling him closer.
Then, under the haze of alcohol and Ning Zhuo’s unspoken guilt, Shan Feibai easily took control. He maneuvered Ning Zhuo to kneel on the floor, upper body draped over the damp mattress, knees propped on a pillow.
Tugging Ning Zhuo’s steel arm back, Shan Feibai gripped his index finger, embarking on a subtle conquest.
The cold black steel against pale skin was strikingly vivid.
An opportunist, Shan Feibai was adept at seizing every detail.
From the side, he could read Ning Zhuo’s every emotional shift and muscle twitch, gauging where to draw an unconscious sound, where to make him tremble, his forehead brushing the soft bed’s edge.
Ning Zhuo was dazed, seemingly unaware that he was being led by Shan Feibai, exposed before his current rival.
In the dark room, only Ning Zhuo’s soft breaths and low moans filled the air.
Occasionally, a car passed outside, its white headlights flashing, illuminating Ning Zhuo’s flushed cheeks and parted, blood-swollen lips.
Shan Feibai teased, “Do you like me?”
Ning Zhuo didn’t answer, focusing intently on resisting the surging desire, his face flushed, refusing to yield.
“Then hate me,” Shan Feibai said, lifting Ning Zhuo’s uninjured hand to his lips, kissing its back gently. “…But not too much. I may seem heartless, but I can hurt too.”
When Ning Zhuo finally gave in, overwhelmed, Shan Feibai let out a long breath, ready to deal with his own needs.
But as he turned, he froze.
Ning Zhuo lay limp against the bed, his face turned toward a bedside mirror.
In the reflection, his eyes were bright, sharp, and piercing.
Shan Feibai’s emotions surged. He dropped to his knees, pulling Ning Zhuo fiercely into his arms.
Softly, he said, “Ning-ge, let me follow you.”
Ning Zhuo’s gem-like green eyes half-closed. Thinking he could hear, Shan Feibai leaned in, cautiously brushing his lips against Ning Zhuo’s.
The sensation jolted Ning Zhuo awake, his eyes snapping open.
The icy glint in them sent a chill through Shan Feibai’s heart.
It was as if he heard the crisp click of a gun being cocked, the clink of an ejected shell hitting the floor.
Ning Zhuo’s gaze carried that same dangerous, thrilling, heart-pounding intensity.
Murmuring, Shan Feibai said, “I’ll behave. I’m not Shan Feibai—I’m your obedient Xiao Bai.”
With that, the grown-up Xiao Bai bit gently at Ning Zhuo’s bobbing Adam’s apple, nibbling without leaving a mark, a purely animalistic, possessive act.
…
The next day, Shan Feibai, having condescended to sleep in the rundown motel, woke with an aching back but a hint of shyness.
He thought he’d torn through the pretense.
Whether Ning Zhuo wanted to kill him or accept him, he no longer had to hide his feelings.
Ning Zhuo slowly opened his eyes, realizing the unfamiliar surroundings, and sat up abruptly.
The motion tugged at his lower body, making him clutch his abdomen and wince slightly.
But the discomfort wasn’t enough to alarm him.
He looked at Shan Feibai, puzzled. “Why are you here?”
Shan Feibai’s face reddened. “I brought you here.”
Ning Zhuo searched his memory, finding nothing but a blank. “…Did you?”
His recollection stopped at Shan Feibai sitting beside him the previous night.
Realizing this, Shan Feibai’s expression froze.
As Ning Zhuo, still clueless, got up to head to the bathroom to freshen up, Shan Feibai—barely clinging to his last shred of dignity—bit the corner of the blanket, silently thrashing on the bed.
How could this happen?!
How could you do this?!
…
Back in the present.
Facing Ning Zhuo’s still-bewildered expression, Shan Feibai didn’t hold back. He snatched Ning Zhuo’s glass, downed it in one gulp, and kissed him forcefully, passing the liquor into his mouth.
Grinning, revealing two charming dimples, he said, “…Forgot? Let’s try it again.”
