Shan Feibai: “…”
In his upside-down world, Ning Zhuo quietly gazed at him. His gem-like eyes reflected Shan Feibai’s shadow, seeming to carry a strange power, making his heartbeat quicken with each passing second.
Shan Feibai’s well-trained waist tensed. Just as he was about to lower his legs, Ning Zhuo reached out and supported his neck, his fingers pressing along the line of his spine, locking onto a vulnerable spot and holding him firmly in his grasp.
…It meant he wasn’t allowed to move.
Ning Zhuo was on top, and Shan Feibai was beneath him, caught in a thoroughly restrained position.
Shan Feibai met his gaze for a moment, understanding something in his heart. He stretched out his arms, wrapped them tightly around Ning Zhuo’s waist, and pulled himself closer into Ning Zhuo’s embrace. “Ning-ge still doesn’t trust me, does he?”
“Trust?”
If Shan Feibai hadn’t ended up in his hands after being severely injured, Ning Zhuo would never have believed that one day, he’d actually sit down with Shan Feibai to discuss “trusting him” at all.
Ning Zhuo maintained this ambiguous posture with him, but because he was lost in thought, he remained emotionally unperturbed by their closeness.
Ning Zhuo said, “I chose you because I don’t trust you.”
This was the truth.
Ning Zhuo could firmly control the loyalty of his subordinates, manipulate the “White Shield” superintendent high above, and, to some extent, always guess a few of his old friend Lin Qin’s sly intentions.
But when it came to Shan Feibai, he always felt like he was looking at a flower in the fog.
He could never tell which of Shan Feibai’s words—the words of this young wolf cub—were true and which were lies.
Eighteen-year-old Ning Zhuo had suffered because he “trusted Shan Feibai,” had his heart broken, so twenty-eight-year-old Ning Zhuo needed to be vigilant—more vigilant.
Thus, Ning Zhuo kneeled halfway before him and, with the solemn tone of a vow, said, “So, I’m dragging you down with me. If I taint you, I’ll feel at ease.”
“If you ever try to double-cross me, killing you would only take the flick of a wrist. Understand?”
Shan Feibai obediently nodded, “Mhm.”
In that moment, he looked nothing like a wolf cub, surrendering his neck, showing no concern for the fact that Ning Zhuo could crush it with one squeeze.
Ning Zhuo instinctively reached out and gave it a squeeze.
The back of his neck, having recently been fitted with metal, was half-cool, half-warm, half-hard, and half-soft, with a resilience and elasticity unique to someone young.
Seeing the skin on the back of his neck molded by his fingers, Ning Zhuo felt he had fully controlled him.
This made Ning Zhuo feel a faint, deep sense of satisfaction.
Coming to his senses, Ning Zhuo noticed that Shan Feibai was absentmindedly measuring his waist with his hand, inch by inch.
Ning Zhuo: “…”
He caught his wrist with a swift backhand. “What are you feeling?”
Shan Feibai replied evasively, “Just a distraction.”
Ning Zhuo’s waist was slender and flexible, yet his bones were very firm, cool to the touch, as if cast from some sort of cold iron.
Shan Feibai was fully absorbed in measuring his waist, channeling his focus away so he wouldn’t be tempted to kiss him.
Ning Zhuo looked down at his hand and didn’t say anything, only curling his fingers. The second joint of his mechanical index finger bent, releasing an automatic lighter that sprang out with a faint red flame at the tip.
Ning Zhuo didn’t have a habit of smoking since a kidnapper he had once killed used to love puffing away.
However, mercenaries rarely refrained from indulging in smoking or drinking, to numb their nerves strained from violence or to kill off excess energy.
For social purposes, Ning Zhuo knew how to smoke, drink, and, naturally, carried a lighter on him.
Ning Zhuo was determined to teach Shan Feibai a lesson.
He said softly, “Do only what I tell you. I didn’t tell you to do that.”
After speaking, he pressed the lighter to the inside of Shan Feibai’s elbow.
With a sizzle, there was a searing sound that made one’s teeth ache.
Shan Feibai’s body shuddered painfully.
However, moments later, Ning Zhuo sensed something was off.
Shan Feibai didn’t pull away. Instead, he extended his arm, pulling him into a tight embrace as though that burning patch of skin didn’t belong to him at all.
His body trembled slightly, like a pitiful puppy.
The rhythmic knocking on the door outside made Ning Zhuo’s hand tremble, abruptly ending this not-very-successful attempt at taming.
Yu Shujian called from outside, “Ning-ge, it’s done.”
Ning Zhuo, a bit distracted, raised his voice without meaning to: “Leave it outside the door.”
Yu Shujian shivered, picking up on Ning Zhuo’s bad mood, quickly set the item down, and briskly retreated.
Ning Zhuo withdrew his warm fingers, feeling an urge to curse, but sensed he’d lose face if he said anything. So, he changed the subject altogether. “Haven’t eaten much since yesterday, have you?”
Shan Feibai extended his hands, gracefully flipped in a rolling motion, and lightly landed from the bar.
He covered the inside of his elbow, a thin layer of sweat beading on the tip of his nose. “Mm.”
After responding, he seemed to realize something, and his eyes suddenly lit up.
Ning Zhuo stood up. “I bought some food for you.”
As he spoke, he finally remembered something. He took a piece of paper folded twice out of his pocket and slapped it onto the table beside them. “…Took care of a little business too.”
Puzzled, Shan Feibai looked at it. While Ning Zhuo turned to open the door, Shan Feibai half-knelt on the floor, reaching out to touch the thin piece of paper.
With his back to him, Ning Zhuo opened the door. “One hundred and eighty thousand—I’ve bought you out from your father.”
“If your dad retires at seventy, in good health and with a long life, by the minimum support standard of 1,000 yuan per month in Silver Hammer City, split evenly with your brother, you would pay 500 yuan a month in support. One hundred and eighty thousand is precisely what it would add up to.”
He shut the door behind him. “Of course, whether you care or not, you won’t see a cent of the Zhang family’s fortune.”
Ning Zhuo and Shan Feibai had opposed each other for so many years, and Shan Feibai always kept his thoughts buried so deeply that Ning Zhuo understood his tactics and his mischief, but not his heart.
He knew that Shan Feibai might detest the Zhang family, but he couldn’t be sure if he was just in a rebellious phase, going against the family on purpose for attention.
But when he turned back and saw Shan Feibai clutching the contract tightly, his eyes bright and his body trembling slightly with excitement, Ning Zhuo knew he’d overthought it.
Ning Zhuo thought to himself, “Lucky him, the little nutcase.”
Thinking this, he reached into another pocket.
He pulled out something a little unseemly.
After he had negotiated with Zhang Rong’en, and the latter had called his butler over for instructions, Ning Zhuo did something a bit unexpected.
He had asked where Shan Feibai’s room was.
The butler, of course, had shown him.
The photo in his hand was the only thing Ning Zhuo had taken from Shan Feibai’s room.
It was a childhood photo of Shan Feibai with a woman.
The woman should be Zhang Yunhua.
She wore a straw hat and a comfortable, fitting beach-style dress. Though her youth had faded, traces of her past charm could still be seen in the contours of her eyes.
Her left leg was an independent design—a steel, three-dimensional leg called “Treading Song.” At the ankle was an audio output, allowing her to “tread to music,” as the name implied.
Standing beside her was the young Shan Feibai, whom Ning Zhuo recognized.
He wore a plaid cap, his hair sticking up under the brim, headphones on, with a bright smile that didn’t at all resemble the future adversary he’d become.
Ning Zhuo shifted his gaze from the photo to the young man standing before him, with a figure straight as a pine tree, feeling a bit of regret. He thought Shan Feibai had grown up crooked.
Shan Feibai finally recovered from his euphoria, his eyes sparkling as he turned to call, “Ning-ge—”
But when his gaze fell on the cup in Ning Zhuo’s hand, his smile instantly froze. “…”
His expression looked even more horrified than when he’d been scalded earlier.
This reaction greatly amused Ning Zhuo.
He put the photo back in his jacket pocket and set the cup lightly in front of Shan Feibai, his tone slightly playful. “Here, drink it. Carrot juice.”
——Shan Feibai was severely colorblind.
Ning Zhuo had learned about Shan Feibai’s vision problem only after he started opposing him.
Back when they were with “Haina” for three months, Shan Feibai hadn’t even revealed his real identity, let alone something like this.
Besides, colorblindness wasn’t a major issue for him.
His vision was extraordinarily sharp; colorblindness didn’t stop him from covertly aiming his gun at Ning Zhuo from behind.
Ning Zhuo discovered Shan Feibai’s not-so-weak weakness during a joint operation with “Panqiao.”
When large companies were short-staffed, they often hired more than one mercenary group to work together.
Some eccentric bosses enjoyed watching two rival groups team up for money, begrudgingly holding their noses and working together to accomplish his goals.
“Haina” and “Panqiao” were rivals, but neither held grudges against money.
They were both top-tier mercenary organizations, and they’d fought and eaten together, though each took their own side, ignoring each other.
After a successful security job one time, the boss, very pleased, invited the three mercenary groups involved to a barbecue.
In this era, barbecue was a rarity.
Even if it meant eating with “Panqiao,” the young mercenaries from “Haina” couldn’t resist.
As the leader, Ning Zhuo, of course, went.
He saw with his own eyes that Shan Feibai, after placing his meat on the grill nearest to him, turned to chat, social butterfly that he was.
People from “Panqiao,” who were close to Shan Feibai, took his cooked meat, replacing it with raw skewers on the grill over the coals.
After a while, Shan Feibai checked the time, then, right in front of Ning Zhuo, picked up the half-raw meat and naturally brought it to his mouth.
The next second, he licked his lips and put it back down with a surprisingly honest look.
Ning Zhuo then remembered the first thing Shan Feibai had ever said to him in person.
“Gege, the color of your eyes seems different from other people’s.”
…“Seems”?
With that in mind, Ning Zhuo secretly took note of it.
Now that he knew Shan Feibai was particularly picky about food, he couldn’t resist getting a little payback.
Sure enough, Shan Feibai looked at him miserably. “Ning-ge, carrots don’t do anything for me…”
Ning Zhuo was unmoved. “You won’t know if it doesn’t work until you drink it.”
Shan Feibai tried to bring up an elder. “Even my grandma couldn’t make me drink it.”
“I’m not your grandma. Drink it,” Ning Zhuo commanded with finality. “Afterward, I’ll take you to meet someone.”
