Ning Zhuo opened his eyes and cast a sharp glance at Shan Feibai. Leaning against the arc of the pillow behind him, he shifted his waist slightly.
After a satisfying brawl, the surge of adrenaline made his mind floaty, but his muscles and bones were hot and limp, his behavior taking on a rare wildness and recklessness.
Seeing Ning Zhuo’s uncertain expression, Shan Feibai boldly reached out to loosen the tightly fastened belt around his waist.
Ning Zhuo slapped his hand away, undid the belt himself, and raised a long, hefty leg to rest squarely on Shan Feibai’s shoulder.
His skin burned with heat—but only up to his calf.
Even through the sheer fabric of his silk stockings, his toes felt icy, like they had been soaking in snow for years, curling slightly against Shan Feibai’s collarbone.
Because he had long used peppermint oil, Ning Zhuo’s entire body carried no other scent. He was steeped in that fresh, slightly bitter aroma, like a clean and pure plant.
His bold gesture stunned Shan Feibai.
But Ning Zhuo didn’t care what he thought. He leaned back against the headboard, muscles relaxed, utterly unguarded.
His thought process was simple:
This dog I raised… just so happens to have hands.
In Ning Zhuo’s eyes, this little wolf pup wagging his tail and running over to please him probably wasn’t acting out of any real sincerity. He was likely just mocking him for getting into such an awkward predicament after a fight.
Since the kid was willing to come over, Ning Zhuo had no problem playing along.
You want to act cheap? Fine. I’ll allow it. Let’s see if you dare to actually follow through.
He didn’t believe any grown man could sincerely be willing to handle such a thing for another man.
Over the years, making Shan Feibai uncomfortable had practically become Ning Zhuo’s default mode.
He lounged with his leg still on Shan Feibai’s shoulder, waiting for him to move.
When Shan Feibai finally grasped him in full, Ning Zhuo didn’t flinch. His brows only twitched slightly, head tilting back as if he had fallen asleep—only the rise and fall of his chest showed otherwise.
But soon, something started to feel… off.
The deeper things went, the faster Ning Zhuo’s heart pounded, to the point of discomfort.
Shan Feibai’s palm was dry, his body temperature too high, and his movements slow—like he was intentionally torturing him.
Yet when Ning Zhuo opened his eyes and shot him a dagger-like glare, he found the man half-kneeling at the bedside, looking entirely focused and serious.
…He really just seemed clumsy.
Ning Zhuo rolled his neck and ordered, “Hurry up. Why are you dragging it out?”
Shan Feibai grunted in acknowledgment, eyes locked onto the task at hand, seemingly unwilling to be distracted.
Under pressure and command, he applied more effort—but in a way that felt awkward. The rhythm alternated between tight and slack, making Ning Zhuo’s lower back ache and tense, making him want to shift around.
He held still, gritting his teeth and grabbing the iron railing, considering whether to snap at Shan Feibai then and there.
One small movement of his foot could snap Shan Feibai’s collarbone.
But right now, he needed a fully intact and capable helper.
Hurting Shan Feibai would be like clipping his own wings.
Unbeknownst to Ning Zhuo, Shan Feibai was watching him while he kept his eyes closed and endured.
At that moment, there was rare color in Ning Zhuo’s cheeks. His lips were lightly bitten, moist and flushed.
Shan Feibai’s world was always drab. Red and green were the only vivid colors.
And all of that vividness now concentrated on Ning Zhuo, making it impossible for him to look away.
Ning Zhuo lifted his damp eyelashes again.
The iron railing was pitch black, which only made his pale, untouched skin glow more.
He growled, “…Are you doing this on purpose?”
Shan Feibai instantly lowered his gaze, looking wronged. “How could I dare? Are you uncomfortable, Ning-ge?”
It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable—
It was too comfortable. So comfortable it felt strange. He even had to consciously stop himself from making a sound.
Ning Zhuo never let himself enjoy things. So, comfort made him deeply uneasy.
He didn’t want to speak more. The two-word order he forced out even trembled slightly with the heat pounding in his chest: “Faster.”
Shan Feibai kept his hands busy while studying him closely.
Ning Zhuo’s bones and tendons were incredibly flexible. If Shan Feibai scooted closer, his leg would lift higher. If he moved away, the leg would stretch straight out—he could probably raise it over his head with ease. He’d be perfect for dancing.
Discreetly, Shan Feibai brushed the back of his hand along Ning Zhuo’s thigh.
The muscles were taut, springy, brimming with strength.
He stopped himself from doing anything more. Dropping his gaze, he feared the fire in his chest might drive him to do something wildly inappropriate.
Shan Feibai seemed like someone with no boundaries—but in truth, he had a clear ruler in his mind, always knowing when to advance and when to retreat.
Lurk patiently, strike with precision—that was his forte.
After a while, Ning Zhuo frowned again and braced himself on both sides. “…Let go.”
Shan Feibai obeyed instantly. But just after letting go, he leaned in, parted his lips—
Ning Zhuo froze, eyes half-lidded in shock, watching Shan Feibai tilt his head and wipe the corner of his mouth in confusion.
“You—”
Seeing the rare blush on Ning Zhuo’s pale cheeks, Shan Feibai pouted slightly, looking utterly innocent: “Wasn’t that what you meant, Ning-ge? You told me not to use my hands… so I used my mouth?”
Ning Zhuo opened his mouth, then abruptly grew so frustrated he couldn’t stand it.
He felt like he’d been toyed with again.
He kicked Shan Feibai in the chest.
Of course, his waist was still soft and weak, so the kick had little force. Only the sound was loud: “Get lost!”
Shan Feibai rolled away quickly, locking himself in the bathroom like a guilty little animal who knew he had messed up.
Ning Zhuo tidied himself up without getting out of bed, staring at the tightly shut door. After a moment of reflection, he realized it was probably his instructions that had been ambiguous. Maybe he was being unreasonable.
…So be it. He deserved it. Let him suffer.
As for what was happening inside that door—whether Shan Feibai was actually scared of getting beaten or secretly enjoying the sight of his flustered face—
Ning Zhuo lightly clenched his fists, rubbing his lower back without much care, unwilling to think further.
Meanwhile—
In the small, clean bathroom, Shan Feibai leaned forward slightly. One hand dropped lower while the other braced against the wall. He couldn’t hold back anymore and punched the wall hard with a muffled thud.
He stared intently at the marks on his knuckles and cheeks in the mirror.
He didn’t make a sound, swallowing everything—noise included—down his throat.
Ning Zhuo sat in a daze for a long time.
Only when he heard the faucet turn on and water began to flow did he realize Shan Feibai hadn’t even had time to wash up before going in.
He imagined Shan Feibai’s disgusted expression and, with a grim face, got out of bed. Two opposing feelings tangled in his heart:
One, the satisfaction of having dirtied the little wolf cub’s glossy fur.
Two, the urge to break down that door and beat him up.
Caught between those two bizarre impulses, Ning Zhuo successfully ruined his own sleep.
An hour after lights-out, he quietly got out of bed like a ghost, sat by the desk, and stared at the already-sleeping Shan Feibai.
He wasn’t sure whether he had crossed the line by allowing Shan Feibai to go that far—or whether Shan Feibai had crossed it by going that far.
He only knew—something about all this felt wrong.
But what exactly was wrong, he couldn’t say.
That contradiction had always run through their relationship.
Ning Zhuo realized: he both trusted and didn’t trust Shan Feibai.
He trusted him with crucial, sensitive matters—but couldn’t bring himself to trust him with his own heart.
Which was strange.
Because with everyone else, it was the opposite: he gave his heart first, then assigned responsibility.
The night was quiet—quiet enough for Ning Zhuo to review everything that had ever happened.
He thought, back then, when he risked his life to save Shan Feibai—and now, after this incident—did he ever regret it?
After much thought, Ning Zhuo gave himself an answer: No.
So then, if there was resentment but no regret—what was it all for?
He stared at Shan Feibai’s bed for half an hour before deciding: it was probably out of some stubborn, childish defiance.
He climbed back into bed.
The moment the bunk creaked faintly, Shan Feibai—keeping a steady rhythm of breath—slowly opened his eyes.
He thought Ning Zhuo had watched him for so long in the dark because he was planning to strangle him.
But since he hadn’t, that meant there were feelings.
Whether good or bad—as long as there were feelings, Shan Feibai could work with that.
What he feared most was Ning Zhuo drawing a line and cutting him off.
Just as he was about to relax and drift off to sleep, he suddenly heard Ning Zhuo’s voice from below.
“Hey.”
Shan Feibai stayed silent.
The next second, the bed frame was kicked hard from below, nearly launching him into the air.
Ning Zhuo: “Don’t pretend. I know you’re awake.”
Shan Feibai grabbed the edge and poked his head out, pretending to be a timid little quail.
Ning Zhuo sat up, eyes locked on him in the dark, their faces inches apart. “Do you regret stabbing me back then?”
Shan Feibai knew this was a serious question, so he gave a serious answer: “No.”
…If it hadn’t been him, it would’ve been someone else.
He’d rather it be himself.
Here’s the English translation of the passage:
That way, he could be the first in Ning Zhuo’s heart.
If he couldn’t be the first one Ning loved, he’d be the first one he hated and couldn’t get rid of—then kill all Ning Zhuo’s enemies and become his only enemy.
Shan Feibai couldn’t help but gloat. “See? I made you remember me for all these years.”
Ning Zhuo replied, “Oh. That’s true. If you hadn’t jumped out back then, I would’ve forgotten who you even were.”
Shan Feibai: “…”
He fell silent for a moment. He seemed genuinely pissed.
After grinding his molars for a bit, Shan Feibai asked, “Then Ning-ge, do you regret saving me?”
Ning Zhuo answered without a second thought, “Yeah. Should’ve let them take you. Your dad would’ve paid the ransom and been rid of you. You’d have a scare. I’d just pass by. Perfect—everyone’s happy.”
This time, Shan Feibai couldn’t even control his breathing—it got noticeably heavier. “…Ge, you’re pissing me off again.”
Ning Zhuo: “So what? You got a problem with that?”
“I do.” Shan Feibai licked his lips lightly, then lowered his voice with a hint of mischief. “…It tastes a little bloody.”
Ning Zhuo’s mind buzzed. He grabbed Shan Feibai by the throat and yanked him off the top bunk.
After Shan Feibai’s iron spine made intimate contact with the floor, Ning Zhuo followed and straddled him.
He’d decided—tonight, he was going to half-kill him.
Not fully dead. Just half-dead.
…
Motobu Takeshi had nightmares all night.
In the dream, his throat was slit, and he woke up with a scream.
The little duckling sleeping beside him was so startled it let out a squeak and sat up, still bleary-eyed—only to be thrown violently to the ground by Motobu Takeshi.
The boy’s head hit the edge of the nightstand with a bang, and blood immediately streamed down his cheek.
Jin Hu had stayed outside the door all night, eyes wide open. Hearing the commotion, he limped in, only to freeze speechlessly at the scene.
Motobu Takeshi clutched his throbbing temple and grunted, “Get out!”
It was the duckling’s first time serving someone in bed, but he had two or three years of experience drinking with clients. He didn’t even dare cry. Clutching his bleeding forehead, he scrambled out.
Jin Hu took a few uneven steps forward, pretending he hadn’t seen anything. “Do you have any plans today, sir?”
He needed to know Motobu Takeshi’s entire schedule to clear out any potential threats ahead of time.
He had even assigned two men—one to follow Ning Zhuo, the other to follow Shan Feibai.
There couldn’t be any more accidents.
But Motobu Takeshi didn’t answer his question.
He glanced at Jin Hu. “What’s wrong with your leg?”
At the mention of his leg, Jin Hu gritted his teeth in fury.
It was that damned rabbit—Ning Zhuo.
That guy’s all legs. And every time there was an opening, he’d sweep his shin right at Jin Hu’s thigh.
It hadn’t seemed like much at the time, but today, the moment his legs touched the ground, Jin Hu nearly collapsed from the pain. He took off his pants and saw that both thighs were swollen and shiny, like two fat white radishes.
He, a grown man, now knew what it felt like to walk on knives—like the Little Mermaid.
Goddamn rabbit!
While cursing Ning Zhuo’s ancestors in his heart, Jin Hu forced a smile and said, “Twisted it accidentally.”
Motobu Takeshi, already anxious about his personal safety, immediately labeled Jin Hu as “useless.” He decided to call Uncle Sun later to replace his current batch of mercenaries.
Last night, even his half-hearted play with the duckling had been dull. Now, he didn’t feel like going anywhere. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed Jin Hu and the duckling.
Jin Hu, stiffed and dragging his noodle-like legs, had just reached the door when a cautious knock came from outside.
Motobu Takeshi was about to lie back down when he heard the knock and snapped, “Who is it?”
A prison guard entered, his face cautious and apologetic, like a flunky forced to interrupt a big boss. “Mr. Motobu Takeshi, sorry to bother you… There’s a police officer here to see you. He requests you come to the visiting room. Are you available?”
“Hah?” Motobu Takeshi wrapped the blanket tighter around him. “No!”
The guard winced. “He said he’s from the White Shield headquarters…”
“From White Shield? Then go ask him if he knows the rules!” Motobu Takeshi slammed the bed. His anger flared. “If he wants to see me, he should’ve made an appointment three days in advance!”
The guard sensed the danger and quickly backed out, nodding all the way.
When he reported to his supervisor, the supervisor went to see the team leader from the 930 task force who had come from White Shield.
Of course, he couldn’t say Motobu Takeshi, a prisoner, demanded appointments before talking to the police.
So he replied, “Motobu Takeshi is sick. He’s currently resting.”
Lin Qin stood up, voice calm. “Oh? What illness? If he can talk, I’d still like to see him today.”
The supervisor replied smoothly, “Epilepsy. He needs to rest quietly.”
Lin Qin nodded, eyes glancing toward the name tag on the supervisor’s chest.
“Epilepsy” was one of the fake conditions Motobu Takeshi had made up when pretending to be mentally ill.
Park Won-jin, duty supervisor at the 1st Prison of Atber District, knew all of Motobu Takeshi’s fake medical records by heart. He played his part well—helping Motobu Takeshi brush off anyone he didn’t want to see.
Seeing that Lin Qin and his colleague weren’t leaving, Park snorted inwardly.
Motobu Takeshi was right. These people were so disrespectful.
In that case, no need for the fake hospitality.
Park walked over and, smiling, picked up the water cups prepared for Lin Qin and the other officer.
He didn’t kick them out directly.
But every bit of his body language screamed: Time to go.
They had been sitting there for almost thirty minutes, the overly warm air drying out their throats, yet they hadn’t had a single sip of water—now even the cups were gone.
The younger officer couldn’t hold it anymore and frowned. “You—”
Lin Qin stopped him with a gesture.
Park tossed their cups into the automated trash bin in front of them, then stood by the door, ready to open it and show them out.
The high-security zone of Atber Prison didn’t welcome “outsiders.”
Lin Qin might be a bigshot on paper—the head of the 930 task force from White Shield—but titles were just that: titles.
The inmates here were worth far more than someone from the lower district.
Park knew exactly who he could offend and who he couldn’t.
Despite the blatant cold shoulder, Lin Qin remained polite. “May I ask you two questions?”
Park replied stiffly, “I’m only on shift every other day. My knowledge is limited. If I know, I’ll answer. If not, I won’t make things up.”
Lin Qin: “Okay. Has anything unusual happened in Motobu Takeshi’s block recently?”
Park stiffened inside.
He had just heard during shift change that something in the high-security area had pissed off Mr. Motobu Takeshi the night before.
They were instructed to be extra careful, check all systems, and avoid messing up again.
Still, he kept a straight face and shook his head. “No.”
Lin Qin thought, Too fast.
Water breaking, power outage—those are unusual too.
Inmates falling ill, fighting, arguing—also unusual.
Just a second ago, he said Motobu Takeshi had epilepsy. Now he acts like nothing happened.
Still, Lin Qin knew pressing further would get him nowhere. So he asked the second question: “…Has anyone new been admitted to the prison in the past two days?”
This time Park answered smoothly. “Plenty of new inmates in other blocks. I don’t have the exact numbers. You’d have to ask their supervisors. In the area I manage, no one.”
High-security block rules: no leaks.
Only someone with a sealed mouth could work here.
No information left their lips.
Lin Qin gave a brief hum, stood up, and bowed. “Thank you.”
He said his goodbyes politely and led his disgruntled partner back to White Shield HQ.
Atber District’s prison wasn’t far—only about 20 minutes by car.
His partner grumbled the entire way back. The moment they arrived, he rushed inside to rant to their teammates about the prison’s arrogance.
Lin Qin lagged behind, took a private communicator from his right pocket.
He didn’t have many contacts saved.
Alphabetically, the first was “Dad.”
The second was “Father Fu.”
The third was “Ning.”
He called “Ning.”
Beep—
Beep—
The sixth ring finally connected.
Ning Zhuo’s voice was hoarse. “Hello.”
—Thanks to the high-security area’s laughably loose protections, sneaking in unauthorized items was easy.
Just from the sound of his voice, Lin Qin frowned. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”
There was a pause. Ning Zhuo’s voice was cold as ice. “…Got a fever.”
Lin Qin asked with concern, “Did you not cover yourself properly?”
Ning Zhuo replied expressionlessly, “Got bitten by a dog.”
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