Ning Zhuo’s illness came on fiercely, lingering like a slow thread, with fever spiking and dipping for two days, dragging into pneumonia.
Min Min rushed to his aid.
The gratitude she’d bottled up over those days turned to fury when she saw Ning Zhuo’s ashen, fever-ravaged face.
“No cure for stupidity—you’ll burn yourself into an idiot!”
Her words fired like a machine gun, crisp and sharp: “I shouldn’t bother with you. Let you fry your brain to mush, then you’ll behave!”
Ning Zhuo, ears buzzing from the fever, stayed quiet, not retorting.
Min Min scolded him for a while, but seeing him half-dead in bed, eyes red from fever, a wave of tenderness softened her. She stopped nagging, gently ruffled his hair with maternal care, prepared medicine and water, and patiently helped him drink.
To her, Ning Zhuo was her most disobedient patient.
…But also half a brother, family.
His illness sparked a small uproar within “Haina.”
To most in “Haina,” Ning Zhuo was a perpetual motion machine, his relentless pace raising fears about the toll it took.
They always worried that once he fell, he might never rise again.
Now, with Ning Zhuo down, their fears seemed to materialize, throwing everyone into disarray.
The burly men visiting him fumbled for words, instead reporting recent successful jobs like schoolkids presenting homework to a teacher.
Ning Zhuo’s face was paler than the sheets, eyes closed, seemingly asleep, only nodding occasionally to show he was awake.
He was too drained to respond, but by the end, each report turned emotional: “Ning-ge, we’re all doing fine. You gotta get better quick.”
Ning Zhuo: “…” I’m sick, not dead.
At one point, he cracked an eye open to see a six-foot-four tough guy staring at him, teary-eyed, hesitating to speak.
He shut his eye like he’d seen a ghost, convinced his fever had fried his brain.
Jin Xueshen arrived last.
He even declined Yu Shifei’s offer to visit together.
Yu Shifei asked curiously, “Why not go?”
Jin Xueshen, head down, reviewing a new account: “We’re not that close.”
Yu Shifei: “Then why did he promote you to third-in-command?”
Jin Xueshen: “I’m capable. I can fight and keep books. I earned it.”
Yu Shifei smirked.
Jin Xueshen, hyper-attuned to others’ emotions, looked up sharply: “What’s so funny?”
Yu Shifei: “You’re proud. It’s cute.”
Jin Xueshen, baffled: “…You sick or something?”
He ducked his head, face flushing, fanning himself impatiently.
Yu Shifei watched him: “What’s up with your body, though?”
Jin Xueshen frowned: “You’re asking that again?”
Yu Shifei: “I want to know.”
Jin Xueshen: “No comment. My business is none of yours.”
He met Yu Shifei’s gaze, challenging: “Like if I asked about your background, would you tell me?”
Yu Shifei answered bluntly: “I’m a se-x android.”
The bombshell reply made Jin Xueshen look up, stunned.
Yu Shifei, hand on chest, explained concisely: “Here’s the deal. I’m a high-end custom se-x android, top-tier male model, unused. My first client after pickup wanted SM, with me as the M, nearly killed me. I killed him in self-defense. Feibai took me in, taught me other skills. Now I focus on hacking and virus creation.”
Jin Xueshen knew some androids, built too well, developed self-awareness.
All androids faced a final Empathic test from the Android Control Association to weed out “defective” anomalies.
He couldn’t help asking, “How’d you dodge the test?”
Yu Shifei: “The day I activated, the testing machine was down for an upgrade, so I wasn’t tested immediately. In four hours, I figured out what was happening. Knowing the Empathic test was next, I researched online, found ten sample questions, generated 33,172 emotional test questions with answers, and prepared thoroughly to pass as a standard android.”
Jin Xueshen studied him, finding his refined face nothing like the gaudy se-x androids he’d imagined.
He couldn’t picture Yu Shifei like the cheap se-x bots he’d seen—limbs broken, eyes gouged, still dutifully servicing clients on the streets.
Sincerely, he said, “This is better. Way better than that work. …Your name, did Feibai pick it?”
Yu Shifei nodded: “Yes. The surname came from a dictionary. ‘Shifei’ means he hopes I can discern right from wrong.”
Jin Xueshen had heard him call Shan Feibai “Feibai” before, but even in this private, two-person chat, he still used the affectionate term.
For some reason, it grated on Jin Xueshen’s ears, and his tone turned tart: “After all these years, you’ve probably forgotten your old trade, huh?”
“Not really,” Yu Shifei mused, pointing at Jin Xueshen’s abdomen. “For example, I could massage your mechanical organs through your stomach right now and make you climax in ten minutes.”
Jin Xueshen’s face blazed red to his ears: “Pervert! Get out!”
Yu Shifei, puzzled: “It’d feel good…”
Jin Xueshen kicked and shoved him out of the office.
Leaning against the door, he mentally cursed Yu Shifei a thousand times.
But then he realized his hand was on his abdomen, unconsciously rubbing.
The mechanical parts beneath ran smoothly, subtly shifting against his warm skin.
He imagined it was Yu Shifei’s hand.
That slender, delicate, knuckled hand—initially, he’d thought it was made for killing.
Not for… that.
The contrast turned a simple “touch” into something intensely intimate.
Jin Xueshen felt his body react.
…Just from imagining.
He’d had morning incidents before, but never in the office.
Flustered and furious, he spat, “Damn it!”
Yu Shifei’s calm, gentle voice came through the door: “Mr. Raven, it’s your turn.”
Startled that he was still outside, Jin Xueshen stepped back, legs slightly apart, snapping, “Turn for what?”
Yu Shifei, reasonable: “Weren’t we trading secrets? I shared mine. Now it’s your turn.”
Jin Xueshen gritted his teeth, crouched, pressed his feverish forehead to the cool door, and growled, “No comment!”
Yu Shifei wasn’t discouraged.
He thought, Ravens are indeed sly, clever creatures.
…What to do? Now he was even more intrigued.
…
Jin Xueshen anxiously waited days, confirming everyone else had visited Ning Zhuo, before casually strolling in, pretending he’d just wrapped up a big job.
Seeing him, Jin Xueshen got straight to the point: “What’ve you been up to lately? Always in and out.”
Ning Zhuo replied calmly, “Courting death. Once I’m gone, you’ll be ‘Haina’s’ second-in-command.”
Jin Xueshen didn’t buy it: “Sure, let me check—how long till I take over?”
He reached out, touching Ning Zhuo’s forehead, and flinched.
Still burning after all these days?
His heart raced with worry, but he kept his tone light: “How high’s the fever?”
Ning Zhuo: “It was gone till you showed up and set it off again.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m bad luck now?”
“You’re the Raven. Don’t you know if you’re bad luck?”
After a few rounds of sparring, Jin Xueshen was so exasperated he had to take deep breaths.
He spat, “Pfft! Get better quick, I can’t stand looking at a corpse!”
With that, he stormed out, nearly colliding with Shan Feibai, who was returning.
Seeing Shan Feibai’s smug grin, Jin Xueshen recalled Yu Shifei’s “Feibai” from days ago, and a surge of irritation hit him.
Before leaving, he shot Shan Feibai a vicious glare.
Shan Feibai: “?”
Carrying a glass of pear water, Shan Feibai returned to the room and helped Ning Zhuo drink: “What’s his deal? On something?”
Ning Zhuo sipped, found it decent, and drank most of it from his hand.
He said, “Can’t handle it. His stomach’s weak, can’t digest much.”
Shan Feibai burst out laughing: “Ning-ge, speaking of that, I meant to ask—Yu Shifei asked me to check with you. What’s with Jin-ge’s mechanical guts? What happened to his original organs?”
“Don’t tell Yu Shifei.”
Leaning back on a soft pillow, Ning Zhuo pressed his chest, catching his breath: “His family used to be well-off. Jin Xueshen has a sister, Zhi Han.”
The name “Zhi Han” rang a bell for Shan Feibai.
After a moment, he recalled: Jin Xueshen’s crimson plasma bow had “Zhi Han” carved on its handle.
Ning Zhuo recounted the tragedy flatly: “Jin Xueshen’s parents were conned into guaranteeing a high-interest loan for a friend. The friend died in an accident, and their family was dragged down with him.”
“Their cash flow collapsed. Car, house—everything gone. Total ruin.”
“Jin Xueshen and Zhi Han were young. Their parents, desperate, burned charcoal to take the whole family out.”
“He was unlucky. Only he survived, tough as nails.”
Ning Zhuo paused, hand on his chest, stirred by an old wound.
After the pang passed, he continued: “Debts don’t die with the debtor. Since Jin Xueshen lived, it all fell on him. He was sent to the organ black market, locked in a dark room awaiting matches.”
“He was sturdy, held out two years. They sold every organ they could, swapped in cheap life-support systems, and he still didn’t die. The loan sharks knew he wouldn’t last, so they planned to squeeze out his last bit of value before disposing of him.”
“When ‘Haina’ was just starting, Boss Fu still took occasional jobs. He brought Jin Xueshen back and got him top-grade mechanical organs, saving his life.”
Shan Feibai, sharp as ever, caught on instantly hearing Jin Xueshen’s past laid bare.
The next one with a score to settle was Jin Xueshen.
Analyzing the info, he zeroed in on the biggest question: “That ‘friend’ of his parents—really dead?”
Ning Zhuo glanced at him.
His animal-like intuition was spot-on.
“No, he didn’t die.”
“I always thought the friend’s death was fishy, so I had ‘Tuner’ keep tabs. Later, I found he’d undergone biometric face-swapping and bought a full set of legit IDs on the black market. …Now, he’s a consultant at Webway, living the happy life—wife, kids, house, car.”
“Does Jin Xueshen know?”
Ning Zhuo shifted slightly, adjusting his posture: “Not yet. But he deserves to.”
He hadn’t told Tang Kaichang because Tang was too naive, lacking the “revenge” instinct.
He didn’t tell Min Min because the plan was so explosive that even a shred of rationality would make her oppose the risk.
Jin Xueshen’s case was different.
He had a right to be involved.
Summing it up, Ning Zhuo said, “Once I’m better, I’ll contact ‘Tuner’ again.”
Unexpectedly, before Ning Zhuo reached out, “Tuner” contacted him first.
It was their first time initiating contact.
By then, Ning Zhuo’s illness had mostly subsided. He still coughed and wheezed but could move freely.
He agreed to meet.
Shan Feibai, displeased, grumbled while preparing Ning Zhuo’s clothes: “It’s raining today. Can’t you stay in?”
Ning Zhuo, concise: “No.”
Shan Feibai: “Then take me with you.”
Ning Zhuo said, “I only meet one person at a time.”
Shan Feibai replied, “Then I’ll squat outside! Waiting for you to pick me up and take me home.”
In his mind, Ning Zhuo pictured a little dog crouching pitifully under the eaves in the rain, its face drooping miserably, tail sweeping the ground in dejection. For some reason, this made him inexplicably cheerful, and even his insults carried a hint of amusement. “Scram.”
Seeing that tailing him wasn’t allowed, Shan Feibai started making demands. “Then I want oranges. Bring me some oranges.”
Ning Zhuo: “…Keep dreaming. Oranges. Do you know how expensive oranges are in winter?”
Shan Feibai righteously retorted, “Not allowed to follow, not willing to buy oranges—doesn’t that make me an unwanted, uncared-for stray dog?”
Ning Zhuo: “…”
Even though he knew Shan Feibai was capable of saying anything, he still marveled at his shamelessness every time.
“I’ll be back soon. Stay put,” Ning Zhuo said.
As Ning Zhuo headed out, Shan Feibai immediately got busy tidying himself up.
He was born incompatible with the word “obedient.”
He was going to secretly follow, squat outside the “Tuner’s” door, and give Ning Zhuo a surprise—so Ning Zhuo would have no choice but to pick him up and take him home.
Just as he reached for his black military-style beret, suddenly, a sharp, shrill buzzing noise shot up along his spine:
Beep—
Shan Feibai staggered, losing balance, and fell hard to the ground.
Cold sweat burst from him in an instant.
He rolled twice on the floor from the pain, broken groans escaping between his clenched teeth.
The blue in his irises began to ripple wildly, shifting from lake blue, to ocean blue, to sky blue—gradually transforming into a fragmented, cosmic blue that shimmered like scattered stardust in the vast universe.
The three electronic horizontal lines at the bottom of his eyes flashed madly, flickering like warning lights.
Shan Feibai struggled to pull his knees up, trying to support himself.
But his out-of-control spine stripped him of all strength.
All he could manage was weak struggling and shallow gasps.
Deep in a shabby alley, Ben Bu Liang sat motionless, the fine rain soaking him completely.
In this bitter cold, he gripped a warm transmitter tightly in his hand, sending rhythmic biological stimulation signals to Shan Feibai’s tortured spine.
This was a remote control device developed by Ben Bu Liang himself. After the “Tuner” had invaded Shan Feibai’s spine, the device could force Shan Feibai’s body to secrete hormones rapidly, pushing his internal hormone levels to their peak in a short time, maximizing the surge of desire within him.
Ben Bu Liang muttered softly to the empty air:
“Shan Feibai, don’t you hate Ning Zhuo?”
“Then kill him. Send him down below to keep A-Wu company.”
“Go on—boldly do whatever it is you want to do.”
