The moment the faint curl of smoke rose from Han Xiao's collar, he yelped and sprang to his feet.
"Hot! What the hell?!"
The room turned toward him in confusion.
Uncle Zhang blinked, ladle in hand. "Is something burning?"
Aunt Zhang squinted, her brows knitting. "Han, what's going on?"
Han twisted around in place, slapping frantically at the back of his neck. "I—I don't know! My collar! It's—burning!"
Zhang Zhenyi gasped and lunged forward, trying to help him, while her mother fumbled with a napkin, smacking at his back.
But Han didn't wait—he bolted out the door, his shriek trailing behind him like smoke.
In the sudden silence that followed, Luo Chen slowly turned back toward the table, eyes half-lidded. A lazy flicker of amusement curved his lips.
"Oh?" he said coolly. "Perhaps it's just the fire of ambition… burning a little too close to the skin."
He turned and stepped outside, hands in his pockets.
Zhenyi hesitated, then quickly followed after him. She found him leaning against the wall just beyond the gate, a cigarette between his lips, lit with a quiet flick of his lighter.
The flame flared and died with a soft click.
"Luo Chen…" she said, catching her breath. "Don't get me wrong. I'm just friends with Han Xiao. That's all."
Luo Chen didn't respond.
He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling upward like a veil between them. His eyes, calm and unreadable, didn't even flick toward her.
Zhenyi frowned. That silence—too cold, too distant. Something was wrong.
She had known Luo Chen for years. He was never the type to be petty. But this… this wasn't just silence. It was absence.
She lowered her head slightly and whispered, "Why… why are you like this today?"
Still no answer.
His gaze remained fixed on something far beyond the horizon, like she wasn't even standing there.
Zhenyi forced a smile, but it was brittle, strained at the edges. Beneath it, her heart twisted with guilt.
"Luo Chen," she said quietly. "I didn't understand before… that you were sincere."
She swallowed hard.
"But sincerity isn't enough in this world."
Luo Chen's cigarette burned slowly between his fingers. He still didn't speak.
Zhenyi hesitated, then added, "Did you know? Han Xiao's father is the deputy mayor of Shanghai… and a major shareholder in a listed company."
Her voice was low, almost ashamed, as if saying it hurt her more than it impressed her.
"I thought if I stayed close to him… things would be easier."
Luo Chen exhaled, the smoke drifting around him like a shield, and still—he said nothing.
Zhenyi looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, felt that the distance between them wasn't just silence.
Zhenyi forced a tearful look, her voice trembling in just the right places. "I'm not asking you to offend Han Xiao, Luo Chen… but if we're serious about our future, you need to at least be able to afford a home in Shanghai."
She stepped closer, gently reaching for his hand. "Just a small place, that's all I want… A nice little home, for the two of us."
Luo Chen's eyes narrowed slightly. His voice, when it came, was cold. "What are you trying to say?"
Zhenyi hesitated—then blurted, "Your father's factory… Isn't it worth over three million?"
Her grip tightened on his hand. "My mom said… if you used the factory as collateral for a loan, we could easily get a house. Isn't that a good idea?"
She looked up at him with pleading eyes, as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world.
But Luo Chen only stared at her, silent.
His eyes—no longer just cold, but terrifying—seemed to see through her.
And then… memory crashed down on him like a wave.
His past life.
The factory… the loan… the house.
He had done exactly what she asked.
He remembered coming home with the signed purchase contract clutched in his hands, smiling like a fool, thinking he was bringing her happiness.
"Zhenyi!" he had said. "The purchase contract is here! Our new home—it's finally ready!"
But what he saw shattered everything.
Zhenyi.
In bed.
With Han Xiao.
No clothes.
His heart had broken in one unbearable moment.
He remembered the cold metal pipes—six men surrounding him, striking him again and again. Blood streaming down his head, his shoulders. Bones cracking under steel.
And above it all, Zhenyi's voice.
Lies.
Smiles.
Betrayal.
Now, standing in the present, Luo Chen trembled.
He clenched his jaw.
That factory… his father had built it from nothing. It was his entire life's savings.
And he had given it up—willingly.
For her.
Tears welled in his eyes as a choked whisper escaped his throat.
"Zhang Zhenyi… you lied to me."
The air felt heavy with pain.
But then—reality snapped back.
He stood again outside the Zhang home, the cigarette burning between his fingers, the ghost of betrayal still fresh in his chest.
Zhenyi looked up at him with her fake smile, lips curled in pretend innocence.
"Luo Chen?" she said sweetly. "How about this—you go talk to your father, okay? It'll all work out."
She tilted her head, her voice honeyed. "We'll be so happy together, once we have the house…"
Luo Chen gently pulled his hand free from Zhenyi's grasp. His expression didn't change, but his eyes—deep and unreadable—sent a chill down her spine.
"Let's wait," he said calmly. "No need to rush."
Zhenyi blinked in confusion. "Luo Chen…?"
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a strange tremor through her chest.
"A good show is yet to come."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the fading light of dusk.
Inside the Zhang household, laughter filled the dining room once more.
Han Xiao had returned to the table, lounging comfortably in his chair as if he owned the place. Zhang Zhenyi's parents sat with him—her mother particularly radiant, her laughter loud and frequent.
"That Luo Chen," Aunt Zhang said with a scowl. "No manners at all! Ran off without eating, didn't even say a word. And Zhenyi! She followed him out like a fool. Really, what's gotten into her?"
Han Xiao chuckled as he chewed. "Auntie, don't be angry. Come on, look at this." He reached into a small velvet bag beside him and pulled out a beautifully designed bottle. "Here's the perfume I mentioned earlier—fresh from France. You've got to smell it. I guarantee it'll put you in a good mood."
Zhang Zhenyi's mother's eyes lit up with delight. She covered her mouth with both hands and laughed. "Oh, Han Xiao, you're so thoughtful. Always generous and so refined—unlike a certain someone."
Her voice dipped into disdain as she scoffed, "Luo Chen actually brought two bags of tea. Tea! Who drinks that stuff nowadays?"
Han Xiao burst into laughter, leaning back in his seat. "Seriously? Tea? This guy's living in the 80s. What a joke."
He clicked his tongue mockingly. "I don't know what Zhenyi even sees in that country bumpkin. Can't match my background, my wealth, or even my taste. If she had any sense, she'd stop wasting time."
Just as Han Xiao basked in the praise and laughter of the Zhang family, a sudden sharp pain twisted in his stomach.
His face blanched.
"Ah—!" he gasped, clutching his abdomen. "What… what's happening to my stomach?"
He bent forward slightly, trying to maintain his composure. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as his insides churned violently.
Oblivious, Aunt Zhang clutched the perfume bottle close, her eyes sparkling with delight. "I've never used anything this luxurious before! When my sisters see this, they'll die of jealousy. Han Xiao, you're just too thoughtful!"
But Han Xiao didn't hear her.
His entire focus was on the pressure building inside him. He clenched his fists, one hand gripping the edge of the table, the other pressed desperately against his gut. His face twisted in panic.
"No… I can't—!" he whispered through gritted teeth.
Then it happened.
A loud, unmistakable PFFFFFTTT echoed through the room.
Time seemed to freeze.
Aunt Zhang, in the middle of lifting the perfume bottle to her nose, stiffened. Her expression shifted instantly from delight to horror. She sniffed once—and then gagged.
"Ew—what is that smell?!" she shrieked, recoiling.
Han Xiao's eyes widened in sheer humiliation. "No! Stop… stop it!" he cried, but his body betrayed him.
PFFFFT! PFTTTT!
The stench rolled through the room like a toxic cloud. Aunt Zhang dropped the perfume and stumbled backward, her face contorting. She clutched her nose, eyes watering.
Then—
"BLEGH!"
She vomited right there, collapsing onto the couch with a dramatic groan before falling unconscious.
Uncle Zhang jumped to his feet in alarm. "Honey?!"
Zhenyi's father rushed to her side, but even he had to turn his head away, coughing.
Han Xiao stood in the middle of the room, frozen, face pale and lifeless. He looked around in horror as everyone gaped at him.
His voice cracked as he whispered, "Save… save me…"
From outside the apartment, Zhang Zhenyi turned her head toward the house, a faint noise catching her attention.
"Hmm?" she murmured, eyes narrowing. "What's that sound…?"
It was faint, irregular—and somehow… wet.
Inside, chaos reigned.
Han Xiao staggered through the hallway like a zombie, his face drained of color, eyes glazed over. Each step he took released another sputtering phrrrt, as though his very soul was leaking out.
"Move…" he croaked, his voice flat and lifeless. "Move… out of the way…"
Zhenyi recoiled, her hands flying up to cover her nose as the stench hit her like a physical blow.
"This… what is this smell?!" she cried, her voice muffled behind her sleeve. "It stinks! I'm going to puke!"
Just then, Luo Chen appeared at the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, his cigarette burning lazily between his fingers. He looked Han Xiao up and down with a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Yo," he said coolly. "You farted so hard, even rotten eggs would seem like perfume beside you."
"You—!" Han Xiao growled, red-faced despite his pallor. He clutched his stomach, doubling over slightly, and crossed his legs in desperation, trying to hold himself together.
But Luo Chen's expression didn't change. With a subtle flick of his fingers, a thread of spiritual energy surged forward—harmless, but perfectly aimed.
Han Xiao's foot slipped out from under him.
"Ughhh!" he yelped, crashing down onto the tile floor.
He writhed for a second, face twisted in pain and shame, before croaking, "I've… seen a lot of shit today…"
Then, with a final BRAAAP echoing in his wake, Han Xiao stumbled to his feet and bolted out the door, yelling back over his shoulder:
"Luo Chen! You wait for me!!"
His voice trailed behind him, mingling with the faint sound of flatulence fading into the distance.
Luo Chen turned toward the door, his eyes dark and emotionless. His voice was low and cold.
"A little interest," he murmured,
The chill in his tone lingered even after he stepped away from the table.
As the evening sun dipped beneath the horizon, Luo Chen headed out, bag slung over his shoulder. He moved with calm precision, like a man who already knew the road ahead.
Zhenyi caught up behind him.
"Luo Chen," she called, hesitating for a moment before continuing, "I'll come with you to find a hotel. You're not familiar with this part of the city, and… we should talk about the house."
From the living room, her mother stirred from the couch, still pale and woozy from earlier.
"Zhenyi!" she croaked, her voice tinged with irritation. "I'm lying here like this and you're still running after that boy? Come back!"
Zhenyi turned halfway toward her mother, uncertain.
Luo Chen glanced back, his expression calm but distant.
"No need to see me off," he said evenly. "I can handle it alone."
"But…" Zhenyi trailed off, watching as he stepped outside.
The apartment door clicked shut.
Under the dusky sky, Luo Chen walked along the quiet street. The tension of the household behind him faded with each step. Reaching into his coat pocket, he checked his phone—and a message popped up:
Teacher, where are you? Grandpa has already booked a residential suite for you. I'm on the way to pick you up.
Luo Chen stared at the message for a moment, then quietly slid the phone back into his pocket.