Chapter 18: "Come on, are you going to kill me?"

The lighting in the room was a warm, muted yellow. Shen Jixing leaned against the half-open kitchen, his long, pale fingers holding a silver spoon, stirring the milk in the pot with unhurried elegance.

A soft ringtone rang from his phone. He glanced over.

“…Nonsense.”

Which part of what he’d said could be considered coquettish?

Feigning indifference, Shen Jixing continued to gently stir the milk. After a moment, the tips of his ears reddened slightly, and he frowned, reading the message again.

His voice was cool and clear, every word precise. “Insane. Who’s being coquettish…”

When Zhou Yili stepped into the apartment’s entryway, his stride paused imperceptibly. This was his home, not a kindergarten—so where was this overwhelming scent of milk coming from?

He rounded the corner into the living room, and there, in the dining area, sat the nation’s top actor, sipping hot milk with a spoon. The answer was obvious.

“Haven’t you been weaned yet?”

Zhou Yili’s thoughts were hazy from drink, and he leaned languidly against the doorframe, watching with a faint, mocking smile.

Shen Jixing raised his gaze calmly, the silver spoon pressed against his lips.

“Are you looking for death?”

The aura of the aloof superstar brooked no provocation, especially not such brazen teasing.

He met Zhou Yili’s gaze coldly, his dark lashes clear as ink brushwork, strikingly beautiful even in the warm light.

Zhou Yili stared at him for several seconds.

He closed the distance in long strides, black silk shirt shimmering under the lights, his entire being exuding a lazy, sensual magnetism. He chuckled softly. “Go on, kill me then?”

Shen Jixing watched him in silence.

The sweet scent of milk in the air was tinged with a hint of alcohol. He asked, “You’ve been drinking?”

Standing before him, Zhou Yili answered, “Yes.”

Shen Jixing looked away, resuming his meal with measured calm.

Warm milk touched his pale lips as he asked mildly, “Are we still able to talk tonight?”

“Why not?” Zhou Yili pulled out a chair and sat down casually. He seemed no different from usual—except for the way his gaze lingered when he leaned back lazily.

Unwavering.

Drunk, Zhou Yili was even more direct and aggressive, his gaze both arrogant and entangling.

Shen Jixing withdrew his eyes, took another unhurried sip of milk.

“I can move out.”

Zhou Yili’s cool gaze betrayed no emotion; he said nothing.

Shen Jixing set down his silver spoon. “That’s the worst-case scenario I’ve considered—for both of us.”

“Could you be any more self-absorbed?” Zhou Yili’s voice was smooth and slightly cool, a sneer on his lips. “Whether you stay here or not, it makes no difference to me. Understand?”

A subtle quiet fell over the room.

Shen Jixing replied calmly, “Understood.”

A vague irritation flared in Zhou Yili’s chest, as suffocating as the air in that bar earlier. The scar behind his ear throbbed dully.

He raised a hand impatiently, loosening his tie, gaze lowered in silence.

“But I’ll compensate you,” Shen Jixing said, his voice as tranquil as water. “If you agree to let me stay.”

Zhou Yili looked up. “How will you compensate me?”

Shen Jixing countered, “What do you want?”

Anything within his power, he could give.

Shen Jixing was never one for pretense. On the contrary, he was more forthright than anyone. Since he’d imposed on Zhou Yili—if that was the right word—he had to compensate him properly.

After all, barging into his room in the middle of the night and forcing him to hold him while he slept—how was that different from sexual harassment?

Shen Jixing averted his eyes slightly, a faint blush coloring the corner of his gaze. “If you can’t think of anything now, you can keep it as a debt. I’ll keep my promise; I won’t go back on my word.”

“Haven’t you forgotten everything?” Zhou Yili’s long fingers dangled loosely, absently rubbing his fingertips together. He looked up and asked, “And now you’re sure?”

He’d never doubted Shen Jixing’s promises. After all, Shen Jixing never made promises to anyone.

Even at the height of their passion, when Zhou Yili tormented and teased him, trying to coax a lifelong vow from Shen Jixing’s lips, the other man would merely glance away, hiding his own eyes.

His voice would fall, hoarse and powerless. “It’s too long. We’ll talk about it later.”

A lifetime was too long—he never made promises lightly.

Zhou Yili’s forehead was damp, his eyelashes fluttering deliberately against Shen Jixing’s palm. “Hm? What exactly is too long…”

“Zhou Yili!”

The boy’s unrestrained laughter was bright and clear, melting into the summer night breeze.

Meeting Zhou Yili’s gaze, Shen Jixing was unsure what the other was thinking. Drunk, Zhou Yili had a quiet allure, seductive in his calm.

He said, “Roughly sure, I suppose.”

The uncertainty came from never taking the initiative to seek anyone out. The certainty, however, was that Young Master Zhou was indeed quite attractive… so perhaps it wasn’t impossible.

Whenever this matter came up, Shen Jixing would touch his temple in mild distress.

“That’s enough.”

It was a reasonable explanation; the matter was settled.

He rose to leave, but a long leg stretched out, blocking his way.

“Sit,” Zhou Yili commanded. “Who said you could leave?”

“…”

“Is there more to discuss?” Shen Jixing asked coolly, clearly growing tired.

He couldn’t say why, but though he’d never cared for long bouts of rest before—his life mostly consumed by hectic work—since moving in with Zhou Yili, he’d been in a perpetual state of half-sleep.

That blanket seemed almost magical.

“You think drawing a pie is enough?” Zhou Yili nudged his knee. “Let’s continue discussing my compensation.”

Shen Jixing: …So what had he been thinking about for so long?

Filth.

Zhou Yili’s expression remained cold, betraying not a hint of emotion.

“What do you want?” Shen Jixing finally sat back down, grabbing a grape and popping it into his mouth.

“Money,” Zhou Yili replied bluntly.

The grape burst tart in his mouth, its sourness spreading.

Shen Jixing frowned slightly, eyes lowered as if searching for something.

Zhou Yili’s hand instinctively lifted, wanting to reach for that elegant jaw, but he caught himself, face hardening as he withdrew. With a nudge of his long leg, he slid the trash bin over.

Shen Jixing spat out the sour grape.

He hadn’t noticed Zhou Yili’s fleeting gesture. Instead, he raised his brows and asked, “Are you short on money?”

He realized, as soon as he said it, how pointless the question was. Even if Zhou Yili wasn’t short, he’d claim to be.

“Not at all.”

Zhou Yili looked up lazily, blue hair curling defiantly, lips quirking in a languid smile. “But aren’t you?”

…He had to admit, Liu Fang had given him a good idea.

Shen Jixing was broke now.

So, Zhou Yili wanted money.

There was no lending a helping hand between them; Zhou Yili only kicked him when he was down.

Shen Jixing was silent for a moment, his profile as cold and breathtaking as a snow sculpture, betraying no emotion.

“How much do you want?” he asked.

At last, Zhou Yili’s lips curved in genuine delight. His loosened collar fell open, and he tilted his head with the air of a young lion savoring his mischief.

“However much you have, give it all to me.”

…Was that even human speech?

Shen Jixing finally exhaled softly. He knew his financial situation without looking at the accounts.

“Three million and twenty thousand.”

Zhou Yili was clearly dissatisfied. “That’s all?”

For the first time, Shen Jixing’s composed demeanor cracked. Clad in a soft white casual shirt, his features remained coolly haughty as ever.

Sensing his irritation, Zhou Yili raised an eyebrow.

Was he really angry…?

Night fell like a tide in Shen Jixing’s eyes, his black pupils as cold and clear as shattered glass.

“That’s all I have,” he said coolly.

Zhou Yili was scornful of everything he owned.

His lips twitched, as if about to smile, but he suppressed it.

With a touch of pride, he said, “Fine—three million. You can keep the remaining twenty thousand as pocket money.”

Shen Jixing: …

He shot Zhou Yili a cold glare, then turned and went upstairs.

The living room returned to silence, the warm scent of milk lingering in the air. Zhou Yili’s drunken mind drifted into emptiness.

He raised a hand to cover his eyes, tilting his head back as his Adam’s apple slid in a slow gulp.

He couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. “Damn, glare at me like that—actually kind of cute.”