Chapter 87: Is Your IQ Over 80?

Zhou Yili cast him a cold, sidelong glance.
“Why?”
The three syllables of Shen Jixing’s name seemed to possess some kind of magic.
No matter how furious the little lion became, at the sound of his name, he would always quiet down obediently.
Zhou Yili replied offhandedly, “Isn’t it because you’re angry?”
Sikong Xiu thought that the first person who ever called him a little lion was a true genius.
Zhou Yili really did resemble a young lion—born with a fierce, intimidating appearance, yet when he spoke, it was nothing but soft, kittenish growls.
Suppressing his laughter, Sikong Xiu lowered his fox-like eyes and said, “No, actually it’s because…”
He leaned in to whisper by Zhou Yili’s ear.
Zhou Yili’s brow furrowed slowly, “?”
“…”
Shen Jixing, having changed into his costume, arrived at the set.
He immediately sensed Zhou Yili’s gaze on him—subtle, somehow—so he asked in a calm voice, “What is it?”
The tall man, clad in black combat gear, leather straps buckled at his shoulders and thighs, his face relaxed and arrogant, exuded an almost aggressive aura.
Yet, atop his head drooped a pair of soft, pink-and-white lion ears.
“I know why you bloomed,” he said.
Shen Jixing’s heart gave a subtle jolt.
A tiny blush of red peeked from the white hair—a little flower bud. He forced himself to remain calm. “Oh? And then?”
Zhou Yili looked at him intently. “Did I scare you that day?”
Shen Jixing: “?”
For all his wisdom, Shen Jixing couldn’t follow Zhou Yili’s peculiar logic.
“What scared me?”
“The day you got hurt,” Zhou Yili answered lazily, his gaze proud and casual, “I asked if you liked me, you didn’t answer, and then you bloomed.”
Zhou Yili thought he had been angry, but in truth, he was not.
“So, you bloom whenever you’re sad.”
Shen Jixing had been so shocked then, and still Zhou Yili had asked if he liked him.
No wonder he hadn’t wanted to speak.
Shen Jixing: “…”
He glanced sideways at Sikong Xiu, who had turned away, shoulders shaking as he struggled not to laugh.
Zhou Yili stepped closer, fingers casually sweeping through the white hair, brushing the little rosebud with his fingertips.
“You were really upset that day… were you?”
Before he could finish, Shen Jixing couldn’t bear it any longer and interrupted.
“Zhou Yili.”
Zhou Yili looked up at him, “Hm?”
Still as unruly and nonchalant as ever, his slender hand toying with the luminous white hair, exuding a wild charm that drew all eyes.
Shen Jixing asked calmly, “Is your IQ above 80?”
Zhou Yili: “…………”
He turned toward Sikong Xiu, who could no longer hold back his laughter.
“Damn it, Sikong Xiu—”

Zhou Yili encircled Shen Jixing with one arm, keeping him safe from the chaos, then grabbed a prop cannon from the set and charged at the director.
“Today one of us has to die.”
“…”
After this brief commotion,
Zhou Yili blew on the cannon’s barrel, tossed it to the assistant, and Sikong Xiu, covered in dust, cursed his unfilial son before heading off to tidy himself up.
“So why did you bloom?” Zhou Yili still didn’t understand—if it wasn’t anger or sadness, could it be… happiness?
Shen Jixing neither denied nor confirmed it.
He reached out and brushed the dust off Zhou Yili’s nose. “Guess for yourself.”
…
Filming resumed that night—
The sorcerer fell from the sky, and as he crashed into the snow, he was caught by the very youth he had once wounded.
His lashes trembled lightly, meeting a pair of expressionless black eyes.
“…Cut.”
Sikong Xiu called out, “Do you know what ‘expressionless’ means? Are you trying to communicate with your eyes?”
Zhou Yili squinted at him.
Sikong Xiu raised his hands. “I’m not settling scores—I dare you to look for yourself.”
Zhou Yili had always been incapable of hiding his thoughts; he never could, and still couldn’t.
Pretending only exhausted him. He preferred to grow wild and unrestrained beneath the sun, open and invincible.
“I’m the one who hurt you now,” Shen Jixing said.
Zhou Yili met his gaze.
“I hurt you until you were covered in wounds and cast you out of the Human Alliance’s base.”
Shen Jixing was a seasoned actor; he knew precisely how to stir his partner’s emotions.
Zhou Yili looked at him in silence for a few beats. “Oh.”
Ever rational, Shen Jixing wanted Zhou Yili’s performance to be even better and knew how much effort he poured in.
He told Sikong Xiu, “Alright, let’s start again.”
As the wire rig lifted him, Zhou Yili lightly tugged at his sleeve.
The handsome youth with lion’s ears wore a cold expression. “So what?”
“…”
The wind howled past in the high air.
Snowflakes swirled down with him, along with a heart that could not love.
You hurt me—so what.
Does that mean I can’t love you?
Zhou Yili, face set in cold indifference, cradled the unconscious man and dashed to the second floor. “Medic, where’s the medic?!”
Shen Jixing lay quietly on the hospital bed, a lustrous glow enveloping him.
He looked as fragile as a butterfly with broken wings, a breath of wind might make him vanish.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Sikong Xiu watched the monitor. Zhou Yili was no professional actor, but he was a madman of a director.
To manipulate his emotions, their scripts were actually different.
For instance, Zhou Yili had no idea about Shen Jixing’s fate.

“He’s been poisoned.”
The medic said, “All his meridians are destroyed. At this rate, he has less than three months to live.”
Zhou Yili instinctively found that impossible.
He scoffed coldly, “Are you joking? Do you even know who he is?”
“The highest-ranking general of the Human Alliance Base, the number one sorcerer in the galaxy—most people aren’t even qualified to be his enemy—”
The medic lifted his sleeve.
Black veins crept silently along the pale arm, stretching with the meridians.
“Ordinary people couldn’t harm him, but this poison wasn’t administered in a day. It’s been at work for over twenty years.”
The medic left the room.
“Twenty years.” Zhou Yili chuckled. “How old are you? Did you grow up eating poison?”
He was always irreverent, never serious.
“Aren’t you supposed to be formidable? Didn’t you nearly kill me?”
Zhou Yili carelessly threw back the bedding and climbed into the bed.
“How is it that before I’m even dead, you’re dying?”
He recalled his earlier conversation with the medic.
“Is there an antidote?”
The medic was silent for a few seconds. “The toxin is freezing cold, but your pheromone is phoenix fire. You may need to use your…”
“My what?”
“Your body temperature, your… bodily fluids.”
“…”
“Anything from you—tears, saliva, blood… and, well, that thing that wouldn’t pass review. Any of them would work.”
“…”
“What the hell are you saying?” Zhou Yili swore.
On that snowy Christmas night, he held the person who might never awaken again, and silently gazed out the window at the wintry world.
“Which one do you want?”
The man’s life was burning out, unable to give any answer.
In the end, it was he who had accelerated the poison’s course.
Zhou Yili said, “You’re in luck.”
He wouldn’t cry for this man, nor would he harm himself for him.
So, lifting that delicate, pale chin, as the Christmas bells rang, he bent down, devout and passionate, and kissed him.
A steady stream of phoenix fire flowed into his mouth. Shen Jixing seemed to sense the warmth and silently wrapped his arms around Zhou Yili’s neck, turning from recipient to seeker.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the phoenix fire.
Zhou Yili, as if serving as an invisible antidote, deliberately drew back a little. “You’re pretty enthusiastic, aren’t you?”
Shen Jixing could only follow the script.
Seek him out, embrace him, take from him.
In the moonlight, roses bloomed one after another.
On that cold, lonely winter’s night, he found the light that belonged to him.