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Chapter Text

There is something hypnotic and fascinating about snakes, and for Chi Cheng, it entranced him. The way they moved, silent and coiled, always watching.

Their power wasn’t loud, but it was undeniable.

They hissed and struck with precision, never seeking attention, never needing permission.

Detached from the world around them.

Much like him.

Unbothered, uninterested, content in solitude and his own quiet amusements.

Unlike his other counterparts, Chi Cheng’s true treasure, his obsession, lay in a dimly lit sanctuary, a room that thrummed with a rich, velvet darkness. The room was dim but lush, like some private lounge in an old Shanghai club. Velvet drapes that never opened. Dark wood. The walls were a gallery of glass enclosures, each a glowing jewel box bathed in crimson or emerald light, where his snakes— his prized possessions —reigned in silent splendor.

He didn’t care if people found it strange.

In fact, he liked that they did.

Chi Cheng would lounge there for hours on his leather couch—vintage, imported, ridiculously expensive, of course —not doing much of anything.

Just smoking.

Drinking.

Watching.

The snakes slithered and curled in slow, deliberate movements, and he admired them for that. Creatures that didn’t beg, didn’t entertain, didn’t need to be liked.

He understood them.

Or maybe he just liked that they reminded him of him .

Letting out a slow, thick puff of smoke into the dim air, Chi Cheng leaned back, the amber from his cigarette briefly catching on the glass walls. The flicker danced across scales, eyes, fangs.

Beautiful things.

Cold things.

Just the way he liked them.

He forced his mind not to go there, not tonight. He would enjoy himself, or at least pretend to. No need to dig through the mess he kept locked away in the far corners of his mind. Not now. The past was tucked into neat compartments, sealed and labeled, left to rot quietly.

Tonight was for his snakes. 

For the silence. 

For the drink that bit his throat on the way down. And for that feeling— half control, half surrender —that always came when the world outside his glass walls faded into nothing.

Chi Cheng’s eyes lingered on the slow, sinuous dance of a python in its enclosure, its scales catching the glow like a living jewel. His favorite snake, a sleek white Artic Superconda named ErBao, was coiled loosely around his wrist, her cool, smooth body a familiar weight against his skin. Her head rested near his elbow, tongue flicking lazily as Chi Cheng lounged, one arm slung over the back of the couch, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The smoke curled upward, blending with the dim air, thick with the scent of aged whiskey and silence.

The sharp trill of his phone shattered the stillness, slicing through the room like a blade. Chi Cheng didn’t move at first. He hated being interrupted, especially in this room. 

This was his time.

With a sigh, he flicked ash into the tray beside him and reached for the phone with his free hand. He didn’t check the caller ID. People didn’t call Chi Cheng unless they had to.

He answered, voice low and flat, still watching the snakes through the haze of smoke.

“Hello.”

“Chi Cheng.”

The familiar, not-so-welcome voice of Guo Cheng Yu made him consider ending the call right then and there. But instead, he indulged himself, by staying still, staying calm, his gaze fixed on ErBao instead.

“I just got a new snake.” Guo Cheng Yu said, words slow and deliberate, almost careful.

Chi Cheng said nothing. He watched as ErBao lifted her head slightly, green eyes glinting beneath the low red light, tongue flickering. She slid a little further up his arm, like she knew. Like she was comforting him.

“Do you dare to come?” Guo Cheng Yu’s voice cut through again, tinged with a mix of taunt and bait, a feeble attempt to pierce Chi Cheng’s carefully curated apathy.

Chi Cheng wanted to scoff. Typical. Wrapped in the nostalgia of old wounds, the challenge was nothing more than a whisper from a life Chi Cheng had long since abandoned. Guo Cheng Yu, was once his brother, but now, he was nothing more than a tolerated shadow from another life. He could’ve said something sharp. 

Cruel. 

True. 

But why bother? Words were for those who cared, and Chi Cheng cared for little beyond his own curated world. Instead, a slow, arrogant smirk curled his lips. 

“Wait,” he drawled, voice dripping with the kind of nonchalance only wealth and disinterest could afford. “I will play along.”

Chi Cheng disconnected the call without another word.

Rising slowly from the couch, Chi Cheng let ErBao slide off his wrist and settle on the cushion behind him, her body coiling back into the warmth. She watched him, tongue flickering in that curious way of hers, as he turned his attention to the biggest treasure in the room.

Huang Long.

An albino Burmese python, massive, regal, radiant. Pure muscle under ivory skin and soft golden patterns. He was the crown jewel of Chi Cheng’s collection. An oldest obsession… true to his name.

The Yellow Dragon.

His strongest warrior. 

Chi Cheng’s pulse quickened as he lifted a dish of raw meat from the side table, his movements unhurried, deliberate. He slid open the glass enclosure, the faint hiss of the mechanism blending with the room’s velvet darkness. No hesitation. No fear. 

He dangled the meat just above Huang Long, watching as the python’s head rose, slow and calculating, those pale eyes locking onto the offering with predatory intent.

Then— snap .

Huang Long struck with devastating precision, the force of the bite sending a jolt through Chi Cheng’s arm. His heart raced, a wild, electric thrill coursing through him. 

This was what he lived for! The razor’s edge of danger, the intoxicating dance with something that could destroy you if it chose to. He let it wash over him, the rush of adrenaline mingling with the smoky burn of his cigarette still lingering on his tongue.

A faint, reckless smile played across his lips as he watched Huang Long feed, the python’s coils tightening around its prey with unyielding strength. 

“Huang Long… Time for your appearance.”

Guo Cheng Yu, with his stupid invite and silly snake, had no idea what he’d just invited back into his life.

With a nod to his men, Chi Cheng made his way to Guo Cheng Yu’s den. After arriving there in an hour or so, Chi Cheng stepped through the narrow stairwell and into the belly of the underground pit. The scent hit first. Musky sweat, expensive cigars, spilled liquor, and something vaguely reptilian. Dim yellow lights cast a jaundiced glow over the space, making everything look like it had been dipped in gold and left to rot.

Despite the smell, the place oozed luxury. Velvet couches lined the stone walls, with men draped over them like spoiled cats. Some of them looked the part, tailored suits, slicked-back hair, cigars that probably cost more than an apartment. But scattered between them were guys in tank tops, mesh shorts, plastic flip-flops, and half-finished sleeve tattoos. One man wore a bathrobe. Another had no shirt at all, just a pair of designer sunglasses and a gold chain bouncing on his sweaty chest.

Chi Cheng barely blinked.

No one cared. In this place, as long as your money was real, no one asked about your clothes. Or your name. Or what you did last week.

Walking past the men, Chi Cheng made his way towards a lush couch, facing an empty glass box, where he knew the night’s biggest action was to take place. The thing was reinforced, thick enough to hold back a hurricane or at least a dozen of pissed-off slithering reptilians.

The air buzzed with bets, raucous laughter, and the clink of glasses. Someone pressed a tumbler of dark amber whiskey into his hand; another lit a cigarette for him, the flame briefly illuminating his sharp features. 

Chi Cheng exhaled a slow plume of smoke, stifling a yawn. 

This was supposed to be dangerous, scandalous, and something thrilling. But to him, it was the same old circus dressed in a new kind of gaudy. Rich men playing god, cheering on nature’s violence because it made them feel like they still had fangs of their own.

The crowd parted as his men entered, carrying a large, sleek box that housed Huang Long. The python’s massive coils shifted faintly within, a promise of raw power. Behind them came Guo Cheng Yu’s entourage, hauling another enclosure. 

Inside was a creature Chi Cheng recognized instantly. A South American bushmaster, its sleek,  venomous form a vision of lethal elegance, scales glinting like polished obsidian. Guo Cheng Yu followed, his swagger practically screaming confidence, as if he’d already pocketed every bet in the room.

Chi Cheng liked his confidence, it would be fun to swipe it off his face, later.

His lips curled into a faint, mocking smirk, his eyes flicking between the bushmaster and Guo Cheng Yu. The man thought he could outshine him with this? 

Huang Long was no mere snake. 

Let Guo Cheng Yu play his games, Chi Cheng thought, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. He’d come to this den not for the bets or the spectacle, but for the thrill of watching his Yellow Dragon remind everyone what true power looked like.

Then his gaze shifted.

Just behind Guo Cheng Yu trailed a boy. Petite. Quiet. A fragile thing in this den of violence and smoke. His wide, luminous eyes, too beautiful for a place like this, were fixed on Guo Cheng Yu with an intensity that bordered on devotion.

A new playmate?

Present in the dark lair full of predators?

That was interesting.

Chi Cheng’s eyes narrowed, catching the way Guo Cheng Yu’s gaze lingered on the boy, in a much more intimate manner. A spark of something dark and familiar flickered in Chi Cheng’s chest, a pulse of cruel delight he hadn’t felt in ages. 

So, Guo Cheng Yu had something precious, someone he cared for?

The thought curled around Chi Cheng’s mind like one of his snakes, tightening with every second. He leaned back on the velvet couch, the whiskey in his hand forgotten, his cigarette burning down to ash.

A new possibility bloomed in his mind.

Another thing to take from Guo Cheng Yu.

Even if it would never be enough… not after him .

The ache in Chi Cheng’s chest— the one he’d spent years locking away —stirred like a restless animal. It would never truly be quiet. But the act of taking, of watching Guo Cheng Yu’s smug facade crack, would be a delicious distraction.

A game worth playing.

He flicked his cigarette into the ashtray, his eyes never leaving the boy as he felt Cheng Yu finally walk over to the couch.

“Didn’t think you’d show up tonight.” Guo Cheng Yu said, his voice carrying the ease of someone who had already decided the outcome.

Chi Cheng took his time answering.

His gaze wandered back to the boy, who stood obediently behind Cheng Yu like a shadow cast in soft flesh. Those wide, adoring eyes irritated him. Not because they reminded him of innocence, but because he remembered what it felt like to own that kind of devotion… and what it felt like to lose it.

He forced his expression back to neutral, though the taste of ash lingered on his tongue.

“Had some time to kill.” Chi Cheng replied, tone smooth, disinterested. He flicked a speck of invisible lint off his lapel. “Thought I’d see what kind of snake you’re parading around this time.”

Guo Cheng Yu gave a low chuckle, tipping his chin toward the glass enclosure. “You’ll find she’s not the type to roll over and die, even for your oversized pet.”

Chi Cheng tilted his head, studying Cheng Yu with a look that hovered between boredom and something much more dangerous.

“Hmm…Then let’s place a bet.”

That made Guo Cheng Yu pause, just a half-second, barely enough to catch. But Chi Cheng did. He leaned forward slightly, gesturing toward the reinforced glass enclosure where their snakes would soon clash.

“If your bushmaster outlasts Huang Long… I walk away. Accepting defeat when everyone knows I never, ever lose… Will also reimburse you for the drinks everyone consumes tonight.”

Chi Cheng paused, letting his words settle between them, heavy and loaded. Everyone in that room knew Chi Cheng hardly ever placed a bet, and when he did, he won. Always. Guo Cheng Yu’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of unease betraying his confidence before he masked it. Even he knew the implications behind those words.

“And if she doesn’t?” 

Chi Cheng’s eyes flicked toward the boy.

“I take something of yours.”

A beat. 

The air stilled.

Not a sound from the crowd, though the pit behind the glass vibrated faintly with the restless tension of the snakes. But the real predators sat just outside it, smiling through their teeth, claws hidden under the cloak of money.

Guo Cheng Yu’s jaw ticked as he pondered over the bet and it thoroughly satisfied Chi Cheng. Pissing Guo Cheng Yu off in any manner was what Chi Cheng lived for somedays, when he was in mood to give a fuck.

“Bold of you to assume you’ll win this time,” Guo Cheng Yu shot back, his voice smooth but edged with a challenge. He leaned closer, eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Fine. But if I win, I will take your baby.”

The fuck he would.

Chi Cheng’s smirk didn’t waver, but his eyes darkened, a flicker of something cold and untamed passing through them. The audacity of Guo Cheng Yu to even suggest it sent a pulse of anger through him, but it was laced with that same dark thrill that had sparked earlier. 

This wasn’t just about snakes anymore. 

It was personal, a gauntlet thrown down in their endless war of egos and old wounds.

“Careful, Cheng Yu. Stakes like that, you might lose more than you bargain for.”

“We’ll see, Chi Cheng. Let’s watch your dragon fall.”

Chi Cheng leaned back, his posture all lazy arrogance, but inside, his mind was a coiled viper, calculating, ready to strike. Huang Long would dominate the pit; he had no doubt. But the real game was out here, with Guo Cheng Yu and that boy.

And so the fight commenced, with the flick of Guo Cheng Yu’s wrist. The handlers stepped forward, careful, and practiced. Thick gloves. Tension drawn tight as a bowstring.

Two enclosures opened.

The snakes slid into the glass pit with the slow grace of something ancient and inevitable. Scales rasping against glass, their bodies gliding over each other, circling, sizing up. Huang Long, massive and quiet as a tide. The bushmaster, leaner, meaner, coiled like a curse.

They hissed. Waited. Watched.

Just like their owners.

The crowd’s murmurs faded, their bets and jeers a distant hum as the snakes sized each other up, eyes like polished obsidian locked in a primal standoff.

Guo Cheng Yu sank onto the couch beside Chi Cheng, close enough for the faint scent of his cologne to mingle with the den’s musk. The boy, surprisingly, drifted to the back of the room, his delicate frame nearly swallowed by the shadows. Chi Cheng’s brow twitched, a flicker of curiosity piercing his boredom. 

Was the boy not as important as he’d thought? 

Or was Guo Cheng Yu playing a deeper game, keeping his prize just out of reach? 

The uncertainty only sharpened Chi Cheng’s interest, like a predator catching the scent of hidden prey.

He twisted the diamond ring on his finger, its facets catching the dim light as he watched the fight with feigned disinterest before throwing his hand across the back of the couch. The crowd roared, men shouting bets, goading the snakes as if their words could spark the violence they craved. Huang Long and the bushmaster remained unhurried, their movements a slow, hypnotic dance of power.

Guo Cheng Yu took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes turning towards him. “Today, you’re destined to lose.”

Slowly turning his head at his nemesis, he let out a mocking scoff. 

“Destiny’s a weak bet, Cheng Yu. I won't lose what’s mine.”

The pit came alive with a surge of tension, the snakes’ slow dance erupting into a primal clash. The crowd’s murmurs swelled, some men jeered loudly about the rivalry between Chi Cheng and Guo Cheng Yu, while others shouted bets, their voices a chaotic mix of greed and thrill. 

One fool even wagered on the bushmaster’s victory, drawing a faint, mocking smirk from Chi Cheng. But he stayed silent, bored even, as the fight unfolded before them. 

In the glass arena, the bushmaster took the upper hand, its scales flashing as it lunged, forcing Huang Long toward the corner. Guo Cheng Yu shot to his feet, a triumphant grin splitting his face as he propped one leg on the glass table before them, his posture screaming victory. 

The crowd roared, feeding off his confidence, their bets climbing higher. 

Chi Cheng didn’t flinch. In fact, he reached for a fresh glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the dim light as he swirled it lazily. His eyes tracked Huang Long’s every move, unperturbed, knowing his Yellow Dragon was merely biding its time. 

A predator never rushed. 

It waits out his prey.

And then in a heartbeat, Huang Long flipped the script.

Attaboy.

Huang Long’s coils tightened, his ivory-and-gold body a blur of raw power. A hiss sliced through the air, sharp and menacing, as he struck with lethal precision. His fangs sank into the bushmaster’s neck, venom pumping through the bite, and with a savage twist, he tore into the flesh, ripping the rival snake’s throat apart. The bushmaster thrashed as life drained from it, collapsing in a limp coil under Huang Long’s unyielding grip. 

The crowd erupted—some in awe, others in outrage—while Guo Cheng Yu’s leg slid off the table, his face frozen in a mix of shock and fury.

Chi Cheng took a slow sip of his whiskey, the burn of it grounding him as he watched the carnage with a detached satisfaction. Huang Long raised his head, golden patterns gleaming like a crown, his victory absolute. Chi Cheng’s smirk widened, cold and triumphant, as he glanced across the room. The boy had gone still, his eyes searching Cheng Yu’s face as if trying to understand what had shifted.

With a sigh, Cheng Yu climbed on the table, turning to address the men in the pit.

“It’s all right, guys. Though I lost, I am still happy.” With a sharp flick of his wrist, Cheng Yu threw a thick wad of cash into the air, making money rain. The crowd broke into cheers, praising Cheng Yu for his generosity, which rankled Chi Cheng.

In response, he threw his own winnings into the night before Cheng Yu turned to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Despite everything in Chi Cheng’s being recoiled at the touch, he stood still.

“Rest assured, I am willing to accept defeat.” Guo Cheng Yu said, his voice tight, the words forced through a clenched jaw. His hand rested briefly on Chi Cheng’s shoulder, a gesture meant to seem gracious but dripping with resentment.

Chi Cheng shoved his hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers, fingers curling to keep from ripping that hand away. His eyes glinted with cold amusement, masking the flicker of disdain beneath. “Spoils of war.”

“Spoils of war.”

Chi Cheng couldn’t suppress the scoff that broke free, his lips twisting into a sharp, taunting grin. He leaned in close, knocking a fist lightly against Guo Cheng Yu’s chest, the gesture dripping with condescension. 

“Forget it if you’re too weak to hand it over.”

Guo Cheng Yu’s eyes flashed, but he turned, beckoning his man to call the boy from the shadows. 

“Li Wang.” He called, his voice softening as the boy approached, hesitant, his wide eyes flickering with uncertainty. Guo Cheng Yu placed a gentle hand on the back of boy’s head. “Xiaolong, this is my good buddy, Chi Cheng. Go entertain him. I’ve given you the person… have fun.”

With that, Guo Cheng Yu walked away.

Chi Cheng watched him go, his expression unreadable, though a faint sneer curled his lip. 

The victory—the snake fight, the boy—should have felt sweeter, but it landed hollow. Guo Cheng Yu’s surrender was too easy, too performative, and Chi Cheng’s hunger for something more, something to fill the gnawing void in his chest, remained unsatisfied.

He turned to Xiaolong, his gaze sweeping over the boy’s delicate frame, those luminous eyes now clouded with confusion. Chi Cheng’s fingers brushed against the boy’s neck, a fleeting caress, before he sank back onto the velvet couch with his usual lazy grace.

The boy stood frozen, clearly unsure of what was expected of him, his gaze darting nervously. With a small, wordless pat on the cushion beside him, Chi Cheng commanded him to sit, his authority unspoken but absolute.

Xiaolong obeyed, perching on the edge of the couch, his posture rigid, eyes fixed on Chi Cheng as if waiting for a verdict.

The boy was his now.

His to command, to toy with, to use for whatever pleasure or distraction he desired. So for now, he’d play with what he’d won, his fingers tapping idly against the glass, his eyes glinting with the promise of something darker to come.

This was far from over.

* * *

It had been weeks since the fight in the snake lair, weeks since Chi Cheng’s snake had handed Guo Cheng Yu his ass and weeks since he had won Xiaolong.

Though, initially it had been fun seeing the boy squirm under him with ErBao slithering around them in the bed. But now? It was growing stale. 

Tedious. 

Downright aggravating.

Chi Cheng sprawled on his leather couch, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, the air thick with the scent of whiskey and smoke. Xiaolong sat too close, his frame no longer a curiosity but an irritation, his presence grating against Chi Cheng’s carefully curated solitude.

It had even began to irritate Chi Cheng at Xiaolong ease with his snakes hissing, while they fucked. Once or twice, the boy had even reached out, his fingers hovering too close to the mamba’s sleek form, as if he could charm her the way Chi Cheng did.

It pissed him off.

ErBao was his .

His sanctuary, his snakes, his world! None of it was meant to be shared with anyone, ever.

Chi Cheng exhaled a sharp plume of smoke, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Xiaolong, the boy’s quiet curiosity feeling like an intrusion as he traced his hand up Chi Cheng’s thigh all the while staring at his snake with vapid interest.

That alone was enough to ruin the moment.

His fingers twitched, itching to rip Xiaolong’s hand away, to remind him just how temporary his place here was. He was Chi Cheng, heir to a fortune he barely acknowledged, untouchable and uninterested, yet here he was, stuck with this fragile pawn who dared to touch what wasn’t his. The audacity of it set his teeth on edge, his pulse spiking with a mix of contempt and the faint, familiar thrill of cruelty.

He was seconds away from slapping the hand away when his phone vibrated on the low table beside him. Chi Cheng’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking to the screen. 

Mother.  

Of course. 

He hadn’t heard from either of his parents in days, their absence a relief he’d come to expect. He wasn’t in the mood for her dramatics, her endless demands for his attention, but he swiped to answer anyway, if only to break the suffocating monotony of Xiaolong’s presence

“Hello.”

A pause, then his mother’s voice screeched through the line, sharp enough to make him wince. “Son, where are you? Your dad is hospitalised, come back now.”

Chi Cheng’s lips curled into a faint, cynical smirk.

She mentioned his dad was hospitalised yet she uttered those words as if she was ordering him to pick up groceries. No panic. No sobs. Not even the obligatory gasp of dramatic concern. Just the clipped impatience of a woman who hated having to beg.

Liar, liar.

He leaned back, his free hand brushing Xiaolong’s fingers off his thigh with a deliberate flick, as if swatting away an insect. The boy flinched, his wide eyes darting to Chi Cheng, but he stayed silent, sensing the shift in the air.

Chi Cheng didn’t care about his father’s supposed crisis. The man was a titan of industry, a distant figure who’d built an empire and left his son to drown in its excess. If he was in the hospital, it was likely another stunt—a heart scare to guilt Chi Cheng into playing the dutiful son. 

But the truth was, he had nothing better to do. 

The sanctuary felt stifling now, Xiaolong’s presence a constant irritant, like a melody played off-key. The boy’s ease with ErBao, his careless fascination with Chi Cheng’s snakes, only deepened the itch under his skin. 

Chi Cheng needed a change, a shift in the game, something to jolt him out of this creeping ennui. So, he easily gave into the trap. 

“Alright, got it.”

He ended the call without waiting for his mother’s reply, tossing the phone onto the couch with a careless flick. His eyes slid to Xiaolong, who sat rigid, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. Chi Cheng’s smirk returned, cold and sharp, as he stood, his tailored jacket falling perfectly around his shoulders. 

“You can fuck off now.” He said, voice low, carrying the weight of a command as he dismissed the boy. Chi Cheng did not want him in this place without him present, anyway. 

He didn’t wait for a response as he walked out of the room with ErBao wrapped in around his wrist, his mind already drifting to the drive ahead, to the sterile opulence of his family’s estate and whatever performance awaited him. 

After commanding his men and informing Gangzi to take care of his babies, he strode out of his house with ErBao still draped around his wrist, the faint hiss of her tongue a soothing counterpoint to the restless churn in his chest.

Outside, Beijing hummed with its usual chaos, but Chi Cheng was insulated from it, untouchable in his own orbit. He slid into the driver’s seat of his sleekest car—a matte-black supercar— that cost more than most people’s homes, its engine purring like a caged beast. ErBao’s custom enclosure sat securely in the passenger seat, her coils shifting faintly within. 

He didn’t head straight for the estate. Instead, he let the city swallow him, weaving through Beijing. The drive was aimless, a rebellion against the pull of his mother’s summons.

His eyes caught a lone figure. A young man jogging along the sidewalk, sweat glistening under the afternoon sun, though it was well past midday. It was absurd, out of place, but Chi Cheng gave it no more than a fleeting glance, his thoughts too focused on silly boys and their exercise. 

Chi Cheng was bored, restless, a spoiled prince in a world that bent to his whims yet offered nothing to fill the void gnawing at his core. The city’s pulse, vibrant and chaotic, only deepened his detachment.

It was late evening when he finally pulled into the sprawling driveway of the family estate, the mansion’s sterile grandeur looming like a monument to his father’s empire. ErBao remained beside him, her presence a quiet anchor in the storm of his thoughts. 

He stepped out, the car door closing with a soft thud, and stood for a moment, staring at the house.

The mansion stood like a forgotten temple to wealth—all gold-veined marble, smoked glass, and polished teak—bathed in the low amber of the evening light. The kind of place you’d expect to see in a magazine spread or a political campaign. 

Impressive. 

Imposing. 

Silent.

The house looked warm, at a glance, soft brown walls with gold accents, brass lanterns flickering along the eaves, and a sunset that draped everything in honey. 

But it was an illusion. 

A curated warmth, like those luxury hotel lobbies designed to be admired, not lived in. 

The moment one stepped inside, the temperature dropped not from the air conditioning, but from something deeper. It lacked the pulse of life, the warmth of connection. No laughter echoed through its halls, no mess of daily living softened its edges. It was a stage, a backdrop for his parents’ endless performance of power and prestige.

Even the scent of the place was sterile: fresh-cut wood, a hint of lavender cleaner, and the faintest trace of something colder beneath it, like metal and ice. The kind of scent you associate with untouched wealth. 

In this house, silence wasn’t peaceful. It was oppressive.

That’s why he left. 

He shifted his gaze upward, eyes scanning the windows like someone might be watching. But he knew better. No one was ever really watching in this house. Only measuring. Assessing. Waiting for something to go wrong.

Chi Cheng took a slow breath, then finally stepped forward, heels clicking on the polished stone path as the shadows of his father's empire stretched long behind him. Soon, he stepped into the cavernous living room of the mansion, the golden-brown opulence swallowing the faint sound of his footsteps on the polished walnut floor.

His mother was slumped in a high-backed leather chair, her head lolling to one side, dozing in a way that made Chi Cheng pause mid-stride. Her usually impeccable facade—polished by money, cosmetics, and surgery—was softened by sleep, revealing faint lines of age and exhaustion she fought so hard to hide. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if her call hadn’t been a trap after all. 

Could his father actually be hospitalized?

She snapped her eyes open, and for a split second, Chi Cheng saw something raw in her expression—worry, perhaps, or something heavier. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar mask of disdain. Her gaze zeroed in on ErBao, who was coiled snugly around his wrist, her scales glinting like obsidian in the chandelier’s light. 

“Why did you bring that thing here again?” his mother spat, her voice sharp with accusation, no trace of warmth or greeting. She stood, instinctively putting the chair between them, as if ErBao might lunge from Chi Cheng’s wrist.

Chi Cheng’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement masking the irritation that simmered beneath his skin. 

No hello, no good to see you.

Just her usual contempt for the one part of his world she couldn’t control. He glanced down at ErBao, who stirred, her sleek body beginning to slide off his wrist. With a gentle, almost tender touch, he adjusted her, guiding her back into place, wearing her like a favorite bracelet, a living extension of his untouchable persona. Her tongue flicked lazily, and he felt a quiet satisfaction in her presence.

“You weren’t at the hospital with Dad?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual as he lifted his head back to look at her, his eyes were sharp, searching her face for the truth.

His mother stiffened at the question, her lips parting slightly, then pressing into a line. “The nurse is watching him, so I came back to wait for you.”

Chi Cheng nodded slowly, but the gesture lacked conviction. He didn’t believe her. 

Of course he didn’t.

Their last call had been hours ago, in the early afternoon, and she hadn’t bothered to follow up. If things had gotten worse, she would’ve called again. If they were urgent, she would’ve sent a driver. She hadn't. That silence had said more than her words ever could.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To the hospital. To see Dad.” He straightened, his tone carrying the weight of a challenge, daring her to keep up the charade.

His mother’s gaze dropped, her manicured fingers brushing the edge of the chair as she shook her head, a small, dismissive gesture that screamed indifference.

“No hurry, let’s go tomorrow. Anyway, your dad is asleep right now.”

Chi Cheng’s jaw tightened. 

“I should have come back tomorrow.” 

ErBao shifted suddenly, jerking slightly toward his mother’s direction—sensitive to the rising tone, or maybe her scent. His mother instinctively recoiled, her expression tightening into a grimace as she stepped back from the snake. Chi Cheng’s arm moved with ease, guiding ErBao back toward himself, his hand lightly stroking her side in calming circles. She was his, loyal in a way no one in this house ever could be. “I am going to sleep first, mom.”

“Can’t you keep me company for longer?” she called after him, her voice rising with a mix of frustration and desperation, the kind of plea she used when she wanted to pretend they were a family.

But Chi Cheng didn’t pause. Didn’t answer. He kept walking down the familiar corridor, past the lacquered paintings, the untouched vases, the scent of old incense and newer lies.

At the base of the stairs, the family butler was already waiting, standing stiffly at attention. He gave Chi Cheng a respectful nod.

“Your room is ready, young master.”

Chi Cheng returned the nod, the corners of his mouth twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Thank you, Lao Zhang.”

Behind him, his mother said nothing.

The silence sat heavy on his back as he climbed the stairs. And still, this house felt more like a hotel than a home.

But at least, upstairs, there would be a door he could close between them.

Sleep didn’t come easy—not that it ever did in this house.

Chi Cheng lay stretched across the bed after changing, buried in silk sheets, idly scrolling through his phone. His room was massive, walls paneled in dark wood, floor-length curtains drawn against the moonlight, and soft golden lamps glowing like it was always dusk in here. 

A private suite in a palace of a home. 

And yet, he may as well have been trapped in a hotel.

Chi Cheng scrolled aimlessly through his phone, the glow of the screen casting sharp shadows across his bored, angular features. 

Social media was a blur of curated lives, each post more predictable than the last, yachts, designer bags, faces caked in filters. He flicked through them with a lazy sneer, unimpressed, untouched. Wealth was his birthright, a constant hum in the background of his life.

Don’t get him wrong, Chi Cheng liked money. Of course he did. But he didn’t need to like it. That was the difference. People were obsessed with what he had; meanwhile, he could barely summon the energy to care. Wealth was just air to him— expected, invisible, and boring.

Eventually, the screen bored him too.

He dropped the phone to his chest with a sigh, rolling his head toward ErBao’s box. She was half-curled, sluggish in the unfamiliar chill of this old house. Her tongue flicked lazily through the small vent.

“You’ll get used to it,” he murmured, barely above a whisper, as if the snake could understand. “I didn’t. But you might.”

With a practiced gentleness, he slid the lid closed and made sure she was safe. No ceremony. No second thought. She was the only living thing he even remotely cared for, and even that felt more like habit than love.

Then he collapsed back onto the mattress, one arm flung over his eyes.

He didn’t care about his mother’s pleas, his father’s supposed illness, or the role he was expected to play in this family’s tired charade. Why should he? The world had always catered to him. The maids to clean his messes, drivers to ferry him through Beijing’s chaos, men to guard his snakes and bow to his every whim. He was spoiled, pampered, a prince carved from indifference, and he wore it like a crown. 

Guilt was for suckers, and Chi Cheng had never been one of those.

Also, he wasn't cruel. 

He was just bored.

A prince in a kingdom he didn’t ask for, surrounded by treasures he no longer found shiny.

Outside, the wind stirred the trees. A soft knock came from somewhere down the hall, and the butler’s voice followed faintly. “Young master, would you like something to eat?”

“No.” Chi Cheng called back lazily, not even lifting his head. “I am going to sleep.”

The butler’s footsteps retreated, their faint echo fading down the mansion’s sterile halls, leaving Chi Cheng alone. He didn’t care to check if the man had lingered. Let him scurry off, let the whole house hold its breath for him. 

It made no difference.

Finally, exhaustion overtook him, pulling him under like a slow tide. He didn’t bother with the covers, letting his body sink into the mattress, one hand resting near ErBao’s box. The last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was the faint glint of her scales through the enclosure’s glass, a quiet anchor in the storm of his own apathy. 

Tomorrow, he’d deal with his mother, the hospital, whatever farce awaited or maybe he wouldn’t. 

It didn’t matter. 

Nothing did, except the world he’d built, where he was king, and no one else was allowed to matter. 

A sharp buzz from his phone jolted him awake, the sound slicing through the haze of sleep like a blade. Chi Cheng’s eyes cracked open, squinting against the pale morning light seeping through the heavy velvet curtains.

Morning?

He blinked, disoriented, the room’s gilded opulence coming into focus, the mahogany furniture, the gold-threaded linens, the cold perfection that made his skin crawl. 

Usually, he’d be passed out well past noon, tangled in the aftermath of his kinky late-night antics in his city home, ErBao slithering nearby as he chased fleeting thrills. But last night’s drive back to this soulless mansion, the weight of his mother’s manipulative summons, must have drained him more than he’d realized. 

His body ached with a rare, bone-deep fatigue, a reminder that even his untouchable arrogance had limits.

Chi Cheng reached for the phone, silencing it without checking the screen and answered the call. Whoever had the audacity to disturb him at this ungodly hour better have an earth-shattering revelation, or Chi Cheng would make it his personal mission to peel their skin off, inch by agonizing inch.

“Speak.”

“Young Master Chi,” came Gangzi’s voice, thick with panic, slicing through the fog of Chi Cheng’s drowsiness like a blade. “Something’s wrong. The snake lair got raided.”

Chi Cheng’s eyes snapped open, his body jolting upright on the bed, the silk sheets sliding off. The words hit him like a physical blow, his heart lurching in his chest.

“What did you say?”

All traces of sleep were gone, replaced by a rising tide of disbelief and rage.

“The snake lair got raided.” Gangzi repeated, his voice trembling, each syllable a hammer against Chi Cheng’s composure.

What the fuck? 

How was this possible? 

Who would dare?

His precious sanctuary violated?

The thought sent a surge of molten anger through his veins, mingling with a sickening thread of panic that he fought to suppress. His blood roared in his ears, his pulse slamming against his ribs, each beat a painful reminder of what was at stake. He gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles whitening, as he forced his voice to stay steady.

Because losing control wouldn’t bring answers. It would only make him weak, and weakness was not a luxury he could afford.

“How could this happen out of the blue?”

“I don’t know. I suspect Da Kun and I might have been drugged last night… We slept very deeply, and when we woke up, it’s after nine in the morning. All the snakes in the glass box are gone, and even the ones in your room were taken too.”

The world tilted, a dizzying wave crashing over Chi Cheng as actual panic clawed its way up his throat, making his breath shudder. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, a relentless drumbeat echoing the unthinkable loss.

And then it hit him like a hammer to the ribs. Huang Long was gone too. But what about the boy? 

“Where’s Xiaolong?” Chi Cheng asked, his voice suddenly lower, more dangerous. Almost a whisper.

“I—I don’t know,” Gangzi stammered. “He was gone too when I woke up.”

The line went quiet for a second, but the silence roared in Chi Cheng’s ears. The panic in Chi Cheng’s chest detonated into pure, white-hot fury. Huang Long, the crown jewel of his collection, the last thing that tethered him to him , someone who had made him feel wanted, loved, in a way no one ever had. 

The thought of losing him, of some faceless thief ripping him away, was a violation so profound it felt like his soul had been gutted. He disconnected the call without a word, the phone slipping from his trembling hand onto the mattress, his vision blurring with the intensity of his anger.

With a sharp, angry movement, he flipped the bedsheets off and stood, bare feet hitting the cold floor with a thud. His body ached, every muscle tight with fury barely held back by willpower alone.

He wanted to scream. 

To destroy everything in the room. 

He wanted to tear the world apart, to hunt down whoever had dared to touch his snakes, to make them bleed for this betrayal. But he wouldn’t. Not yet. 

He was Chi Cheng—spoiled, selfish, a brat who lived for his own pleasure—but he was no fool. He wouldn’t give those bastards the satisfaction of seeing him break, of watching him unravel like some pathetic, ordinary man.

His eyes darted to ErBao’s box, where she lay coiled, untouched, the only piece of his world still safe. The sight of her calmed him just enough to keep his rage from spilling over, but it didn’t dull the ache in his chest, the raw, gaping wound of losing Huang Long.

His snakes weren’t just possessions—they were his— in a way nothing else ever could be. They didn’t judge, didn’t demand, didn’t betray. And Huang Long, with his ivory scales and golden patterns, had been a mirror to Chi Cheng’s own untamed heart, a reminder of the one person in his past who had made him feel something real, something worth holding onto.

He raked a hand through his hair, his diamond ring catching the morning light filtering through the curtains. Chi Cheng stood frozen for a moment, the weight of his fury anchoring him to the spot as the rage gave way to a colder, sharper instinct.

He needed to think, to re-evaluate, to unravel the how and who of this betrayal. Someone had slipped past his defenses, drugged his men, and walked away with his most prized possessions. That meant they knew where to strike, when to strike, and what to take.

It wasn’t random.

It wasn’t sloppy.

It was intentional .

This wasn’t just a theft. 

It was a challenge, a gauntlet thrown at his feet, and Chi Cheng didn’t lose.

His jaw clenched. He couldn’t afford to act on impulse. Not now. Whoever did this was smart or at least bold enough to think they could hit Chi Cheng and live.

Chi Cheng moved quickly, heading to the bathroom. The cold splash of water on his face did little to soothe the fire in his chest, but he scrubbed away the last haze of sleep and emotion. He had to focus . 

After quickly changing into a new set of dark clothes, he grabbed his phone and dialed Gangzi, his voice a low, controlled snarl when the call connected. “Now. We’re figuring this out.”

“Yes, Young Master Chi, I’ve got Da Kun with me. We’re as pissed as you are.”

“Good.” Chi Cheng snapped, pacing the room. “I want every detail. Who was in the lair last night, what security we had, how the fuck someone got in without us knowing. I want names, Gangzi. I want to know who had the balls to pull this off.”

With utter care, Chi Cheng slipped ErBao in the pocket of his jacket as he left his room.

“We’ve been trying to look through the security footage, but something’s off with the system. Feeds from last night are scrambled.”

Of course they were. Whoever did this knew how to cover their tracks.

“Yes, Young Master. We apologise.”

“What about the boy? Did he come back?”

“No. We tried calling him, but his phone isn’t reachable.”

“Do you think he stole them?”

“Not possible.”

“How so? He would have contacted me by now, considering how clingy he usually is.”

“I don’t know. Young Master, we will—”

“Stop talking.” Chi Cheng snapped as he descended the mansion’s grand staircase with a predator’s grace. The house was still, his mother nowhere in sight, and he didn’t care to look for her. “You must find Xiaolong for me.”

Gangzi’s stammered response was cut off as Chi Cheng disconnected the call, his grip on the phone so tight his knuckles whitened. He didn’t stop walking and came up against the one person he had not expected to meet. 

Master Chi.

His father.

The titan who’d built the family’s empire with bare hands and bloody teeth.

He didn’t look like someone who’d been hospitalized, not with his tailored shirt fitting perfectly over his broad frame, his posture exuding the same unyielding authority that had made him a legend. Chi Cheng’s eyes narrowed, his suspicion hardening into certainty. Another lie uttered by his mother.

He came to a stop in front of his father, giving him a slow, deliberate once-over, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass.

“Aren’t you supposed to be hospitalized?”

The question was a challenge, a demand for the truth, and Chi Cheng didn’t bother hiding his irritation. His father’s supposed illness had dragged him back to this soulless shithole, away from his sanctuary, only to find his snakes stolen and his patience fraying. 

He was done.

Done with the family’s theatrics, with their endless webs of manipulation and half-truths masquerading as love. Chi Cheng had spent his whole life being a pawn in their games, groomed, controlled, lied to. He didn’t play anymore.

A scoff escaped his lips, bitter and sharp, as his father— once again —refused to answer him directly.

 “I knew it.” He muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

He turned to leave, but before he could take a full step, Master Chi was suddenly in front of him, blocking the way. 

Silent. 

Unmoving.

Chi Cheng sighed and looked away, jaw clenched tightly. He didn’t want to see his father. Didn’t want to look into that expressionless face, always blank but somehow full of judgment.

The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, heavy with the weight of years spent dodging each other’s expectations.

“I’ve arranged everything,” Master Chi said, his voice low and deliberate, his expression as unreadable as ever. He lifted his head slowly, his eyes locking onto Chi Cheng’s with a steely resolve. “Starting next week, you’ll be working at the Group’s Property Management Department. From the bottom.”

The words landed like a slap as his head whipped toward him, eyes flashing with disbelief, then disdain. 

Here it was again. His father’s relentless obsession with molding him into some suited heir, as if he gave a damn about the group’s legacy or quarterly profits. It was always some department, some project, some business. He’d been through this before. Multiple times. 

And every time, he made it very clear . He was not interested.

He didn’t care what happened to the family’s empire. Let it rot for all he cared. As long as his trust fund was intact and he had enough to fuel his whims, keep his apartment filled with luxury, and maintain the life he carved out on his terms. That was enough. 

“I will use connections.” he shot back, his voice cold, almost taunting, as he turned away again, dismissing the conversation.

He’d slip out of this, like he always did. He would call in a favor, pull a string, let his father’s plans crumble under the weight of his indifference.

“Try it and see what happens,” Master Chi barked, his voice cutting through the room like a whip, laced with a suppressed rage that stopped Chi Cheng dead in his tracks.

The man might look soft—middle height, glasses, unassuming features—but Chi Cheng knew better. Master Chi hadn’t clawed his way to becoming one of China’s richest men by being weak. That rage, quiet but seismic, was the same force that had built skyscrapers and crushed competitors, and now it was aimed at his son.

Slowly, Chi Cheng turned his head with a sigh, eyes narrowing as he studied the man again. The feeling of invisible pressure settled over him like a vice. 

“Look at your sloppy appearance.”

It seemed like his old man wasn’t giving him a choice this time as he scolded him. With a deep breath, Chi Cheng sauntered to the nearby couch, dropping onto it with a practiced nonchalance and lit a new cigarette.

“You’re already 28 years old without a decent job.” Master Chi began, his voice sharp, like it had been rehearsed a hundred times over in his head. “Look at Guo Chengyu. He runs his company clean and strong. Knows how to balance indulgence with responsibility. He’s frivolous, but he doesn’t neglect business.”

And just like that, the sermon began.

Again.

Chi Cheng’s lips twitched, a sardonic smirk threatening to break free as his father sang the praises of that jerk again. Guo Cheng Yu, the golden boy, the rival who’d always been a thorn in his side, now held up as a mirror to Chi Cheng’s supposed failures. He fought to keep the smirk off his face, but he knew it showed in the glint of his eyes, the slight curl of his mouth. 

Leaning back, he let out another slow puff of smoke, the cigarette dangling from his lips as he fixed his father with a bored stare.

“You can let him call you Dad.” Chi Cheng drawled, voice dripping with mockery. “I don’t mind.”

The effect was immediate.

“I wouldn’t mind changing sons!” Master Chi roared, his face flushing with anger as he dropped onto the couch beside Chi Cheng, the leather creaking under his weight.

The outburst hung in the air, heavy with years of unspoken resentment. Chi Cheng didn’t flinch, didn’t reply. He focused on his cigarette, drawing in another drag, the smoke curling around him like a shield.

Then came the real sting.

“Complaints have reached my office.” Master Chi continued, his voice lowering but no less sharp. “They say my son is a pervert with a messy private life. Where should I put my old face?”

Chi Cheng turned his head, meeting his father’s gaze with a blank, unyielding stare. 

The silence was a weapon, cold and deliberate, and it drained the exasperation from Master Chi’s face, leaving something harder in its place. His father’s eyes narrowed, and when he spoke again, his voice was low, measured, and deadly serious, each word landing like a blade. 

“If you want your snakes to live well, then go to work.”

The words hit Chi Cheng like a punch, stilling the restless churn in his chest. His cigarette froze halfway to his lips, the smoke curling upward, forgotten.

He turned to his father again, this time more sharply, more awake. But the old man was already looking elsewhere, like the statement had nothing to do with him anymore. 

Chi Cheng’s breath caught in his throat.

How did he—?

Oh.

It clicked.

And the realization hit harder than anything else had today.

His father was behind it.

The raid. The snakes. Xiaolong. All of it.

He hadn’t lost them to outsiders. He’d lost them to family .

This was a move he hadn’t seen coming. It had never even occurred to him to suspect the old man. Perhaps because he’d foolishly thought that, for all their tension, for all the bitter distance, there were still lines that even Master Chi wouldn’t cross.

But his father knew his weakness and was using it in every manner to bend Chi Cheng to his will. And the thought of his snakes being used as leverage, of his father wielding that power over him, sent a fresh wave of rage crashing through him, tinged with a rare, icy thread of fear. 

Master Chi wasn’t bluffing. Not this time.

“Where have you kept them?” Chi Cheng’s voice was low, a dangerous growl that barely masked the fury boiling beneath his surface.

Master Chi didn’t answer immediately. He gave a soft exhale, almost a sigh. Then, he turned his head just slightly, just enough for Chi Cheng to see the faint glint behind his glasses.

“In a secure location.” he said simply. “Safe. Fed. Watched.”

“ Watched ?” Chi Cheng’s voice cracked like dry ice under pressure. “Like prisoners?”

“Like assets.” Master Chi replied, with no shame, no emotion. “Until their owner learns what it means to take responsibility for something.”

Chi Cheng stood up so fast the ashtray clattered off the coffee table, ceramic shattering on the floor. He didn’t care. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles went bone white.

“You had no right .”

“I had every right. You waste your life pretending you don’t care, pretending none of this matters. But they matter to you. That’s leverage. That’s real.”

Chi Cheng’s chest heaved. He felt trapped. Like the walls were inching closer. Like every carefully guarded boundary he’d ever drawn around himself had just been bulldozed in a single move.

“Huang Long is not a bargaining chip.” he hissed. “None of them are. You don’t get to use them like that.”

But his father simply stood, his expression unreadable, but a faint smirk played at the corner of his lips, a flicker of triumph that made Chi Cheng’s blood run cold.

“You’ll get your snakes back. When you prove you’re worth them. Start at the Property Management Department next week. Do your job, and maybe you’ll see your precious dragon again.”

The words landed like a slap, sharp and humiliating, and Chi Cheng watched, disbelief searing through him, as his father turned and walked away, leaving him standing.

The nerve.

The audacity.

The cold-bloodedness of that man.

It wasn’t just manipulation. It was the ease with which he did it. The calm assurance that Chi Cheng would fall in line because he’d been pushed exactly where it hurt the most. And worse? The bastard was right . He will go to that job next week. Not because he wanted to, but because Huang Long was out there, somewhere, being held like a pawn.

Chi Cheng ran a hand down his face, his nails digging slightly into his skin as if to remind himself that this wasn’t a nightmare. This was real. And he had no leverage. No way to claw back control.

Not yet.

But he’d find a way.

He had to.

Because if there was one thing Chi Cheng couldn’t stand, it was being cornered.

He strode out of the study, his mind already racing. He’d call Gangzi, dig into the raid, find out how his father had pulled it off. If Master Chi thought he could control him, he was about to learn just how dangerous his son could be.

* * * 

Following his father’s threat, Chi CHeng had arrived at the Yuan Duan Group’s headquarters. He’d braced himself for the humiliation of starting at the bottom in the Property Management Department, as his father had ordered. 

He expected some tiny cubicle tucked beside the cleaning supply closet, expected to be ignored or laughed at by overworked staff who had actual qualifications. He’d braced himself for grunt work, imagined some smug middle manager ordering him to fetch coffee just for the irony.

But of course, his father had other plans.

Master Chi, ever the strategist, had saved face for the family name.

Instead of being thrown to the bottom rung, Chi Cheng was ushered into a private office on the executive floor, its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Beijing’s glittering skyline.

His name was printed neatly on the door plaque: Chi Cheng – Regional Property Lead . 

There was a personal assistant waiting outside, and a desk already stacked with files and property blueprints. The space smelled faintly of wood polish and expensive paper.

It reeked of face-saving .

Despite all the noise about starting from the bottom, Master Chi had done what Master Chi always did. Controlled the narrative while pretending not to. He’d made sure his son didn’t embarrass the family name in front of others , while still holding the reins behind the curtain.

The Property Management Department, he quickly learned, was the backbone of the Yuan Duan Group’s real estate empire. It oversaw the maintenance, leasing, and operations of the company’s vast portfolio—luxury high-rises, sprawling commercial complexes, and exclusive residential estates across China. 

The department negotiated leases with high-profile tenants, managed property upkeep, and ensured the Yuan Duan Group’s assets remained profitable and prestigious. It was a machine of logistics and deal-making, and Chi Cheng, to his surprise, had been handed the reins.

Meetings filled his mornings, suits and ties droning about tenant contracts, maintenance budgets, and market trends. He handled them with a bored smirk, his sharp mind cutting through the jargon with ease. Potential clients—CEOs, investors, even foreign developers—came to him, drawn by the Chi name and his effortless charisma. 

Some days he barely kept his eyes open. Others, he surprised even himself by offering decent solutions. He pitched expansion plans, suggesting new retail spaces in up-and-coming districts, his ideas bold, almost reckless, but backed by the unshakable confidence of a man who’d never known failure. 

The staff, from junior assistants to senior managers, knew he was spoiled, a rich brat playing at responsibility, yet they fell over themselves to please him, offering coffee, scheduling his meetings, hanging on his every word. Chi Cheng accepted their deference with a lazy arrogance, as if it were his birthright.

At first, he’d tried to push the paperwork to one of the junior managers—a quiet girl named Meilin who flinched every time he looked at her. He thought he could skate by, just sign where needed, show up for optics, and ghost the rest.

But less than three days in, his father called, warning about his snakes being gone if he did not do the job. The warning was a blade, cutting through his defiance, and Chi Cheng’s jaw tightened as he realized the old man had eyes everywhere.

It pissed Chi Cheng off, but it also sharpened his focus.

Weeks slipped by.

He showed up. He sat through meetings. He answered emails, sometimes late, sometimes with sarcasm—but he answered . His name became less of a joke around the office and more of a curiosity. No one quite knew what he was planning, maybe not even Chi Cheng himself.

One afternoon, as he lounged in his office, a senior manager—a wiry man with a nervous tic—knocked and entered. 

“Sir, one of our upcoming site inspections falls under your jurisdiction.” he said, adjusting his glasses. “It’s a market area near Hope City—Night Bazaar District. That whole block falls under Yuan Duan Group's urban development lease.”

Chi Cheng blinked. “Hope City?”

He nodded. “The Night Market there has been active again. You’re scheduled to visit next week. Just a basic oversight. Check in, assess vendors, ensure all permits are in order. Nothing major.”

Chi Cheng raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint, sardonic smirk. The night market—a chaotic sprawl of stalls, neon lights, and street food hawkers—was a far cry from the polished boardrooms he’d been navigating. But it was a chance to get out, to breathe air that wasn’t stifled by corporate sterility.

“Fine.” he said, waving the manager off, already plotting how to turn this into something that served him. “Let’s leave around seven.”

The day had faded out too soon and the evening rolled around. Both Chi Cheng and the manager, whose name he had yet to remember, stepped out of the company’s sleek black SUV. 

The night market near Hope City was alive.

Buzzing, chaotic, and humid, it sprawled beneath a web of glowing signs and flickering lanterns, every corner pulsing with music, hawker calls, and the mouth-watering scent of grilled skewers and spice-drenched noodles. The crowd moved like a tide. Teenagers laughing over bubble tea, couples shoulder to shoulder, vendors shouting over sizzling pans, steam rising into the hot summer night like ghosts.

He lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his sharp features as he exhaled a plume of smoke into the humid air. The senior manager scurried beside him, followed by a company guard,  holding a small handheld fan to waft air in Chi Cheng’s direction, as if the heat might offend his sensibilities.

The gesture was absurd, but Chi Cheng didn’t comment, his lips curling into a faint, sardonic smirk. Let the man play servant; it was what people did around him, falling over themselves to please the spoiled heir of the Yuan Duan Group.

Girls in the crowd cast appreciative glances his way, their eyes lingering on his chiseled jaw and the effortless confidence in his stride. One giggled, nudging her friend, but Chi Cheng didn’t spare them a look. He didn’t play for that team. 

His tastes ran harder, sharper, partners with muscle, edge, the kind of raw intensity that matched his own. Women, with their soft curves and coy smiles, were background noise, irrelevant.

“Here. We manage everything meticulously. The management fee is always paid on time. Most of the vendors here are locals. No disputes on the lease since April.”

Chi Cheng said nothing. Just smoked.

The manager, clearly nervous at the silence, kept talking.

“We’ve installed new drainage too. Keeps the lower level from flooding during storms. That was implemented last year, but I personally followed up to ensure compliance—”

A slow turn of Chi Cheng’s head made him falter.

The heir’s gaze was cool and heavy-lidded, unreadable. He didn’t blink. Didn’t speak. Just stared.

The manager coughed lightly. “Yes, well… of course, sir. Everything’s in order.”

They passed another section of the market where the music was louder, the crowd thicker. Street performers juggled LED pins, a kid played something shrill on a flute, and a stall owner shouted deals on fried squid.

“Sir, this is the outer ring,” the manager said. “Mostly temporary stalls. Some permit issues crop up here from time to time, but it’s manageable. No major legal risk.”

Chi Cheng glanced sideways at a vendor selling knock-off sneakers. Then past him, into a narrow lane tucked between two buildings, dimly lit and seemingly forgotten.

“What’s that?” he asked, voice low and flat.

The manager looked up, startled. “That? Ah… that alley isn’t part of the formal layout. Technically, it’s under our leasehold, but it's unregulated. Some vendors sneak in during peak hours.”

Chi Cheng held his cigarette between two fingers, eyes narrowing as he stared into the dark passageway.

“Mm.” he murmured as a loud noise from ahead drew his attention. 

A hulking man, muscles bulging under a tight tank top, was bellowing about melons and other fruits piled in the back of a beat-up truck, his voice carrying over the neon-lit stalls. The vendor’s aggressive sales pitch turned into a shouting match as one of Chi Cheng’s guards snapped back, their words escalating into a heated exchange.

Before Chi Cheng could tune it out, the vendor’s fist connected with the guard’s jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground with a dull thud. The crowd gasped, a ripple of shock spreading through the onlookers. Chi Cheng’s lips twitched, irritation flaring in his chest.

He hadn’t planned to get involved. But then the vendor’s eyes locked onto him, a sneer twisting his face as he spat, “What the fuck are you looking at, faggot?”

The word hit like a spark to gasoline. Chi Cheng’s gaze darkened, his boredom giving way to a cold, predatory focus. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, the ember flaring briefly before he crushed it under his polished shoe, the motion deliberate, final.

The vendor, emboldened by his size and the crowd’s attention, grabbed an apple from his stall and hurled it at Chi Cheng’s face, aiming to humiliate.

But it never reached its mark. 

Chi Cheng's hand shot up, catching it mid-air with a reflex honed by years of discipline. 

The crowd might see him as a good-for-nothing heir, a pampered brat coasting on his father’s empire, but they didn’t know about the hours he spent in the gym, sculpting his body with calisthenics and raw strength, turning himself into a weapon beneath the tailored suits.

He shifted his stance, cocked his arm back, and threw, his aim precise, the force brutal.

It slammed into the man’s solar plexus, a direct hit that made the hulking figure stagger, his breath escaping in a sharp wheeze as he stumbled back against the truck, the metal creaking under his weight. The crowd gasped again, murmurs rippling through the neon haze, but the vendor wasn’t done.

Roaring with rage, he pushed off the truck and charged, his massive frame barreling toward Chi Cheng like a freight train.

Chi Cheng’s smirk was cold, almost amused, not even flinching. Size didn’t mean strength, he knew that better than anyone.

Also, he never starts a fight, but he’d bloody well end one.

Dropping into a low stance, he coiled his body like one of his snakes, every muscle taut, years of training surging to the surface. As the vendor closed in, Chi Cheng drove his fist forward, packing every ounce of his strength into a single, devastating punch to the man’s stomach. The impact was thunderous, the vendor’s momentum collapsing as he doubled over, gasping, and crumpled to the ground in a heap, clutching his gut in pain.

The crowd fell silent for a beat, then erupted into whispers, some shocked, others awed. Chi Cheng straightened, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve, his expression as bored and untouchable as ever. The manager beside him, still clutching his ridiculous fan, gaped, his tablet nearly slipping from his hands. His mouth opened, words stammering out that Chi Cheng had no interest in hearing.

He didn’t care for the noise. 

He didn’t care for the people.

The moment was over, and he was already beyond it.

Chi Cheng began walking again, the soles of his shoes quiet but firm against the sticky pavement. Around him, the ripple effect of the brief fight spread. A few vendors began packing up in a panic, pulling their tables back and avoiding his gaze like he was the devil himself. Good. That’s how it should be.

Then something… shifted.

Ahead, at a small, cluttered stall tucked between gaudy neon signs, a figure stood with his back to him. A boy?

He wore a worn T-shirt, loose pants, and a checkered shirt tied carelessly around his waist, the sleeves flapping slightly in the night breeze. There was nothing remarkable about him, no designer labels, no posturing, just a quiet, unassuming confidence that stood out like a beacon in the market’s frenetic sprawl.

Yet something about him pulled at Chi Cheng’s attention, sharp and undeniable, like a hook sinking into his gut. He didn’t know why , exactly. The crowd was still murmuring, the manager was still rambling at his side but Chi Cheng’s eyes had locked onto the boy, and something in his gut tugged sharply.

Maybe it was the way he moved, unhurried, unbothered by the chaos around him, or the quiet confidence in his posture, so at odds with the market’s frenetic energy. As if the world around him did not concern him, whatsoever.

 It stirred something in Chi Cheng, a flicker of curiosity that cut through his boredom like a blade.

“Sir?” the manager asked beside him, voice nervous and hushed, like afraid to speak too loudly after the scene they’d just caused. “Sir, when dealing with unruly vendors like these we have to be tough. Watch how I handle them—”

Chi Cheng lifted one hand without looking, fingers splayed in a silent shut up.

The manager obeyed instantly, falling into hushed silence.

Taking slow steps up to the boy, Chi Cheng noticed that he had not turned around yet nor did he acknowledge his presence. That only deepened the pull, a spark of intrigue igniting in his chest. Chi Cheng wasn’t used to being ignored, and he sure as hell wasn’t used to feeling drawn to someone.

Especially not some random kid in a market stall.

Moreover, Chi Cheng wasn’t used to being ignored. Men scrambled to please him, women threw themselves at his feet, and even his enemies couldn’t resist glancing his way. Yet this boy, this nobody in a threadbare T-shirt, didn’t even flinch.

Didn’t glance over.

Didn’t shift.

Didn’t offer him even the barest courtesy of acknowledgment.

It was infuriating, intoxicating, a challenge wrapped in a mystery that tugged at the edges of Chi Cheng’s boredom.

He stopped a few feet from the stall, his gaze narrowing as he studied the boy’s back. There was a quiet strength in his movements, deliberate and unhurried, like he belonged in space, in a way Chi Cheng never could, despite owning it.

His gaze dropped to the small folding table.

It was laughably plain, barely holding together under a thick cloth. But neatly displayed atop it were delicate creations: sugar figurines. Bright, glassy animals, flowers, tiny dragons with curled tails and glinting eyes.

Chi Cheng blinked.

Sugar figurines.

Not weapons, not black-market herbs, not fake IDs or snake oil remedies like half the vendors lurking in the back alleys.

Just candy.

The kind of thing made with calloused fingers and careful breath. The kind of thing that melted if you held it too long. Fragile. Temporary.

And this boy… this strange little ghost of a vendor… was crafting each one like it mattered.

“Hey.” Chi Cheng said, his voice low, smooth, carrying the weight of a man who expected to be heard. The boy at the stall didn’t turn immediately, his hands pausing briefly over a tray of cheap, glinting rings before dropping to his sides, as if weighing whether the call was worth his attention.

The hesitation only sharpened Chi Cheng’s intrigue, a spark of irritation mingling with the strange pull that had stopped him in his tracks.

Slowly, deliberately, the figure turned, his head bowed, the faded cap casting a shadow over the top half of his face. But Chi Cheng’s eyes were already tracking the movement, following the curve of his jaw, the tight line of his mouth.

And then the boy lifted his head up. 

Chi Cheng’s breath caught. Just for a moment. Not because the boy was devastatingly beautiful.

He wasn’t. But because he was a young man, a few years younger than Chi Cheng’s twenty-eight. He wasn’t some ethereal beauty, not the polished, overly curated type that fawned over Chi Cheng in Beijing’s elite circles. 

But there was something about him. A raw, unrefined, pleasing in a way that didn’t demand attention but earned it. His jaw was sharp enough to catch the light, his eyes dark and unreadable under the cap’s brim, framed by a faint sheen of sweat from the humid night.

The worn T-shirt clung to a lean frame, hinting at a quiet strength, and the checkered shirt tied around his waist added a careless edge that felt oddly deliberate. If taken care of—dressed in something sharper, stripped of the market’s grit—he’d be striking, Chi Cheng thought, his mind already painting the picture.

Not that he cared. 

The young man’s gaze met his, steady, unflinching, lacking the deference Chi Cheng was used to. It was a look that didn’t beg for approval, didn’t shrink under the weight of his presence, and that defiance sent a jolt through Chi Cheng’s veins, a mix of fascination and challenge

Then, one side of the young man’s lips curled upward, a sly, knowing smirk that threw Chi Cheng off balance. Like he knew something Chi Cheng didn’t. 

Like he’d already won something Chi Cheng hadn’t realized they were competing for.

Chi Cheng’s brow twitched, confused, and before he could react, before he could demand a name or an explanation, the young man moved. He spun around, grabbed his sugar figurines from the stall, and, in a single fluid motion, dumped the entire set over Chi Cheng.

The figurines rained down. Sticky, brittle sugar clung to his coat, his chest, his hair, tiny glass-like wings and twisted tails shattered on contact, splattering across his shirt and the pavement in soft, wet cracks. A dragon’s tail dangled from his shoulder. 

A rose stuck to the lapel of his jacket.

For a full second, Chi Cheng froze, stunned, his mind struggling to process the audacity of it. The market’s noise surged back, the crowd gasping and whispering, but all he could see was the young man bolting through the stalls, abandoning everything without a backward glance.

Fucking ass.

The figurines clung to Chi Cheng’s clothes, a humiliating mockery of his untouchable persona, and for a split second, he stood there, rooted, his arrogance cracked by the sheer nerve of the act. His manager gurgled some sounds while pulling off the figurines from Chi Cheng’s clothes as his men ran after the young man.

He plucked a melted swan wing off his shoulder and shattered it on the ground. Chi Cheng tried to process the fact that he’d just been attacked … with confectionery .

“Don’t let me catch you.”

His lips twitched. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or set the entire night market on fire. 

All he knew was that the brat had guts and he would pay for it.

* * *

Two days had passed since the night market fiasco and Chi Cheng still hadn’t decided if he was more offended, confused, or grudgingly impressed.

Not that he talked about it.

Not that anyone dared bring it up.

His secretary, with all the quiet efficiency of a man who wanted to keep his job, had ensured no footage of the event made it online. A few vendors had pulled out their phones, yes, but within an hour those videos had mysteriously vanished. Channels silenced. Forums wiped clean. Anyone who tried to mention it publicly found themselves facing copyright claims, cease-and-desist letters, or sudden inexplicable tech failures.

Money and fear worked faster than any algorithm.

So, officially, nothing happened.

The Chi name was ironclad, untouchable, and Chi Cheng wasn’t about to let some punk with a cap and a smirk tarnish it. Still, the encounter gnawed at the edges of his mind.

The absence of his snakes was a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. His city sanctuary felt like a tomb without them. ErBao, still safe in her box, was his only tether, but even with her presence, it couldn’t fill the void left by Huang Lon’’s golden scales.

So, he redirected his energy into something that surprised even himself: work.

Every meeting, every client, every inspection, he showed up. Polished, prepared, efficient. It didn’t come naturally, but rage and longing were excellent motivators. The faster he performed, the faster his father would return what was his. 

That was the deal.

But beneath the sudden discipline simmered another obsession. Chi Cheng’s mind was a storm of suspicion and strategy. 

How had his father known about the snake lair? 

Chi Cheng owned multiple properties across Beijing and even China, and he rotated through them like a ghost, never staying long enough to be pinned down. The lair, tucked in an underground but unassuming room of one of his houses, was a secret known only to a select few.

Yet Master Chi had zeroed in on it with surgical precision, orchestrating the raid that stole Huang Long and the others. The betrayal stung, but the question of how burned hotter. Someone had talked, or worse, someone had been watching. The thought sent a cold thread of paranoia through him, sharpening his already ruthless instincts.

Gangzi had taken the question seriously, launching a quiet investigation on Chi Cheng’s orders. He and a few men were combing through logs, vetting anyone who’d been on the property in the past few months, checking digital traces, traffic cams, and financial slips for anything suspicious.

So far, nothing. Just smoke and shadows.

And Chi Cheng hated not knowing.

He leaned back in his office chair, the Beijing skyline sprawling beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, and lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a shield. ErBao’s box sat on his desk, her faint movements a quiet comfort as he dialed Gangzi. 

“Anything?” he asked, his voice low, edged with impatience.

“Young Master Chi,” Gangzi said, his voice tight with urgency. “We got something. Xiaolong’s details surfaced. We’re tracking him now.”

“I want you to bring him to me.” He ordered, his voice icy, lethal.

“We’re on it,” Gangzi said. “We’ve got men tailing his last known location. He won’t get far.”

Chi Cheng hung up and closed his eyes. The betrayal cut deeper now. The boy had vanished the same night the snakes were taken. Too convenient. Too precise. And Chi Cheng—who trusted very few things in the world—trusted his instincts above all. 

This wasn’t random. 

This wasn't a coincidence.

He was involved. Somehow.

And if Chi Cheng could get his hands on him… maybe he’d finally get answers. Maybe he’d finally get them back.

But for now, his skin felt too tight. His chest too constricted. The air in the office was suddenly suffocating.

He needed to get out, to think, to let the city’s chaos drown out the storm in his head.

“Clear my schedule,” he told his secretary without looking up, already walking, striding out of the Chi Group’s headquarters, his tailored suit cutting through the lobby’s glass-and-steel sterility. 

A moment later, he slid into the backseat of his SUV and muttered, “Drive. Nowhere. Just go.”

The driver didn’t question it. No one ever did.

They drove in silence, weaving through the pulse of the city, the neon lights bleeding across the windshield in garish streaks of pink and blue, the hum of traffic, a dull, distant drone that did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside him.

Chi Cheng leaned his head back, eyes half-lidded, jaw clenched so tight it ached. The betrayal—his father’s cold manipulation, the raid on his lair, Xiaolong’s absence—sat like a lead weight in his gut, fueling a rage that burned hotter with every passing second.

But the car ride wasn’t working. It wasn’t helping clear his mind, wasn’t loosening the tension settled in his chest. Fifteen minutes in, he abruptly opened the door at a red light and stepped out, the humid night air hitting him like a slap. His driver’s startled voice cut through the haze. “Sir—!”

“Park somewhere. I’ll walk.”

He didn’t wait for a response.

Chi Cheng strode into the night, the city’s humidity wrapping around him like a second skin, heavy and suffocating. His hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the weight of his thoughts. His mind was a blur. Rage. Betrayal. Restlessness.

Eventually, he found himself standing on an overhead pedestrian bridge, leaning against the glass railing. The city sprawled below like a living tapestry. People brushed past one another with their tiny, important lives, unaware of the chaos tearing through him.

All this power, all this money… and still no peace.

No real connection.

No one to trust .

Chi Cheng had never felt so lonely in his life, not even after him . 

While leaning against the glass, he pulled out his silver lighter and flicked it open. Then closed it. 

Click.

Click.

Click.

The rhythm was sharp, familiar, a lifeline in the chaos of his thoughts. He flipped the lighter open again, staring at the tiny flick of metal. Click. Close. A hollow laugh almost escaped him, but he swallowed it.

And once again, his moment was broken with the shrill of his phone. The sound pierced the night, shattering the fragile calm he’d scraped together.

His jaw tightened, a fresh wave of irritation surging through him as he glanced at the screen. 

Xion Hua.

The name alone was enough to make his temples throb.

An old classmate. A talkative leech who didn’t understand subtlety, boundaries, or the meaning of leave me the hell alone . But Chi Cheng knew better than to ignore the call entirely. Xion Hua was the kind of pest who would text, call, leave voice notes, and show up at your office with bubble tea until you caved.

With a tired sigh, he accepted the call, raising the phone slowly to his ear.

“Chi, you missed this year’s class reunion again,” Xion Hua's voice burst through, high-pitched and petulant, skipping any pretense of greeting.

No hello , no how have you been , just straight into the guilt-trip.

“I was at a business dinner.” The lie slipped out easily, polished from years of dodging these conversations. “Couldn’t get away.”

He hadn’t had any intention of showing up to that social minefield. But Xion Hua wasn’t the type to take a hint.

“Bullshit.” The man’s snort grated in his ear. “Come on, Chi. You, Guo Chengyu, and that snake-obsessed freak Wang Shuo, you three used to be —”

Without a word, he disconnected the call, the silence that followed heavy and suffocating. Then he locked the screen and shoved the device back into his coat pocket with more force than necessary.

For a few seconds, all he could hear was the rush of traffic below the overpass, the low murmur of city life continuing on without him.

He didn’t want to remember those names. Didn’t want to remember the laughter, the rooftop nights, the feeling of belonging, of matter ing to someone outside his family name.

The names hit Chi Cheng like a physical blow, each one a shard of memory he’d tried to lock away. 

They had all been close back then, but that was a lifetime ago, before the betrayal, before the secrets that had torn them apart. Chi Cheng’s grip on the lighter tightened, his knuckles whitening. His pulse thudded in his ears, drowning out the hum of the city outside.

Despite the subtle cool breeze flowing, his grip tightened around the edge of the glass railing, the city lights below blurring slightly. He already had too much on his plate. He didn’t have time for nostalgia. He barely had time to breathe.

Deciding he’d had enough of this so-called “fresh air,” Chi Cheng turned on his heel to head back toward the car. He’d barely taken two steps when someone crashed into him from the side, jostling him off balance. Reflexively, his hand shot out, catching the other person’s wrist to steady both of them.

Looking up, he saw a young man, early twenties at most, his face half-hidden by a black face mask. Chi Cheng’s eyes narrowed as he found his footing, the stranger’s frame slight but wiry under his hold.

“Are you alright?”

“Thank you.” Chi Cheng said coolly, regaining his footing.

But something was off.

Just then the man moved around, but Chi Cheng moved faster. He seized the man’s wrist again and twisted it sharply, forcing him to his knees with a grunt. The bastard had tried to lift his phone from his pocket under the guise of colliding with him.

The man yelped, squirming as Chi Cheng tightened his grip, the bones in the stranger’s wrist grinding under his fingers.

“You faked a fall?” The man had the audacity to be angry at him.

Chi Cheng’s lips curled into a cold smirk. “You pretended to help me, but I can’t fake a fall?”

“Gē, I’m not a thief!” the man protested, his voice pitching higher as he fumbled in his pocket with his other hand. He yanked out Chi Cheng’s phone, holding it up like a peace offering. “Here’s your phone. Gē, look, now you believe me, right? I’m really not a thief.”

Chi Cheng snatched the phone, his skepticism unshaken. He wasn’t born yesterday. With a swift motion, he grabbed both of the man’s wrists, twisting them behind his back and hauling him to his feet. The stranger squirmed, his protests growing frantic.

“What do you want? I am really not a thief, really, Gē.”

Chi Cheng reached up and yanked the mask down, revealing a face that made his blood run cold. Those sharp cheekbones, that defiant glint in the eyes.

Chi Cheng blinked.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

It was him.

It was the same punk from the night market, the one who’d pelted him with sugar figurines a week ago before vanishing into the crowd.

The world was small, too damn small, and now this brat had the nerve to try stealing from him.

He clearly knew who Chi Cheng was, because no one in their right mind would pull a stunt this bold without knowing their target.

“You walked right into this.”

“Wait, have we met before?” the man asked, feigning confusion. Chi Cheng tightened his grip, making him gasp, the act wearing thin. “Gē, I can prove I’m not a thief, let me show you!”

With a shove, Chi Cheng released him, watching as the man clutched his wrists, wincing. The younger man fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a battered phone and thrusting it toward Chi Cheng.

“Look, I run an anti-pickpocket account. You were just a random passerby I picked. This is to educate people about common thief tactics, to avoid getting robbed. Trust me, Gē. The livestream viewers can vouch for me. Look. Look.”

Chi Cheng plucked the phone from his hand, unconvinced, and glanced at the screen. Sure enough, it showed a livestream, the camera angled awkwardly to capture their scuffle. 

The viewer count was pathetic, barely a dozen people watching, their comments scrolling lazily: “Lmao, this guy’s done for,” “Nice move, teach him!” 

Chi Cheng’s eyes flicked back to the man, who was staring at him with a mix of desperation and defiance.

“Look, right?” the man pressed, his voice tinged with hope.

Chi Cheng’s lips twitched into a mocking smile. Without breaking eye contact, he turned off the livestream with a tap, the screen going dark. In one fluid motion, he stepped toward the railing of the nearby bridge, holding the man’s phone over the edge of the pedestrian bridge. The man’s eyes widened, and he lunged forward with a yell, arms outstretched. “Ayeeee!”

“What’s your name?” Chi Cheng asked coolly, still dangling the device like bait.

“It doesn’t matter!” came the breathless reply.

Excuse me? The brat had the audacity to tell him that it did not matter, when Chi Cheng clearly asked him about it.

“Whatever? So arrogant.”

“No, Gē!” The man’s hands shot up, placating, as Chi Cheng let the phone dip lower, only to catch it at the last second when Wu Suowei yelped in protest. “I’m really called Wu Suowei ! I have proof, wait!”

Huh? Do people really name their kids after such weird names?

Scrambling, the punk fumbled in his jacket pocket, producing a worn ID card and thrusting it toward Chi Cheng. Chi Cheng snatched it, his eyes scanning the text. Sure enough, there it was: Wu Suowei . 

The name was real, absurd as it sounded. Color him surprised.

“You are really named We Suowei.”

“Yes, Gē.”

“Quite unique.”

“Not at all,” Suo Wei replied with the kind of exhausted sincerity that made Chi Cheng bite back a laugh. There was something painfully honest about the kid. Like a kicked puppy that still wagged its tail.

For a brief moment, the ridiculousness of the entire situation settled over them like a fog. A near-mugging-turned-livestream-stunt. A name that meant “whatever.” 

Chi Cheng almost let it go.

Almost.

But then, memory clicked into place like a blade sliding home. Wu Suowei wasn’t just some random punk; he was a repeat offender, and Chi Cheng wasn’t in the mood for forgiveness. With a sudden pivot, Chi Cheng lunged forward, his hand closing around Wu’s throat. He shoved him backward until Wu’s spine pressed against the cold metal railing, his body arched precariously over.

Wu Suowei gasped, clawing at Chi Cheng’s hand, his eyes wide with fear.

“Why did you throw sugar candy at me that day?” Chi Cheng demanded, his voice a low growl, each word laced with barely restrained anger as he tightened his grip.

Recognition dawned in Wu Suowei’s eyes, his face paling as the memory clicked.

“Gē, that day I didn’t mean to hit you,” he choked out, his voice rasping under the pressure of Chi Cheng’s grip. “I wanted to throw it near you. I didn’t mean to hit anyone… Gē, I was wrong, Gē!”

Chi Cheng knew he should let go. He knew . But damn, it was satisfying watching the brat squirm. The panic, the way he choked on his own apology. It was the first bit of entertainment he’d had in weeks.

Eventually, he released him with a shove, stepping back as Suo Wei doubled over, coughing violently and clutching his throat. Without a word, Chi Cheng reached into the kid’s pocket and plucked out the small video recorder.

“Gē, please don’t leave!” Suo Wei pleaded between coughs, stumbling after him. He grabbed at Chi Cheng’s sleeve, his fingers catching the fabric. Chi Cheng stopped, turning sharply to face him. Suo Wei raised his hands in defense, taking a wary step back, his eyes darting between Chi Cheng and the recorder.

“I’ll give you two choices. Either get beaten up by me, like that melon seller last week…” Suo Wei’s head shook frantically, his eyes wide with dread. “Or I confiscate your device.”

“I choose to be beaten,” Suo Wei said quickly, his voice trembling but resolute.

The sheer speed of the answer caught Chi Cheng off guard, and a dark amusement flickered in his chest. His lips curled into a slow, predatory grin, his eyes glinting with something dangerous yet playful, like a cat toying with a cornered mouse. 

He liked this. Tormenting the brat, watching him squirm under the weight of his own impulsiveness. But he had things to do than be violent, now.

Chi Cheng scoffed, a humorless sound. “It’s already decided.”

He turned on his heel with a smile, striding toward his car, the recorder tucked into his pocket. The younger man was relentless, trailing behind, his voice rising in a desperate litany. “Gē, it cost a lot of money! Gē, give it back, please!”

Chi Cheng shrugged off Suo Wei’s grasping hands, his patience long gone. The kid’s protests faded into the night as Chi Cheng reached his car, the sleek black sedan waiting like a silent accomplice. Without a backward glance, he slid inside, leaving Wu Suowei stranded on the bridge, his shouts swallowed by the city’s endless hum.

* * *

A lot had happened in the past few days that left Chi Cheng’s nerves frayed and his patience thinner than ever. Some of it good, most of it maddening. And none of it seemed to be aligning in Chi Cheng’s favor.

The most recent disaster? 

They’d finally tracked down Xiaolong, the slippery bastard who’d been dodging them for weeks, trying to flee the country like a rat abandoning a sinking ship. Chi Cheng’s men had cornered him at a dingy portside warehouse, just hours before he could board a cargo ship bound for who-knows-where.

Unfortunately, catching him hadn't provided the answers Chi Cheng had hoped for. 

Xiaolong, bruised and battered, had no useful information about the snakes. Nothing useful, at least. All he could offer were excuses and a crumbling trail of betrayal.

According to him, it was Chi Cheng’s own father who had intercepted him first. The old man had grilled him for information about the lair, and Xiaolong had folded. But it was Gangzi who’d beaten the truth out of him, leaving Xiaolong a whimpering mess.

Fists and bruises had a way of making even the most reluctant tongues loosen.

It turned out Xiaolong had sold him out willingly. He'd been in contact with the chairman’s office, giving detailed reports on Chi Cheng’s so-called “frivolous lifestyle” and the private menagerie of snakes. Worse still. But he hadn't acted alone. 

Guo Cheng Yu’s men were involved too. As usual, that smug bastard was pulling strings from the shadows, meddling where he had no business.

Chi Cheng, against his darker impulses, hadn’t killed Xiaolong. But he didn’t forgive him either. Instead, he had let his men take a go at him, whether physically or sexually, he really did not care. It was a mercy, really, compared to what Gangzi would’ve done, carving him up like a butcher with a grudge.

Looking back, the majority of his crisis was linked to Guo Chengyu Yu. He was a specter that refused to fade, his name surfacing like a bad omen in every crisis. One day, Chi Cheng swore he would settle that score.

Then came the second blow: His parents.

It wasn’t enough that his father had blackmailed him into corporate slavery. His father, ever the traditionalist, had issued an ultimatum during their last meeting at the family estate. Chi Cheng was to find a girlfriend within a year or else he would be married off to a woman of the chairman’s choosing, some polished daughter of a business ally, no doubt.

A girlfriend!

Chi Cheng had long since stopped trying to explain his preferences to his parents. They dismissed his sexuality as a “phase,” a rebellion against their expectations, as if his identity were a childish tantrum he’d eventually outgrow.

They didn’t understand, and frankly, they didn’t want to.

So, to shed off the stupid pressure, he had wound back to his go-to club tucked in the upper levels of a glitzy downtown tower. Splendid Minghao. Its opulent interior was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in his mind. The low hum of jazz mingled with the clink of glasses and murmured conversations, the air thick with the scent of expensive cologne and aged liquor.

The blue, purple, pink light illuminated the sleek marble tables and the well-dressed elite who frequented this exclusive Shanghai haven for thrills within their class.

Chi Cheng’s fingers curled around his whiskey glass, the amber liquid catching the light as he took a slow sip, letting its burn ground him. He leaned back, one arm draped across the plush seat, eyes scanning the crowd beneath half-lowered lashes. Not for anyone. Just for something but a distraction, a moment of relief, a new game to play that wouldn’t turn on him later.

But the truth clawed at him from the inside out.

He missed his lair.

He missed the quiet hiss of scales and the feeling of control it gave him. He missed the version of himself who wasn’t always dodging knives from people he once trusted.

Chi Cheng twirled the glass in his hand, watching the amber swirl like a slow storm.

He needed a win.

Any win.

Chi Cheng exhaled heavily, setting the whiskey down on the table, the soft clink lost in the club’s ambient noise. He scanned the room one last time, his sharp gaze sweeping over the crowd to look for someone who could lift his mind up for the night. No luck.

With a resigned sigh, he decided it was time to call it a night. A waiter approached offering to refill his glass, but Chi Cheng waved him off. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it, the flame briefly illuminating his sharp features before he stepped toward the exit.

The cool night air hit him as he left the club, the distant buzz of Shanghai’s streets replacing the jazz. He took a drag, the smoke curling upward as he made his way to his car.

And that’s when he saw her.

A girl stood in front of his car, arms crossed, striking a pose she probably thought looked effortless and sexy. Her hair was tossed to one side like it had taken her an hour to pretend it wasn’t styled that way, and she was clearly waiting for him.

Ah.

Recognition hit him like a jab to the gut.

It was her, the chick who’d been hanging off Wang Group’s elder son the night of that disaster. Wang’s son, whose name Chi Cheng hadn’t bothered to remember, had thrown barbs about him, and Chi Cheng had not let it slide easily. He’d hit back where it hurt most, dismantling the man’s pride by physically paralyzing him. No, the man was too conked out to know who had hit him and Chi Cheng had made sure to select the perfect route to crash into him, making sure no camera aligned around.

Was Chi Cheng apologetic? Not a chance. No one insulted him and walked away unscathed. Literally.

The girl straightened as he approached, her lips curving into a coy smile.

“Recovered from the head injury?” Chi Cheng asked, his voice low and edged with mockery, recalling how she’d been caught in the crossfire that night.

Her smile turned flirtatious. “Just seeing you made me recover.”

Chi Cheng arched an eyebrow. Girl, you’re barking up the wrong tree.

He scoffed under his breath and turned his gaze away. Anyone else might’ve found the line cute but not him. “So cheesy.”

She faltered, her smile wavering, but she recovered quickly, her arms crossing as she rubbed her palms over them in a universal gesture of feeling cold. Chi Cheng’s eyes flicked over her, assessing, taking in the short, sequined dress that clung to her frame, its hem barely reaching mid-thigh, the plunging back leaving little to the imagination.

“Aren’t you cold?” he said, his tone laced with disdain as he blew out a plume of smoke.

“Of course, I’m feeling cold.” she replied, her voice soft but pointed, her eyes locked on his.

The implication was clear. She was angling for an invitation, a way to slip into his car, maybe into his bed, but definitely into something she thought she could gain from.

Chi Cheng dragged one last puff from his cigarette, the embers glowing red, and let the silence stretch before answering.

“I have got a snake in my car.”

It was true. His ErBao was coiled in her glass terrarium in the back seat.

“I love snakes…” she replied breathlessly. “Let me see.”

Of course you do.

With a single nod, he watched her daintily open the backseat door like she was stepping into a fairy tale. Chi Cheng followed, cigarette between his lips, eyes narrowed slightly. He followed, his presence looming as he leaned against the car, one hand resting on the open door.

The girl turned, her hand brushing against Chi Cheng’s on the door, her fingers lingering, tracing delicately over his knuckles. “This snake is so cute.”

Chi Cheng’s gaze dropped to the point of contact, his expression unreadable. Her intent was unmistakable, she was interested, pressing closer despite his cold indifference. He felt nothing. No thrill, no spark, just the slight tickle of calculation settling in the back of his mind.

Something clicked in his mind, a sudden clarity cutting through the haze of whiskey and irritation. He assessed her, wondering if she could be useful. 

This girl, with her calculated charm and willingness to play the part, could be the perfect shield to keep his parents off his back. A fake girlfriend, a temporary fix to buy him time while he dealt with Guo Chengyu, the snakes, and the rest of the mess his life had become.

He could play that game.

This girl was pretty enough, obedient, clearly eager, and most importantly, expendable. A placeholder. A pawn. And right now, Chi Cheng needed tools more than he needed people.

He finally turned his gaze to her, slow and deliberate. She perked up instantly under the weight of his attention.

“What’s your name?” he asked, voice low, casual.

Her smile widened. “Yue Yue.”

“Hmm.” He didn’t smile back, just took another slow drag from his cigarette and flicked the ash out of the car. “Get in. I’ll drive you somewhere warmer.”

Yue Yue eyes sparkled with triumph as she slipped around to the other side, her movements graceful but eager. Chi Cheng slid into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life as he glanced at her, already calculating how to spin this to his advantage.

In the days that followed, Chi Cheng didn’t immediately reach out to Yue Yue.

Not because he forgot, but because he needed to observe her first. He had his people look into her, subtly, efficiently. What they found wasn’t surprising. An aspiring wannabee with a curated life, more filters than facts, and a hunger for money. She bounced from one wealthy circle to another, clinging to attention like perfume, yet never quite managing to secure a lasting place.

That, in Chi Cheng’s eyes, made her perfect.

She was just right .

Pretty enough for public appearances, vain enough to follow orders if there was a reward dangling at the end, and most importantly, shallow enough not to care what he did behind the scenes.

She didn’t want him. 

She wanted the idea of him. 

The last name. 

The money. 

The spotlight. 

And he was more than happy to feed her that fantasy.

So, when he proposed the idea of dating—on paper, in public, with boundaries—she had jumped on it like a drowning woman handed a diamond-encrusted life raft. She played her role with wide eyes and staged affection, clinging to his arm at events, dropping sly hints to gossip blogs, pretending to blush when someone called her “Madam Chi” too soon. 

She even started calling him “Cheng Cheng” in private, trying to feign closeness he never offered.

Chi Cheng tolerated it.

Barely.

To him, Yue Yue was nothing more than a puppet in a designer dress. The fake girlfriend his parents wanted to see. The shield between his real preferences and their outdated expectations. A buffer against arranged marriages, blind dates, and the crushing pressure of being the only heir.

He didn’t love her.

Hell, he didn’t even like her.

But she looked good on camera, and for now, that was enough.

* * *

It had been one of those rare off days for Chairman Chi, who’d been forced to board a last-minute flight overseas to chase a high-stakes deal, leaving Shanghai’s tangled web of family and business in Chi Cheng’s hands.

The old man’s absence was a brief reprieve. 

Taking advantage of it, Gangzi had called Chi Cheng to his house where the snake lair stood, to discuss a new strategy for tracking down the missing snakes. Despite their relentless efforts they were coming up empty, the trail colder.

Chi Cheng made his way back and the moment he stepped in, the air changed. 

It wasn’t just the regulated humidity or the still scent of reptilian musk that greeted him. It was the absence. The silence that didn’t belong. That once-familiar hiss of movement against glass, the soft scrape of scale on stone, was gone. It had been gone for weeks now, but each time he returned, he half-expected it to be different. For one of them to greet him.

But no. 

There was only stillness. 

Glass tanks sitting like hollow graves.

Chi Cheng’s gut twisted tightly, the familiar ache pressing up into his chest. His eyes swept over the room, pausing on each empty box like he was reading the name of a ghost. The cold LED lights reflected off the glass panels, making the tanks glimmer eerily.

It felt like failure. Like loss.

After discussing it with Gangzi, they shifted focus. The Chairman had been under surveillance for days, showing no deviation in his schedule, no indication of where the snakes had been stashed. But Chi Cheng knew his father too well. The man didn’t need to shift patterns to be dangerous.

Their best lead now was the new company storage facility, a massive structure recently added to the Group’s growing infrastructure. 

Big enough. 

Secure enough. 

Out of reach, just how his father liked things. It was a long shot, but Chi Cheng had a hunch. Gangzi had initially raised doubts, but after weighing the options, even he had to admit it made sense. 

So, they started watching. Monitoring trucks that came and went. Watching the guards. The gates. Waiting for something— anything —to seem out of place.  The complex loomed before them, a fortress of concrete and steel. His men fanned out, checking perimeters and access points, their movements silent and precise. They’d already scoured the outer warehouses, slipping past security cameras with practiced ease, but found nothing—no crates, no hidden compartments, no trace of the snakes. The frustration was a live wire in Chi Cheng’s veins, but he kept it locked down, his face a mask of cold focus.

Now, hours later, Chi Cheng stood outside the storage facility, the day almost bleeding into evening and they had again come up short.

He was ready to throw hands when a truck rumbled into view as it approached the main gate. Gangzi took point, striding toward the driver’s window with his usual intimidating swagger, his voice low but commanding as he engaged the man in conversation. Chi Cheng hung back with his men, his eyes sharp, scanning the truck’s cargo hold for any hint of irregularity.

The driver, a wiry man in a worn cap, seemed nervous under Gangzi’s scrutiny, his answers clipped as he refused to open the door. Chi Cheng’s men stood ready, their hands close to concealed weapons, but Chi Cheng raised a hand, signaling them to hold. 

If the snakes were here, they needed proof, not a firefight.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration cutting through the moment. It was Gangzi, his voice low and urgent on the line. “We got the snakes, boss. They’re in the truck.”

Chi Cheng’s pulse spiked, a surge of adrenaline propelling him toward the driver, who was fumbling with the door handle, trying to swing it open and bolt. Chi Cheng moved faster, slamming the man against the truck’s side, pinning both his wrists against the door.

“Gangzi.” he barked, his voice a command as his men sprinted to the truck’s rear, yanking open the cargo doors. The driver twisted, shouting.

“Don’t open it.” the driver snarled, voice shaking but defiant. His head turned halfway, the cap still hiding his features as he tried to pull free. “I promised—not even gods—can open the back.”

Chi Cheng pressed harder, his body pinning the driver’s, his hip grinding against the man’s backside with deliberate force.

“What are you shouting about?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m god here.”

The driver kept struggling, his wiry strength no match for Chi Cheng’s controlled fury. But before Chi Cheng could press further, Gangzi and his men returned, their faces etched with disappointment. Gangzi’s scowl was deeper than usual, his broad shoulders tense.

“Young Master Chi, it’s just spare parts.”

Chi Cheng’s grip faltered, confusion flashing across his face as he released the driver, who jerked away with a shove, brushing himself off with exaggerated indignation. Chi Cheng ignored him, turning to Gangzi, his tone sharp. “Didn’t you say you found them?”

Before Gangzi could respond, the driver spun on his heel, pointing an accusing finger at Gangzi. “Who told you to open my truck?”

“You filled the truck with parts. Why were you being so mysterious?”

“If I don’t get my wages, you—” The driver’s rant cut off as he turned, his hand suddenly clutching Chi’s jacket in a tight fist, yanking him forward. The cap tilted back, and Chi’s blood ran cold.

That face!

Those sharp cheekbones, that defiant glint in the eyes. 

It was the same fucking punk. 

Wu Suo Wei!

The night market sugar figuring dumper, the anti-pickpocket livestreamer who’d tried to swipe his phone weeks ago. The one with an odd name. What the fuck!

Chi Cheng’s blood simmered as he stared at the kid’s sharp cheekbones and defiant glare, now fully exposed as the worn cap tilted back. What the fuck was Wu Suowei doing here, of all places?

“It’s you again,” Wu Suowei said, his eyebrows furrowing, voice laced with exasperation. “What the fuck do you want? Wherever I go, you’re always there, like some damn shadow!”

“What’s your deal?” Gangzi interrupted, shoving Wu Suowei off Chi Cheng with a meaty hand. The kid stumbled but caught himself, his glare flicking between them. “This is Mr. CHi from the Warehouse Department.”

“Warehouse Department?” Wu Suowei scoffed, undeterred, brushing off as if Gangzi’s touch was an insult. “I don’t care what department you’re from. You messed with my delivery, so compensate me!”

Chi Cheng tilted his head, his amusement tinged with disdain.

“How much?”

“Five hundred yuan.” Wu Suowei declared, holding up five fingers with a defiant flourish.

So little? Chi Cheng scoffed, never breaking eye contact with the brat, he called out to Gangzi.

“Pay him five thousand.”

Wu Suowei’s defiance faltered, his eyes widening as he tried to process the words, confusion flickering across his face. Chi Cheng shoved him back lightly, just enough to make his point, and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He leaned against the truck’s door, lighting it with a flick of his lighter.

Gangzi grabbed Wu Suowei’s arm, steering him toward the facility’s office to handle the reimbursement, the kid’s protests fading. Someone had already brought him a chair nearby. He sat, crossed one leg over the other and watched the smoke curl.

His mind churned as he wondered where the snakes could be, if not here. Every lead turned to smoke, every corner he chased into ended in silence. He exhaled, a plume of smoke curling up from his lips as his eyes scanned the warehouse lot, grim and quiet.

Then, a voice cut through the thick fog of his thoughts.

“Chi Cheng.”

Yue Yue walked towards him, in a short, curve-hugging dress that shimmered faintly, looking like she belonged at a red carpet event, not a grimy industrial site. Even his men shifted awkwardly, some eyes lingering longer than necessary.

Chi Cheng didn’t move.

“Why are you here?”

Yue Yue walked toward him with practiced grace, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. She bent slightly, taking his free hand in both of hers, her eyes wide and lips curled in a perfect, artificial smile.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t catch you after work.” she said, her voice dipped in sugary charm, “and that you’d disappear again.”

She tugged gently, pulling him up from the chair. Chi Cheng let her, rising with a half-hearted sigh, his body moving more out of obligation than enthusiasm. Playing the doting boyfriend felt like a chore today. She rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. 

Chi Cheng willed everything in him to not hurl her off him and wipe the skin off of existence. 

“Did you miss me?” she asked, her tone teasing, her eyes glinting with expectation.

Chi Cheng didn’t answer, taking a slow puff of his cigarette instead, the smoke curling between them as he studied her. Her eagerness, her calculated affection. It was all part of the game, one she played well. She was here to be seen, to solidify her place in his orbit, and he’d let her, for now.

“Let’s go,” he said finally, his voice low and clipped. He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his heel as he pulled them ahead, striding toward his car.

As he reached the driver’s side, Chi Cheng glanced back, his sharp eyes catching a figure standing in front of the facility’s office.

Wu Suo Wei.

Their gazes locked, and Wu Suowei’s eyes burned with contempt, a raw, unfiltered disdain that hit Chi Cheng like a spark to kindling. The man’s jaw was set, his fists clenched at his sides, as if he were silently daring Chi Cheng to come at him again.

Chi Cheng held the stare.

A thrum of excitement beneath his skin that made his pulse twitch. That look, that unapologetic hatred, stirred something far more visceral than Yue Yue’s soft affection ever could.

The girl beside him was trying. Playing her part with a dazzling smile and all the charm money could buy.

But it was the brat’s fury—unfiltered and raw—that made his blood move.

Chi Cheng’s lips twitched, almost a smirk, before he turned away, sliding into the driver’s seat. 

Funny. One was clinging to him with painted affection, and the other… barely knew how much space he was already taking up in Chi Cheng’s mind.

He didn’t say anything. 

As he pulled put of the lot with a chattering Yue Yue beside him, Chi Cheng  couldn’t help but wonder.

Why does being hated by him feel so much better than being wanted by anyone else?