Way too hot.
Jing Pei felt heat rising to her cheeks as the physical sensation registered. Standing this close to Qiu Fa, she really understood what it meant for a body to be far more honest than words.
She looked up at him with a faint smirk. “A gentleman, hm?”
The upright Director Qiu immediately let go of her hands and tried to step back. But his tail proved far too honest. The moment he pulled back, the tail yanked Jing Pei right back toward him, sending them crashing into each other once more.
Jing Pei had been about to speak, but the impact turned her voice into a soft, breathy groan.
Qiu Fa’s breathing deepened instantly.
Jing Pei grabbed the edge of the sofa. “Director Qiu, if you keep acting like a rogue, I’m going to report you.”
Qiu Fa reached down to yank at his tail, but the harder he pulled, the tighter it wrapped around her waist. It acted as if it had a mind of its own, refusing to let her go.
Damned tail! What was wrong with it?
Jing Pei reached out her free hand to catch the tip of the tail at her side, intending to pry it loose. Turning twenty-eight in a few days meant she had little tolerance for this kind of provocation.
Yet the moment she applied pressure, Qiu Fa had a massive reaction. The knee resting on the cushion slipped, causing him to lose his footing. He threw a hand out just in time, bracing against the back of the sofa so he wouldn’t crush her beneath his weight.
His burning heat pressed close, his warm, damp breath brushing against her neck. Jing Pei turned her head without thinking, and her lips grazed his cheek, leaving a soft kiss against his skin.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Qiu Fa’s eyes opened wide as well, his fingers digging hard into the leather backrest.
Time seemed to freeze for several seconds. A frantic heartbeat echoed in the silence, so fast and loud it threatened to shatter the room.
Jing Pei pulled her head back and glanced away, her tongue softly brushing her lower lip.
Qiu Fa didn’t meet her eyes either, his throat working as he swallowed repeatedly. Giving up on brute force to detach his tail, he kept one hand planted beside her head, closing his eyes to draw a series of deep breaths. His fingers gripped the leather sofa so tightly they sank deep into the cushion.
The composure that had shattered a moment ago began to settle back into place. Finding the mental switch to control his tail at last, the limb obeyed its master, slowly unwinding from her waist. It brushed softly across her abdomen through her clothes as it slipped away, leaving behind a subtle tickle.
Qiu Fa shifted across the room in a blur, turning his back toward her by the wardrobe in a futile attempt at composure. “Sorry,” he rasped out.
Jing Pei sat up straight and cleared her throat softly. “Unlock the handcuffs, and we’ll call it even for my break-in.”
He had never intended to arrest her in the first place, and the air inside the small apartment remained thick and strange. Qiu Fa pulled a key from his pocket and tossed it toward her without turning around. “Unlock them yourself.”
Catching the key, Jing Pei unlocked the cuffs. Seeing him keep his back turned out of embarrassment, she normally would have teased him further. Yet for some reason, heat flushed her own body, leaving her with no desire to poke fun.
She picked up a small notepad and a fountain pen from his nightstand. Using her right hand—which she rarely wrote with—she scribbled across the paper. “I wrote down the time and place for our next meeting. Make sure you’re on time.”
“Wait, you came here just for that?” Qiu Fa asked. If she had business, she could state it now. Why set up another meeting?
“Of course not,” Jing Pei blurted out. “It’s because I wanted to see you.”
The words surprised even her. Logically, she hadn’t come out of a desire to see Qiu Fa, but to lay groundwork for their next encounter. Why had that sentence escaped her lips? Was it possible that deep down, she genuinely wanted to meet him under her identity as the information broker?
An ambiguous silence hung in the air.
“Anyway, it’s getting late. I’ll take my leave. See you next time,” Jing Pei said quickly.
“…Right.”
Jing Pei hurried out the door.
Qiu Fa rested a hand against the wardrobe door, drawing several long breaths. The restless urge inside him proved impossible to quell, leaving him slick with sweat despite the cold weather. Yet his spirit felt weightless, a novel sweetness blooming in his chest. Reaching up to touch his cheek where her lips had rested, his fingers met the curve of his own smile.
A squeaky, sly voice drifted from inside the wardrobe. “Old house catching fire, huh? Heheh.”
Qiu Fa didn’t bother arguing. His patience was unusually generous at the moment.
“She likes you, you’re crazy about her—it’s mutual! Congratulations, heheh.”
Qiu Fa grunted, “Nonsense.” If you know how to talk, keep going.
“I’m the Ring of Truthful Tongues! I only speak the truth, no nonsense here, heheh.”
“You aren’t on her finger. How would you know what she thinks?”
“I was on her finger last time! Didn’t I tell you you’re totally her type? Next time, take your clothes off faster, heheh.”
For the first time, he found the chatterbox ring bearable, even if its tone remained vulgar.
Turning around, Qiu Fa picked up the note from his nightstand, eager to read the details. Though she had just departed, anticipation for their next encounter took root.
The note held a simple instruction:
[December 26, 11:00 PM. Come see me.]
Qiu Fa paused, checking the date once more. December 26.
That happened to be Long Jin’s birthday.
Late at night.
The bustling courtyards of the Long family ancestral estate had grown quiet. Only the steady gurgle of water beneath the arched bridge broke the silence, accompanied by the periodic clack of the turning waterwheel.
Jing Pei lay in bed, tossing and turning.
Closing her eyes brought Qiu Fa back to mind—his face inches away, the heat of his breath against her skin, and the accidental kiss she had left on his cheek.
“This feels strange,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her chest.
Qiu Fa clearly liked her. She was experienced with romance and knew exactly how someone acts when they are captivated by another person.
She had to admit a cold truth: she never loved any of her ex-boyfriends. They hadn’t been lying back then. Even though she tried to treat them well, keep them happy, and meet their needs, none of them felt loved.
“You don’t love me at all! You only dated me to write your novel!”
“…That’s not fair.” Weren’t you the one who confessed and asked to date? Gathering material for my writing was just a bonus.
“Then why don’t you get jealous when I eat with other women?”
“I share meals with male colleagues too. Is that supposed to make someone jealous?”
“I bring up breaking up and you just agree? You won’t even try to hold onto me!”
“…Wasn’t I just respecting your decision? If you want me to cling to you, I can do that.”
“Jing Pei, I hate you!”
Recalling those past relationships from her previous life, the faces of her exes had faded from memory—even the one who had dragged her down into death with him. All she remembered were pairs of bloodshot eyes brimming with heartbreak. Overlaying those hurt eyes onto Qiu Fa’s face brought an unexpected wave of guilt.
“Good news: I finally know what it feels like to like someone,” Jing Pei murmured, turning over. “Bad news: I still have to break a heart.”
Before long, she rolled onto her back, her expression relaxing as she rested her hands over her stomach. “At least I’m quite skilled at keeping men happy.”
Inside the secret organization’s conference hall, projected figures from around the globe gathered once more. Each wore an animal mask, though their numbers had thinned compared to their last assembly.
The destruction of two subsidiary factions—particularly the total raid on Miss Hong’s Atavist Genetics Research Organization—had exposed massive volumes of classified intelligence to the Hualan government. Several shareholders had been arrested, others declared international fugitives, and many simply stopped answering the organization’s calls.
Those who remained had lost faith in the leadership. They withheld investments and offered cold glares during meetings, throwing the organization into its recent financial crunch.
Today, however, the mood had shifted.
The projections arrived with restless urgency, clamoring the moment they materialized.
“Has progress really reached this stage?!”
“Is the dawn of our grand design finally within sight?!”
“God bless us! Is this real?”
The familiar host stepped forward in his customary tailcoat, resting both hands on a walking stick. A smile touched his lips. “Indeed, gentlemen. Our great endeavor approaches completion. Only two steps remain.”
Cheers in various languages erupted across the room. Several ecstatic members slammed their hands on the table, demanding to know how much funding was required.
Money was certainly needed—a vast sum of it—but that topic belonged later. A more pressing matter demanded their attention now.
“We gathered our esteemed shareholders today because we must further weaken government forces,” the host announced. “To ensure our final push succeeds, every obstacle in our path must be cleared. This plan will require certain shareholders here to mobilize their connections and resources.”
Silence fell over the hall.
The host clapped his hands. As the doors parted, a figure glided into the room without a sound.
Glided—for he possessed no feet, his lower limbs replaced by twin wheels. He resembled a digital construct rather than a living human, split between flesh and machine. His bare torso was built like a fortress, iron fused seamlessly with muscle. Metallic struts—resembling exposed ribs or hardened conduits—bulged across his skin in a strange, ominous display.
“Remarkable. A Cyborg Clan atavist with very high purity,” a shareholder in a raccoon dog mask noted, leaning forward.
“Precisely,” the host replied. “This is Black Iron, captain of one of our Squads of Ten Evils. As a Cyborg Clan atavist, he is the ideal operative to lead this mission.”
“Though we failed to destroy Bubble 109 before the 8.20 Conference, our hopes were far from dashed. The revision to Article 1 of the Atavist Management Regulations planted a rift between the great atavist families and the government. Given time, that rift might mend.
“We will give them no such chance. By exploiting this opening, we shall drive a permanent wedge between them, eliminating our greatest external threat. At the same time, this operation will secure a secondary prize—a technology so advantageous it may thrust us directly into our final phase!”
Excitement rippled through the audience. “What is the plan? Where is the target?”
“Not a place,” the host answered calmly. “This time, we target a person.”
He pressed the remote, lighting up the big screen. A portrait appeared of a young man with refined features and pale skin. His eyes were dark, lacking any spark of life.
“Isn’t that the fellow from the Tao family?”
“Tao Ying’s fiancé. He’s a Cyborg Clan atavist too, isn’t he?”
“He is, and his purity is quite high. The Tao family atavists live like hermits off air and dew, while their Squibs chase wild ambitions. Without this cyborg keeping them afloat, the Tao family would be dirt poor or starved to death.”
“Hasn’t he been around for a long time? I seem to recall hearing about a cyborg in the Tao family when I was a child.”
“Really? I don’t remember hearing anything like that.”
Several shareholders remained silent, lost in thought. A sudden tension crept into their expressions as realization dawned.
“It seems a few among us have deduced the extraordinary truth behind this youth,” the host said with a slight chuckle, tapping his cane against the floor to restore order.
“Hualan’s foundation rests upon the founding atavists. Every atavist of that era was a founding hero whose monumental deeds sheltered their descendants, granting those families a millennium of privilege.”
“Atavists live longer than normal humans, but reaching five hundred years is rare. Even immortal beings face dangers that stop them from lasting past five centuries. But he is different.” The host pointed at Liu Yin‘s image. “He is the last of the founding ministers of Hualan.”
“What?!”
“A founding minister? That young boy?!”
“He has lived over a thousand years?!”
Uproar swept through the assembly.
“Indeed. The legendary youth commander from the history books who held an entire prefecture single-handed—that was him. Who would have guessed that a figure idolized by generations of history enthusiasts remains alive today?”
At his words, anyone with a basic education knew exactly who he referred to, regardless of nationality. The young general was world-famous; his military triumphs and legendary anecdotes guaranteed his place in every historical debate.
In history texts, Liu Yin went by another name. Surviving records of his appearance were sparse—no full frontal portraits existed, only silhouettes, side profiles, or blurred features.
Most had assumed the loss was due to primitive technology or war damage. Looking back, it was far more likely that Liu Yin himself had insisted on erasing his face from the records.
“Why?” someone asked in bewildered shock. “Why would such a prominent figure hide his identity and serve as a household servant to the Tao family, feeding a bunch of useless Squibs?”
“Our intelligence suggests it was all for a promise.”
Yet the person with whom he made that promise had died long ago—leaving him to keep it alone for a thousand years.
