EIP 65

Yong Jin’s breath carried the sharp, bitter scent of a high-proof alcohol. Zhou Jun wondered what might have happened to make him drink something so strong. This time, his kiss wasn’t aggressive. Instead, it rested gently on Zhou Jun’s lips, like a careful brush against a fragile dream, tender as though he feared it might shatter.

Zhou Jun helped Yong Jin into the car, unsure where to take him. Returning to the Yong residence would alert the Governor. Taking him to his apartment wasn’t ideal either. Who knew how Yong Jin would react if he woke up tomorrow and found himself tangled with him again? The uncertainty made Zhou Jun uneasy. What exactly was he afraid of? Perhaps too many things. They couldn’t go back to what they had before, nor should they start over.

He gripped the steering wheel and glanced at Yong Jin, who had already closed his eyes, his breathing soft. Zhou Jun sighed and leaned over to fasten his seatbelt. Just as he pulled the strap across, a hand caught his.

He froze. The heat from Yong Jin’s palm burned against his wrist. Following the arm, he saw the man’s eyes.

They weren’t clouded but faintly clear, though the clarity vanished as soon as they focused on him. Yong Jin’s grip tightened, his expression puzzled. In a low voice, he murmured, “Jun Jun.”

Zhou Jun stared at him silently. When Yong Jin noticed his lack of expression, he slowly released his hand. Leaning to the side, he closed his eyes again, muttering softly, “Tonight, you no longer smile at me.”

Zhou Jun gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Not just tonight,” he said. “I don’t ever want to smile at you.” It was a lie. He had just smiled earlier. But for some reason, he didn’t want to admit defeat.

Yong Jin, as though speaking in a dream, replied, “You smile every night.”

Zhou Jun finally realized he was spouting drunken nonsense. Why take a drunk man’s words seriously? And yet, the thought nagged at him. If it hadn’t been him who found Yong Jin tonight, who would have seen him in such a defenseless state? He sighed, deciding not to speak anymore.

He planned to drop Yong Jin off at a luxury hotel. Pulling up beside Xiao Fu’s car, he rolled down the window and said, “You can head back now. Pick me up at the Zhou residence tomorrow.”

Xiao Fu looked at Zhou Jun thoughtfully, his gaze drifting past him as though trying to see who was in the car.

Zhou Jun instinctively rolled the window back up. Even drunk, the young major general was strikingly handsome; there was no need for Xiao Fu to gape at him, especially when he wouldn’t understand.

He drove to the hotel, wrestling Yong Jin out of the car and into the lobby. After checking in, he politely declined the staff’s offer of assistance. Thankfully, despite his intoxication, Yong Jin was quiet and cooperative, causing no trouble. Even so, by the time Zhou Jun settled him onto the bed, his own shirt was damp with sweat.

Pulling off his vest, Zhou Jun tugged at his soaked shirt, shivering at the sudden chill. Yong Jin stirred, his gaze unfocused. Zhou Jun knelt by the bedside, gently brushing the hair from Yong Jin’s forehead. Yong Jin’s eyes followed his movement, recognition flickering as he softly murmured, “Jun Jun.”

Zhou Jun gave a cold laugh and corrected him. “Call me Mr. Zhou.”

Yong Jin closed his eyes and turned his head away, ignoring him. Zhou Jun chuckled bitterly in frustration. He wasn’t interested in talking either. If it hadn’t been for his moment of weakness, he wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble.

There was a flicker of guilt as well. If his hunch was right, if Yong Jin really had warned him in time for the Zhou family to pull out early, then they all owed Yong Jin a significant debt.

Zhou Jun crouched by the bed, rubbing his temples in frustration. Mu Liqing might tell Yong Jin about their conversation tonight, and Zhou Jun told himself he didn’t care how Yong Jin would react. Yet now, he was inexplicably tense.

Cold sweat ran down his back, making him shiver. He stood and went to the bathroom, deciding to shower before leaving.

When he came back out, Yong Jin was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a cigarette and resting his hand against his forehead. He casually responded to someone on the hotel phone, his tone indifferent. By the time he looked up again, his eyes were noticeably clearer.

Zhou Jun froze mid-motion, the towel still in his hands, paused in the act of drying his hair.

The room fell into a long, tense silence that could almost be called a standoff. The heat lingering from the shower gradually dissipated, and cold beads of water rolled down Zhou Jun’s neck, making him shiver. Feeling the chill, he resumed drying his hair with the towel, slowly and deliberately, shifting his gaze to avoid meeting Yong Jin’s eyes.

Yong Jin continued his phone call, his voice low and slightly hoarse, tinged with the remnants of alcohol. Zhou Jun, however, was certain he was acting. Panic and doubt swirled within him. Had Mu Liqing called Yong Jin the moment they left the pear garden? Zhou Jun had assumed that while Mu Liqing might find ways to convey his stance, he would hesitate because of the complex relationship between himself, the Zhou family, and Yong Jin’s connections to the military governor.

Perhaps, in the best-case scenario, Mu Liqing wouldn’t dare say anything at all. But why deceive him? Yong Jin clearly wasn’t drunk. He had allowed Zhou Jun to bring him to the hotel, only to drop the act now.

Zhou Jun didn’t understand. Feigning composure, he walked over to the minibar, opened a bottle of red wine, and poured himself a glass. Facing away from Yong Jin, he couldn’t hear whom the call was with, nor what was being said. It wasn’t long before Yong Jin hung up and broke the silence.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

The wine gave Zhou Jun a small boost of courage. He turned to face Yong Jin and replied, “You told me to bring you here. Don’t you remember?”

Yong Jin’s face was still flushed. He finished the cigarette in his hand with a few quick drags and stubbed it out in the ashtray. His disheveled appearance betrayed the refined image of a young marshal. He casually loosened the buttons on his shirt and leaned back into the soft pile of pillows.

“I don’t believe you,” he said.

Zhou Jun set his glass down and narrowed his eyes, his expression sharp. “Don’t believe what? You think I came here on my own?”

Yong Jin didn’t respond immediately. He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes. Bloodshot and red-rimmed, they looked as if he had just cried. His gaze avoided Zhou Jun entirely, drifting aimlessly.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for bringing me here, Mr. Zhou,” he finally said, his tone distant. “You can leave now.”

Zhou Jun suddenly let out a laugh. Holding the wine glass tightly, he said, “The room is under my name. I paid for it. If anyone should leave, it’s you, major.”

Yong Jin stood up from the bed, his movements still unsteady. He leaned against the wall for a moment to regain his balance before walking toward the door. Zhou Jun’s grip on the wine glass tightened, his knuckles turning white. His face remained calm, but inside, he was filled with regret. He wanted to slap the version of himself from thirty minutes ago, the one who had lacked the determination to avoid Yong Jin at all costs.

Their shoulders brushed as Yong Jin passed. Zhou Jun stood motionless, suppressing the urge to shove the young major general to the ground. But then Yong Jin halted and said, “You should quit the opium. The head of the Yang family hates it more than anything.”

Zhou Jun didn’t respond. Instead, he placed the wine glass on the table with such force that it shattered. Red wine spilled onto the table and dripped onto the floor. He barely registered the sharp pain in his hand, perhaps because it had already gone numb. The sound startled Yong Jin, making him pause and turn around.

Zhou Jun flicked his injured hand, glass shards still embedded in his skin, and stared directly at Yong Jin. “I don’t think that has anything to do with you,” he said coldly.

Yong Jin’s brow furrowed slightly. “Your hand—”

Zhou Jun interrupted with a faint smile. “That has nothing to do with you either.”

Yong Jin didn’t reply, his expression turning complicated, his jaw tight as if holding something back. Zhou Jun turned and walked toward the bed, raising a hand dismissively without looking back. “Go. Don’t expect me to see you off.”

The words had barely left his mouth when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, forcefully pushing him onto the bed. He reacted swiftly, propping himself up before turning and striking Yong Jin across the face with his injured hand.

Blood, mixed with shards of glass, smeared across Yong Jin’s cheek. The wound ran down to his jawline, a thin trail of blood trickling along his skin.