Chapter 21.1

Amidst the Virgin Islands, known for their scattered mansions of the wealthy, lay a secluded private island. Hidden within its lush green forests, a villa peeked through the foliage, exuding an air of isolation and tranquility

A custom-made private yacht docked at the island’s personal pier. Two young men stood waiting there.

The one standing behind carried the air of a seasoned negotiator. He had sharp, defined features with black hair, dark eyes, and the striking bone structure of a European. In contrast, the young man in front of him had a lean but tall frame, with delicate yet well-defined features. His softer contours set him apart from the sharp presence behind him. He carried an air of Asian refinement mixed with the distinct sharpness of his British lineage.

That young man was none other than Mo Zimu, who had recently escaped from prison. Behind him stood the Italian- Eurasian, Noè.

Noè gave him a light push and chuckled lazily. “Seven, welcome home. Get down. Someone’s waiting for you.”

Mo Zimu’s face turned slightly pale as he glanced at the man standing on the dock.

Dressed casually in a simple knitted vest and tailored slacks, the man gave off a relaxed, homely vibe. But Mo Zimu knew better that beneath that gentle, scholarly appearance lay something far less easygoing.

Looking at the refined man before him, Mo Zimu felt a chill creep through him, followed by an exhaustion laced with pain.

“You’re here,” Rong Qing said softly.

“I never wanted to come here,” Mo Zimu replied as calmly as he could.

“Let’s head inside,” Rong Qing said.

“Rong Qing,” Mo Zimu said, “we have nothing to do with each other anymore!”

Noè shrugged and remarked, “Seven, listen to me. If you still feel so strongly about avoiding Daniel, it just means he still occupies your heart. You’re a tough person to get close to, and anyone who does leaves a deep mark on you. The fact that thinking of him makes you pale and ache inside only proves that you still love him. Why not give each other another chance?”

“Would you fall in love with the knife that slashed your heart?” Mo Zimu replied coldly.

Noè paused for a moment before letting out a bitter laugh. Waving toward Rong Qing, he said, “That’s all the help I can offer. I’ve got some unfinished business to handle, so I’ll take my leave. Good luck.”

Rong Qing merely nodded, but Mo Zimu blurted out, “What do you plan to do with my friends?”

Noè smirked. “That depends on how well you listen to Daniel.”

Mo Zimu raised his dark brows.

“Don’t mind him. He promised me he’d take care of your friends,” Rong Qing cut in.

Noè smiled faintly, leapt onto the yacht’s deck, and said to Rong Qing, “In my world, if something is lost, don’t dwell on it. If it’s unattainable, destroy it. No point in clinging.”

Mo Zimu responded coldly, “Birds of a feather.”

Rong Qing’s expression showed a hint of bitterness. “Let’s talk again when you’ve experienced the agony of wanting something you can’t have.”

Noè waved casually and steered the yacht away, the vessel gliding swiftly over the azure Caribbean waters until it disappeared into the horizon.

“Let’s go,” Rong Qing said. His tone was neither urgent nor commanding, yet Mo Zimu knew better than to defy him.

Walking side by side along the sandy beach toward the villa, the two were as quiet as they had always been. But unlike before, the satisfaction that had once filled Mo Zimu’s heart was long gone.

Mo Zimu stepped into the villa, and as with every place Rong Qing had lived, the decor carried a distinct Chinese aesthetic. Scroll blinds, bamboo groves, everything reflected his personal tastes, and this place was no exception.

However, the serene and leisurely atmosphere was only surface-deep.

There were no security guards in sight, but the hidden infrared sensors, retina scan-activated glass doors, and other advanced security measures revealed the true nature of this top-tier fortress.

“Sit,” Rong Qing said, leading Mo Zimu inside and gesturing toward the sofa. Mo Zimu followed his instructions and sat down.

Rong Qing poured him a cup of tea, and Mo Zimu accepted it without resistance. Rong Qing came up behind him, wrapping his arms around him. Mo Zimu stayed still as the other softly said, “Can we start over?”

Mo Zimu let out a bitter laugh. “Start over? And what about the past? How do we account for that?”

Rong Qing nodded. “I know you’re holding onto it. Tell me what you want. Name your terms. Whatever it takes to settle this between us, I’ll agree.”

As soon as the words left Rong Qing’s mouth, Mo Zimu pushed his hands away and shot to his feet. “I want a clean and untainted seventeen-year-old! I want to be someone who could still dream, someone who could still believe in love! I want to be the Seven who could dream of a family, not this me, who was raped, violated by my own father, convicted, imprisoned, and turned into a fugitive. I want to have never met you, Rong Qing! Can you give me that?”

Rong Qing lowered his gaze. “Seven, there are so many choices we could make. I just hope you’ll pick the one that’s best for you.” His face paled slightly. “Even though I know you won’t make that choice, I still want to offer it to you.”

Mo Zimu’s voice turned icy. “You’ve never given me a choice!”

Rong Qing’s gaze lifted, and the look in his eyes sent a chill down Mo Zimu’s spine. “You’re right,” he said coldly. “And you won’t ever have one.”

Mo Zimu’s vision blurred before he could react. His legs gave out, and he collapsed, not onto the floor, but into someone’s arms.

In his haze, he vaguely heard someone choking back a sob, saying, “I’m sorry, Seven. Please, let’s start over, okay?”

When Mo Zimu opened his eyes again, he found himself lying on the sofa, his head resting in someone’s lap. His head throbbed painfully.

“You’re awake?” a voice chuckled.

Mo Zimu held his head and sat up. The air smelled faintly of red wine. Rong Qing, dressed in a black shirt, sat at the other end of the sofa with a book in his hands.

Smiling faintly, he glanced at Mo Zimu and said, “If you can’t handle alcohol, drink less. Being drunk doesn’t feel good, does it?”

“Drunk?” Mo Zimu murmured, looking around the familiar room. A celadon vase held Rong Qing’s favorite magnolias, and an antique clock in the corner ticked steadily.

Mo Zimu’s heart began to race wildly.

This was Rong Qing’s private villa on the Virgin Islands, a place he had once dreamed of but which had become the source of his nightmares

“You slept for quite a while… Does your head still hurt?” Rong Qing’s hand naturally reached out to touch his head. Mo Zimu instinctively raised his hand to block, but Rong Qing easily caught it.

“You’re such a fool!” Rong Qing’s dark eyes bore into him as he spoke lightly, “You drank yourself so drunk. How could I possibly take you to bed like that?”

“What?” Mo Zimu froze as if struck by lightning.

Could it all have been a nightmare? Had nothing actually happened? Was it just the hallucination of a drunken mind?

Rong Qing held his hand firmly and pulled him into his arms, hugging him tightly. His lips brushed against Mo Zimu’s hairline as he whispered, “There are some things I prefer to do when you’re fully awake.”

Mo Zimu’s eyes scanned the room, and suddenly, he noticed a paper airplane under the sofa. It was the one he had folded out of boredom that day in the living room. When Rong Qing had walked in, the paper airplane had slid under the sofa.

“So it really was just a nightmare!” Mo Zimu closed his eyes, his body suddenly feeling weak. He let Rong Qing kiss and caress him.

“I had a nightmare,” Mo Zimu murmured.

“What did you dream about?” Rong Qing asked softly, his hands slowly unbuttoning Mo Zimu’s shirt.

Mo Zimu smiled faintly. “I dreamed that you sold me.”

Rong Qing’s hand slipped beneath his shirt, his fingers teasing Mo Zimu’s chest. He murmured against his ear, “Sold you? To myself, perhaps?”

Mo Zimu took a deep breath, reminding himself it was all just a nightmare. Nothing had actually happened.

The two slid from the sofa onto the carpet.

Rong Qing gazed down at Mo Zimu, who was now lying on the camel-hair rug. His glasses had been removed, revealing a smooth forehead, a straight nose, and long lashes that fluttered gently. Even now, he looked so clean, so pure. Rong Qing leaned down and kissed his lips, trailing kisses down his chest, lingering over his exposed skin. When his lips grazed Mo Zimu’s sensitive chest, Mo Zimu gasped.

Rong Qing froze, seemingly surprised by how sensitive Mo Zimu was. He looked down at him, his gaze becoming increasingly complex.

Mo Zimu suddenly felt Rong Qing’s grip on his wrists tighten, pinning him firmly to the floor. His eyes fluttered open slightly, meeting the man’s gaze, which remained soft and gentle.

“Seven…” Rong Qing said, his voice low. “I have a gift for you.”

The word “gift” sent a chill down Mo Zimu’s spine. He shuddered and asked in a trembling voice, “What kind of gift?”

Rong Qing kissed him gently before lowering himself fully onto Mo Zimu and laughed softly. “You’ll get it when we’re done.”

Mo Zimu tried to act indifferent, but for some reason, his heart trembled so much that he couldn’t calm down. Rong Qing’s touches suddenly lost their allure, leaving Mo Zimu feeling restless and uneasy.

Unable to hold back any longer, he asked, “Rong Qing, can I see your gift first?”

Rong Qing lifted his head and smiled faintly. “You’re so impatient. Fine.” He grabbed Mo Zimu’s hand and pulled him to his feet, leading him upstairs.