POTINS 14

In the week that followed, Wen Zhongyi didn’t see Meng Chuan again.

Yang Jiaran managed to get Wen Zhongyi a student ID, saying he bought it from a senior who was on leave from school.

With the ID, Wen Zhongyi could now freely enter and exit the university and sit in on architecture lectures. Compared to the dry text in books, the professors’ explanations were far more vivid and engaging. Wen Zhongyi was always the most attentive person in class.

Yang Jiaran admired this deeply.

He had only joined Wen Zhongyi for one lecture and was quickly overwhelmed by the flood of unfamiliar terminology. Yang Jiaran studied law and had no interest in this kind of material—he slipped out right after the first class.

Wen Zhongyi had no textbooks or laptop. He borrowed all his materials from the library and carefully wrote down every key point by hand in a notebook.

He also discovered a dessert shop near campus that sold delicious and affordable chestnut pastries. It was so popular among students that there was always a long line.

After going three days in a row, the owner started to recognize him. When handing over the pastries, the owner smiled and said, “Want to add me on WeChat? You can preorder online.”

Wen Zhongyi gladly added him. The owner’s name was Jiang Ye, and that was also his WeChat display name.

When Yang Jiaran found out, he was surprised. “You could add the owner directly? My roommate only got into the group chat.”

Wen Zhongyi took a bite of the chestnut pastry, squinting with satisfaction as he replied casually, “Maybe the group chat’s full.”

“Could be. Their business is too hot right now.” Yang Jiaran nodded.

The worst of Wen Zhongyi’s early pregnancy symptoms had already faded. He took his supplements on schedule and followed the book’s nutritional guidelines strictly. Now he rarely felt any discomfort.

He ate three chestnut pastries in a row and washed them down with a glass of milk. His stomach felt warm and settled, and his whole body relaxed.

There weren’t many people in the café. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a golden light across the floor.

Yang Jiaran had dozed off, slumped over the table. Wen Zhongyi gently tapped his arm and said, “Weren’t we going to the library together? Let’s go.”

With finals approaching, all the papers and group projects had Yang Jiaran at his limit. He’d temporarily stopped working at the convenience store and was now living off coffee in the library.

After thinking through his future plans, Wen Zhongyi renegotiated his hours at the bookstore. He now worked mornings, attended university classes in the afternoons, and studied in the library at night. Since he was only a temp, the boss didn’t give him any trouble.

But with the reduced hours came reduced pay—almost nothing.

Fortunately, Wen Zhongyi didn’t have many material needs. It was enough to get by.

That night, after leaving the library, Wen Zhongyi didn’t take the subway. He strolled back along the sidewalk.

The walk from school to his apartment complex took about thirty minutes.

He crossed the street and took a shortcut through a dim alley. The alley was narrow, and he could hear music playing from somewhere nearby.

Several electric scooters passed him with loud honks. He stepped aside. A few others were walking ahead of him—two girls chatting and giggling at some funny story.

The alley wasn’t long. Just as they neared the end, a man silently approached from behind the girls and, with practiced ease, slipped a phone from one of their open crossbody bags.

It happened in a flash. The girl didn’t notice a thing. The man acted like a casual passerby, calmly pocketing the phone and picking up his pace.

Unfortunately for him, Wen Zhongyi saw everything.

He raised his eyebrows slightly but said nothing.

The alley opened onto a wide street, lined with flashing neon lights. Ahead stood a bar, blaring music loud enough to shake the ground.

The man tugged his mask up and was just about to take out the phone when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned and met a pair of calm, steady eyes.

Wen Zhongyi nodded toward his pocket and said, “Phone.”

The man froze for a second, then his expression changed. He suddenly swung his arm back, aiming to land a hard blow as he turned to run.

But Wen Zhongyi was too fast. Not only did he dodge the strike, but the hand clamped on the man’s shoulder never loosened. Pain exploded through the man’s shoulder, as if his bones were about to be crushed.

“Phone. Now,” Wen Zhongyi said coldly.

The man cursed loudly in pain. Giving up on fleeing, he spun around and swung a fist at Wen Zhongyi’s face.

Unfazed, Wen Zhongyi caught the punch mid-air and twisted hard.

There was a sharp crack.

The man’s wrist was dislocated on the spot.

The man’s face instantly turned pale, eyes bloodshot. “Fuck your—”

Wen Zhongyi’s eyes turned cold. He raised his hand and slapped the man across the face, cutting off the rest of the vulgar tirade before it could leave his mouth.

No one had ever dared speak disrespectfully to Colonel Wen, unless they had a death wish.

The man clearly hadn’t expected to run into someone this tough. Clutching his face and gasping, he snapped, “Who the hell are you to meddle in other people’s business?”

“Shut up.”

Wen Zhongyi reached into the man’s pocket and pulled out the phone. Just then, the two girls came walking up, and Wen Zhongyi held the phone out toward one of them. She froze.

She looked at him, then at the familiar phone case, and gaped. “…My phone??”

“Yeah,” Wen Zhongyi said tersely. “Your bag wasn’t zipped. Someone stole your phone.”

The girl glanced at the crossbody bag hanging behind her. “Holy crap, I really didn’t zip it. Thank you, handsome—thank you so much!”

She took her phone, then caught sight of the man glaring at them from a distance. Realizing what had happened, she exploded, “You shameless piece of trash! You actually tried to steal my phone, I’m calling the police!”

The man’s face darkened further at that. While no one was paying attention, he bolted into the nearby bar.

“He ran!” her friend exclaimed.

“It’s fine. They’ll still catch him—there are security cameras all over this alley.” After calling the police, the girl repeatedly thanked Wen Zhongyi and even asked where he worked so she could send a letter of appreciation.

Wen Zhongyi politely declined with a smile.

After saying goodbye to the girls, he continued on his way.

Beside the bar was a small path that led to his neighborhood. If he cut through it, he’d be home soon.

Halfway down the alley, Wen Zhongyi suddenly stopped.

A group of rough-looking men came from the other end—among them was the thief from earlier, his face still swollen and one wrist hanging limp. Clearly, he’d brought reinforcements for payback.

They stopped in front of Wen Zhongyi. The bald man at the front looked him up and down with disdain. “This him?”

“That’s him,” the thief muttered. “Be careful, big bro, he knows martial arts.”

The bald man sneered and said nothing more. He raised the stick in his hand and swung it straight at Wen Zhongyi’s head.

Wen Zhongyi sidestepped effortlessly, the whoosh of the swing brushing past his ear. Before the man could strike again, Wen Zhongyi landed a powerful kick that sent him flying several meters.

The bald man staggered up against the wall, cursing in fury. Now fully enraged, he roared, “Get him! Kill him!”

Wen Zhongyi frowned.

He wasn’t worried, just concerned about putting too much strain on the child in his belly. But if he didn’t knock these guys down, he wasn’t getting home tonight.

The sound of fists landing echoed through the alley, mingled with curses and screams of pain, all drowned out by the pounding music from the bar.

Outside the alley, the bar’s glass doors were shoved open.

Meng Chuan strode out and exhaled. The air felt noticeably cleaner.

His ability to avoid drinking had reached an art form—he hadn’t touched a drop tonight. After seeing off some business partners, he fished out his car keys and happened to pass by the alley. His footsteps slowed.

The bar’s sign lit up the narrow path just enough for him to see. One figure caught his eye, familiar.

A second look confirmed it: wasn’t that Wen Zhongyi?

Why the hell was he fighting people?

Meng Chuan’s heart jumped. He hurried over.

Wen Zhongyi was right in the middle of a brawl.

To be honest, it had been a long time since he’d fought hand-to-hand. Back in military school, he had always been at the top of his class in combat, earning the respect of every alpha around.

Compared to firefights, he preferred bare-handed combat—there was a different kind of thrill to it.

And now, that long-lost thrill had returned.

Still, with the baby in mind, Wen Zhongyi held back. He wasn’t being brutal—just a few movements of his arms and hands had already knocked several men to the ground.

The rest, seeing his cold gaze, instinctively took a step back.

Wen Zhongyi stood unharmed, not even his hair was out of place.

The light behind him traced the outline of his tall, lean frame. The booming music and chatter faded into the background, making him seem like a cold, fearsome asura.

Knowing full well that killing someone here was illegal, Wen Zhongyi didn’t strike to kill.

At his feet, the bald man lay sprawled out on the ground, not even pretending to fight back anymore—just pretending to be dead.

When someone approached from behind, Wen Zhongyi didn’t turn.

But the moment a hand nearly touched his shoulder, he whipped around and grabbed the person’s wrist, sweeping his leg out at the same time and executing a textbook over-the-shoulder throw.

Meng Chuan: “…………”

In the instant his body left the ground, years of military training kicked in—Meng Chuan instinctively hooked his knee around Wen Zhongyi’s neck.

Wen Zhongyi’s pupils contracted. Before he could react, there was a loud thud as the two of them hit the ground together.

Luckily for Wen Zhongyi, Meng Chuan cushioned the fall, so he didn’t get hurt.

But Meng Chuan’s back slammed into the ground hard, making him wince and bare his teeth. “You could’ve at least turned around! You didn’t even look before attacking?”

Wen Zhongyi sat up slowly, clutching his belly, gritting his teeth in silence. Then he kicked Meng Chuan, hard.

The kick had real force behind it, no mercy.

“What the hell?!”

Meng Chuan gasped for breath, staring at him in disbelief. “I just reflexively hooked you, that’s it! You didn’t have to go that hard! And it’s not like I didn’t cushion your fall—”

“Shut up,” Wen Zhongyi said coldly, one hand on his lower abdomen, his expression grim. “Say one more word and I’ll kill you.”