Chapter 3 – Surveillance

Under the cover of night, the narrow streets were dimly lit. The sound of footsteps on the pavement occasionally produced odd noises.

Duan Chen held a cigarette between his fingers, his brow furrowed as he watched the endless stream of traffic on the road. His vision was slightly blurred, the distant streetlights melting into a hazy glow in his eyes.

A figure beneath the lights drew closer. The chill of February lingered, and Zhou Daosen wore a windproof jacket.

“Where is she?” Zhou Daosen asked calmly, neither anxious nor defensive, as if the accusations weren’t directed at him. His composure was inscrutable.

Duan Chen jerked his elbow backward, the cigarette still burning between his fingers. He took a drag before answering, “I had someone hold her inside. Didn’t want her running her mouth.”

Zhou Daosen glanced toward the building. The glass door of the martial arts gym reflected their figures. His imposing stature made him see himself first in the reflection—his demeanor less like a defendant and more like someone here to expose an affair.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Duan Chen followed, asking, “Did you get your place sorted?”

“Yeah,” Zhou Daosen replied flatly. He walked ahead without needing guidance, while Duan Chen occasionally chimed in with directions.

At a door, Duan Chen stopped. He had even locked it. Holding his cigarette, he explained, “She’s too wild. Had no choice.”

Zhou Daosen knew Cheng Xin better than he did and didn’t press further.

Once the door was unlocked, Duan Chen instinctively took a step back. But before Zhou Daosen entered, he grabbed his arm and muttered, “Whatever happens, don’t lay a hand on her.”

Zhou Daosen pushed the door open. “What kind of person do you take me for?”

Duan Chen didn’t leave immediately, his expression uneasy.

Inside, Zhou Daosen saw Cheng Xin sitting in the private booth, eating fruit.

Before her lay sliced watermelon and mango. She held a fork, spearing a piece of watermelon and popping it into her mouth. The juice smeared her lipstick, but she paid no mind, her expression one of grim resignation. At the sound of the door, she uttered two calm words: “You’re here.”

Zhou Daosen had a habit of observing people’s attire—it revealed their taste, personality, and how seriously they took the situation. The girl before him wore no exaggerated makeup, her face bare except for tomato-red lipstick. Her hair was disheveled, a silver hairpin sticking out from the back of her head. She tilted her head as she chewed, her demeanor unrestrained.

Zhou Daosen’s gaze lingered on the silver hairpin.

He took a seat on the sofa without a word.

After a few more bites, Cheng Xin finally broke the silence. She looked up at the man before her, her emotions complex. “Not gonna hit me?”

Zhou Daosen lifted his eyes—cold, like the watermelon slices on the plate.

Cheng Xin tossed her fork onto the plate.

She clapped her hands, though there wasn’t a speck of dust on them.

“Got a cigarette?” she asked.

Zhou Daosen remained unmoved. “You’re pregnant. Should you be smoking?”

Cheng Xin stretched out her hand. “I can.”

After a pause, Zhou Daosen fished one out of his pocket and handed her a slim Jinling 95.

Cheng Xin took the cigarette but didn’t ask for a lighter. Everything she wore was cheap, down to the two-yuan lighter in her hand—except for the silver hairpin at the back of her head, the only thing of any value.

“I wanted to burn his house down, but then I realized—I don’t even know where he lives,” she said, flicking the lighter on and off, the fire in her eyes growing fiercer. “So from the start, he was just playing with me, right?”

Zhou Daosen watched coldly from the sidelines, appearing aloof. “I warned you,” he said.

Cheng Xin took a deep drag from her cigarette. In Zhou Daosen’s eyes, she had always been defined by her exaggerated outfits and makeup—until today, when he finally saw the contours of her face clearly for the first time.

“So what am I in his eyes now?” Cheng Xin raised her cigarette. “Can you tell me, Brother Zhou?”

Only cold silence answered her.

Zhou Daosen sat with his hands in his pockets, his expression devoid of any warmth. He wasn’t involved in this mess, so he couldn’t empathize—but he didn’t even bother pretending to care. His father had criticized him time and again for his lack of warmth in social interactions.

“I had no choice but to drag you into this today,” Cheng Xin flicked the ash from her cigarette. “That bastard Lu doesn’t even dare to see me now. I heard he helped you move today.”

“Do you want to see him?”

“Would he even have the guts?”

Zhou Daosen pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “That’s another matter.”

With that, he made the call.

Cheng Xin frowned, startled by his action. The call connected, and even without speakerphone, she knew exactly what Lu Pingwei’s first words would be.

“Brother Zhou, what’s up?”

“Cheng Xin wants to see you.” Zhou Daosen cut straight to the point. The girl across from him tensed, her gaze turning sharp and cautious. Zhou Daosen didn’t mince words. “We’re at the boxing gym.”

A pause on the other end. Cheng Xin stared expectantly, while Zhou Daosen remained unnervingly calm.

“Put her on the phone,” Lu Pingwei finally said after a moment. Zhou Daosen handed her the phone, but Cheng Xin hesitated before taking it. He lifted his wrist slightly, prompting her. Emotions warred across her face as she set her cigarette aside, then snatched the phone with sudden decisiveness—yet when she pressed it to her ear, her touch was gentle.

Zhou Daosen stood up.

He walked out. Unsurprisingly, eavesdroppers lurked outside. Duan Chen blinked in surprise. “That fast?”

Zhou Daosen shut the door behind him.

Leaning against the wall, he scanned the room without a word.

Zhou Daosen had always been a man of few words. Efficiency defined him—swift in arrival, decisive in departure. As for his connection to Cheng Xin, even Duan Chen was in the dark. Nothing showed on Zhou Daosen’s face, so Duan Chen didn’t press.

For a guy as good-looking as Zhou Daosen, a few romantic entanglements were expected. People constantly came sniffing around for his contact info or gossip, and Duan Chen was sick of it.

He waited for Zhou Daosen to share something—anything—but instead of an explanation, the sound of shattering glass erupted from the private room.

A thunderous crash.

Zhou Daosen was the one who ended things for Cheng Xin.

And when they left, he was the one who took her away.

Duan Chen saw them out and offered to call a cab, but Zhou Daosen refused, simply hauling her along.

Cheng Xin was wasted. She wasn’t pregnant, but she hadn’t lied—she really had lost Lu Pingwei’s child.

Earlier this year.

Back then, they had still been a happy couple.

Zhou Daosen dragged Cheng Xin back to his apartment.

He rarely brought women to his place, but leaving a drunk girl on the street seemed even colder than risking rumors that could ruin her reputation.

Weighing the options, Zhou Daosen made a reluctant choice between two principles.

He hated cleaning up messes, but he loathed owing favors even more, seizing this chance to settle things with Lu Pingwei.

Cheng Xin was tossed onto the unmade bed, still cursing Lu Pingwei’s ancestors eighteen generations back as she bounced on the mattress.

“Scum like him deserves to die! All you men should drop dead—Lu Pingwei’s father is no better than trash…”

“I lost my job for him, my friends drifted away, I fought with my parents—I have nothing left! If he didn’t want to be with me, he shouldn’t have led me on in the first place!”

“Die a horrible death, die a horrible death… Lu, you’ll die a horrible death!”

Zhou Daosen listened to Cheng Xin’s tirade. To him, it was all emotional garbage he had no appetite for, so he stepped out to prepare hangover medicine. But none of the apartment’s electronic appliances had been properly set up yet—some hadn’t even had their dust covers removed. Getting a cup of hot water was proving difficult.

With a whistle, Zhou Daosen called his dog over.

The large breed responded enthusiastically. Patting its ears, Zhou Daosen called toward the room, “Keep an eye on her.”

Yu Zhen’s photoshoot had just wrapped up.

The high heels she’d worn were discarded by the edge of the carpet.

Chen Qinghuai quietly observed the slender, milky-white legs encased in the qipao—not a single hair in sight, making it impossible to associate them with a man’s.

Yu Zhen’s profession demanded disciplined routines and eating habits, leaving her skin healthy and radiant. Her toes were smooth and rosy, nails neatly trimmed, every detail exuding refinement.

“What’s wrong?” Yu Zhen asked, noticing the other’s gaze fixed on her feet. Chen Qinghuai was a frequent collaborator—hardly the type to gawk at her cross-dressing. Thinking there might be an issue with her foot shape, she voiced the question.

“Nothing,” Chen Qinghuai averted his eyes to the exaggerated prosthetic breasts instead. “Should I forward the proofs to you once they’re ready, or send them directly to the client?”

“Directly to them,” Yu Zhen replied. “You have their contact details.”

Chen Qinghuai smirked. “Not afraid I’ll take all the credit?”

Though new to cross-dressing, Yu Zhen was a seasoned veteran in the broader modeling world, having worked with more photographers than she could count on one hand. In her younger days, fiery and naive to human deceit, she’d befriended a few only to be stabbed in the back—three or four such incidents had taught her to maintain clear professional boundaries.

So Chen Qinghuai couldn’t fathom why she’d extend such trust now.

Yu Zhen undid the qipao and removed the prosthetic breasts, tossing them carelessly onto the carpet. “I’m not worried. Brother Chen, you’re fair-minded. If I can’t trust you, there’s no one in this world worth trusting.”

They’d only known each other for a few months.

Yet she spoke as if they’d grown up together.

Whether it was sweet talk to butter him up for better retouching or genuine sentiment, Chen Qinghuai didn’t mind. He enjoyed Yu Zhen’s flattery and occasionally blurred the lines himself: “Then why not get with Brother Chen properly?”

At that, Yu Zhen’s smile turned coy.

The ambient lights were still on, bathing her in soft pink hues. The qipao hung half-open, revealing smooth, rounded shoulders as she unceremoniously discarded the prosthetics. Arching a brow, she teased, “Aren’t we close enough? Even the client lets you handle things directly for me—that’s trust I’ve never given anyone else.”

“Don’t mix things up,” Chen Qinghuai steadied the tripod, his gaze obscured behind it, unreadable. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Yu Zhen rose from his chair, leaving his shawl draped over the backrest. Barefoot, he paced across the floorboards. “Brother Chen, take the cold noodles back with you. I really can’t eat dinner tonight.”

Chen Qinghuai hesitated, words caught in his throat.

His lips parted then pressed together, as if convincing himself of something before waving it off. “Eat it. There’s no one else at my place who’ll finish it.”

Yu Zhen was helpless against this gesture.

Chen Qinghuai didn’t live here. With the filming wrapped up and evening approaching, he’d never stayed overnight at Yu Zhen’s place before, nor had Yu Zhen ever asked him to. Knowing today would be no different, Chen sighed. “Walk me to the door.”

“My clothes…” Yu Zhen began.

“No need to go outside,” Chen reassured him.

Only then did Yu Zhen follow Chen from the inner room to see him off at the entrance—though the short distance hardly warranted it.

Gripping the doorknob, Chen gave Yu Zhen a once-over. He reached out to adjust a button on Yu Zhen’s qipao without a word, silently studying him for a long moment before finally turning to leave.

It seemed he was waiting for Yu Zhen to say something.

Under that gaze, Yu Zhen showed no unusual reaction, nor did he speak, appearing utterly passive. Then came Chen’s sigh as he turned and walked away.

The cloying fragrance of osmanthus permeated the street outside.

Footsteps echoed in the stairwell.

Standing in the living room, Yu Zhen shed his qipao, his body slightly damp from being wrapped in it all day. His peculiar constitution couldn’t tolerate cold yet struggled with heat, leaving him prone to sweating. Doctors and specialists had diagnosed everything from yang deficiency to yin deficiency and qi deficiency, but none captured it as perfectly as his parents’ single word: “fussy.”

Yes, he was fussy—born with aristocratic ailments but none of the privilege.

“Knock knock.”

Without thinking, Yu Zhen let the qipao slip to his waist as he stared at his damp nipples. “It’s unlocked.”

But the person who entered wasn’t Chen Qinghuai.

It was that unfamiliar neighbor, the stylish man who’d leaned in the corner earlier.

Zhou Daosen stood holding a cup, thumb pressed against its side. Their eyes met as Yu Zhen’s powdered body trembled.

Yu Zhen preferred warm tones over cold whites, having renovated the apartment at his own expense after moving in. The overhead light now cast a gentle orange glow instead of harsh white, scattering like shredded sunlight woven into a shawl across his shoulders.

Most of the qipao had slipped down, clinging to his slender waist. The beautiful man’s snow-white skin, his restless hands, and the legs the qipao couldn’t quite contain were all exposed. His toes curled slightly, as if aware of his impropriety and wanting to salvage the awkward situation, but with no retreat possible, any attempt to conceal only heightened the embarrassment.

Zhou Daosen quickly averted his gaze, trying to land his eyes somewhere less intrusive. Yet the half-concealed body offered no safe harbor for his attention. His eyes darted about, his stubborn fixation eventually settling on the faintly visible tops of Yu Zhen’s feet.

The soles appeared pink—a shade so suggestive it invited endless imagination.

At this moment, speaking or staying silent were both improper, apologizing or not apologizing equally offensive.

Yu Zhen felt a sudden warmth in his palm, then the heat spread through his chest. His shameful secret lay hidden in his hand—tinged with humiliation, tinged with anger. Yet none of that could change the fact that, right now, he was being judged and visually violated by a man.