Inside the car, where the air conditioning remained off, the heat was stifling. The humidity was so thick it felt as though one could wring a handful of water out of thin air. Zhou Jinshan’s shirt was gradually soaked with sweat. Finally growing impatient, he tugged at his waistband and said, “I need to use the bathroom.”

No one paid him any mind. The driver slammed on the gas, the numbers on the dashboard climbing toward the heavens.

Zhou Jinshan repeated himself.

Still, there was no response.

With a rustle of a belt buckle, Zhou Jinshan dropped his trousers and turned toward the man sitting next to him.

The man’s facial muscles twitched as he glared at him with a murderous gaze.

“I can’t hold it,” Zhou Jinshan said.

The man reached out and produced an empty water bottle from somewhere.

…

The acrid stench soon permeated the car. The driver’s face turned ashen as he desperately suppressed his nausea. The others leaned away, wishing only to be as far from this mobile urine bag as possible.

Zhou Jinshan pulled up his pants and made a casual, sweeping motion with his right hand.

The uncapped water bottle went flying through the car. Mid-shout and mid-curse, the car spun twice in a screech of tires, nearly plunging into a wheat field to the left. Amidst the chaos, Zhou Jinshan lunged past the guards, shattered the window with a heavy shoulder—shasha—and dove out, vanishing into the farmland at a dead sprint.

That was absolutely not human strength, nor was it human speed.

…

Half an hour later, Han Zhuo received another call.

“I’ve gotten away, but I have to leave this area for a while,” Zhou Jinshan said. “I’ll set up the noodle shop somewhere else.”

“Alright.” Han Zhuo didn’t ask questions, only offering a word of caution: “Watch your back.”

“Who was that?” Bai Xi asked.

“A friend from back home.” Han Zhuo tucked his phone into his pocket and straightened his shirt in front of the full-length mirror. “Do you think this one looks good?”

“It’s fine.” Bai Xi nodded, pulling a credit card from his wallet. “Everything he tried on, we’ll take it.”

The shop assistant beamed as she took the card, her gaze toward Mr. Han becoming a few degrees more meaningful.

Han Zhuo looked down and smiled. Behind his glasses, the corners of his phoenix eyes tilted up slightly, carrying a hint of laziness and cynicism. With one button of his white shirt undone, he had successfully transformed from a refined university lecturer into a “polished scoundrel” who traded on his looks.

“He’s my bodyguard,” Bai Xi introduced him, noticing the assistant staring.

“I was wondering why I hadn’t seen him before! So he’s Director Bai’s new bodyguard.” The assistant really wanted to play along, but she couldn’t bring herself to use blind compliments like “burly” or “looks like a fierce fighter.” Instead, she settled for a beaming 90-degree bow. “We look forward to your next visit.”

“I didn’t realize you were so popular,” Bai Xi remarked as they left the shop. “I don’t recall getting this much service when I come here alone.”

Mr. Han nodded. “Perhaps.”

Calm, composed, and utterly shameless.

At the hospital, Liu Chunchun was still lying in bed with his leg in a cast, eating fruit and watching TV, looking as happy as a clam.

“Brother Bai! Brother Bai, you’re finally here!” Before Bai Xi could even enter the room, he was “kidnapped” by two men and dragged to the end of the hallway. They whispered solemnly to him, “Liu Chunchun has gone crazy.”

These two were Yu Jiong and Wang Xiaosen. Along with Liu Chunchun and Bai Xi, they were college roommates and close friends. Since graduating in June, Bai Xi had taken over a small company from his father to gain experience. Yu Jiong and Wang Xiaosen had interned at the same firm. Liu Chunchun, with the help of his brothers, had launched his first amateur art exhibition, which, while sparse, had fulfilled a dream.

Their spirited youth had just begun, and one of them had already lost it? Bai Xi asked, “What happened, exactly?”

“He stopped watching beautiful streamers dancing,” Wang Xiaosen slapped his thigh. “He switched to watching old aunties doing square dancing on TV. He’s been watching them all day.”

Bai Xi: “Hahahahahaha!”

“The rich second generation has no heart,” Wang Xiaosen lamented.

“What’s wrong with watching aunties dance? It’s fine.” Bai Xi reached out and waved Han Zhuo over. “Meet Han Zhuo. He’ll be following me from now on.”

“Hello.” Han Zhuo extended a hand. “I’m Director Bai’s bodyguard.”

“Whoa, a hidden talent! I thought you were a private tutor.” Wang Xiaosen, ever the social butterfly, threw an arm around Han Zhuo’s shoulders and led him into the ward. Bai Xi and Yu Jiong followed, laughing and joking as they gathered to gawk at the immobile Liu Chunchun—and then proceeded to eat triple-spiced BBQ right in front of him.

Liu Chunchun lay there like a mummy, tears streaming down his face as he swallowed his saliva. What a cold, heartless society.

At 5:00 PM, Auntie Li called to say that the Master and Mistress had cut their vacation short and were on their way home from the airport.

Bai Xi was shocked. “How are they back so soon?”

“The Mistress said she wants to host a dinner for Mr. Han tonight and told me to prepare properly,” Auntie Li said. “She sounded quite happy about it.”

“Got it,” Bai Xi said. “I’ll be home in half an hour.”

“Where are you going?” Yu Jiong asked. “Not staying for hotpot?”

“My parents are back.” Bai Xi stood up. “Dinner another day.” He casually speared a piece of fruit from the tray and shoved it into Liu Chunchun’s mouth, saying with mock affection, “Be a good boy for your big brothers. Daddy will come see you another day.”

“Mmm.” Liu Chunchun gave a shy, bashful look.

Yu Jiong and Wang Xiaosen simultaneously clutched the wall to gag. Bai Xi laughed and slapped them on the back. “Alright, I’m out.”

“You guys are very close,” Han Zhuo said while waiting for the elevator. It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

“Iron brothers.” Bai Xi nodded, then sighed. “Chunchun’s accident was because of me. I was driving the night we graduated, and we crashed in a tunnel.”

Han Zhuo reached out to hold the elevator door, letting him in first.

“My mom seems to really like you,” Bai Xi hesitated. “And she trusts you a lot.”

Han Zhuo smiled. “Mrs. Bai has always been very kind to me.”

Bai Xi glanced at him but said nothing more.

When they arrived home, Auntie Li had prepared a feast. She was satisfied to have reclaimed her dominance in the kitchen and had pulled out all the stops: frying, sautéing, braising, and steaming.

“You’re back!” Mrs. Bai greeted them personally, a wide smile on her face.

“Mom.” Bai Xi opened his arms. “Welcome home. How was the island?”

“It was alright,” Mrs. Bai dismissed him, passing her son in a cloud of perfume.

Bai Xi: “…”

“Little Han, you must be tired.” Mrs. Bai took both of Han Zhuo’s hands in hers and complained, “Look at this, Little Bai didn’t even let you rest on your second day home. Where did he take you?”

Bai Xi: “…”

“We just went for a stroll,” Han Zhuo said mildly. “Director Bai even took me to buy clothes.”

“At home, just call him ‘Little Bai.’ ‘Director Bai’ is my old man, got it?” Mrs. Bai whispered.

Han Zhuo smiled and nodded. “Understood.”

In the living room, Bai Xi filled a teacup and respectfully presented it with both hands to his father—the real Director Bai of the Huanchen Group, Bai Boyang.

“Where did you go today?” Bai Boyang asked.

“To the hospital to see Chunchun,” Bai Xi replied. “He’s doing much better.”

Bai Boyang nodded and asked, “And Little Han?”

“Him?” Bai Xi thought for a moment. “After I picked him up yesterday, he said he wanted to eat noodles in an alley in the East District. It was quite a trek, and the owner of that shop had zero ethics.” He consciously omitted his “heroic rescue” of a thief to avoid being scolded.

Bai Boyang set down his tea. “How are you getting along with Little Han?”

“So far, so good,” Bai Xi replied.

Mrs. Bai walked in, warmly linked arm-in-arm with Han Zhuo. “I heard you fried a soft-boiled egg for Little Bai this morning? He doesn’t eat those. They make him sick.”

Han Zhuo’s expression stiffened. He shot a look toward Auntie Li in the dining room—she reported that too?

Auntie Li—the 20-year household veteran, gold-medal nanny, chef, floor-cleaning champion, inventor of rapid storage, and high-speed knitter—stared back at him with cold, haughty eyes.

Mr. Han was speechless. He was utterly defeated.

The family gathered around the table. Mrs. Bai raised a glass to welcome Han Zhuo, and for the rest of the meal, she constantly served him food and soup, chatting enthusiastically as if he were the biological son.

Bai Xi sat to the side, bitterly shoveling rice into his mouth.

“Little Han.” Bai Boyang suddenly set down his glass and sighed deeply. “I am officially entrusting my son to you from now on.”

Bai Xi was caught off guard and nearly choked on his soup.

“Oh, look at you! What’s the rush?” Mrs. Bai patted his back.

To make matters worse, Mr. Han was perfectly cooperative. He nodded and promised, “I will take good care of Little Bai.”

Bai Xi’s face flushed red as he pulled out a tissue to wipe his eyes. The previous bodyguard had been far more burly, silent as a grave, and felt like a black iron tower of security—yet his parents had never been this satisfied, let alone formally entrusted him to the man over dinner.

Deep down, Bai Xi knew Han Zhuo must have a special identity. Otherwise, his father wouldn’t have gone out of his way to invite him from a remote mountain village in the north to be his bodyguard. It was irrational to the point of being eerie. But he didn’t want to ask, because his father wouldn’t tell him and his mother would just change the subject. It was better to investigate on his own.

“What are you thinking about?” Han Zhuo asked.

“Hm?” Bai Xi looked up. “Nothing. Today’s mandarin fish is delicious.”

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” Bai Boyang set down his chopsticks.

“I have meetings with two clients tomorrow morning,” Bai Xi replied. “In the afternoon, I’ll be heading to the headquarters to give a report.”

Bai Boyang nodded. “From now on, wherever you go, take Little Han with you. That includes seeing those… friends of yours.” Perhaps for Mr. Han’s sake, he refrained from calling them “fair-weather friends” this time.

Bai Xi gave a casual grunt of agreement and lowered his head, only to find a large, succulent piece of fish in his bowl.

“I’ve already picked out the bones,” Han Zhuo said with a gentle smile. “Eat up.”

Address No. 36-8, Mojin Alley, Yangliu Street, East District 2, was not a noodle shop at all. It was merely a dilapidated shanty. Half-dried clothes hung by the entrance, swaying in the moonlight and wind like a collection of colorful, tattered banners. A thin, small man squatted by the alleyway, rummaging through dried vegetables and preparing to pack them back into a bamboo basket.

He flipped them over with such intense focus and seriousness that it seemed he was desperate to find a diamond among the shriveled cowpeas. It wasn’t until two pairs of feet appeared before him that the man stopped his work. He looked up with a face full of reluctance; his features were seemed crowded on his face, and a dark glint flickered in his rat-like eyes.

At that moment, Bai Xi experienced what it felt like to have his skin crawl.

It was a groundless, sudden, yet very real sense of panic. Tiny goosebumps erupted across his tightened skin, and his heart gave a sudden lurch. His instinct was to flee, to escape this eerie sense of suffocation, but before he could take a step, Han Zhuo spoke up. “What time do you start serving late-night snacks?”

Bai Xi: “…”

The thin man patted the cowpea crumbs off his hands and replied, “Eight-thirty.”

To Bai Xi’s surprise, the man’s voice did not match his appearance at all. It was sonorous and deep, with perfect pronunciation. If one closed their eyes, they could easily believe he was a political news anchor.

“It’s 8:29 now,” Han Zhuo said, checking the time.

The man gave an affirmative grunt and stood up. With a casual tug, three massive lightbulbs suddenly flickered to life, illuminating the alley as bright as day.

Blinded by the glare, Han Zhuo squinted. “Not afraid of the electricity bill anymore?”

“Nope,” the man answered, his voice clear and resonant as he set up a table. “I’m stealing this power from the streetlights.”

Bai Xi: “…” Well, aren’t you proud of yourself.

“What do you want to eat?” Han Zhuo asked.

“Me?” Bai Xi quickly declined. “I’m not hungry, you eat.”

“Not hungry?” Han Zhuo poured him some tea. “But you didn’t have dinner either.”

Not having dinner was one thing, but looking at the dark liquid in the disposable paper cup, Bai Xi reaffirmed his stance. “Thanks, but I’m really not hungry.”

“Alright.” Han Zhuo smiled and didn’t push, ordering a bowl of noodles and a bowl of soup for himself.

The bright lights, the aroma of food, and the sounds of neighbors arguing and dogs barking nearby suddenly filled the alley with secular vitality. The previous gloom vanished instantly, leaving Bai Xi to wonder why he had just felt that strange… hallucination.

The noodles were soon served. Han Zhuo ate with refined, leisurely manners, looking as elegant as if he were enjoying a French fine-dining course. Bai Xi sat opposite him, propping his head up with one hand as he dozed off. Just as he was about to be swallowed by a blur of dreams, Han Zhuo finished his last sip of soup and placed the bowl heavily on the table. “Boss, the check, please.”

Bai Xi startled awake, looking at the man in front of him with a daze.

Han Zhuo gave a kind smile and whispered, “Um, I don’t have any money.”

“Sorry, I fell asleep.” Bai Xi patted his groggy head and asked casually, “Do you have bottled water?”

“No,” the boss replied.

“Fine, the check then.” Bai Xi pulled a large bill from his wallet. “Keep the change.”

The boss glanced at it. “Not enough.”

Bai Xi was baffled. He pointed at the empty bowl on the table. “For this one bowl of braised noodles, fifty isn’t enough?”

The boss replied, “One bowl is 288 yuan.”

Bai Xi’s expression became complicated. “Does the Price Bureau know about this?”

“No.” The boss picked up the empty bowl. “That’s why I only set up shop at night.”

…

Bai Xi stared at Han Zhuo in silence, his eyes screaming a thousand words: Why on earth did we have to drive across half the city to eat at this black-market shop that has no business license, no health certificate, evades taxes, steals electricity, and overcharges like crazy?

Han Zhuo maintained an excellent attitude. “Just consider it a loan from you. I’ll pay you back later.”

Bai Xi had nothing to say. He slapped 300 yuan onto the table and chalked it up to bad luck.

“You’ve clearly never been here before.” As they walked out, Han Zhuo gave him a tug. “Careful, don’t step on the trash.”

Bai Xi gave a distracted “mm-hmm” and asked, “Is this a slum?”

Han Zhuo smiled but didn’t answer.

The taxi traversed the city once more. By the time they reached home, it was nearly midnight. Bai Xi handed Han Zhuo over to the nanny, gave a few dutiful instructions, and then dragged his aching body back to his bedroom.

“Mr. Han, this will be your quarters from now on,” Auntie Li introduced at the guest room door. “There are new clothes in the closet and toiletries in the bathroom. If you need anything else, you can find me anytime.”

“Thank you, this is already great,” Han Zhuo nodded. “Sorry for the trouble.”

Late into the night, Bai Xi collapsed onto his bed, still damp from his shower. He was so exhausted he didn’t even have the energy for a single dream. Downstairs, Han Zhuo leaned against the window, gazing thoughtfully into the distance—where his gaze fell was a magnificent Milky Way stretching across the sky, vast and dazzling.

The next morning, when Bai Xi came downstairs yawning, a small-scale skirmish was breaking out in the kitchen. Auntie Li was extremely dissatisfied that this new bodyguard-driver had dared to trespass into her territory. She stared at the fried eggs and bacon on the white porcelain plate, trying to find a flaw.

“What are you two doing?” Bai Xi leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “Fighting over the oil cruet?”

“It’s Mr. Han,” Auntie Li complained, getting her jab in first. “By the time I got up this morning, he had already finished cooking breakfast. I mean, look at this! The Young Master never eats soft-boiled eggs.”

Han Zhuo held the plate. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Bai Xi replied. He placed his hands on Auntie Li’s shoulders and pushed her toward the living room, half-coaxing and half-dismissive. “Isn’t it great that someone’s helping you cook? Come on, go back to knitting that sweater for Xiao Tian.”

“This won’t do. Young Master, you must speak with Mr. Han. We need a clear division of labor,” Auntie Li grumbled. “A clear division of labor is the primary productive force. Marx said that, you know?”

Han Zhuo: “Pfft.”

“I know, I know.” Bai Xi stuffed the yarn basket into her hands and returned to the kitchen.

Han Zhuo took off his apron. “But I made three servings.”

“From now on, don’t interfere with the cooking,” Bai Xi said as he poured himself some juice. “Auntie Li has been busy here for over twenty years; she’s used to it.”

“I wanted to thank you,” Han Zhuo said. “For everything yesterday.”

“You should just forget yesterday,” Bai Xi rejected the notion from the bottom of his heart. “From the train station to the police station, then to that shady noodle shop—none of it is to be mentioned again.”

“Alright, I promise.” Han Zhuo cooperatively raised his hand, then asked with a smile, “You don’t eat soft-boiled eggs? I’ll fry another one.”

“Thanks.” Bai Xi didn’t refuse. He stood idly by the stove for a moment before looking puzzled. “Isn’t that shirt a bit… unsuitable?”

The loose crew-neck T-shirt looked like a sack on Han Zhuo. The pants were also too long, rolled up twice at the cuffs, revealing a pair of size 48 slippers.

“I had nothing else to wear.” Han Zhuo scooped the sunny-side-up egg from the pan. “The closet was full of clothes in this size. This set was the smallest.”

Bai Xi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Auntie Li had bought the clothes, but it wasn’t really her fault. Mrs. Bai had only told her to buy clothes for the new driver/bodyguard. Following the build of the previous driver, she had gestured to the shop clerk: “He’s over 195cm. Yes, yes, very burly. We need XXXL.”

“Actually, I’m not short either, right?” Han Zhuo smiled as he handed him the plate. “Where are we going today?”

“You just got here, take a break first.” Bai Xi leaned against the kitchen counter, casually twirling a piece of bacon with his fork. “I’m not going to the office; I’m visiting a friend in the hospital.”

“You should let me go with you.” Han Zhuo lowered his voice, nodding toward the living room. “Look.”

Auntie Li was knitting with lightning-fast fingers, looking absolutely murderous.

Bai Xi burst out laughing and nodded readily. “Fair enough.”

Mrs. Bai had prepared a car for Han Zhuo two months ago—a BMW Bai Xi had driven during college. After maintenance, it was as good as new. Since the morning rush hour had passed, traffic wasn’t heavy. Bai Xi played games on his phone in the passenger seat for a while before suddenly looking up. “Let’s pull a U-turn at the next intersection.”

“Change of plans?” Han Zhuo glanced at the GPS.

“Let’s get you two sets of clothes first.” Bai Xi tugged at Han Zhuo’s oversized sleeve. “There’s enough fabric here for an opera costume.”

The corners of Han Zhuo’s mouth quirked up. “Thanks.”

“I’m going to sleep a bit more. Drive straight to Silver Tower.” Bai Xi tossed a cushion to the back.

Han Zhuo nodded and thoughtfully turned the music down to a minimum. The faint humming was indeed perfect for a nap.

Neither of them noticed an inconspicuous black Audi making a U-turn up ahead. It quietly entered a side road and eventually stopped at the entrance of Mojin Alley.

The noodle shop owner was squatting on the ground brushing his teeth. He looked up at the sound of footsteps to see three law enforcement officers in blue uniforms.

“Hello, please show your business license,” one said with a stern face.

The boss spat out a mouthful of foam and mumbled, “What business license?”

“The license for your noodle shop.” The officer took off his cap. “Someone reported you for operating without a license.”

“This isn’t a noodle shop.” The boss placed his rinsing cup on the windowsill. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

The officer looked around and put his cap back on. “We also received a report from a customer saying you’re stealing electricity.”

The boss: “…”

The car came to a smooth stop in front of Silver Tower. Just as Han Zhuo was about to wake Bai Xi, his phone vibrated. Upon answering, a sonorous, rhythmic voice boomed with accusation: “This is simply too much!”

“What happened?” Han Zhuo glanced at the person beside him.

The voice on the other end continued to babble in a very thick, powerful tone, describing what had just occurred in detail. He sounded furious, almost hysterical.

“What is it?” Bai Xi sat up, wrapped in his blanket.

“Nothing.” Han Zhuo adjusted Bai Xi’s seat and smiled. “Good job.”

“What ‘good job’?” Bai Xi asked casually.

“Reporting the shady shop.” Han Zhuo unscrewed a water bottle. “Drink slowly.”

“You reported the shady shop?” Bai Xi wasn’t fully awake. He muttered to himself in a raspy voice, leaning against the seat as he drank.

The smile on Han Zhuo’s face froze slightly. “That noodle shop… wasn’t it you who reported them for unlicensed operation?”

“I don’t have that much free time.” Bai Xi was finally awake now. “That shady shop got reported? Wait, how did you know?”

…

Han Zhuo pointed to the stereo. “It was on the news. The Industrial and Commercial Bureau received a tip and did a surprise inspection of the shanty area today.”

“Let them inspect it. That place was a rip-off anyway, and the hygiene was questionable. Don’t go there to eat anymore.” Bai Xi didn’t think much of it. “Let’s go buy clothes.”

“Okay.” Han Zhuo nodded and smiled at him. “You head down first. I’ll find a place to park.”

There was an office building nearby, so parking spaces were tight. As Han Zhuo circled the underground garage, he dialed the number back.

“I’m fine, but they took Old Zhou away,” the resonant voice on the other end continued to roar.

Han Zhuo hung up, his brow gradually furrowing.

The black Audi drove along the elevated highway toward the suburbs. Besides the three “officers,” there was a tall, burly man in the car. He was the “Old Zhou” the noodle shop owner had mentioned—the same brave hero who had stepped in at the train station yesterday, resulting in Bai Xi being taken to the police station: Zhou Jinshan.