Watching Ruan Zhao serve Qi Xingchen more food, Ruan Ci’s already wavering opinion of the man took a nosedive, plummeting straight back to zero. He stared coldly at the two of them for a few seconds.
When Ruan Zhao finally sensed something was off and looked his way, Ruan Ci schooled his expression, lifted his chin slightly, and said, “Zhaozhao, I want some shrimp.”
A bright, blinking question mark practically appeared above Ruan Zhao’s head.
What? If you want to eat shrimp, just eat it. You have chopsticks, don’t you? Pick it up yourself. It’s literally right in front of you…
Then, suddenly, it clicked. Ruan Zhao froze for a moment before reaching for a shrimp and placing it into Ruan Ci’s bowl.
Ruan Ci frowned. “It still has the shell.”
Ruan Zhao: “…”
He had always been the one getting spoiled at the dinner table—this was the first time he had to wait on someone else. Resigned, he picked the shrimp back up and started peeling.
Since he rarely did this, his technique was anything but smooth. By the time he was done, the shrimp meat was a mess, the tail had broken off, and his fingers were sticky with juice. But Ruan Ci didn’t seem to mind. He simply took the shrimp and popped it into his mouth.
“Zhaozhao, I want shrimp too,” a voice sounded beside him, laced with anticipation and a hint of longing. It was Qi Xingchen.
Ruan Zhao: “???”
“Then eat. I’m not stopping you.”
“I want the one you peel.”
Ruan Zhao: “…”
I. Am. Done.
Do you two not have hands? Or does shrimp just taste better when I peel it?
Despite his inner complaints, he kept things fair and peeled one for Qi Xingchen as well.
By the time dinner was over, his hands were tired, and so was his heart. It was as if Ruan Ci and Qi Xingchen had made it their personal mission to outdo each other—every bite they took had to be personally served by him.
“Zhaozhao.”
“Zhaozhao.”
One after the other, they kept calling his name, over and over, making him run around serving them until he barely had time to eat himself. Even the most patient person has a limit.
After a few rounds of obediently picking up food for them, Ruan Zhao had enough. With a sharp clack, he slapped his chopsticks down on the table, his face cold. “Eat if you want. If not, starve.”
Ruan Zhao rarely got angry. But when he did, it was pretty intimidating. The atmosphere in the room instantly went still, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Neither of them dared to say another word.
A moment later, Ruan Ci silently picked up his chopsticks and placed two pieces of meat into Ruan Zhao’s bowl.
Ruan Ci glanced at Ruan Zhao’s expression, then silently picked up more food for him. In a short while, Ruan Zhao’s bowl was piled so high there was no room left.
Ruan Ci picked up the chopsticks Ruan Zhao had tossed aside and placed them back into his hand, his tone carrying a rare hint of warmth. “Eat up, Zhaozhao. Weren’t you starving? If you wait any longer, your stomach’s going to start hurting. If you want something, just tell me—I’ll get it for you.”
Meanwhile, Qi Xingchen put on a pair of disposable gloves and got to work on the shrimp.
His fingers moved deftly, peeling the shells with ease. With just a slight motion, the shrimp meat slipped out in one clean piece, unlike Ruan Zhao’s messy attempt, where the meat was shredded and still stuck to bits of shell. He worked quickly, peeling the entire plate in no time. Then, he carefully placed the neatly shelled shrimp in front of Ruan Zhao.
Stealing a quick glance at him, Qi Xingchen lowered his voice. “They’re all for you.”
Ruan Zhao’s temper flared up fast but faded just as quickly. And, truth be told, he was ridiculously easy to appease. A little show of sincerity was all it took for him to completely forget why he was angry in the first place.
He ate every dish his brother picked for him, then finished all the shrimp Qi Xingchen had peeled—he didn’t let a single bit of their efforts go to waste. By the time he was done, he was so full he couldn’t hold back a tiny hiccup.
……
Ruan Ci was busy, in every sense of the word. His career was at a crucial turning point, and as a key figure in the finance department, every major and minor issue had to pass through him.
He was the central cog in the machine—without him, the entire department would grind to a halt. From morning till night, his schedule was packed—endless meetings, endless documents to sign, endless reports to write. Even his hard-earned vacation time wasn’t truly his own.
During dinner alone, he declined at least three phone calls. Eventually, the constant buzzing got too irritating, and he had no choice but to answer.
As expected, it was one of his subordinates begging him to return to work. When he refused, the person on the other end practically sounded like they were about to cry, pleading with him over and over, their words all boiling down to one thing—they couldn’t manage without him.
At that moment, Ruan Zhao spoke up at just the right time. “Brother, if you’re busy, you should head back first. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“On your own…” Ruan Ci’s gaze shifted toward Qi Xingchen, who was clearing the table beside them, his expression unreadable. “And what about him?”
Ruan Zhao blinked. “He has to go back to class too.”
Ruan Ci nodded. “Then I’ll leave with him.”
Ruan Zhao shrugged. “Sure, you two can chat on the way.” And just like that, Qi Xingchen’s fate was decided for him.
“……”
He didn’t want to leave. Not even a little. After finally getting a chance to see Ruan Zhao, the last thing he wanted was to be dragged away so soon. Especially when Ruan Zhao had been ignoring him for the past two days.
Calls went unanswered. Messages were left on read. If not for the absence of that glaring red exclamation mark next to his texts, Qi Xingchen might have thought he’d been blocked—completely discarded by Ruan Zhao.
After all, he was never Ruan Zhao’s real boyfriend, just a stand-in—a temporary replacement bought for ten thousand star coins to last a single month.
That thought made him glance over at Ruan Zhao. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes—full of silent pleading—spoke volumes.
I. Don’t. Want. To. Leave.
Ruan Zhao pretended not to notice, steeling himself as he turned his head away. Then, in the next moment—when Ruan Ci wasn’t looking—he quickly pulled up his light-brain interface and sent Qi Xingchen a message.
[Be good.]
[I’ll come see you at school tomorrow.]
Qi Xingchen’s reply was instant: [Promise? No backing out.]
[When have I ever gone back on my word…]
Ruan Ci’s gaze landed on Ruan Zhao with an almost tangible weight, sharp enough to pierce through any facade—as if he could see right through him. Ruan Zhao immediately froze, halting his secret operation under his brother’s nose.
……
Outside, Ruan Ci and Qi Xingchen left Ruan Zhao’s home together.
Ruan Ci glanced sideways. “You’re not planning to circle back the moment I’m gone, are you?”
Qi Xingchen: “……No.”
Ruan Ci let out a cold laugh. “You’d better not. Ruan Zhao is soft-hearted, too easily swayed. He lets people take advantage of him far too easily. But I am not the same.” His voice dropped a degree colder. “I never let things slide. I never forget a slight. And I don’t tolerate even the smallest grain of sand in my eyes.”
The Alpha’s gaze was razor-sharp, his expression carrying an edge of unrestrained aggression—a side of him he had never shown in front of Ruan Zhao.
“If I ever find out that you’re scheming against Ruan Zhao, hurting him, taking advantage of him—I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what high-ranking position your father holds in the military. I don’t care how many stars your grandfather has as a general. I will make you pay.”
A top-tier Alpha’s suppressive force was absolute—powerful and inescapable. An ordinary Alpha would struggle to withstand it, while those of lower rank might collapse to their knees on the spot.
Yet—Qi Xingchen, an Omega, remained standing calm and unshaken. His posture was upright, his demeanor completely unaffected—as if the pressure didn’t even exist. His voice was steady, composed, devoid of fear, as if he were stating an undeniable truth.
“I like Ruan Zhao. That has nothing to do with my family. Even if I were nothing more than a third-class citizen from some remote star system, without status, without a name—this feeling wouldn’t change. Not one bit.”
Ruan Ci stared at him for a long moment. Qi Xingchen met his gaze head-on, unwavering—not a single trace of hesitation or retreat.
In the span of mere seconds, the balance of power between them had been tested. A silent battle began—and ended just as abruptly.
Qi Xingchen remained on the defensive the entire time, never once striking back—yet not once did he fall behind in this silent battle of wills. Ruan Ci withdrew his oppressive aura and suddenly curved his lips into a meaningful smile.
“The Qi family really is…” full of hidden talents.
When he first heard that the Qi family had chosen an Omega as their heir, he was momentarily stunned. He had thought that this ancient behemoth, a family that had existed for over a millennium—longer than even the Federation itself—was finally on its inevitable decline. That they had resorted to marriage alliances with other families to cling to their fleeting glory.
At the time, he had even scoffed at their decision—how utterly foolish. Sooner or later, the Qi family’s power would be devoured by the competition, reduced to nothing but a relic of the past. He had even prepared himself to take a share of the spoils.
But now… it all made sense. No wonder the Qi family had ignored all those high-ranking Alphas—choosing instead an Omega with a so-called ‘flaw.’
Ruan Ci’s gaze darkened slightly. “Does Ruan Zhao know who you really are?”
For the first time, Qi Xingchen’s usual composure wavered—just for a fraction of a second.
“Oh, he doesn’t,” Ruan Ci continued, his tone laced with certainty. “Colored contacts can hide your eye color, but they can’t change who you are. The Qi family’s blue eyes are far too distinct. Even with the disguise, anyone who knows your family well enough could see through it in an instant.”
Ruan Ci had assumed Qi Xingchen wore colored contacts to conceal his identity—to keep people from recognizing him.
But what he didn’t know was that this was nothing more than… some kind of ‘substitute play’ between his brother and the other party.
“You’ve been hiding this from Ruan Zhao all along. You won’t even tell him your real identity. It’s hard for me not to suspect that you have ulterior motives.”
Qi Xingchen: “……”
“I don’t,” he said, his voice dry.
Seeing the way Qi Xingchen’s expression suddenly darkened, Ruan Ci assumed he had hit a nerve—that he had exposed his true intentions. So he pressed harder. “The Ruan family will never accept someone with hidden agendas getting close to Ruan Zhao. If you truly have even a shred of real affection for him—then let him go. Break up with him.”
“……It was Ruan Zhao,” Qi Xingchen interrupted, his voice taut. “He was the one who said… that this eye color looks good on me.” The last two words sounded like they had been squeezed through clenched teeth—reluctant, almost resentful.
Now, it was Ruan Ci’s turn to freeze. Because that… was exactly the kind of thing his brother would say.
……
Meanwhile, inside the apartment, Ruan Zhao remained completely unaware of the confrontation happening outside. He lay sprawled on the couch, too exhausted to even lift a finger. Not physically tired, but mentally drained.
He had spent the entire evening carefully maneuvering between the two of them, terrified they’d start arguing at the slightest provocation. He had to be mindful of both their emotions—if he paid even a little less attention to one, the other would immediately get upset.
And now, thinking about how Qi Xingchen and Ruan Ci would definitely meet again in the future—how he would have to keep playing peacekeeper, constantly smoothing things over—Ruan Zhao felt utterly, hopelessly exhausted.
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