Chapter 13#
Climbing a High Branch#
Mr. Rong’s words somehow carried an unnerving, home-invasion-style solicitude—contradictory, yet threaded with an earnestness that brooked no doubt.
Zhen Ye lowered his lashes. The written agreement clasped in his hand was growing warm under the fresh sunlight.
He carefully folded the note, tucked it into his pocket, and, following the gentleman’s advice, put his coat back on. Before leaving at last, he said, with genuine sincerity:
“Thank you.”
After he was gone, traces of pheromones still lingered in the room—the crisp scent of bergamot clinging to the place where he had sat.
The tightly shut bedroom door cracked open, just a finger’s width. In the pitch-black room, a pair of eyes gleamed scarlet as blood, and a thin, long tentacle extended hungrily through the gap, yearning toward the warmth of that space.
It was about to touch the lingering warmth there.
The breeze lifted the gauze curtain, and the sunlight instantly expanded across the floor, illuminating the hideous bumps mottling its surface. In that instant, it seemed scalded by the light and slowly retreated back into the gap.
Never mind.
Next time, I’ll be properly composed, and go see him in human form.
·
By the time Zhen Ye finished breakfast, it was nearly eleven o’clock.
He charged his phone and skimmed through the messages, replying to a few.
His shift manager at the drink shop had approved his leave, though noting that two days’ wages would be deducted per policy.
But besides that shop and the hotpot restaurant, he had another part-time job—working as a language instructor at a study-abroad training agency.
He was originally supposed to teach this morning, but had stood up his student. Fortunately, the class was one-on-one, so he made a call, apologized profusely to the student’s parent, and rescheduled the session, putting the matter to rest.
His life was like a tightly interlocking gear with no gaps—any single axle slipping would trigger a chain reaction, throwing the whole mechanism into chaos and derailment.
Zhen Ye knew he should hurry back to the city and deal with the mountain of things waiting for him.
But he still kept his coat draped over his shoulders, leaned against the railing, and allowed himself a few moments on the observation deck to gaze at the distant mountains and flowing waters, the drifting clouds unfurling and curling.
Chekhov said that if a person once catches a bass in his life, or sees the birds flying south in autumn, crossing the sky on a clear, cool day, he will yearn for that free life until the day he dies.
Zhen Ye didn’t know where he’d end up moving in the future, and he didn’t want to dwell on how humiliating and agonizing it would be to live under someone else’s roof.
He skipped over the two years stipulated in the contract and let his mind drift to what came after.
Two years from now, when he was free.
He would live somewhere close to the mountains, catch a bass once, watch the birds once.
Live properly, for himself.
Du Rui drove Zhen Ye down the mountain in person—a low-key Mercedes, delivering him directly to the entrance of his building. Du Rui glanced around the neighborhood and offered to walk Zhen Ye upstairs, but he declined.
“I have roommates. It’s a mess inside and I haven’t tidied up. I’d be embarrassed to have you see it.”
Du Rui pulled four bags out of the trunk and pressed them on him. Zhen Ye refused, but Du Rui simply set them on the ground and made to leave. Before going, he smiled and said with loaded meaning:
“If Young Master Zhen won’t accept them, our master will be heartbroken.”
Zhen Ye fell silent, thinking of that alpha whose generosity had been triggered by his pheromones, and smiled helplessly. “I’m truly afraid of him.”
He had no choice but to carry the things upstairs.
Inside the living room, he avoided his roommate cooking in the kitchen, hurried into his bedroom, and shut the door, his heart still pounding a little.
The room was narrow—sitting on the bed, his toes nearly touched the wall. The four large bags sat wedged in the corner between bed and wall, stacked full to bursting.
Zhen Ye pressed his lips together, bent down, and took out the contents piece by piece.
They weren’t anything special. A wool coat, fleece-lined trousers, waterproof sneakers, some fever and cold medicine, and about a dozen takeout containers packed from the mountain estate.
It wasn’t like a deliberate gift—it was more like a travel kit packed for a child setting out on a journey, afraid he’d be cold, or hungry, or sick.
Every single item was something he desperately needed.
Zhen Ye knew that Mr. Rong was only acting this thoughtful and attentive because he was under the influence of hormones.
But he still couldn’t help comparing.
He remembered six years ago, when he was about to go abroad. No one saw him off. Even his luggage was half empty—a few random old clothes and some stale bread scattered inside before He Yusheng’s subordinates forcibly escorted him to the airport, shipping him onto the plane like he was a prisoner.
He’d transferred flights alone, landed alone, dazedly moved into a homestay, and been skimped by the landlady until he couldn’t even afford eggs.
Finally, before Christmas, starving, he bought a cheap bag of cereal and shoveled handful after handful into his mouth. It swelled and fermented with his stomach acid, bloating him until he threw up violently in the school restroom—and a classmate even suspected he was pregnant.
Thinking about it now, it was almost funny.
Zhen Ye tried to pull out a smile, but for some reason, when his hand touched that soft, cozy wool coat, his chest felt heavy and suffocating.
He stood up, opened the window to let in some air, and stared blankly at the cluttered street outside, his eyes unfocused.
After a long while, he turned around and, one by one, put the items scattered on his bed back into the bags. Aside from the food and medicine, everything else went untouched into the cabinet.
After seven days, when Mr. Rong metabolized his pheromones and came to his senses, he would probably send someone to collect these things.
This wasn’t something he deserved.
Better to leave it all alone, untouched.
·
That afternoon, Zhen Ye didn’t work.
He went to Nanshan Hospital to see his grandmother’s attending physician, asking whether the signed transplant waiver could still be reversed.
“No can do,” the doctor said, operating the computer to check the records. “This is a transplant, not buying a kidney at the market—you can’t change your mind after backing out. You’ll have to get back in the queue.”
“But my grandmother can’t wait that long,” Zhen Ye said anxiously. “Is there a faster way?”
“There is,” the doctor said, glancing at him. “Didn’t I already tell the family before? Her age means a high risk of rejection, so it’s best to use an autologous cloned kidney. But that’s more expensive, and it’s not covered by medical insurance.”
“That’s no problem. Money isn’t an issue.”
Under the doctor’s surprised gaze, Zhen Ye slowly let out a breath:
“I have money. I’ll pay for it myself. Please help us arrange it.”
“If you’re really set on it,” the doctor said, tearing off a sticky note and scribbling a line, “take this to the inpatient department tomorrow and ask for Doctor Shen Yubai.”
“He’s the specialist in charge of this. He’ll explain the specifics.”
Zhen Ye carefully tucked the note away. “Thank you.”
Exiting the outpatient building, Zhen Ye sat by the flowerbed downstairs and pulled out his phone. He opened the banking app to check whether Chen Kangshi had transferred the money yet.
Last night, Chen Kangshi had said the payment would be one million on the spot after signing the contract.
But after signing, he’d changed his tune, saying it was too late at night and a sum that large would trigger bank risk controls—he’d transfer it today.
Yet even now, the money hadn’t arrived.
Zhen Ye thought the hospital might ask him to pay tomorrow, so he found Chen Kangshi’s number and called to ask.
The call was answered after a long wait.
Chen Kangshi’s tone was impatient. “What is it?”
Zhen Ye stated his purpose briefly. “I’m Zhen Ye. Mr. Chen, when roughly will you be making the transfer?”
Hearing his name, Chen Kangshi let out an unpleasant sneer. “Zhen Ye, you’ve got some nerve, huh. Look at you—climbing whatever high branch you can find.”
Zhen Ye was taken aback. “What?”
“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Chen Kangshi ground his teeth. “I’m right here, ‘assisting’ them with the contract notarization.”
Zhen Ye understood. “Oh. Then please, once the notarization is done, transfer the money as soon as possible.”
Chen Kangshi: “…”
He cursed, “You little slut,” but when he looked at his phone screen, the other party had already hung up—the insult never even reached its target.
His rage had nowhere to go. He looked around wildly, then kicked a trash can in the hallway. The bottles inside clattered and rolled a long way before stopping at someone’s feet.
Secretary Jin’s leather shoe stepped on the bottle and kicked it back with effortless grace. He said with a smile, “Mr. Chen is in quite a temper. It seems today really is a day of painful partings for you.”
Jin Zan was the head secretary at Rong Yu’s side—someone Chen Kangshi couldn’t afford to offend.
Chen Kangshi’s face was taut and ashen. He heard the mockery in the man’s words but dared not contradict him.
Today, he’d been hit with an unexpected reputational crisis. Someone had filed a public complaint against him under their real name, and online opinion had exploded within hours.
If it spiraled any further, the company’s shareholders would certainly fire him as president to protect their projects.
Now, his only lifeline was the Rong Corporation.
But who would have thought—when he called, the Rong side was evasive, only hinting: “Our Chairman Rong has taken a liking to someone. Coincidentally, they happen to be in Mr. Chen’s hands.”
Chen Kangshi’s first instinct was that Rong Yu had his eye on one of his mistresses. He was about to say “Consider them a gift,” but what the other side wanted was actually Zhen Ye!
That ungrateful, untrained omega.
Soon, Jin Zan retrieved the revised contract with the changed party name and prepared to leave.
Chen Kangshi froze for a moment, then hurried after him, forcing a fawning smile. “Secretary Jin, about the cooperation project between Xinkang Construction and Rongsen Group—”
“Mr. Chen,” Jin Zan cut him off lightly, “you’re currently in a storm’s eye. Chairman Rong’s view is that we should both keep our heads down for a while. Once things settle down, we can talk again. After all, this is a key national project. The government places great importance on corporate reputation. What do you think?”
“Yes, yes… Chairman Rong is right.” Chen Kangshi wiped away cold sweat.
Before descending the stairs, Jin Zan glanced back at him, an ambiguous smile on his face:
“And might I also suggest, Mr. Chen, that you conduct yourself accordingly going forward. Certain ‘bad habits’ of yours would be better left behind.”
…
“—Hello everyone, my name is Fu Juan. I am publicly reporting that the president of Xinkang Construction, Chen Kangshi, used his position to sexually harass me over an extended period. Under the guise of ’training’ and ‘discipline,’ he repeatedly verbally abused me and even beat and kicked me. I was afraid of his retaliation, which is why I’ve waited until today, with the help of a ‘friend,’ to decide to expose him—”
Cheng Zhiran had arranged to meet Zhen Ye at Maodu for dinner. He wasn’t there yet, so Cheng Zhiran stood at the cafeteria entrance scrolling through his phone.
Suddenly, a shadow fell before him. “What are you looking at?”
Cheng Zhiran looked up and saw Zhen Ye. He high-fived his friend, then angled his phone toward him. “Here, someone dropped a bombshell today. That big-shot head of the construction company? Total scumbag in private. The internet’s blowing up—people are calling for the police to investigate.”
Zhen Ye glanced at it and frowned slightly. “Him?”
“Who, you know him?”
“Kind of,” Zhen Ye said, sidestepping the details. “Yesterday I was walking on the street and his car splashed water all over me.”
“No shit. What a scumbag.” Cheng Zhiran was indignant. “Hope this lady wins her case and they lock him up sooner rather than later.”
The two of them fantasized about justice being served, then went to queue up for food at the counter.
It was now near evening. Zhen Ye was a little distracted and couldn’t help pulling out his phone again to refresh his banking app.
Just then, a text message popped up at the top of the screen:
[Your 1,000,000 yuan transfer has been credited]
Followed by a string of standard bank security notices.
Zhen Ye’s heart instantly settled back into place. Regardless of everything else, his grandmother could be saved.
But after he got his food and read the message properly, he paused for a moment.
Tucked in there was one more line—a bold, generous note:
[Voluntary gift—pocket money for Zhen Ye]