🌸 chapter 13: CEO Temporarily Occupies Trending List
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Inside the studio of a renovated old shipyard, Qi Ye pinched the guest contract for All-Round Renovation Master, his fingertips tapping a rhythm on Cheng Shubai’s signature line.
“Xiao Bai, explain.”
Cheng Shubai looked up from the financial reports, his glasses slipping down his nose bridge.
“A project with a ratings breakthrough above 3 percent. Free promotion for Jingwei Studio.”
“So you just signed it?” Qi Ye slapped the contract onto a 3D-printed model of a phoenix tree. “And you signed it as a ‘couple package’?”
“Clause 7 of the contract.” Cheng Shubai swiped on his tablet and enlarged the terms. “‘Specially invited renowned designer couple’… Zhou Wen said it doubles appearance fees.”
Qi Ye let out a cold laugh.
“Oh. So you think I’m the one short on money, or you are?”
Outside the window, cranes were hoisting eco glass curtain walls. The screech of steel cables mixed with Zhou Wen’s shout.
“Mr… Cheng. The production crew… they’ve entered the site with cameras.”
Qi Ye grabbed a laser pointer and aimed it at the surveillance screen. On it, the host was waving a microphone enthusiastically.
“Dear viewers! This dream studio, transformed from shipping containers, is the Jingwei Design team behind the ancient tree conservation battle!”
Cheng Shubai suddenly removed his glasses.
“Hide behind me?”
“Hide my ass.” Qi Ye unbuttoned the top of his shirt. “Let them see what a client’s worst nightmare looks like.”
The filming set smelled faintly of acrylic paint. The host shoved the microphone in front of Qi Ye.
“Mr. Qi, how does it feel making your first variety show appearance?”
“Easier than dealing with suppliers cutting corners.” Qi Ye kicked at the smart plant stand Cheng Shubai had just assembled. “For example, this thing. Load capacity is at least 20 percent overstated.”
The camera quickly turned to Cheng Shubai.
The man was laying clay pellets for succulents, sleeves stained with dirt.
“The supplier is in the detention center next door. Architect Qi wants to interrogate them personally?”
The livestream comments exploded:
“Help!! CEOs can grow succulents?? Cheng Shubai squatting is too cute, soft succulents, cold CEO”
“Qi Ye just rolled his eyes right??”
“Why is Qi Ye acting like a kindergarten bully lmao”
The challenge round drew “old community renovation.”
Cheng Shubai pulled up satellite maps on his tablet. Qi Ye suddenly snatched the stylus and drew a big red cross over a public restroom.
“Demolish it. Build a children’s library.”
The production team gasped.
“That’s the only public toilet for residents…”
“There’s a new sanitation station three kilometers away.” Cheng Shubai opened a municipal app. “It passed inspection last week.”
Qi Ye raised a brow.
“You memorized public toilet records too?”
“I happen to have invested in sanitation projects.” Cheng Shubai rotated the blueprint 180 degrees. “Add solar panels to the library roof. Electricity savings can buy three thousand books.”
That night, a trending topic appeared:
#ChengShubai Public Toilet Terminator#
The wrap party was held on the shipyard rooftop.
Qi Ye kicked away a producer trying to force drinks, only to see Cheng Shubai surrounded by livestream influencers.
“Mr. Cheng, what’s your ideal type?”
Cheng Shubai swirled his champagne without hesitation.
“The kind who draws turtles on my blueprints.”
Qi Ye nearly choked on his whiskey.
Seventeen years ago, he had secretly edited Cheng Shubai’s competition design, adding a turtle to a cathedral dome, getting him scolded by his mentor for three hours.
On the ride back, Qi Ye exposed the show’s manipulation.
“You leaked the library plan to production?”
“The residents’ petition has been sitting in my inbox for six months.” Cheng Shubai loosened his tie. “Just borrowing a wind.”
Streetlights brushed over the dirt on his wrist.
Qi Ye suddenly leaned over and switched on the car light.
“Hand.”
An alcohol wipe slid across Cheng Shubai’s palm, revealing small cuts from clay pellets.
Qi Ye snorted.
“A trillion-yuan CEO personally laying soil?”
“If not,” Cheng Shubai caught his wrist, “should I let you scold the prop team to tears on camera?”
The radio suddenly played the show’s preview.
Qi Ye heard his own arrogant voice:
“Renovation budget this time—fully sponsored by Mr. Cheng!”
Cheng Shubai chuckled, breath brushing their joined hands.
“Transfer it tomorrow.”
A young phoenix tree sapling cast shifting shadows across the studio.
Qi Ye slapped the contract onto the dashboard. The “couple package” clause was circled into a heart in red pen.
“Next time you sign something like this…” he bit off Cheng Shubai’s watch clasp, “charge me in advance.”
When the watch heart rate hit 128, drones swept across the night sky, forming a massive Jingwei coordinate pattern.
A swarm of drones even formed a QR code above the shipyard dome.
Zhou Wen’s scream pierced the Bluetooth earphones.
“Mr Qi! A livestreamer is climbing the crane!”
Qi Ye gripped Cheng Shubai’s watch strap and sneered.
“Settle this payment first, then deal with them.”
Cheng Shubai suddenly pinned his wrist. A message popped up:
“Legal Department of Universe Group has filed a copyright lawsuit against All-Round Renovation Master.”
“No need to refund sponsorship.” Cheng Shubai slipped the document into his pocket.
“Consider it emotional damages.”
The next week, the episode aired.
A huge “Reenactment” watermark was added to the opening.
Qi Ye ate an apple while watching himself roast the prop team. Post-production had even placed a glowing title above his head: “Client’s Worst Nightmare.”
“You bought the trending topic?” Qi Ye kicked Cheng Shubai’s leg.
“Zhou Wen posted it from the crew account.”
The comments section was in chaos:
“Qi Ye roasting props like he’s disciplining kids LOL”
“Cheng Shubai handing over tools like a royal queen giving swords”
The doorbell rang.
Zhou Wen burst in carrying a camera.
“Quick! Community library opening livestream!”
Cheng Shubai calmly buttoned his suit.
Qi Ye placed a multifunction hammer into his hand.
“Mr. Cheng is a human display stand today.”
“….”
The library exterior shimmered with solar panels.
Children immediately surrounded Cheng Shubai after the ribbon-cutting.
“Uncle, does the roof really make electricity?”
“Am I that old… call me brother.” Cheng Shubai knelt and opened a solar animation. “The sun is charging your books.”
A child tugged on Qi Ye’s pants.
“Brother Qi! Brother Cheng turned the picture book section into a robot exhibition!”
Cheng Shubai was installing smart lighting. Each book triggered a different projection.
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea turned the floor into rippling blue waves.
“Wastrel.” Qi Ye kicked his shoe. “That electricity bill could buy three truckloads of books.”
“Borrowing rates can increase by 300 percent.” Cheng Shubai held up a library card.
The livestream suddenly froze.
The camera caught a bite mark on Cheng Shubai’s collarbone.
That night, the tag #ChengShubaiBattleWoundCollarbone hit number one.
Late at night in the studio, Qi Ye scrolled through comments.
“Mr. Cheng is trending globally.”
Cheng Shubai pulled him into the couch.
“Mr Qi personally stamped this.”
Zhou Wen’s emergency call came in.
“Second Young Master Li is refusing food in detention. He wants to see Mr. Cheng…”
Qi Ye grabbed the headset.
“Tell him Mr. Cheng is writing an apology letter to the client!”
Cheng Shubai took the contract and circled the penalty clause.
“If a broadcast stops due to a guest…”
“Triple compensation?” Qi Ye raised a brow.
“No.” Cheng Shubai bit his finger lightly.
“Lifetime unpaid labor for Jingwei Studio.”
Moonlight spilled over the phoenix tree model.
Qi Ye straddled his waist, pulling off his tie to blindfold himself.
“You have to be tested first.”
Cheng Shubai tightened his grip and pressed him against the console. The modeling software activated, and the city blueprint exploded across the glass wall, swallowing them into a vast lattice of lights.
The hum of the modeling software cut through the lingering tension in the room like a blade. The sudden activation felt like a bucket of ice water dumped straight over their heads.
Across the entire glass curtain wall, a vast city blueprint erupted into life. Countless glowing latitude and longitude lines, flowing transport networks, and rising architectural forms poured out in an instant, swallowing the two people by the control console, who had been almost fused together moments ago.
Cold, shifting electronic light flickered rapidly across their faces and bodies, as if they had fallen into a turbulent vortex made entirely of data.
Qi Ye squinted at the sudden brightness, his fingers tightening instinctively around the back of Cheng Shubai’s neck.
Cheng Shubai froze mid-motion as he pressed down on Qi Ye, his brows faintly furrowing as he turned his head to look at the virtual projection covering the entire wall. His deep eyes reflected streams of code and rapidly evolving structural diagrams.
The only sound left in the room was the low mechanical hum of the simulation system running the city, along with their now clearly audible, slightly unsteady breathing.
“Fuck.” Qi Ye cursed under his breath, raising a hand to shield his eyes as he adjusted to the harsh light.
His other hand was still gripping Cheng Shubai’s expensive tie. The blindfold idea had been completely interrupted by this overly technological accident.
“What the hell is this thing doing?”
Cheng Shubai did not answer immediately. He pushed himself upright, one hand braced on the edge of the console, his gaze sweeping across the flickering parameters and several unstable nodes on the display.
“The main control protocol has been triggered,” he said, his voice still slightly hoarse from earlier tension, but already returning to his usual calm analytical tone.
“Probably the collision just now… accidentally triggered core permissions.”
“Collision?” Qi Ye scoffed and sat up fully, tapping the cold surface with his fingers.
“Nice try shifting blame, Mr. Cheng. That was clearly you pressing me down so hard your elbow hit the activation key.”
He tilted his chin toward a discreet silver button on the edge of the console.
Cheng Shubai followed his gaze. He didn’t deny it, only adjusted his glasses as they slid down his nose, his attention returning to the vast digital landscape.
Countless luminous nodes flowed along planned routes. Buildings rose, reshaped, and optimized within the light.
“Since the permissions are already open,” he said, his fingers making a small gesture in the air. The massive shipyard renovation model immediately expanded to occupy a third of the screen, its edges glowing with a faint blue light indicating top-level authority.
“Why not test something else?”
He turned his head slightly to look at Qi Ye. The earlier heat between them had not disappeared, but it had transformed into something quieter and more controlled, like a predator calmly surveying its territory.
Qi Ye felt his chest tighten for a split second, then raised a brow without backing down.
“What, Mr. Cheng planning to fool me with some fake virtual bricks?”
Cheng Shubai didn’t respond. Instead, he flicked his hand across the projection.
The entire city model spun, shrank, and zoomed upward, as if they were suddenly suspended thousands of meters above the ground.
Two extremely small but sharply defined points were highlighted and magnified.
One, right at the center, burning a defiant red.
The other, right beside it, a deep, abyss-like blue that seemed capable of absorbing all light.
Qi Ye understood instantly.
“Childish,” he said, though his body betrayed him as he shifted closer to the console, already placing his hand on the control interface.
His fingers moved quickly. The red point shot forward like an arrow released from a bow, weaving through skyscraper canyons in the virtual city, deliberately circling the blue point in a provocative loop.
Cheng Shubai narrowed his eyes slightly, a faint smile appearing as if he had already seen through Qi Ye’s stubbornness.
His movements remained steady. The blue point activated, its trajectory precise beyond belief, calculated to the extreme edge of escape routes, forming a silent net that tightened step by step.
The two points engaged in a silent chase across the vast digital city.
The red one rampaged forward recklessly, the blue one followed relentlessly, cold and precise, closing the distance inch by inch.
Just as the blue point was about to fully capture the red one, Qi Ye’s lips curled in a satisfied smirk.
His finger pressed and twisted on the sensor panel at the same time, and his elbow struck the same damn silver button again.
“Beep—— Warning! Permission conflict! Core protocol A-03 forcibly overridden!”
An ear-splitting alarm tore through the room.
The glowing city froze mid-motion. The flowing lights twisted violently, flickered, and then abruptly died out.
All illumination was swallowed in an instant, leaving only the cold black glass wall and a rotating ring of harsh red warning lights above the console, flashing across their faces in unstable pulses.
Darkness and alarm descended together, the sudden shift making even the air feel heavier.
“Qi Ye,” Cheng Shubai’s voice came from the dark, unreadable in tone, but clearly carrying the irritation of interrupted control.
“Accident,” Qi Ye said lazily, raising his hands in mock innocence.
“My hand slipped.”
Let him act so composed. So what if he’s a CEO.
The alarm still screamed. The red lights blinked like frantic eyes.
Then, from the corner of the studio, the Bluetooth speaker connected to Zhou Wen’s emergency channel suddenly erupted.
“Mr Qi!!! Help!!! Something huge happened!!!”
Zhou Wen’s voice was distorted by static and panic, sharp enough to feel like it could shatter glass.
Qi Ye instinctively turned toward the sound, his brows knitting tightly. Cheng Shubai pressed a hand to his temple.
“Shut up! What are you screaming for?!” Qi Ye snapped at the speaker.
“Waaah… Qi-ge, Cheng-ge!” Zhou Wen’s voice wavered, but at least regained some structure.
“That internet celebrity ‘Crazy A-Qiang’ trying to go viral, he climbed onto the tallest old gantry crane on the west side of the factory and started a livestream! He says he’s here to collect debts! Something about… ‘drone QR code compensation for emotional damages’… that’s literally the stream title. It says ‘Jingwei deadbeat company, pay back my sweat money’… the livestream has almost hit a million viewers…”
“Collecting debts? Drone QR code emotional damages?”
Qi Ye froze for a moment, then immediately understood. A surge of anger hit him so hard it turned into a laugh. He snapped his head toward Cheng Shubai, his eyes full of accusation that clearly said: Look at the mess you made.
A few days ago, Cheng Shubai had, just to “cooperate” with one of Qi Ye’s arrogant remarks, had the drone fleet of Universe Group form a giant QR code in the sky above the shipyard. It was meant purely to back Qi Ye up and stir up some spectacle.
No one expected that now, an internet celebrity would use that exact stunt as “evidence” for extortion.
The faint irritation on Cheng Shubai’s face from having his rhythm interrupted vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, almost ruthless calm.
He raised a hand and unbuttoned the suit jacket that had just been loosened by Qi Ye. With a casual motion, he threw it onto the model workstation beside him, revealing a crisp, perfectly pressed shirt underneath. Then he slowly removed the glasses from his nose, folded them neatly, and placed them on top of the suit.
It was a simple action, but under the flashing red warning lights, it carried an inexplicable sense of pressure, like the calm before a storm.
“Collecting debts?” Cheng Shubai’s voice was low, but it cut cleanly through the fading alarm and Zhou Wen’s sobbing. “Perfect.”
He turned slightly toward Qi Ye, the corner of his lips lifting by the smallest margin. It wasn’t a smile, but something colder, sharper, like a predator locking onto prey.
Without waiting for a response, he walked straight to the main control console. As he approached, the rotating red warning lights seemed to be suppressed by an invisible force, their rhythm slowing until they finally went out entirely.
The console lit up with a soft blue standby glow. The massive glass wall flickered back to life, but instead of the city model, it now displayed dozens of split real-time surveillance feeds.
Cheng Shubai’s fingers moved swiftly across the touchscreen. The feeds rapidly switched until they locked onto the western section of the shipyard.
A rusted, decades-old gantry crane stood like a silent steel beast under the dim sky. Several tiny figures clung to its structure. At the very top, a figure in a neon-green tight suit stood out sharply, waving exaggeratedly at a camera strapped to the crane.
Cheng Shubai enlarged that livestream until it filled the center of the wall.
On screen, the internet celebrity “Crazy A-Qiang” was spraying saliva into the camera.
“…Brothers! Look closely! This is the Jingwei workshop site! They’ve got money to put on drone light shows to show off, but they won’t pay hardworking people their blood money! That QR code in the sky? That’s proof!
They’re playing with our feelings! If they don’t give us the ‘A-Qiang Positive Energy Team’ an explanation today, I’ll jump right here and perform an aerial stunt for everyone! Expose these ruthless capitalists—”
His shouting was cut off as Cheng Shubai muted the audio. Only silent, chaotic movement remained on screen.
Arms crossed, Qi Ye watched coldly as Cheng Shubai operated. When he saw Cheng Shubai open an encrypted file labeled “Universe Legal Department – CONFIDENTIAL,” he let out a mocking laugh.
“Mr. Cheng, do your little pages of ‘emotional compensation lawsuits’ even work on this kind of internet thug?”
Cheng Shubai didn’t look up. His fingers tapped lightly. The legal document compressed into a thin stream of data and quietly embedded itself at the bottom of the livestream, like a faint watermark.
At the same time, he opened his contacts and dialed a number marked “Captain Zhang.”
“Captain Zhang, western shipyard gantry crane. Illegal intrusion, threat to public safety, livestream disruption of order. Coordinates sent. Supporting evidence from Universe Legal Department will be uploaded to internal system in ten seconds.”
Only then did he glance at Qi Ye.
Moonlight from the screen cast half his face in brightness and half in shadow.
“Against people like this,” he said calmly, “law is the baseline. Evidence is the restraint.”
He paused slightly.
“As for emotional damages… there are more efficient ways to collect them.”
Qi Ye didn’t have time to process what that meant before his phone on the console suddenly lit up.
Not a call, but a flood of push notifications.
A trending topic marked with “HOT” instantly exploded across the screen:
#ChengShubai Injured Collarbone HD□□
With a blazing red flame icon.
The preview image showed Cheng Shubai at the community library opening, kneeling to explain solar panels to children. In the harsh light, the open collar of his shirt revealed a clear bite mark, broken skin and faint blood, unmistakably provocative against his pale skin.
Qi Ye’s gaze locked onto it instantly.
Cheng Shubai seemed to notice as well, but he only raised a faint eyebrow. His expression remained completely unchanged, as if the trending topic belonged to someone else entirely.
He continued focusing on the surveillance feed, zooming in on the crane livestream, calmly observing the internet celebrity’s increasingly ridiculous performance.
That indifferent calm only fueled the fire in Qi Ye’s chest.
He scoffed, grabbed his phone, and tapped into the trending topic.
The comment section was pure chaos.
“Holy shit!!! HD collarbone!!! Injured!!! This is insane!!! Is this even free content??”
“That bite mark… who did that?? I need answers!!”
“Do we even need to guess? Look at the livestream today, who was glued to Cheng Shubai all day? Qi Ye! Only our wild Qi-ge would dare bite a CEO like that!”
“Case solved! No wonder Cheng Shubai was unbuttoned during the day! He did it on purpose! Scheming CEO! Qi Ye: thanks, now the whole country is analyzing my ‘stamp’”
“I only feel bad for Cheng… Qi Ye are you a dog?? Biting that hard?? Come to my arms, let me blow on it…”
“Wake up, he doesn’t look in pain at all. That expression says: look, my wife marked me.”
“Help, the contrast is insane… so gentle with kids in the afternoon, then gets bitten like this at night…”
“@JingweiDesign Qi Ye, any explanation?”
Qi Ye’s expression grew colder and sharper with each line.
Finally, he slammed his phone screen toward Cheng Shubai.
“Mr. Cheng,” he said through gritted teeth, every word forced out, “you call this ‘being too attractive’? Worth the trending topic?”
Only then did Cheng Shubai look away from the surveillance feed.
He glanced at the comment section briefly, then at Qi Ye’s face, flushed with anger and something harder to define.
The studio was quiet except for the distant silent chaos on the screen.
Moonlight slipped through the glass curtain wall again, pooling over the workstation and casting the 3D-printed phoenix tree into sharp, shifting shadows.
Suddenly, Cheng Shubai moved.
Without warning, he stepped right in front of Qi Ye. The motion was so fast Qi Ye only caught a flicker of darkness in his eyes and the cold, woody scent of his presence.
Qi Ye instinctively tensed, gripping his phone, refusing to back down.
Cheng Shubai didn’t advance further. Instead, he leaned slightly forward, bracing one hand on the console, caging Qi Ye between himself and the cold surface.
His other hand slipped into Qi Ye’s jacket pocket—the same one where the contract had been placed earlier.
His fingertips brushed lightly against Qi Ye’s tense waist through the fabric.
Qi Ye’s body stiffened instantly, like a bowstring pulled to its limit.
“Cheng… Cheng Shubai… I’m warning you…” His voice faltered.
Then abruptly shifted into something softer and almost pleading:
“Cheng Shubai… don’t do this… my ass still hurts…”
Cheng Shubai ignored him entirely and pulled out the folded contract.
Under the moonlight, he opened it and calmly circled the penalty clause with a red pen.
“Next time you sign something like this,” he said quietly.
Qi Ye bristled. “What? Triple compensation? I can afford it.”
Cheng Shubai shook his head slightly.
“No.”
His gaze darkened.
“Punish him with this:”
He leaned in slightly, eyes locking onto Qi Ye.
“Lifetime unpaid labor at Jingwei Studio.”
Qi Ye repeated it slowly.
“Lifetime unpaid labor?”
His tone was low, but sharp like a heated blade dropped into water.
Then he smiled.
It was not warm. It was sharp, dangerous, and completely unrestrained.
Before the silence could settle, he moved.
Fast.
Like a predator launching forward.
One hand grabbed Cheng Shubai’s wrist holding the contract and pen. The other snatched at his tie with brutal precision.
The fabric tore with a sharp sound.
Without hesitation, Qi Ye yanked the tie free and, instead of restraining Cheng Shubai, brought it behind his own head.
He used it to blindfold himself.
The dark fabric swallowed his vision instantly.
“Since I’m taking the initiative…” Qi Ye said hoarsely, licking his dry lips under the blindfold.
“…Mr. Cheng, shouldn’t your service be a bit more… in place?”
The final words were slow, dragging like hooks across the air.
Cheng Shubai’s breath hitched against his jawline, hot and sharp.
Then a hand gripped Qi Ye’s waist.
Another locked the back of his head through the blindfold.
Qi Ye was forced backward, his body slamming against the console edge with a dull impact.
Pain tightened his muscles instantly.
Then everything shifted.
He ended up straddling Cheng Shubai’s lap.
Moonlight cut across their silhouettes through the glass wall, stretching their shadows across the floor like something dangerous and alive.
Qi Ye leaned down slightly, fingers brushing Cheng Shubai’s throat.
He felt the pulse there, fast and violent under his touch.
A slow, dangerous smile formed on his lips.
He lowered his voice, breath hot against Cheng Shubai’s neck.
“…Mr. Cheng,” he said.
But before he could finish—
Buzz.
A sudden vibration cut through the entire room.
Cheng Shubai’s phone.
The sound was sharp, relentless, and completely out of place.
It shattered everything.
Qi Ye stiffened instantly.
Cheng Shubai exhaled sharply, tension snapping back into place as his hand tightened on Qi Ye’s waist.
The screen name flashed under the moonlight:
Zhou Wen (Emergency Call Spam Mode)
Even through the blindfold, Qi Ye could feel it.
The mood was gone.
Cheng Shubai reached for the phone, jaw tight with suppressed irritation, and tapped speaker.
The moment it connected—
Zhou Wen’s scream exploded through the room.
“Mr. Cheng… bro? Cheng-ge, Cheng-ge, help—!! Second Young Master Li has completely lost it at the detention center! He… he he… he flipped over all the food they sent him, won’t even drink water, and said if he doesn’t get to see you he’ll smash his head into the wall. The guards can’t even hold him back! He’s insisting on seeing you, saying if he can’t, he’ll really die right there in front of them. Cheng-ge, please think of something!”
Zhou Wen’s wailing was like a bucket of ice water mixed with broken ice shards, poured straight down over the last remaining sparks of heat in the studio.
Qi Ye was still straddling Cheng Shubai’s body. With his eyes covered by the tie, he turned slightly toward the direction of the sound. The irritation in his expression shifted, replaced by something colder and more knowing, laced with mockery.
He even, almost imperceptibly, ground his knee against Cheng Shubai’s tense thigh with a hint of malicious intent.
Cheng Shubai didn’t move. Only the knuckles of the hand holding the phone tightened until they turned white.
On the other end, Zhou Wen was still incoherently sobbing about how Second Young Master Li was “going crazy” and “threatening to kill himself.”
Then Qi Ye suddenly let out a scoff.
That laugh stood out sharply amid Zhou Wen’s panicked crying, jarring and cold.
He leaned down abruptly. Even blindfolded, it felt like he could pierce straight through the darkness and lock onto Cheng Shubai’s face at close range.
His breath, still hot and uneven from the earlier struggle, brushed carelessly against Cheng Shubai’s lips and jaw.
“Wenwen,” Qi Ye said, his voice low but laced with ice-cold mockery, cutting cleanly through Zhou Wen’s noise.
“Tell Li Er—”
He paused deliberately, as if savoring the moment of silence and Cheng Shubai’s restrained breathing.
“—President Cheng,” Qi Ye enunciated each word slowly, cruelly satisfied, “is busy writing a self-criticism report for his client right now. No time!”
I will be posting two chapters every Sunday and Wednesday.
(My translation is far from perfect, so if you see any mistakes please let me know in the comments)
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