Touch Him Again… And I’ll Destroy You

The tip of his nose caught the familiar, faint scent of wood.

But it was far from the gentle, warm, unobtrusive base note he remembered. So close, Ye Zhiqiu could detect a light mint fragrance—refreshing, but cooler.

He pressed his lips together and instinctively tried to step back, but Qin Jianhe’s hand lightly pressed against his shoulder, stopping him. Only then did Ye Zhiqiu notice the petite woman standing close behind him.

If he had stepped back, he would have bumped into her. If he had moved the wrong way, he might have touched something sensitive. Ye Zhiqiu exhaled in relief, a flicker of gratitude rising within him.

Qin Jianhe was always like this. Seeming cold and hard to get along with, but only when you stood beside him did you realize how reliable and reassuring he was.

For instance, at the intersection, the arm he’d extended to shield him from the delivery rider’s motorcycle. Or now, the hand pressing lightly on his shoulder. Or in the hospital room, the way he’d shielded him from the porcelain Qin Xusheng had thrown.

They hadn’t spent much time alone together, yet there had already been so many small, warm gestures. It surprised Ye Zhiqiu.

It felt like more than he’d experienced with his own family in a lifetime.

“Pretty well,” Ye Zhiqiu smiled, raising his face despite the dark circles under his eyes. “Slept well.”

The people in the elevator glanced at his eyes, unanimously silent. One person couldn’t quite hold it in, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Ye Zhiqiu: “…”

He’d forgotten about his dark circles.

“Mm,” Qin Jianhe responded quietly after a moment, his gaze also falling on Ye Zhiqiu’s eyes. But soon, his gaze shifted slightly downward, once again landing on the small mole on the tip of his nose.

Lately, these subconscious actions seemed to be happening more and more often, almost uncontrollably. If he could, he might reach out and touch it, or lower his head and kiss it, gently grazing it with his teeth.

No one else’s small imperfections—no, accurately, features—had ever drawn him like this.

Ye Zhiqiu was the first.

Desire…

Qin Jianhe thought.

For a moment, images flashed through his mind: the difficulties and hurts of his parents’ early marriage; what his grandfather had told him on New Year’s Eve; and last night, passing by to see the intimate pose of Ye Zhiqiu and another person in the car…

All kinds of scenes passed through his heart, merging silently like warm and cold currents.

A complex set of emotions rose slowly within Qin Jianhe.

The elevator reached the fifth floor with a ding, and a few people squeezed out.

Qin Jianhe’s thick lashes fluttered slightly as he watched Ye Zhiqiu take a step back.

With a few people gone, the elevator felt much more spacious. Ye Zhiqiu checked the time on his phone, vowing to avoid this time slot in the future.

The elevator chimed repeatedly as more people got off, until finally, only Ye Zhiqiu and Qin Jianhe were left.

“President Qin,” Ye Zhiqiu asked, “don’t you have your own private elevator?”

“Maintenance,” Qin Jianhe replied succinctly.

“Oh.” Ye Zhiqiu was even more confused. “I didn’t see any maintenance sign.”

At that, Qin Jianhe gave him an unreadable look but said nothing.

Ye Zhiqiu: “…”

He suddenly understood. Since the private elevator was used only by Qin Jianhe, maintenance would only need to notify him. There was no need for a sign.

The design department floor had arrived. Ye Zhiqiu straightened up and politely said goodbye.

“Goodbye, President Qin.”

“Mm.” Qin Jianhe nodded. “Goodbye.”

* * * *

His office was right outside the elevator. No sooner had he entered than his desk phone rang.

Meng Da wanted to see him.

Meng Da’s office was across from Zhou Lang’s. One was the head of the design department, the other its star designer, naturally occupying the best spots.

Ye Zhiqiu walked down the long hallway, passing the glass-walled main office and the work area for assistant designers, and knocked on Meng Da’s door.

Meng Da was looking at Ye Zhiqiu’s design drafts. He gestured for him to sit. An assistant brought in coffee.

“When do you plan to start working on these exhibition pieces?” Meng Da asked. “What materials and trims will you need? Just tell me if you run into any trouble.”

“I’m ready to start today.” Ye Zhiqiu smiled. “Other than the gambiered silk—I’ll need your help finding the best supplier—I’ve already arranged everything else.”

Gambiered silk was a high-end fabric, known for being breathable, comfortable, and exceptionally draping. It was perfect for Ye Zhiqiu’s collection.

“Great.” Meng Da agreed readily. “We have a few suppliers. I’ll have the samples sent over. We’ll find the right one.”

“Thank you, Teacher Meng.” Ye Zhiqiu smiled.

“Besides that,” Meng Da continued, “how many assistants do you think you’ll need? It’s your first time in a big company like this. I want to assign a few people to help lighten your load.”

He sighed. “You’re still in school. Even if you’re a genius, it’ll be a lot. A few assistants will make things easier.”

“Not yet,” Ye Zhiqiu said. “I’d like to understand first how many assistants the other designers have.”

“Q.L.’s corporate culture is very open-minded,” Meng Da said. “Positive, progressive, innovative… I’m sure you learned about that before coming here?”

“Mm.” Ye Zhiqiu took a sip of coffee, unsure where Meng Da was going with this.

“But besides that, competition at Q.L. is also fierce,” Meng Da said. “Especially for us designers. Sometimes, pressure helps spark inspiration.”

Ye Zhiqiu didn’t disagree, but he remained silent.

“So, Q.L. doesn’t focus on titles and such. Professional results are judged on their business merit,” Meng Da said. “For example, Zhou Lang has six designated assistants who work solely on his output. But in reality, besides those six, newer designers also come to learn from him. So he essentially has a strong, small team.”

“So many.” That did surprise Ye Zhiqiu.

After all, even Ye Hongxian only had one assistant, and Ye Zheng only had a secretary.

Compared to Q.L.’s scale, he realized his experience was limited.

“And the others?” he asked.

“The others?” Meng Da gestured toward the main office area. “In the main office, each designer has two assistants. Other designers with private offices have four as standard. But you’re different…”

He paused. “Your talent has already far surpassed Zhou Lang’s. I plan to assign you six—no more than him, but not less.”

Ye Zhiqiu smiled.

“Forget it,” he said. “For the next year or two, one assistant will be enough for me.”

“That won’t do.” Meng Da immediately objected. “You don’t understand yet. The workplace is a battlefield, full of invisible warfare. If people find out you only wanted one assistant, some will think you’re considerate of the company, but others will use it to devalue you. Rumors will fly and affect your work.”

“Then four,” Ye Zhiqiu smiled. “Many people start as assistant designers to learn. If there are too many people around me, I’m afraid I won’t be able to mentor them properly.”

“That works.” Meng Da nodded. “You’re young. Four is respectable.”

“There’s another reason,” Ye Zhiqiu smiled. “Over the years, I’ve noticed that whether trendy or luxury, most big brands develop multiple lines. For example, M.H. has accessories, bags, shoes, hats, besides clothing.”

He smiled. “After I graduate, if I have the time and energy, I’d like to propose to President Qin the idea of adding a bag division to Q.L. A platform as strong as Q.L. is too good to use only for clothing.”

Ye Zhiqiu was easygoing, gentle, and considerate. Meng Da hadn’t expected this ambition.

He didn’t need to explain further. Meng Da understood.

For clothing, he only wanted four assistants for now. But if he later took on bag and leather goods, he would naturally need more.

“Your thinking aligns with President Qin’s.” Meng Da smiled. “The company has considered this before. Old Qin tried it a few times but couldn’t find the right direction. Then, Young Qin…”

He cleared his throat. “That is, President Qin’s younger brother, took over and abandoned those ideas.”

“You know,” Meng Da smiled, “Q.L. went through a severe crisis. It was only at the end of last year that President Qin proposed developing new lines again.”

“Then,” Meng Da decided, “I’ll pick a couple of capable, obedient kids to work with you.”

“Thank you, Teacher Meng.” Ye Zhiqiu smiled.

* * * *

Leaving Meng Da’s office, Ye Zhiqiu returned to his own.

He had a message from Zhang Mian. The contract with New Power was officially signed.

After a brief reply, he contacted Sun Wei.

Back when he was at VIA, he’d already outlined his designs for this fashion week.

He’d asked Sun Wei to order the fabrics from their usual suppliers.

But VIA’s positioning wasn’t high, focusing on “trendy.” They rarely used expensive fabrics like gambiered silk, and had few suppliers.

The few gambiered silk products they’d produced were, to him, too rough. He’d waited until joining Q.L. to finalize the fabric.

Sun Wei replied quickly. Though the two companies weren’t close, within half an hour, someone had delivered the fabric samples to Q.L.’s lobby.

Just as Ye Zhiqiu returned from the supply room with the tools he’d needed, the delivery arrived, perfectly timed.

By noon, someone knocked on his door. Wu Qiong was peeking through the glass, curious. Seeing Ye Zhiqiu tearing fabric, a pearl pin between his lips, Wu Qiong laughed.

His figure disappeared, only to return shortly with a pin cushion.

“Didn’t you get all your tools?” Wu Qiong handed it to him.

“Missed this one.” Ye Zhiqiu smiled, taking it. He was about to strap it to his wrist. “I was going to get it after lunch.”

“Forget it.” Wu Qiong said. “Let’s go eat?”

Ye Zhiqiu looked at the pile of fabric on his worktable.

“Come on, the good stuff will be gone.” Wu Qiong saw his hesitation. “Nothing’s more important than food.”

“Okay.” Ye Zhiqiu put down his tools.

He hadn’t asked Wu Qiong where his office was. As they headed for the elevator, Wu Qiong pointed to the main office area.

“I’m over there. If you need help before your assistants arrive, let me know.”

Ye Zhiqiu nodded, his eyes curving. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Wu Qiong looked a little shy. “I’m already grateful you don’t look down on me for being in the main office.”

If Ye Zhiqiu were older, or aloof like Zhou Lang, Wu Qiong wouldn’t have approached him.

People like that either only work with you if they’re assigned to teach you, or they’re arrogant and look down on everyone.

But Ye Zhiqiu was interesting, neither humble nor pushy. He hadn’t been snobbish at the welcome dinner. He treated everyone equally, regardless of status.

That gave Wu Qiong courage.

“Getting into Q.L. at your age is already impressive.” Ye Zhiqiu encouraged him.

“Come on,” Wu Qiong looked at him. “You’re much younger than me. How old are you? I heard you’re still in school? I’m already twenty-five.”

He pointed upwards. “Same age as President Qin, and he’s already running the company, taking it to new heights. I’m still here, watching people’s moods, getting the leftovers.”

Ye Zhiqiu pressed his lips together, unable to hide a smile.

He didn’t answer the question.

“That’s why comparing yourself to others makes you less happy. Focus on yourself. As long as you keep improving, you’re already ahead of most people.”

He paused, playfully blinking. “If I compared myself to President Qin, I’d be upset too.”

“True.” Wu Qiong felt consoled. “Compared to designers in small factories who just follow the boss’s ideas, being at Q.L. is a huge achievement.”

Wu Qiong was lively. Ye Zhiqiu liked people like that. Whether sincere or not, they made things feel lighter.

As they walked to the elevator, Wu Qiong asked, “I’m having steak. What about you?”

“Huh?” Ye Zhiqiu was confused. “We haven’t even gotten to the cafeteria. How do you know they’re having steak?”

“Oh,” Wu Qiong said, “they send out a weekly menu every Monday. If nothing looks good, people can eat out without wasting time.”

He realized. “You just started. Your email probably isn’t on the list yet. I’ll forward you this week’s menu.”

“Thanks.” Ye Zhiqiu sighed. “The benefits here are great.”

“It’s ‘we’ now.” Wu Qiong reached out to pat Ye Zhiqiu’s shoulder, laughing. “We’re colleagues now.”

It seemed like a habit for Wu Qiong. He’d done the same at the welcome dinner.

Ye Zhiqiu was sensitive to physical contact, but he could tell Wu Qiong’s gesture had no special meaning.

His phone buzzed with a message from Jin Baobao. Ye Zhiqiu followed Wu Qiong, reading as he walked.

Chatting and laughing, they entered the cafeteria.

As they entered, Wu Qiong stiffened.

Of all times, the boss, who rarely ate here, was here. And strangest of all, his gaze met Wu Qiong’s as he walked in.

Wu Qiong: “…”

He quietly withdrew his hand.

Then he wondered: why had he withdrawn his hand?

“What’s wrong?” Ye Zhiqiu looked up.

“Nothing.” Qin Jianhe’s gaze was as calm as usual, but Wu Qiong felt a strange pressure. He lowered his voice. “The boss is here.”

“Oh.” Ye Zhiqiu looked.

“There.” Wu Qiong subtly gestured.

Today, Qin Jianhe was alone, sitting at a table facing the entrance, eating. The seats around him were empty.

Ye Zhiqiu: “…”

“What do you want?” Wu Qiong asked quietly.

“Clay pot again.” Ye Zhiqiu said. “I tried the beef meatballs yesterday. I want to try the pork ribs today, if they have them.”

“Okay.” Wu Qiong whispered. “Let’s sit over there, away from the boss.”

“Okay.” Ye Zhiqiu said, finding it a little funny.

They had ribs today. Ye Zhiqiu took his tray and found a seat farthest from Qin Jianhe.

As they ate, Wu Qiong shared a lot.

The company’s factions, who actually worked, who coasted, who sabotaged others, who was the troublemaker…

Ye Zhiqiu listened carefully. By the end of the meal, he had a good picture of the company, especially the design department.

When they finished, Qin Jianhe was gone.

“Come on,” Wu Qiong said. “I’ll show you the rooftop terrace.”

The terrace was on the twelfth floor. When they arrived, some people were already playing badminton.

“This is the finance department floor.” Wu Qiong said. “They’ve taken the best spot.”

“Mm.” Ye Zhiqiu leaned on the railing, looking out.

The terrace was large, with a wide view. The midday sun and wind were unobstructed, falling fully on them.

It was refreshing.

Just fifteen minutes of sun made Ye Zhiqiu’s afternoon more productive.

He worked until almost quitting time, when Meng Da sent over gambiered silk samples.

Dozens of them, from various suppliers. Ye Zhiqiu was immediately absorbed. He didn’t look up until after eight, having roughly selected three to finalize after visiting the factories.

He hadn’t noticed his hunger while working, but now it hit him.

As if on cue, his phone rang. Zhao Keqi.

“Ye Zhiqiu, haven’t seen you at the gym lately,” Zhao Keqi said. “Couldn’t find anyone to eat with.”

“Today’s your lucky day.” Ye Zhiqiu laughed. “I’m nearby.”

“For real?” Zhao Keqi perked up. “Send me your location. I’ll pick you up.”

“In front of the coffee shop below Q.L.,” Ye Zhiqiu said.

“I’ll shower and be right there.”

Ye Zhiqiu took the elevator down. In less than five minutes, a flashy yellow sports car pulled up.

“Get in,” Zhao Keqi said, lowering the window.

As Ye Zhiqiu opened the door, the coffee shop door opened.

Zhou Lang and two assistants walked out.

“Teacher Xiao Ye,” Zhou Lang greeted him with a smile, then publicly tried to undermine him. “You’re really popular. Two different people have picked you up on your first two days.”

His assistants smiled knowingly, but stayed silent.

By taking three exhibition spots as soon as he arrived, Ye Zhiqiu had made himself a target. For someone like Zhou Lang, used to being the center, it was a direct challenge.

He wouldn’t miss a chance to knock Ye Zhiqiu down a peg.

Two different luxury cars picking him up, two different people. It suggested the handsome young man might be fickle in relationships.

A messy personal life was an easy weakness to exploit. Low cost, too.

If the person in the car took Zhou Lang’s bait and caused a scene, it would affect Ye Zhiqiu’s mood. He hadn’t even started preparing his exhibition pieces, he was still in school. If he also had relationship trouble, he’d likely lose this opportunity.

Making it at Q.L. wasn’t easy. A lesson early on might be good for the kid.

But Ye Zhiqiu seemed unconcerned. He closed the car door, leaned against it, and smiled. The light gave him a certain ease.

“That’s just how it is when you’re popular.” Ye Zhiqiu smiled. “Surely Teacher Zhou has seen this before?”

He was turning the tables, mocking Zhou Lang for being unsophisticated and unpopular.

His assistants tried to hide their smiles.

“Those are nice cars. Men like cars. They’re memorable.” Zhou Lang’s eyes narrowed, but he kept smiling. “Teacher Xiao Ye knows some wealthy people.”

Zhou Lang really was sly.

If the person in the car was his partner, Zhou Lang’s words would cause trouble.

Either he’d be accused of cheating, or of being with someone for their money.

“Maybe I bring luck to my friends,” Ye Zhiqiu’s smile was perfect. “So those around me do well. A car isn’t a big deal.”

He paused, his eyes curving. “But those who go against me… don’t seem to fare as well.”

Zhou Lang was a bit superstitious, and found Ye Zhiqiu’s words ominous.

His expression darkened.

Who did this brat think he was? A greenhorn, still wet behind the ears, challenging him?

He laughed coldly.

“Young people should walk before they run.”

“Thanks for the advice, Teacher Zhou.” Ye Zhiqiu smiled. “I don’t like owing people, so let me offer some in return.”

“What?” Zhou Lang had a bad feeling.

“Zhou Yu lamented, ‘Since Zhou Yu exists, why does Zhuge Liang have to exist?'” Ye Zhiqiu smiled. “My advice is, change your name. Your surname, too.”

With that, he smiled, his attitude deliberately provocative.

Zhou Lang hated jokes about his name. In school, people who called themselves Zhuge Liang would tease him. He thought no one would dare touch that nerve again, until today.

“Teacher Zhou, my friend and I have dinner plans.” Ye Zhiqiu opened the car door and got in. “Talk later.”

The sports car’s tail swung out, and they were gone, leaving Zhou Lang livid. His assistants kept quiet, afraid to draw his fire.

After a long moment, Zhou Lang finally spoke, his voice cold. “Find out which suppliers he’s using for his exhibition pieces. Warn them: if they supply him, they won’t get a single thread of mine in the future.”

* * * *

“Hey, Ye Zhiqiu, you’re something,” Zhao Keqi laughed as he drove. “I heard that arrogant jerk say you just started. Aren’t you worried about making an enemy of a senior?”

“Even if I kept my head down, he’d still go after me,” Ye Zhiqiu smiled. “Why make it easy for people like him?”

“So you’re working at Q.L. now?” Zhao Keqi asked. “That’ll make it convenient for training.”

“How do you… oh, you know Zhou Lang?” Ye Zhiqiu asked.

“To be honest, my dad does film investment. A production once needed costumes and was going to hire him. But we found out he’s under contract with Q.L., so…”

He shrugged. “Hey, can you come? It’s boring training alone.”

“I can’t for the next month.” Ye Zhiqiu said. “I have to prepare for a show.”

He paused. “If I get selected, it’ll be longer. Maybe a month and a half.”

Zhao Keqi’s enthusiasm visibly dimmed.

“You said your dad does film investment?” Ye Zhiqiu asked.

“Yeah.” Zhao Keqi said. “What’s your position?”

Ye Zhiqiu smiled.

“You know my name,” he said. “Look me up.”

He pressed his lips together. “Zhou Lang is under contract. I’m not. If you need anything, maybe I can help.”

“That’d be great,” Zhao Keqi said. “But the old man is picky. You have to have the skills.”

Ye Zhiqiu smiled. “Saying you’re good is pointless. I told you to look me up.”

“That confident?” Zhao Keqi said, then paused. “Your name does sound familiar.”

“Your dad’s in film investment, so costumes matter to you,” Ye Zhiqiu changed the subject. “Hey, Zhao Keqi, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure,” Zhao Keqi patted his chest. “If I can help, I will.”

* * * *

At the same time, Jiang Nan was leaving a dive bar.

Recently, Qi Xin kept choosing these seedy places to meet. The smoke was suffocating.

Damn!

He got in his car, swearing.

After being repeatedly outmaneuvered by Ye Zhiqiu, Jiang Nan had become more cautious. That didn’t mean he was ready to swallow his anger.

He had photos of Ye Zhiqiu with Qi Xin. He’d been waiting for something more concrete—a kiss, an embrace, holding hands—before acting.

He couldn’t stand Ye Zhiqiu being near Qin Jianhe. Not one more day. He had to strike decisively.

But last night’s WeChat post had broken him.

He couldn’t hold back anymore.

Jiang Nan lit a cigarette, took a drag, then stared at his hand holding it, transfixed.

The cigarette was the same brand Qin Jianhe was holding in the photo.

He hadn’t known Qin Jianhe smoked, or what brand. He’d been unable to sleep last night and had gone to buy some, just to hold the same brand.

Sharing a cigarette…

Just thinking about it made him crazy. And now Ye Zhiqiu was at Q.L.

In just a few months, tortured by Ye Zhiqiu’s WeChat posts, he’d lost weight, aged. He’d tried to block him, but couldn’t. He was fixated on them.

Jiang Nan inhaled deeply, frustrated.

Qi Xin had wanted to meet today, supposedly to apologize for hanging up last night. But he’d kept asking about getting Qiyun into a chain of department stores.

After so many years, Qiyun had never made headway. Why the sudden interest in store placement?

He was sure Ye Zhiqiu was using Q.L.’s resources to help Qi Xin.

Ye Zhiqiu was blind, cheating on one with another. But how could he stomach Qi Xin after Qin Jianhe?

From following him, he saw how Qi Xin groveled.

That spoiled, arrogant look… He didn’t know what Qin Jianhe saw in him.

Knowing someone was using and deceiving him like this was unbearable.

Jiang Nan scrolled through his photos and selected a few intimate-looking ones. He created a new email account, attached them, and, having learned from his mistakes, was more careful. Before sending, he removed his SIM and used the bar’s Wi-Fi.

He sent an email to Qin Jianhe.

His father had been close to Qin Xusheng. Though the families had drifted as the Qins rose, they still had business ties.

He’d always known Qin Jianhe’s work email.

He typed: President Qin, your boyfriend is two-timing. He’s been involved with this Qi Xin for a long time. I suggest you investigate before you’re exploited.

He hit send.

Seeing “Sent Successfully,” his heart pounded.

He couldn’t wait to see Ye Zhiqiu’s reaction. Would he cry, rage, kneel and beg?

He finished his cigarette, his excitement calming. As he was about to start the car, his phone buzzed.

Qin Jianhe had replied.

He grabbed his phone, his heart racing again. After a long moment, he opened the email.

It was short.

My boyfriend has the right to choose his friends. A word of advice: if you continue to stalk him, I will make you pay a price you can’t imagine.

Qin Jianhe.

Jiang Nan stared, stunned.

This wasn’t how he’d imagined it at all.