His Name Was the Last Thing He Whispered

The air was silent. The two stood their ground, locked in a silent standoff for a long moment. Finally, the fierceness in Zhao Zhi’s eyes faded bit by bit.

In its place arose self-mockery, confusion, and a pain and guilt that he couldn’t suppress no matter how hard he tried.

He raised a hand and roughly rubbed his face.

“I need to call my wife,” he said, pulling out his phone.

Ye Zhiqiu said nothing, waiting quietly.

As he dialed, Zhao Zhi turned away, his voice becoming gentle and relaxed again.

“Honey, take the baby and play a little longer,” he said. “A colleague wants to discuss a project. We’re going to the coffee shop downstairs for a bit.”

“Okay,” he added. “I’ll come up and find you later.”

After hanging up, Zhao Zhi turned back to Ye Zhiqiu. “There’s a coffee shop downstairs. The coffee isn’t great, but it should be empty at this hour. If you don’t mind, let’s go sit.”

Ye Zhiqiu smiled and nodded. They walked downstairs one after the other.

The coffee shop was indeed deserted. The dimly lit corners in the back were especially empty.

They sat down across from each other, ordered drinks casually, and got straight to business.

“What do you want to know?” Zhao Zhi said, rubbing his face hard again, a self-mocking smile curling his lips. “But I’ll tell you this: unless you don’t want to work in this industry anymore, you’d better not mess with Zhou Lang.”

Counting Qin Wei’an, Zhou Lang was a veteran who had served under three CEOs at Q.L. And every year, he contributed plenty of high-quality designs.

Not only within Q.L., but in the fashion world, his influence was considerable. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to find Zhao Zhi such a good position so easily.

“So?” Ye Zhiqiu smiled, picking up his coffee for a sip.

It really wasn’t good. He put the cup down.

“You’re saying I should bide my time and wait?”

“What else?” Zhao Zhi said, downing his coffee in one gulp and grimacing at the bitterness. “You don’t really think I’m doing this for Zhou Lang’s sake, do you?”

With the mask off, Zhao Zhi stopped pretending.

When he mentioned Zhou Lang’s name, his expression was filled with hatred and disgust.

“Over ten years,” he said. “Since graduation, I dreamed of joining Q.L. and working under Zhou Lang. I wasted ten years. Now, everything is gone.”

Ye Zhiqiu looked at him, unable to speak.

Because the expression and tone Zhao Zhi used were far too world-weary. So bitter and worn that it surpassed what his age should have been.

But Ye Zhiqiu also knew that sometimes age didn’t mean anything. Some people, even young, had already been through hell.

“I heard,” Ye Zhiqiu said quietly, “that to get into Zhou Lang’s team, your skills had to be exceptional.”

“Of course,” Zhao Zhi laughed coldly. “Otherwise, how could you feed him inspiration?”

“The truth is,” Zhao Zhi continued, “Zhou Lang’s inspiration dried up years ago. The reason he still produces so much is simply that he keeps appropriating others’ ideas and work.”

Zhou Lang’s team wasn’t small, but no one had dared to rebel for years. That was one reason for his arrogance.

“Look at all those young kids now, desperate to study under Zhou Lang…” Zhao Zhi’s lips curled in mockery.

They were just walking to their deaths.

If he had been lucky enough not to be noticed by Zhou Lang back then, after all these years, he would have countless pieces of his own.

If he was lucky, he might even have had a huge hit.

Then his status, his connections… how could they be so inadequate that he had to negotiate and trade with Zhou Lang just to get a job at a small brand like Oubai?

Q.L.’s pay and benefits were good. Not many designers had left over the years, but almost every one had gone on to suitable positions based on their own merits.

Except him. He had gone through Zhou Lang.

He could have done it on his own, too. Under normal circumstances, a company like Oubai would have been easy for him.

It was all Zhou Lang’s fault.

“So you used this opportunity to try and break free from Zhou Lang’s control?” Ye Zhiqiu asked.

“Yes,” Zhao Zhi said bluntly. “This kind of dirty work could ruin my career if it came out. That’s why I dared to demand such high compensation in exchange.”

Ye Zhiqiu nodded, indicating he understood.

“Actually, when I saw you had a backup piece, I was secretly relieved,” Zhao Zhi said, then laughed. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me.”

Why wouldn’t he?

Ye Zhiqiu asked.

Hearing this, Zhao Zhi breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The tension that had been holding him up seemed to drain away, leaving him looking almost pitiful.

But he didn’t deserve any sympathy.

“After all these years,” Ye Zhiqiu asked, “you must have some evidence against Zhou Lang, right?”

“Evidence?” Zhao Zhi laughed. “Do you think Zhou Lang would let anyone keep evidence?”

He paused.

“I don’t know who’s giving you information,” he said. “But I admire their courage, which I lack.”

Ye Zhiqiu didn’t answer. He just looked at him with an ambiguous smile.

Generally, when someone hated another person this much, they couldn’t have no desire for revenge. No one knew that better than him.

Sure enough, under his penetrating gaze, Zhao Zhi slowly lowered his head.

“I’ve saved a few things over the years, but not enough to take Zhou Lang down.”

He had wanted to burn it all down before, which was why he had collected that stuff. But now, having finally escaped, he just wanted to stay out of it. He didn’t care what happened to anyone else.

“Give me your evidence,” Ye Zhiqiu said.

“You?” Zhao Zhi looked at him, amused. He sighed. “Youth truly is fearless.”

“It has nothing to do with age,” Ye Zhiqiu said quietly.

“So,” Zhao Zhi asked, “do you know why I didn’t dare fight back for over ten years? And why the others in Zhou Lang’s group, all shrewd people, also didn’t dare?”

Ye Zhiqiu knew, of course.

Without absolute certainty, anyone who stepped forward risked being completely blacklisted by Zhou Lang using his influence.

Most of the people who joined Zhou Lang’s team had some talent. No one wanted to throw away their future.

What’s more, as time passed, their efforts and losses grew, and their courage shrank.

But Ye Zhiqiu didn’t need to explain that to Zhao Zhi.

“Given the mother and daughter I saw earlier, I’m willing to overlook the past,” Ye Zhiqiu said. “But in exchange, I want your evidence.”

Mentioning his family darkened Zhao Zhi’s expression. And Ye Zhiqiu’s words sounded indistinguishable from a threat.

As if knowing what Zhao Zhi was thinking, Ye Zhiqiu looked up calmly.

“Don’t think you can give me just anything,” he said. “If you don’t give me something substantial, I can’t guarantee I won’t make what I have public.”

Zhao Zhi was silent for a moment, then snorted.

“Fine,” he said. “But I have my own conditions.”

“Go ahead,” Ye Zhiqiu said quietly.

“I’ll give you my evidence. But no matter how things play out between you later, I don’t want to be involved.”

Seeing a flicker of almost imperceptible amusement in Ye Zhiqiu’s eyes, Zhao Zhi instinctively defended himself.

“It’s not that I’m selfish,” he said. “You saw, I have a family to support. I can’t lose my job.”

He sounded justified, but Zhao Zhi knew his words weren’t convincing.

Whether it was choosing to destroy Ye Zhiqiu’s piece for his own future, or giving up his evidence to protect himself from Ye Zhiqiu’s, it was all about self-preservation.

He didn’t care what happened to Ye Zhiqiu or his colleagues.

He was not only selfish but also utterly indifferent.

But Ye Zhiqiu didn’t say anything. He just smiled ambiguously. “Okay.”

As he spoke, he waved over a server, borrowed a pen, and took a napkin, writing an email address on it.

“Send your evidence here,” he said, smiling. “I hope to get it tonight.”

“Then you should give me your evidence too, for fairness,” Zhao Zhi said.

“No,” Ye Zhiqiu said, looking at him, speaking as if it were a matter of course. “If I gave it to you, you’d easily identify the person who filmed it based on the angle.”

Of course, Zhao Zhi thought. It was a video.

“Don’t you think that’s unfair?” Zhao Zhi asked.

“The choice is yours,” Ye Zhiqiu smiled. “Either you give me your evidence, and only Zhou Lang gets exposed in the future. Or you don’t, and I release mine, and you and Zhou Lang go down together. Your choice.”

Zhao Zhi: “…”

He clenched his fist, then relaxed.

“Fine.” He tucked the napkin with the email address into his pocket and stood up. “Can I go now?”

“Mm.” Ye Zhiqiu nodded.

Watching Zhao Zhi leave hurriedly, Ye Zhiqiu sat still for a moment.

Thinking about his bold bluff, his heart raced, delayed by shock.

He reached into his coat pocket and took out the lollipop again.

The wrapper glowed under the light, especially bright.

Ye Zhiqiu pressed his lips together. After a long moment, he unwrapped it and put it in his mouth.

The sweet peach flavor immediately spread through his mouth, from his tongue to his heart.

His racing heart finally calmed.

He sat there for a while longer, candy in his mouth, then checked his watch.

It was already nine.

He stood up. He didn’t go back upstairs for the other candy, but went straight out to his car and drove home.

The drive from here to his apartment was only about ten minutes.

He parked in the complex garage, took the other tool kit from the trunk, and carried it upstairs.

Once inside, he didn’t organize his tools. He put the toolbox on his workbench, turned on his computer, and connected his tablet.

He already had several design drafts saved on his computer. Two were complete, intended for Qiyun.

Besides those, there were a few unfinished works for Q.L.

His cursor paused over the two completed drafts.

In fact, he had finished them two days ago. Under normal circumstances, he would have sent them to Qi Xin immediately.

But he hadn’t.

Whether it was hinting to Tao Ruoqing on the phone from the hotel that he was working on designs for Qi Xin, or later telling Qi Xin directly that he was designing new pieces for him, his only goal had been to keep Qi Xin under control.

Any excuse would do, as long as he was willing. It didn’t even matter if he was unreasonable, saying “Qi Xin’s breathing is wrong.”

But this time, fate had helped him anyway. Qi Xin’s illness, and Qi Ruichang’s call, had provided the perfect trigger.

Moving his mouse again, Ye Zhiqiu opened his email.

He created a new message, attached the two designs, and saved it to his drafts folder.

Then he closed his email, opened his tablet, and logged into the email address he had given Zhao Zhi at the coffee shop.

Taking the tablet with him, he left his workspace and went back to the bedroom.

The script he had been reading was on the single sofa on the bedroom balcony. He picked it up, then instinctively looked toward that familiar window in the neighboring complex.

It was dark. Qin Jianhe wasn’t home yet.

Ye Zhiqiu wasn’t surprised.

Just thinking about it, he knew a dinner with company executives wasn’t just a simple meal. They were probably discussing something important.

He opened the script again and read on.

When he had only a thin third of the script left, he looked up again at that distant window.

Most of the surrounding windows were lit, making that one seem especially dark.

He checked his watch. It was 10:30.

Not too late, he thought, looking up again casually.

As if deliberately surprising him, in the moment he looked down and then back up, that small, birdcage-sized window was filled with warm, pale orange light.

The pen in his fingers spun in a smooth arc. Ye Zhiqiu pressed his lips together, a smile surfacing in his eyes.

But then the light went out again, and the window was dark.

Ye Zhiqiu: “…”

The spinning pen stopped. He was momentarily stunned.

He stared at the window for a long moment, then slowly accepted that the light probably wouldn’t come back on anytime soon.

His lashes lowered, thickly veiling his expression. He continued reading the script.

He was unusually quiet now, and didn’t look up again.

He didn’t know how long he had been reading, maybe about three more pages, when his doorbell rang.

Surprised, Ye Zhiqiu’s eyelid twitched, and he stood up quickly.

It took him only a few seconds to get from the bedroom to the door. The doorbell had just stopped ringing when he hurried over.

He opened the door. The cool night air rushed in, along with Qin Jianhe’s tall figure, blocking his view.

“What are you…”

“Ye Zhiqiu…”

They spoke at the same time, then stopped.

The air was suddenly quiet. They stood facing each other.

Qin Jianhe reached out, ruffled Ye Zhiqiu’s hair, and stepped inside.

“Why are you here?” Ye Zhiqiu asked.

Qin Jianhe didn’t answer, just smiled faintly and said, “I drank a bit too much tonight.”

Ye Zhiqiu: “…”

For some reason, with just that one sentence, he couldn’t ask the question again.

“If you drank too much, you should rest early,” Ye Zhiqiu said, helping Qin Jianhe off with his coat and loosening his tie.

As he was about to take the tie away, Qin Jianhe caught his hand.

He pressed Ye Zhiqiu’s hand against his heart and leaned down to kiss him.

The warm woody scent and faint smell of alcohol mingled. Even though Ye Zhiqiu hadn’t been drinking, he felt a little tipsy.

“Why are you here?” he asked again.

“It feels lonely at home alone,” Qin Jianhe said, pulling him close and resting his forehead against his. “Your light was on.”

Ye Zhiqiu was stunned, his eyes widening.

Then he suddenly realized that he wasn’t the only one standing at the window, waiting for the other’s light to come on.

What had Qin Jianhe felt when he stood at his window, looking this way?

The same as he had felt looking at his? Hope, nervousness, joy, disappointment?

Ye Zhiqiu didn’t ask. He just instinctively tightened his grip on the tie.

Coming in from the cold, the silk had been cool, but soon, it was warmed by his fingers.

Like his own long-cold heart, now being slowly, forcefully invaded.

“I’ll draw you a bath,” he said. “You should sleep early after drinking.”

“What about you?” Qin Jianhe asked. “Together?”

“The tub’s too small,” Ye Zhiqiu laughed, looking up at him. “Didn’t you learn your lesson last time?”

Last time, he was almost killed by this guy.

Every part of him was strong.

Qin Jianhe lowered his dark phoenix eyes and kissed him. “I’ll be gentle tonight.”

“I don’t believe you,” Ye Zhiqiu dodged the kiss, looking at him playfully.

Qin Jianhe stepped closer and pulled him back into his arms.

“After I saw you at the restaurant, I missed you,” he said.

“What part of me did you miss?” Ye Zhiqiu asked, teasing.

Hearing this, the corner of Qin Jianhe’s mouth lifted.

He didn’t answer, just held Ye Zhiqiu quietly for a long time before letting go. “I’m going to shower,” he said.

Qin Jianhe went into the bathroom. Ye Zhiqiu picked up the script again. His slight unease finally settled.

His tablet, beside him, chimed with the sound of an incoming email.

Ye Zhiqiu opened it and saw the email from Zhao Zhi.

It had several attachments.

There were records for several designs, from initial credit to final product credit.

But the chain of evidence was incomplete.

And they involved several designers on Zhou Lang’s team, including Zhao Zhi himself.

The evidence was useful, but not enough to take Zhou Lang down.

Ye Zhiqiu looked down, quietly sorting through his thoughts.

When the sound of water stopped in the bathroom, he turned off the tablet and picked up the script again.

Qin Jianhe walked over, drying his wet hair with a towel.

The movement pulled his pajama top open slightly, revealing a firm, smooth chest.

Young, supple, full of strength.

In an instant, Ye Zhiqiu imagined that skin slick with sweat.

“How much have you read?” Qin Jianhe bent beside him, smelling faintly of the orange blossom shower gel.

Ye Zhiqiu looked up at him.

It felt incredibly intimate.

“Here,” he said, holding up the script to show him. “Did you read this before?”

“Mm.” Qin Jianhe nodded. “We evaluate scripts before investing.”

He smiled slightly. “Do you want to discuss it?”

“Not yet,” Ye Zhiqiu said. “I want to finish it myself first, or your opinions might sway me.”

“Hey, Ye Zhiqiu,” Qin Jianhe threatened lightly, ruffling his hair with a firm but gentle hand. “Who’s swaying who?”

Ye Zhiqiu laughed, dodging, and looked up at his wet hair.

Fresh from the shower, Qin Jianhe’s eyebrows and hair were darker, wetter, and the mist had softened the coldness in his eyes.

When he smiled, there was even a hint of tenderness.

“I am,” Ye Zhiqiu quickly said, obediently calling, “Brother~”

Qin Jianhe: “…”

He pressed his lips together, his dark phoenix eyes growing heavy.

Ye Zhiqiu quickly pointed at the script.

“Go ahead,” Qin Jianhe said, looking away. As he did, his Adam’s apple moved involuntarily. “The sooner you finish, the sooner you can rest.”

“Mm.” Ye Zhiqiu nodded, clutching the script and his phone as he went to sit on the ottoman by the bed, watching Qin Jianhe get in.

Qin Jianhe lay down, but his dark eyes were still fixed on Ye Zhiqiu.

“Why are you staring at me?” Ye Zhiqiu laughed.

“This is the first time someone has sat by my bed, waiting for me to fall asleep,” Qin Jianhe said. He seemed to find it amusing, the corner of his mouth twitching.

It was perfectly normal that Nie Fengjun, a single mother busy with her career, hadn’t had time to accompany him like this. Qin Jianhe didn’t seem upset about it. He was just stating a fact.

But Ye Zhiqiu couldn’t say, “Don’t worry, I’ll be with you from now on.”

He just smiled at Qin Jianhe for a moment, then blinked his beautiful eyes.

“Qin Jianhe, this is my first time doing this too,” he said. “You’re getting quite a bargain. Let’s count how many of my firsts you’ve taken.”

The smile in Qin Jianhe’s eyes deepened. He instinctively tightened his grip on Ye Zhiqiu’s hand.

Ye Zhiqiu raised his other hand and covered Qin Jianhe’s eyes.

“Sleep,” he said.

Qin Jianhe was usually so energetic, but when he first arrived, Ye Zhiqiu had glimpsed a rare moment of tiredness. He really was exhausted.

Sure enough, after a moment, the lashes brushing against Ye Zhiqiu’s palm slowly fell still.

Ye Zhiqiu moved his hand away.

Qin Jianhe was asleep.

Fine nose, thin lips, dark lashes… his features were sharp, and even asleep, he looked cool and elegant.

Ye Zhiqiu watched him for a moment, then turned back to the script, turning the pages as quietly and slowly as he could.

His heart felt calm and full. He read the script quickly, completely absorbed.

His phone pinged. Startled, Ye Zhiqiu quickly silenced it.

But the man on the bed seemed already disturbed. Qin Jianhe’s lashes fluttered, as if he might wake.

The phone clutched tight in his hand, Ye Zhiqiu didn’t even look at the message, his eyes fixed on Qin Jianhe’s face.

But he didn’t wake. His breathing slowly steadied.

Unaware, Ye Zhiqiu’s eyes were full of a smile.

Just as he was about to look at the message, Qin Jianhe moved slightly and murmured something softly.

The sound was so low it was almost like a lingering sigh, yet it still reached Ye Zhiqiu’s ears clearly.

“Ye Zhiqiu~” Qin Jianhe said, calling his name very, very softly.