Qiu Yu had already been on edge, like a startled wildcat, always ready to draw the gun holstered at her back. But the moment she heard Chen Cebai's name, her tension didn't spike—it shifted into something more restless, more irritable.
"Don't mention him," she said, almost with frustration.
Her words could be interpreted two ways: a simple plea not to bring him up, or a sign of dissatisfaction with Chen Cebai. Pei Xi assumed the latter.
"What happened between you two?" he asked calmly, as if it were just casual conversation.
Had it just been the two of them, Qiu Yu might have unloaded everything. But right now, it wasn't just Pei Xi—there was also a cold, bone-chilling gaze lurking somewhere unseen, watching her from the shadows.
She swallowed her complaints and replied vaguely, "...It's nothing. You know what our relationship is like."
Strangely, the moment she said this, the sense of being watched vanished. Gone without a trace, like it had never been there.
Still, Qiu Yu instinctively rubbed the skin at the base of her neck. It still prickled. Not her imagination.
Why had the gaze disappeared?
Had the surveillance equipment malfunctioned?
Yet something deep in her gut told her—it wasn't a camera. Whoever was watching her wasn't using tech.
She couldn't explain why she felt this way. It was like hearing rustling in the forest—white-tailed deer don't know why they run, only that they must.
Instinct embedded in bone.
Run, or die.
Some primal part of her was convinced the gaze had landed directly on her body.
But how?
How had they done it?
The realization didn't bring relief. If anything, her muscles coiled tighter. It chilled her to the core.
This was a world of highly advanced technology—humans had already launched lunar colonization, and expeditions to exoplanetary systems were underway. Most mechanical tasks were now handled by AI. Scientists were even debating whether to give AIs full emotional identities... even Christian missionaries had begun preaching with bio-engineered neural chips.
And yet here she was, in broad daylight, feeling like she'd just seen a ghost.
Not even she believed it—and she was the one experiencing it.
She picked at her food without appetite, chatting with Pei Xi only sporadically.
Sensing her lack of energy, Pei Xi gave a soft chuckle and stopped talking. He focused on eating, occasionally topping off her tea, handing her napkins, always selecting dishes that perfectly matched her tastes.
Not even her father, let alone Chen Cebai, was ever this attentive.
Qiu Yu felt a little guilty. "...I'm kind of out of it today, not really in the mood to talk. I'll treat you to a proper meal some other time."
Pei Xi smiled. "Alright."
After dinner, he paid the bill without fuss and walked her out.
As usual, he stepped ahead of her to push open the restaurant's glass doors.
It was a perfectly polite gesture. Pei Xi had been raised well—he'd do the same even for a complete stranger.
But the issue wasn't the door.
It was what stood behind it.
Qiu Yu saw Chen Cebai.
He was facing sideways, tall and sharply defined, his silhouette cool and striking. Even from a distance, he turned heads.
This restaurant sat in the city center, a popular spot for white-collar professionals to grab lunch or have meetings. Running into a colleague here wasn't unusual.
But running into Chen Cebai? That had never happened.
He didn't seem to like places crowded with office workers. He skipped most biotech social events when he could. When work hours ended, he left the lab like clockwork—he'd rather supervise his team remotely from his living room than stay and earn overtime.
Even someone as oblivious as Qiu Yu had noticed his aversion to "corporate elites."
So what was he doing here?
She hesitated. What if he was meeting someone else? Wouldn't it be awkward to just walk up?
She knew better than to make assumptions when it came to Chen Cebai.
After a moment's thought, she tugged on Pei Xi's sleeve. "Where's your car parked?"
Pei Xi had already seen her car: a jet-black sports car with a sleek aerodynamic design and a low chassis—sold only in the European Federation. Fewer than fifty people in the world owned one. Her parents were among them.
He glanced at Chen Cebai with faint mockery in his eyes.
If it weren't for the nerve-blocker drug, someone like Chen Cebai would never have crossed paths with a girl like Qiu Yu.
Pei Xi held deep resentment toward him. It wasn't just that Chen had married the woman Pei Xi had long admired—it was also his terrifying intellect.
Even with the world's top biotech minds, no one had been able to crack the nerve-chip disorders.
Yet Chen Cebai had joined the institute and, within two years, developed a drug with clear inhibitory effects.
Worse still, he'd secured both the patent and publishing rights.
Pei Xi, while never having worked in biotech himself, had heard enough. A genius without powerful backing was usually a corporate puppet.
But Chen Cebai had kept control of his own work. Which meant that in just two years, he hadn't only unraveled the disease mechanism—he'd also figured out how to survive the company's brutal internal politics.
That level of intelligence—and strategy—was terrifying.
Luckily, Qiu Yu and Chen Cebai's marriage was purely superficial.
Pei Xi believed that with enough effort, he could win her back.
He didn't need to stoop low—just let her grow used to his kindness and thoughtfulness. Once she did, she'd start comparing. And one day, she'd realize that it was him, not that emotionless genius, who was truly meant to be her husband.
Pei Xi looked away and said with a small smile, "I took a cab."
He hadn't. He'd driven, but parked in the underground lot. Qiu Yu never liked parking there—too big, too hard to find her car—so she always used street spots.
She didn't question it. "I'll drive you back. We live near each other anyway."
"Sure."
She pulled up the translucent virtual interface in her retinal view to summon her car key. Because of the frosted-glass effect, she didn't notice someone walking toward her. She instinctively stepped forward—and bumped right into someone.
At the same time, Pei Xi reached out and caught her wrist.
She stumbled back toward him, apologizing: "Sorry, I didn't see—"
And then she caught the scent.
Cool and clinical, like a snow-covered peak mingled with the acrid bitterness of disinfectant.
—Chen Cebai.
The moment turned mortifying.
She had bumped into her own husband, apologized like he was a stranger, and backed toward another man.
Qiu Yu wasn't someone who got embarrassed easily.
But somehow, every awkward moment in her life involved Chen Cebai.
She opened her mouth, unsure what to say.
Small world?
—They were married.
Long time no see?
—They'd seen each other this morning.
You here for dinner too?
—What if he'd come to take her home?
Every polite phrase felt like a trap.
In the silence, it was Chen Cebai who spoke first.
He always ran cold—he wore long coats year-round. Today was no different: black coat over a crisp white shirt.
He didn't look at Pei Xi. His gaze landed directly on Qiu Yu. "Do you have plans later?"
Qiu Yu hesitated. "...No."
Chen Cebai said nothing at first. Then his eyes flicked—brief, sharp—at the hand Pei Xi still had on her wrist.
Only then did Qiu Yu remember. She quickly pulled her arm back. "...I wasn't watching where I was going, Pei Xi was just helping me steady myself."
Pei Xi, of course, had no such intentions. He'd seen Chen Cebai first—done it on purpose.
He thought Chen would ignore it, like always.
But that cold stare made even him flinch.
For a split second, Pei Xi felt like he'd come face-to-face with a highly evolved predator.
—Return the prey, or prepare for a fight.
He wouldn't admit he was scared.
But he let go.
Immediately, Chen Cebai reached out and seized Qiu Yu's wrist. His movement was fast—precise. Like a serpent striking.
It hurt. His grip pressed into the bones.
But he let go just as quickly, his expression resetting too fast. By the time she looked up, his eyes behind the glasses were flat, unreadable.
"Let's go," he said. Calm. Casual.
Only Pei Xi understood—there had been a battle. No blood, no words. But Chen Cebai had just reclaimed her.
Qiu Yu said goodbye.
Pei Xi smiled. But his eyes darkened.
Chen didn't act indifferent because he didn't care.
There was something else—something deeper—forcing him to keep his distance.
Pei Xi didn't care what that something was.
He just hoped Chen Cebai would keep suppressing it. Forever.
Long enough for him to win her over.
Qiu Yu was unaware of the tension between them. She and Chen Cebai said nothing as they walked to her car in silence.
"Unlock it," Chen Cebai said in his usual low voice.
Qiu Yu took a second to react, then opened the car.
"You want to drive or should I?"
"You drive," she said, settling into the passenger seat. "I'm a little out of it... probably chip fatigue. I've been zoning out a lot lately…"
Before she finished the sentence, a shadow fell across her vision.
A cold hand pressed against her forehead. Cool breath grazed her ear, raising goosebumps along her neck.
Chen Cebai leaned over from the driver's seat, pulled out his own neural cable, and—
—plugged it into the port behind her ear.
Qiu Yu's mind went blank.
He connected to her chip.
What the hell was he doing?
After all these years of marriage, had he finally decided to explore the "shared chip" function?
But not on the street!
The door was still open!
Qiu Yu had just opened her mouth when Chen Cebai's hand dropped suddenly, clamping over it.
"Don't talk," he ordered coldly.
He looked seriously pissed.
No idea who had set him off.
Noticing he had no intention of initiating a chip-share, Qiu Yu obediently shut her mouth, blinking her lashes as she looked up into his eyes.
Their faces were only inches apart.
But Chen Cebai didn't look at her.
His eyes shimmered with an inorganic silver light—
He was reading her biometric data.
Qiu Yu felt confused.
Why was he suddenly so concerned about her physical state?
Normally, pulling someone's health data or doing a full-body scan took only a few seconds.
But Chen Cebai kept his hand firm on her jaw, scanning her for over ten minutes.
Ten whole minutes.
By the time he finally let go, his cool, dry palm had grown damp from her breath and lips.
Click.
Chen Cebai unplugged his neural cable.
For ten minutes, they'd been face to face.
Breath against breath.
Chip linked to chip.
It was the first time they'd ever been this close—
Outside of bed.
Qiu Yu felt a bit dazed.
"What is it? Did I catch some kind of virus?"
Chen Cebai didn't answer.
He took off his thin-rimmed glasses, bracing his forehead with one hand. His Adam's apple shifted as he swallowed. His eyes were hidden beneath the shadow of his palm, unreadable.
A few seconds later, he lowered his hand, put his glasses back on, gripped the steering wheel, and said hoarsely,
"Use your chip less. Unless it's absolutely necessary, try not to use it at all."
Qiu Yu gave a soft laugh.
"If I remember right, you told me the same thing on our wedding day. Don't worry—I hardly use it. Nothing's going to happen. And even if I do get chip disease, I've got you, haven't I?"
She tilted her head and brushed her fingers through his bangs—
And froze.
They were damp.
In just that short scan, he'd broken a sweat.
This time, Qiu Yu truly panicked.
She knew Chen Cebai's body better than anyone. He was the kind of person who never sweated, not even during intense physical exertion.
He couldn't be sweating because of worry. They weren't that close.
There was only one possibility that made sense—
She was seriously ill.
The next second, Chen Cebai suddenly grabbed her wrist.
Like a predator's instinct—
Something moved in front of him, and he had to catch it.
Qiu Yu didn't catch the subtle cue.
She was too shaken, staring at him with wide, bewildered eyes.
Chen Cebai seemed to realize he'd overreacted.
He closed his eyes briefly, then gently pressed her hand down onto his knee, his thumb slowly stroking her wrist, as if to calm her.
The fabric of his dress pants was thin. It couldn't mask the unnaturally cold temperature of his skin, chilled by whatever emotion he was holding back.
The sudden cold made Qiu Yu's fingers curl reflexively.
"Don't be afraid, Qiu Yu," he said at last.
"You haven't caught a virus."
As he spoke, he exhaled deeply, the vein on his temple flashing and fading. He let go of her hand, rubbed at his brow, then turned to look at her.
"But remember what I said—use your chip as little as possible. Whenever you can, use independent devices instead, okay?"
It was clearly his first time trying to comfort someone.
His tone was stiff, awkward, unfamiliar.
But when Qiu Yu met his eyes, her heart skipped a beat.
Maybe she was imagining things.
Or maybe it was just the way people in medicine looked at patients—with gravity and sincerity.
But for a fleeting moment, she felt like Chen Cebai's eyes could see only her.
That kind of singular, unmistakable attention—
was dangerously moving.