Chapter 10 - Parallel Lines

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well.

Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

And, as I said before, if you wish to read ahead, you can head over to my Patreon to get early access to all the translated chapters.

Is having a research office a perk of being a lecturer?

 

Exhaling a puff of smoke, his dark eyes behind the glasses narrowed slightly, watching the pale purple haze drift upward. His body reclined lazily on the overly spacious and comfortable sofa.

 

Although Tengshe Brelini was undeniably an insufferable man, one had to admit that his earlier action of supporting him was smooth and practiced. It neither disturbed his injuries nor hindered his movements, displaying a skillful touch.

 

Following the drifting smoke, Shuai Zhaomin let his gaze wander around the research office. Back in his university days, he'd frequently visited his professors' offices, but none could compare to the one he was in now.

 

Fuck! A bar? While modest, it was still a bar. Since when did research offices come equipped with such luxuries? Truly eye-opening.

 

The room's cream-colored base tones were paired with accents of grass green and soft chocolate brown, a lively yet composed palette. The tall windows likely allowed excellent natural light during the day.

 

At the small bar stood the man who looked every bit the scholar. Holding a cigarette between his lips, he adeptly added ice to a glass and poured in liquor, his nonchalant elegance irritating for no reason Shuai Zhaomin could pinpoint.

 

Of course, part of this sentiment stemmed from his utter lack of goodwill toward Tengshe.

 

His fingers drummed lightly on the fabric sofa. Its texture was pleasant, firm yet yielding. It would probably make a great makeshift bed.

 

"Attorney Shuai, where do you suggest we start?" Tengshe asked, handing over the glass as he approached. The cigarette in his mouth curled up with his smirk.

 

Accepting the glass, Shuai Zhaomin inadvertently strained his chest wound, which made him cough twice, his face tightening in pain.

 

Damn it! What the hell was he trying to prove? He should've been resting in bed instead of taking a cab to Columbia University, sitting through a two-hour lecture, and now being dragged to a research office for drinks.

 

The throbbing from his fractured ribs was relentless. Taking another drag of his cigarette, he tried to dull the pain. "I must ask—why here of all places?"

 

"Oh? To give you some much-needed rest, of course. After all, the injury was my doing. This is a small gesture of apology. How does it feel?"

 

The reddish-brown eyes stared at him unabashedly, laced with malice and amusement. Shuai Zhaomin's grip on the glass tightened.

 

Damn it! If he weren't injured, that glass would've been flying at this bastard's head by now!

 

Forcing a sarcastic smile, he endured the pain, setting the glass down on a nearby table. He stubbed out his cigarette, but even this simple motion left him sweating and caused his glasses to slip down his nose.

 

Before he could adjust them, Tengshe beat him to it, pushing the glasses back into place. His fingers lingered briefly, brushing against Shuai Zhaomin's damp cheek before letting out a low chuckle.

 

What the hell was that?!

 

His smile vanished instantly, and his gaze behind the lenses became sharp and venomous, as though he wanted to rip Tengshe to shreds. It was impossible to maintain his facade of civility before this man.

 

"Sorry, force of habit." Tengshe shrugged casually, completely ignoring Shuai Zhaomin's rigid expression. He glanced at his palm nonchalantly. "I often help Fitch like this. Don't think too much of it."

 

"No… just a little surprised," Shuai Zhaomin muttered through gritted teeth. Don't pick a fight with this beast. It's not worth it. "Mr. Brelini, let's review the incident first, shall we?"

 

Hold your temper, and the storm will pass. He had no intention of wasting time on petty disputes. The sooner this ended, the better. Dragging it out would only result in either another fight or him giving up, losing the case, and leaving his boss to go sleep with the fishes.

 

The latter wasn't the worst idea…

 

Glancing at Tengshe's relaxed, almost predatory posture, Shuai Zhaomin couldn't help but sneer internally. Tengshe looked like a beast at rest after a bloody feast. The soft light reflected on his moist, full lips, making them unsettlingly tempting.

 

Tch! Damn it! Why does this bastard have to be my type?

 

The realization was worse than when he first confirmed his orientation in high school. Should he console himself with "accept and move on"? Move on, my ass!

 

"I thought you already knew it well." Tengshe's low voice broke through his thoughts. The man spun his glass between his elegant fingers, his downcast reddish-brown eyes glancing at Shuai Zhaomin through thick lashes.

 

"For the most part," Shuai Zhaomin replied, deliberately avoiding direct eye contact. "The file states that on October 3rd, at approximately 7:20 p.m., Mr. Brelini, while dining near your residence, accidentally discharged your firearm, killing a waitress who was serving you."

 

Hmph. A fine little 'entertainment toy.' He quickly adjusted his glasses, wincing as the pain from his chest wound throbbed sharply.

 

No wonder the gun went off—he himself had been held at gunpoint by five of Tengshe's toy soldiers not long ago. Surviving that encounter? A damn miracle!

 

"Not entirely accurate. That's just the official version. Haven't you read the waitress's autopsy report?" Tengshe drained his glass with ease, the rounded ice clinking softly as it rolled in the empty glass.

 

Tsk! Shuai Zhaomin's dark eyes flashed behind his lenses. "Yes, and it was... quite unusual."

 

"Indeed. The gunshot wound was to her lower back, but she was facing me when it happened." Tengshe stretched his long legs with an air of casual elegance, exuding an unshakable confidence.

 

"Do you have any witnesses to support that?" Shuai Zhaoming bit back his frustration. Why the hell was he more nervous than the defendant himself? This should be reversed! The one anxious to return to Italy wasn't him, for crying out loud. Show some appropriate urgency, will you?

 

"Naturally. You know I'm never without some good company."

 

"Then no one credible can confirm it." A bunch of lackeys wouldn't hold up in court, and Shuai Zhaoming could already predict how the prosecution would pounce on that.

 

Useless! Damn those toy soldiers! Why couldn't they have acted as human shields instead? That would've at least lessened his workload.

 

Tengshe shrugged, the motion causing his outstretched legs to sway slightly. "I imagine, Attorney Shuai, you have a theory about why the bullet struck her back."

 

"An assassination attempt on you." The answer was obvious, and stating it out loud felt like a pointless exercise. "But bringing that to court is futile unless you can prove someone was aiming at you and that the bullet's trajectory matches the one extracted from her body."

 

"And what if I can?" Tengshe leaned forward, his crimson-brown eyes narrowing with a mischievous glint as Shuai Zhaoming froze, visibly startled. A low chuckle escaped his lips.

 

"Excuse me, Mr. Brelini—would you mind repeating that?" Shuai Zhaoming's usually composed voice rose slightly, betraying his disbelief. He took three or four seconds to gather himself, but inwardly, he was screaming.

 

Fuck! What now? Prove what? Fucking hell! What are you trying to prove?

 

"Not drinking, Attorney Shuai?" Tengshe asked, the teasing lilt in his voice almost blindingly infuriating.

 

Drink?

 

The smirk playing across Tengshe's lips was pure provocation, and Shuai Zhaoming's fingers twitched. How he wished the glass in his hand were a knife—sharp, reusable, and guaranteed to hit its mark. A well-placed strike, and he'd not only avoid leaving a criminal record but also rid himself of this damn snake forever!

 

Caught off guard by the sudden movement, Tengshe had no time to dodge. The glass shattered against his forehead with a dull thud, spilling liquor and ice everywhere.

 

"Dammit!" A sharp sting followed the impact, the force of the throw splitting the glass and leaving two long scratches across his golden-hued skin.

 

"Aren't you going to curse me out?" Shuai Zhaoming collapsed back into the sofa, every part of him throbbing, yet he couldn't help but laugh, sweat streaming down his face.

 

"What the hell is wrong with you*?" Tengshe barked. Damn it! How could an Italian curse so fluently in Chinese?

 

[T/N: The phrase 你他媽的發什麽神經！ is a strong and colloquial way of expressing frustration or anger, often directed at someone acting irrationally or outrageously. Here's a breakdown:

你: "You" – Directly addressing the person being criticized.

他媽的: Literally "his mother's," but as a phrase, it's a vulgar expletive similar to "the hell" in English, used to intensify the emotion.

發什麽神經: "What kind of nerves are you acting on?" – An expression that means "What kind of nonsense are you pulling?" or "What's gotten into you?"]

 

"I simply wanted to express that I'm not interested in drinking." Shuai Zhaoming wiped at his glasses, suppressing a string of curses and trying to sound as composed as possible despite his labored breathing.

 

"It's good alcohol..." Tengshe muttered as he stood, his crimson eyes narrowing dangerously. Blood dripped from his forehead, and he casually wiped it with a finger, his full lips quirking into a wicked grin.

 

"I never drink on an empty stomach. My apologies," Shuai Zhaoming replied coolly, adjusting his glasses with deliberate nonchalance. He braced himself against the sofa, forcing his aching body upright.

 

As their eyes met again, Tengshe raised a brow, his grin deepening into something sinister. "Attorney Shuai, sometimes people ought to try something new."

 

Those blood-red eyes burned with a manic glint as he glanced at the blood on his fingers, then provocatively licked it off with a sensual flick of his tongue.

 

After watching those two have sex, was he now forced to endure this deranged man lusting over his own blood? If some people truly found their blood arousing, Shuai Zhaoming would gladly direct Tengshe to the nearest bathroom to "solve his issues" in private.

 

"Perhaps you'd care for a taste." The wicked smile on Teng She's lips deepened, his tongue flicking across the faint stain of red. Shuai Zhaoming coughed lightly and looked away.

 

The setting sun was highlighting the man's flawless musculature, beads of sweat gliding down the curves of his body and glinting against his golden skin. Damn it! Why could he recall every detail so vividly? Now was not the time to reminisce about this!

 

He was a man too, and when another man threw out suggestive lines like that, it was never good news. Better to cut his losses and—pain be damned—strategically retreat.

 

Just as Shuai Zhaomin made to move, Tengshe acted faster, his strong hand gripping Shuai Zhaomin's shoulder with unnerving precision, cruelly pressing down on a still-bruised spot.

 

Shuai Zhaomin winced, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. In a desperate bid, he slammed his cast into Tengshe's forehead. Worst case, he'd end up back in the hospital!

 

But being injured made all the difference—he was caught mid-swing.

 

"No need to be shy. You might even enjoy it," Tengshe murmured, his scarlet gaze smoldering as his sharp features loomed close. Their breaths mingled, clashing like a silent battle.

 

A tongue, faintly smeared with blood, lightly traced over his full lips. Damn it! Where was he even supposed to look now?

 

Before Shuai Zhaomin could back away, a hand pressed against the back of his head, pulling him forward. The curse he was about to utter was cut short—Tengshe kissed him.

 

The bold kiss was a mix of liquor and blood, his tongue invading with a fervent, relentless intensity that left Shuai Zhaomin momentarily dazed. Before he knew it, he was pushed down onto the sofa, the kiss growing deeper, a tangle of messy breaths, rough suction, and aggressive exploration.

 

The sounds of wet kisses and ragged breathing echoed in their minds, what started as a one-sided plunder soon became a mutual clash—part biting, part kissing.

 

Damn it. It isn't disgusting. It should have been, but it isn't. While his body might've been responding, his mind fumed with frustration.

 

One hand rested on Tengshe's broad shoulder, hesitating for a few seconds before launching a counterattack.

 

"Fuck your mom!" Tengshe snarled, pulling back, his crimson eyes blazing with anger and heat as he glared at Shuai Zhaomin, who was gasping for breath with a mocking smile.

 

"Then you might need to go to Taiwan to discuss it with her," Shuai Zhaoming shot back with a polished, almost apologetic smile, his words dripping with sarcasm.

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