Chapter 9 - 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.

Two days of rest were far from enough for a fractured wrist and cracked ribs. But with less than three days remaining before the trial, Shuai Zhaoming had no choice but to push through.

 

His wrist hung in a sling, and although his ribs were stabilized, every step felt like torture. He hadn't trained his body just to test its limits like this.

 

Clicking his tongue in frustration, he cursed his predicament. Just getting out of the cab had cost him over three minutes, leaving him drenched in sweat. A thin layer of fog misted his glasses, and a few strands of his fine black hair clung to his damp skin—utterly uncomfortable.

 

The pain was relentless. Every small movement tempted a cough, and coughing only intensified the agony. His ribs felt as though they might snap apart entirely, and his muscles spasmed uncontrollably.

 

Once a coughing fit began, it was nearly impossible to stop, and more than once, he feared he might hack up a lung. Damn it! He hadn't been this wretched since high school.

 

Following the map drawn by Tengshe, he managed to navigate through the entrance, past Columbia University's iconic Alma Mater statue. A left turn, then straight, weaving through pathways—it was an endless maze. He had to pause repeatedly, panting and coughing, as the pain consumed him.

 

Damn it! He was injured! Why did he have to accommodate that perfectly healthy bastard? All for his professionalism? Screw it. One day, this so-called "professionalism" was going to be the death of him.

 

A man couldn't afford to surrender so easily. Leaning against a tree for support, he panted heavily. It was autumn, and fallen leaves danced poetically through the air. But there was nothing poetic about them—they only irritated him further.

 

His sweat-soaked glasses slid down his nose incessantly, forcing him to adjust them again and again. The leaves, unbidden, clung to his damp body with infuriating tenacity.

 

Fuck! What fallen leaves?! He'd burn the lot of them if he could!

 

Of course, the trees were innocent. Rationally, he knew that, but emotionally, he couldn't help his frustration. This self-loathing only soured his mood further.

 

Shuai Zhaoming was well aware of his bad temper, and he actually despised this meaningless rage. Plucking the leaves from his face, he wiped his sweat away and shuffled to a nearby bench to sit down.

 

Anger, as always, clouded his judgment. Taking a few deep breaths, he removed his glasses and closed his eyes, letting the cool breeze wash over him. The sweat chilling on his skin quickly turned uncomfortably cold.

 

He could've just called, couldn't he? There was no need to meet that bearded bastard in person, especially not in this state he was in. Just the thought of that face—cigarette dangling from his lips, brimming with malice, those eyes cold and unrelenting—made his ribs ache even more and his temples throb.

 

Honestly, his loathing for Tengshe had nothing to do with the fact that their first meeting had forced him to endure forty minutes of an unsolicited live sex show. Nothing at all.

 

By the way… Was that person in bed male or female? The first time they'd met, all he'd seen was a slender figure buried beneath the covers, their porcelain-white limbs entwined with Tengshe's powerful frame, supple and deceptively innocent.

 

The most striking memory was the golden hair… He did have a thing for light-colored hair and fair-skinned beauties. If it were a man, though—wait. His eyes shot open, and Shuai Zhaoming groaned, clutching his head.

 

Damn it! Had it been that long since he'd gotten laid? Why was he suddenly fantasizing about someone he hadn't even seen properly? And to think that during that obscene performance, what had really caught his attention was Tengshe's physique—his perfect balance of strength and aesthetics, neither excessive nor overbearing, simply captivating.

 

Damn it again! Even with a different focus, what the hell was wrong with him? Was exhaustion driving him to lust? This was absurd!

 

He scrubbed his face roughly, exasperated. Tengshe Brelini could only ever elicit two reactions from him: rage or… sensual attraction. A beast, wasn't he? Pinching the bridge of his nose, he adjusted his glasses. Every time he tried to center himself, he'd think back to that scene, making it impossible to face Tengshe normally.

 

"Ah…" And the hair... Shuai Zhaoming froze, defeated by his own wandering thoughts for the first time.

 

"Attorney Shuai."

 

It was Chinese, spoken with the cadence of a chant. Amid the cascade of falling leaves, it was unnervingly poetic.

 

Fuck! Speak of the devil. Feeling flustered, as though caught red-handed, Shuai Zhaoming pushed up his glasses and slowly looked up. His wide-eyed gaze met its target, his surprise impossible to hide.

 

The man who always dressed in his signature "mafia" style had undergone a complete transformation today. His suit was replaced by a casual shirt under a V-neck sweater, paired with faded jeans and polished leather shoes.

 

His short, wavy black hair was left unstyled, soft and unruly, reminiscent of a shaggy dog. Yet his prominent lips, partially concealed by his beard, still held a cigarette, and his smile, for once, seemed refined rather than menacing.

 

A shiver ran down Shuai Zhaoming's spine. Who was this man? And could he stop smiling so disarmingly? It was unsettling. He began to question if his own composed demeanor was just as fake.

 

Still too stunned to compose himself properly, Shuai Zhaoming's startled expression drew a sly smirk from Tengshe.

 

"Attorney Shuai, my apologies. I forgot I had a class starting at three. Would you mind waiting for me?"

 

Fuck! If you've really forgotten, I'll hand you my head to use as a chair!

 

"I can wait," Shuai Zhaoming replied through gritted teeth. What else could he do? All the time, effort, and pain he'd endured—what was it for, otherwise? Damn it! Was this snake deliberately making his life harder?

 

The first time, he'd waited forty minutes. How long would he have to endure this time?

 

"Really?" The man crouched down in front of him, his towering figure folding neatly so their eyes could meet. Those reddish-brown eyes gleamed with mischief. "You don't look well, Attorney Shuai. Would you like some help?"

 

"And what kind of help do you have in mind?" This felt like pushing someone off a cliff and then offering them a rope. What kind of sick game was this?

 

"My apologies." Without waiting for an answer, the man shoved the book he was holding into Shuai Zhaoming's hands. Shuai Zhaoming instinctively tried to throw it to the ground, but before he could, a shocking realization struck him.

 

What the—?!

 

He was being lifted—princess style. What the hell?!

 

"Attorney Shuai," the man said effortlessly, as if holding an adult man over 180cm tall was as easy as carrying a grocery bag. "You're a bit too light."

 

Light?! Can I just hit you with this cast?

 

***

 

It turned out that Tengshe Brelini really was a professor. Shuai Zhaoming scratched his face awkwardly as he lounged in the back row of the lecture hall. His posture was as casual as his cracked ribs allowed.

 

Shifting slightly to ease the discomfort, he leaned his uninjured hand against his face, watching the man perched casually on the lecture table, eloquently discussing The Plum in the Golden Vase*.

 

[T/N: The Plum in the Golden Vase (金瓶梅, Jīn Píng Méi) is a late Ming dynasty Chinese novel by Lanling Xiaoxiao Sheng. Known for its explicit content, it explores themes of desire, morality, and societal decay through the rise and fall of Ximen Qing, a corrupt merchant, and his tumultuous relationships, particularly with the infamous Pan Jinlian.

The title symbolizes beauty and wealth tainted by lust and vanity. Written in vernacular Chinese, the novel blends realism, satire, and poetry, offering a vivid critique of late Ming society. Despite being controversial and censored for its eroticism, it's hailed as a literary masterpiece and a groundbreaking portrayal of private life.]

 

The scene was surreal. Tengshe occasionally peppered his fluent English with Chinese phrases, and while the students remained silent, Shuai Zhaoming struggled to stifle his laughter. Tengshe's Chinese was impeccable, but hearing words like "that thing," "this humble one," or "Master"* from the mouth of a burly Italian man with a beard was absurdly jarring.

 

[T/N: "That thing" (那话儿) A euphemism for genitals or "private parts," often used in a playful or indirect way.

"This humble one" (奴家) A self-deprecating way for a woman to refer to herself, often used in historical or literary contexts to convey modesty or submission. It's a very archaic and feminine term.

"Master" (官人) Historically, a term used by a wife or lover to address her husband, often with romantic or intimate connotations. It is commonly associated with traditional Chinese dramas or novels.]

 

"Oh? Attorney Shuai, are you interested in this novel as well?"

 

Why is he asking me?!

 

Caught off guard, Shuai Zhaoming noticed that about 80% of the students had begun scanning the room to locate the one being addressed. Ever "helpful," Tengshe raised his hand to point him out.

 

Damn it! I'll chop that hand off!

 

Almost reflexively, Shuai Zhaoming plastered on a polite smile and slowly stood, bracing himself against the desk. The pain from his fractured ribs made his eyes squint slightly. "No, I'm not particularly familiar with this work."

 

He was a law graduate, after all. While literature was part of his schooling, The Plum in the Golden Vase was hardly a high school standard Chinese textbook. He'd only heard bits about it from someone he had dated before, enough to have a vague idea of its contents.

 

"Oh? As a Chinese person, what's your opinion of this work?" Tengshe's question drew every gaze in the room to him, the intensity of their stares making him want to crawl out of his skin.

 

Tsk! What does that have to do with me?! I'm not even a student! Fuck!

 

Adjusting his glasses, even though he could no longer recite pi decimals in his mind and had already begun mentally cursing out the Brelini family lineage all the way back five generations, Shuai Zhaomin remained outwardly composed, his smile as warm and gentle as a spring breeze.

 

Terrible genes are said to accumulate and intensify over generations—damn it! This snake must be the pinnacle of them all!

 

"This is a very unique novel," he said smoothly. He had no clue about the book's actual merit—classical Chinese texts had never been his strong suit. Give him Victorian-era literature, and he'd fare far better!

 

"It is indeed unique. Few works of Chinese literature receive such high praise for their vivid depictions of love and passion," Tengshe agreed, crossing his arms. His smile was graceful, but it exuded the cunning Shuai Zhaoming had grown to detest.

 

Shuai Zhaoming returned the smile but kept his words to a minimum. What else could he say? Why was he even stuck in this lecture hall, enduring this torment? If three o'clock was inconvenient for Tengshe, they could've scheduled earlier or later. Why insist on this specific time? Damn it!

 

"Which character does Attorney Shuai favor most?" Tengshe pressed, clearly unwilling to let him off the hook.

 

Is he never going to stop? Shuai Zhaoming's eyes glinted behind his glasses. "Ximen Qing." If it was a game Tengshe wanted, Shuai Zhaoming was more than willing to play.

 

He might have lost their last fight in a draw, but in a battle of words? He was a lawyer, damn it—if he couldn't win this, he might as well quit!

 

"Oh? That's surprising. You don't strike me as the type," Tengshe remarked, lightly pressing his fingers against his lips in mock contemplation. His red-brown eyes gleamed with that familiar mix of malice and amusement.

 

Pushing up his glasses, Shuai Zhaoming smiled politely. "I find his beginnings and his end particularly intriguing."

 

"His beginnings and his end?" Tengshe raised an eyebrow and hopped down from the desk. "Could you elaborate? I think the class would be interested. Ximen Qing often sparks heated discussions."

 

"Oh?" Shuai Zhaoming's dark eyes narrowed slightly behind his lenses, masking the sharp gleam within. "Professor Brelini, are you sure you'd like me to elaborate?"

 

"Since you've brought it up, please go ahead." Tengshe gestured graciously, his posture exuding elegance. Anyone unaware of his true nature might mistake him for a perfect gentleman.

 

Refined, courteous, well-learned, and humorously engaging. This could very well be the version of Tengshe untouched by his mafia ties. But still, Shuai Zhaomin smiled charmingly, his grin dazzling.

 

A lawyer is always a lawyer.

 

"In the beginning, Ximen Qing—or we could say, the essence of his character—is defined by lust, depravity, wickedness, and a complete disregard for ethics. Anything he desires, he obtains through unscrupulous means. His sexual relationships are chaotic at best, and his behavior—"

 

"Indeed!" Tengshe chuckled, tapping the lecture desk lightly with his powerful fingers. "A protagonist like him is rare in the annals of Chinese literature. But, Attorney Shuai, you sound like someone who's suffered at the hands of such a man—your tone seems a bit heated!"

 

Laughter erupted among the students, and Shuai Zhaomin quirked an eyebrow, letting out a dry laugh of his own.

 

Damn it. He was dealing with a living, breathing Ximen Qing right now.

 

"And as for the ending…" Shuai Zhaomin glanced at his watch before flashing his trademark professional smile at those lazy, reddish-brown eyes locked on him. "Mr. Brelini, it seems our discussion has run over by five minutes. Shall we continue?"

 

Tengshe paused mid-tap, the ease in his expression subtly replaced by a glint of menace.

 

"So, this is your stance, Attorney Shuai?" he asked. In this brief flicker of tension, he shrugged and returned to his usual calm demeanor, earning puzzled glances from the students.

 

"It is." Damn, that felt good!

 

As one of the hottest lawyers in the field—undefeated and highly sought after—Shuai Zhaomin's consultation fees were calculated by the minute. Fifteen dollars per minute, to be precise, with higher rates for extended sessions.

 

"You've really opened my eyes." Damn! There it is again—in Chinese!

 

"I'd say you're more 'shocked out of your mind,' wouldn't you? Or have I misunderstood?" Fine, since I'm in a great mood, I'll let you save face in front of your students.

 

The students' confusion over the sudden shift to Chinese only added to Shuai Zhaomin's amusement. He laughed heartily, deciding not to torment them further. "As for the ending, I'm particularly fond of Ximen Qing's eventual madness. His descent into insanity due to overindulgence is both a realistic consequence and deeply satisfying, adding greater depth to his character."

 

"Ah." Tengshe stroked the short beard on his chin, his smile cold and insincere. "In reality, though, people like Ximen Qing usually live out their days in comfort."

 

"Is that so?" Despite the ache in his ribs worsening from his earlier laughter, Shuai Zhaomin shrugged off the discomfort with practiced composure. "Mr. Brelini, that sounds rather personal. Have you also suffered under the likes of Ximen Qing?"

 

The students burst into laughter again, and even Tengshe chuckled, raising an eyebrow. Yet, behind the false warmth in his reddish-brown eyes, there was a flicker of barely restrained ferocity.

 

Damn, this feels amazing! It was almost as satisfying as the time his boss got food poisoning and was hospitalized for a month.

 

"May I sit down now, Professor?" Shuai Zhaomin asked.

 

"Please, go ahead."

 

Their eyes met, sparks briefly flying, but Tengshe quickly turned his gaze back to the lecture. Meanwhile, Shuai Zhaomin discreetly pulled out his phone and texted Miranda to bill today's consultation fees into the case expenses.

 

The class finally ended at five. Strictly speaking, Tengshe's lectures were fascinating. If one didn't know the man behind the mask, it was easy to mistake him for a genuine scholar.

 

As the students filed out, Tengshe gathered his materials and casually walked up the steps toward Shuai Zhaomin. "Attorney Shuai, I must admit, I underestimated you."

 

"No, the fact that you entrusted this case to me shows you didn't underestimate me at all," Shuai Zhaomin replied with a polite smile, though inwardly he cursed the hassle this job had brought him.

 

Tengshe's lips curved into a sly smile as he pulled out a cigarette and held the pack toward Shuai Zhaomin. "Care to try an Italian cigarette? American ones are a travesty."

 

"I'd rather not hasten my own demise…" Shuai Zhaomin replied, but he took a cigarette anyway.

 

He wasn't a regular smoker, but nicotine had its uses—soothing the mind, dulling the pain, and providing a needed jolt of energy. Right now, he needed the pain relief. Damn it. Laughing so much earlier made everything hurt again!

 

"Let's step outside. Smoking's not allowed in the classroom." Tengshe slung a firm arm around Shuai Zhaomin's back, effortlessly supporting him. "Perhaps Attorney Shuai wouldn't mind spending another hour discussing that bullet."

 

Finally! That conversation should've happened eight hundred years ago!

 

"With pleasure."

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