Chapter 13 - 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.

Shuai Zhaomin was the kind of man who never ran away. He merely performed "strategic retreats"—and this time was no exception.

 

After finally concluding the conversation and leaving Tengshe Brelini's study, it was already dinnertime. By the time he got home at around seven, he'd either have to cook while dragging his aching body around or order takeout, eat, and clean up the table. But tonight, both his body and mind had hit their limits.

 

The outcome of their discussion? He needed to track down this "Sara," somehow obtain their watchdog's weapon, and compare the bullets and ballistics in court.

 

"It's not difficult, really. Sara's pet is a sweet little girl, just fifteen years old." Tengshe had spoken with a relaxed smirk, crossing one long leg over the other in a casual yet strikingly attractive posture.

 

Out of habit, Shuai Zhaomin glanced at Fitch. What kind of gaze did those amber eyes hold when they looked at Tengshe? The mere thought of a sweet, innocent girl sneering "lowly peasant" made him profoundly uncomfortable.

 

"Perhaps Mr. Brelini could provide a location…"

 

Tengshe's hands were strikingly beautiful—lean, strong, and impeccably clean. His deliberate movements only added to their allure. Shuai Zhaomin had seen plenty of students sneaking glances at those hands during his lecture.

 

Now, one of those elegant fingers wagged in front of his face. Damn, he really wanted to break it.

 

"Attorney Shuai, while Sara may be my rival, they're also family. We don't betray our own."

 

Betrayal at least leaves them alive, Shuai Zhaomin thought bitterly. "You're planning to kill each other—what kind of twisted 'family' is this?" Holding back a stream of curses, he forced his face into a strained smile.

 

And so he took his leave. Staying longer wouldn't yield any more useful information. His sole responsibility was proving Tengshe Brelini's innocence in the murder of the restaurant waitress. Nothing more, nothing less.

 

Or rather, strictly speaking, it was no longer his responsibility at all.

 

He hailed a taxi and practically threw himself into the back seat. Exhausted from head to toe, all he wanted now was to be pampered.

 

Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number. Miranda's calm and courteous voice answered almost immediately.

 

"Dearest Miranda," he began, his tone light, "would you please draft a resignation email to our great boss for me? Don't bother keeping anything I left at the office—just throw it all out. Thanks!"

 

Yes, he should've done this ages ago. To hell with his professionalism—it wasn't worth risking his life, let alone his family's safety.

 

"Shuai, are you serious?" Miranda sounded slightly hesitant, but not particularly surprised.

 

"I am. I think I'll go back to Taiwan and start my own practice there." He had only come to the U.S. for his sister's sake, but now that she was back in Taiwan, there was no point staying here. Boring work, a detestable boss, and now they had sent him off with a parting gift of bruises and injuries. Damn it!

 

"Alright. It's been tough on you. Wishing you the best."

 

After a cheerful goodbye, Shuai Zhaomin felt a weight lift from his chest. Though he would miss his perfect, all-capable secretary, quitting was the best decision he'd made in a long time.

 

Fuck! He should've resigned the moment he got this case. Now he was curious to see which hotshot lawyer would pick up this mess and end up in a shootout.

 

Directing the cab to stop near his home, he got out at the entrance to a clean, well-lit alleyway—an uncommon sight in New York. That alone made him admire Serg.

 

From the alley entrance, he could see Serg's café sign glowing warmly in the night. The chalkboard outside, adorned with elegant handwriting, listed the day's specials, and they all sounded delicious.

 

Shuai Zhaomin loved Serg's taste. The café wasn't large or luxurious, but it exuded an understated elegance. As he pushed open the door, a soft bell chimed, mingling with the rich aroma of coffee and cream. His stomach instantly clenched with hunger.

 

"Welcome—oh! Zhaomin?" A man peeked out from behind the counter, his luxuriously beautiful eyes widening in surprise. His perfectly sculpted brows furrowed in a mix of dissatisfaction and helplessness.

 

"Just finished work. Starving," Shuai Zhaomin replied casually, fully aware of what Serg disapproved of but unwilling to delve into work matters.

 

"Zhaomin, you're badly hurt. Couldn't that case have…" Se began, only to cut himself off mid-sentence, and his words transformed into a soft sigh. The flicker of light in his dark eyes held a blend of indulgence and exasperation.

 

Unable to shrug because of the pain, Shuai Zhaomin merely smiled and adjusted his glasses.

 

"About the case—before, I didn't want to trouble you, so I kept it to myself. But by now, I figure you must already know all about Tengshe Brelini."

 

The last thing he wanted right now was to discuss that insufferable pair. Empty calories wouldn't fill his stomach, and he craved something hearty and satisfying to ease the cramps in his gut.

 

Honestly, he hated worrying Serg. Yet, when those gentle eyes fixed on him, it made him feel absurdly guilty—like he'd committed some unspeakable crime.

 

"What do you want to eat?" Serg asked, not pressing further, silently acknowledging Shuai Zhaomin's assessment.

 

As a friend, Serg had already done his due diligence after meeting Tengshe Brelini. Upon returning, he had dug into everything about the man and had been quietly concerned ever since.

 

He understood he couldn't dictate Shuai Zhaomin's decisions. Even as close friends, there were boundaries that shouldn't be crossed—though he often wished otherwise.

 

It wasn't just the "snake" in Tengshe's name; his actions and twisted schemes were as dark and malevolent as the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

 

"I quit." Shuai Zhaomin announced, relief evident as he slouched into a chair, his whole demeanor relaxing in evident satisfaction.

 

Serg's hand paused mid-grind, and he looked up slightly, glancing at Shuai Zhaomin through the fan of his long lashes. "You're going back to Taiwan, then?"

 

"Yeah…" Shuai Zhaomin replied casually yet decisively, absentmindedly pushing a small ceramic salt shaker across the table with his hand.

 

With a sudden crack, the coffee grinder's handle snapped under Serg's grip. He lowered his gaze, letting out a wry smile as he stared at the broken piece in his hand.

 

"I'm not planning to leave right away," Shuai Zhaomin added, his eyes half-closed under the café's warm lighting, as though he might fall asleep at any moment.

 

"May I ask why?" Serg emptied the half-ground coffee beans from the grinder, a trace of resignation in his tone as he realized how easily his mood had been swayed by Shuai Zhaomin's words.

 

What a shame—those beans had been of excellent quality.

 

"If I leave now, Tengshe Brelini will definitely guess I'm returning to Taiwan. I'd rather not make it easy for him to find me." Shuai Zhaomin's lips curled in annoyance as flashes of those crimson-brown, malicious eyes filled his memory, lingering like an uninvited guest.

 

He knew he was dwelling too much on that man, Tengshe—a fact that annoyed him even more. Their relationship should have remained purely transactional. Take the money, do the job, and move on.

 

Every time he cooled down afterward, he found himself baffled by his own behavior. And yet, in the moment, Tengshe always managed to get under his skin.

 

But why? "Serg, why do you think I care so much about Tengshe Brelini? He's just a rotten guy."

 

And one who spoke Taiwanese, no less. Arrogant, lewd, shameless… Damn it! Even just thinking about him made Shuai Zhaomin furious. Losing a fight to him was one thing—Tengshe had practically been raised in a world of knives and bullets. Getting in one good kick to that bastard's groin should have been satisfying enough. But why couldn't he ever get the upper hand in an argument, either?

 

"Hmm? Why, indeed?" Serg replied, studying the faintly exasperated expression on Shuai Zhaomin's face. Clearly, the man was silently cursing someone in his mind.

 

After all this time, Serg had never seen Shuai Zhaomin fixate so much on a single person. Even when complaining about his loathsome boss, who supposedly looked like a prize hog, he hadn't been this persistent.

 

Shuai Zhaomin was, at his core, a deeply indifferent person. He would always draw a strict, impenetrable line between himself and others—not just a line but a wall. Yet he wielded his gentle smile so skillfully that no one noticed the barrier.

 

So, where did Tengshe Brelini stand? Inside the wall, or outside it?

 

"Forget about him. He's just a ridiculous guy." Shuai Zhaomin ruffled his face in frustration before letting out a long exhale. "Serg, I want dumplings, braised pork rice, pork blood soup, and stewed cabbage."

 

"I've got dumplings and hot-and-sour soup, plus Dongpo pork*. Will that do? For the vegetables, would you prefer them blanched or stir-fried?" Serg's beautiful eyes softened with affection. He relished these moments when Shuai Zhaomin unwittingly let his guard down around him.

 

[T/N: Dongpo Pork, also known as Braised Pork Belly, is a traditional Chinese dish renowned for its exquisite flavors.]

 

Maybe Tengshe occupied Shuai Zhaomin's mind more than he realized. But as far as Serg was concerned, he was the one Shuai Zhaomin trusted and relied on, the one who had already found his way inside that wall.

 

"Serg, you're amazing! I'm really going to miss your cooking someday!" Shuai Zhaomin's dark eyes gleamed behind his glasses. The laziness from moments before evaporated, replaced by this lively energy the instant he heard the menu.

 

He'd always known that coming to Serg's meant being pampered. What kind of cosmic luck had landed him a friend like this?

 

"Someday?" The words were likely said without much thought, but they pressed faintly against Serg's heart. "Zhaomin, what if I decided to follow you to Taiwan?"

 

"You're serious?" Shuai Zhaomin straightened in surprise, leaning over the table to study Serg's downcast face. "Didn't your family only agree to let you move to the States because you promised not to run off anywhere else?"

 

"That's true..." Serg responded with a hint of bitterness. Unlike Shuai Zhaomin, he wasn't free—neither in body nor spirit. "Even though I relinquished my inheritance rights, I'm still a member of the Muhammad family."

 

"Royalty, huh? Big deal. Rich families always have too many rules..." Shuai Zhaomin clicked his tongue, brushing back a lock of soft hair before slumping back into his chair. Folding his arms, he gave a disdainful snort.

 

His own family, while not royalty, wasn't exactly average either. His father was a university professor, and his mother had founded a prominent educational institution. He and his younger sister had never lacked for pocket money, not even as kids. And now, he earned more than enough to live comfortably on his own.

 

Wealth—what was the point? Shuai Zhaomin flicked his tongue against his teeth in irritation, only to find his thoughts drifting back to those foreign-sounding names. Names that didn't suit Italians at all. Names from a vicious inheritance game that bore more resemblance to a survival contest than a family legacy.

 

What did any of that matter to him? Overthinking wouldn't solve a thing!

 

"You get irritable when you're hungry. Have a snack first," Serg suggested, stepping out from behind the counter with a tray. On it sat an alcohol lamp, a small, elegant pot, and a plate of diced French bread.

 

As the aroma of melted cheese mingled with the rich scent of wine, Shuai Zhaomin felt as if his empty stomach might leap out of his throat. Sure, he enjoyed cooking and was pretty good at it, but Serg's culinary skills were on a whole different level.

 

"For the greens—boiled or stir-fried?" Serg asked again, setting the fondue pot on the table. Taking a seat across from Shuai Zhaomin, he casually speared a piece of bread, dipping it in the bubbling cheese before offering it to him.

 

Raising an eyebrow slightly, Serg sighed, preparing to hand over the fork entirely. But Shuai Zhaomin leaned forward and snapped up the bread with his mouth before Serg could react.

 

"Zhaomin, you—"

 

"Hm? Isn't that what you were offering?" Shuai Zhaomin teased, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips as he extended his hand. "You love feeding me, so I might as well indulge you once!"

 

Completely at a loss, Serg could only smile wryly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. He handed over the fork at last. "Zhaomin, you can joke around with me all you want, but don't push it with other people."

 

"Other people," of course, referred to a specific someone—Tengshe Brelini.

 

"Dawson? He'd probably cry," Shuai Zhaomin laughed, narrowing his eyes like a mischievous child caught mid-prank.

 

Serg's fingers trembled slightly, tempted by the soft curve of Zhaomin's lips, the healthy glow of his skin, the magnetic pull of his sharp, lively gaze. Instead, he gripped the edge of the table and stood. "You still haven't answered me—boiled or stir-fried?"

 

"Stewed cabbage, please," Shuai Zhaomin replied with a satisfied exhale, sealing the moment with a calm simplicity.

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