Chapter 21: Lions Are Also Felines

North America, the South.

Nightfall draped the sky, and fragments of starlight glittered across the heavens. A long beam shone through the domed glass, spilling into the church.

A man in black walked through the deserted aisle, bowing respectfully.

“…Sir, it’s time.”

The man, who had been quietly praying, slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was a gentle and pure amber, as tender as the grand cascade of autumn maples.

“Is it time already?” His voice was soft and hoarse. “Today, God still gave me no answer.”

The bodyguard hesitated, as if struggling to find the right words.

If there were an answer, this would be a horror story… wouldn’t it?

The man calmly interrupted, “It’s all right. I will wait.”

He lifted a pale, immaculate hand, touching his forehead, the center of his chest, his left shoulder, his right, and finally folding his hands in prayer at his lips for a kiss.

“God loves all men.”

“I will wait for the echo of my prayer.”

In the feeble, backlit gloom, the devout believer whispered, “Please grant me the courage to change what I can.”

…

The bodyguard wheeled the man in black out of the church, the evening stretching their shadows long and thin.

“Sir,” the bodyguard said respectfully, “there’s been an incident with Starlight Entertainment back home. The shareholders are waiting for you to decide.”

The evening breeze rustled through falling maple leaves. The man folded his hands over his abdomen.

His eyes caught the amber hue of the maples. Calmly, he asked, “What has he done now?”

The bodyguard respectfully offered up a phone with both hands. “Recently, Mr. Shen has been caught in a media storm, and today he terminated all his current contracts.”

“Who did it?” The man’s voice was low and steady.

His features were classically East Asian—refined, handsome, with a scholarly air.

Yet the bodyguard was always cautious in his presence.

“Fang Siqian,” the bodyguard replied, eyes lowered. “According to Deputy Director Chu’s investigation, there are only two possibilities. First, an internal leak. Second, Fang Siqian once visited your office.”

The implication of the second possibility made the bodyguard’s heart shudder slightly.

The man maintained his relaxed, slightly upturned head.

After a long pause, he asked in return, “And who is Fang Siqian?”

…

A man who is everywhere, yet known by none.

The bodyguard thought in silence. “You once said he bears a passing resemblance to Mr. Shen.”

“To some degree.”

The man’s lips curved faintly; warmth shimmered in his amber eyes. “That’s quite rare.”

To resemble that man, even in part, was already enough to secure a place at the banquet of fame and fortune.

A white dove circled down to alight on his pale hand.

He seemed to smile, watching the graceful arch of the dove’s neck. “He’s sulking.”

“He thinks I’m behind it all.”

The bodyguard said nothing, nodding in tacit agreement. “Shall I inform Mr. Shen that you had no knowledge of this?”

Though not the direct cause, it was indirectly related. Still, Mr. Shen held nearly half of Starlight’s economic lifeline. If he chose to abandon ship, the board would be finished.

“No need.”

The dove pecked at his ring, as if surprised that something so enticing could be so hard, nearly injuring its beak. It fluttered its snowy wings, trying to escape.

“Can’t you see, Moussier?”

The man gently restrained the dove in his palm, his voice elegant and tender. “It wants to leave me.”

The bodyguard watched the dove gradually lose its vitality in the man’s hand, remaining silent.

“Let him try.”

The wheelchair rolled over a carpet of fallen maple leaves, heading toward the distant end of the church.

“Without my protection, he won’t be able to take a single step.”

Amid a shower of leaves, the bodyguard watched his figure fade, then finally strode after him.

As an admittedly inattentive NPC, he shrugged, a touch rebellious, and sighed. “Who knows. Maybe Mr. Shen will find that beyond Starlight, the world is full of good people.”

He strode through the swirling leaves.

“Sir… wait for me.”

…

Morning, Blue Eucalyptus City.

Shen Jixing sat at the half-open bar, eating breakfast slowly while scrolling through a sea of unread emails on his notebook with slender fingers.

‘Shen Jixing, do you cry easily?’

His pale fingers paused. The raspy, magnetic voice from the previous night echoed in his mind.

‘Then why… did you cry the first time you saw me?’

Shen Jixing’s long lashes drooped, cool and indifferent. He’d never really reflected on his feelings back then.

So, last night, his answer was, “Maybe I was just frightened.”

Zhou Yili: “?”

The tipsy little lion looked up at him in confusion.

“For example, right now.” Shen Jixing’s gaze lost focus as the swing beneath him swayed. Dizzy, he pressed his hand to Zhou’s shoulder, trying hard to endure. “Get off. You’re going to make me sick.”

Zhou Yili watched him intently for a moment.

He braced himself on one foot, stood, and casually scooped up that narrow, fragile waist, lifting Shen Jixing to his feet.

“So delicate.”

A little swaying and he’s unwell.

What is he, made of paper?

Zhou’s words were cold, and he didn’t wait for a reply—just turned and left the room without a backward glance.

No answer came.

It’s just a physical reaction, Shen Jixing thought.

“Why are your ears red?”

The languid footsteps drew near. The young master, still weary from his hangover, leaned against the bar and poured himself a glass of cold water.

He cast a careless glance at Shen Jixing and the breakfast before him.

“You burned yourself on milk?”

Shen Jixing looked at him coolly and indifferently. “What’s your problem with milk?”

Why did this man always have to find fault?

Zhou Yili’s gaze slid over his thin lips. “No problem. I just don’t like it.”

He tipped his head back, downed the water, and when he looked up, a card had appeared in front of him, nudged over by those pale, elegant fingers.

Shen Jixing was succinct. “Three million.”

Zhou Yili raised a brow, picked up the card, and examined it. “The password?”

“One two two four,” Shen Jixing replied without looking up.

The other seemed to go quiet for a few seconds. When Shen Jixing glanced up, Zhou Yili had already slipped the card into his pocket with nonchalance.

A declaration: he was now penniless.

Shen Jixing closed his eyes calmly. “…”

Zhou Yili, still groggy from drink, seemed to have come down only for a glass of water. He licked his lips, preparing to return upstairs.

Suddenly, he paused, drumming his fingers twice on the table.

He gave a lazy grunt. “You make money fast here. If you ever want more, come to me.”

Shen Jixing: “…”

Zhou Yili smirked in delight, yawned, and swaggered off with his few tufts of unruly blue hair.

Whether in looks or temperament, this man was like a lion cub that liked to bite—always causing trouble, desperate for attention.

Lions are felines too, Shen Jixing mused absently.

He watched that tall, lean figure, glanced over the sharp, superior lines of his shoulders and back, and suddenly called out in a cool voice.

“Zhou Yili.”

Zhou’s steps seemed to pause, but he didn’t look back.

“I’ve given you the money. I have a question,” Shen Jixing said, gaze as direct and cold as ever. “Why are you helping me?”

Zhou Yili’s eyes lifted, cold and sharp.

After all that ambiguous sweetness and now their broken ties, the question was almost too blunt.

In another context, it would be the same as asking—

Do you still love me?