Chapter 1 - It Was Just Past Midnight 🌙
It was just past midnight—twelve thirty A.M.
The bustling city center was as bright as day, filled with neon lights and drunken revelry, piercing through the dense night fog with flashing light and shadow.
Meng Yingning stood sideways at the entrance of the bar, tilting her head as she glanced at a group of ghouls and goblins parading in the distance.
This was the most famous bar street in the imperial capital—a paradise where young men and women came to let loose. When night fell, all manner of monsters and freaks came out to play. It was the number-one hotspot for one-night stands and pickup culture. No exaggeration.
For example, the pair standing diagonally in front: the guy had dyed red hair—but his looks were decent enough to pull it off. He actually looked pretty stylish, on the cutting edge of fashion. The girl had long legs and a waist like a water snake, smiling with a seductive charm.
They had just started talking three minutes ago.
Now, Mr. Trendy already had his hand resting on Miss Cutie’s slender waist, rubbing it like dough through the thin fabric of her spaghetti-strap dress.
Meng Yingning averted her gaze, then lifted her hand to rub her eyes, stifling a yawn.
She was so sleepy she could barely keep her eyes open.
She couldn’t quite understand why, on this lovely Friday night—after working overtime at the magazine office until eleven—she didn’t just go home, take a hot bath, and curl up in bed for some early, restful sleep. Why did her brain short-circuit and drag her broken body out to join Lu Zhihuan at this godforsaken EDM party?
But she had no choice—she needed material and photos for the next issue's theme.
《SINGO》magazine had been in print for six years, replacing its editor-in-chief every two. A week ago, the fourth one took over—more frequent than U.S. presidential elections.
All three previous editors were obsessive neat freaks, each more neurotic than the last—or so the rumors said.
Meng Yingning had only been at the company for three months. Just as she was getting used to the last editor’s OCD tendencies and bizarre quirks—bam, new editor.
And this one was even worse. In the first week, the entire editorial department was overhauled. Their department's carefully scheduled themes for the next three months were scrapped entirely—photos, reference materials, interview appointments, all tossed out. The new editor made a sweeping gesture and declared the next issue's theme to be something vague and flashy:
“Electric Shock.”
Electric shock, my ass. At this rate, they wouldn’t even be able to fart out an issue next month, let alone publish one. They’d just get roasted alive.
Meng Yingning was full of complaints.
Behind her, someone pushed the bar door open. With it came a blast of thunderous music, shrieking, and ghostly howls. The cold air rushed forward but was immediately cut off when the door closed again.
She looked down and flipped through the DSLR camera, reviewing the photos and videos she had just taken. In her ears, all she could hear was Lu Zhihuan’s incessant, never-ending chatter—it had been going on for ten minutes straight:
“I’m serious, no joke—four crates of big green bottles, one case of 56% Red Star Erguotou.”
Lu Zhihuan held up five fingers and waved them in front of her. “Didn’t even blink. Tilted his head back and chugged it—those army guys are built different.”
“Drank for two hours without taking a single piss. Is alcohol bypassing their bladders and going straight into their abs?”
“And they were mixing white, yellow, and red liquors like it was soda—downing bottle after bottle like it was Sprite or Fanta or Coke. Who the hell drinks like that?”
“I’m never drinking with those guys again. I was totally out of it the next day. My mom thought I was doing drugs. I seriously can’t handle it.”
“I’m talking to you, bro. What are you looking at?”
Meng Yingning turned her head, dazed, and looked at him. “Hm?”
Lu Zhihuan: “…”
She was slumped against the glass wall like she had no bones, and after a long pause, she sluggishly said, “Lu Zhizhou came back, huh.”
Lu Zhihuan: “Show some respect, will you? You think you can just casually say my brother’s full name? It’s Officer Lu to you.”
“…”
Meng Yingning secretly rolled her eyes.
Lu Zhihuan and his cousin had always been close. Their family followed naming conventions—this generation’s names used the character “Zhi” (之), one got “Huan” (桓) and the other “Zhou” (州).
Lu Zhizhou had moved into the compound at age nine. Meng Yingning was too young to remember much. She’d seen Uncle Lu dragging two large suitcases into the courtyard, followed by a little boy she hadn’t seen before.
The next day, Lu Zhihuan proudly brought his cousin over and introduced him to all the neighborhood kids: “This is my brother. He’s super smart.”
From then on, Lu Zhihuan was king of the kids—because none of the others had a big brother, only him.
That lasted until a new kid moved in—a terrifyingly strict "Demon King" who ended Lu Zhihuan’s two-year reign.
But that’s a story for later.
Back then, little Lu Zhihuan still had clout. He would lead kindergartener Meng Yingning around, trailing behind Lu Zhizhou like two tiny tails. She couldn’t even speak clearly yet, but every day after school, they’d follow behind the teenager, marching home like little soldiers.
“Brother Zhou is the best!” Lu Zhihuan would chant.
Meng Yingning, slurring adorably: “Zhou-Zhou best!”
“Brother Zhou is the strongest!”
“Zhou-Zhou strong!”
“Brother Zhizhou is so handsome!”
She was too tired to keep up with the praises. After waddling along on her chubby legs, she ran up and hugged the teenager’s leg, face scrunched up in a whine: “Zhou-Zhou hug!”
The teen turned back and gently corrected her: “Zhou.”
She tilted her head, blinked her big eyes, pouted, and said, “Zhou…”
Lu Zhizhou: “…”
So he always ended up carrying her home, where her mother would warmly invite him in for ice cream, praise him for ten minutes, and then insist he stay for dinner.
Later, he went to military school, then joined the army. He lost contact with everyone in the neighborhood.
Nearly a decade had passed.
...
Meng Yingning snapped back to reality. Lu Zhihuan’s mouth was still running:
“He came back last week—I literally just told you this. Him, Brother Chen Wang, and the whole gang—”
He held up five fingers again. “Four crates of the green stuff, and Brother Chen drank three of them—”
She was already so exhausted her brain had practically shut down. She hadn’t been listening at all—just caught two words.
Her eyes moved away from the camera screen. “Who?”
“Huh?”
“What did you just say?”
“…”
“You telling me you didn’t hear a single word I just said? All this time, you thought I was farting into the wind?”
Meng Yingning’s almond-shaped eyes curved up, a teasing smile lifting her lips. “No way. I thought you were farting and it got blown away.”
Lu Zhihuan glared at her: “Meng Yingning, we’re done. You hear me? Next time you get flamed on Weibo, I’m not helping you clap back.”
“Do I look like I care? What kind of influencer doesn’t get hate? That’s part of the job.”
“…”
He had nothing to say. He gave her a mock salute.
That little exchange derailed the conversation, and Meng Yingning didn’t ask her question again. She’d nearly finished her work anyway. She packed up her camera, yawned, rubbed her tired eyes, then stood up slowly, waved over her shoulder, and walked into the bar.
This place wasn’t close to her home—a taxi ride would take over half an hour. She figured she’d use the restroom before heading back.
As soon as she stepped in, a wall of music hit her ears. The pounding bass mixed with shouts of “put your hands up” and dizzying lights. She lowered her gaze and slowly wove through the crowd, hugging the wall past the dance floor to the restroom.
The downstairs ladies’ room was full, with several women already waiting.
She went upstairs.
The second floor had members-only private rooms. It was quieter, better soundproofed. The young bar owner was friends with Lu Zhihuan, and Meng Yingning had met him a few times—no ID needed.
It was indeed much quieter upstairs. Her eardrums, rattled by the music, finally began to settle. Head heavy, feet light, she walked toward the shared restroom.
Oval-shaped open sink. Women’s room on the right.
After exiting, she walked to the sink, set her bag on the side table, turned on the tap—and her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She was alone. She pulled out the phone, glanced at the caller ID, then answered with speakerphone and set it on the counter.
A voice immediately burst through, rapid and unrelenting:
“Fox! Did you see Lu Zhihuan’s Moments post?! Goddamn this guy—always so loud, and now when he should speak up he says nothing?! I swear to God!”
Meng Yingning turned off the tap and calmly squeezed some lemon-scented foam soap into her palm, the fresh scent washing away the lingering smell of smoke in the air.
Her voice was naturally soft and sweet, like cotton fluff—it always sounded like she was flirting. “Can you breathe between sentences, please?”
On the other end, Lin Jingnian inhaled. “Do you know Lu Zhizhou is back?”
Meng Yingning turned the tap back on to rinse her hands and replied casually: “I know.”
“??” Lin Jingnian: “When did you find out? You already knew? Did Lu Zhihuan tell you?”
Just as she was about to reply, her eyes caught movement in the mirror—someone standing in the shadowed corner.
She flinched, backing up half a step, then froze.
Someone was there.
Dressed in black, hidden in shadow, leaning against the wall by the trash bin with a cigarette in hand. The glowing ember flickered between his fingers.
He was tall, sharp-featured, jawline defined, short hair clean-cut. The dim light revealed the veins on his neck.
Nearly ten years had passed. The boyishness of youth had long vanished.
Every feature was unfamiliar—brimming with dominant, masculine energy.
The former "Demon King" had grown into something even cooler.
He had evolved into the "Cool Demon King."
As she buzzed in her own head, Lin Jingnian’s voice interrupted:
“Did you know Chen Wang came back with him?”
Meng Yingning froze again. Her eyes lifted instinctively.
Chen Wang snuffed out the cigarette and tossed it in the trash.
He rested his head against the wall, chin lifted slightly, veins visible down his neck. His gaze drooped as he looked at her. He didn’t move.
Their eyes met. Silence for five seconds.
Meng Yingning blinked. Slowly: “I guess… I knew.”
“What do you mean ‘guess you knew’?” Lin Jingnian paused, then suspiciously asked, “Did he go find you?”
Chen Wang’s brow arched slightly.
Lack of sleep from working overtime and partying had left Meng Yingning’s brain running in slow motion. For a second, she didn’t process who “he” referred to. “Who?”
“Did Chen Wang go find you?”
She still hadn’t figured out what to say when—
“I knew it! I freaking knew it!!” Lin Jingnian exploded on the other end, making Meng Yingning jolt back to awareness.
A wave of dread washed over her. She forgot to turn off the faucet. With wet hands, she scrambled to grab her phone, voice rushing: “Nian Nian—”
Too late.
Just as she turned and picked up the phone, Lin Jingnian’s furious voice blasted out, echoing loud and clear:
“Fox! Stay away from him! That dog Chen Wang has been harboring filthy, indecent thoughts about you since childhood! He’s been gone for nearly ten years and comes running back just to find you? What the hell is he up to?!”
“He’s seducing you again, isn’t he?! He just wants to get laid!!”
Plop — the phone slipped from her hand and fell straight into the sink.