He Was Desperate to Know Her Attitude
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Qiu Yu froze for a moment, not expecting Chen Cebai to reject her outright.
In an instant, their relationship seemed to have returned to the state of unfamiliarity from before. Yesterday’s confession and this morning’s intimacy both felt like nothing more than her illusion.
She had never gotten close to him.
He had never allowed her to get close.
Qiu Yu fell silent.
She was only good at playing straight when Chen Cebai was willing to cooperate. If he refused to cooperate with her, she had no idea what to do.
However, even if he were willing to tell her everything about the past now, she no longer wanted to hear it.
Qiu Yu took out her tablet and sulkily started scrolling through short videos.
After watching two short videos, she thought of how Chen Cebai never watched these and would never get “addicted” to them, which irritated her even more, so she shut the app off in frustration.
At that moment, Qiu Yu received a message from her superior, informing her that the filming schedule had been arranged, and the first scientist interview would begin tomorrow.
Qiu Yu: 【Who?】
Superior: 【Lu Zehou.】
The car arrived at the garage of her home.
Qiu Yu turned off her tablet. Just as she was about to push open the car door, she hesitated, still feeling a little indignant.
She turned around and glared at Chen Cebai with anger: “So only you get to have secrets, huh?!”
Chen Cebai paused and turned his head to look at her.
Qiu Yu bluffed, “I have secrets too. But unless you’re honest with me first, I won’t tell you anything.”
In reality, she had no secrets at all. The only thing she had forgotten to tell him was probably that one sentence: “I love you.”
Qiu Yu had already planned it out. As long as Chen Cebai apologized to her and told her the truth about the past, she would forgive him and give him a sweet “I love you.”
But Chen Cebai coldly said, “Suit yourself.”
Qiu Yu was stunned for a moment, then her anger flared even more.
She was utterly disappointed in Chen Cebai and wanted to scold him fiercely. But she couldn’t think of any words that could both strike at his faults accurately and yet not hurt his dignity.
In the end, she couldn’t come up with anything to scold him, and instead, she was so frustrated by her own lack of words that her chest heaved with anger.
Like an enraged cat, Qiu Yu furiously slammed the car door and stormed off.
Back home, she locked herself in the study, fully immersing herself in drafting the interview outline, completely ignoring Chen Cebai.
Everything had reverted to the way it was before they had opened up to each other.
She holed up in the study, writing her interview script. Chen Cebai, on the other hand, sat in the guest room, remotely guiding researchers on their experiments.
The house’s soundproofing was too good. Once the doors were shut, they were completely isolated from each other’s presence.
Qiu Yu wrote her script in a state of agitation.
What frustrated her the most was that the watcher was still watching her.
His gaze was icy, its meaning unclear, lingering on her for a long time.
What was so interesting about a couple arguing?
Qiu Yu paused, picked up her tablet, created a new blank document, and wrote with her stylus in a rustling motion: I know you’re watching me.
After thinking for a moment, she added:
Maybe you think you’ve hidden yourself well, but some habits are hard to change.
Qiu Yu had no idea who the watcher was, nor did she have any clues about “his” identity. She wrote this in an attempt to lure him out—it wasn’t as if she had truly discovered any of “his” habits.
After finishing, she read it over, then found herself incredibly bored. Expressionless, she erased the document and continued preparing for tomorrow’s interview.
However, at that moment, she suddenly received a strange text message.
Unlike spam messages, everything about this text was unknown.
The sender was unknown, the address was unknown, even the carrier was unknown.
It was as if it had materialized out of thin air into her chip.
[Unknown]: What habit?
Qiu Yu stared at the message, her breathing suddenly growing a little rapid.
Logically speaking, she should immediately tell Chen Cebai and have him help locate the watcher’s identity and address. But then she remembered the outrageous things he had said—
“I don’t need your help to get him talking.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“I don’t like it when you bring up the past.”
“Suit yourself.”
…
In the span of a single day, he had coldly rejected her four times.
Thinking of this, Qiu Yu’s face remained tense, and she dismissed the idea of telling him.
Qiu Yu: You know full well yourself.
[Unknown]: You’re just being cryptic for no reason.
Qiu Yu had no patience for the watcher, unlike with Chen Cebai. Rolling her eyes, she replied dismissively while continuing to write her script:
Believe what you want.
This time, the watcher hesitated for a few seconds before responding:
You’re upset because your husband won’t tell you his secret, aren’t you?
Qiu Yu: None of your business.
[Unknown]: Haven’t you ever wondered why he won’t tell you?
Qiu Yu froze.
At the same moment, in the living room—
Chen Cebai sat on the sofa, the lenses over his eyes reflecting an inorganic silver light.
What was projected onto his retina was the chat log between [Unknown] and Qiu Yu.
He had explicitly rejected Qiu Yu, making her angry, yet he was now testing her attitude under the guise of the watcher.
Even he found his behavior utterly absurd.
But he was desperate to know her attitude.
Almost as if driven by an unseen force, he sent her a message.
Chen Cebai took out a pack of cigarettes, lowered his head, and bit down on one before walking to the balcony and flicking his lighter to ignite it.
Beyond the balcony, all kinds of neon lights gradually lit up.
The alternating red and blue neon glowed against his sharp, chiseled features, yet it failed to add the slightest warmth to his expression. Instead, it created a strange sense of dissonance.
As if what flickered across his face were not the flashing neon lights—
But his calm, obsessive, and contradictory soul.
At that moment, Qiu Yu replied:
What do you mean?
Chen Cebai exhaled a puff of smoke indifferently:
It means that he might be just like me—harboring thoughts about you that cannot see the light of day.
In the study, Qiu Yu abruptly stood up.
Only after rising did she realize her reaction was too extreme. Feeling a bit self-conscious, she sat back down and asked again:
What do you mean?
She found the watcher utterly laughable. His thoughts being shameful was one thing—but why would Chen Cebai’s thoughts be something that “couldn’t see the light of day”?
It wasn’t as if Chen Cebai wanted to spy on her like the watcher did—that couldn’t possibly be why he refused to tell her about the past, right?
But the watcher didn’t reply to her again.
Still, she could feel his gaze.
He was unwilling to continue the conversation, yet his eyes never left her.
Qiu Yu had the urge to provoke him, to make him reveal more information—
Don’t use your filthy mind to speculate about my husband’s thoughts. I know him better than anyone. He is the only person I have ever seen who has achieved class transcendence purely by his own strength. Throughout the entire process, he never relied on anyone’s power—he did it all by himself. Since the invention of the biochemical chip, how many people have been stumped by its side effects? And yet, he developed a neural-blocking drug in just two years.
I have never doubted that he is the most valuable scientist of our time.
After sending it, she added another sentence:
You are in no position to compare yourself to him.
She had expected to receive an angry, flustered response from the watcher immediately.
Yet, even after she finished drafting her script, took a shower, and lay in bed—there was still no reply.
Qiu Yu found this puzzling.
She had thought that when the watcher said, “He might be just like me—harboring thoughts about you that cannot see the light of day,” he was deliberately trying to tarnish Chen Cebai’s image in her heart.
And that was why she had exaggerated her praise for Chen Cebai to the extreme.
Who would have thought that after sending the message, it would be like a stone sinking into the sea—no response at all.
What frustrated her even more was that it was already nighttime, yet Chen Cebai still hadn’t come to make up with her.
Annoyed, Qiu Yu pulled the blanket over herself, planning to settle the score with him when he came over. But she was too tired, and as she waited, she fell asleep.
In the middle of the night, she was awakened by Chen Cebai’s kiss.
She opened her eyes in a daze. In the dim light, she could only see a blurry silhouette—like the arched back of a predator stalking forward in the darkness.
He pinned both of her hands above her head with one hand, pressing them against the pillow, while his other hand held her chin as he tangled his lips and tongue with hers.
Qiu Yu’s mind was hazy. In her half-asleep state, she instinctively kissed him back. But after more than ten seconds, she suddenly came to her senses and turned her head away sharply.
“I’m still mad!”
“I know,” Chen Cebai said. “I’m sorry.”
In the darkness, she saw his Adam’s apple move lightly as he spoke, forming a cold and sensual curve from his jaw to his neck.
She couldn’t help but want to kiss it. But then, taking a deep breath, she forced herself to suppress the impulse.
“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me about your past… Am I really so unworthy of your trust?”
“Maybe,” Chen Cebai said calmly. “Just like he said, I have thoughts about you that cannot see the light of day.”
“Don’t listen to his nonsense.” Qiu Yu responded unhappily, then immediately snapped, “You peeked at my message log!”
As soon as she finished speaking, she felt a cold breath brush against her neck. Chen Cebai lowered his head slightly, moving closer to her nape.
Qiu Yu suddenly tensed up, reaching out to grab the short, stiff strands of his hair.
His straight nose bridge brushed against the skin of her neck as he gently inhaled.
With each inhale, he exhaled an even colder breath.
Qiu Yu’s heart pounded wildly.
She felt as if she were being sniffed by a predator, momentarily frozen in place.
She didn’t know how much time had passed before Chen Cebai parted his lips and bit her neck lightly.
Faintly, she could feel his canine teeth grazing against her skin.
A shiver ran through Qiu Yu’s entire body, as if a subtle current had shot up her spine.
Yet she stubbornly said, “That’s it?”
Chen Cebai raised a hand, removed his glasses, and placed them aside, then clasped her wrists.
In the dim bedroom, the only sounds were the nearly silent hum of the central air conditioning and the distant, blurred words of holographic advertisements outside the window.
It wasn’t exactly quiet, but to Qiu Yu, the sound of a belt buckle being undone exploded like thunder in her ears.
And yet, even as the night deepened, she still didn’t understand what was so unspeakable about Chen Cebai’s thoughts.
She felt that her own thoughts were even more unspeakable.
Chen Cebai rarely made a sound, and combined with his overly steady breathing and heartbeat, the whole process felt as if he were completely unmoved.
Qiu Yu hated this feeling.
Even if she was breathless, she wanted to make him talk—if his voice wavered like hers, she would feel an inexplicable sense of satisfaction.
Qiu Yu thought that maybe… something was a little wrong with her.
She really liked Chen Cebai’s aggressiveness.
The stronger his aggression, the more decisive his grip on her jaw, the heavier the force with which he consumed her lips and tongue—the more it thrilled her.
This world was so chaotic and turbulent.
The more intense, the more overwhelming his love for her, the more it gave her a sense of security and belonging.
Like a drifting ship that could only remain stable amidst the surging waves after dropping its anchor.
Even though his body temperature was so cold, Qiu Yu felt as though she had waded through a muddy swamp all night, drenched in sweat.
She murmured, “Do you really not trust me? Even now, you still don’t want to tell me?”
Chen Cebai paused.
The sound of rustling filled the air—he seemed to have gotten up and gone to the bathroom.
Moments later, he returned with a basin of hot water and began wiping away the sweat on her forehead, neck, and back.
He did everything in silence, like a doctor carefully tending to a patient. After a long while, he suddenly said, “I liked you from a very long time ago.”
Qiu Yu was slightly stunned.
“You know why I never told you?”
Qiu Yu shook her head. Realizing that he might not see her, she was just about to speak when Chen Cebai, as if he had seen her movement, continued:
“My background was too low.”
“But—”
Chen Cebai said calmly, “I never felt ashamed of my background, but back then, I had no reason for you to choose me. You had many better options. But, Yuyu, you have to admit—right now, I am your best option.”
This was the first time Chen Cebai had ever called her by her nickname. He didn’t follow the crowd by calling her “Xiao Qiu” or “Xiao Yu,” but instead, he affectionately repeated her name.
Spoken in his clear, cool voice, it made her heart skip a beat.
“I grew up in the garbage mountains. It was originally a scrap station, but over time, as the waste accumulated, it became a mountain of trash that could never be cleared.”
Chen Cebai finished wiping her back and moved on to her feet. “From the moment I can remember, I was always moving—relocating from one end of the garbage mountain to the other. Because as the waste fermented, it produced highly flammable and explosive methane gas. After I learned to walk, my only daily task was to inspect the area for fire hazards.”
“A few years later, due to deliberate media influence, many people came to the garbage mountain to ‘hunt for treasure.’ They believed the media’s lies, thinking that the trash heaps were filled with silicon chips from the 2020s. During that time, I was forced to learn how to use a gun.”
He spoke lightly, but Qiu Yu couldn’t ignore the danger hidden within his words.
From the moment I can remember… after I learned to walk… a few years later…
At what age had he learned to use a gun?
It definitely wasn’t past seven.
Qiu Yu couldn’t help but recall what she had been doing at seven years old.
She had been traveling, horseback riding, visiting biotech cultivation centers, stroking rare beasts that ordinary people could never see in their lifetime, learning to play musical instruments, attending concerts, and receiving guidance from professional masters.
Her parents had encouraged her to learn about investment. Even though she had no knowledge of the market, they still urged her to rely on her intuition and judgment to buy stocks.
On her seventh birthday, her parents had thrown her a grand birthday party.
Back then, though she was still very young, her tall figure, proper nutrition, and superior genetics meant that when she wore a meticulously tailored gown, she already looked almost like a young woman from afar.
The guests all marveled at her precocious maturity.
And back then, where was Chen Cebai?
Qiu Yu softly asked, “And then?”
Chen Cebai said, “Then, the people from Biotech found me.”
“How did they find you?”
Chen Cebai replied indifferently, “My mother firmly believed that knowledge could change one’s fate. She also believed that prominent figures were keen on sponsoring intelligent but impoverished children to go to school. So, every day, she urged me to complete the intelligence puzzles on the last page of the newspaper and mail them to the press.”
Fortunately—or unfortunately—he answered Biotech’s test questions correctly.
When his mother heard that he had been selected by the company for special training and that she would receive a compensation payment, she immediately snatched the money and shoved him into the hands of the company’s representatives.
He didn’t blame her.
She had spent her entire life in that methane-filled, perilous, and endless garbage mountain. It was only natural that she couldn’t see the company’s malice.
Chen Cebai hid the details of the genetic modification process from Qiu Yu, only saying that he had undergone seven years of closed-off study.
In the end, he stood out among more than a thousand candidates and became Biotech’s primary sponsored individual.
He was finally able to visit his mother.
However, by the time he arrived at the ever-burning garbage mountain, he was told that his mother had long since passed away.
It turned out that she had never spent that so-called “compensation payment” at all.
Before she even made it home, she was robbed by thugs.
They shot her in the instep.
Though it wasn’t a fatal wound, in such a filthy and polluted environment, it was practically a death sentence.
She had tried to call the people from Biotech for medical help, only to find that their numbers had long since been deactivated.
In the end, she died of an infection in a shack at the deepest part of the garbage mountain.
Five years ago, when a sudden fire broke out, she was reduced to ashes along with it—her remains completely erased from existence.
After hearing about Chen Cebai’s past, Qiu Yu was speechless for a long time.
She didn’t know what to say. The vast class divide between them made it so that no matter what she said, it would feel insincere.
All she could do was tilt her head slightly and gently rub the back of his hand.
In the darkness, she felt Chen Cebai staring at her, motionless.
At the same time, the thin curtains were dyed with the glow of green, blue, and purple neon lights.
The entire bedroom became even colder and more desolate.
“Yuyu, I am not someone who belittles himself,” Chen Cebai said slowly. “Even without those seven years of ‘closed-off study,’ I have full confidence that I would have developed the neural-blocking drug on my own. The only thing that ever made me feel inferior… is you.”
Yet, despite his words, his gaze was high and commanding, carrying a dangerous sense of control.
As if—even if he felt inferior to her—he could still effortlessly dominate her.
“I’m not as good as you think I am,” his voice was chillingly calm. Perhaps because of the depth of his magnetic tone, there was a faint, maddened metallic hum hidden within it. “The real me is far more repulsive than you imagine. But sometimes, I want you to watch—watch how that repulsive version of me ruins you, until you completely break.”
The bedroom remained shrouded in complete darkness.
Because of this, Qiu Yu didn’t know that from all directions, terrifying, viscous substances were frantically writhing, multiplying, and swelling—within moments, they had covered the entire room.
Like a wolf spider weaving its nest, layer upon layer of silken secretion coated the space.
If she showed even the slightest resistance or made any motion to escape, those viscous substances would instantly transform into a dense web, descending from above to tightly bind her.