Chapter 37

By the time Duan Baisui got home around eight, Zuo Nian had reheated all the dishes.
Spring rain pattered down outside. Damp and chilly, Duan Baisui stepped into the foyer still carrying the night’s chill on his coat. At once, Zuo Nian came hurrying over, worry written all over his face. “Gege, have you eaten? What did they say? Did they hit you?” he asked in a rush.
Loosening his tie, Duan Baisui bent to hug him. “I haven’t eaten yet. I was only there to cooperate with the investigation. Why would anyone hit me? And I’ve never been to that place.”
“I know you haven’t. I believe you. You’re not that kind of person,” Zuo Nian said earnestly.
Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Duan Baisui murmured, “As long as you trust me. I was really afraid you’d doubt me.”
“Nian‑nian’s not a fool. How could I doubt you about something like this?” Zuo Nian cupped his face in both hands. “You’re the very, very best Alpha in the whole world. You helped Director Mama rebuild the orphanage. You support so many poor students. Someone that kind couldn’t possibly hurt children.”
“Mm.” Duan Baisui turned his head to kiss his palm. “Hurting you for a lifetime is plenty for me.”
Zuo Nian let out a soft “hehe.” “Nian‑nian *likes* being bullied by Gege.”
“Idiot,” Duan Baisui sighed.
“We agreed—you wouldn’t call me an idiot anymore~” Zuo Nian pouted.
“Then I’m the idiot,” Duan Baisui corrected.
Zuo Nian leaned in and kissed him. “Gege isn’t an idiot either. The ones framing you are.”
This time, Duan Baisui’s smile reached his eyes.
“Come on, let’s eat,” Zuo Nian said. “Nian‑nian cooked today. Aunt Liu helped me, and we made *lots* of dishes. All your favorites~”
“Mm.”
On his way home, his assistant had urged him not to look at the internet.
He’d already seen everything.
He’d grown up a golden child—praised, admired, his life smooth and straight. He’d hardly stumbled once.
Now, a few tossed‑off accusations from Rong Jin had dragged him into a cesspool.
Years in the entertainment world had taught him one thing: most people didn’t need evidence.
Sometimes they didn’t even need to know what had actually happened. They would still follow the crowd and throw the filthiest words they knew.
He wasn’t someone with a fragile psyche. But this time, reading those comments, even he had felt… unwell.
Duan Yan and Xu Yi had both called. Ason and Zuo Jun had, too. Even Zhou Xu had unexpectedly posted a long, sincere Weibo defending him.
There were still many, many people who loved him.
Before he’d come home, he’d been most afraid that the news would hurt Zuo Nian—that his little fool would see the manipulated photos and panic.
But his silly Omega had believed him without question, as always.
That was enough.
No one’s life was smooth from start to finish.
After dinner, he carried Zuo Nian into the bath with him.
They were used to sharing everything now. Zuo Nian didn’t shy away; he quickly stripped, leaving himself bare as he bent to test the water. Two sharp smacks landed on his backside.
He straightened with a yelp. “Gege! Nian‑nian’s mad at you!”
Scooping him up, Duan Baisui stepped into the tub, kissing his ear. “I’m so scared,” he murmured.
There was nothing remotely frightened about his face.
Zuo Nian reached back and pinched his cheek in revenge. Out of habit, Duan Baisui turned his head to kiss his wrist—then froze.
“What happened to your hand?” he asked.
On skin as pale as his, the dark bruise stood out starkly.
“Ah, that… that’s nothing. I just slipped and fell,” Zuo Nian said quickly, covering his wrist and refusing to meet his eyes.
“Baby, you’re terrible at lying,” Duan Baisui said softly. “Tell me the truth, or I’ll check your shop’s security footage on your phone.”
He took Zuo Nian’s chin and gently tilted his face up.
For a long moment, Zuo Nian only bit his lip. At last he whispered, “I just… didn’t want to listen to people talking nonsense about you…”
Haltingly, he explained what had happened that afternoon—skipping over the worst of it, lingering more on the girl who’d stepped in. “She was really nice,” he said. “She said she’d come back and support my shop…”
Duan Baisui watched him in silence, face gone cold.
Uneasy, Zuo Nian tried to joke it off. Rubbing his thumbs over Duan Baisui’s cheeks, he drew out the words in a playful whine. “Anyway, I hit them first. I was super fierce. They must have eaten a mouthful of dust. Once they’ve seen how scary I am, they definitely won’t dare come back.”
“They were *two* Alphas,” Duan Baisui said. His tone was flat, but the fury beneath it was unmistakable. “If that girl hadn’t been there today, what would you have done? Do you have any idea how badly you could have been hurt?”
“I’m not afraid of them,” Zuo Nian said stubbornly. “I fought them in high school too. I won then as well. Hmph.”
“They hit you in high school too?” Duan Baisui’s frown deepened.
“We both hit,” Zuo Nian amended quickly. “It was a fight. I was fine. I can protect myself. Don’t worry, Gege.” Leaning in, he peppered light kisses over his eyelids and lips, trying to distract him.
“What’s his name?” Duan Baisui asked.
“I told you last time. Liu Gong. Just ignore him. I’ve always hated—”
Later, after their bath, they lay down.
Worn out from so many nights of “exercise,” Zuo Nian fell asleep early. Once his breathing had evened out, Duan Baisui took his phone and stepped out onto the balcony.
He lit a cigarette. He only smoked when something weighed heavily on him.
Tapping into the shop’s cloud storage, he dragged the progress bar along until he found the clip from that afternoon—the two men walking into the store.
The camera had caught their faces clearly.
He snapped a screenshot.
Online, the wind had shifted again.
The police had obtained the system credentials from Yue Chengqi. Inside, they’d found a thorough membership list: names, occupations, high‑resolution facial images collected for access control—everything the investigators needed.
As more and more men were called in and quietly disappeared into custody, one person had notably not joined them.
Duan Baisui.
He’d returned to work as usual, showing up in public as if nothing had happened.
The rumor mill spun faster.
Some said the “princeling’s” powerful family had protected him—that Yue Chengqi had scrubbed his records long ago, leaving nothing for the police to find.
Others swore he *had* gone to Freedom Island, but only to take his own artists there, never touching anything himself. Without hard evidence, he’d slipped through the net.
A smaller group wondered if Rong Jin had lied—after all, in the whole mess with Ju Xiao, Duan Baisui had backed the newcomer and dropped the moneymaking star without a second thought. Dragging him down now would fit Rong Jin’s twisted personality perfectly.
Amid the noise, Xingyu released an official statement.
They made it clear that Duan Baisui had never been to the island, nor had he ever taken any artist there; that he had always fully cooperated with the authorities; and that the company would pursue anyone who insulted or defamed him to the fullest extent of the law.
Then the man from that blurry photo spoke up.
He posted the original, high‑resolution image: himself and his two daughters, smiling at the camera on her birthday. Someone had cropped, blurred, and repackaged it as “evidence.” He and his family had suffered for it, and he, too, would be suing the first account that had spread the lie.
The tide began, slowly, to turn.
People who’d been screaming abuse not long ago finally calmed down a little.
Maybe, they thought, they should wait and see.
Just then, a recording surfaced—released by none other than Rong Jin’s former agent, Hu Chun.
In the audio, a man’s voice slurred with drink: “That slut Ju Xiao… he thinks he can dump me just because he climbed into Duan Baisui’s bed? Over my dead body. If I go down, those two are coming with me.”
Hu Chun’s voice followed, exasperated. “You’re drunk again, Rong Jin.”
“They’ve been hooking up for ages, haven’t they?” Rong Jin snarled. “You knew too, right? No wonder he dares ignore me. Ignore my calls. How dare he? He’s just a Beta. Duan Baisui will get sick of him sooner or later. I’m the only one who *really* loves him.”
“If you keep this up, you’re going to end up in prison,” Hu Chun warned. “Leave him alone.”
Rong Jin laughed. “Even if I do go in, I’ll drag Duan Baisui down with me. He touched what’s *mine*…”
In just a few minutes, his intentions were laid bare.
He’d paraded his “love” for Ju Xiao online and been met with a wall of silence. Unwilling to accept it, he’d changed numbers again and again to harass him.
When the rejections kept coming, he’d turned his rage on Duan Baisui instead.
In a long Weibo post, Hu Chun explained that the Rong and Yue families had business dealings. It had been Yue’s eldest son who’d taken Rong Jin to the island. It had nothing whatsoever to do with Duan Baisui.
He’d been by Rong Jin’s side since his debut. He knew exactly where they’d been and with whom. And he had more evidence, he said, proving that Rong Jin had deliberately tried to drag Duan Baisui down.
In the uproar that followed, the police released an official notice: the charges against “Mr. Rong” for assaulting underage Omegas had been confirmed. He had also attempted to falsify his statement.
He was now formally in custody.
The filth thrown on Duan Baisui’s head was finally being washed away.
But now, everyone’s attention had shifted to something else:
His relationship with Ju Xiao.
One wave had barely begun to settle before the next rose up.
That evening, just as he stepped out of the office, Duan Baisui’s phone buzzed.
“President Duan,” a voice said. “They’ve gone to Boss Lu’s bar.”
His steps paused. “Got it,” he said.
Nightlife in City A was all neon and excess. Even late at night, the streets were thick with traffic, and fashionable men and women poured out to chase the dark.
On the city’s busiest club street, a new bar was throwing its grand opening. Flower stands lined the entrance, seven or eight deep. The parking area was a display of high‑end cars, testament to the night’s success.
Inside, spotlights strobed over the crowd. The bassline pounded through the floor, shaking loose shouts and laughter from the dance floor.
Liu Gong was a little drunk.
Tonight was a friend’s birthday. The party had been booked here. That friend had connections—he was the nephew of the bar’s owner. The manager had come personally to pour his uncle a drink, all smiles and bows. Liu Gong had basked in the reflected glow, his own arrogance rising with every glass.
On his way to the bathroom, he bumped shoulders with a man. The drink in the man’s hand sloshed all over Liu Gong’s clothes.
Already flushed with alcohol and emboldened by his borrowed status, Liu Gong grabbed the man by the collar and snarled, “Watch where you’re going, you blind dog.”
The man smiled pleasantly. His tone, however, was cool. “I’m very sorry, sir. But you ran into me first. I can send your jacket to be dry‑cleaned. Will that do?”
“Dry‑cleaned? It’s ruined!” Liu Gong shouted.
“Then I’ll buy you a new one,” the man said peaceably.
“This is couture. Can you even afford it?”
In truth, it was an ordinary jacket that cost less than five hundred yuan. But the man in front of him was plainly dressed and looked easy to push around. Liu Gong decided he might as well try to fleece him.
“It doesn’t *look* couture,” the man said mildly. “They sell the same thing all over the internet.”
“Trying to weasel out of it, huh?” Liu Gong narrowed his eyes.
Security quickly noticed the disturbance and alerted the manager. With so many VIPs in the house tonight, they didn’t dare wade in carelessly.
The manager recognized Liu Gong at a glance. “Mr. Liu, what’s happened?” he asked, all courtesy. “Why are you so upset?”
Liu Gong puffed up. “This idiot spilled his drink all over me and ruined my clothes. Now he doesn’t want to pay.”
“It’s our opening night. Let’s not spoil the mood,” the manager said smoothly. “Why don’t we step outside and talk?”
The man’s smile never slipped. “I didn’t bring much cash,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me to my table, and I’ll have my friend give it to you?”
“Mr. Liu?” the manager asked. “Would that be acceptable?”
Liu Gong was no fool. “Fine,” he said. “But you’re coming too. I don’t want any confusion later.”
The private booth was dim. Unlike the other tables, which roared with drinking games and shouted toasts, this one sat far from the stage, quiet and subdued. The people inside were nursing their drinks in silence.
The moment Liu Gong stepped in, two burly men pinned him to the floor.
“What—what are you doing? Do you know who my friend is—” he began to snarl.
The words died on his tongue.
Sitting in the center of the booth was a young man with a cold face, long legs crossed, radiating the kind of quiet authority that made you straighten up without thinking.
The alcohol drained from Liu Gong’s veins in an instant.
He recognized him.
The “fool’s” husband.
Taizi‑ye himself.
“Is this the one?” the man in the dark suit beside Duan Baisui asked.
The man who’d “spilled” his drink smoothed his coat and settled back at Duan Baisui’s side. “Pretty sure I didn’t grab the wrong person,” he said.
Smoke curled from between Duan Baisui’s lips. “You didn’t,” he said.
“M‑my friend… he’s just outside…” Liu Gong stammered. “Whatever this is, it doesn’t have to—”
“Your nephew makes interesting friends,” Duan Baisui said idly to the suited man.
The man—Boss Lu—waved at the manager, who hurried over at once. “Boss,” he said respectfully.
Boss?
Liu Gong felt the floor fall out from under him.
“Tell that little brat to get in here. Now,” Boss Lu said.
Cold sweat rolled down Liu Gong’s back.
He understood perfectly.
Taizi‑ye hadn’t come for some random drunk in a bar.
He’d come for *him*.
Soon, his birthday‑boy “friend” was dragged into the booth.
He skittered a look at Liu Gong, then at the man on the sofa. “U‑uncle,” he said meekly.
“This is your friend?” Boss Lu asked, pointing at Liu Gong.
“W‑well… not really,” the young man said at once. “We just… played games together. Had a few meals. That’s all.”
Faced with this scene, he couldn’t disown Liu Gong fast enough.
Leaning forward, Duan Baisui stubbed out his cigarette. “In that case,” he said pleasantly, “I don’t have to be polite on your account.”
“What did he do, Brother Duan?” Boss Lu’s nephew, Lu Congran, asked.
Duan Baisui gestured to his friend in the trench coat. “Gave my friend a hard time,” he said.
He paused. The air in the booth seemed to drop a degree.
“And,” he added, voice going ice‑cold, “he hit my wife.”
Lu Congran snapped his mouth shut.
Whatever plea he’d been about to make shriveled on his tongue.
Boss Lu barked, “You. Get out. Go home and tell your parents I’m going to beat you to death.”
Lu Congran slunk away without another word.
The two men holding Liu Gong were waiting for instructions.
“Left hand,” Duan Baisui said lightly.