Sickly Bigshot CH 10 Unintentional Landmines
Translated by The BL Muse (ko-fi)
Shi Zhou tentatively asked, "Hey, Qin Yancheng, do you have asthma?"
Qin Yancheng remained silent.
Shi Zhou guessed that Qin Yancheng probably belonged to the category of people who had asthma in childhood but gradually outgrew it with age. Statistically, the chance of recurrence was low—but when fate’s gears turned, even the slightest possibility would ensure it killed him.
"Do you usually carry medication? You’re completely empty-handed—that’s dangerous. There’s a pharmacy over there. Driver, could you pull over for a sec?"
Qin Yancheng finally spoke, tersely, "Unnecessary."
Shi Zhou couldn’t exactly play the prophet and announce Qin Yancheng’s impending death from this illness. He could only say, "I know you probably haven’t had an attack in years, but better safe than sorry. You’re treating your health so carelessly—what if you—"
Qin Yancheng slowly turned his head, his gaze locking onto Shi Zhou’s. His eyes darkened unnervingly, as if a switch had flipped. A chilling, predatory intensity radiated from him, like a leopard zeroing in on prey. The temperature in the car seemed to plummet.
Shi Zhou’s heart skipped a beat. What kind of reaction is this?!
Sure, some people avoided medical topics, but this was extreme.
In their few interactions so far, Qin Yancheng had always been detached and mild-mannered, lulling Shi Zhou into forgetting that it was all a facade—one that couldn’t mask the fact that he was, at his core, unhinged.
Only now did Shi Zhou realize how close he’d been dancing to danger without realizing it.
Qin Yancheng enunciated each word with icy precision. "I. Am. Not. Sick."
Shi Zhou shuddered under that feral, venomous stare. He couldn’t pinpoint which part of his concern had triggered this outburst, but arguing with a madman was pointless. He backpedaled immediately. "Right, right, not sick. Just making conversation! No illness here."
Qin Yancheng lowered his eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned back against the seat as if nothing had happened.
He seemed to know Shi Zhou had nowhere else to go. Without further comment, he let Shi Zhou follow him inside.
Last time, drunk and shameless, Shi Zhou had demanded to steal his bed. But sober, Shi Zhou had manners—he knew guests didn’t commandeer their host’s room.
Aunt Zhang, seeing him again, didn’t bat an eye. She even asked why she hadn’t seen him in days and when he’d move his belongings over, treating him like the "official wife."
It wasn’t surprising everyone assumed this. Qin Yancheng was twenty-six—tall, handsome, wealthy, powerful—yet in all these years, there was no one, male or female, to ever accompany him. Shi Zhou’s appearance was like a rose blooming on an iron tree—unexpected and thrilling.
Fresh from his shower, Qin Yancheng found Shi Zhou still glued to his phone, though the little alligator in his game was now drenched in haphazard purple liquid—its player oblivious, too busy stealing lustful glances at Qin Yancheng.
Qin Yancheng’s damp hair dripped onto his shoulders, hastily towel-dried. As he raised his arm, the collar of his white robe loosened, revealing glimpses of lean, defined abs. His arms, too, were sculpted—not bulky but aesthetically pleasing.
Shi Zhou hadn’t expected someone so tall and slender to be so well-built. Clearly, Qin Yancheng was disciplined about fitness.
Last time, Qin Yancheng hadn’t questioned Shi Zhou about the "stand-in" situation. Now, he seemed suddenly interested. "What’s your relationship with Zheng Qi?"
Shi Zhou seized the chance to look openly, shaking his head emphatically. "None whatsoever!"
Qin Yancheng smirked coldly. "Then who told you to grow out your hair and wear a high ponytail?"
Caught red-handed, even Shi Zhou—thick-skinned as he was—felt awkward facing the original. His toes curled invisibly, but he feigned innocence, earnest and clueless. "It’s called fashion. Long hair stands out. My fans love it."
Qin Yancheng: "Do you love it?"
"I—love it!" Shi Zhou touched his hair, realizing it was still in the twin tails from earlier. He pulled out the bands, letting the thick locks cascade down.
Qin Yancheng said nothing more, turning to leave for his room.
Shi Zhou suddenly sprang up, snatching the towel from Qin Yancheng’s hands and pulling him onto the couch. "Beauty, you’ll catch cold with wet hair. Here, let me dry it for you."
Qin Yancheng seemed about to push him away, his hand lifting slightly—but in the end, he didn’t resist.
Shi Zhou’s fingers threaded through Qin Yancheng’s hair, brushing his scalp. A faint, warm tingle spread through him—an odd sensation, likely because no one had ever been this physically close before.
Shi Zhou’s movements were clumsy—clearly his first time playing servant. The young master had never waited on anyone.
After a while, Shi Zhou cleared his throat, adopting a playful tone. "So, beauty, how’s the service?"
Qin Yancheng stayed silent.
"Give me a good review, and I’ll cash it in for a favor, okay?" Not waiting for an answer, he barreled on, "Here’s the thing—I need to grab my stuff from Zheng Qi’s place. Especially my ID and household register book..."
He paused, then declared with exaggerated gravity. "The world’s a scary place, and I’m just a baby. Wouldn't you agree?"
Qin Yancheng wordlessly took back the towel and shooed him off to bed.
With the guest room now properly furnished, Shi Zhou didn’t have to sleep on the sofa. Lying in bed, he replayed Qin Yancheng’s microexpressions earlier. Could he have actually thought I genuinely cared about him sleeping with wet hair?
As if! Shi Zhou was a spoiled brat who’d never lifted a finger. He wouldn’t fawn over someone just because they were pretty.
The next morning, Shi Zhou burrowed deeper into the blankets, squinting against the light. Through his drowsiness, he saw Qin Yancheng enter and place a set of new clothes—innerwear included—by the bedside. Trying them on, he found the fit perfect. Clearly bought just for him. Qin Yancheng was surprisingly considerate.
The dining table was already set. Drawn by the aroma, Shi Zhou shuffled down in slippers.
Qin Yancheng sat reading documents, posture impeccable as always. Morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, softening his features. His slightly overgrown bangs fell casually over his forehead, and the deep blue loungewear added to his serene aura.
—Like a masterpiece painting.
Hearing footsteps, he glanced up, surveying Shi Zhou’s outfit before stating, "I can take you to pack your things today."
Shi Zhou nearly cheered but restrained himself, replying with dignity. "How gracious of you, President Qin."
He’d planned to ask Qin Yancheng to send someone—preferably a bodyguard to shield him from Zheng Qi’s wrath. Never expected Qin Yancheng himself to volunteer.
With Qin Yancheng present, retrieving his belongings and documents would be a breeze.
They soon went down to the garage which resembled a luxury car exhibition. Anyone else might’ve been dazzled by this display of "money power," but Shi Zhou came from comparable wealth. The model to the left? His brother had gifted it for his birthday. The one beside it? Bought with his allowance.
Qin Yancheng headed for a black Evija—eye-catching and sleek, rivaling the rainbow Bugatti Shi Zhou had died in.
"Tsk, look at these rides. Who knew you had such flair? I pegged you as the conservative type."
Qin Yancheng slid into the driver’s seat, donning sunglasses. Deadpan, he asked, "I’m twenty-six, not sixty-two. Should I be driving a Lincoln Town Car?"
Shi Zhou burst out laughing.
Qin Yancheng drove smoothly. Lost in thought, Shi Zhou plotted his next steps. Before dying, he’d had one regret: never becoming an actor.
He’d graduated top of his class from the National Film Academy, expecting to live as a carefree rich kid chasing stardom—until his brother’s sudden death forced him into the family business, taking up Shi Li's burden.
Now, this body's original host was an actor too—except with zero talent or passion, only in it for the money.
The irony. Born into wealth, a natural performer robbed of his dream because of money. Meanwhile, this impoverished, untalented nobody had to enter the industry for the same reason.
"Hey, what if no one’s home?" Shi Zhou asked as they stood by the elevator.
"They will be." Qin Yancheng had already had Secretary Bai notify Zheng Qi. "Which floor?"
Shi Zhou opened his mouth—then froze, blinking blankly at Qin Yancheng.
Qin Yancheng frowned, as baffled as when Shi Zhou had lifted his skirt to check his gender.
Ten minutes later, with the property manager’s help, they found the right door.
"Shi Zhou, just what is your relationship with him?"
Shi Zhou stuck to his guns. "Absolutely nothing!"
Qin Yancheng, unconvinced, knocked.
Zheng Qi opened the door, his expression faltering at the sight of Qin Yancheng. Clearly, he hadn’t expected the man in person.
"President... Qin."
"Mnn. Shi Zhou, pack your things." Qin Yancheng’s face gave nothing away. Unable to gauge his mood, Zheng Qi could only step aside respectfully.
Entering, Shi Zhou spotted Song Duannian—and the atmosphere instantly congealed.
To make room for Song Duannian, Zheng Qi had already had Shi Zhou’s belongings packed and ready to go.
Surveying "his" room—now occupied by another—Shi Zhou couldn’t fathom why Song Duannian would cling to this toxic relationship, with a man who had cuckolded him the whole time.
Zheng Qi had leaked explicit photos to cost Song Duannian his job. That alone deserved a knife to the gut—or at least lifelong enmity. Yet here Song Duannian was living with him, fully aware of Shi Zhou’s existence. What kind of delusion or lie kept him here?
Putting himself in Song Duannian’s shoes—sleeping in his lover's almost-ex’s bed, surrounded by remnants of that relationship—how wasn’t he disgusted?
If he wasn’t, Shi Zhou was disgusted for him. Reading the novel, he’d nearly rage-quit, wanting to kick the scumbag male lead to death and shake some sense into Song Duannian. Love shouldn’t eclipse self-respect—especially with worse horrors awaiting him. A lawless bastard like Zheng Qi had no limits.
The written version had been infuriating enough. Witnessing it firsthand made Shi Zhou’s blood boil.
But with Qin Yancheng here, Zheng Qi wouldn’t dare act out.
So Shi Zhou, mischief stirring, decided to push his luck.
Right in front of Song Duannian, he walked toward Zheng Qi with a lovesick gaze—