DMMB Chapter 2

Sheng Yan had no idea he’d already been branded with the shameful charge of “verbally seducing a law enforcer.” He just looked at the tall, lean figure under the streetlamp and thought, This guy’s got some nerve.

Aside from those few girls at school who worshipped looks as justice itself and had some extreme sense of aesthetics, who else would dote on him?

But what was he even doing here?

Like he’d known Sheng Yan would be skipping class.

And he’d even picked the perfect spot.

Sheng Yan tilted his head toward his two not-so-bright friends behind the wall.

Zhu Peng and Gou You, inside the wall, quickly shook their heads, signaling they weren’t the informants.

As if either of them would have the guts.

Sheng Yan drew back his gaze and lightly jumped down from the wall.

He landed a little closer than he’d planned—right in front of Qin Zigui. Without even looking at him, he bent down, grabbed his backpack, turned on his heel, and started to leave.

Every move dripping with provocation and contempt.

Qin Zigui, seemingly used to this kind of attitude, didn’t react. His pen kept gliding across the page as he said flatly,
“Sheng Yan, Class 6, Grade 11. Skipping class without reason, climbing over the wall to leave school. Conduct score minus five.”

Deduct the conduct points all they wanted.

Sheng Yan had never cared. He didn’t even look back.

Qin Zigui didn’t stop him either. Calmly flipping a page, he continued writing,
“Zhu Peng and Gou You, Class 6, Grade 11. Skipping class without reason, climbing over the wall to leave school, bringing phones to evening self-study…”

Sheng Yan, who had been walking away without a glance, froze in his tracks.

He turned back to Qin Zigui. “What do you mean by that?”

Qin Zigui: “Nothing.”

Sheng Yan snapped, “I climbed the wall, that’s my business. It has nothing to do with them.”

Qin Zigui didn’t deny it. “If you go back the way you came right now, then it really won’t have anything to do with them.”

Sheng Yan: “…”

A threat.

A naked threat.

He didn’t care about violating school rules himself, but Zhu Peng and Gou You would definitely get chewed out at home. Sheng Yan wasn’t the type to drag his brothers into trouble.

But bow down to Qin Zigui? That he also couldn’t do.

For a moment, Sheng Yan couldn’t decide. He didn’t want to lose momentum either, so he glared at Qin Zigui fiercely, trying to scare him.

Oh yes, terrifying.

Like a three-month-old leopard.

Qin Zigui’s eyes flicked up to appreciate the sight, then dropped lazily again.
“The duty record will be sent to the Academic Affairs Office tomorrow morning. Do as you see fit.”

Once the duty record reached the Academic Affairs Office, it would go into their student files and be used as a reference for some universities’ independent admissions scores. It wasn’t just about getting a few conduct points deducted and being scolded anymore.

On the other side of the wall, Zhu Peng and Gou You immediately started slapping the wall and wailing.

“Yan-ge! Calm down! Don’t act rashly! Think of your brothers’ lives!”

“Yeah, Yan-ge! You can beat up those idiots any time. Cool off first—come back, we’ll think this through!”

“I’m already lying on the ground ready. I swear not a single speck of mud will touch your noble shoes!”

“If your hands hurt from climbing the wall, I, Gou the Great, can offer my exclusive massage therapy!”

“Come back, Yan-ge!”

“Ge!!!”

Sheng Yan, who had been ready to fight Qin Zigui to the end, listened to their wails and fell silent.

…Seriously, no backbone at all.

But even spineless brothers were still his brothers. He’d picked them up himself, after all what could he do but take responsibility?

Still, he couldn’t just lose face.

Lifting his chin, Sheng Yan arched a brow at Qin Zigui with a wicked grin. “Fine. For Zhu Peng and Gou You’s sake, I’ll let it slide today. But there won’t be a next time. Otherwise, I’ll make sure you find out who the real boss is.”

He was about 1.8 meters tall, his features sharply handsome, with an aggressive kind of beauty. When he raised his brow, his eyes slanted upward, full of feral challenge.

Qin Zigui happened to be seven or eight centimeters taller. When he lowered his gaze to meet Sheng Yan’s eyes, the natural pressure from that height difference was obvious.

Unwilling to back down, Sheng Yan secretly rose a little on his toes, chest puffed out, trying to make himself look more imposing.

Their eyes locked—a battle about to erupt.

Then Qin Zigui said lightly, “Mm, you’re the boss.”

Sheng Yan scoffed, “Damn right I—huh?”

“You’re the boss,” Qin Zigui repeated calmly, “so climb back over.”

He closed his notebook, one hand in his pocket, watching Sheng Yan coldly, face completely expressionless.

Sheng Yan, who’d just won the “battle,” said nothing.

Damn it. Why does this feel even worse?

It was exactly like when a couple fights—when the girlfriend storms in, ready to argue for hours, but the boyfriend just tosses out a half-hearted, “You’re right.”
All that fire she built up just dies instantly, choked off by his lazy tone.

And technically, his words did sound like he was giving in, so if she kept arguing, she’d look unreasonable and petty.

Sheng Yan was suffocating with frustration.

But he couldn’t just storm off either. Zhu Peng and Gou You might be idiots, but they were still living beings.

After a long silence, he ground his teeth and sneered, “Fine. As long as you admit I’m the boss. Good boy.”

The last two words came out extra sharp, dripping with provocation and mockery.

Then he slung his bag off his shoulder, tossed it over the wall, and leapt up lightly, leaving Qin Zigui no chance to respond.

The loose hem of his black T-shirt fluttered with the motion, revealing a narrow, toned waist and a flash of pale skin marked with faint bruises—strikingly visible under the streetlight.

Qin Zigui narrowed his eyes slightly, leaned back against the lamppost, and stared at the spot where Sheng Yan had vanished, as if lost in thought.

After a moment, he tore the page he’d been writing on, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the trash. Then he turned and slowly walked away, opposite the direction of the school gate.

---

Back inside the wall, Sheng Yan’s mood was visibly foul.

Lips pressed tight, eyes cold, he strode back to the classroom without a word. He yanked out his chair, sat down, leaned back, stretched his legs, and after a long silence said, “Gou You.”

Two words, flat and chilly.

Gou You jumped like he’d been electrocuted. “W-what is it, Yan-ge?”

“Hand it over.”

Still leaning back, Sheng Yan didn’t even turn his head. He just lifted his left hand, palm open, and crooked his fingers twice.

Gou You blinked. “Hand what over?”

Expressionless, Sheng Yan said, “That book, the one where the student council president gets sold to a nightclub as a gigolo.”

Gou You: “…”

So it had come to this.

He obediently placed the thick, yellow-covered novel into Sheng Yan’s waiting hand. “The writing’s awful, no logic whatsoever but it’s ridiculously addictive.”

Whether it was addictive or not didn’t matter. What mattered was that the student council president ended up miserable.

Face blank, Sheng Yan took the book and started flipping through it.

As Gou You said, the writing was terrible—no logic at all.

At first, the underachieving protagonist was utterly pitiful, constantly bullied by that two-faced, scheming, vicious student council president.

The more Sheng Yan read, the angrier he got. His blood was boiling, and just as he reached the part where the protagonist was about to turn the tables after finding the wish system—

Someone called from behind. “Sheng Yan.”

He turned around. It was Chen Yubai, the vice class monitor and current head of the Student Council Discipline Committee.

Chen Yubai handed him a bag. “This is for you.”

Inside were a bottle of iodine, a pack of cotton swabs, and a box of bruise ointment.

Sheng Yan raised a brow. “Who sent this?”

Leaning against the doorframe, Chen Yubai said, “Let’s just say it’s from the student council spreading a little care and love.”

Since when did the student council run that kind of charity?

Suspicious, Sheng Yan was about to ask when he caught sight, out of the corner of his eye, of a kraft notebook in Chen Yubai’s other hand. On the cover were four red characters: Duty Record.

His eyebrow lifted. “Why’s that thing with you?”

Chen Yubai glanced down and raised it slightly. “This? It’s been with me the whole time.”

Sheng Yan: “?”

Hadn’t it just been in Qin Zigui’s hands?

“Qin Zigui finished checking your class’s evening self-study and gave it to me. I covered the rest of his shift, so it’s been with me. Why? Something wrong?”

Chen Yubai looked puzzled, unaware of why Sheng Yan had suddenly asked but he did notice the subtle, awkward looks exchanged between Sheng Yan and his two wall-jumping comrades.

Trying to keep calm, Sheng Yan asked, “How many duty books like that do you guys have?”

“Just one,” Chen Yubai replied casually. “It’s going to the Academic Affairs Office soon.”

Sheng Yan: “…”

So that bastard Qin Zigui—what the hell had he been pretending to write behind the wall all that time?

And that nonsense about “turning in the duty record tomorrow”?

He’d been bluffing with a fake record book the whole time?!

“Is he f*cking playing me for a fool?!”

Sheng Yan slammed his hand on the desk, shot to his feet, and strode toward the door.

Chen Yubai asked lazily, “Where are you going?”

“To Class One. To find Qin Zigui.”

Sheng Yan didn’t even look back.

Leaning against the doorway, Chen Yubai called after him, “He’s not at school.”

Sheng Yan turned around. “What?”

“He’s got information competition training,” Chen explained. “So the weasel wrote him a leave slip. Said he doesn’t have to attend evening study, he can go out whenever he wants.”

Sheng Yan: “???”

The “weasel” was their dean of students, Huang Shuliang. Because of his surname Huang (yellow) and his habit of calling the boys “little chicks,” the students gave him the nickname Huangshulang—the weasel. He was notoriously strict, especially toward Sheng Yan. Every time he saw him, it was like smoke started rising straight off his head.

But when it came to Qin Zigui, he was endlessly indulgent.

So that sly bastard, relying on the dean’s favoritism, had been threatening and bluffing him, refusing to let him skip class, only to happily wave a fake leave slip and go off wherever he pleased?!

What a devious, scheming, two-faced old snake!

Sheng Yan was furious. He grabbed an art knife off the desk and stormed out.

Gou You panicked and yanked him back around the waist. “Calm down, Yan-ge! Let’s calm down, okay? Murder won’t solve anything! Think about it—your birthday’s tomorrow! Just two more weeks till summer break! For the sake of a happy seventeen and a beautiful vacation, let’s just… endure!”

Right. Endure.

Sheng Yan took a deep breath, still clutching the knife.

If he didn’t endure now, Qin Zigui would have evidence against him and once he tattled, Madam Xu would probably enroll him in seven or eight tutoring programs. His life would be over.

So yes, endure. Until summer break. When the night is dark, the moon is high, and no one’s around… he could slit that bastard’s throat in one clean stroke.

Thinking that, Sheng Yan finally cooled down. He sat back down, opened the yellow-covered novel in front of him, and started reading calmly, reminding himself: Take a step back and the sea is wide. Swallow your anger and the storm will pass.

Chen Yubai, arching a brow like he’d just figured something out, casually walked away from the back door of Class Six.

The classroom fell quiet again, leaving only the sound of pages turning.

One page. Two pages. Three pages…

Thirty-four pages. Thirty-five. Thirty-six…

Fck, I can’t take it anymore!*

If he didn’t go find Qin Zigui and settle this right now, he was going to explode!

The more Sheng Yan thought about backing down, the more cheated he felt; the more he told himself to endure, the angrier he got until finally he stuffed everything on his desk into his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and stormed out of the classroom.

Zhu Peng and Gou You didn’t even have time to react, they just watched helplessly as he vanished down the hallway.

With his long legs, Sheng Yan moved fast. He scaled the wall with practiced ease, crossed a tree-lined street, and headed straight for a high-end residential complex.

He’d been spoiled since childhood, with zero survival skills, so his mother, Madam Xu, had sold their old house across the river and bought a luxurious duplex near the school, just to keep a closer eye on him.

Qin Zigui’s mother had passed away early, and he’d grown up under the care of his aunt and uncle, who happened to be close friends with Sheng Yan’s mother. They’d been neighbors forever, went to the same school, and when Sheng Yan’s family moved, Qin’s aunt moved with them.

Same floor. Two apartments. Door to door.
Knock down the wall between them, and they’d practically be one household.

Sheng Yan used to think it was convenient.
Later, he thought it was annoying.
Now—he thought it was convenient again.

Because right now, he could go home early and block Qin Zigui’s escape route, leaving him nowhere to run.

He wasn’t leaving tonight until he got answers
How did Qin Zigui know he’d skip class?
How did he know when and where he’d do it?
And why did he bother waiting outside the school just to threaten and deceive him?

If Sheng Yan didn’t get those answers, he’d write his own name backward!

Standing in the elevator, the more he thought about it, the angrier he got. There was no way he was losing this round.

So he faced the elevator’s shiny doors, fixing his hair and posture, chin up, eyes narrowed experimenting with angles to find the most intimidating expression.

Left face, tilted twenty degrees. Chin raised thirty. Brow arched. Lips curled in a smirk—half smile, half sneer. His gaze mixed three parts coldness, three parts mockery, and four parts indifference. Then, just for effect, he pinched his nonexistent tie, loosened it, and let out a low, disdainful, “Heh… men.”

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open.

And there stood Qin Zigui, hands in his pockets, brow slightly raised.

Their eyes met.

Five seconds of silence.

Then the doors slowly closed again.

Sheng Yan, frozen mid–chin lift: “…”

If he killed Qin Zigui right now—
would it count as self-defense?

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