A Bittersweet Love Story with a Scumbag's Downfall

Why can't I think of an artsy title!

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When he saw Zhu Xueji again, the young master who once had silk soles on his shoes, lived in luxury, and indulged every whim was now singing on the street. Bandages wrapped his long, beautiful fingers.

Someone requested a song. Blood seeped through the bandages, but he lowered his eyes, his expression unchanged. His long lashes curled softly, and his voice remained clear and pure, just as it had always been.

*

A new big shot had arrived in Jiangcheng. Rumor had it he was there for revenge.

Seven years ago, he had left Jiangcheng in disgrace. Now he had returned to settle the score with the Zhu family's young master, his family's sworn enemy, who had long since fallen into ruin and lost his once-spoiled air.

*

The big shot knelt in the rain. The drains in the old apartment complex were in terrible shape, and before long the water had risen above his knees.

His suit trousers blended into the puddles. His distinguished shoulders and back remained perfectly straight, his posture impeccable as he knelt. But unlike the leads in a romantic drama gazing at each other through the rain, he had no scheme to play the victim, and there was no smug joy in proving he was loved.

Zhang Mingxiao saw the curtains twitch in the distance. He shuffled a few steps on his knees and knelt in a spot hidden from the upstairs windows.

"He's softhearted. He can't see me being punished, or he'll be upset again. If I'm here, then, it has to mean something."

[Being punished is my own choice, not a way to make him forgive me.]

The theater rang with a flowing melody. Moonlight streamed like silk, but by the time it reached backstage, only a muffled tune remained. The strings of the violin worth tens of millions snapped, giving a brief, sharp twang.

Zhu Xueji's features were as beautiful as a painting, yet he was as cold as mist on a mirror. Not a trace of the discomposure one might expect after smashing something showed on his face.

"I did it on purpose."

"I know."

Zhang Mingxiao didn't spare the violin a glance. He knelt on one knee, focused on the slender ankle before him.

The hand that signed contracts so meticulously rolled up Zhu Xueji's trouser leg just as carefully. He even kept the tremor out of his voice. "That violin holds our memories. If you don't want it, that's fine. We can start over."

"I don't want you anymore."

Zhu Xueji spoke each word distinctly. "I don't want the violin or you."

[In the end, through the long, unbearable depths of winter, he could only save himself before he saw even a glimmer of light.]

Outside the executive office, an assistant tactfully urged him to hurry. The shareholders were still waiting next door.

Inside, mist clouded the eyes of the pale, slender young man. His limpid eyes narrowed lazily.

He was on the phone, chatting at an unhurried pace. The hand resting on the man's head gradually went slack. His glassy catlike eyes grew unfocused, and his voice weakened.

The man lifted his head. He was the new big shot everyone had been yearning for lately.

His thin, restrained lips were already flushed red. His gaze fixed hungrily on Zhu Xueji as he swallowed the musk and rinsed his mouth with water. Still kneeling, he leaned forward and kissed the corner of Zhu Xueji's lips.

Zhu Xueji frowned and pushed him away with the sole of his shoe against the man's stomach. "That's not part of the friends-with-benefits deal."

"I have another job," he said irritably. "You're wasting too much of my time."

'You little brat, taking your pants back and pretending nothing happened.'

The man cursed inwardly, then coldly answered the assistant's urging from outside. His long, narrow eyes lowered as he gently cupped the young man's ankle. "At least change your trousers before you go. I'll drive you."

Bittersweet, not pure fluff

Younger top, seven-year age gap

Theme: Tomorrow will be better.