My Weak Lover Became A Weird Boss - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: We Never Reminisce About the Past; Sorry, I’m Already Marr

—Class finished?

A single, cold message sat on the chat interface.

Two hours had passed, and Pei Qingshan hadn’t received a single reply from Wen Zhu. He scrolled up boredly; the most recent chat was from the last time he went home, and before that, it was four months ago—wait.

Pei Qingshan suddenly remembered: didn’t Wen Zhu lose his phone yesterday?

No wonder he didn’t reply.

Officer Pei completed his self-rationalization and clicked off the screen.

The crimson glow of the cigarette between his lips flickered in sync with the light from the surveillance monitors reflecting on his face.

The screen was frozen on the moment Wen Zhu was tilting Zhou Sui’s chin to inspect him.

Zhou Sui was a national-level athlete with a deep tan, which created a stark contrast against the “fragile” Professor Wen.

Pei Qingshan recalled the youthful woody scent he had smelled—it actually suited that college student quite well.

However, according to Zhou Sui, that scent on the jacket was merely a fragrance accidentally sprayed on by a roommate during a job interview; he didn’t personally carry that “mating call” of a scent.

The Officer, unable to find a lead, currently felt like a big cat unable to swat away a butterfly, lying on the ground feeling entirely out of sorts.

“I’ve watched you fidget all day. What’s up? Early menopause?” Captain Li entered holding a sealed evidence bag, his words pointed. “Bringing personal emotions into work—the older you get, the more you regress.”

“You should worry about your own team of ‘useless bags’ first. Talk about regressing,” Pei Qingshan exhaled a cloud of smoke and crushed the remaining spark in the ashtray. “A few ‘Aberrations’ claiming lives and moving freely through the city… quite useless indeed.”

“…” Captain Li retorted, “How was I supposed to know those things would retreat all the way here? Who the hell expected to run into them in the city!”

Many years ago, Li Weiguang had been Pei Qingshan’s instructor.

Who would have thought that as time went by, he’d watch this kid boldly leapfrog right over him?

Before long, his health would fail, and he’d have to retire from the front lines.

At least within the system, the name “Pei Qingshan” was already known to everyone—it had even become the faith and the safety net for many officers hovering near the “Gray Line.”

Young, powerful, and decisive. No one knew where his limit was; no one even knew if he had a limit.

At least his fierce reputation, forged in mountains of corpses and seas of blood, was well-established.

As long as he was holding the front line, it was bound to be a long-awaited victory.

In the administrative zones personally designated as “The Front” by the United Nations, our species hadn’t secured a total victory in a very long time.

Thus, Pei Qingshan was essentially pushed to the very front by countless hands. They desperately needed such an indomitable spiritual figure.

“You were just a brat back then, couldn’t even reach my waist.” Feeling the weight of the atmosphere, Captain Li lit a cigarette too. “In the blink of an eye, you’re sitting in this position.”

He never imagined that the blood-stained steps would eventually be climbed by the student he raised.

“Instructor Li, we never reminisce about the past, nor do we define the future,” Pei Qingshan countered lazily without looking back. “That’s what you taught me.”

Captain Li tsked and said shamelessly, “Now I’ll teach you one more trick: if you meet a disagreeable student, beat them early. Otherwise, they might find success one day and leave you behind.”

Pei Qingshan didn’t even bother to feign humility, accepting the term “success” with total composure.

Having made their points, neither continued the topic. Pei Qingshan’s gaze drifted to the transparent sealed bag, and his brow twitched for a reason he couldn’t name. “What’s that?”

“Almost forgot the main business,” Captain Li snorted, tossing the bag onto the table. “Found it near the scene, wedged in a rock crevice. Don’t know if it’s useful.”

Pei Qingshan picked it up and examined the phone, which was smashed nearly to dust. It was a common model; if a thief swiped ten phones on the street, seven would look like this. “Can it be fixed?”

“Hard to say. The technical department said the chip inside is very special.”

“How so?” Pei Qingshan narrowed his eyes.

“Specially hard to fix.”

Pei Qingshan raised an eyebrow and held up a finger.

Li Weiguang blinked, thinking. “One month? One month might be tight…”

“One day.”

“…Keep your ‘tyrant’ act out of my precinct! Do you have any idea that’s like asking the tech department to reconstruct the entire capital city out of a single street block?!” Li Weiguang’s face turned black.

“Useless.” The tyrant replied with a sneer.

If anyone else had said that, Li Weiguang would have kicked them out the moment they opened their mouth. But it was Pei Qingshan.

Li Weiguang sneered back, “With a mouth like yours, you deserve to be single!”

“…”

“Why the silence?”

Li Weiguang watched the expression on Pei Qingshan’s face—a mix of endurance and subtle nuance—and his brow twitched violently.

“I’m already married.” Pei Qingshan delivered a major revelation in a flat tone. He tapped the desk, the silver wedding band on his finger flashing with a low-key, luxurious light. He smiled. “Instructor, it’s the seventh year.”

Captain Li’s face distorted in shock. “You managed to get a wife?”

“Sorry, for security clearance reasons, I couldn’t invite you and your wife to the wedding.” Pei Qingshan said “sorry,” but his tone made Li Weiguang grit his teeth.

“Hehe, I didn’t really want to go anyway.”

“My spouse is an ordinary person with poor health. I don’t want him coming into contact with things ‘Above the Line’.” Pei Qingshan’s expression turned cold and hard; only now did his lazy “vacation face” reveal a hint of the lethal aura he usually carried.

Li Weiguang had just recovered from the shock that the man who had topped the “Least Likely Bachelor to Marry” list for ten years was actually secretly married. Hearing those words, he sighed with a complex expression.

Setting all other factors aside, Pei Qingshan was truly the best candidate the higher-ups could find. His hatred for evil was almost radical. Anyone else might be dragged to the other side of the line by aberrations or desire, but it seemed impossible for him. Pei Qingshan’s attitude toward those “monstrous and indescribable” beings was a very simple, pure loathing.

It was mostly because the man was excessively self-centered. The look on his face usually said: A bunch of trash crawling in the dark corners, only able to live in the light by parasitizing humans—and you expect me to yield any ground to you?

Arrogant, haughty, and egoistic.

It was a stroke of luck he was born in an era that needed such an all-disregarding leader; otherwise, a man named Pei would be beaten to a pulp in any other age!

After muttering to himself, Li Weiguang patted Pei’s shoulder—words he had tirelessly told many people: “True. People like us… we have today, but maybe not tomorrow.”

Pei Qingshan was non-committal. “This case, I’m following it personally.”

“Follow my foot, this is my turf.” Captain Li snorted, still remembering the “useless bag” comment. He added slowly, “Besides, aren’t you forbidden from interfering in matters ‘Below the Line’?”

The old fogies feared his prestige on the front lines, terrified that if he got upset, he’d lead his men in a rebellion. They wanted Pei Qingshan’s claws, yet feared those claws at their own throats.

“That professor from Linjiang University who just left—he’s my spouse.” Pei Qingshan’s gaze drifted uncontrollably to the screen, focusing on that half-visible, jade-pale face. He betrayed a hidden impatience he didn’t even notice himself, his voice cold and certain: “I want this case settled as soon as possible. The sooner, the better.”

“Settle this quickly.” Wen Zhu used the last sheet of a fresh pack of wet wipes and tossed it in the trash. “Don’t associate with those people from the police station anymore.”

The gazes hidden in the dark are often the most dangerous.

“It’s not that I don’t want to settle it; they won’t let me go, will they?” Zhou Sui followed behind piteously.

Wen Zhu had an afternoon class. He had put on a pair of silver-grey framed glasses; under the sunlight, they reflected glints of light, making him look very scholarly.

Zhou Sui took a moment to secretly speculate: Maybe Professor Wen is an octopus monster. The kind whose belly is full of ink.

“Octopus?” A faint, questioning lilt.

Crap! I said it out loud!

However, Wen Zhu didn’t seem to mind. He merely gave a light chuckle, his tone like he was teasing a child: “If you’re really that curious, I could show you.”

If I see it, will I still have enough life left in me to collect my diploma?

Zhou Sui swallowed the question (which was almost certainly a ‘no’) and changed the subject: “Did you see that officer in plain clothes?”

“Which one?” Wen Zhu didn’t have a particular impression.

“One who looks,” Zhou Sui struggled for a description, “like an international mixed-race supermodel.”

“So? You have a crush on him?” Wen Zhu asked indifferently.

Zhou Sui fell into a brief silence until he noticed the professor’s gaze growing impatient. He spoke quickly: “No, he seems to be specifically in charge of catching mon… uh, catching your kind? His status looked pretty high.”

Wen Zhu was certain that “shining supermodel” figure hadn’t been in that dark interrogation room. “What did he say?”

Zhou Sui summarized the content. There was too little useful information; it was mostly the other party trying to bait him into speaking. Wen Zhu didn’t hear anything new.

“Professor, do you need to hide for a bit?” Zhou Sui rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Feels like this is turning into a big deal.”

Wen Zhu didn’t seem worried.

After all, he wasn’t like that stupid frog. He had lived here peacefully, keeping his head down, for many years.

“But you’re so powerful,” Zhou Sui thought for a moment and whispered, “You probably aren’t afraid of them anyway.”

“I have stable social ties. I don’t need to hide.”

“Huh?” Zhou Sui was genuinely shocked. “You have parents? Are they human?”

The question sounded offensive, and Zhou Sui immediately shut his mouth after asking. But Wen Zhu clearly didn’t mind: “I have a spouse.”

His spouse was a human.

Zhou Sui realized this immediately.

Whatever was going on in his pea-sized brain, he looked at Wen Zhu several times, hesitating.

“Did I sew your mouth shut?” Wen Zhu asked, annoyed by the scrutiny.

“Is it that a kind human accidentally saved your weakened life, and while repaying the favor, you fell in love with them, so you chose to give up everything and live with them in disguise?” he guessed cautiously.

In that instant, a massive amount of “non-human” literature flashed through Zhou Sui’s mind.

My Love from the Stars, The Vampire Diaries, Legend of the Blue Sea, Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio… the melody of tragic romance was already playing in 3D in his head.

Back to reality—

The handsome, intellectual professor asked with a smile: “Are you finding it hard to survive in human society too?”

Wen Zhu wore a white shirt; he had a thin waist and slender frame. His rolled-up sleeve revealed a wrist where gravity made the veins stand out—he looked incredibly fragile. Yet, in his nightmares, Zhou Sui still dreamed of that night: Wen Zhu using those long, thin arms to pull out a monster’s bloody tongue without even blinking.

Zhou Sui shut up.

Just as Zhou Sui thought Wen Zhu was ending the conversation, the professor spoke up abruptly: “You didn’t realize that night?”

“Realize what?” Zhou Sui blinked.

“Between us, there is only the relationship of predator and prey.” Wen Zhu suddenly reached out and gripped his chin, inspecting him. He said with satisfaction, “Fair skin and tender meat—you have a constitution that monsters really like.”

“…”

—So, is your spouse also a prey you are currently hunting?

Zhou Sui opened his mouth, but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

Wen Zhu’s hand was just like the man himself: seemingly thin and fragile, but the knuckles were prominent and powerful, carrying a penetrating chill, like a cold and hard bone spur.

This hair-raising sensation slid from his jaw to his neck. Wen Zhu touched the stone pendant on the red string and, with a lack of interest, tucked it back into his collar.

The icy pendant made Zhou Sui shiver.

“So, don’t disappoint me, alright?”

The monster’s thin voice echoed in his ear—it was a blatant threat.

In that instant, a powerful shudder, like rising mist, diffused from his heart. The mist carried an electrical current that permeated every cell in Zhou Sui’s body, like a mountain roar or a tidal wave.

Even on the night when he was only one step away from the Grim Reaper’s scythe, he had never felt such a thick, unnatural fear—it even transcended death itself.

Thump, thump, thump…

A faint scent of soap brushed past his nose. By the time Zhou Sui came to his senses, Wen Zhu had already walked away.

He urgently turned his head to look at the departing figure. Emotions like a world-ending cataclysm had turned into jagged burrs, scraping against his still violently pounding heart.

If Wen Zhu were still there, he would have noticed that Zhou Sui’s eyes weren’t looking strangely red because of the sunlight. Instead, they were stained with an eerie pattern—a pattern that became clearer in the shadows, expanding and contracting with excitement in his pupils to the beat of his pulse.