"Dad, I'm your own son. You can't just stand by and watch me die."
He had helped him before, and rescued him from danger every time. But he also gradually gave up hope on this son after repeated disappointments.
"let go!"
The housekeeper scolded.
But Zhao Pingchi refused to let go, instead pulling even harder at the housekeeper's clothes. The force was so strong that Zhao Chengshu frowned.
"Come with me," he said.
Zhao Chengshu didn't move.
"I said, come with me!" Zhao Pingchi pulled hard, almost dragging his father into the alley next to him.
The alley was narrow, its walls so high they blocked out most of the sky. Sewage pooled on the ground, making a sticky sound when stepped on. In the corner lay a few moldy cardboard boxes. A rat scurried past and disappeared into the darkness.
Zhao Pingchi pushed his father against the wall.
The butler's back hit the hard bricks, and he groaned in pain. That's when Zhao Pingchi's fist swung. It was so fast that Zhao Chengshu didn't even have time to close his eyes.
The blow hit him in the face with such force that his head jerked sideways. His mouth immediately tasted of rust, and something loosened, possibly a tooth.
The butler was hunched over, his rough fingers tightly gripping his torn collar, and blood was oozing from the corners of his mouth.
Zhao Pingchi was pulling his hair and slamming him against the wall with a sly grin.
"Old man, do you think the Ye family really treats you as a human being? You are just a—"
"Bang!"
A black shadow suddenly hit Zhao Pingchi on the back of the head.
Zhao Pingchi let go in pain and turned around to see a figure standing against the light at the entrance of the alley.
The sound of leather shoes stepping through the puddles was light, but it was like a sharp knife, abruptly cutting through the violence in the alley.
Zhao Pingchi turned back impatiently and cursed, "What are you looking at? Get away!"
The man didn't move.
Against the backlight, only a slender silhouette could be discerned—a neatly cut black uniform jacket, shoulders so straight they were almost sharp. The cuffs revealed a cold, pale wrist, its wristbone protruding. A dark silver mechanical watch was loosely fastened to it, its dial gleaming faintly in the dim light.
The backpack was made of custom-made cowhide, hung on one shoulder, with the strap pressing against the uniform without even a wrinkle.
Zhao Pingchi squinted his eyes, trying to see the other person's face clearly, but the street lights at the entrance of the alley flickered, casting only a blurry reflection on the man's lenses, covering his eyes.
The next second, the man took a step forward.
The light finally fell obliquely on his face.
———Ye Qingliu.
The young master of the Ye family, seventeen years old, in his second year of high school.
His skin was very fair, but not sickly pale, but rather a pampered, almost jade-like texture. He had high brow bones, a straight nose, and a clean, sharp jawline, as if it had been drawn with a single stroke of a pen.
His lips were very pale, and when he pursed his lips, you could hardly see any blood. Only the corners of his mouth were slightly depressed, revealing a barely perceptible coldness.
The gray-blue eyes behind the lenses were like two bottomless pools of cold water, so calm that it was frightening.
Zhao Pingchi felt his throat tighten inexplicably.
Ye Qingliu raised his hand and took off his glasses.
His fingers were long and slender, with distinct joints, and his nails were trimmed neatly and smoothly, with even his fingertips exuding an almost demanding sense of neatness.
Ye Qingliu took out a dark blue velvet handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped the lens with his movements as graceful as if he was wiping a piece of art.
He wiped his lenses clean and put them back on before looking up at Zhao Pingchi.
The heavy Oxford dictionary that had been thrown at me just now was now lying in the sewage, with its pages spread out.
"Young Master Ye, Young Master Ye..." Zhao Pingchi's arrogance instantly waned and he subconsciously let go of Zhao Chengshu.
Ye Qingliu didn't look at him.
His eyes fell on Zhao Chengshu. The old man had a purple forehead and his uniform was torn to pieces, but he still managed to force a soothing smile at him: "Master, are you out of school? I... I'm fine."
Ye Qingliu's breathing paused for a moment.
He walked over, his leather shoes stepping through the puddles, and the sound of his footsteps was particularly clear in the alley.
Zhao Pingchi wanted to step back, but the boy's gaze pinned him to the spot.
Zhao Pingchi smiled ingratiatingly: "Hey, Dad, your master is here to save you?"
Ye Qingliu ignored him and just took out a black card from his wallet, pinched it between two fingers, and flicked it lightly.
The card drew a neat arc in the air and landed at Zhao Pingchi's feet with a "pop".
"The password is six eights." Ye Qingliu said, his voice as calm as if he was discussing today's weather. "It will be enough to keep you going for a while."
Zhao Pingchi was stunned for a moment, then bent down to pick up the card, looking at it over and over again, his eyes changing from suspicion to ecstasy.
Ye Qingliu looked at him and suddenly smiled.
The smile was very shallow, just a slight curl at the corners of the lips, but there was no warmth in the eyes.
"Take the money and get out of here." He paused, his voice as soft as if he were discussing the weather. "If you touch Butler Zhao again, I won't let you even be able to spend this card."
Zhao Pingchi's expression froze.
Ye Qingliu didn't even give him a glance, but turned around and held Zhao Chengshu's arm.
The butler's hands were shaking.
Ye Qingliu tightened his fingertips slightly, but his voice was very soft: "Does it hurt?"
The housekeeper shook his head, his cloudy eyes reflecting the boy's tense profile. He was too familiar with this expression - when Ye Qingliu was awakened by a nightmare as a child, he would purse his lips in the same way, stubbornly refusing to express fear.
"It's really okay..." Zhao Chengshu wanted to pat his shoulder, but it moved the wound and he gasped.
Ye Qingliu's eyes darkened.
He suddenly took off his glasses and gently wiped the blood off the old man's face with his sleeve. This action stunned Zhao Chengshu - the young master hated physical contact since he was a child, and even the servants in the old house had to use a tray to serve tea.
"Young Master..."
"Don't move." Ye Qingliu interrupted him, carefully avoiding the bruises with his fingertips, "Where's the chestnut cake?"
Zhao Chengshu then remembered something and hurriedly took out the chestnut cake from his arms.
He also remembered that when he was twelve years old and had a high fever, Uncle Zhao carried him across three blocks to the hospital. He fell on the way, but he protected him so well that not even a corner of his clothes got dirty.
Ye Qingliu suddenly clenched the paper bag.
"Grandpa Butler." His voice was hoarse. "Don't do this next time."
Zhao Chengshu smiled and nodded, but the boy stuffed the chestnut cake back into his hand and said, "Eat it."
Before the old man could refuse, Ye Qingliu had already put his glasses back on and turned away. The setting sun stretched his shadow very long. Zhao Chengshu, holding the cake, saw the young man raise his hand to wipe the corner of his eye.
It was so light, like an illusion.
But the old man's eyes suddenly became hot.
He lowered his head and took a bite of the chestnut cake; it was so sweet it tasted bitter.
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