On How To Defeat Dr. Qing Leng Chapter 13
byWen Yelan lifted the blanket and found that his trousers had been removed. He was only wearing a fitted shirt and bear-patterned underwear. Although the clothes were slightly wrinkled, they were relatively neat.
This made him slightly relieved, but his heart was still pounding.
Barefoot on the cool, smooth floor, he walked to the window and cautiously pulled back the curtain a little. Dazzling sunlight instantly poured in. Wen Yelan squinted, seeing towering buildings and landscaping outside the window, offering an excellent view. This was clearly the top floor of a high-end apartment.
He had to leave this place. Immediately.
Wen Yelan took a deep breath, trying to suppress the panic and physical discomfort. He found his trousers and shoes, hastily put them on, and then quietly opened the door, peeking out.
The living room was more spacious and open than he had imagined—a palette of black, white, and gray, massive floor-to-ceiling windows, and sparse but complete furniture. The entire space exuded a cold, modernistic feel that seemed somewhat at odds with Pei Yan’s flamboyant and unrestrained temperament, yet they merged strangely.
And at this moment, the source of all his embarrassment was standing with his back to him, busy at the open-plan kitchen counter.
He seemed to be… making breakfast?
Pei Yan was wearing comfortable, dark gray loungewear. His figure was tall and straight, and the loose pajamas could not conceal his superior physique. He was looking down, focused on the frying pan in front of him, holding a spatula. His movements actually looked somewhat practiced?
Trying to sneak away was clearly impossible.
The aroma of frying eggs and toasted bread wafted through the air, mixed with the rich scent of coffee. This warm, ordinary scene was completely different from the awkwardness Wen Yelan had anticipated, leaving him momentarily stunned at the doorway, feeling somewhat lost.
As if hearing the movement behind him, Pei Yan turned around. He saw Wen Yelan standing at the guest room door, pale-faced, slightly disheveled hair, and eyes filled with obvious alertness and unease. Pei Yan raised an eyebrow, his face showing no particular expression, but he spoke in a flat tone: “Awake? Does your head still hurt?”
His attitude was so natural, as if Wen Yelan appearing in his home was the most normal thing, which only made Wen Yelan feel more awkward.
“…I’m fine.” Wen Yelan lowered his gaze, avoiding Pei Yan’s eyes, his voice dry and hoarse: “Thank you for… taking me in. I should go now.”
As he spoke, he started to move toward the door.
“Go where?” Pei Yan put down the spatula, slowly wiped his hands, and walked toward him: “Waking up from another hangover and leaving on an empty stomach? Are you trying to make your stomach even worse?”
“Didn’t you listen to what I told you last time?”
He stopped in front of Wen Yelan. Being half a head taller, his figure brought an invisible sense of pressure. He looked down at Wen Yelan, noticing the faint bloodshot lines remaining in his eyes and the slight dark circles under his eyelids. The anger he had managed to suppress started to flare up again.
“I…” Wen Yelan was blocked and couldn’t speak. His stomach rumbled inappropriately, reminding him that his current physical condition was indeed poor. He pursed his lips and stubbornly turned his head: “Young Master Pei doesn’t need to trouble himself.”
It was that same distant, prickly form of address again.
Pei Yan laughed in exasperation: “Wen Yelan, besides ‘don’t trouble yourself,’ can you say anything else? If I truly didn’t trouble myself, you’d be lying outside the bar door or in a hospital right now!”
His tone carried obvious sarcasm. Wen Yelan’s body trembled almost imperceptibly, his face growing paler, and his fingers unconsciously curled up. He knew Pei Yan was speaking the truth; if Pei Yan hadn’t shown up last night, the consequences would have been unthinkable.
But this realization didn’t make him feel grateful; instead, it deepened his humiliation and self-loathing.
He always made himself so pathetic, always exposing his most wretched side in front of this person.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice so soft it was barely audible: “I caused you trouble again.”
Seeing his repressed yet stubborn appearance, the fire in Pei Yan’s heart instantly deflated like a punctured balloon, leaving only helplessness and… heartache. He realized he truly had no way to deal with Wen Yelan; he couldn’t even muster any anger.
“Enough,” Pei Yan sighed, his tone softening: “Go wash up first. There are new towels and toothbrushes in the bathroom. Then come eat something. Even if you want to leave, wait until you’ve eaten and your stomach feels better.”
His tone carried an undeniable forcefulness, yet strangely, it didn’t make Wen Yelan feel offended. Perhaps it was because he was genuinely weak right now, or perhaps because Pei Yan’s eyes held no mockery or scrutiny, only a pure, unquestionable concern.
Wen Yelan was silent for a few seconds, finally giving a low “Mm,” and turned to walk toward the bathroom Pei Yan indicated.
Closing the bathroom door, Wen Yelan leaned against the cold panel and let out a long breath. The mirror reflected his current disheveled state: pale face, bloodshot eyes, messy hair, and cracked lips. He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face repeatedly, trying to sober himself up and wash away the lingering tear stains and vulnerability.
He tried hard to recall the details of last night, but the blurry fragments were like broken beads, impossible to string into a complete memory. He only remembered being very sad, very angry, and then Pei Yan arrived… He seemed to have hugged Pei Yan and cried? And… called someone?
Called who?
He couldn’t remember at all. Never mind. Presumably, Pei Yan wouldn’t care. Even if he saved him, these two instances of help should be considered Pei Yan having repaid any debt.
From now on… the two of them could be considered to have no further connection.
This thought made Wen Yelan’s heart clench, as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him. Actually, Pei Yan seemed like a decent person.
But were there really good people among these rich young masters? Childhood memories flooded back once more—a group of children surrounding him, spitting on him, “Trash,” “Unwanted child,” “Hahahaha, look at the rags he’s wearing”…
Wen Yelan shivered, a cold tremor running through him.
He dared not think further. After quickly washing up, he dried his face with a towel, looked at the person in the mirror who was desperately trying to maintain calm but whose eyes betrayed a hint of panic, took a deep breath, and forced himself to settle down. Regardless, he needed to leave here first.
When he walked out of the bathroom, Pei Yan had already set the breakfast on the dining table. Simple fried eggs, perfectly toasted bread, a few slices of ham, and a steaming glass of milk.
“Coffee is bad for your stomach; drink milk.” Pei Yan pulled out a chair, gesturing for him to sit down, his tone natural yet carrying a hint of concern.
Wen Yelan hesitated but walked over and sat down. The aroma of the food tempted him; he did feel quite hungry.
The two sat in silence. The dining room was quiet, broken only by the occasional faint clinking of cutlery.
Finally, Pei Yan broke the silence. He put down his coffee, looked at Wen Yelan, and spoke calmly, yet dropping a bombshell:
“Do you want that project back?”
Wen Yelan’s hand, holding the fork, suddenly froze. He looked up, startled, at Pei Yan. He hadn’t expected Pei Yan to bring this up so directly.
How did Pei Yan know?
Wen Yelan’s body trembled violently, and a layer of icy frost, keeping people a thousand miles away, reformed in his eyes: “That’s none of your business! You don’t need to interfere in my affairs!”
“It’s ‘none of my business’ again?” Pei Yan laughed in anger. He took a step closer, looking down at Wen Yelan: “Wen Yelan, look at yourself right now! Running off to a bar to secretly drink alone, your eyes swollen like walnuts, all because of a project won through flattery and underhanded means? Where is your pride? Where is your integrity? Are you only using it in places like this, making things difficult for yourself?”
“Shut up!” Wen Yelan’s eyes turned red again from the provocation, his voice trembling: “What do you know?! You were born with everything; how could you understand how hard it is for me to fight for an opportunity! Yes, I’m arrogant, I deserve it! I can’t compare to Fan Qingzhi in knowing how to handle people, how to please a sugar daddy! I accept it! Is that enough?!”
He practically shouted the last words. Due to excitement and weakness, his body swayed slightly, as if he might collapse at any moment.
Pei Yan looked at his red eyes and the stubbornness of him holding back tears. His heart felt like it had been heavily pounded. He realized his words had been too harsh. He didn’t mean to humiliate him; he was… heartbroken, and anxious.
“I don’t understand?” Pei Yan took a deep breath, trying hard to suppress his anger. His tone softened but carried a heavy force: “I don’t understand the so-called rules of your academic circle. But I understand what fairness is, and what capability is. Wen Yelan, I’ve seen your proposal. It’s a hundred times better than Fan Qingzhi’s! Doesn’t it feel stifling to lose to such despicable methods? Are you willing to accept that?”
“Willing?” Wen Yelan seemed to have been drained of strength. He slumped back onto the chair, lowering his head, his voice barely audible: “What can I do if I’m not willing… Go find that Representative Zhao, smile at him like Fan Qingzhi, and accompany him to dinner? I can’t do it… Pei Yan, I just can’t…”
The last sentence carried a deep-seated exhaustion and despair.
Seeing him like this, all of Pei Yan’s questions and anger vanished. He crouched down, meeting Wen Yelan’s lowered gaze, his voice unprecedentedly serious and firm:
“Who told you to do that kind of thing?”
Wen Yelan looked up at him blankly.
Pei Yan stared into his eyes and said, word by word: “Listen to me, Wen Yelan. You don’t need to do anything that goes against your conscience. Your value lies in your mind, your expertise, and your persistence, not in whether you can smile and drink with people!”
“But…”
“No buts.” Pei Yan interrupted him, his tone brooking no argument: “This project, it should have been yours. I will help you get it back.”
Wen Yelan was stunned, instinctively arguing: “How can you get it? The review is over, and the results have been announced…”
“That’s my business.” Pei Yan stood up, resuming his dominant, in-control posture: “You just need to remember that no one can steal what belongs to you. Those who dare to reach out should be prepared to have their hands chopped off.”
His tone was calm, yet carried a chilling intensity.
Wen Yelan looked at him, his heart beating violently and uncontrollably. He believed Pei Yan had the ability, but he…
“I don’t need your…”
“You do need it.” Pei Yan interrupted him again, his tone unwavering: “This isn’t charity, Wen Yelan. This is returning what was stolen. And, it’s not just for you.”
He paused, his eyes deep: “I won’t tolerate such filth polluting the field and the people I value.”
“You value…” Wen Yelan murmured, repeating the words. His heart felt as if something had gently struck it.