Wu Suowei was convinced that if he didn’t act fast, he might not live to see tomorrow—not because Chi Cheng was going to kill him, but because his boyfriend’s relentless stamina was a quiet, devastating weapon in itself. So far today, Suowei had taken him on a morning run that could’ve qualified as a small marathon, followed by swimming laps until his limbs turned to jelly, and then climbing—the kind of climbing that left even the gym instructor blinking at their determination. And now, here they were, on the living room floor surrounded by rolled-out mats, the faint scent of sweat and citrus-scented cleaner hanging in the air, attempting yoga and meditation as a last resort.

Suowei’s arms trembled as he tried to hold a pose—half folded over, half collapsing into what looked more like surrender than balance. His breathing was uneven, hair sticking to his forehead, and every muscle in his body screamed mutiny. Meanwhile, directly in front of him, Chi Cheng sat cross-legged on his mat with unnerving serenity, posture straight, hands resting loosely on his knees, breathing slow and even. Not a drop of sweat on him. Not one. His composure was infuriating.

Suowei cracked open one eye, glaring through the curtain of his hair. Chi Cheng met his look lazily, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a smirk that was equal parts amusement and challenge. His gaze dipped—cool, assessing, and all too knowing.

“Usually,” Chi Cheng said, voice smooth and low, “people try to get me drunk, not tired out.”

And in that moment—half laughter, half threat—Suowei knew he was doomed.