Chapter 22: The Interest Due

“Ah!”

Jiang Yu was caught off guard, the back of his head hitting the soft cushion, a rush of dizziness washing over him.

Li Xiao knelt with one knee on the edge of the sofa, leaning in close. Their faces were almost touching.

His eyes churned with the fury of rejection and a hint of wounded pride. His voice was low and dangerous:

“You want to return them? Fine. I’ll collect some interest right now.”

With that, he grabbed Jiang Yu’s chin with one hand and leaned in to kiss him.

Jiang Yu stiffened but didn’t resist.

He kept his eyes open, staring at Li Xiao’s furious face above him. His pupils were a dead gray.

His body trembled from instinctive fear—from his tightly gripped wrist to his tense shoulders, down to his curled toes, all quivering in fine, uncontrollable shudders.

Yet he didn’t push back, didn’t beg, didn’t even close his eyes. He was like a puppet drained of a soul, ready to endure whatever came.

Li Xiao’s lips stopped just an inch away.

He clearly felt the trembling beneath his hand, saw the hollow despair and resignation in Jiang Yu’s eyes.

This realization doused most of his anger like a bucket of ice water.

He remembered that at the villa in the woods, Jiang Yu had been like this too—silently crying even at the peak of pain, neither resisting nor responding.

And now, in that silent endurance, there seemed to be something else—a detachment born of a dead heart.

Li Xiao’s grip on Jiang Yu’s chin loosened unconsciously.

Jiang Yu noticed the pause. His eyelashes fluttered, but he still made no move. Yet his trembling seemed more pronounced.

A few seconds of stalemate.

Suddenly, Li Xiao let go, stood up, and took a big step back.

His chest heaved violently. He stared at Jiang Yu, who was still frozen in that pinned posture, pale-faced. His eyes were incredibly complex—anger, frustration, regret, and a trace of pain.

“Do you…”

Li Xiao’s voice was hoarse. The rest of the sentence, ‘hate me that much,’ ultimately remained unspoken.

He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, only cold fury remained.

“Suit yourself.”

He threw out those two words, grabbed his coat from the sofa, turned, and strode away. His back was stiff and furious.

The booth was suddenly empty, leaving only the cooling dishes on the table and the two lonely expensive paper bags.

Jiang Yu sat up from the sofa extremely slowly.

Around his wrist, where it had been grabbed, was a distinct circle of red marks, aching dully.

He straightened his wrinkled shirt. His fingers were ice-cold and still trembling slightly.

He had done it.

Refused the gifts, drawn the line.

But why didn’t he feel even a little relieved? Instead, it felt like a gaping hole had been punched in his chest, letting gusts of cold wind rush in.

He sat there, not moving for a long time.

Only when a waiter came over cautiously to ask if he could clear the table did Jiang Yu snap out of it and leave the booth.

Jiang Yu put the two paper bags Li Xiao had left into the locker in the changing room, planning to return them later.

Over the next few hours, Jiang Yu was like a machine running on a set program—taking orders, mixing drinks, cleaning tools.

But occasionally, his gaze would uncontrollably drift toward that empty corner.

Getting off work late at night, Jiang Yu changed clothes and walked out of the bar.

The autumn wind now carried a fierce chill, making him shiver.

He pulled his coat tighter and looked toward the roadside. It was empty, without that familiar sports car.

He lowered his head, a self-deprecating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and headed to the bus stop.

At home, he opened the door quietly.

The living room light was still on. Jiang Qing was curled up on the sofa, asleep, clutching a workbook.

Jiang Yu’s heart softened. He walked over, gently pulled the workbook away, and covered her with a blanket.

The movement woke Jiang Qing. She rubbed her eyes and sat up:

“Bro, you’re back.”

“Mm. Why sleep here? Go to bed.”

“I was reading, and I fell asleep.”

Jiang Qing yawned. Suddenly, she leaned in to look at his face:

“Bro, you look terrible. Are you tired again?”

“I’m fine.”

Jiang Yu patted her head:

“Go to sleep.”

Jiang Qing obediently went back to her room.

After washing up, Jiang Yu lay on the squeaky old sofa, but he had no sleep at all.

His phone lay quietly by his pillow.

He picked it up inexplicably and opened the WeChat chat with Li Xiao.

Scrolling up, there were the random photos and complaints Li Xiao had sent from abroad.

Further up, there were earlier brief notifications from Li Xiao—’Arrived,’ ‘Leaving’—and his own mechanical replies: ‘Got it.’

Looking through them one by one, Jiang Yu suddenly realized that at some point, Li Xiao’s messages were no longer just notifications or commands.

Irritated, he turned off the screen and shoved the phone under his pillow.

He closed his eyes, but all he saw were Li Xiao’s eyes as he left—filled with fury yet seeming to hide something else.

The next day, the day after… Li Xiao didn’t show up again.

Because of Li Xiao’s absence and Jiang Yu’s deliberate coldness, the rumors about them in the bar gradually died down, becoming old news.

Jiang Yu’s life returned to its previous routine—part-time bartending at the restaurant during the day, working at the ‘Lost’ bar counter at night.

Only now, he no longer needed to go to the private booth, and the manager looked at him with more caution and distance.

Li Xiao seemed to have really vanished from his life.

Even Gu Ran hadn’t come again.

Only the debt of two hundred and fifty thousand was still weighing heavily on his heart.

On the fourth night, Jiang Yu was mixing a Tequila Sunrise when his phone buzzed in his pocket. A WeChat notification.

His hands kept moving, finishing quickly. He handed the drink to the customer, wiped his hands, and pulled out his phone.

It was a message from Li Xiao, just one line:

[‘Eight o’clock tomorrow night, Blue Bay Club V08, to discuss the debt repayment plan.’]

Jiang Yu stared at the message, his heart squeezed as if by a hand.

He remembered the ‘interest’ Li Xiao had mentioned in his fury that night.

What was meant to come, had finally come.

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