The Loser's Punishment?

Before Ke Yueyi could stop him, He Zhenglin stood up.

The host invited the two players to the round table. "Players, please interlock your fingers first."

He Zhenglin held out both hands first, staring provocatively at Jimo and raising his eyebrows.

Jimo ignored him and placed his hands against He Zhenglin's, his face expressionless.

As soon as their hands touched, He Zhenglin curled his fingers around Jimo's.

The host took out a stopwatch and started timing.

"Ready... go!"

Jimo slowly lifted his eyelids and met He Zhenglin's half-smiling gaze.

Their eyes met.

They were close enough to count each other's eyelashes.

Someone like He Zhenglin was used to being in a position of power. He never held back and always acted high-profile. Meeting the gaze of someone like that was psychologically taxing; an ordinary person would have cracked long ago.

Unfortunately for him, this was Jimo. Holding an opponent's gaze was a tactic in competitions too, and he had plenty of experience with it.

Right now, Jimo was thinking of nothing. His gaze was perfectly calm, as though he were looking at the most ordinary object.

They remained like that for about ten seconds before He Zhenglin tilted his head, probably not having expected Jimo to last so long.

Looking at him up close, He Zhenglin noticed how bright and clear his eyes were, with their distinct black and white, as though a clear stream were hidden in their depths.

His thoughts stirred, and he even noticed an inconspicuous little mole on the bridge of Jimo's nose.

This nouveau riche guy's not bad, He Zhenglin thought. He can hold out for a long time.

Just then, Jimo's placid expression changed. He smiled and suddenly blinked at He Zhenglin.

He Zhenglin's gaze faltered, and his lips flattened. The composure in his eyes began to waver, so quickly that he couldn't even catch where the feeling came from.

The other three players, who weren't taking part, were also watching the contest closely.

Jiang Wangshu frowned at their tightly clasped hands, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Just as he could no longer bear it and was about to separate them, someone spoke up before him.

"Enough!"

Ke Yueyi stood up and pulled them apart, frowning. "It's been long enough."

He Zhenglin took the opportunity to look away. Even he didn't know why he felt relieved.

The host stopped the stopwatch. "Exactly half a minute."

He Zhenglin was a little surprised. He had thought it would be longer.

Only then did Jimo look away from He Zhenglin. He smiled. "Brother, if you pull us apart like that, who wins?"

Ke Yueyi said, "It doesn't matter."

"All right."

Jimo shrugged. He didn't care that much anyway.

Jiang Wangshu also stood beside Jimo. He didn't want to stay here a moment longer. "Brother, let's go back. It's getting late."

"Mm."

Jimo raised his hand to check the time. It was almost ten.

He looked at the only person still sitting at the round table. Song Wenxi had promised earlier that they could leave after playing a game.

Song Wenxi smiled gently and gestured for them to go. "You can leave whenever you like."

Jimo nodded to him and headed for the door with Jiang Wangshu.

Just before leaving, he suddenly paused and turned around. "Oh, right, Young Master He."

He Zhenglin was staring at his own hands, lost in thought.

Hearing Jimo call him, he looked up, the puzzlement still lingering in his foxlike eyes.

"We were competing to see who could hold the other's gaze. There was no need for you to use so much force with your hands."

Jimo raised his hands, looking somewhat troubled. "The sweat made them sticky. It's a hassle and uncomfortable."

He Zhenglin froze. Before he could say anything in response, Jimo had left with Jiang Wangshu.

He opened his mouth, then noticed everyone in the private room was looking at him. He Zhenglin clicked his tongue in irritation. "What bullshit is that nouveau riche guy spouting? I haven't even said anything, and he's looking down on me? The fucking heat's turned up so high in here, and we were holding hands. What's wrong with my hands sweating a little?"

Song Wenxi came over and patted him on the shoulder, glancing at Ke Yueyi's indifferent expression.

"All right, they're gone. Who are you saying all this to?" Song Wenxi yawned. "I'm going back to get some sleep and adjust to the time difference. Happy birthday, birthday boy. You looked like you had a lot of fun today."

With that, Song Wenxi left too.

Ke Yueyi didn't stay much longer either. He picked up his coat and headed out.

He Zhenglin thought Yi would say something to him, but he simply left without a word.

"Yi," He Zhenglin called.

Ke Yueyi stopped and turned to look at him.

Having called him back, He Zhenglin didn't actually know what to say.

After two seconds of meeting his gaze, Ke Yueyi saw that he wasn't going to speak and left.

"What the hell!"

It was all that nouveau riche guy's fault.

He Zhenglin glanced at the host, who was clearing away the cards.

He asked, "Is it weird for your hands to sweat?"

The host, ever serious, straightened up and was about to answer.

He Zhenglin interrupted him. "Forget it. You don't have to tell me."

He felt like he was losing his mind. Why did he care so much about what that nouveau riche guy had said? It was like he was sick.

The nouveau riche guy had also said he'd used too much force with his hands. What a joke, as though beating him would take that much effort.