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Sap Yi Siu’s hobby was racing his motorcycle like it was the Macau Grand Prix—speeding through the streets with razor-sharp control.
To him, true strength lay in speed, precision, and ruthless intent.
Seated behind Sap Yi Siu, Gat Cheung wrapped his arms tightly around his waist. Cold wind slashed past his ears, while the flying strands of hair ahead stung his eye. Instinctively, he narrowed it and leaned in. Through the fabric, warmth bled from the other’s body—so close, he could hear the steady rhythm of Sap Yi Siu’s breath. The ride, despite its speed, was unexpectedly smooth. It felt as if they had been cut off from the outside world, drifting through an unbroken ocean, weightless and at peace.
They tore past an oncoming sports car, which vanished in the blink of an eye. The sheer speed pulled them toward the edge of control, feeding into that reckless thrill men always seemed to chase, an untouchable, ephemeral rush, impossible to grasp yet endlessly pursued.
Like waves that crash against the shore only to fade into silence, Gat Cheung’s voice was engulfed by the wind. Whether he was saying, “Boss, I’m hungry, let’s eat somewhere,” or throwing out idle praise like, “Boss, you’re so handsome,” his words never truly reached the person in front of him, no matter how close he leaned in. So over time, he stopped relying on words. Instead, he learned to speak through touch—tightening his grip, using every fleeting opportunity to get closer, to make himself felt in ways words never could.
Holding tight to Sap Yi Siu’s back, Gat Cheung couldn’t see the face of the man he admired. In a world swallowed by silence, all he could do was cling to him—pressing closer as if to let his heartbeat speak for him. More than once, Sap Yi Siu had told him, almost exasperated, “I’m not going to run away,” But no matter how many times he heard it, he couldn’t stop himself. He called it instinct.
The katana at Sap Yi Siu’s waist was the barrier that kept them apart. No matter how close Gat Cheung got, something always stood between them.
It wasn’t smart to be jealous of an object, but Gat Cheung had more than once complained in his heart about how absurdly perfect that blade was, whether it was cutting down enemies or slicing up fish and vegetables, it never failed. It was precise and effortless, the perfect companion to Sap Yi Siu’s unshakable control. Even a firewood knife had its purpose, but this damned blade? It could do everything flawlessly. Almost arrogantly. Half a year ago, he’d even thrown it into the blazing heat of a siu-ngaap oven, leaving it to burn overnight, out of nothing but sheer spite. But the next morning, it emerged untouched, gleaming like silver, its polished edge catching the twisted scowl on Gat Cheung’s face, reflecting back a raw, unspoken emotion he refused to name.
Whether judged objectively or subjectively, Gat Cheung couldn’t deny that he was locked in a childish battle with a katana that couldn’t even move. And yet, the damned thing had the advantage, leaving him utterly defeated.
It unsettled him. The idea that Sap Yi Siu might value the blade more tormented him. He didn’t like the feeling—Sap Yi Siu could care about so many people, but there was only one person who was truly irreplaceable, and Gat Cheung wasn’t sure if that was him.
Gat Cheung’s selfishness was obvious to everyone, even the blind. Not that he had ever tried to hide it, he just wanted to be the most valued subordinate to Sap Yi Siu. Even he knew his jealousy was absurd—just like a spurned concubine watching the emperor get utterly swept away by someone new. The katana sat there, lifeless, unmoved, while Gat Cheung stared it down like he’d personally been wronged.
Thinking about that day in and night out, Gat Cheung had a nightmare. In his dream, he stood in elegant court robes, looking every bit of a zung-san, a loyal minister of the past. But the moment he saw himself, he couldn’t help but admire—damn, he cleaned up well! If Gat Cheung looked this sharp, he wouldn’t be surprised if a few girls mistook him for royalty and started obsessing over him.
Gat Cheung, the zung-san, stood beneath a willow tree, reciting the ‘Song of Everlasting Regret’ again and again. From “The Han King favored beauty and dreamed of a kingdom for her,” to “From then on, the ruler no longer attended morning court,” On the dragon throne, Sap Yi Siu sat draped in golden robes, his arms wrapped around that same damn katana—never once sparing Gat Cheung a glance.
Gat Cheung’s jealous heart started boiling over.
He knew that since ancient times, zung-sans have never won against imperial concubines. But still—he had to risk it all, had to kneel before the emperor with a desperate plea. So with a dramatic ‘dang!’, he dropped to his knees, throwing himself into heartfelt persuasion:
“—Boss! Stop fetishizing over it! It’s unhealthy!”
Sap Yi Siu finally looked up, his deadly glare shot through Gat Cheung—jolting him awake.
As he shook off the nightmare, Sap Yi Siu was standing stiffly by his bedside, face pale, holding a handkerchief—probably ready to wake him up before things got worse. Gat Cheung sighed. So the emperor really did hear his heartfelt plea, no room for regret.
—Being a zung-san is tough. Gat Cheung’s Boss made sure of that.
The concubine’s tactics were ruthless, but Gat Cheung had improved—at least enough to know that charging in headfirst would be downright foolish. He took a step back, recalling how, throughout history, the struggle between zung-sans and imperial concubines had always ended the same way: chaos in the court and a fight to the bitter end.
But rebellion? That was far beyond him. He wasn’t about to change his sex just to duel a demoness on equal footing.
The only option left was to compare lifespans. But what if the blade outlived the man? People always grow old, but a blade—it only rusts, and even that can be prevented with proper maintenance.
—
The scene shifted back; Gat Cheung was still embracing Sap Yi Siu on his motorcycle.
The red ribbon on the concubine fluttered in the wind, bewitching and flirtatiously. As if mocking Gat Cheung, it shamelessly coiled itself around Sap Yi Siu’s waist—clear proof that the concubine remained in favor and loved every second of it.
Gat Cheung has never been one for patience. Hot-headed and, moreover, reckless. Undoubtedly not the type you want to provoke.
So, with one hand, he violently yanked the knot at Sap Yi Siu’s waist and flung the katana down the mountainside toward the forest below. The concubine—the root of all evil—was instantly reduced to a mere speck in the distance as it dissolved into the horizon.
Gat Cheung felt gloriously refreshed, his laughter spilling out uncontrollably. No wonder zung-sans turned into traitors—nothing was more satisfying than watching the enemy fall!
But as the motorcycle screeched to a halt, reality finally caught up with him, and he did what anyone in his position would do……
……he ran.