PM Chapter 17

　　The sky was dark, and the air was thick with stifling pollution.

When Zheng Feiluan opened the window in the morning, that was the first thing he felt.

The weather app said the temperature was pleasant, the comfort level was excellent, and the air quality index was below 30. Yuanjiang appeared to be completely green on satellite maps, covering more than 80% of the city. There were many pictures on his social feed; no matter which one you clicked on, there were always blue skies, clear water, birds, flowers, and shading.

Sadly, that beautiful world was in a different place.

It was blocked off from Zheng Feiluan’s five senses, preventing an image from appearing on his eye.

His reality was more like a photograph with the sharpness turned all the way up; the colors were so intense they hurt the eyes. Sour, putrid stench particles were amplified several times, rushing to get into his nostrils, scared he’d inhale even a trace of sweetness.

He didn’t know when it started, but he was in a state of intense sensory pain that wouldn’t go away, like dirt on a lens that could never be cleaned off—frustrating and impossible to ignore.

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Zheng Feiluan shut the bay window and took a shower.

When he came out, a shirt was already laid out beside the bed.

Luxurious, hand-tailored in Naples from high-thread-count island cotton—the finest fabric and workmanship. Still, after it was on, it prickled like cheap linen and rubbed relentlessly against his neck, wrists, and shoulders. Zheng Feiluan couldn’t take it anymore before he was done buttoning it up. He ripped the shirt off and threw it onto the bed, then violently stomped into the walk-in closet.

By the time his clothes was all over the floor, he still hadn’t found one single item that felt right.

Aunt Zhang rushed over when she heard the sharp clatter of hangers. When she got there, she saw the man she had cared for since early childhood standing bare-chested in the middle of the wardrobe, his rage boiling over, a Brioni shirt clasped in his palm.

She asked hesitantly, “Feiluan… Is something wrong?”

Zheng Feiluan flicked his wrists. At Aunt Zhang’s feet, the shirt fell down like a useless rag, “You expect me to go out in this crap?!”

Aunt Zhang was too scared to look up, “Listen, Feiluan, I… I did press them precisely as you instructed. I even used twice as much fabric softener. Even the tailor said…”

Said no more comfortable material could be found.

Same old story. Every day, they made the same excuses and brushed him off, but they couldn’t even get him dressed.

Zheng Feiluan mustered the will to control his anger. He put on a random shirt and spoke in a cold voice, “Aunt Zhang, you’ve been with the Zheng family for thirty years. My father sent you to look after me because he thought you were so responsible and praised you for it. So, why is it that you don’t know how to do your job as soon as we leave the main house? Do my clothes just make your job harder, or do you think you can slack off because I’m not as important as my father?”

The remarks were as sharp as a razor. Aunt Zhang’s complexion turned a ghostly white, “How… how on earth can you say that, Feiluan? I have adored you since you were a baby. I treat you like I would my own son…”

“Go.” Zheng Feiluan ordered imposingly.

Aunt Zhang left in silence, her frustrations bottled up inside.

After Zheng Feiluan finished buttoning seven mother-of-pearl buttons, he took hold of a freshly ironed suit jacket. As soon as it was on his shoulders, it felt like a hot branding iron. He gritted his teeth and his temples bulged with veins. He was about to call Aunt Zhang back just to yell at her again—how could this even be called a suit?! It was practically a heavy raincoat!

The thick fabric was wrapped around his body tightly, trapping his sweat so it had no way to escape as it dried between the closed layers. Sticky, damp, and suffocating—worse than a blanket that never dries out in the rainy season.

He held his collar and slowly exhaled for a long time, not letting his anger take over.

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　　Aunt Zhang had prepared a comprehensive breakfast buffet in the dining room, including plain congee and soy milk, croissants and coffee, as well as Chinese and Western options, to avoid missing his favorite foods. But the fussy Young Master Zheng still didn’t eat.

He sipped a little bit of coffee. His face shifted in an instant. He then spat it out with a sharp “ptooey,” slammed the cup on the table, and stormed out without looking back.

What coffee beans could produce a taste like that?

Absolutely disgusting.

The world had probably gone insane.

No—absolutely insane.

He had eaten Aunt Zhang’s cooking since childhood. It had practically shaped his standards for food; neither Michelin three-star cuisine nor hidden folk delicacies could compare. After moving out of the Zheng family estate, he’d complained he couldn’t get used to the new chef’s cooking, so his father had sent Aunt Zhang along to take care of his daily needs.

But even these foods that had spoiled his taste buds were getting worse every day until they were barely good to eat.

Every day, Zheng Feiluan’s life started off in the same kind of disorganized misery.

This was how last month went. Also last week. And today—shirts, suits, breakfast—things he had pointed out dozens of times should get better had gotten worse. Everyone told him to “calm down,” but who on earth, besides saints, could quietly put up with a life like this?

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　　A black Maybach arrived downstairs at precisely 7:30 in the morning. The driver opened the door politely and asked Zheng Feiluan to get in. The driver then went back to the seat, started the car, and drove off.

As he was going to step on the gas, Zheng Feiluan said, “Get out.”

The driver was startled, jumped out of the car, and waited outside without daring to ask a single question. Soon after, he heard, “Get back in.”

He got back in, feeling nervous and shaken.

The car’s soundproofing was amazing; the interior was eerily quiet. The driver felt the weight of the air on his shoulders and started to sweat profusely. He had no idea what Zheng Feiluan was thinking and could only sit stiffly upright, refusing to move.

Zheng Feiluan’s attention turned to his shirt cuffs. His fingers gently caressed them as he casually remarked, “Just now, I looked at the fuel gauge.”

The driver’s expression changed drastically. His shoulders got stiff.

“If I remember right, the fuel level was at ten percent—less than twenty liters—when you picked me up for three days in a row.” Zheng Feiluan raised his eyes, his piercing stare meeting the rearview mirror. “I drove back by myself last night. Just before I parked, I made sure the fuel gauge read fifty percent. So where did the other forty percent go overnight? I need a reasonable answer.”

He was very cold, almost cruel, when he spoke. The driver flinched, “I-I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Zheng Feiluan said it again in a soft voice, as if he thought it was funny.

The driver felt like his soul was leaving his body. He suddenly exclaimed in a panic, “President Zheng, I-I’ll tell the truth. Every morning when I come over, your car is… completely empty.”

“Empty?!”

Zheng Feiluan sat up straight and stared at the back of the driver’s head.

The driver broke out in a cold sweat, with big drops running down his forehead, “Y-yes, sir. It started around six months ago. Your car… at least twice a month, it would be completely empty. I wasn’t prepared, so I had to take just a bit of gas from my car to fill yours up.”

He took a deep breath and kept on, “But every day since last Tuesday, your car has been empty. I knew that a Maybach wouldn’t like cheap gas, and I couldn’t keep using low-quality fuel, so I started bringing a new barrel every day. You have a huge tank—more than 100 liters. Getting it up to 10% is a real challenge with just one little barrel.”

As soon as he was done talking, the temperature in the car dropped significantly.

Zheng Feiluan pushed his hand hard against the glossy seat. His face lost all color, his wrist shook, and the bones on the back of his hand were visible. He finally let go after a long time and slumped back, as if he were tired.

“Drive.”

Despite his fears, the driver buckled up and got behind the wheel.

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　　The car moved smoothly through the streets, but Zheng Feiluan’s mood was at rock bottom.

The silence inside the car felt deathly and oppressive. The jasmine-scented air freshener smelled cheaper than usual. He decided to open the window for some fresh air, but the exhaust fumes from outside wasted no time in rushing in and causing excruciating irritation to his already sensitive nasal membranes.

He couldn’t stop sneezing, so he had to close the window again.

The car drove onto the overpass. The morning light in the distance was blinding, like the sun at noon. The tall buildings by the river were hard to see through all the fog. Their glass fronts had lost all shine, looking old and boring, like they were from a time decades ago. As they approached the center of the city, he could make out grimy streets, manhole covers bulging with dirty water, and road signs faded from years of exposure to the weather.

Not a single part of this city was aesthetically pleasing.

Before, Zheng Feiluan would not have noticed such dirty and messy details. Unfortunately, they have now aggressively infiltrated his eyesight, attempting to erase all of the beautiful sights.

He looked away and started going over his day’s agenda.

All of the time slots were full, with only a few white breaks where one could breathe. A wave of tiredness hit him out of nowhere as he looked at all the work he had to do. His thoughts were empty, his forehead heavy, and his eyelids dropping. He was about to fall asleep—

Even though he had just slept for eight hours. His body should have been fine. But he felt so exhausted, as if he had—

Been up all night.

No. That can’t be right.

Nothing happened last night. I didn’t go outside at all and slept in my own bed until the morning. Otherwise, how could Aunt Zhang not bring it up?

Zheng Feiluan put his hand over his face and rubbed his sore eye sockets hard, waking himself up.

It’ll be fine. He had been through this kind of trouble and stress before. He had dealt with it just fine before he knew anything about pheromones. This time, there was no reason he wouldn’t go through it again.