You want me to be radiant, yet expect me to be charming without being seductive.

Bai Haonan bought himself a name-brand electric hair clipper, the kind favored by the trendy stylists in those fashionable salons. Without even glancing at the food on the table, he eagerly retreated to the small bathroom, the only one in the apartment, and stood before the lone mirror over the sink to shave his own head. At first, the motion felt awkward, but he quickly mastered the technique, buzzing his hair down to a nearly bald pate. The clipper always left a stubble as thick as a finger, even shorter than a crew cut, but he didn’t care about style—just sheared it all off.

Chen Sufen came over, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe. She ignored the mess of hair shorn onto the floor and filling the sink, just watched as Bai Haonan deftly finished the job. He then took a delicate blue-and-white box from a paper bag, extracted a small dark bottle, and began applying the contents to his face. At last, her curiosity got the better of her. “What on earth is that?”

Bai Haonan didn’t look at her. “Imported beard growth serum from Japan. After about a week or two, if you apply it regularly, you’ll grow a thick beard in whatever pattern you choose. Saw some of the guys in the team messing with it before. How else do you think some of them keep sprouting bushy beards every few days?”

Chen Sufen snorted. “You footballers really know how to doll yourselves up, don’t you?”

Bai Haonan was actually proud. “Stars care about image. Haven’t you heard that Manchester United goes through a dozen cans of hairspray before every match?”

She rolled her eyes. “A bunch of men fussing more over their looks than women!”

He adopted a tone of earnest persuasion. “Honestly, you should put more effort into dressing up, show a bit of femininity. That Doctor Qiao is way more alluring than you. In fact, you shouldn’t come around here anymore starting tomorrow. If those bookie hitmen or whoever find their way to Rongdu, they’ll spot you and find me in no time.”

If ever there was a case of a cuckoo in the magpie’s nest, this was it—and with such brazen entitlement. Chen Sufen slowly rested her head against the doorframe, watching the man preening in the mirror. “Why don’t you take your T-shirt off first? You’re getting hair everywhere, and I doubt you’ll manage to wash it all out. Just take a shower when you’re done. Now you’ve got hair all down your neck and shoulders—aren’t you uncomfortable?”

With a flash of realization, Bai Haonan yanked his T-shirt off over his head. In the mirror, a well-built man was revealed, and with his new close-cropped hair, he was a far cry from the brash player with the flamboyant, trendy haircut he’d been before. If he managed to grow a full beard, he’d be nearly unrecognizable.

But from where Chen Sufen stood behind him, her gaze was drawn not only to the pronounced groove of his spine, formed by his thick, powerful back muscles and descending into well-fitting jeans that hugged a shapely rear, but also to a rather shocking scar. At least forty centimeters long, neat and parallel to the spine, ending in knotted lumps as wide as a finger at each end. Her expression softened, mockery turning to gentle teasing. “So, after all these years of nothing but football and chasing women, maybe it’s that childhood knife wound that damaged your kidneys, sent your hormones out of whack, and made you especially insatiable. I checked at the library in the sports medicine section today—they call it hypersexuality…”

Bai Haonan stared blankly at her reflection. “What’s that?”

Chen Sufen couldn’t help another jab. “And you call yourself a professional athlete? The world’s number one golfer got into trouble for the same thing—you really don’t know?”

He looked scornful. “What’s golf got to do with football? All right, enough—I’m taking a shower. Are you just going to stand there and watch?”

She didn’t react to his pantomimed attempt to unbuckle his pants. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before. What’s there to be shy about with your, ahem, public property?”

Bai Haonan spat and turned to yank the shower curtain closed. “I blame your mother for dragging me to the women’s bathhouse as a kid…”

Chen Sufen vaguely remembered something of the sort and burst out laughing, all her earlier gloom dissolving into merriment. Too bad Bai Haonan, behind the curtain, couldn’t see her radiant, animated face. She crouched on the bathroom floor to clean up the hair, giving his T-shirt a shake to dislodge the clippings, her voice bright with laughter. “Well, at least you’ve changed your look to go into hiding. If you manage to bed Sister Qiao, that’s no concern of mine, but you really ought to find something to do with yourself. You spend money like water, and my little side jobs can’t possibly cover your extravagance.”

Bai Haonan’s logic was as eccentric as ever. “We’ve got a bit of money left, haven’t we? Let’s have some fun first—when the time comes, we’ll cross that bridge. Hey, could you get out? I need to get dressed and head out.”

A tall, striking girl crouched like a housemaid, scrubbing the floor with a rag—those legs alone would keep an aficionado entertained for years. “Going out? For what?”

Bai Haonan poked his dripping head out, still oblivious, and shooed her away. “Could you at least have a little shame? You’re a grown woman, always looking to take advantage of me. Out, out! It’s dark already—of course I’m hitting the clubs!”

Chen Sufen finally looked up. “You know my intentions. You’ll jump on anything in a skirt, so why is it only with me you act so cold?”

He didn’t spare her feelings. “How should I know? You just don’t do it for me! With your tomboyish ways, if I ever reacted to you, I’d have to wonder if I’d turned gay!”

Furious, Chen Sufen hurled the rag at him and stormed out, slamming the door for good measure. Bai Haonan just chuckled behind the shower curtain, casually rubbing his clothes clean and hanging them to dry—he really hadn’t mastered laundry.

Ten minutes later, dressed in a black fitted T-shirt, skinny jeans, and sneakers, Bai Haonan was already prowling the neon-lit streets.

His taste in clothing was unmistakably that of a “shamate”—had he added a gold chain or two around his neck, he’d have looked like a gangland tough; the oversize black-rimmed glasses were a halfhearted attempt at intellectual pretense. The tight black outfit showcased his athletic build, but the pristine white trainers made him look like a nightclub gigolo.

But what could you expect from someone who’d never attended a proper class in secondary school? All his fashion sense came from nightlife. Since coming of age, his days were spent at training centers, hotels, or internet cafés, and even during the off-season he never bothered to acquire any other social skills.

But when it came to the club scene, Bai Haonan was in his element.

In Jiangzhou, nightclubs were clustered in two or three districts, with only a handful of truly impressive venues. But here in Rongdu, a city famous nationwide for its nightlife, there were bars and cafes with suggestive names on every corner. Even the most unassuming dormitory block might have a club hidden around the bend. The ancient-style bar streets were something else—rows of neon signs blazing, colors swirling in a wild dance. Nearly every bar featured live singers, and the touts outside were so outrageous it looked like rival bouncers might break into a brawl at any moment.

If the afternoon kickabout had rekindled his long-dormant passion for the pitch, then this familiar rhythm of nightlife—just yesterday he’d been dancing and drinking—made him forget entirely that he was a man on the run. He dove headlong into the scene, the sinuous figures swaying by the bars and tables making him itch with anticipation. Bai Haonan had never been one to restrain his impulses; to him, life was about letting desire run free. No one could expect a hormone-fueled professional athlete to possess any real self-control.

But just as Bai Haonan, full of anticipation, stepped inside, a hand seized him.

For a fraction of a second, his heart leaped into his throat—had the bookies found him? He spun around to find a heavily made-up face grinning at him. “Hey, handsome, you’re starting your shift early! The rich ladies aren’t even here yet.”

Bai Haonan, well-versed in the market, craned his neck to peer inside. “Wait…is this a ladies’ club?” Such places catered to female patrons and existed in Jiangzhou, but back there he was always surrounded by an entourage, never mingling with this scene. And clearly, the nightlife here in Rongdu was on another level.

The middle-aged woman’s face was caked with powder, her eyes cunning and direct. “What else would it be…” Her hand slid expertly from his elbow to his chest, teasing him through the fabric with practiced ease.

Usually the one doing the seducing, Bai Haonan nearly fled in panic, ignoring the peals of laughter that trailed after him.

In truth, Bai Haonan was never particularly bold or reckless. In Jiangzhou, he’d only ever hung around familiar clubs where the owners knew who he was—a professional footballer—sometimes even being treated to drinks by wealthy fans. He was always cautious, even with a bottle of water, wary of being drugged. From the start, he’d understood that his body was his only asset, which was why he never touched cigarettes or drugs.

On the pitch he might have been a force, but in the real world, he was nothing special. In fact, even on the field, he wasn’t all that dazzling. His true nature, perhaps, was best described as crafty—a lover of small tricks.

So that night, he decided to take his time and get the lay of the land: strolling through each bar and club, keeping a low profile, at most buying a beer to get a feel for the place, determined to understand the terrain before diving in.

But as he made his rounds, gathering information, he stumbled upon a rather shocking discovery.