Wild Dog on the Tower Crane

Ji Mian stood in a patch of muddy chaos, the deafening roar drilling into his fragile eardrums like countless steel needles. He furrowed his brow slightly, enduring the pungent mix of dust and sweat that hung in the air. A few spots of grayish-brown mud had already splashed onto the edges of his spotless white sneakers.

This was a world utterly different from the one he had lived in for the past nineteen years.

His gaze cut through the tangled rebar and the workers in hard hats bustling back and forth, eventually locking onto the colossal structure standing at the center of the construction site—Tower Crane No. 3.

The steel arm of the crane hung high in the air like a silent giant beast, overlooking every insignificant existence on the ground. The cab dangled several dozen meters up, glaring under the midday sun, with only the faint silhouette of a figure visible inside.

That person was Cheng Yan.

The trump card Lin Shao used to blackmail him. The true bloodline of the Ji family.

Ji Mian clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms. The sharp sting kept his foggy mind vaguely clear. He couldn't wait any longer. Lin Shao's greed was a bottomless pit, and Wen Shuya's increasingly distant gaze was a blade hanging over his head. He had to act before everything spiraled out of control—come see Cheng Yan himself and seize the initiative.

He had prepared a perfect script. He had even thought up several different opening lines: how to ingratiate himself, how to establish a connection, how to quietly turn Cheng Yan into his pawn. But now that he was actually standing here, gazing up at that cab so far above and out of reach, all his rehearsed composure began to crumble.

A profound sense of dislocation—rooted in class, in environment—sent a wave of physical discomfort through him.

Just then, the dark silhouette high above moved.

Ji Mian's heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively held his breath. He thought the man would slowly climb down the crane's ladder, which would at least give him a dozen minutes to regroup.

But he was wrong.

The figure slipped out of the cab, as agile as a sleek leopard. He didn't head for the ladder. Instead, dozens of meters up, he walked straight to the edge of the crane's main jib and deftly clipped a safety hook onto a vertical steel cable beside him.

Ji Mian's pupils constricted sharply.

The next second, the figure leaped.

No hesitation. No delay. Like a stone dropped from the sky, he plummeted straight down the cable at a breathtaking speed.

"Zzzz—"

The piercing screech of the safety hook scraping against the steel cable tore through the clamor of the worksite like a bolt of lightning, hitting Ji Mian's ears precisely. His heart felt as if it were being squeezed by an invisible hand, yanked upward.

Too fast.

The figure descended far faster than he had imagined. All Ji Mian could see was a dark work uniform billowing in the wind and a pair of long legs in work pants that occasionally kicked against the crane's steel structure for leverage. Each kick was precise and powerful, making his downward trajectory terrifyingly stable.

He wasn't coming down. He was landing.

A landing filled with raw power and absolute control. Every thought in Ji Mian's mind was wiped clean. All he could do was tilt his head back, staring dumbly at the rapidly growing figure. What had been a distant black dot just a dozen seconds ago had now become an overwhelmingly imposing human form.

"Thud!"

A dull sound. The man landed steadily on the concrete floor nearby, knees slightly bent to absorb all the impact. The movement was fluid and solid, stirring only a faint ring of dust at his feet.

Ji Mian's breath caught completely.

Only now did he truly see Cheng Yan.

He was a man shaped by the sun and wind. His skin was a healthy bronze, sweat streaming down his sharply defined jawline and disappearing into the collar of a sweat-soaked dark gray tank top. The top clung to his body, outlining broad shoulders, a solid chest, and the taut muscles of his waist and abdomen—all radiating a wild, primal strength.

He pulled off his yellow hard hat and tossed it casually to the ground. His somewhat flattened short black hair stuck stiffly to his scalp, emphasizing the hard, sharp lines of his face. His brow bone was high, his eye sockets deep. Before his narrow, elongated eyes fell on Ji Mian, they swept the surroundings with wary caution. He had a high, straight nose and thin lips pressed into a cold, hard line.

This man matched none of the versions Ji Mian had imagined. He had envisioned Cheng Yan as down-and-out, vulgar, maybe even shrewd in a street-smart way—but he had never imagined him as a beast of raw, primal vitality.

Cheng Yan unbuckled the safety belt at his waist, the metal buckle clicking with a crisp sound. It wasn't loud, but it was like a switch, instantly snapping Ji Mian out of his trance. He caught a scent of sweat, rust, and dust drifting on the breeze—a scent with an undeniable aggression.

Ji Mian instinctively stepped back, but his heel struck a stack of cold rebar. He realized he had unknowingly been backed into a dead corner formed by piles of building materials.

It's over.

Only those two words remained in his mind. All his plans, all his speeches—the moment he saw this Cheng Yan—seemed laughable and pale. The elegance and tact he had learned in a hothouse environment, built on money and status, were as fragile as paper in the face of this man radiating strength and sweat.

Cheng Yan's gaze finally settled on him.

That gaze wasn't sharp, but it was heavy, as if appraising something that shouldn't be there. From his spotless shoes to his well-tailored shirt to his face, pale from nervousness—the look held no curiosity, no surprise. Only a near-cold scrutiny, as if evaluating what he was and why he had appeared on his turf.

Ji Mian felt like a sheep that had wandered into a pack of wolves. The blood in his veins seemed to freeze. He wanted to speak, to say something according to plan, but his throat felt blocked. Not a single word came out.

Cheng Yan moved.

He strode toward Ji Mian. His steps weren't long or fast, but each one landed solidly, as if measuring his territory. The sunlight was blocked by his tall frame, and a massive shadow crept over Ji Mian, swallowing him inch by inch.

Bathed in that shadow, the last trace of light vanished from Ji Mian. He could clearly feel the scorching heat radiating from the man, see the bulging veins on his arms and the rough calluses on the backs of his hands—marks left by long-term physical labor, a kind of dangerous masculine energy Ji Mian had never encountered.

The space compressed. Breathing became difficult. His mind went blank; every coping strategy failed. All he could do now was stand there and await judgment.

Cheng Yan stopped two steps away. He was half a head taller than Ji Mian, looking down at him. His deep eyes seemed especially dark in the shadows, like hidden whirlpools.

The noise of the worksite still roared in his ears, but Ji Mian felt everything around him fall silent. All he could hear was his own heart pounding like a drum and the other man's steady, powerful breathing.

Time seemed to stretch. Just as Ji Mian thought he would suffocate under this crushing silence, Cheng Yan finally spoke.

His voice was lower and rougher than Ji Mian had imagined—with a gritty quality honed by wind and sand. Every word struck deep, making the heart tremble.

"You looking for me?"