"I don't like no whips and chains and you can't tie me down, but you can whip your lovin on me baby..."
Mo Fei's voice rang loudly through the apartment.
The beat playing in the background was even louder.
He danced across the living room with the confidence of a world-class performer and the coordination of a man personally selected by the gods to embarrass rhythm.
"Whip your lovin on me baby..."
He swung his arms.
His hips moved in a direction the music had not approved.
His feet attempted something that might have been choreography in another lifetime.
"Yeahhh, baby... "
He threw his head back and attempted a high note.
"Whip your lovin on meeeee... Cough... cough... ahck!"
Mo Fei grabbed his chest.
For one terrifying second, he thought that last soprano would nearly taken his life.
"Whew."
He straightened slowly, one hand pressed to his heart as the music continued blaring.
This past week had been a short break for him.
After his little drama with Chen Guoliang, the agency had sent him an apology email. Within forty-eight hours, they had also assigned a full professional team to him.
Finally.
As an A-list model, scandal or no scandal, Mo Fei was already at a level where he should not have been treated carelessly. He was not an up-and-coming model desperate for scraps or whatever job the agency bothered to throw at him.
He had reached the point where brands were supposed to seek him out, and the agency's job was to make sure his career ran smoothly.
But because the previous Mo Fei had shown almost no interest in his career and preferred to live in quiet oblivion, the agency had grown comfortable treating him far below his level.
Then Mo Fei had walked into Chen Guoliang's office and educated him violently with paperwork threats. After that, the agency seemed to realize something important.
If Mo Fei actually carried out his threat, they would lose far more than they could recover.
Losing an A-list global celebrity would cost them more than whatever commission they hoped to squeeze out of a single appearance fee.
So they moved quickly. They assigned him a team.
Two assistants. A stylist.
A makeup artist, hairstylist, security team and a driver.
Mo Fei sent them back a very angry email.
He did not need a whole parade following him around like a newly elected politician.
He already had Louis, who had been doing the work of five exhausted professionals by himself. He also had Lily, who could style him, fix his hair, and make him look like a divine punishment in designer clothing.
As for the driver, Mo Fei had already decided he was over his car anxiety.
He was getting his own car soon, a necessary car worthy of his face.
For security, he agreed to take only one person.
A young man in his mid-twenties named Khun.
He was Taiwanese, quiet-looking, sharp-eyed, and built like someone who could fold a man in half without raising his voice. Mo Fei had gone through the profiles himself and chosen him.
One bodyguard was enough.
No need to parade about like some corrupt official attending a road commissioning.
As for the PR liaison, Director Chen was still in charge of the company's PR team, so Mo Fei did not refuse that arrangement.
As long as Chen Guoliang did not attempt what Mo Fei had privately described as a fuckening, he would let things slide.
Now, one week later, Mo Fei was having the time of his life.
Dancing. Singing.
Disturbing the peace of his expensive apartment.
Life was good again.
He had gone through the car selection process and chosen the best model of the BMW he wanted. Soon, it would be delivered to him, sleek and black and beautiful enough to make poverty weep at the gate.
Even better, after discovering the frightening amount already sitting in one account, Mo Fei had learned that he had money in several other banks as well.
When he first woke up in this body, he had not bothered checking the assets. He had been too busy surviving scandal, dodging public hatred, and trying to understand why the universe had placed him inside the life of a famously beautiful disaster.
But now that he had checked properly, he was stunned.
Mo Fei was not a Caifa heir. He was not a chaebol either.
He did not have a family empire waiting behind him with boardrooms, hostile cousins, and suspicious old men in tailored suits.
But he had enough wealth to enjoy the rest of his days comfortably.
Very comfortably.
Still, the lifestyle of a celebrity was expensive as hell.
And for the kind of life Mo Fei had decided to live with this second chance?
It would be even more expensive.
He wanted luxury.
Freedom and a career that could not be dragged around by frogs in executive offices.
So yes, he had money. But he was determined to raise his financial status much higher.
Mo Fei yawned.
He was getting tired of singing.
Naturally, that did not mean he was going to stop.
He turned, preparing to launch into another deeply questionable dance move, when something caught his eye.
A spark.
The wire connected to his television sparked again.
"Huh?" He lowered the music and moved closer. "When did this go bad?"
He looked around the living room.
Was the light malfunctioning? the television dying?
Had the apartment decided to betray him?
Mo Fei touched his chin thoughtfully with rare seriousness, he quickly switched off the entire set and pulled out the connected plug. He lifted the wire and examined it closely.
It looked damaged.
He knew a few tricks about electrical things. If he had the right tools, he could probably fix it himself instead of calling the apartment electrician.
Mo Fei's eyes narrowed with unnecessary confidence.
With a resolved nod, he proceeded to fix it.
[A/N: And that was the worst decision of his life.]
Seven minutes later…
Sparkle. Sparkle.
BOOM!!!.
A loud explosion tore through Mo Fei's apartment.
Smoke spilled into the living room.
Somewhere in the heavens, the god who had given Mo Fei a second chance at life slowly shook his head in disappointment.
When he had seen the wire sparking, if Mo Fei had been scared, that would have been understandable.
But no.
Mo Fei had touched his chin like a wise engineer and said, 'I know a few tricks'.
A few tricks.
This was how people transmigrated twice.
Mo Fei, unfortunately, did not see it. He was too busy coughing his way out of his apartment.
"Cough… cough... argh!"
He stumbled into the hallway and held onto the doorframe, half-zapped, hair standing on end, and pride completely missing.
"What in the world?"
Zhang Yichen stood at his own door, staring at him.
His gaze moved from Mo Fei's blackened face, to his ruined hair, to the faint smoke wheezing out of his apartment. Then back to Mo Fei.
Mo Fei looked up.
"Cough… hi…" He lifted one hand weakly in greeting. "Oh, it's good… you're here."
He began walking toward Yichen.
Yichen immediately took three steps back for preventive safety.
Mo Fei stopped and gave him a sheepish smile. "Do you perhaps… maybe… sort of have the electrician's number for this apartment building?"
Yichen stared at him. "Did you attempt to fix a power source by yourself?"
"No," Mo Fei answered immediately.
Yichen raised one brow.
Mo Fei's mouth twitched. "I mean…" He looked away. "I knew a few tricks." His hair remained standing, giving him a feral, lightning-struck appearance.
"Yes," Yichen said flatly. "You did."
"Did not," Mo Fei retorted.
"The evidence is standing in front of me." Yichen gestured toward his entire appearance.
Mo Fei straightened with what little dignity remained. "I've just had a rough week. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
Yichen's eyes narrowed slightly. "You have so much bullshit to spill, don't you?"
Mo Fei, "…"
He quickly cleared his throat. "Look, just help me. Or can you fix it?"
A cold chill passed through Yichen. He looked past Mo Fei into the smoky apartment.
Fix what? And come out looking like you?
I think not!
Without another word, Yichen pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his contacts.
Mo Fei watched him. Slowly, a smile formed on his lips.
Oh.
So the icy prince had a nice heart after all.
Mo Fei scratched his head, something stung against his fingers.
His smile froze on his face, with growing dread, he brought his hand forward. A small piece of his hair was stuck to it.
Yichen had already placed the call. "Hello, yes. Mr. Li?"
"AHHHHHHHHH!" Mo Fei screamed. "Sweet mother of all gods!"
Yichen nearly lost hearing in one ear. He lifted his free hand sharply, then turned a furious glare on Mo Fei. "Are you mad?"
"What?" the voice on the other end answered quickly. "No, sir. I'm an electrician."
Yichen glanced at his phone. "Not you. Hold on."
He turned back to Mo Fei.
Mo Fei was trembling. "My hair…" he whispered. Then louder. "My beloved hair."
Yichen, "…"
Well, what the fuck did he expect when he decided to perform electrical surgery with a few tricks?
"My hair," Mo Fei cried again.
His heart had clearly shattered. He clutched both hands to his head.
"Nooooo."
Yichen watched him.
The charcoal smudges, the wide eyes, the tragic expression, and the hair standing like it had received a round of applause from lightning, the entire sight was absurd.
Yichen almost laughed, he lifted one hand and covered his mouth slightly.
"Come here," he said.
Mo Fei looked up at him, genuinely close to tears.
"What am I going to do?"
Yichen's lips curved faintly. "Hold on."
He lifted the phone back to his ear.
"Mr. Li… yes, the apartment opposite mine. I think the power source got tampered with." He glanced at Mo Fei.
Mo Fei immediately looked offended.
Yichen ignored him.
"Yes. Come as soon as possible. Thank you."
He ended the call, then looked back at Mo Fei.
Mo Fei stood there looking tragic, smoky, and deeply betrayed by electricity.
Yichen sighed.
Then he reached out, grabbed Mo Fei's hand, and led him toward his own apartment.
"Come on," he said. "Let's fix that."
Mo Fei blinked.
Yichen glanced at him once. "You look a mess."
Mo Fei lowered his head and followed him, he did not argue.
His hair had suffered enough.