Chapter 60
Today was the first day of Murong Cheng’s quest to improve his alcohol tolerance.
After his afternoon livestream at the homestay, he went to the supermarket and bought a case of beer.
He would start with beer, a relatively low-alcohol beverage, and gradually work his way up.
Hearing about his plan, Murong Yan, who had been in a meeting with Duan Shao, returned home early and even dismissed Auntie Chen, their temporary housekeeper.
“You sent Auntie Chen away? What are we having for dinner?” Murong Cheng asked, seeing only Murong Yan at home.
Murong Yan opened the refrigerator. “I’ll make you some noodles.”
Murong Cheng: “I’m not drinking until after dinner. It won’t affect my performance.”
Murong Yan’s expression seemed to say, We’ll see about that. He ignored him, grabbed some eggs and tomatoes, and went into the kitchen.
Murong Cheng lined up the beer cans on the coffee table, went upstairs to wash his face and change clothes, and by the time he returned, Murong Yan had finished cooking.
Two bowls of tomato and egg noodles, garnished with sesame oil and green onions, looked delicious.
Although the noodles looked appetizing, he still didn’t understand why Murong Yan had dismissed Auntie Chen.
“It doesn’t matter what you eat for dinner,” Murong Yan said, placing chopsticks on the bowls. “You’ll just throw it all up later.”
Murong Cheng: “Don’t underestimate me.”
Murong Yan shrugged. “Eat up.”
After finishing the light and refreshing noodles, Murong Cheng wiped his mouth with a napkin. “CEO Murong’s culinary skills are truly impressive. Even simple dishes are delicious.”
Murong Yan: “Are you full? There’s more in the pot.”
Murong Cheng shook his head. “Didn’t you say I would throw it all up? I’ll just have this, then.”
“Why are you even practicing your drinking? You don’t need to entertain clients,” Murong Yan said, glancing at the row of beer cans.
Murong Cheng pouted. “I just want to try. My dad can hold his liquor, and so can you and Chi Yu. He practically lives at the bar. I feel like I’m the weak link.”
“Suit yourself,” Murong Yan stood up, collecting the empty bowls. “I’ll take these to the kitchen.”
He opened a beer can, the amber liquid fizzing. He licked a drop of beer from his finger and poured the rest into a glass.
His current record, and the peak of his drinking “career,” was three glasses of red wine at the company’s team-building event. But he had already been slightly tipsy after the first glass. He had only forced himself to drink the remaining two out of politeness. Realistically, his limit was one glass.
Pathetic.
He frowned and downed the beer in one gulp.
His body felt warm, a pleasant burning sensation spreading from his throat to his stomach. He felt slightly dizzy but still clear-headed.
One glass down. Goal achieved.
He had gotten drunk so quickly last time because he had drunk too fast. This time, he would pace himself.
“Already started?” Murong Yan asked, returning from the kitchen, noticing his slightly flushed cheeks.
“Yes,” Murong Cheng nodded emphatically, then immediately regretted it as the room spun slightly. He pointed to the beer cans. “Join me.”
“Okay,” Murong Yan sat down beside him, took the half-empty can from his hand, and finished it in one gulp.
Murong Cheng looked at him, bewildered. “Why did you drink mine?”
Murong Yan: “You seemed to be done with it.”
Murong Cheng frowned, not wanting to admit defeat. “It was just one glass. Barely anything.”
Murong Yan chuckled. “Fine, let’s continue then.”
He couldn’t stop now. The challenge had begun. But he also didn’t want to drink another glass just yet.
“Don’t just drink. Do we have any snacks?”
Murong Yan: “No.”
Murong Cheng: “Any munchies?”
Murong Yan: “No.”
He pouted. Murong Yan thought for a moment, then stood up.
“I think I bought a bag of peanuts last time.”
He rummaged through the pantry and found a bag of peanuts. He poured them into a bowl and brought it to the coffee table.
Murong Cheng looked up. “Let’s have a peanut-shelling competition.”
Murong Yan: “Okay.”
He placed two small white dishes on the table.
“Three minutes. Whoever shells the most peanuts wins,” he said, setting a timer.
“Three, two, one, go!”
No mention of prizes or penalties. Murong Yan indulged him, and they started shelling peanuts diligently.
Murong Yan seemed to be going easy on him, his movements slow and deliberate. Murong Cheng, however, was determined to win, his fingers moving frantically, almost dropping the peanuts.
“Beep, beep, beep!”
The timer went off. They stopped.
“Let’s count,” Murong Cheng said, pushing his dish towards Murong Yan.
He quickly counted his own peanuts. “25!”
Murong Yan: “31.”
Murong Cheng: “I win.”
Murong Yan: “Yes.”
He opened another beer and drank it.
As he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed enticingly. Murong Cheng reached out, his fingers almost touching Murong Yan’s neck, just as he finished his beer.
Murong Yan looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
Murong Cheng, completely honest, “I wanted to touch it.”
His boyfriend was too beautiful, too tempting.
Murong Yan chuckled, taking his hand and placing it on his chest. “Go ahead.”
His willingness made Murong Cheng blush. He quickly touched Murong Yan’s chest, kissed his Adam’s apple, and then withdrew his hand, embarrassed.
“Next round.”
Murong Yan deliberately lost the next round as well.
While he drank his beer, Murong Cheng took the opportunity to touch his face and neck, then started the third round.
Murong Yan stopped him. “Let’s change the game.”
He noticed the redness around Murong Cheng’s fingernails from shelling peanuts.
Murong Cheng: “Okay, what do you have in mind?”
Murong Yan grabbed a handful of shelled peanuts. “Guess whether it’s an odd or even number.”
Murong Cheng blinked. “How?”
Murong Yan: “Luck.”
Murong Cheng: “You go first.”
Murong Yan: “I’ll guess… even.”
They counted the peanuts in Murong Yan’s hand.
It was an odd number. Murong Cheng won again.
They switched roles. Murong Cheng grabbed a handful of peanuts, guessing even, while Murong Yan guessed odd. Murong Cheng won again.
“I’m surprisingly lucky,” he said, then noticed the beer cans on the table were half gone, most of them consumed by Murong Yan.
“I thought I was the one practicing my drinking,” he said, frowning.
Murong Yan: “I lost.”
Murong Cheng glared at him. “Are you cheating?”
Murong Yan raised an eyebrow. “Cheating to lose?”
Murong Cheng: “Aren’t you?”
He picked up another peanut. “Forget it, I should drink before you finish all the beer. Are you drunk?”
Murong Yan shook his head. “No.”
Murong Cheng: “Then I’ll continue. It’s been a while. Time for another drink.”
The longer intervals didn’t seem to help. He felt even dizzier, suspecting the beer was stronger than the wine he had before.
He decided to just finish it. He quickly drank another glass.
Three glasses down, and he was lightheaded.
This wasn’t working.
He swayed and leaned against Murong Yan.
Murong Yan chuckled. “I’ll carry you upstairs to bed.”
“Don’t move,” Murong Cheng clung to his shirt. “I’m dizzy.”
Murong Yan loosened his grip. “I’m not moving.”
After resting for a few minutes, Murong Cheng sat up, determined. “I have to improve! At least one more glass!”
His hand unsteady, he drank half a can of beer straight from the can. He finished it, then collapsed against Murong Yan’s legs.
He felt Murong Yan’s arms around him, about to lift him, but his stomach churned, his vision blurring, and before he could say anything, he threw up.
His throat burned, his mouth filled with a bitter taste.
He vaguely felt Murong Yan carrying him to the bathroom upstairs, wiping his face with a warm towel, and changing him into clean pajamas.
He passed out.
He woke up in the middle of the night, his throat parched. He coughed, his voice raspy. He reached for his water glass, but his head was still spinning, and he knocked it over instead, the glass shattering on the floor.
Murong Yan stirred and turned on the bedside lamp.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
Murong Cheng coughed again.
Murong Yan glanced at the broken glass. “Want some water? I’ll get you some.”
He went downstairs and returned with a glass of warm water.
“Careful, there’s broken glass on the floor,” Murong Cheng said, pointing.
Murong Yan nodded and handed him the water from the other side of the bed.
He drank half the glass, the dryness in his throat easing slightly. Murong Yan took the glass from him, went around to his side of the bed, squatted down, and carefully picked up the broken pieces, wiping up the smaller shards with a tissue.
Murong Cheng watched him anxiously, worried he might cut himself. Although seemingly unfamiliar with the task, Murong Yan was careful and thorough.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked after cleaning up the mess.
“Waiting for you,” Murong Cheng said, his cheeks still flushed, blinking at him.
Murong Yan: “Are you hungry?”
Murong Cheng shook his head. “No.”
The alcohol had worn off slightly, but he still felt nauseous.
“Then go to sleep,” Murong Yan said, turning off the light and getting back into bed.
Murong Cheng snuggled against him. “Gege, hug me.”
“Okay,” Murong Yan said, holding him close.
“Drinking is terrible. I’m never drinking again,” he mumbled, his head buried in Murong Yan’s neck.
“Does your head hurt?” Murong Yan asked, his fingers gently massaging his temples.
Murong Cheng pouted. “Yes.”
The warm touch soothed his aching head. He closed his eyes, feeling more comfortable.
Murong Yan kissed the top of his head. “Go to sleep, baby.”
Chapter 61
It was a rainy night.
Business at the bar was slow.
The owner was away, and the bartenders huddled behind the counter, some playing on their phones, others napping.
The bell above the door jingled, someone had entered.
Someone nudged Sam, the bartender responsible for greeting customers, a young man who was engrossed in a chat on his phone. Sam grabbed Chi Yu, who was quietly observing from a corner.
“Carlos, can you greet them? You’ll be making drinks soon anyway.”
Chi Yu didn’t mind the blatant slacking. He wasn’t here to work, but to observe people. He stood up and walked to the bar.
“Welcome,” he said.
The man who had just entered was tall and thin, wearing a pink hoodie covered in floral patterns. He tossed his half-wet umbrella into a wooden bucket near the door. Raindrops clung to his forehead.
Such striking attire wasn’t unusual in a bar, but Chi Yu noticed that the man was handsome, an eye-catching figure. But he was not impressed. He had seen many attractive people at the bar.
Sensing his lack of interest, the man sat down at the bar and said, “What’s your specialty?”
His voice was pleasant, with a unique magnetism. He had attracted the attention of the other two bartenders.
Sam, who had been busy on his phone, rushed to present him with a drink menu.
“818 Tequila, Radai, Jagermeister, those are our best sellers.”
“Just make something you’re good at,” the man said, looking at Chi Yu.
Under the bar’s dim lights, his gaze was intense, fixed on Chi Yu’s face. Chi Yu, used to such attention, didn’t acknowledge it, simply saying “Okay” and preparing a drink.
He dropped ice cubes into a glass, the clinking sound sharp and clear. He placed the drink before the customer, quickly withdrawing his hand.
“Enjoy.”
Murong Jing drank five glasses of alcohol. There were no other customers, and he was the only person at the bar.
After finishing his last drink, he didn’t ask for a refill, but handed two cards to Chi Yu, a black credit card and a key card from the five-star hotel next door.
Chi Yu took the cards, his long lashes lowered, and headed to the register. He returned, handing Murong Jing the receipt and the key card, along with the pen.
“Sir, please sign here.”
The man signed the receipt, his fingers brushing Chi Yu’s palm, then took the credit card and handed the key card and the receipt back.
“Sir…” Chi Yu said, his beautiful brows furrowing slightly, about to refuse.
Murong Jing interrupted. “I’ve had too much to drink. Can you walk me next door?”
The key card was indeed for Chi Yu, but he was only meant to hold it, escorting Murong Jing to his luxurious suite on the hotel’s top floor.
He wasn’t sure what else the key card implied, and he didn’t want to speculate.
After reaching the door, Murong Jing didn’t invite him in. He just asked for his name.
Chi Yu looked down, indicating the name tag on his shirt.
The man stared at his eyes, ignoring the name tag. “I want to hear you say your name.”
Chi Yu’s lashes fluttered. He looked up and said, “Chi Yu. That’s my name.”
The next few nights, Murong Jing was at the bar.
On clear nights, the bar was bustling. He would sit at the bar, in a booth, or on the dance floor.
He sought out Chi Yu, trying to get his attention. But Chi Yu remained aloof.
That night, at the bar, he watched Chi Yu prepare drinks. When he placed the drink on the counter, Murong Jing reached across and grabbed the glass.
He deliberately made physical contact, his hand brushing against Chi Yu’s, then glanced at Chi Yu, raising an eyebrow, a hint of surprise on his face, as if he hadn’t touched a hand calloused from years of handling bottles and ice.
He drank and then offered a generous tip. He was waiting for a reaction.
But Chi Yu remained impassive.
“Take me back.” Murong Jing handed him the key card, and also five red bills, his usual tip.
He seemed to sense that Chi Yu would refuse. He gestured to the other bartender and handed him five more bills.
“Let him take me. You can cover the bar for him.”
Knowing that he had made his intentions clear, Chi Yu didn’t refuse. He washed his hands and walked towards the door.
“Take me somewhere else,” Murong Jing said, his lips curving into a smile. “I’ll pay you more.”
Chi Yu’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he replied, “Where do you want to go?”
Murong Jing smiled. “Not far.”
It was indeed not far. Murong Jing led him out of the bar, around the building, to a dark alleyway.
The alley was narrow and dark. Chi Yu was certain that he was about to be kidnapped, yet he followed.
“Look,” Murong Jing said, pointing to a window with dark, tinted glass. Inside, he could see the dimly lit dance floor, filled with revelers. The music was loud, but outside, it was quiet, almost deserted. He could see the people inside, dancing, drinking, seeking pleasure. The street outside, however, was empty, with only a few tired-looking people walking by, heading home after a long day of work.
It was like two separate worlds.
Chi Yu’s heart skipped a beat.
He needed to capture this scene with his art.
“It’s like another world, isn’t it?” The man beside him chuckled. “Which one do you prefer? The one inside, or out here?”
Chi Yu’s eyes sparkled. “Guess.”
Murong Jing looked into his eyes, his expression unreadable. “I think you like both. You’re an artist, after all. You need conflict in your art.”
Chi Yu’s lashes fluttered. He couldn’t help but ask, “You know my name, so what’s yours?”
“Jared,” Murong Jing replied, looking away.
