Chapter 56: To Cherish

“Fighting crickets” was a long-standing folk pastime that had once been extremely popular.

In simple terms, it involved confining two crickets in an enclosed area and pitting their combative natures against each other in a match.

Cricket fights weren’t always fatal—one side might flee in defeat, or the owner might concede early—so it counted as a form of spectator entertainment, not particularly cruel.

But what if “crickets” were replaced with humans?

And what if those humans were the innocent, defenseless children from the public’s stereotypical imagination?

Most terrifying of all, cricket fighting had always been tied to gambling from ancient times to the present, even evolving into a full industry that supported people who caught, sold, bred, and bet on crickets. A top-tier specimen could fetch hundreds of thousands.

People hunched over, eyes glued to the match, shouting excitedly and cheering, sweat pouring down their faces. Some were just there for fun, while others wagered real money, entrusting their futures to this tiny arena.

Total ruin or overnight riches—all decided by a few-centimeter-long insect.

But for modern people, with basic needs met, they pursued higher spiritual thrills. Tiny crickets weren’t exciting enough anymore…

Especially for the wealthy—what hadn’t they seen? Only something more bizarre, something that defied all order, could stimulate their brains, flood them with dopamine, and satisfy their ever-growing cravings.

Under the drive of massive profits, someone extended their claws toward their own kind.

The cricket industry could be perfectly replicated on humans, just with a new name.

Cricket catchers became human traffickers; breeding crickets became “raising” children until they reached the right age for selection; cricket handlers became buyers.

The gambling bosses provided the venues, expanding the palm-sized arena into a full ring where spectators no longer had to hunch—they could stand tall, flinging more sweat and gold.

The audience remained audience; the gamblers remained gamblers.

“We were called ‘little crickets’ because our age and weight hadn’t reached ‘big cricket’ standards yet.” Lai Li loosely draped an arm around Dai Linxuan’s shoulders, twirling his hair around his fingers. “The matches were as fair as original cricket fights—competitors isolated beforehand to prevent tampering, weighed to ensure the same weight class.”

“Every cricket had a clear price tag. The more wins, the more valuable. Some handlers sold their crickets at peak prices.”

“After all, the longer they fought, the more unstable their condition became, making wins unpredictable. They’d cash in big, then buy a cheap new one to train up.”

Lai Li grew more excited as he spoke, licking his lips. “Brother, guess where they’d sell them?”

Dai Linxuan closed his eyes briefly. “Organ trafficking rings.”

He thought of the filming location for his company’s new crew: the last undeveloped patch in Saibo City, where every crumbling brick and tile whispered tales of past sins. The industries humans spawned were even vaster and more intricate than real cricket fighting, each link tightly chained.

Yet over a decade had passed—some forgot, others staged a comeback.

“Wrong.” Lai Li shook his head. “Undefeated champions wouldn’t sink that low. Dismantling was for frequent losers or the injured retired ones.”

“The standouts caught the eye of spectators with special fetishes and power. They’d pay top dollar to ‘redeem’ them…”

From then on, life or death was like a stone dropped into the ocean—no more news.

Dai Linxuan couldn’t bear it and cried out, “Xiao Li…”

“Of course, some spectators only shelled out for a night or a week—cleanup was too much hassle. They’d return them to the handler afterward. If unbroken, back to fighting; if ruined, dismantling was inevitable. I…”

“Lai Li!” Dai Linxuan interrupted, gripping his shoulders and pulling back.

Meeting Dai Linxuan’s reddened eyes, a baseless shiver spread through Lai Li’s chest.

His brother was heartbroken for him—heartbroken to the point of death.

“You’re not a bug. Not a cricket. Understand?” Dai Linxuan cradled the back of Lai Li’s neck, thumb gently rubbing his eye corner, voice hoarse. “You’re…”

Brother’s treasure.

Lai Li was the little brother Dai Linxuan had raised bit by bit, spoiled and indulged to the stars—and he’d pluck the moon too. He couldn’t bear to scold or strike him.

Everyone who knew Dai Linxuan knew it.

“I’m your little dog.” Lai Li tilted his head, nuzzling his face affectionately.

Dai Linxuan shuddered as if scalded. “What nonsense?”

Lai Li bit the strand of hair he’d been playing with, tasting it.

Dai Linxuan pulled out the damp lock, voice raspy. “Dirty or not?”

“Not dirty at all.”

Everything about Dai Linxuan was wonderful to Lai Li. Lately, he kept fantasizing about pinning Dai Linxuan to the bed, stripping him bare, licking every inch, marking him with his scent—not sparing a single hair…

He wanted to bite more, devour him, but that would leave traces others might spot. Licking was already his restrained compromise.

Especially now—realizing Dai Linxuan’s heartache, Lai Li felt no normal person’s grievance or sadness. Instead, he was… exhilarated.

It was as if every pore expanded, hot currents weaving through like threads, piercing limbs, nerves, cells, coiling tighter around his heart.

Blissful to the extreme.

Lai Li bit his hand, carefully suppressing the tremor, meekly leaning on his brother’s shoulder, playing the dog scarred by too much trauma—thus “slightly” abnormal.

Of course, dogs could bite.

So he hid his utterly natural “normal” desires, professed loyalty and harmlessness to Dai Linxuan—

Most importantly, weakness.

He couldn’t scare his brother away. He had to keep him.

Dai Linxuan noticed the small action and grabbed his hand to stop the biting. “You…”

Lai Li knew Dai Linxuan misunderstood but didn’t explain. He tilted his head, tone laced with subtle mischief. “Don’t you want to know if I went through all that?”

Dai Linxuan’s arm slid down slowly, locking around Lai Li’s waist and drawing him close.

Lai Li continued, “Just like the rumors, I’m a filthy, used-up thing. Only the target wasn’t you, but…”

Dai Linxuan cut in again. “Don’t slander yourself with things that never happened to test me.”

Lai Li paused.

Dai Linxuan cradled his neck, tugging the wolf tail strand. “Even if it had, the only difference from so-called ‘cricket fighting’ is the legal charge and sentence. To me, it’s the same—hurt inflicted on you.”

“Don’t deliberately put yourself in a place to be judged.” Dai Linxuan’s throat bobbed, eyes squeezing shut deeply. “Cherish yourself a little, okay?”

“It took me so long…” to raise you this big.

Dai Linxuan trailed off for some reason, but Lai Li strangely heard profound pain in his trembling voice—pain so deep that even his tolerant, masterful-at-masking brother couldn’t fully hide it. Not entirely from heartache.

Lai Li tried to understand but failed.

“It really didn’t happen.” He sounded regretful. “I’d deliberately lose matches sometimes.”

Watching his handler rage gave a vengeful thrill, even if the cost was beatings and endless hunger.

Lai Li said, “That way, not too many noticed me. But I couldn’t lose too much—risk getting sold for ‘dismantling.'”

He kept win rates in a sweet spot: lose when the handler chased a turnaround, win unexpectedly when defeat seemed certain.

He toyed with the man’s emotions, taming him into an incurable gambling addict.

The man swung between wins and losses, money feast or famine, going mad—but loath to sell Lai Li.

Maybe next time he’d turn it around.

And after that next time? Endless more.

Lai Li said, “As long as I could still win, he wouldn’t sell me. Buying a new cricket might be worse—that was the one bet he wouldn’t take…”

Dai Linxuan’s voice was hoarse to breaking. “Don’t call yourself a cricket.”

Lai Li corrected smoothly. “My bad.”

“You should apologize to yourself, and…” Heat scorched Dai Linxuan’s throat unrelentingly. “Me too.”

Lai Li blinked. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

Dai Linxuan exhaled suppressed frustration quietly, massaging his neck before releasing his waist. Softly, “I should’ve asked about this sooner.”

“I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want your eyes filled with this filth.” Lai Li sounded displeased. “Brother, don’t take all the blame. My issues have nothing to do with you.”

“Of course they do…”

“No.” Lai Li met his gaze. “When you first picked me up, didn’t you get me a therapist? Even he didn’t notice. What could you do?”

Dai Linxuan fell silent.

“My life before ten was like that, until you showed up.” Lai Li’s lips quirked. “—That’s the reward for surviving my first decade. I earned it.”

Dai Linxuan clamped his spasming throat, speechless, Adam’s apple twitching faintly.

Truth was, even without him, the government later swept in, resettling these lost children… Lai Li might’ve gotten loving adoptive parents—not ultra-wealthy, but offering proper love and education.

But perhaps “cricket fighting” was too minor a crime compared to others—not even mentioned in the sweep report twelve years ago.

“Brother, I live because of you. I only want to live in your world.” Lai Li hugged Dai Linxuan again, biting his collarbone and licking. “You can’t abandon me.”

A long moment passed without response.

His face darkened. “Brother?”

Dai Linxuan seemed to snap back, humming softly by his ear.

Right then, Lai Li could’ve tried anything without refusal. Temptation stirred, but he held back.

Too rash, and he’d scare his brother off.

Thresholds rose gradually; boundaries eroded bit by bit.

Lai Li knew the art well.

They talked more. Dai Linxuan asked details, like the handler who bought Lai Li—what was his name?

“Don’t know the full name.” Lai Li said. “Everyone called him Huang Shouzi.”

Dai Linxuan exhaled lightly. Twelve years on—if no other major crimes, the man was likely out of prison, or never caught.

He patted Lai Li’s waist. “I’m going to wash my hands. Any bumps on your legs?”

Lai Li nodded.

Dai Linxuan: “Do it yourself or should I help?”

“You help.”

Lai Li wouldn’t do it himself, but without this talk, Dai Linxuan probably wouldn’t have offered.

He hooked his lips, listening to the bathroom water run, burrowing contentedly into his brother’s pillow.

Dai Linxuan shut off the faucet, grabbed tissue to wipe lip water stains, then dried his hands while heading to the bed. He packed away all the raw emotion from before, burying it deep.

When he spoke again, his usual gentleness returned. “Roll up your pants.”

“…” Lai Li eyed the loose pajama cuffs, deciding to swap all their sleepwear later.

Around ten, Dai Linxuan had to head out for a dinner. Still uneasy, he buttoned his shirt and asked, “Come with me?”

Lai Li wasn’t surprised, suppressing glee and playing good. “No clothes.”

“Wear mine.” Dai Linxuan recalled packing a black sweater, wearable alone. “Or have Li Jue buy some now. Being late’s fine.”

Lai Li jumped. “Yours.”

Dressed, fully enveloped in Dai Linxuan’s scent, he followed contentedly into the elevator.

He asked thoughtfully, “Is bringing family to this dinner okay?”

Sea shipping wasn’t Dai Family turf, and out of town—not everyone would give Dai Linxuan face.

Dai Linxuan said, “No issue. Probably not just me bringing someone.”

Work dinners with plus-ones? Unprofessional.

Exiting the elevator, Lai Li glanced at the overhead security light. Suddenly, “I didn’t dismantle that camera.”

Dai Linxuan paused for a moment before he reacted. He glanced at Lai Li and said, “You want to use it? I’ll transfer the app to you.”

“…” Lai Li reached out. “Give me the phone.”

“Go wait on the sofa.” Dai Linxuan placed the phone in Lai Li’s palm. He didn’t expect him to suddenly develop any sense of boundaries. “Don’t tap the group messages, or I might mix up which ones I’ve replied to and which I haven’t.”

Dai Linxuan turned and headed to the front desk.

Lai Li deftly entered the password and unlocked his brother’s phone. He skimmed the installed apps—they were astonishingly sparse. Aside from chat apps, there were only a few sudoku game plugins, and the monitoring app showed just one camera feed.

His brother really was the picture of a model youth. Even when installing surveillance, he only put it in the living room of the apartment he’d bought with his own money.

If showering didn’t create steam, he probably wouldn’t have spared the bathroom either.

Lai Li restarted the surveillance app on Dai Linxuan’s phone and was satisfied to see the feed from his own apartment living room.

He walked to the sofa and sat down. Then he opened his brother’s photo album, which turned out to be completely empty.

Lai Li frowned slightly. He vaguely remembered that the album used to have some photos of himself. For a moment, he wasn’t sure, but normally, wouldn’t an empty album be unusual these days?

Had he deleted them when he went abroad two years ago…?

Lai Li opened the camera and snapped a selfie.

Then he tapped into Dai Linxuan’s WeChat and browsed through it without any boundaries. His own chat was pinned at the top, with the note “Little Chestnut.”

Lai Li paused for a second, and his face darkened instantly.

“Thanks.”

Dai Linxuan took the bandage from the front desk. As he turned around, he saw Lai Li radiating low pressure from the sofa—probably rummaging through something again without permission. Every hair on the back of his head screamed displeasure.

Dai Linxuan stopped behind the sofa. “Look up.”

Lai Li didn’t move, so Dai Linxuan simply lifted his chin with his fingers and applied the oversized bandage to the wound. “Has President Lai finished his inspection?”

Lai Li stared at him without a word.

Dai Linxuan pulled the phone from his hand and glanced at it briefly. Sure enough, the note had been changed back to “Some stray mutt.”

Dai Linxuan looked at it for a moment, then turned his gaze to Lai Li with a smile. “This one’s so big—where’s the ‘little’ in that?”

“Then change it to big.” Lai Li enunciated each word. “Don’t touch any other characters.”

“Never mind, ‘little’ is cuter.” Dai Linxuan pinched the back of his neck. “The car’s here. Please, young master, get in the car.”

Lai Li’s displeasure eased a bit, but it quickly peaked again.

—The lunch banquet wasn’t just with the people in charge of the new flight route. Huo Shuang and Huo Wenhai were there too.

Lai Li stood at the entrance to the banquet hall when his phone suddenly buzzed with a message from Third Uncle Dai, saying he wanted to meet and talk about something.

With the shareholders’ meeting tomorrow, the timing was suspicious…

Lai Li frowned, lowered his head, and typed out a reply.

Dai Linxuan noticed him lingering at the door and turned back. “What’s up?”

Lai Li pocketed his phone, glanced at the Huo siblings, gnawed on his finger, and said expressionlessly, “Nothing. My pica just flared up.”