Chapter 23: The Room Card Part 2

Su Tang’s eyes sparkled with anticipation for Fu Yanzong’s meltdown over those words. But Fu Yanzong didn’t even look at him. He kept his gaze lowered, his distinct fingers idly stroking the edge of his phone. After a long pause, he said flatly, “Just curious.”

“Curious about you two childhood sweethearts and your innocent little story…”

“And curious if anyone… has ever bullied him.”

“Like you, Teacher Su?”

Fu Yanzong’s voice was low and measured, even carrying a joking lilt, but it still held a casual chill. It felt like stepping onto a frozen tundra—enough to send a shiver down the spine.

Moments later, Su Tang finally pulled himself out of that uncomfortable sensation. He interpreted Fu Yanzong’s talk of “bullying” as flirtatious teasing and let out a soft chuckle. “We’re friends. Nothing like that would ever happen between us.”

As if. Of course there was—boys who hit you like you, boys who curse you love you. All those icy words that slipped out were nothing more than tsundere posturing.

Su Tang savored the memory for a moment, thinking back to the days when he’d bossed Song Linyu around to run errands and fetch meals for him. He even felt a touch of nostalgia.

Song Linyu had always been too good a student, single-mindedly focused on his studies from a young age. He was hard to approach, with that untouchable flower-on-a-mountaintop persona that made him tough to win over.

But Su Tang had devoured hundreds of top-notch guides provided by the Heartthrob System. He knew exactly what to do in a situation like this: lead the charge in bullying Song Linyu to draw his attention, leave him feeling isolated and alone, then swoop in as his savior.

As long as he followed up with a shy apology—”I just care about you too much”—and doubled down on the thoughtfulness, Song Linyu would tumble headlong into love.

“Is that so?”

Fu Yanzong stared into his eyes, chuckling lightly as if he’d just heard a joke.

Yet amid the laughter, Su Tang thought he heard him say something in that breezily detached tone.

“You’d better pray there isn’t.”

His voice was calm, but it carried a bone-deep chill—not a warning, not mockery, but the oppressive certainty of an inevitable end, merely biding its time. Like a hunter who had already lowered his bow, waiting for the prey’s final struggle before personally seizing its throat.

Su Tang’s back went rigid in an instant.

He wanted to argue back, but his throat felt parched, not a single word would come out. He had no idea where this instinctive sense of danger was coming from.

How strange…

Su Tang clenched his fingertips, then suddenly heard a soft click.

The conference room door was pushed open again.

In the moment the silence shattered, Su Tang jolted as if a drowning man breaking the surface, gasping in a hurried breath. He whipped his head around on instinct, only to freeze when he saw who it was, his own breath catching.

“Su Tang.”

The footsteps halted in the deathly still air. Song Linyu stood in the doorway, looking down at him with an icy gaze like an impassable wall of frost.

After a brief silence, that cool voice rose slowly. “What are you doing?”

His tone was even, devoid of any warmth.

Song Linyu always looked cold and sharp in a suit, his slightly lowered bangs half-obscuring those perpetually listless eyes, lending him an air of particular gloom. The rest of his features were so pale they seemed almost translucent, like glass on the verge of shattering—capable of cutting both himself and anyone else.

Su Tang had always found him too cold, but today Song Linyu had done something unexpected: he cradled a bouquet of fiery red roses in his arms, his pale fingertips gripping the stems tightly against his chest, adding an oddly decadent allure.

The contrast left Su Tang stunned for a long while. It wasn’t until Song Linyu approached that he let out a breath of relief, raising his hand in sincere thanks. “Thank you for bringing the flowers today… I’m fine…”

He smiled as he pushed himself up, his fingers nearly brushing the clustered petals.

In the next instant, the bouquet was yanked sharply away.

Song Linyu took a clear half-step back, dodging with crisp decisiveness. He even tucked the roses slightly behind him. Even an idiot could see he had no intention of letting Su Tang touch them.

Su Tang’s smile faltered, his expression barely holding as his hand hung in the air once more. What was Song Linyu’s deal?

The doorway didn’t stay quiet; soon, faint footsteps echoed again. Clearly, the rested actors were returning.

Song Linyu glanced at Su Tang, then lowered his eyes, his tone flat. “I need to talk to the director. Go tidy yourself up. Don’t let anyone see you like this. If you’re not feeling well, head back to your room.”

The words should have sounded caring, but they carried an undeniable edge of command.

Su Tang hated when Song Linyu acted like this. He wanted to snap back, but with Fu Yanzong and the others present, he held his tongue.

…Whatever. He didn’t want to do any more script readings anyway, and he still had scenes with Fu Yanzong that evening.

Su Tang comforted himself that way.

Something felt off about the day, but in the end, he’d achieved his goals. With his doubts bottled up and nowhere to vent, and the Heartthrob System only saying it needed more observation, he could only grit his teeth, hobble back to his room to freshen up, and get some proper rest.

Su Tang said nothing more, limping away with obvious reluctance. Fu Yanzong watched his retreating back for a few moments before shifting his gaze to Song Linyu, who stood silently before him without a word.

Whenever Song Linyu looked at him, his eyes were always so focused, the light in them clear and restrained, as if forever tinged with a hint of obedient amusement.

Fu Yanzong couldn’t shake the feeling that Song Linyu was looking at him like a puppy seeking praise.

He tilted his head up slightly, his eyes blinking once as light flickered overhead. Only then did he ask lazily, “Weren’t you looking for the director? Why aren’t you going?”

The motion laid bare the smooth lines from his jaw to his throat to his collarbone. Song Linyu’s gaze lingered instinctively for a moment before he pressed his lips together.

He glanced at the crowd filing in one by one, hesitated, then said with utmost seriousness and gravity, “Stay away from Su Tang, bro. You have to do this one thing.”

Fu Yanzong regarded him without responding until Song Linyu started to look anxious. Only then did he ask with keen interest, “Is that an order or a request?”

“A request.”

Song Linyu’s words came out very softly, his pale jaw framed by the bouquet, lending him an inseparable blend of vivid allure and fragility.

Fu Yanzong stared into his damp eyes for a while, then noticed the unsightly bruise beneath them.

After a moment’s thought, he raised his hand toward Song Linyu. Song Linyu reacted a beat late but still obediently placed his hand atop it, leaning down to listen.

Truth be told, they shouldn’t have been doing this. With so many staff and actors entering the conference room, they all lowered their voices, shooting incredulous looks at the two men conversing across the long table.

Their overlapping hands were partially shielded by the table’s edge, and the bouquet clutched at Song Linyu’s side half-concealed the scant distance between them… intimate as lovers, yet somehow distant.

Those who had arrived early to the set noticed that the roses matched the principal bouquet given to Fu Yanzong at the opening ceremony—though no one knew when it had passed from Fu Yanzong’s hands to someone else’s arms.

So they knew each other…?

Was it that kind of relationship…?

Oblivious to the crowd’s speculations and imaginings, Song Linyu bent at the waist and realized Fu Yanzong still hadn’t spoken.

It wasn’t until his dark lashes trembled involuntarily that Fu Yanzong lightly brushed the corner of his eye and murmured, “Then give me something good to think it over, President Song.”

Song Linyu froze for a half-beat, then felt Fu Yanzong seize the bouquet in his hand, pressing it forward until it fully obscured his face. Amid the thick, heady fragrance, Fu Yanzong unhurriedly pressed down on his flushed lip.

Fu Yanzong had always been fond of Song Linyu’s lip, whether in kisses or otherwise. At times, it had become a signal, a conditioned response. He would linger there unhurriedly, and Song Linyu would obediently part his lips, wetting his fingertips.

This time, Song Linyu reacted the same way on instinct.

Fu Yanzong seemed delighted by the response. He hooked the corner of his eye faintly, then drew something from his pocket and slipped it, neither lightly nor heavily, between Song Linyu’s teeth.

The metal card carried a chill that cooled the warmth in his mouth. Song Linyu stared down in a daze and saw the intricate pattern on the keycard clenched instinctively between his lips—the custom design for VIP clients at Eastern Brocade Leisure Residence.

Of course Song Linyu knew what Fu Yanzong’s room key looked like; he’d personally instructed its design, a cluster of white magnolias.

So, giving this to me means…?

Song Linyu’s heart pounded wildly.

Fu Yanzong watched the man before him obediently biting the keycard, eyes wide and glistening as he stared back. His mood, sour from dealing with Su Tang moments ago, suddenly lightened.

He was never stingy with praise. The hand he released gently caressed Song Linyu’s pale cheek, murmuring softly, “Good boy.”

Song Linyu’s pupils dilated slightly on reflex, his long black lashes frozen from the overwhelming stimulus. Moments later, the black keycard slipped silently from his lips into the dense roses, wetting the delicate petals.

Song Linyu gazed at Fu Yanzong in a somewhat clumsy daze for a long time—until the room had filled with too many people to continue. Only then did he slowly part his lips, pushing his luck with a tiny, coquettish plea to the man who’d praised him: “Then… can you kiss me once more? Please, brother.”