Chapter 32: A Lesson

Song Linyu couldn’t remember exactly what he had done after Fu Yanzong said those words. The only clear memory in his mind was that he had faithfully carried out Fu Yanzong’s instructions.

Next, Fu Yanzong took hold of his hand.

Fu Yanzong’s palm felt ice-cold against his skin, and Song Linyu’s first reaction was to freeze in stunned surprise.

He lowered his head to look and saw that Fu Yanzong had lifted his injured left hand. White elastic bandages wrapped tightly from his forearm down to the wrist bone, then circled halfway around the base of his thumb before tapering off, pressing a sickly pale red into the pallid skin.

Song Linyu’s breathing grew erratic. A bitter ache twisted in his chest, and he felt that if he kept staring, he would lose all composure in front of Fu Yanzong. He could only tear his gaze away in evasion.

Yet on his own wrist, where Fu Yanzong held him, a ridge of tense veins bulged—he didn’t dare put even the slightest pressure or force on Fu Yanzong’s hand.

Feeling the feather-light weight in his palm, Fu Yanzong let out a helpless little smile. He could only curl his fingers, slowly enveloping Song Linyu’s hand.

There was no escaping it now.

Then, with his fingertip, he gently rubbed over the rough, prominent vein on Song Linyu’s hand before gradually applying force, drawing the man closer to his side.

The sudden pull startled Song Linyu. He didn’t dare resist, only yielding to the motion as he carefully lifted his knee, half-kneeling at the edge of the hospital bed.

As the distance closed between them, the damp, fog-chilled mist clinging to Song Linyu’s clothes softly enveloped Fu Yanzong, making him smile and lower his eyes.

Fu Yanzong’s eyelashes were long and thick, the same profoundly deep black as his irises, accentuating the striking contrast of his features. Even on camera, they stood out in bold, striking strokes. Now, dampened by unseen moisture, the fine crow feathers clung half-wet, leaving Song Linyu breathless.

Then he felt Fu Yanzong loosen his fingers, shifting to press their palms together—before threading his fingers through Song Linyu’s with forceful insistence, leaving no room for refusal.

It was the gesture Fu Yanzong always loved in their deepest moments of passion.

He did it tirelessly, with a playful smile and endless patience, prying open Song Linyu’s clenched fist—whether from pain or pleasure—delivering an indescribable thrill, followed by that wickedly tender soothing.

“Wait…” Song Linyu’s voice was hoarse, barely audible. He paused for a moment before continuing, “Brother… your hand—”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Fu Yanzong chuckled softly in a whisper. “See? Nothing at all, right?”

Song Linyu’s heart skipped a beat, then flooded with a dense, aching soreness—like a beating organ steeped in pure lemon juice, or a dull nail tip gently pinching the tender point at its core.

The sourness and pain weren’t sharp, but they made his eyes burn without reason.

Tears fell first in a single drop, then in a steady stream, until they poured like the relentless drizzle from eaves in the plum rain season, soaking their clasped hands without end.

In front of Fu Yanzong, Song Linyu always cried quietly. He paused, steadying the tremor in his voice, and nodded cooperatively. “Right.”

Then, with profound reverence, he bowed his head, as if confessing to the act he was about to commit.

Afterward, still holding Fu Yanzong’s hand, he leaned down into his embrace.

Fu Yanzong indulged him.

Song Linyu’s position—one leg braced against the bed’s edge while bending at the waist—looked terribly awkward. Fu Yanzong’s other hand circled his waist. Far from angry, he murmured encouragingly in his ear, “Want to come a little closer?”

Song Linyu nodded honestly. He climbed onto the bed and burrowed into Fu Yanzong’s arms. When his forehead pressed into the hollow of Fu Yanzong’s neck, he hesitated a moment before pressing his entire body flush against him.

The arm around Song Linyu’s waist tightened gradually, offering a deep, reassuring embrace they hadn’t shared in far too long.

Amid the soft rustle of the bedsheets, he buried his face deeper into that warmth. Song Linyu’s hand against Fu Yanzong’s arm still trembled, yet he gripped tighter still, as if determined to melt all his own body heat into Fu Yanzong’s skin—to warm him, and never part.

Night wind slipped through the half-open window, lifting one corner of the snowy white curtain. The rustling leaves and breeze only deepened the serene quiet of this small world.

Fu Yanzong’s steady, even breaths brushed Song Linyu’s ear.

With Song Linyu in his arms, half of Fu Yanzong’s profile sank into the soft pillow. When Song Linyu glanced up from his shoulder, he caught the teardrop mole at Fu Yanzong’s eye, gently lifted by his smile.

It was… so tempting. He wanted to kiss it.

Song Linyu froze for a second, then asked blankly, “Can I kiss you, brother?”

Fu Yanzong pondered a moment, drawling lazily, “Only one or the other.”

Meaning he could choose either the hug or the kiss—but not both.

Song Linyu’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of “why like this?” grievance in them. But true to his unwavering rule of affirming everything Fu Yanzong said, he soon bowed his head again. After a moment of serious contemplation, he gave his solemn answer:

“Then hug a little longer.”

“Sure.” Fu Yanzong nodded generously, then added slyly with mock regret, “Actually, you could think about it more in my arms… and pick the second option.”

That way, he’d get both.

But outside, where President Song—cunning with his 108 schemes—was unmatched, here with Fu Yanzong, Song Linyu remained a simpleton who never learned to play tricks. After hearing that, he let out a tiny “ah,” filled with sudden realization and regret.

“Never mind.” Fu Yanzong glanced at him, unusually deciding to give him an out.

After all, today’s Song Linyu was truly frightened—Fu Yanzong was certain of that.

If anyone in the world could torment Song Linyu with ease, Fu Yanzong was the only one. He knew exactly what would hurt him, what would drive him to despair.

Among all the punishments Fu Yanzong could devise, the cruelest… was letting Song Linyu witness him in peril with his own eyes.

One glance at Song Linyu told him the man hadn’t listened tonight—he’d snuck out to the set, perhaps eagerly bringing Fu Yanzong’s favorite sweets, only to behold a terrifying crash.

…If he’d known Song Linyu would see.

Never mind.

With that thought, Fu Yanzong leaned down to kiss Song Linyu’s forehead, then whispered, “Here’s a third option for you.”

Song Linyu was speechless, his nasal passages aching too.

Why did Fu Yanzong always offer him a third option? Why was he always so gentle?

It utterly eliminated any chance of letting go.

So, in panicked urgency, he tilted his head up to chase the kiss—but halted just shy of Fu Yanzong’s cheek, waiting timidly for permission.

Fu Yanzong said nothing, casually half-closing his eyes and turning his head to capture Song Linyu’s still-damp, chilled lips.

This time, Song Linyu kissed fiercely—unlike the cautious overtures since their reunion, this carried a desperate, fearful possessiveness born of aftershock.

In the cold white light, Fu Yanzong vaguely glimpsed the shattered waterlight in Song Linyu’s pale eyes and heard his broken, mumbled words.

“…Don’t… let me see it a third time…”

Fu Yanzong didn’t catch Song Linyu’s words clearly, only vague numbers, but he didn’t ask. He simply absorbed this fear, the same as before.

Earlier, Song Linyu had lingered at the door to Room 307, worried yet hesitant to approach, poised to flee at any moment.

Whether he’d leave with a hug or something else, Fu Yanzong wasn’t sure yet. But for now, Song Linyu’s answer satisfied him.

So he didn’t let Song Linyu take the lead for long. Soon, he seized control, pinching his chin to force out physiological tears.

When their lips parted, Song Linyu blinked sluggishly, his breaths still ragged and uneven.

Fu Yanzong reached up to touch his face, then asked slowly, “Feeling uncomfortable anywhere now?”

Song Linyu lowered his gaze, hiding the chaotic thoughts from outside the operating room and the endless replays in his mind. He shook his head firmly.

Then he hesitated and nodded slightly, asking softly, “Next time… can you avoid putting yourself in danger?”

Or I’ll keep being scared.

Fu Yanzong countered, “I don’t do anything without certainty. But you, Song Linyu—have you?”

“We’re different,” Song Linyu cut in swiftly, stubbornly repeating, “You can’t get hurt.”

Fu Yanzong narrowed his eyes, watching him leisurely. After a moment, he withdrew his hand, picked up his phone from beside him, nodded slowly, and said, “Good.”

The word “good” was flat, utterly calm—perhaps laced with Fu Yanzong’s signature amusement—but it sent an inexplicable chill down Song Linyu’s spine.

He suddenly realized that he had said the absolute wrong thing, but his mind couldn’t catch up in time. Helplessly, he tried to backpedal. “I mean… can I start over? Bro, don’t be mad.”

“No worries.” Fu Yanzong looked up at him with a smile. Then he opened his phone’s camera, flipped the mirror mode, and Song Linyu’s face appeared in the frame.

“Didn’t you just say whether you like filming videos?” Fu Yanzong asked.

“I… like?” Song Linyu’s voice carried a placating uncertainty as he asked cautiously, “Or not like?”

“Like it for now.”

Fu Yanzong made the decision bluntly on his behalf. The handsome smile on his face vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold expression. With casual indifference, he tapped the record button. A sharp “ding” echoed through the quiet room.

Song Linyu stood blankly in front of the lens. He heard Fu Yanzong’s voice turn exceptionally cold as he commanded, “Take off your clothes.”

Fu Yanzong held up the phone and ordered casually, “Don’t make me hold this too long, President Song.”

Then he added, “It’s my first time behind the camera. I wonder which site will have the honor.”

He leaned forward calmly. “What do you think the title will be when it’s uploaded? When the popup ad flashes, will anyone recognize that face of yours?”

“Probably,” Fu Yanzong continued. “After all, President Song is quite famous.”

His words were laced with vicious cruelty, bordering on outright humiliation. He had withdrawn his gentleness far too abruptly. Song Linyu froze for a moment, a strange ache blooming in his chest for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp. His fingertips turned white as he clenched them tightly together.

But Fu Yanzong’s hand was injured. Even through his discomfort, Song Linyu didn’t want to keep him waiting. He raised his hands and instinctively began shrugging off his windbreaker, followed by the buttons of the shirt beneath it.

The dark lens captured every moment faithfully. Though Song Linyu trusted Fu Yanzong completely, those blunt words and the utter lack of emotion in his eyes still filled him with fear.

When his pale skin was finally exposed to the chill air, Song Linyu felt a long-forgotten wave of humiliation wash over him.

He gazed pleadingly into Fu Yanzong’s eyes… but it was clear that Fu Yanzong had no intention of ending the punishment there.