Professor Kandy of the Law School had just finished his last class of the week. Carrying his laptop bag, he headed into the underground parking garage, feeling a bit weary.
Then, in the garage, he spotted a familiar car.
He recognized it—it was Aston’s car.
Among the school leaders, Aston was the most low-key yet wielded the most influence.
Kandy had run into him here by chance before.
Now, Kandy hesitated. He paused, thinking he should go see if Aston was inside the car. If so, he definitely needed to say hello.
But just as he turned and took two steps, he squinted.
—He noticed the car body tremble slightly.
…
Inside the car.
Ming Ying was sprawled on the leather seat, his vision hazy.
He instinctively tried to lift his hand, but due to exhaustion, it clenched weakly in the air before finally slapping against the side window with a thud.
A blast of hot mist fogged the cold glass.
“I was wrong, alright!”
“I’m really wrong!”
“Teacher!!!”
Ming Ying almost refused to acknowledge that voice as his own.
Finally, Silas sat back, pulled out a tissue, and wiped his hands casually.
Ming Ying, meanwhile, was still gasping for air on the passenger seat, disheveled and looking utterly disgraced.
Ming Ying steadied his heartbeat and glanced at the man in the driver’s seat from the corner of his eye.
The car was dark, the light filtering in from outside dim, merely outlining his half-profile of handsome features. Light and shadow flickered illusorily; the man was like a statue, appearing and disappearing.
And now, this “defiled” statue was looking down, wiping his hands in a leisurely, methodical manner—
Ming Ying’s gaze swept over, his heart jumped, and his ears began to roar.
The image was too shocking.
Mr. Aston had just…
In an instant, half of Ming Ying’s body went numb.
Because he forgot to hide his stare, the person in the driver’s seat sensed Ming Ying’s gaze, turned his face slightly, and their eyes met again.
Ming Ying froze. Seeing Ming Ying’s dazed expression, Silas’s lips curved into a smirk. He suddenly stopped his motion, closed his two fingers together, reached over, and stroked Ming Ying’s lip.
The warm fingertips slowly brushed across Ming Ying’s lips, leaving an indescribable scent behind.
There was the cologne wafting from the suit cuff, and also…
“…”
What the f
Ming Ying immediately sat up, grabbed a tissue, and wiped his mouth. “Cough, cough, cough…”
Silas asked, amused, “Disgusted?”
Ming Ying’s face was bright red. “No, you— I— cough, cough, cough.”
He couldn’t even get a full sentence out. How could someone do these things without blushing or their heart racing?
This old pervert…
But just when Ming Ying was wide open and completely flustered,
He suddenly heard the person beside him ask, “Still straight?”
Ming Ying: “…”
What the f
After a moment of silence, Ming Ying sucked in a breath of cold air. “How can you be like this…”
Silas: “Like what?”
Ming Ying paused, unable to find a suitable word, and finally said, “Forcing an honest man into prostitution.”
Silas let out a laugh.
The two spent about ten more minutes composing themselves in the car before it was finally started and driven out of the garage.
Not far away, Kandy, who had been watching for a while, only snapped out of it when the car drove off, realizing that Aston had been inside all along!
…
On the road, Ming Ying kept his brows furrowed, seemingly feeling he had lost another round.
Thinking this, he glanced at the man in the driver’s seat.
Silas: “Ming, if you have something to say, say it.”
Ming Ying stated, “I don’t want Thai food anymore.”
He had changed his mind on a whim. Silas didn’t ask why, only said, “Then what do you want to eat?”
“Don’t know.”
“Chinese food?”
“No.”
“Western food?”
“Not used to it.”
“Japanese food?”
“I hate the Japanese.”
Silas stepped on the brake.
Ming Ying immediately coughed and said, “Let’s have KFC.”
Silas looked at him and smiled. What a kid.
He nodded. “Fine.”
The conversation ended there, but Silas still didn’t start the car.
Ming Ying’s heart started racing again. Was this old pervert still trying to mess with him?
Ming Ying clutched his seatbelt and couldn’t help glancing sideways. But this time, the moment his eyes touched the other’s long hand resting on the steering wheel, he flinched as if electrocuted and immediately withdrew his gaze.
Ming Ying rubbed his nose. “So, uh, why aren’t we going?”
Ming Ying coughed. “I said KFC…”
Ming Ying sighed. “Let’s go, let’s go.”
Silas: “Ming, it’s a red light right now.”
“…”
Ming Ying shut up.
Soon, the light turned green, and the car started moving.
Ming Ying breathed a sigh of relief.
Sure enough, Silas took him to a KFC in the city center. As soon as they entered, Ming Ying hesitated because there were many children and it was a bit noisy.
He glanced at Silas, who didn’t seem to mind and appeared to be looking for an empty seat.
For some reason, looking around the restaurant, almost everyone was a family of three with a child.
Silas found Ming Ying a seat, then rolled up his sleeves and went to order.
When he came back, Ming Ying, propping his chin on his hand, asked, “Isn’t this strange? Why are there so many kids here today?”
Silas put down the tray. “The store is running a parent-child event today. The parent-child combo meal is on discount.”
Ming Ying let out an “Oh,” then asked, “So what’s this you ordered?”
“The parent-child combo.”
“???”
Ming Ying’s eyes widened. “Who’s the child?”
Silas looked up at him. “Ming, what do you think?”
Ming Ying: “…”
At that moment, Ming Ying really wanted to say to the person across from him: Here, call me Daddy.
But he didn’t dare.
Silas seemed to read his thoughts. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
Ming Ying stabbed a chicken nugget with his fork. “Didn’t the staff suspect anything? You’re not that old, right?”
Silas smirked. “Mm, it’s you who looks too young.”
Damn. Miscalculation. Beaten at his own game again.
Frustrated, Ming Ying stuffed two more pieces of chicken nuggets into his mouth. Seeing this, Silas stuck a straw in the cola and handed it over.
Ming Ying took it very naturally, took a sip, and mumbled, “Being my dad is no easy job. First off, I’d need a monthly allowance…”
To his surprise, upon hearing this, Silas put down the ketchup and said, “No problem. But I’ll need an itemized account of every expense. Can you manage that?”
Ming Ying was startled and retorted, “That’s tyranny! Whoever becomes your son must have terrible luck.”
“…”
The moment the words left his mouth, Ming Ying regretted them. Crap, why did his mouth always run faster than his brain? He kept forgetting who this person was.
This damn mouth of his would be his downfall sooner or later.
“Uh, what I meant…” Ming Ying began to backpedal. “Don’t misunderstand, I didn’t mean I want to be your son. No, I mean, I didn’t mean it like that…”
Silas looked at him and smiled slightly. “Mm. Eat.”
The two ate quietly for a while, but Ming Ying still felt uneasy.
So he coughed, his tone carrying some genuine ingratiation, and said, “Teacher.”
Silas looked up at him.
Ming Ying figured he should buy some insurance. “Sometimes, the way I talk, it’s not intentionally targeting you. It’s just, you know? I’m naturally a bit… antagonistic towards schools…”
Silas raised an eyebrow. “So?”
Ming Ying steeled his heart. “So, if I ever offend you, you can’t hold a personal grudge and get Professor Thomas, or any other professor, to make things difficult for me.”
Silas was amused. “Mm, I usually take my revenge in private.”
“…”
What the f
Ming Ying lowered his head, bit into his burger, and said nothing more.
Just then, a hand reached over from across the table. Ming Ying froze.
Silas wiped the mustard from the corner of Ming Ying’s lips, then said, “Ming, you have to learn to enjoy the present.”
“…”
Enjoy the present…
With that touch, the scene from the car earlier flashed before Ming Ying’s eyes again, and his face flushed once more.
Damn it, old man, you got your enjoyment.
…
After they finished eating and walked out of the restaurant, Ming Ying, showing rare filial consideration, asked, “Did you get enough to eat?”
Silas looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just felt like you didn’t eat much.”
“Can’t eat too much at night.”
Ming Ying made an “Oh” sound and asked curiously, “Have you eaten this before?”
Silas: “Why wouldn’t I have?”
Ming Ying spoke honestly. “Uh, I just feel like people like you wouldn’t eat this.”
After all, he even had someone cook at his home just for Chinese food.
The man beside him curved his lips upon hearing this. “Ming, I’m just an ordinary person.”
“…”
Listen to that. Who would believe it?
That’s no different from Jack Ma saying he doesn’t like money.
Ming Ying pulled at the corner of his mouth and replied, “Oh, and the President of the United States is an ordinary person too.”
Silas offered no comment on that statement.
When they reached the car, Ming Ying asked again, “How much did our meal cost in total?”
Silas frowned slightly, seeming a bit puzzled by the question, but still answered, “Altogether, fifty dollars.”
“Oh. I’ll Venmo you my half later.”
“…”
Ming Ying said very righteously, “I can’t keep letting you pay for my meals.”
Silas, however, laughed and looked at him. “Ming, this is a parent-child combo. You already paid your share.”
???
What did that mean???
Ming Ying stood rooted to the spot for a moment. After about two minutes, it suddenly dawned on him.
A fifty-dollar parent-child combo.
Parent-Child Combo.
‘Parent’ was a verb. [T/N: In Chinese, ‘Parent-child’ is ‘Qinzi’, where ‘Qin’ also means ‘to kiss’.]
What the fuck
…
After the two got in the car, they drove for a while longer.
Ming Ying was still silently cursing when he belatedly realized: Aston was taking him home tonight…
Ming Ying instantly felt restless.
To be honest, he still didn’t truly understand why he was sitting in this car right now, or why things were developing in this direction.
Everything seemed completely absurd.
Ming Ying came from a very traditional Chinese family. Comrade Ming Jianguo was a university professor in Shanghai, and Ms. Chen Qinqin was a dedicated director in a government agency. Both had high expectations for him. And Ming Ying had grown up with his grandparents, so the older generation’s thinking went without saying.
Ming Ying felt that his acting out back in China was purely rebellion.
But now that he was abroad, alone, how could he rebel this hard…
In fact, that was how young were. Too young to sort out the relationships, they relied on pure hormonal impulses and those indescribable, unclear feelings as their code of conduct. Ming Ying was no different.
He wasn’t a fool. Could he not know what he was doing? Could he not know he was going home with a man over ten years older than him, a man who was, more importantly, a school leader he was supposed to respect?
Silas was driving. Ming Ying was having another internal debate:
Q: Is this something a normal person does?
Ming Ying: What do you mean, not something a normal person does? Am I not a person?
Q: Have you ever seen a proper student get involved with a school leader?
Ming Ying: Why don’t you ask which school leader seduces male students like this?
Q: And you just took the bait when he seduced you?
Ming Ying: I didn’t! Didn’t I resist?
Q: You call that resistance? That was flirting!
Ming Ying: Screw off!
The car stopped.
Ming Ying snapped back to reality from his internal debate.
“Are we here?” he asked subconsciously.
Silas: “What?”
“Ah.” Ming Ying looked around. They were clearly still on the road. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I thought we’d arrived.”
“Arrived where you thought?”
“At your place, of course—”
Ming Ying stopped himself. He turned to look at the person in the driver’s seat, who was looking back at him, raising an eyebrow. “Thought we were at my house already?”
“…”
Ming Ying didn’t want to talk anymore. This man annoyed him to death.
Silas, however, curled his lips. “Ming, I bought pastries.”
“Oh.” Ming Ying asked, “From the same shop?”
“Mm. The one you like.”
??? Ming Ying was confused again. When had he ever said he liked it?
Silas seemed to read his mind instantly and said, “Ming, you mentioned it on WhatsApp.”
Ming Ying: “Oh, oh.”
Soon, the delivery guy arrived, found Aston’s car with pinpoint accuracy, and passed the pastries through the window into Ming Ying’s arms.
In an instant, the sweet yet refreshing fragrance filled his nose.
While Silas was busy starting the car again, Ming Ying lowered his head, took out his phone, and scrolled through his chat history with XI.
His fingers flew, scrolling back further and further, until he finally found it—about a month ago. He had indeed replied.
XI: Ming, how did you find those pastries?
Mingo: Delicious. Thank you.
XI: Mm.
Ming Ying pursed his lips and put his phone away.
…
No matter how many weights piled up on the scale of reason, they all seemed to lose to a single moment of a racing heartbeat.
That moment didn’t need to last long, just one second. The feeling of passion erupting, of blood rushing through his entire body, lasted only a second, yet it made one willingly swallow the sweet poison.
After twenty years, the straight-man mindset of Ming Ying finally developed a terrifying crack.
But luckily, the heavens had left him one excuse to rationalize it.
Ming Ying: I like XI. It just so happens that XI is him.
Q: You’re asking for trouble! There’s no future in this!
Ming Ying: Who the hell needs a future? Didn’t you hear your boss? Don’t you know how to enjoy the present?!
Soon, the car stopped again.
Ming Ying looked out the window carefully. This time, they had truly arrived.
But their destination wasn’t the luxury apartment in downtown Manhattan. It was a standalone villa in the XX District.
Ming Ying had never been here, but he had heard of it. The housing prices here were shockingly high. It seemed that Hollywood star or whatever also liked buying property in this area. Still, it suited Aston’s status.
The gate opened automatically, and Silas drove inside.
After parking, Silas unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the car door, and said, “We’re here.”
“Oh.” Ming Ying unbuckled his seatbelt too.
Silas held the car door and bent down to look at him. “Ming, we’re here. Get out.”
“Oh.” Ming Ying was touching the car door, looking as if he were wiping dust off it, or perhaps about to play a piano piece on it.
Silas narrowed his eyes. “Do you need me to open your car door and roll out a red carpet to invite you out?”
“…That won’t be necessary.”
Ming Ying coughed. Thinking to himself, f, can’t chicken out.
So he decisively pushed the door open and got out.
Seeing this, Silas chuckled lightly, then went around to the back to grab Ming Ying’s bag before leading him inside.
Silas’s home was a duplex villa. The reason Ming Ying called it his home was that the moment he stepped into the entrance hall, the style, completely different from the hotel-like decor of the downtown apartment, told him—this was Mr. Aston’s usual residence.
Ming Ying’s first impression of the house was that it was clean. So clean he felt almost too embarrassed to step inside. His second impression was simplicity and elegance. Whether it was the sofa or the gym equipment, the layout and color coordination felt very comfortable.
The third impression was atmosphere. Ming Ying noticed several original sketches of famous architectural designs hanging in the living room, and he also noted the very fresh flower arrangement on the coffee table. The house had a faint, pleasant scent.
“Ming.” Silas called back to him.
Ming Ying responded and changed his shoes before entering.
Silas: “What were you looking at just now?”
Ming Ying spoke honestly. “I think your house looks really nice. And the flowers—it seems Mr. Aston has quite the refined taste.”
Silas told the truth. “Ming, I just got back today. The cleaning service did that.”
“…”
“Oh.” Ming Ying added, “It wasn’t to welcome me, was it?”
Crap. What was he saying!
Silas walked over to the table and poured him a glass of water, chuckling. “You can think of it that way.”
“…”
Ming Ying sat on the sofa and took the glass. “So what’s that luxury apartment then?”
“One of my properties.”
Crap. What was he asking!
Such an enviable, damn capitalist!
“Ming, what are you thinking about?”
“…” Ming Ying coughed. “Just thinking how nice it’d be if I had that much property too.”
Silas picked up his backpack. “Mm, we can discuss that later. Right now, you have some research assignments.”
“…”
At this moment, Ming Ying was in no mood for that stuff. “I don’t want to write. Or read.”
Silas put down the backpack. “Then let’s do something else.”
Ming Ying’s heart skipped a beat.
Something else? Do what else? He watched the man’s movement as he stood up. The drumbeat in Ming Ying’s chest grew louder and louder. He wanted to say something, but the moment he opened his mouth, his throat felt glued shut.
But then Silas stood up, touched his face, and said, “Get up and run. You ate a bit too much tonight.”
“…”
So, why exactly, late at night, were they here running?
Just like that, Ming Ying was pulled onto the treadmill by Silas.
Back in China, he used to exercise, but ever since coming to this place where even working out cost money, he had given up.
Now, as Ming Ying ran, his attention drifted to the person beside him.
Probably no one had ever seen Silas on a treadmill…
Silas noticed his gaze and suddenly reached out, turning Ming Ying’s head back. Frowning, he said, “Ming, focus.”
“Oh.”
Ming Ying averted his gaze.
He snorted inwardly, then seriously started running.
But Ming Ying had a habit that may or may not have been good: once he got serious, he forgot his surroundings.
—Thus, as he ran, he suddenly raised his arms and peeled off his shirt.
