Chapter 4: Kidnapped at the Same Time as My Boyfriend’s White Moonlight

◎Xie You Arrives◎

The tattoo-faced man didn’t dare speak again. He scrambled up off the floor.

The rustling around them died in an instant. Every man in the room knew how mercurial Lu Fei could be—one of them froze mid-sip, arm locked in place, terrified that even the smallest sound might drag him down with the rest.

The factory floor went dead silent.

Wen Tong caught his breath without meaning to, heart hammering.

Lu Fei’s long, narrow eyes narrowed a fraction. His tone had lost all its earlier laziness; it was cold enough to frighten. “So Xie the Second likes Bai Yue better.”

“Then I’ll treasure his darling for him.”

At the mention of Xie You, something darker surfaced in his eyes, all shadow and gloom.

Wen Tong’s heart quailed. How had Xie You managed to provoke this particular demon?

He’d known Xie You seven years, and never once had Xie You mentioned a man like this.

Xie You was the textbook “other family’s kid”—good-natured, good grades, capable. Campus heartthrob and top student all through middle school. Running his own business the moment he turned eighteen, and doing well at it. In everything—how he carried himself, how he handled people—he turned in perfect marks.

Everyone Wen Tong had met over the years had nothing but praise for Xie You.

Xie You was, for all intents and purposes, a flawless person. The only thing anyone ever held against him was that he was the Xie family’s bastard son—only acknowledged and brought back into the household in his first year of high school.

These men clearly weren’t Xie family. The Xie family would never lay a hand on Bai Yue.

Which meant the man running this show had a personal grudge against Xie You.

“Hit him.”

Lu Fei said it again.

The underlings immediately rolled up their sleeves and started toward Bai Yue. The tattoo-faced man, still smarting from the kick he’d taken, got there first—one lunging stride and he was in front of Bai Yue.

He hauled Bai Yue up by the collar and drove a fist into his face. Bai Yue let out a muffled grunt, head snapping to the right, his cheek flushing red at a rate you could watch happen.

Crack—crack—

Crack—crack—

More slaps landed. Bai Yue’s face turned patchy purple and black, ugly enough to make your stomach turn.

Lu Fei watched for a while before speaking, lazy and unhurried. “Give the Bai family some face. Not the face.”

The tattoo-faced man acknowledged it, swung his fist, and buried it in Bai Yue’s stomach.

Four or five men pinned Bai Yue to the ground and went at him with fists and boots. The wet smack of flesh on flesh, the rasp of fabric—it echoed through the empty factory hall.

A few of them had heard that Xie You treasured Bai Yue’s hands, so now they made a point of stomping on them. Bai Yue curled in on himself, barely managing to shield the hands that mattered most.

Wen Tong’s heart clenched into a knot. His lashes trembled; he couldn’t watch, and he didn’t dare speak.

He was afraid that one wrong word from him would only get Bai Yue beaten worse.

Lu Fei noticed his fingernails digging unconsciously into the hem of his shirt. Propping his chin on one hand, he asked slowly, “You want a turn?”

Wen Tong’s mind was a tangled mess. He hadn’t caught the words. He lifted his head, blank. “Huh?”

Lu Fei tilted his chin toward the beating. Patiently, he said, “Go hit Bai Yue. Or get hit.”

“Pick one.”

Wen Tong pressed his lips tight. He didn’t want either.

Lu Fei waited. No answer came. He gave a soft, dismissive laugh. “You can’t even pick?”

“A fool could pick with his eyes shut.”

Right, and you’re the fool. Wen Tong frowned and told him, “It doesn’t matter what I pick. You’re going to do whatever you want anyway.”

His brows were slightly drawn, his voice soft. To Lu Fei’s ear it somehow came out sounding like a complaint—almost like sulking. He smiled. “You’re not wrong.”

Whatever Wen Tong chose, he’d make him say the answer Lu Fei wanted to hear.

“I just want you to go hit Bai Yue.”

Wen Tong: “…”

Of course.

“Go on, then.” Lu Fei leaned back in the chair and jiggled his foot.

Wen Tong lowered his head and sat still.

Lu Fei had half a mind to haul him over there himself—then he saw his hands, and stopped mid-rise.

The hem of his shirt was crushed into wrinkles, and those slender fingers were still clamped around it, knuckles rubbed red, as though the color had seeped up through the skin. Against that pale, delicate hand, it stood out starkly.

If he really sent him over to hit Bai Yue…

No telling which of them would end up hurt worse.

Lu Fei ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and slowed his speech. “Since you won’t hit him, I’ll be merciful and—”

Wen Tong’s head snapped up.

Lu Fei finished the sentence, smiling: “—hit him for you.”

Wen Tong: “…”

Lu Fei savored the shifts in his expression, then rose and strolled unhurried to the front.

As he approached, the underlings stopped and backed away a few steps, clearing space.

Lu Fei stopped in front of Bai Yue, looked down at him a moment, then took him by the collar and drew him up close for a proper inspection.

He clicked his tongue. “So Xie You’s into your type now.”

Honestly, Bai Yue was good-looking. But Lu Fei felt nothing looking at him.

No matter how pretty, he was still a man—no match for a big-breasted beauty.

And a big-breasted beauty was no match for…

Without warning, Wen Tong’s face surfaced in his mind—that face that drew the eye—and the feel of his fine skin.

Something itched low in his chest, and at the same time he was irritated, for no reason he could name.

Xie the Second had chosen to protect Bai Yue, and this little idiot Wen Tong was still out here defending Xie the Second.

At the thought, Lu Fei’s brow creased. He lashed out a kick at Bai Yue to vent it.

He’d only ever meant to treat Wen Tong as a diversion—something to tease, to play with. Now the diversion was messing with his mood.

Lu Fei’s strikes landed heavier. He drove a fist hard into Bai Yue’s chest, and the sound of bone giving way was perfectly audible.

He snapped two of Bai Yue’s ribs outright. Bai Yue’s face went white in an instant, and he let out a stifled grunt.

Wen Tong, not far off, could tell Lu Fei was hitting to hurt. His stomach dropped.

He dug his nails into his palm and swept a frantic look around the room. The phone on the table flashed. He blurted, “Th—there’s—”

The instant he made a sound, every head turned to him. Lu Fei’s included.

Lu Fei turned his head. His narrow eyes were black and bottomless, the violence not yet faded from his brow—cold and vicious as a demon.

Under that look, Wen Tong’s words came out stuttering. “The—the phone, I think there’s a—a… message…”

At that, Lu Fei kicked Bai Yue onto the ground and walked toward the table.

Wen Tong’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt. But Lu Fei went straight past him—didn’t even break stride—and picked up the phone.

He swiped the screen. There was a text, all right.

Spam.

He flicked a glance at Wen Tong’s panicked little expression, then looked away, mouth pressed into a thin line. To the men about to resume on Bai Yue, he said, “Enough.”

He knew his own strength. Another round of that and Bai Yue wouldn’t be walking out of here alive.

The underlings acknowledged it and left Bai Yue alone.

Wen Tong let out a long breath, lashes fluttering, and stole a look at Lu Fei.

Lu Fei pulled out a chair, sat down, and started playing on his phone.

He opened some app at random and clicked into the livestream of a female host doing borderline dances.

Thick, syrupy music drifted through the factory hall, punctuated by the girl’s sticky little moans.

Lu Fei watched the screen. Her skimpy outfit left her very good figure on full display.

He felt not the faintest spark of interest—if anything, it bored him. His head was full of someone else.

He lit a cigarette, dragged hard on it, and irritably typed a comment: [What the hell is this dancing? Can’t even beat a man.]

The host’s face twisted for a moment. “Which man—”

Before she could finish, Lu Fei swiped to the next stream.

Wen Tong, watching him go from unhinged beatdown to lounging around watching girls dance, cursed him silently as a psycho, a deranged snake.

Ten minutes passed. Lu Fei was still watching.

The other men in the hall drifted back to their own business.

Wen Tong scanned the room. Nobody was paying him any mind. Carefully, he began to stand.

His backside hadn’t left the chair before Lu Fei’s eyes cut over.

Wen Tong froze.

But—unexpectedly—Lu Fei looked away the next second. Said nothing. Did nothing. His expression was mild, as though Wen Tong had become invisible.

Wen Tong pressed his nails into his palm, straightened up with his heart in his throat, and checked the other kidnappers again.

Their boss hadn’t spoken, so the rest of them made no move—the ones eating instant noodles kept eating, the ones on their phones stayed on their phones.

Wen Tong exhaled and hurried over to Bai Yue.

Bai Yue sat against the wall, face mottled purple, both hands streaked with blood, fine gravel ground into the wounds. It was hard to look at.

Wen Tong’s nose stung. And these were only the wounds he could see—no telling what the parts hidden under clothing looked like.

He didn’t dare touch anything. At a loss, he asked, “A-are you okay?”

Bai Yue leaned against the wall with his eyes shut and said nothing.

Wen Tong panicked and stuck a hand out to check his breathing.

Bai Yue: “…”

Wen Tong whispered, “Bai Yue, are you still awake?”

Bai Yue didn’t open his eyes. Flatly, he said, “Two broken ribs. Fractured middle and index fingers on the right hand. The rest is superficial.”

His tone was so calm it was as if the man with all the fractures were someone else.

Just listening made Wen Tong’s chest ache and his hands ache. He asked quickly, “What can I do right now?”

Bai Yue didn’t answer.

Wen Tong thought he hadn’t heard, and said it again.

Bai Yue frowned slightly. He wanted nothing right now but to rest his eyes, and here was someone who wouldn’t stop asking questions.

He opened his eyes and met a pair of reddened ones, brimming with worry, distress, urgency, alarm—too many things at once to name.

It was so complicated that he blanked for a moment. Then he said, “I’m the one who got hurt.”

Wen Tong said anxiously, “I know that.”

Why do you look like you’re about to cry? Bai Yue opened his mouth, but before he could get the words out, Wen Tong’s eyes went redder still.

A film of moisture welled up, and those pretty eyes turned hazy—like a lake in the woods at dawn, wrapped in mist.

Wen Tong reached out with a trembling hand and touched his head. “Did they hit you in the head?!”

Bai Yue: “…”

He turned his face away without explaining and went back to the earlier subject. “You don’t need to do anything.”

“From what I can see, the kidnappers have no intention of touching you. You’re safe.”

He looked down at his twisted fingers and said coolly, “All you have to do is wait for Xie You to bring the ransom.”

Wen Tong asked in a small voice, “Are you sure your head’s not hurt?”

Bai Yue: “…No.”

Good. Wen Tong spotted a half-empty bottle of water tossed on the ground and snatched it up. “I’ll rinse out the cuts on your hands.”

Bai Yue meant to say there was no need, but Wen Tong moved fast and was already right in front of him.

As if afraid of hurting him, he was very gentle—fingers resting light and careful at Bai Yue’s wrist, supporting his hand, letting the water run slowly, washing the dirt from his knuckles and palm.

The cold water ran down between his fingers, but all Bai Yue felt was the warmth at his wrist—living warmth, human warmth.

Wen Tong kept his eyes lowered. Quietly, he said, “This might sting a little. Bear with it.”

Bai Yue: “It doesn’t sting.”

Wen Tong nodded, agreeing, and—like coaxing a child—said, “Good job.”

Bai Yue lifted his eyelids and watched him quietly. This time he didn’t look away.

…

Once Bai Yue’s wounds were cleaned, Wen Tong finally slumped to the floor and took stock of his surroundings.

There were a lot of kidnappers. Eight on the ground floor alone, every one of them big and tall, skin baked dark from years in the sun.

The factory’s main door stood open. Outside he could see several vehicles parked, figures moving past now and then.

People inside, people outside, every last one of them armed. There was no chance of running.

Wen Tong tipped his head back against the wall and glanced at Bai Yue—asleep, or just resting his eyes, he couldn’t tell.

He didn’t disturb him. He just sat there, bored out of his mind, staring at nothing.

The kidnappers had left them alone since. Bit by bit, the knot of tension in him loosened.

Time crawled by. The light dimmed, night came down, the moon bright and the stars few.

At three in the morning, a shrill ringtone cut through the dark.

Wen Tong jolted. Every trace of drowsiness vanished.

He looked up. The tattoo-faced man had a phone in his hand. “Third Master.”

“Xie You’s here.”