Chapter 14: Kidnapped at the Same Time as My Boyfriend’s White Moonlight

◎Drain the Water Out of Your Brain◎

Wen Tong’s pupils quaked. He was so shocked his fingers were trembling.

Lu Fei’s depravity exceeded anything he could have imagined.

“You’d even watch me take a shit?” he said, incredulous. “What is wrong with you? Why don’t you go eat shit yourself!”

Lu Fei didn’t so much as blink. “So you’ve got a thing for watching people eat shit too? That’s a pretty niche taste.”

The sheer fabrication made Wen Tong’s face burn hotter. He cursed a blue streak. “You’re the one with the sick tastes! You goddamn pervert! Degenerate!”

Lu Fei let the insults go in one ear and out the other, utterly unbothered—in fact, he seemed to enjoy stoking the fire. “I do have a few kinks. You’re about to get a taste of them.”

Wen Tong clamped both hands over his waistband and thrashed wildly, feet kicking at empty air.

Caught off guard by one of the kicks, Lu Fei brushed the dust from his sleeve, the corner of his mouth quirking up. His tone oozed fake concern. “Didn’t your stomach hurt? Keep stalling and you’ll end up shitting your pants.”

Then, with a force that left no room for argument, he pried Wen Tong’s hands open.

Somewhere on Wen Tong’s wrist, a point was pressed—and his arms went limp in an instant. All he could do was watch.

The button slipped free of its hole. A callused fingertip pinched the metal zipper pull.

Wen Tong felt as though a taut nerve in his head had snapped with an audible crack.

His vision went black. He passed clean out, pitching forward.

Lu Fei caught him at once—his first thought being that Wen Tong was faking. Then he registered that something was off. Even a faker would have fallen backward, not into his arms.

Frowning, he raised a hand and patted Wen Tong’s cheek. Lightly.

No response.

“Wen Tong?”

He really fainted?

Lu Fei scooped him up and carried him out of the bathroom. He laid Wen Tong on the bed and made a call.

“Get up here. He seems to have passed out.”

Snake One switched the yacht to autopilot and hurried out of the wheelhouse. Two minutes later he walked into Room 303, Green Face and Qiang Ji trailing behind him with medical kits.

Snake One checked pupils and pulse, then reported to Lu Fei, “He’s definitely lost consciousness.”

“No shit,” Lu Fei said coldly. “I’m asking why.”

Snake One, face as expressive as a corpse’s, replied with clinical precision: “Loss of consciousness can have any number of causes. Ideally we’d draw blood for testing, and we’d need to review the patient’s medical history—”

“Best case, it’s at least six hours before we reach the island,” Lu Fei cut in, voice low.

“Yes.” Snake One nodded and continued, undeterred. “An unexplained coma lasting over six hours carries a high risk of brain damage, potentially causing irreversible con—”

Green Face kicked him.

Snake One paused, then calmly finished: “—sequences.”

Lu Fei’s face was blank as he kicked the cabinet beside him. The wood split; splinters and chunks scattered across the floor.

“Can’t even handle a little thing like this. What the hell did I drag you along for?”

Seeing that Lu Fei was genuinely furious, Green Face spoke up quickly. “Mr. Wen hasn’t eaten in over two days, and he hasn’t rested properly either. After he came aboard he drank some water and threw it right back up.”

At that, Snake One took Wen Tong’s wrist and felt his pulse.

He nodded. “Mm. Blood and qi are depleted, and his anger’s backed up into his system. Most likely low blood sugar. A glucose injection should sort him out.”

Lu Fei lifted a hand—get on with it. Then he walked to the window, pushed it open, and found himself inexplicably irritable. He lit a cigarette. “Two days. That’s all it takes. So damn delicate.”

Green Face spoke up slowly. “Third Master, an ordinary person passes out after a single day without food or water. Not everyone’s like you—three or four days with nothing and you can still put a whole crowd of men on the ground.”

Lu Fei shot him a look. “You lot are no different.”

Green Face’s expression didn’t change. “We’re not ordinary either.”

Lu Fei: “…”

Once Snake One finished the injection, Lu Fei asked, “When does he wake up?”

“Normally half an hour to an hour.” Snake One glanced at Wen Tong’s swollen lips and the tear tracks at the corners of his eyes, and added, “That said, the patient has been badly overworked these past few days. I would advise against any vigorous… activities. He needs proper rest.”

Lu Fei: “…”

“Do I look like a fucking animal to you?”

Snake One glanced at his trousers, then nodded. “There is a certain probability.”

Lu Fei: “…”

Snake One: “Best if you simply don’t. He may wake briefly, then drop off again. Better to get some food into him and restore his strength.”

Lu Fei eyed the bowl of congee on the table. “Will congee do?”

“Yes.”

Green Face ventured, “Third Master, shall I spoon it into him?”

“No.” Lu Fei stubbed out his cigarette, tossed it in the bin, and picked up the bowl. “I’ll do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

To head off any further complications when Wen Tong woke, Lu Fei had them leave one medical kit in the room. Green Face and Snake One departed with the other; Qiang Ji was on door duty. As he pulled the door shut, he happened to see Lu Fei lift a spoonful of congee to his own lips—and drink it himself.

He closed the door and whispered to Green Face, “Brother Face, should I go fetch another bowl? Third Master looks kind of hungry too.”

Green Face: “?”

Qiang Ji: “He just drank the congee himself. And he said he was going to feed the—the, uh, the hostage.”

Green Face was silent for a moment, then said with the weariness of a man betrayed, “Just go.”

…

Lu Fei sat at the bedside, gazing down at Wen Tong’s sleeping face.

His hair was mussed, strands clinging to his cheek. A few tears still beaded on his long lashes. He looked pitiful and lovely all at once.

He’s much better behaved unconscious.

Lu Fei pried Wen Tong’s mouth open, leaned down, and fed him the congee mouth to mouth.

Even unconscious, Wen Tong’s body swallowed on instinct.

The faint, mellow sweetness of the congee lingered between their lips. Lu Fei was a little hungry himself—he sucked at Wen Tong’s tongue like it was jelly, licked it, then went back for the next mouthful.

One mouthful after another. One kiss after another. The bowl was empty before long.

Lu Fei set down the empty bowl and looked at Wen Tong’s glistening, swollen lips, a trace of moisture still clinging to the corner. He bent and licked it away, cleaning his lips until they were spotless—until the lip line had blurred outward into red.

He’d assumed that this docile, unresisting version of Wen Tong would bore him. The truth was the exact opposite.

A well-behaved Wen Tong had a flavor all his own.

The flame he’d stamped down in his chest flared back to life.

Lu Fei lowered his eyes to Wen Tong, uncomfortably pent up, and couldn’t help cursing under his breath. “What are you, some kind of human aphrodisiac?”

The unconscious boy, naturally, couldn’t answer.

Lu Fei held out for half a minute. Looking at those striking, beautiful features, he thought, Passed out is fine too.

He looked him over from head to toe, then picked up Wen Tong’s hand.

Palm pressed to the back of Wen Tong’s hand, fingers aligned tight, he gripped those slender white fingers and slowly rubbed.

The boy’s tender fingers layered over the man’s vein-corded ones; pale pink fingertips reddened under the friction. Visually arresting.

…

Wen Tong surfaced once, groggy, but he was so unbearably sleepy that his eyes slid shut again.

That sleep was deep and total—dead to the world.

He didn’t know how long had passed when birdsong started chirping at his ear, on and on without pause.

He blinked his eyes open, dazed, and stared blankly at the snow-white ceiling before slowly pushing himself up.

Outside the window, two birds perched on a branch, trading cheeps and chirps like they were deep in conversation.

Wen Tong stared at the leafy tree for a moment—then jolted upright.

A tree.

He wasn’t at sea.

He looked out. Nothing but trees and mountains—no other buildings in sight.

He pulled his gaze back and took in the room properly.

Luxurious Chinese redwood style. Carved wall panels, embroidered ornaments. Not a hint of anything foreign.

Wen Tong braced his left hand on the edge of the bed to get up—and the moment his palm touched the sheet, pain shot through it.

He looked down. His left hand was bright red, palm and knuckles alike, as though they’d been rubbed raw.

He frowned. Then he registered that his mouth hurt too.

Not one spot—his entire mouth was aching faintly. As if, as if… he’d been hit?

Wen Tong’s eyelid twitched. Don’t tell me that perverted bastard Lu Fei got so worked up he beat the crap out of me while I was out cold.

No honor among men!

Cursing under his breath, he pulled his collar open and checked his body.

No marks of a beating, at least.

He put on his shoes and quickly rifled through the cabinet drawers. Only clothes—no phone, no anything useful for communication.

He hurried to the door, pressed his ear against it, and once he was sure it was quiet outside, cracked it open and stuck his head out.

The corridor was empty.

Wen Tong let out a breath and crept out on light feet.

Just before he reached the stairs, he heard low voices from the room to his side.

“Third Master, Wild Dog’s been arrested. He’s in holding.”

“We contacted Xingyun Port. They say it’s a bit of a mess.”

“Damn it, this has to be that Xie You’s doing!”

“Xie the Second’s been gunning for our docks all along, and now he’s taken Wild Dog.”

“Third Master, why don’t we just go all the way—send men to put Xie You in the ground and be done with it.”

“Third Master?”

After a pause, Lu Fei spoke slowly. “The way I see it…”

Just hearing his voice made Wen Tong’s nerves jump. He rose onto his toes and slipped toward the stairs.

He made it one step before a gun pressed against his temple.

Lu Fei’s voice curled, half-smiling, at his ear. “First, catch a little mouse.”

Then the muzzle slid lower, pressed against his lips, and parted the swollen flesh.

The foul taste of metal flooded his mouth. Wen Tong scowled and smacked Lu Fei’s gun hand away. “That’s disgusting!”

Smack—

Every man in the study turned to look. They were frozen.

Stunned that he wasn’t afraid of the gun—and terrified that he’d dared to slap Third Master Lu’s hand away.

They braced themselves for Lu Fei to put a bullet in him on the spot. Instead, Lu Fei holstered the weapon, not the least bit angry, the corners of his mouth even curving upward. “Disgusting, is it? Here, let me wipe it for you.”

Wen Tong dodged his hand, face flat. “Get off me. Your hands are dirtier.”

Lu Fei didn’t indulge him. “I think it’s your eyes that are the problem.”

Wen Tong shot right back. “It’s your brain that’s diseased!”

Their voices carried sharp and clear, echoing down the corridor.

Moments later, a girl in an apron came hurrying up the stairs and gave Lu Fei a respectful nod.

Lu Fei told her, “Go get it ready. Run the water.”

Wen Tong’s eyelid jumped. He had not forgotten what happened before he passed out.

He clapped a hand over his backside and retreated, wary. “R-run what water?”

Lu Fei was quiet for a beat, then couldn’t quite suppress a grin, his tone teasing. “Bathwater. What else?”

His gaze dipped downward, lingering on Wen Tong’s round, pert backside. “Where exactly did you think I’d be running water?”

Wen Tong sneered. “Drain the water out of your brain!”

You absolute moron.