Chapter 3: Kidnapped at the Same Time as My Boyfriend’s White Moonlight

◎ Xie the Second chooses Bai Yue. ◎

At first, Lu Fei genuinely had no idea Wen Tong was faking sleep. He came into the room, saw that thin body curled up on a broken bed, the right cheek smudged dirty with dust like some pathetic little stray cat, and couldn’t resist reaching down to pinch it.

The moment he pinched, he felt the body under his hand go rigid—and understood instantly.

By Lu Fei’s usual standards, a stunt like this would’ve earned a single kick that left a man crippled for life.

But when his gaze slid lower and caught the vivid red finger marks on the side of Wen Tong’s neck, the displeasure in his chest was wiped away as if by magic, gone without a trace.

It was as though Wen Tong’s body had been stamped with a mark that belonged to him alone.

A strange little impulse stirred in his chest.

He wanted to play.

So Lu Fei shot his underling a look—get out, shut the door—and then went back to savoring the reactions of the man pretending to sleep.

He watched the body slowly relax, the eyelashes give a tiny tremble—and deliberately, just before those eyes could open, leaned in close and rubbed at the marks on his neck.

“Still not awake?”

Lu Fei pressed down harder. The skin beneath his fingers felt unbelievably good—warm and smooth, the kind of touch you wanted to linger in.

Remembering this was Xie You’s boyfriend, he asked on purpose, “Waiting to get fucked awake?”

That did it. Wen Tong couldn’t keep up the act. His eyes flew open.

He slapped Lu Fei’s hand away, sat up straight, and scooted back—putting some distance between himself and this psycho.

The warmth vanished from beneath his fingers. Lu Fei curled them unconsciously, caught the fear still lingering in Wen Tong’s eyes, and raised an eyebrow. “Scared now, are we?”

Worried that admitting it would make the man actually do something, Wen Tong stuck to his guns. “I just woke up.”

“Slept all this time?”

“Yep. Your drugs work great.”

The corner of Lu Fei’s mouth twitched up, almost imperceptibly.

The underling behind him didn’t bother holding back—he snorted out a laugh.

The room was tiny, so the laugh rang out sharp and clear, with a faint echo.

Wen Tong’s cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Lu Fei didn’t press further. He glanced at Bai Yue and immediately spotted the slack rope by the man’s feet. He scoffed. “Trying to run, huh.”

“Fine.” He nodded at his men. “Tie up the Bai kid good and tight. Bring him out.”

“Yes, sir.”

The underling re-bound Bai Yue’s ankles, grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him out.

Watching them go, Wen Tong felt a flicker of anxiety.

Then Lu Fei’s voice came from above his head. “Don’t worry. You’re coming too.”

The words had barely landed when Wen Tong’s body lurched into the air, his field of vision flipping upside down.

Lu Fei had hoisted him onto his shoulder.

“Fuck.” The curse slipped out. Wen Tong thrashed and squirmed. “Put me down—I can walk on my own!”

Lu Fei said nothing. His answer was a slap across the backside.

Smack—

The hand didn’t leave after the blow. It gave a squeeze.

Wen Tong jolted, going rigid as a corpse. He didn’t dare struggle anymore.

He wasn’t afraid of being killed by kidnappers. He was afraid of being raped and killed by them.

…

Out of the little room, sunlight poured in, and Wen Tong could finally see the building clearly.

It was a dilapidated factory—exposed rebar and concrete everywhere, windowpanes shattered. Beyond them stretched a desolate forest. Who knew what godforsaken wilderness this was.

Wen Tong stayed still, and Lu Fei didn’t do anything more to him—just carried him from the third floor down to the first.

The first floor seemed to be where they hung out: a battered sofa, tables and chairs, a few scattered folding cots.

Passing the sofa, Lu Fei paused and dumped him onto it.

Wen Tong was dazed for a moment. When he looked up again, another kidnapper was dragging Bai Yue over and shoved him roughly down at Wen Tong’s feet.

Bai Yue half-knelt on the floor, the back of his hand scraping the ground and leaving a bright smear of blood.

Wen Tong hurried to help him up.

With his hands and feet bound tight, Bai Yue could barely move. He had to lean against Wen Tong, using him for support to get up off the ground.

When Lu Fei looked over, what he saw was Wen Tong helping his rival onto the sofa—and then, thoughtfully, checking his wounds.

He let out a soft scoff and leaned back lazily.

The chair scraped against the floor with a loud, grating sound.

Wen Tong’s hands paused. He rolled up Bai Yue’s sleeve, careful of the wound on his hand, and murmured, “Don’t be scared. Xie You will definitely come save us.”

Bai Yue felt the stiffness in his fingertips. He lifted his eyelids and looked at Wen Tong’s trembling lashes.

The man was clearly the one who was scared, yet he was the one offering comfort.

Lu Fei lit a cigarette. Seeing the two of them still pressed close together, he set down his lighter and strode over.

He grabbed Wen Tong by the collar, hauled him over to the table, and shoved him down into a chair.

Only once the two were separated did Lu Fei smoke in satisfaction.

Wen Tong had no idea what he’d done to provoke the man. Not daring to move, he sat obediently in the chair, eyes lowered to the floor.

Lu Fei perched crookedly on the edge of the table, blew a smoke ring down at him, and drawled, “Wen Tong.”

“Do you know who Bai Yue is?”

Wen Tong caught a lungful of smoke and started coughing.

Coughing, he thought, Bai Yue’s the protagonist bottom—your daddy.

Lu Fei watched his eyes redden from the coughing fit and said with malice, “He’s involved with your boyfriend.”

Wen Tong cursed him as a lunatic in his head. One was the protagonist top, one was the protagonist bottom—they were made for each other.

He’d be thrilled if they were involved.

But he quickly realized Lu Fei had said it on purpose—to stir up trouble, to see how he’d react.

Worried that if he didn’t play along, this psycho would do something else, Wen Tong followed his lead. “What kind of involvement?”

Lu Fei curved his lips. “Want to know? Beg me.”

Wen Tong: “…”

Say it or don’t, you stupid fuck.

Suddenly the tattoo-faced underling came over. “Third Master, there’s a call.”

Lu Fei took the phone and glanced at Wen Tong, who was looking down, lashes fluttering like raven feathers.

Something stirred in him. He answered and put it on speaker.

“The money’s ready.” A man’s voice, faintly exhausted, echoed clearly through the factory.

Wen Tong pressed his lips together. He recognized it—Xie You.

“Twenty million?” Lu Fei said.

A beat of silence on the other end, then Xie You again. “Thirty million.”

“Don’t hurt Bai Yue. He’s studying medicine—his body can’t take any damage.”

The men in the room blinked. They hadn’t expected anyone to volunteer more money.

Wen Tong was also taken aback. So thoughtful, so considerate—as expected of the protagonist top.

Bai Yue watched them with an indifferent expression, his brow slowly knitting.

Lu Fei glanced at Bai Yue, then turned his gaze to Wen Tong’s face and sneered, “Generous of you, Second Young Master Xie.”

“How about forty million, and I’ll throw in a little surprise for you.”

“What surprise?”

“It’s been almost two days. You still haven’t noticed?”

Lu Fei held the phone up in front of Wen Tong, a half-smile on his face. “Little boyfriend. Say hello.”

Wen Tong croaked, “Brother Xie—”

Xie You’s breathing hitched. Immediately: “Fine. Forty million.”

“Tell me the time and place.”

Lu Fei took a drag and drawled, “No rush.”

Smoke drifted up and curled around his face, half-veiling those sharp brows and eyes, giving him a roguish air.

“I did the math again. Bai Yue’s got nothing to do with you, and he’s worth thirty million. So Wen Tong, the actual boyfriend—he’s got to be worth more than ten million, right?”

Xie You’s voice went cold. “How much do you want?”

Lu Fei chuckled, unhurried. “Tell you what. I want fifty million.”

“Twenty million each for the two of them, and the last ten million—call it insurance.”

“So, Second Young Master Xie—are you insuring the little boyfriend, or Bai Yue?”

Xie You was silent for a moment. Then: “I’ll give you sixty million.”

Meaning, he’d cover both.

Lu Fei laughed as if he’d heard a joke.

He stubbed out the cigarette, dropped the butt, and ground it underfoot. “No can do. We kidnappers have professional ethics. We don’t take more than we’re owed.”

Wen Tong: “…”

He’d figured it out by now. This kidnapper and Xie You must have some deep grudge—he was deliberately messing with his head.

“Fifty million. Or forty million’s fine too,” Lu Fei went on.

“Your pick.”

Xie You stayed silent. Lu Fei lifted a foot and kicked Wen Tong’s chair.

Wen Tong hadn’t expected the sudden kick and let out a yelp.

On the other end, the breathing grew heavy.

“Five seconds.”

“Five. Four. Three…”

“Fifty million—I choose Bai Yue.” Then, rapidly: “Tongtong, you—”

Before he could finish, Lu Fei hung up.

He tossed the phone to an underling, pulled up a chair, and sat down facing Wen Tong.

Square-on, he slouched back and kicked lightly at the toe of Wen Tong’s shoe. “All this time, and your boyfriend still hasn’t noticed you’re missing.”

It’s not like I hang around Xie You every day, Wen Tong thought. Two days without contact is normal.

Lu Fei kicked his shoe again. “Talk.”

In front of Bai Yue, Wen Tong naturally had to boost Xie You’s favorability. He thought for a moment. “He just started a business. He’s very busy.”

Lu Fei snorted coldly. “And the ten million for insurance?”

“He didn’t cover you.”

Fake boyfriend versus real white moonlight—of course he’d pick the white moonlight!

Wen Tong cursed inwardly again. Figuring he was going to get beaten anyway, he gritted his teeth and spat out what he really thought, fierce as could be: “You’re the one who forced him into it! He was willing to pay sixty million!”

“My fault?” Watching that little frown that made him look so fierce, Lu Fei felt the itch again. He leaned in close. “I never forced him to pick Bai Yue.”

“Why didn’t he choose you?”

“What do you think he and Bai Yue really are to each other?”

Just hit me if you’re going to hit me. Why so much bullshit. Wen Tong said impatiently, “I don’t want to hear it. Don’t want to know.”

To Lu Fei, it sounded like Wen Tong refusing to give up on Xie You—refusing to accept reality.

“Fine, don’t listen. I’ll let you see it with your own eyes.”

Lu Fei lifted his chin slightly and spat one word at his men: “Beat him.”

At that, the tattoo-faced man strode up to Wen Tong and raised his arm to strike.

Wen Tong squeezed his eyes shut on reflex.

The next second, the pain he expected didn’t come. Instead there was a dull thud of fist or foot on flesh—then the tattoo-faced man crying out.

“Th-Third Master?”

Wen Tong opened his eyes to find the tattoo-faced man on the ground, face contorted, clutching his right leg. Lu Fei had apparently kicked him.

Lu Fei looked at him without expression. “Who told you to lay a hand on him?”

“Beat the one with the surname Bai.”

The tattoo-faced man looked lost. “But that ten million—”

Lu Fei’s eyelids lifted, his lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—those were pitch-black, gloomy. “Xie the Second chose Bai Yue.”

“Did I agree to that?”