Chapter 27: Sitting on the Lap Part 3

The chaotic weekend finally passed. Fortunately, He Siheng was the carefree type. He had tossed and turned all Saturday night in embarrassment, spent Sunday dawdling at an internet cafe, and finally got a good night’s sleep that evening.

So, come Monday morning, Young Master He was back to being his straight-arrow self.

But when he saw Tan Jing at school, he froze hard.

In contrast to his refreshed state, Tan Jing clearly hadn’t slept enough—he looked like he’d been forcibly woken up midway through the night, utterly listless, with dark circles under his eyes.

Paired with his black hair and dark eyes, that wilted expression added a touch of gloominess compared to usual. Others unconsciously steered clear by a few feet.

He Siheng wasn’t scared at all. He was full of schadenfreude. “You were out thieving last night, huh?”

Tan Jing slumped in his chair, lacking any energy as he lazily drooped his eyelids. “You’d have to ask Aunt Shu about her medicinal soup.”

He Siheng thought his quip had hit the mark and dropped the teasing, asking hurriedly, “You really ended up with gastroenteritis?”

Tan Jing lifted his eyes a bit, his gaze sweeping over He Siheng’s fair neck before quickly dropping again, forcibly shifting away. “No.”

It wasn’t quite that bad, but that soup seemed packed with excessive invigorating supplements. He’d had two nights of indescribable dreams in a row, nearly triggering his Susceptible Period early.

He Siheng didn’t get it. “Then what does it have to do with my mom’s soup?”

Tan Jing didn’t want to say more. “You’ll know if you drink it next time.”

He Siheng spat three times in response. “Don’t curse me with something that vicious.”

The morning self-study session was filled with the clear voices reciting texts, which had a strong hypnotic effect.

Tan Jing was genuinely exhausted. He didn’t care if class was in session or not and just sprawled over the desk to catch up on sleep. His shoulder blades arched slightly under the thin shirt fabric, one hand covering the back of his head, most of his face buried in his arms, only the faintest hint of his jawline visible.

This self-study period was for Chinese class, and since he had good grades, Teacher Li just glanced at him while patrolling outside the window and left him be.

But He Siheng couldn’t turn a blind eye.

Tan Jing was always strict with himself, never slacking off. This was the first time since the start of school that he’d slept in class.

On the other hand, He Siheng was pretty annoyed.

Tan Jing could sleep safely through Chinese class, but if He Siheng did a math paper during Chinese class, he’d get dragged to the office. He still had to write a weekly reading note, and this weekend he had to go to the neighboring city for that damn essay competition.

What kind of differential treatment was this?

He Siheng pressed his tongue against his cheek, in no mood to recite. He stared at the arc of Tan Jing’s shoulder blades rising and falling with his breaths for a while before a sudden idea popped into his head.

He quietly stood up, dragged his chair aside, and squatted by the seat. He reached out a wicked hand toward Tan Jing’s canvas shoes.

He undid the shoelaces as lightly as possible, about to tie them to the desk leg, when his neck was suddenly gripped by a long, strong hand.

Tan Jing hadn’t slept well for two nights straight and was really out of it.

This cat had messed around in his dreams at night—that was one thing—but now it was disturbing his nap? Unbearable. The web of his thumb clamped onto He Siheng’s neck and pressed him down onto his lap.

The moment Tan Jing’s palm covered the back of his neck, He Siheng had already gone rigid. His center of gravity shifted unstably as Tan Jing’s arm pulled him down. His butt hit the floor, and his head knocked against Tan Jing’s rock-hard thigh.

Not only did his butt hurt from the fall, but smacking his face into Tan Jing’s thigh had also made him bite his own tongue, which hurt so much he bared his teeth.

He didn’t know if Tan Jing’s move was some kind of instinctive defense in his sleep, but after He Siheng hit the ground, the hand on his neck loosened a bit. He immediately grabbed the edge of the desk to climb back up.

But the moment his butt left the floor, the grip on his neck tightened again. He Siheng’s body went soft, and he fell back down.

Now he got it—this guy was doing it on purpose!

He Siheng gnashed his teeth. “Tan Jing!”

Tan Jing kept his eyes closed, his thumb pad gently rubbing over He Siheng’s gland. His low, husky voice was full of drowsiness. “Be good. Don’t make trouble.”

The pad of the finger stroking his gland had a slightly rough callus, like electricity exploding at the sensitive nerve endings. He Siheng froze completely, not daring to move a muscle, his fingers gripping the desk edge trembling slightly.

Tan Jing’s voice was very low, completely drowned out by the recitation in the classroom.

The two classmates sitting right behind them only heard He Siheng grit out Tan Jing’s name. They craned their necks to look and saw the pupil-shaking scene.

The two exchanged glances, both seeing “holy shit” in each other’s eyes.

What kind of new fighting style is this?

School Grass got pinned to the ground by the Class Monitor?

Should we tell the teacher?

Nah, can’t afford to piss off either of them. Let them fight it out.