The faint, bitter mint smoke hung thick and humid in the rainy night. Fu Yanzong raised the hand holding his cigarette, the orange-red ember flickering for an instant before salty tears soaked it.
He suddenly realized that Song Linyu was crying.
Song Linyu, who had been bent half-forward, bowed his head in disarray. His palms pressed hard against his knees, knuckles white, his breathing laced with a faint tremor. Tears slid down his cheeks, unstoppable even with his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Fu Yanzong couldn’t make out his face clearly, but he could picture exactly what Song Linyu looked like in that moment.
In his presence, Song Linyu always seemed prone to tears. But in the past, those tears had always fallen into Fu Yanzong’s arms.
Back then, Fu Yanzong had liked to catch the pearl-like droplets on his fingertips before smearing them across Song Linyu’s reddened eye corners like childish doodles. He’d smile as he listened to Song Linyu’s soft pleas for mercy, brushing a featherlight kiss at the corner of his eye.
Song Linyu would then loop his arms around Fu Yanzong’s shoulders, burying his face against him as his ears flushed hot, only then seeming to register that he ought to feel shy.
Now, Fu Yanzong gazed down at those tears and said with striking calm, “Song Linyu, don’t cry.”
Song Linyu nodded hard. He wanted to say, Okay, I’ll do whatever you say.
He wanted to explain himself, to lay everything bare. But his throat ached as if scraped raw by a dull blade, and no sound would come out. Heavy air flooded his lungs, then surged back up with the metallic tang of blood—neither to be spat out nor swallowed down.
It hurt too much. It was too hopeless.
Song Linyu realized he’d squandered so much of the time Fu Yanzong had once offered him. And the cruel truth was, even now that he understood it, he still had no choice.
It felt as if fate had shoved him here from the start, just to play a cruel joke on him.
If he didn’t want to repeat his mistakes, the only answer seemed to be that they’d never met at all.
…But that was the one answer Song Linyu couldn’t accept.
A whirlwind of chaotic thoughts raced through his mind. His emotions, thrown wildly off balance, triggered an honest reaction in his body. A piercing ring drilled through his ears like a long blade, shredding every feeling into scattered scraps.
What yanked him back to reality was the warm press of Fu Yanzong’s body against his.
A… hug?
Why get a hug after screwing up?
Song Linyu’s clenched fingertips slowly uncurled, his palms numb. He blinked his eyes open in a daze, starting to lift his head to speak—only for the hand on the back of his neck to press him more firmly into Fu Yanzong’s embrace.
“Teacher Fu…”
A timid voice drifted from behind Song Linyu. Footsteps echoing from the distant corridor faltered, then came to a slow halt.
Fu Yanzong lifted his gaze, sizing up the intruder with measured indifference.
It was that young actor who’d poured his drinks at the table earlier. After a few rounds, the kid had introduced himself… Qi Zhen? Or Qi Chen?
“I noticed you didn’t seem to be having much fun tonight. Maybe it’s because I was rude earlier. I wanted to apologize…”
Qi Chen twisted his hands together at his chest, mumbling a string of flustered excuses.
But as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he faltered into awkward silence.
The villa’s ambient lighting was soft, but it was enough to dimly reveal the figure kneeling before Fu Yanzong—damp with humid warmth, nape gripped and pressed into his lap. Only half a panicked wrist bone braced against Fu Yanzong’s knee was visible. No matter how you sliced it, the pose screamed intimacy.
Fu Yanzong regarded Qi Chen at a leisurely pace, a faint curve tugging at his lips in something like a smile. “And how exactly do you plan to apologize?”
At his words, Qi Chen watched that hand on Fu Yanzong’s knee twitch faintly. Slender knuckles curled obediently, the soft pad of the palm rubbing against his knee before tracing the elegant line of his thigh inward, leaving a dark, wet stain in its wake.
The Fu Yanzong who’d seemed so aloof under the banquet lights said nothing now—just glanced down at the figure before him and allowed the motion with silent indulgence.
The faint rustle of fabric against fabric whispered through the dark night. Even someone as worldly as Qi Chen found the sight overly provocative.
Fu Yanzong never lacked for admirers throwing themselves at him. Qi Chen’s little scheme had crumbled to dust. As for Liang Jingyan’s orders to keep an eye out for any meeting between Fu Yanzong and Song Linyu…
No way the guy on his knees was Song Linyu.
That would be ridiculous.
He had no reason to linger. He rattled off a hasty apology to Fu Yanzong and bolted.
Fu Yanzong flicked a glance at his retreating figure before releasing his grip and easing Song Linyu back a touch.
Song Linyu had just buried his face into the fabric of Fu Yanzong’s clothes, and after crying so fiercely, his entire face now glowed with an unnaturally vivid flush—as if they’d truly shared some illicit intimacy moments ago.
Fu Yanzong met his gaze without expression, watching Song Linyu tuck away the pale strip of his chin in a bid to hide it. Then, on instinct, his tongue darted out to lick the reddened bead of his lower lip.
His eyes were still glazed, the motion pure reflex.
“…”
Karma from his past sins, indeed.
Fu Yanzong fell suspiciously quiet for a beat before extending a hand to point curtly off to the side, signaling Song Linyu to back off.
Song Linyu rose obediently. He still had no clue what had just happened, but his compliance was absolute.
After a moment’s hesitation, he gave in to impulse. He brushed Fu Yanzong’s hand ever so lightly—like a stray cat testing a tentative scratch, feather-soft.
“What is it?”
Fu Yanzong straightened the shirt wrinkles Song Linyu had left on his chest with evident impatience. Then came Song Linyu’s soft question: “That guy… how’d he offend you earlier?”
Fu Yanzong scooped up his phone and stood, shooting back in bewilderment, “You sure you have the right to ask me that?”
“He’s no good.”
Song Linyu scratched at his own fingertip in a twitchy fit, as if pricked by Fu Yanzong’s words—yet he couldn’t stop himself from piping up anyway. He sounded genuinely invested, stubborn and petulant, his words laced with spite.
“Just some leech after your connections. Face or brains, neither’s worth a damn. Guys like that are nothing but trouble—better steer clear—”
He cut himself off mid-sentence, dropping his gaze in silence as he pressed his lips into a tight line.
His jealousy had no end, festering through all those days apart. But airing it like this only made him look ugly, repulsive.
Song Linyu knew he’d blundered again.
Sure enough, Fu Yanzong laughed.
He leaned in close with gleeful amusement, pinching Song Linyu’s chin between his fingers with casual cruelty. The pressure wasn’t hard, but the gesture dripped with bored playfulness—like appraising an item up for auction.
His eyes curved faintly at the corners, voice languid and mocking. “Song Linyu, and that makes you good?”
The air seemed to thicken and still.
After a long, heavy silence, Song Linyu shook his head gently.
He laid his hand over Fu Yanzong’s wrist—lightly, deliberately restrained, as if afraid to startle something fragile. Slowly but surely, he slipped free of the hold.
Then he flashed Fu Yanzong a smile, his expression serene. He spoke with careful deliberation, deadly earnest: “Bro, I’m sorry. I’m the worst of everyone trying to get close to you.”
Fu Yanzong’s wrist, where he’d been gripped, felt chilled. He glanced down impassively and saw a hazy ring of moisture on his pale skin.
It resembled a pair of handcuffs, brittle enough to snap at the slightest touch.
“But I still… can’t let go.”
Because you’re good. Even if I’m ruthless, eaten up with jealousy, never satisfied—you still chose to hold me.
“So… can you give me just a little more time?”
Give me a little more time. I’ll be back at your side soon. So soon.
…
Fu Yanzong let out a soft sigh. All the words on the tip of his tongue died unspoken.
The wind stirred. The night was still.
He turned and walked away, unhurried. Song Linyu watched his back until he’d taken several steps. Then Fu Yanzong’s voice drifted back, low.
“You still don’t get it, Song Linyu. That’s not what I wanted to hear.”
He paused for a beat, then added softly, “It’s my fault. I didn’t teach you properly back then.”
![After Backstabbing the Protagonist [Quick Transmigration]](https://i0.wp.com/dobynovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/quick.jpg?resize=151,215 "After Backstabbing the Protagonist [Quick Transmigration]")
