Chapter 21: Triple VIP Entry Part 1

The private room in Deer Garden was warmed by a generous blast of heat from the air conditioning. As Fu Yanzong pushed open the door and stepped inside, he casually shrugged off his overcoat. Before he could even lower his arm, a young man standing nearby sidled up and grasped the hem of his suit jacket. His eyes sparkled with eager glances as he smiled coyly and said, “Brother Fu, it’s been ages. Remember me? I played a supporting role for you before.”

Fu Yanzong said nothing. He simply withdrew the coat from the young man’s grip and handed it to Song Linyu, who was following close behind.

Song Linyu took it at once, cradling it in his arms. He lowered his gaze, his expression one of perfect obedience, and offered a gentle smile to the young man blocking Fu Yanzong’s path.

The young man let out a cold huff and shot Song Linyu a dismissive glance. Then, like a swallow darting into the forest, he spun around and threw himself into the arms of the man lounging on the room’s sofa. In a pitiful tone, he whined, “President Feng.”

A ripple of ambiguous laughter filled the room. The man seated in the center of the velvet sofa patted the young man’s back and grinned at Fu Yanzong. “Seeing is believing. It’s not every day you meet someone as accomplished as Teacher Fu at such a young age.”

The man was at least forty, yet he delivered the line without a hint of awkwardness. Fu Yanzong didn’t stand on ceremony either. He settled lazily onto one end of the sofa, unhurried, then lifted his eyes slightly. “President Feng flatters me. I’m just here to lend a hand.”

Feng Jizhou’s gaze shifted, landing on Song Linyu beside Fu Yanzong. A false smile glinted in his eyes. “I hear Teacher Fu doesn’t bring anyone along with him. So who’s this…?”

Fu Yanzong cut him off, his tone casual but his expression carrying a chill that hovered between amusement and disdain. “My assistant. He’s young and doesn’t know much about these things.”

Song Linyu kept his head bowed quietly, his lashes lowered, his fingers tightening imperceptibly.

The young man in Feng Jizhou’s arms pursed his lips, clearly unconvinced. Fu Yanzong cast him a light, indifferent glance but still couldn’t recall his name.

It didn’t matter. There wouldn’t be another chance for him to play a supporting role to Fu Yanzong anyway.

“I see,” Feng Jizhou said with a nod, feigning sudden realization. He turned to the waiter nearby, his arm still around the young man, and said thoughtfully, “Take Teacher Fu’s assistant to rest. We’re about to discuss business—no outsiders allowed, per the rules.”

Then he addressed the young man in his lap. “Little Yuan, go keep Teacher Fu company. He’s a rare guest at Deer Garden—entertain him well.”

Their project did involve confidentiality protocols, but it was obvious this “outsider” jab was aimed squarely at Song Linyu.

Little Yuan obediently rose and knelt before Fu Yanzong. His legs emerged from his tight denim shorts, parting in a blatant invitation as he smiled and reached for Fu Yanzong’s knee.

Fu Yanzong didn’t even spare him a glance. With a flick of his wrist, a sharp crack rang out, landing amid the room’s flirtatious murmurs like a thunderclap. Every eye turned toward them.

Little Yuan’s face stung from the unexpected slap, his seductive expression frozen in place as pain bloomed hot across his cheek. He stared in stunned disbelief at Fu Yanzong, who was calmly drawing a tissue to wipe his hand.

Fu Yanzong’s eyelids drooped halfway, his voice icy cold. “President Feng said irrelevant people should leave. Didn’t you understand?”

He raised his hand toward Song Linyu, who bent at the waist in perfect sync, pressing his palm against it.

Fu Yanzong gently caressed Song Linyu’s cheek, his tone almost coaxing. “Wait for me outside, okay?”

Song Linyu bit his lip as if shy, nuzzling into the touch before nodding lightly.

Fu Yanzong’s eyes curved in a smile. “Good boy.”

Song Linyu beamed at the praise. He straightened up at once, clutching Fu Yanzong’s coat obediently, and followed the waiter out of the room.

Little Yuan, still kneeling, clenched his teeth and shot Feng Jizhou a resentful glance, his eyes pleading for intervention.

But Feng Jizhou only smiled, showing no intention of speaking up. He even lifted his glass and swirled it leisurely.

Feng Jizhou’s little stunt had been nothing more than a power play to put Fu Yanzong in his place. As one of Ren Haoran’s right-hand men and a half-owner of Deer Garden, he had no shortage of playthings. He wouldn’t risk truly offending Fu Yanzong over some third-rate starlet.

Given Fu Yanzong’s dismissive attitude, it was clear tonight wouldn’t yield much. No need to make things worse.

Little Yuan glanced at Feng Jizhou’s face, his own paling then flushing. In the end, he clutched his cheek and retreated in humiliation.

Business talk that followed didn’t go smoothly for Fu Yanzong and Feng Jizhou.

Song Wen’s original plan demanded over sixty percent of the project’s profits—an audaciously greedy ask—so Feng Jizhou wasn’t exactly courteous. Fu Yanzong hated these drawn-out negotiations, but Song Wen had insisted before he left, leaving him no choice but to stonewall Feng Jizhou’s tiresome tactics with a cold face.

Back and forth they went until nearly every bottle in the room was drained. Even with Feng Jizhou’s bottomless tolerance, he slumped drunkenly against the velvet sofa, staring in baffled frustration at the impeccably composed Fu Yanzong.

Fu Yanzong lazily flicked open a bottle cap with his finger and poured himself a glass from the bottle, his refined profile still sharp and aloof. A faint red tinged the mole at the corner of his eye, half-hidden by a stray lock of hair—sensual and perilous.

Feng Jizhou scowled in irritation, but his words were cut short by the ringtone from what should have been a silenced phone. He glanced irritably at the screen, then bolted upright.

“President Ren…? You’re at Deer Garden? The office? Sure, but I’m in the middle of… Got it.”

Feng Jizhou worked under Ren Haoran, so of course he’d drop everything for a call from his boss.

He grabbed his phone and pushed open the door, offering Fu Yanzong an apologetic look. “Teacher Fu, give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”

Fu Yanzong nodded.

With Feng Jizhou gone, Fu Yanzong had no interest in waiting idly in the room. Song Linyu was probably still out there—he might as well go check on him.

With that thought, Fu Yanzong rose and headed for the door.

The corridor outside Deer Garden’s private rooms twisted and turned, dotted with shadowy corners perfect for inebriated guests to indulge in impromptu trysts. Ambiguous gasps echoed along the way.

Fu Yanzong turned down two hallways without spotting Song Linyu, irritation creeping in. He pulled out his phone to text him when a sharp cry pierced the air—not the moan of flirtation, but a raw plea laced with terror and agony, choked with sobs that sounded all too real.

The voice belonged to Little Yuan, the one he’d just slapped.

Fu Yanzong pocketed his phone and paused instinctively, stepping into the shadow of a nearby corner. His gaze fixed on the corridor’s end.

An ornate door burst open. Little Yuan, who had been dressed to tantalize moments ago, stumbled out, his skin mottled with bruises. Tears streaked his face, and guttural whimpers escaped his throat, as if he didn’t dare cry aloud.

From the open doorway of the private room, a tall, burly man shook out his wrist and sighed languidly. “A-Yuan, you’ve been performing well lately. What possessed you today to go picking fights with our big boss?”

“Look at you, doing it right in front of our boss—”

“Ren Haoran, shut your mouth.”

A low, chilling voice cut in like a blade, freezing the air solid. Ren Haoran’s expression froze, his smile vanishing as he snapped to attention and stepped back, not daring another word. Even Little Yuan’s sobs choked off; he curled into a ball, barely trembling.

Fu Yanzong’s brows furrowed sharply.

That voice—it was too familiar.

He slowly raised his eyes to the man inside.

Song Linyu sat on the sofa, his black shirt collar loosened to reveal sleek collarbones. The room’s warmth had drawn fine beads of sweat down his neck, and he’d swept the dark hair from his forehead with his fingers, exposing pale skin and strikingly vivid features.

Under the cool lighting, his tea-colored eyes gleamed without restraint, eerie and bone-chilling.

…Song Linyu.

This version of him was worlds apart from the one etched in Fu Yanzong’s memory.

Song Linyu meticulously folded the suit jacket draped over his knees, smoothing it with care before laying it along the sofa’s edge. He rose slowly, unfastened the turquoise cufflinks Fu Yanzong had given him, and methodically rolled up his sleeves, baring slender yet toned forearms.

They bore the unmistakable leanness of youthful malnutrition, but they matched nothing of the softness that loosely cradled Fu Yanzong’s back during their nights together. Faint red fingerprints lingered on the skin—marks that invited all sorts of imaginings.

No one in the room dared breathe loudly.

Song Linyu fixed his gaze on Lin Zhiyuan, sprawled on the floor. He approached with measured steps, bent slightly at the waist, and seized the dyed red hair in his fist, hauling the man up with an expressionless face.

“Lin Zhiyuan… right?”

His tone was gentle, laced with an intimate smile as he called out Little Yuan’s full name, mirroring the timid friendliness he’d shown upon entering the earlier room.

But in the next instant, his face loomed close, the smile vanishing from his eyes. His voice turned frigid, devoid of any warmth.

“Did you say thank you?”

Song Linyu tsked softly, repeating the question with clear impatience. “Did Fu Yanzong just slap you? Did you thank him?”

Lin Zhiyuan flinched, his scalp throbbing with pain. His thoughts ground to a halt as tears mingled with sweat and streamed down his face. In a trembling, choked voice, he stammered, “N-no… I didn’t.”

“Ungrateful wretch.”

Song Linyu sneered the words as he released his grip, letting Lin Zhiyuan crash awkwardly back to the floor. But before the man could recover, Song Linyu’s drooping wrist was pinned under the tip of a shoe. The sole ground slowly over the bones—not too hard, not too light, but enough to make Lin Zhiyuan curl into a ball and let out a piercing scream of agony.

“It won’t break.”

Song Linyu gazed down imperiously at the man on the ground, a beautiful smile curving his lips. “It’s not that painful. Don’t worry—I have experience.”

His expression was as calm as if he were discussing the weather, but anyone could hear the icy warning laced through that smile.

Ren Haoran stood off to the side, glancing at his watch before speaking in a low voice. “Boss, I’ll go find Feng Jizhou.”

“Go.”

Song Linyu didn’t even look up.

But Ren Haoran didn’t leave right away. He hesitated in place for a moment, then couldn’t help reminding him softly, “If I may overstep, Boss, the project we’re discussing today should be firmly in our control. Feng Jizhou’s just there for show in the negotiations—we absolutely can’t let Song Wen get any advantage.”

He paused, his voice dropping even lower. “But right now, because of Fu Yanzong, you’re considering giving away the best part… Isn’t that a bit unwise?”

“These past two years, you’ve already spent too much time on him.”

The air went deathly still the moment the words left his mouth.

Ren Haoran’s heart lurched, his fingertips turning cold. He lowered his eyes, gazing with utmost deference at Lin Zhiyuan, who had passed out on the floor. He didn’t dare look up at Song Linyu’s face.

On the black floor, the tip of a shoe edged slowly into view.

An inexplicable pressure closed in. Ren Haoran’s throat bobbed as he gritted his teeth and tried to backpedal. “No, what I meant was—”

“What does this have to do with Fu Yanzong?”

Song Linyu cut him off languidly, his voice feather-light yet suffocating, like being sealed in some terrifying dark chamber where no air could pass.

He paused, as if pondering something, then continued slowly. “If Song Wen wants it, let him have it.”

“There’ll come a day when he spits back ten times over.”

He seemed to be talking to himself, his gaze falling on the unconscious Lin Zhiyuan sprawled on the ground. His eyes were utterly indifferent.

Then Song Linyu curved his lips, his voice calm to the point of gentleness.