Song Linyu instinctively reached out to wrap his arms around Fu Yanzong’s waist, but Fu Yanzong gently pressed him down, preventing any further movement. There was only a slight curve along his slender calves, but in that moment of gripping tight, Fu Yanzong could still feel the familiar touch of his skin—the delicate, fragile lines that carried a hint of vulnerability.
Fu Yanzong said nothing. He simply increased the pressure of his grip ever so slightly, thoroughly confining Song Linyu within his embrace.
Song Linyu had assumed that what came next would unfold as smoothly as it always had before—whether it brought pain or tenderness, as long as it was from Fu Yanzong, he would gladly accept it all.
But after that sigh, Fu Yanzong fell utterly silent.
The desk lamp cast a gentle glow, its soft yellowish light spilling slowly across the room. In the hazy illumination, Song Linyu could make out the faint sheen on Fu Yanzong’s forearm, smooth and radiant like polished warm jade.
He couldn’t help but close his eyes for a moment. In the next instant, the world spun around him—Fu Yanzong had scooped him up by the waist.
A warm, soft quilt was then draped over Song Linyu’s body. Fu Yanzong tucked him snugly into the comfortable bed before straightening up. Casually, he pulled a tissue from the box and wiped away the lingering dampness from his knuckles.
Song Linyu lay there in a daze for a few seconds. His eyes, still glistening from arousal, suddenly reddened. His fingertips clenched the pristine white sheet as he asked stiffly, “Bro? …What’s wrong?”
Fu Yanzong looked at him, carefully choosing his words before speaking in as mild a tone as he could manage. “Song Linyu, the help I asked for doesn’t require going to these lengths.”
It had been a long time since he’d spoken to Song Linyu in such a voice—one that sounded just as coaxing and gentle as it used to. Yet the words themselves sent a chill through the air.
“It’s just that someone will be bothering me tonight, so I need your help with that. Nothing more.”
Song Linyu fell silent for a moment, then nodded. He lifted a hand to cover his eyes and murmured, “Sorry.”
His fingertips turned white from the pressure, and his damp hair fell forward, shielding the exposed skin of his forehead. He looked exceptionally young like this, easily reminding Fu Yanzong of how he had appeared three years ago.
Fu Yanzong paused in silence, only to hear Song Linyu ask in utter desperation, “So… you hate it?”
So you hate doing this with me?
Then why did you wish me happy birthday today? Why agree to my request and kiss me?
Before Fu Yanzong could respond, Song Linyu clamped down on his wrist with a vise-like grip. Stunned for half a beat, Fu Yanzong watched as Song Linyu threw off the covers.
He sat up, his bare legs curling slightly behind him. Like a petulant little beast testing the waters, he crawled forward a bit before pressing himself against Fu Yanzong’s waist. Turning his head aside, he murmured, “You don’t hate it, right? If you did, you’d have pushed me away from the start. Isn’t that so?”
“Back at Silver Lake… it could’ve happened there too, right, Bro?”
Song Linyu had grown much thinner. His cheeks held scarcely any softness, just a thin, pale layer. Now, he rubbed that tender spot gently against the skin at Fu Yanzong’s waist, causing the loosely tied bathrobe sash to slip downward. Fu Yanzong couldn’t help but reach out and cup Song Linyu’s rubbing cheek to still it.
“Song Linyu.”
Fu Yanzong’s voice dropped in warning, but Song Linyu seemed not to hear. The shadows in his eyes deepened as he pressed on regardless.
“Filming’s exhausting, Brother. No need for any guilt—it’s just friends with benefits. Something we both want.”
“I lied to you before, Fu Yanzong. I don’t need your money. On the contrary, if we do this, I can give you plenty in return. So much.”
Song Linyu barreled on, giving Fu Yanzong no chance to interject, but Fu Yanzong cut him off without mercy.
He pinched Song Linyu’s face and tilted it upward, locking eyes with him. In a tone both certain and ruthlessly cold, he said, “I don’t lack for friends with benefits. And I don’t particularly want one with you.”
Song Linyu froze.
He tilted his head back slightly, staring straight into Fu Yanzong’s eyes. Those tea-colored irises turned icy and unnerving, shrouded in a layer of chilled mist.
“Have you fallen for someone else, Brother?”
“Can you tell me who? I promise I won’t do anything. I just want to know… Please, tell me?”
Song Linyu persistently traced his fingers along Fu Yanzong’s palm, seeking indulgence in the way he had years ago when he was Fu Yanzong’s lover. Back then, a little coquetry and relentless clinging had been enough to smooth over any issue.
But that wouldn’t work for a lover.
“Song Linyu,” Fu Yanzong said slowly. “You really don’t need to do this.”
“It won’t solve anything.”
Fu Yanzong released his hand. As Song Linyu leaned in to pursue, Fu Yanzong casually extracted his wallet from the pocket of his neatly dressed suit jacket.
He thumbed open the wallet for a look. As expected, it held several high-quality business cards and an uncountable stack of bank cards at a glance.
Kneeling one knee on the edge of the bed, he drew out a thick wad and glanced over them. He curled his fingers and flicked lightly, the cards clinking crisply against his knuckles.
“Dongyu Group Chairman, Executive President, Chamber of Commerce Executive Director, Charity Fund Chairman, Film and TV Investment Alliance Initiator… President Song, it seems you’re quite busy.”
Fu Yanzong read off the titles leisurely, rubbing his thumb over a few before flicking them carelessly onto Song Linyu.
The cards brushed across the back of Song Linyu’s hand and along his jaw before landing on the sheets. In that instant, the room fell into near silence.
Seeing no reaction from him, Fu Yanzong felt no urgency. He simply bent down unhurriedly, the remaining stack of understated black-and-gold cards in hand, and patted Song Linyu’s face with them twice.
He said, “Song Linyu, who exactly do you think you are right now? If all you want is to climb into my bed like old times, then sorry—I’m truly not interested.”
Fu Yanzong drew back and settled into the chair once more. With Song Linyu still unresponsive, he crossed his legs leisurely, took a sip of water, propped his face on one hand, and said calmly, “Guess why I kissed you today.”
Those words seemed to jolt Song Linyu awake. He paused in silence for a moment before sitting up properly on the bed. In a low voice, he asked, “Because of my birthday?”
“Wrong.”
Fu Yanzong tapped the desk calmly. “Consider this your punishment to remember first. I’ll give you one more chance.”
Anxiety gripped Song Linyu at those words. Unconsciously, he began stabbing the slightly raised edge of his nail into the soft pad of his fingertip again and again. His lips pressed into a tight line, as if weighing a matter of life and death.
Fu Yanzong checked the time on his phone and decided to wrap things up quickly. With great mercy, he offered a hint: “Your illness.”
Song Linyu blinked in stunned surprise. In a hesitant, almost disbelieving tone, he ventured, “Because… I admitted it?”
For some reason, voicing those words made a bitter ache bloom somewhere deep in his chest. He could only draw in a sharp breath, trying to steady his racing heart.
Fu Yanzong neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, he said flatly, “Let’s make a deal, President Song. A transaction we can both accept.”
Song Linyu fell silent for a moment before murmuring, “What terms do you want?”
“There are things you can’t tell me—I can guess there are certain… force majeure factors at play. But Song Linyu, surely there are parts you can share?”
Song Linyu clenched his teeth, unwilling to speak. Yet as he gazed at Fu Yanzong’s face from across the room, he could only drop his head in agitation and mutter in a barely discernible voice, “I really… I…”
Fu Yanzong didn’t press him. He simply waited in silence.
Time stretched taut in their wordless standoff. The dim yellow lamplight fell across Fu Yanzong’s face, lending his expression an air of profound calm—bordering on indifference.
Yet his fingertips tightened ever so slightly.
“…Yes.”
When Song Linyu finally spoke, his voice was faint, each word wrung from him with every ounce of strength he possessed.
“Yes.”
Fu Yanzong remained silent for a beat, then lightly closed his eyes.
He gestured for Song Linyu to unlock his powered-off phone. Scrolling through the contacts, he found a number he hadn’t touched in years and typed out a message in the chat.
acqua: “You can confess one thing to me every day. If I’m satisfied, in return, you get to ask me one question, and I’ll answer it truthfully.”
acqua: “This deal lasts until I’m utterly disappointed in you. Care to give it a try, President Song?”
The words glowed starkly on the pristine white screen. Song Linyu’s eyes burned, his vision blurring. He gripped the small, cool device tighter and tighter, terrified of losing it again.
The pinned chat at the top hadn’t seen a message in ages. The last exchange had been simple: Bro, when are you coming back? I saw you on the livestream—you looked so handsome with that award, so many people hugging you. I miss you. When are you coming back, Bro?
Fu Yanzong’s reply had been equally straightforward: Soon.
He always kept his word. When he promised to return soon, he had raced back to Shenlan at the fastest possible speed.
But he had returned too soon—too soon for either of them to be prepared to face the unspoken abyss they’d both ignored.
Scrolling up through their chat history felt endless. On countless late nights, Song Linyu had pored over their conversations again and again, always making sure to transfer them whenever he switched devices. He had even committed every event from every past day to memory.
This gave Song Linyu the illusion that, in the very next second, he could still send a message to Fu Yanzong—chattering endlessly about how much he missed his big brother, how much he liked him.
But the moment he recalled what had happened that day, he knew all too clearly that it was impossible.
So Song Linyu never imagined he would get the chance to message Fu Yanzong in this chat window again. In the utterly silent room, his tears slowly dampened the screen, only to be wiped away by the gentle tips of his typing fingers.
The “typing…” indicator flickered on and off repeatedly. Fu Yanzong wasn’t in any rush. He even squeezed in a couple of rounds of a silent Match-3 game.
When the “perfect” notification popped up on his screen, Song Linyu finally sent his reply.
pesce: “Does ‘until completely disappointed’ mean… mean that you’re not disappointed in me yet?”
Fu Yanzong’s expression was inscrutable as he paused for half a beat upon reading the message. Then he typed his response.
acqua: “So is this your question for today? But you haven’t satisfied me yet.”
pesce: “I will. This time, absolutely… so can I ask this question today?”
“No.”
The instant Song Linyu hit send, Fu Yanzong’s voice answered him.
Fu Yanzong set his phone down and met Song Linyu’s eyes. Calmly, he repeated his response.
“Not yet.”
