Chapter 27: Rehearsing Lines

Song Linyu regretted it the moment Fu Yanzong grabbed his wrist. After all, he had only zoned out for an instant, and just like that, his chance to refuse slipped away.

As he trailed behind Fu Yanzong, Song Linyu ran through countless escape plans in his mind—shoving the guy hard from behind to make him tumble, or hurling insults at him to warn him off meddling in his business.

None of those ideas worked out.

Thanks to Su Tang, Song Linyu had a particular distaste for spoiled young masters who looked down on everyone from their lofty perches. But the person walking beside him wasn’t annoying like Su Tang, nor did he strut around like Su Tang, preening over his good looks and dressing up like some gaudy butterfly.

Instead, Fu Yanzong wore the school’s simple uniform, his handsome features and poised demeanor standing out effortlessly. He didn’t scold Song Linyu for running off or anything like that. He just led the way calmly ahead, glancing back now and then to make sure the other boy could keep up.

Song Linyu’s sharp retorts circled in his head a couple of times before he settled on a particularly rude opener.

“Hey…” he said.

Fu Yanzong turned to look at him.

Good thing there wasn’t a cheesy teen drama blaring on the TV at that moment, or Song Linyu might have heard something like: “First off, I’m not ‘Hey,’ my name is…”

But Song Linyu didn’t get the words out anyway. Fu Yanzong eyed his height, which only came up to his shoulder, and adopted a big-brother tone, asking calmly, “Where does it hurt?”

Song Linyu clamped his mouth shut. After a moment, his sweaty wrist twitched involuntarily, and he said coolly, “Mind your own business.”

Fu Yanzong had never been the especially helpful type growing up. He had simply been taught to take responsibility for his actions.

In his view, he had caused Song Linyu’s injury, so he needed to get him to the infirmary and see it properly treated before leaving. What Song Linyu wanted didn’t really factor in.

So Fu Yanzong just gave a nonchalant “Oh,” but he didn’t let go of the wrist. If anything, to prevent any resistance, he gripped it a little tighter.

Song Linyu struggled uncomfortably but got nowhere. As for shoving Fu Yanzong… for some reason, that plan never came to fruition either.

After what felt like forever, Fu Yanzong finally dragged Song Linyu to the school’s infirmary. The on-duty teacher jumped to her feet the instant she saw him, asking anxiously, “What happened? Did you get hurt in practical class?”

Fu Yanzong stepped aside and pointed at Song Linyu behind him. “It’s him. Could you take care of it for me? Thanks.”

The teacher blinked at Song Linyu in surprise. The difference between the two boys was stark: Fu Yanzong in his full uniform, Song Linyu in a faded old jacket that clearly didn’t belong here.

But before she could dwell on it, Fu Yanzong had already pulled Song Linyu onto the medical bed and taken a seat nearby, his intent clear: I’m waiting, so hurry it up.

The teacher said nothing more. She slipped on a mask, picked up a metal tray, and stood before Song Linyu. She carefully cleaned the cut on his chin first, then took his hand to check for other injuries.

She wished she hadn’t looked. The moment she rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, she sucked in a breath and frowned. “Classmate, has someone been hurting you? You need to tell your teacher and your parents right away…”

A patchwork of fresh bruises and old scars mottled Song Linyu’s slender wrist—some still healing, others faded but no less shocking.

Song Linyu stared at the chattering woman and yanked his hand free with all his strength. He tugged his sleeve down, hopped off the bed, and bit out coldly, “None of your business.”

Telling others never did any good.

Song Linyu hated that look of pity. To him, sympathy without real help only reminded him, over and over, of the nightmare he couldn’t escape.

“That’s no way to talk to an adult,” the teacher snapped, setting down her tweezers in displeasure. “This is for your own good. You should—”

“Teacher, if the cut on his face is taken care of, I’ll take him and go,” Fu Yanzong cut in, interrupting their exchange.

Song Linyu turned and saw that Fu Yanzong had stood up. He was by the door, watching quietly, his detached calm somehow bringing Song Linyu a strange sense of relief.

Fu Yanzong tilted his chin impatiently. “Hurry up.”

The teacher fell silent. Song Linyu shot her a glance, then shuffled slowly to Fu Yanzong’s side. They left together.

This time, Fu Yanzong wasn’t holding his hand. Song Linyu just followed close behind.

The bandage on Song Linyu’s face covered half of it, making him look even paler and more fragile.

Fu Yanzong glanced down and met Song Linyu’s upturned gaze. He noticed the boy’s eyes were a warm brown, yet they held an icy, stubborn glint whenever he looked at someone. Definitely not your typical good kid.

Little Young Master Fu was at that age where his sense of self was everything; he could barely tolerate yes-men who followed orders without question. A troublesome kid like Song Linyu? Not his problem.

After a moment’s thought, he stopped and pulled his student ID card from his uniform pocket. He pointed in a direction. “Go downstairs and keep walking straight. Swipe my card at the gate to get out.”

Song Linyu froze for a second before taking the thin card with pale fingertips. In the two-inch photo frame on the card, Fu Yanzong’s image smiled back at him—refined and strikingly handsome.

Song Linyu had heard someone call him “Yanzong” earlier; now he knew the full name. His thumb brushed over the photo as he glanced at the name below, murmuring hoarsely and strangely, “Fu Yanzong.”

Hearing his own name spoken like that elicited a reflexive response. Fu Yanzong answered instinctively, then heard Song Linyu ask, “How do I give it back?”

“No need,” Fu Yanzong said casually. “Graduation’s soon anyway, and everyone knows me—no need to replace it.”

Song Linyu didn’t reply, but he didn’t pocket the card either. By now, his classmates from the outdoor class were trickling back. Fu Yanzong had plans with friends after class and didn’t want to detour to the gate first.

“Alright, be good,” Fu Yanzong said, a touch exasperated. He reached out to ruffle Song Linyu’s hair, then bent down with a mechanical smile. “You can give it back next time we meet. Watch out on the way home. See you.”

Song Linyu wasn’t used to physical contact, and Fu Yanzong’s moves always caught him off guard. He quickly put some distance between them, clutching the student ID card. It took a long while before he finally said to Fu Yanzong, “Thanks.”

That was the extent of Fu Yanzong’s impression of Song Linyu.

Years later, he wouldn’t remember this minor incident or know who he’d given his card to. He certainly wouldn’t notice someone watching him from afar in the time that followed, honoring a promise only one of them recalled: “next time we meet.”

What emotions fueled that gaze—jealousy, hatred, gratitude, or curiosity? Even Song Linyu didn’t know.

As for when the student ID card would make its way back… no one knew yet.

That wrapped up Fu Yanzong’s questions, though Song Linyu had skipped the latter half of their first encounter.

Fu Yanzong’s queries were cleverly phrased, just asking when Song Linyu had met Su Tang and if there was any lingering resentment from back then.

After hearing about the isolation and the teachers turning a blind eye, Fu Yanzong had a pretty good idea. Su Tang must have had some kind of “cheat code” since childhood, one he’d used frequently.

He was surely still using it now, but clearly, Fu Yanzong had gotten under his skin plenty of times. Given Su Tang’s personality, learning patience would be tough. That meant it had usage limits, eventually running out.

His earlier hunch confirmed once more, Fu Yanzong pocketed his phone. He noticed Song Linyu huddled in the corner of the bed, head down—a sign of deep insecurity.

Sensing he’d finished reading the messages, Song Linyu looked up, a hint of anxiety in his voice. “Bro, is this answer okay?”

Fu Yanzong nodded, checked the time again, then scooped Song Linyu straight off the bed. In a steady voice, he said, “You can go now… but first, do what you promised.”

Before Song Linyu could ask what exactly that was, his body instinctively leaned into Fu Yanzong’s embrace. He watched as Fu Yanzong opened the bedroom door and headed for the suite’s exit. Then, with calm composure, Fu Yanzong told him, “You can hold onto me.”

Instinct outpaced thought. Song Linyu reached up and wrapped his arms around Fu Yanzong’s shoulders. Strands of damp hair brushed his wrist, sending an inexplicable flutter through his chest.

“What do I need to do…?” Song Linyu licked his lips and repeated the question.

“Run the scene.”

Fu Yanzong’s answer came sharp and direct. At the same time, his hands moved with precise efficiency. In the next moment, Song Linyu felt his back slam hard against the cold wooden door, followed by the descent of Fu Yanzong’s kiss.

The kiss was fierce from the start, leaving Song Linyu utterly defenseless. He could only placate him by gently licking at Fu Yanzong’s lips, hoping to coax him into slowing down. But it was no use. His tongue tip was deftly coiled and sucked, the cool lips and tongue igniting like wildfire, scorching everything in their path.

Song Linyu’s hands clutched tightly at the back of Fu Yanzong’s neck. With his feet off the ground, he could only tremble and curl into his embrace. His softened waist was pitifully pinned in place, his legs instinctively bracing for support, his entire body dazed and overwhelmed.

In some ways, the kiss dazed Song Linyu even more than lovemaking. As Fu Yanzong claimed his mouth like this, tears streamed from his eyes. Yet amid the haze of desire, when he forced his eyes open, he found Fu Yanzong’s beautiful gaze still calm and icy.

As their lips and tongues tangled relentlessly, Fu Yanzong’s expression never changed. Song Linyu kissed back urgently, only for Fu Yanzong to pause and murmur a line from the movie right against his ear:

“Jiang Yan, how pathetic are you? Still throwing yourself at him after getting dumped? You like playing the dog that much? Don’t tell me you actually like me.”

He spoke softly, far from any histrionic performance, but the contempt and disdain in his tone poured out in an instant. The mole at the corner of his eye curled in a mocking half-smile, the humiliation so piercing it left no room to hide.

Fu Yanzong had no intention of embarrassing Song Linyu. He was merely using him to run through the scene he needed to practice with Su Tang, so he didn’t expect a professional actor’s response.

The kiss was done, the location perfect, the ambiguous moans in place, and the lines delivered. Fu Yanzong gauged that they’d nailed it. He hoisted Song Linyu up a bit higher into his arms, preparing to politely say, “Thanks.”

But Song Linyu kissed him again.

This kiss wasn’t long, but it went deep. Fu Yanzong instinctively moved to pull him back a little, but when he saw Song Linyu’s reddened eyes, he allowed the occasional overstep.

When they parted, a thin silver thread still connected their lips. Song Linyu carefully licked Fu Yanzong’s lips once more before retreating a short distance, like a puppy coquettishly nuzzling its owner. His tea-colored eyes were wet and flushed, filled entirely with Fu Yanzong’s reflection.

Then, Fu Yanzong heard Song Linyu respond to that line—which wasn’t even meant for him—with a solemn promise: “I like you.”

And with the tone of a vow, he repeated it: “I’ll like you forever, Fu Yanzong.”