Chapter 28: Bad Cat

The word “forever” held a subtle nuance, its shelf life varying wildly depending on who uttered it. As an actor, Fu Yanzong excelled at reading the hidden intentions and clever manipulations behind every line of dialogue, then bringing them vividly to life.

But when the subject involved Song Linyu, he always found it hard to discern.

It wasn’t about doubting the truth of the words. Rather, he set their meaning aside for the moment and refused to engage.

The urgent knocking persisted, but for a few seconds, the world between them turned into a vacuum. Fu Yanzong paused before saying, “There’s no need to discuss this right now.”

Song Linyu said nothing. His eyelashes merely trembled as he gave a slight nod.

Fu Yanzong loosened his embrace a fraction, gesturing for Song Linyu to climb down on his own. He reached for the door handle. But the other man, still huddled against him, blocked the motion with his hand and clung tighter, refusing to let go.

Song Linyu’s curled fingertips twitched uneasily before he asked, “Brother, who would come looking for you this late at night…”

“You wouldn’t want to know.” Fu Yanzong shot him a glance laced with ambiguity, then added, “If you don’t move, I’ll drop you.”

Song Linyu pursed his lips and gripped Fu Yanzong’s arm. In a placating slide, he slipped free from the embrace and said obediently, “Got it, got it.”

Fu Yanzong pointed toward the room. Song Linyu hesitated but ultimately took two compliant steps inside.

Then a familiar voice rang out.

The person outside had grown impatient and pounded the door twice before calling, “Brother Fu, Teacher Fu—are you in there? I’ve come to see you.”

It was Su Tang’s affected drawl, unmistakable to Song Linyu. Just then, Fu Yanzong’s hand turned the handle, cracking the heavy wooden door open a sliver.

A faint creak sounded—then it slammed shut again under a stronger force, refusing to budge no matter what.

Fu Yanzong eyed the door edge, now gripped white-knuckled by Song Linyu. In his haste, the pad of Song Linyu’s index finger had scraped against the sharp frame.

Song Linyu’s fingers pressed so hard they paled. He drew a deep breath, slowly lifted his head to meet Fu Yanzong’s gaze, and whispered, “Brother, didn’t you promise to keep your distance from Su Tang?”

His voice was soft, likely to avoid being overheard, but each word rang crystal clear—perhaps quivering faintly with anger.

“You said you’d do it. How could you lie to me like that? You never lie to me.”

Song Linyu stared intently into his eyes. All trace of his earlier compliance had vanished, yet he couldn’t muster anything truly harsh against Fu Yanzong. He could only offer this feeble accusation.

“You begged me for it, Song Linyu,” Fu Yanzong replied patiently, highlighting the flaw in that earlier exchange. “I never said I’d agree—only that I’d think about it.”

“Then promise me now. Say you won’t contact him anymore.” Song Linyu took a few urgent steps forward and rushed on, “Don’t talk to him on set. Don’t be alone with him. And most importantly, never again—”

“Then why are you still dealing with him?” Fu Yanzong bent down, his voice calm. “Before you demand it of others, do it yourself first.”

“Song Linyu, have I told you how infuriating your way of handling things can be?” Fu Yanzong pointed toward the room, his tone turning icy. “Last chance: if you don’t want to be seen, get in there.”

“Promise me. Don’t be like this… Brother, I just don’t want you to…” Song Linyu’s words tumbled out in desperation as he stepped closer. Then, like a man with no options left, he squeezed his eyes shut, wrapped his arms around Fu Yanzong’s waist, rose on tiptoe, and tried to silence him with a kiss.

Even as Fu Yanzong pushed him back with one hand, Song Linyu held on, resorting to this stubborn tangle to keep the door shut.

Su Tang’s questions kept coming, one after another. He even fished out his phone, found Fu Yanzong’s profile in their group chat, added him as a friend, and fired off several private messages.

The wait had dragged on too long; irritated mutters now sounded from beyond the door.

At this rate, Fu Yanzong’s plot points wouldn’t advance. He looked down at Song Linyu with commanding detachment, parted his lips, and accepted the kiss.

The unexpected yielding caught Song Linyu off guard. Seizing the opening, Fu Yanzong pinched his jaw and pulled him away. Then, with surprising gentleness, he said, “Song Linyu, why should I promise you? Why should I keep my word? You accuse me of breaking promises… but didn’t you deceive me first?”

Song Linyu barely registered the words at first. A sharp buzz filled his head. Seconds later, their meaning sank in, and the blood drained from his face, leaving it ghostly pale.

“Convince me with a reason,” Fu Yanzong said slowly. “You’ll have plenty of trades ahead where you can explain. Or give me an answer now—but you can’t, can you?”

Song Linyu’s throat tightened; he had no words, not even a rebuttal. Deception was his old trick, but against Fu Yanzong, he held no cards.

He might know what answers and actions Fu Yanzong demanded. But knowing wasn’t the same as doing.

“I’m sorry.” It was all Song Linyu could repeat. “I’m sorry.”

In some ways, this was the most hopeless thing in the world.

He retreated two silent steps into the room, saying nothing more.

/

Perhaps he’d been too hard on Song Linyu.

Fu Yanzong reflected with a soft sigh as he opened the door.

Truth be told, the rest of tonight’s plot was straightforward: answer the door and brush off Su Tang with an excuse. Song Linyu’s lone-wolf attitude had simply gotten under his skin, sparking the earlier clash.

Su Tang’s eyes soured at the sight of Fu Yanzong. He scanned him head to toe, lingering on the rumpled bathrobe, before asking suspiciously, “Teacher Fu, what was that noise from inside? What took you so long?”

“Nothing much,” Fu Yanzong replied flatly. “Sorry, I’m not feeling great today. Let’s run lines on set tomorrow.”

“?” Su Tang wasn’t buying it. He frowned. “Really…?”

“I’d rather not chat all night in the doorway. Head back, Teacher Su.” Fu Yanzong leaned casually against the frame, his tone bland and unyielding as stone.

Su Tang’s forced smile finally cracked. Under the corridor lights, his face stiffened. “Come on, I was just worried about you… Tomorrow, then?”

Fu Yanzong offered only a mocking half-smile. His bathrobe hem dangled loosely at his side, one hand propped on the door. He looked indolent, yet carried an unsettling air of dominance.

“We’ll see.” His voice drawled lazily. “Might not shake this off anytime soon.”

Su Tang gaped, momentarily too furious to reply.

Out of habit, he reached for the system to burn points and erase Fu Yanzong’s excuse for the night. But after a pause, the Heartthrob System advised:

“Tang Tang, I haven’t picked up any major deviation alerts, but at this plot stage, scraping together enough points right now would be tough. The car crash arc ahead is crucial—save the item for that.”

“…”

Su Tang raked a hand through his hair in frustration, uttered no more, and stormed off in a huff.

All that effort primping like a peacock tonight, wasted on the blind! What a joke! Classless!

With Su Tang finally gone, Fu Yanzong shut the door and glanced inside. Song Linyu had dressed and stood motionless for some time.

As Fu Yanzong’s eyes found him, Song Linyu looked away and murmured, “I’ll head out too, then. Good night, Brother.”

Fu Yanzong made no reply, and Song Linyu couldn’t think of anything else to say. At the door, though, he slowed, then fished his phone from his pocket with hesitation.

Ding. A new message lit Fu Yanzong’s screen.

Pesce: “Brother, I don’t mean to annoy you or wear you out.”

“I’ll keep working on those questions from before. Can you go easy on the disappointment?”

“I won’t mention Su Tang again. I’ll sort it my way.”

“Please don’t hate me too much. Leave me just a sliver of a chance?”

“Or if not me, then don’t give it to anyone else. Please…”

The texts ended with a puppy-nuzzling emoji pack Song Linyu had agonized over. Sending it felt dumb—like flirting with a boyfriend.

But face-to-face, he hadn’t even dared apologize, terrified of seeing disappointment in Fu Yanzong’s eyes.

Song Linyu paused in silence for seconds, receiving no response. Still, he exhaled in relief—no rejection was better than the worst.

He slipped out, his footsteps echoing faintly down the hall before fading.

Song Linyu’s retreating figure looked downright pitiable. Fu Yanzong pulled back his gaze, grabbed a hair tie, and casually bound the stray locks framing his face. Only then did he long-press the emoji pack Song Linyu had sent.

A black prompt box appeared. Fu Yanzong tapped the “add emoji” option with his fingertip, adding a new animation to the gallery already filled with countless puppy GIFs.

He then scrolled through the emoji packs Song Linyu had sent him earlier. After a moment’s thought, he typed a few lines into the chat box.

Acqua: “Dealing with you is troublesome enough right now.”

Song Linyu came to an abrupt halt. He gripped his phone tightly and fired off a reply in seconds.

“I get it. I’ll really try to change. I…”

Acqua: “Where’d you get that emoji pack?”

Song Linyu had been clumsily drafting more promises when the sudden shift in topic startled him. He scrutinized the emoji three times over but couldn’t spot anything wrong with it. He stood tensely in the corridor for a moment, thinking hard, before cautiously typing back: “Saved it from online. Don’t like this one?”

Acqua: “So President Song usually chats like this?”

The moment Song Linyu read that, he rushed to defend himself. He didn’t even bother typing—instead, he hit the voice message button. “No, it’s saved just for you. I haven’t sent it to anyone else. Really, I haven’t.”

Fu Yanzong played the voice message. Then, unhurriedly, he replied:

“No need to explain. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Song Linyu froze for a second before realizing that Fu Yanzong’s earlier message could potentially be read as jealousy.

A sheen of moisture gathered in his eyes as he typed and deleted, typed and deleted again.

Pesce: “So… can I take it to mean something else?”

“Puppy with teary eyes.jpg”

Song Linyu sent that GIF all the time, so Fu Yanzong recognized it instantly. Without saving any new emojis, he lazily fired back a bad cat GIF and added, with equal mischief:

“No.”

Song Linyu tapped the screen in mild disappointment, but Fu Yanzong’s reply quickly lifted his spirits. He stared at the wicked silver tabby in the GIF, and the corners of his lips curved up unconsciously.

He waited a while, but Fu Yanzong didn’t say anything more. Assuming the conversation was over, Song Linyu pocketed his phone, stepped into the elevator, and pressed the floor button.

But soon, his special notification chime rang out again.

Song Linyu’s breath caught. He unlocked the screen at once.

Acqua: “Heading to bed. Quick reminder: your fever hasn’t broken, so take your medicine when you get home. Even if it’s just inflammation, don’t brush it off—and no more randomly kissing people.”

…

“Okay, got it.” Song Linyu gazed at the message and murmured his soft, earnest reply aloud. Then his eyes crinkled with a gentle smile. Unable to resist, he traced his fingertip over the smug, prancing bad cat on the screen and declared with utmost solemnity:

“Brother’s a good kitty.”