Song Linyu was utterly stunned.
Fu Yanzong’s fingers slowly enveloped the fingertip still dotted with faint water droplets, casually rubbing it for a moment as if in no particular hurry to do anything else.
He leaned down lazily to embrace Song Linyu. The sleeves of his soft pajamas were rolled up just a bit, revealing a section of his smoothly contoured forearm, while a loose strand from his freshly retied hair draped over his shoulder. He looked meticulous and restrained, as though seriously pondering which lovely accessory to choose for himself.
…If not for the way Song Linyu’s wrist bones trembled uncontrollably.
Song Linyu seemed to sense what was coming.
A ring…?
His Adam’s apple bobbed for a moment before he averted his gaze and pointed in a fluster at an old piece from the MIREILLE Atelier in the jewelry box.
The silver band gleamed with a watery chill, its centerpiece a rare blue-gray diamond polished to a deliberately rough texture that shimmered quietly like teardrops under the moonlight.
Fu Yanzong let out a low chuckle. Neither too light nor too heavy, he patted the still-quivering, moisture-glistened crevice. Earlier, when Song Linyu had tried tending to himself, he’d found the baggy T-shirt in the way and rolled it up, tucking it at his waist.
And so, in this moment, that patch of thin skin was nearly translucent, faintly flushed red. Under the moonlight, it was impossible to distinguish whether the sparkling sheen came from the moon’s glow or the thin, translucent film of liquid coating it.
Of course, Fu Yanzong knew exactly what it was.
With an inscrutable glance at the glistening strands clinging to his fingertip in the moonlight, he casually twisted two of them between his fingers and said with a slow smile, “Then, if President Song would be so kind as to fetch the ring for me.”
The distance from the bedside to the vanity was truly just a few steps, but to Song Linyu, it might as well have been a vast chasm. His body, still thrumming from the teasing, instinctively yearned to curl into Fu Yanzong’s arms—to be devoured completely, filled to the hilt in one satisfying plunge, rather than shoved aside like this.
Even that short trek felt daunting. With a touch of petulance, he looped his arms around Fu Yanzong’s neck and nuzzled against him, silently begging for immediate, utter fulfillment.
“You don’t want to give it to me?”
Fu Yanzong paid no mind to his faint reluctance. Instead, he lowered his lashes slightly, as if mildly displeased, his voice laced with a sticky whine of complaint.
Nothing mattered more than keeping Fu Yanzong happy.
Song Linyu stilled at once. He lifted his head to coax him, pressing a tender kiss to Fu Yanzong’s eyes, then to his lips. His pale cheek rubbed softly against Fu Yanzong’s face, light and gentle, just like a puppy offering reassurance.
“Here you go,” Song Linyu cooed placatingly. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
He paused, reluctance evident as he withdrew from Fu Yanzong’s embrace. His ankle hesitated for a split second before he stepped swiftly onto the cool wooden floor.
Earlier, Song Linyu had knelt by the bed’s edge, fumbling with his hand in a futile attempt at relief. It hadn’t been nearly enough, so he’d clambered onto the mattress out of sheer instinct.
His knees now bore a faint, fresh bruise from the friction. With his skin fully exposed, leaving the comforting warmth of Fu Yanzong for the chill air sharpened every sensation, amplifying it several times over.
So strange…
“…Mm.”
Song Linyu lowered his eyes, a soft sound escaping him unbidden.
Naturally, Fu Yanzong had no intention of letting him slip away so easily. Straightening up, he leaned his smiling face against the shoulder of Song Linyu, who now stood on the floor.
His long, powerful palm gathered three fingers together unhurriedly, pressing calmly against the small of Song Linyu’s back. And then—
“Bro…”
Song Linyu’s long lashes fluttered with a tremor.
The little fish, freshly pulled from the water and thinking itself free of restraints, now teetered on the horns of a dilemma. Its wicked handler toyed languidly with the warm, pliant scales, up and down. Moments later, the pristine wooden floor grew slick from the streams it expelled, dripping into a small puddle left by the little fish itself.
This was getting a bit much…
Song Linyu flushed crimson from head to toe.
Fu Yanzong brushed a kiss to his earlobe and murmured with a smile, “Why’d you stop walking?”
The intimately joined parts could hardly manage the task of locomotion. Fu Yanzong always knew precisely how to reduce him to immobility, leaving him dazed and helpless as the meal on the platter.
But no—this wouldn’t do. The ring still needed retrieving.
Patient as ever, Mr. Fu encouraged Song Linyu onward, even while keeping him loosely cradled in his arms. Heaven witnessed it: he wasn’t trying to hold him back; Song Linyu simply couldn’t stand steady, leaning into him relentlessly—like a trumpet vine doomed to wither without its trellis, desperate not to part.
After what felt like an eternity, Song Linyu finally pleaded through a sob, eyes brimming with tears, “Brother… could you ease up a little?”
“Hm?”
Fu Yanzong voiced his puzzlement. A moment later, his jade-smooth fingertip curled faintly, his ring finger draping lazily alongside his pinky—a generous concession to Song Linyu’s plea.
Only then could Song Linyu catch his breath, panting in sharp bursts as his entire body swayed on unsteady legs.
There was no helping it. Even Fu Yanzong’s casual touches overwhelmed him utterly.
At last, he broke free of the embrace and shuffled two steps forward, each one like treading on rippling water, until his fingers brushed the ring.
He returned to Fu Yanzong’s arms cradling it reverently, misty tear tracks still streaking his face. Fu Yanzong was lavish with his praise, kissing his cheek and murmuring approvingly, “Good boy.”
The simple commendation sent Song Linyu soaring with delight. Shyly, he bit his lip, unable to meet those smiling eyes. Instead, he held out the simple band with utmost solemnity and asked, “Can I… put it on you, Brother?”
The devotion in his tone threatened to spill over, as if this were no mere dalliance but a sacred vow uttered before the gaze of the true divine, amid a host of watching gods.
…A ring.
Fu Yanzong’s expression faltered ever so slightly. After a beat, he let out a soft, low chuckle, his face wearing an enigmatic look Song Linyu seldom glimpsed.
It was hard to pin down the emotion.
Regret? Melancholy? Resignation? Or perhaps sorrow…?
Song Linyu grew flustered without reason. He leaned in close, peering at Fu Yanzong with urgent worry, desperate to understand.
But the expression vanished from Fu Yanzong’s face in an instant. The next moment, he simply raised his eyes—saying nothing—and extended his hand.
His slender, elegant fingers settled into Song Linyu’s palm.
Song Linyu held his breath. Without further ado, he grasped the base of Fu Yanzong’s finger and slid the blue-gray diamond ring on gently, inching it forward until it nestled perfectly at the root.
The pad of Fu Yanzong’s finger still glistened with the cool slickness Song Linyu had provided, easing it right into place.
Song Linyu turned his head away involuntarily. From behind his ear to the side of his neck bloomed a vivid flush. At the sight, Fu Yanzong’s lips curved slowly before he leaned in for another kiss.
This one carried the confidence of assured triumph, laced with the hunter’s leisurely provocation.
It began between his brows, trailing in fits and starts down the bridge of his nose, then leisurely captured Song Linyu’s upper lip for a slow suckle. Unhurriedly, it deepened into a lingering dance—intimate and entwined—nearly stripping away all his air and breath, drawing him wholly into the beguiling dreamscape of Fu Yanzong.
The ring-clad fingertip traced the rounded curve with calm assurance, plunging without hesitation into the drenched, sodden morass.
The silver band caught against the pale little fish’s soft flesh with its master’s motion, causing the creature—which had just begun to settle—to arch imperceptibly. It twitched restlessly on the board before a firmer pressure pinned it down.
“Song Linyu.”
Fu Yanzong spoke his name.
The plump, pristine fingertip was enveloped gently, followed by the first knuckle, the second… and down to the base of the ring finger. The blue-gray ring submerged relentlessly, grazing the tenderest skin before lodging deep inside, vanishing entirely.
The metal brought a starkly foreign sensation—like an unignorable grain of sand embedded in yielding flesh, forever proclaiming its presence. The only recourse was to polish it with endless tears until it gleamed as a flawless pearl.
Fu Yanzong’s fingers were thoroughly slick already; the slightest motion would let them slip free, abandoning the lovely gem within.
Shudders raced through Song Linyu’s body. He quivered twice, unable to hold back his plea. “Brother, you keep it—don’t leave it—”
“But I’d rather give it to you.”
Fu Yanzong smiled with feigned innocence. Watching Song Linyu nuzzle his cheek against him in desperate mercy, he chuckled. “The gem suits you so well.”
And yet, all that lingered was the gemstone—bereft of his brother’s hand, or anything else he truly craved.
Song Linyu’s eyes had turned red from the strain, and he kept pressing nonstop kisses to the side of Fu Yanzong’s face, his lips puckering like a fish desperately smooching. The bedsheet, already soaked through, had wrinkled into a sticky mess. If things kept going like this, it would never dry out by morning.
Fu Yanzong glanced at his pathetic bed and pondered for a moment before deciding—
To lie back down, prop his head lazily on one hand, and simply enjoy the show.
Who had asked President Song to turn down his backdoor overture so confidently earlier?
No rush.
Song Linyu stared at him in complete shock, his eyes slowly widening with a sense of his entire worldview shattering.
Getting Song Linyu to eat an orange right now? Impossible. Forget about his brother blatantly signaling that he wanted to tease him a little. Even if Song Linyu mustered the guts to climb on top and gorge himself at the all-you-can-eat buffet, he could only manage a couple of sloppy bites. There was no way this fish would recover anytime soon.
“Don’t…”
Song Linyu sprawled across him, pleading desperately.
He started with apologies, then switched to wheedling. He tried every trick in the book, letting every pet name tumble naturally from his lips—brother, husband, and a whole string of ones too scandalous to repeat. In short, he was utterly pitiful.
Fu Yanzong listened with a smile, and that face of his lit up so captivatingly when he laughed that Song Linyu lost all his fight. He could only beg with wide, mournful eyes.
“I couldn’t help myself… Please… Please, brother…”
Song Linyu drooped his head like a wilted mimosa plant.
Its tender stems were pinched between human fingers, teasing and toying, leaving the leaves unable to fold away. Desperate to snare its prey, it mimicked past encounters with agonizing need, flushing a deep crimson all over.
His innocent longing shone through in every motion. Fu Yanzong’s body was perfection—even through the thin fabric, Song Linyu could trace the firm line of his waist. Lean muscle sheathed powerful abs, each breath etching their contours into sharp relief: slim yet resilient, radiating a tension no one could resist.
Fans always snuck sly comments under his selfies: “Brother Fu, give us a peek at that waist!” “Bro, flash those abs for us!” Magazine shoots sparked an unspoken fan pact, flooding the photographer’s and crew’s posts with eager pleas: “You know exactly what to capture! Don’t play dumb—my man’s got more than just a pretty face worth shooting!”
Fans’ ultimate feast came in his movies. To underscore a character’s anguish, directors loved staging downpours in emotional scenes. Viewers would be gripped by Fu Yanzong’s masterful performance one moment, then devour the glimpses of rippling muscle the next—tears mingling with their lip-biting delight.
All in all, as Fu Yanzong’s former assistant—and the low-key, hardworking moderator of his secret super topic that no one knew about—Song Linyu was intimately aware of just how mouthwatering those abs truly were.
Hmm…
Chances to lay eyes on them were few and far between, after all.
So this killer physique that eluded most people’s gaze? He could drink it in now, anytime, to his heart’s content.
And it wasn’t just looking…
He craved it—ached fiercely for every ridge and valley of Fu Yanzong’s muscles.
Not daring to shift elsewhere, he propped himself up on sweat-slicked hands just enough, the untouched spots burning to press closer at every opportunity. He ground slowly against those delicious lines, each one tending to the throbbing demands pulsing through him, until…
In the midst of his subtle motions, Song Linyu caught the elegant mole at Fu Yanzong’s eye corner quirking upward ever so slyly. A beat later, Fu Yanzong chuckled and murmured, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Song Linyu nodded in a daze.
“…You’re soaked, just like you were fished straight out of the water.”
Smiling, Fu Yanzong reached up and patted his cheek.
There was a hint of gentle reproach in the gesture, but Song Linyu leaned in with two placating kisses, all clingy sweetness. It clearly had zero impact, so Fu Yanzong let the matter drop for the moment.
Fu Yanzong eyed his bedraggled pajamas.
…Best not.
Casually, he undid the buttons.
Song Linyu’s throat bobbed with instinctual hunger. In the next instant, Fu Yanzong scooped him up, set him aside, and flipped him over without a word.
The man who’d been lounging finally took pity and rose, tilting his head in a languid stretch of his limbs. His palm curved shut, fingers digging into Song Linyu’s waist. Fu Yanzong’s voice deepened, his smile turning wickedly playful as he warned, “Enjoying it now? Then no begging me to stop later.”
Shyness finally crashed over Song Linyu. He went still, burying his face deep in the pillow.
But if he’d had a tail, it would’ve been wagging like an eager puppy’s—perked high and swaying softly, begging for Fu Yanzong to catch it in one hand and pet it with the perfect pressure.
…
“Wait—wait a second—”
Song Linyu’s knuckles whitened from his grip. It had barely started, and he already couldn’t take it, his body rigid as he forced out a frail whimper. Pitifully, he asked, “The ring—”
“It’s right there.”
Fu Yanzong kneaded his slightly tensed lower belly with absentminded pleasure, eyes narrowing in bliss.
“It’s fine, baby. It always works, doesn’t it?”
“…”
“You should’ve paced yourself earlier. Now there’s nothing I can do.”
Fu Yanzong let out a low, teasing laugh and bent to press a kiss to Song Linyu’s pale nape.
The teasing lilt went right over Song Linyu’s head. That one word—”baby”—left him foggy and pliant, nodding yes to whatever Fu Yanzong suggested.
Coaxing was one thing, though. Fu Yanzong wouldn’t call it quits until he’d had his fill.
After all…
His chat with the Self-Rescue System at the very start had laid it out plain as day.
“As long as you don’t go overboard, he’ll still be able to get out of bed tomorrow.”
Plenty of time ahead.
