Sun Jiayang’s illusions of a pure friendship were mercilessly shattered by Fu Yanzong.
After a long silence, he lifted his hand with disarming naturalness and ruffled his own hair at lightning speed, resorting to the classic line people blurt out in awkward moments. “Hahaha, really? What a coincidence!”
“…”
Song Linyu withdrew his smile and stared at him expressionlessly, as if eager to know just who else he could possibly have “coincidentally” run into while chasing Fu Yanzong.
Reading the message in his eyes, Sun Jiayang despaired at his own habit of speaking before thinking.
But a young brain always had clever ideas for its owner. Sun Jiayang hadn’t clawed his way through layers of selection to become Fu Yanzong’s assistant purely on luck!
Moments later, Xiao Sun met Song Linyu’s gaze firmly and spoke with utter conviction. “President Song, before heading out today, I checked the cyber fortune sticks posted by my favorite fortune-telling blogger. Today’s deity is Golden Vault—perfect for weddings, prayers for love, romance, and pursuit. No wonder you look like you’re glowing with romantic luck today, full of that healthy flush. Must be a major breakthrough in your love life. Talk about coincidence!”
Sun Jiayang delivered this spiel in one seamless breath, without a single stutter, his delivery so heartfelt and his about-face so swift that even in the entertainment industry, it would turn heads.
Fu Yanzong calmly took a bite of his noodles, the corner of his mouth curving slightly.
Song Linyu, seated primly in his chair, didn’t react. He calmly clasped his hands together, fingertips interlocked on the table, chin slightly raised as he silently regarded Sun Jiayang. His face was pale and coldly impassive, enough to send chills down the spine.
Under that icy, judgmental gaze, Sun Jiayang nervously swallowed, feeling himself on the verge of defeat.
This was Song Linyu! The big boss of Dongyu! No way some half-baked metaphysics could fool him… Better to just apologize honestly for his quick mouth.
“Okay, actually…”
“—Is that blogger… reliable?”
Song Linyu’s slightly hesitant tone cut him off. Sun Jiayang’s gaping mouth froze in a perfect O, then snapped shut. He stared in shock at Song Linyu, who was frowning slightly at this gap in his knowledge, a touch of embarrassment in his expression.
“I’m not really familiar with that stuff.”
Song Linyu sent out a sincere signal of curiosity.
Sun Jiayang’s eye twitched for a moment before he decisively pulled up the Little Red Book app and showed his saved post. He leaned in and meticulously analyzed Song Linyu’s romantic luck from top to bottom.
The conclusion was delightful: Song Linyu and Fu Yanzong were a match made in heaven, a perfect pair destined by fate!
Of course, the romantic flush and glow on Song Linyu’s face were entirely Fu Yanzong’s handiwork.
There were plenty of “peach blossoms,” after all—from the spot behind his ear, trailing down his neck and collarbone, the terrifying number of red marks: fingerprints and love bites crisscrossing over his porcelain-pale skin, transforming it into a stunning piece of colorful ceramics.
Not to mention how, while freshening up that morning, Fu Yanzong had casually spread Song Linyu’s somewhat swollen entrance with his fingers to check it out.
It wasn’t quite feverish, but far from fine. There was so much inside that a couple of stirs nearly soaked his long knuckles completely. Fu Yanzong glanced down with a hint of mischief, pressing against the soft walls and rubbing for a bit before withdrawing gently with some exasperation. “Handle it yourself later. No more whining next time that you want to keep it in.”
Song Linyu had just gotten up and slipped on a clean shirt, only buttoning half of it, when Fu Yanzong pulled him into his arms for inspection. He let himself be manhandled, practically picked up and posed like a doll, his mind latching only onto the “next time.” After such a light scolding, his thoughts scattered entirely.
Occasionally brushing against Fu Yanzong’s firm, sculpted abs, he couldn’t help recalling how he’d perched atop them last night, whimpering and begging for friction.
…No wonder his face was red.
What a pair: the clueless idiot Sun Jiayang teaching, and the dimwit Song Linyu eagerly learning.
Sun Jiayang, feeling like kindred spirits, eagerly shared his luck-turning bible with Song Linyu—from maximizing SSR pulls in gacha games to stacking food delivery coupons until they ballooned into double digits. Unfortunately, President Song lost interest after the romantic luck section and politely said he probably didn’t need to know the rest.
After all, money was the one thing Song Linyu never lacked.
Realizing this, Sun Jiayang inwardly sighed at the tragic class divide between himself and Song Linyu. Their revolutionary alliance had lasted a mere fifteen minutes before crumbling.
As this thought crossed his mind, he glanced over to see Fu Yanzong leisurely finishing the last half-roll of noodles. He pushed the plate aside, propped his chin on his hand, and smiled brightly at Sun Jiayang. “Done chatting?”
…It felt like he’d just escaped one predator’s den only to stumble into another’s.
Sun Jiayang snapped to attention, grabbed the luggage bags Fu Yanzong and Song Linyu had left in the corner, and bolted for the door. In that instant, he finally remembered his main mission.
The Heartthrob Game Show crew had invited Yang Wan as an observation room guest, of course purely on Fu Yanzong’s account—she’d cleared her schedule for it. Now that the first episode had been abruptly halted, Song Linyu would need time to purge and repopulate Leyuan Film with his own people. Actress Yang’s freed-up slot had gone to waste.
The moment she’d heard, she’d messaged Ji Cheng: Since that’s the case, Fu Yanzong’s just twiddling his thumbs—have him guest-star in her microfilm for a couple days to borrow some buzz. Just a cameo, no other demands.
Ji Cheng knew Fu Yanzong wouldn’t refuse, so he’d sent Sun Jiayang to drag him to the set. Otherwise, why would he bother calling to hurry him back, only to get an eyeful of Song Linyu’s PDA?
…Thinking about it, it still stung a bit.
The car couldn’t make it up the mountain, and the cable car was out of service at this hour, so they retraced their steps. Sun Jiayang and another staffer hauled the luggage ahead, while Song Linyu and Fu Yanzong trailed half a step behind, their silhouettes blending into the dusk.
The sea was dyed deep gold by the sunset, waves rolling in layer upon layer, splashing up golden foam. The horizon blurred where sea met sky, with only a few seabirds skimming low overhead. The sea breeze, carrying a salty tang, slipped through Fu Yanzong’s crooked fingers—only to be captured entirely by the palm that covered it.
“Does that mean I can keep holding on the way down?” Song Linyu asked softly.
Fu Yanzong arched a brow slightly and reminded him strictly, “You’re the one pursuing me.”
Song Linyu tightened his grip with a touch of petulance, his fingertips pitifully scratching at Fu Yanzong’s palm as he defended himself in a small voice. “The metaphysics video said today is great for pursuit—requests are easy for the crush to grant. I can be bold.”
Fu Yanzong’s pupils narrowed lazily. He chuckled lightly, popping the bubble. “Metaphysics is scamming you. Xiao Sun believes in everything—Eastern mysticism, zodiacs, tarot. He forgets which god he prayed to yesterday and buys into whatever boosts his paycheck. Won’t help you.”
“…Ah.”
Song Linyu blinked slowly. When Fu Yanzong glanced over, he let out an unabashed sound of accusation and disdain toward Sun Jiayang.
A moment later, he pursed his lips, his fingertip lingering reluctantly on the faint lines of Fu Yanzong’s palm. With a touch of willfulness, he argued, “What if he accidentally got it right?”
Fu Yanzong pretended not to notice his reluctance, stifling a laugh. “No chance of that, President Song. You don’t strike me as the type to court metaphysics’ favor.”
Before today, Song Linyu had never put stock in such things. If he’d believed in fate, he wouldn’t have clawed his way here under Su Tang’s oppression.
Song Linyu fell quiet for a moment, not arguing. He just thought with some regret, “Fine, but metaphysics says we’re a match made in heaven.”
If only he’d paid lip service to it before—begged for some peach blossom fortunes. Then he could whip them out now to rebut Fu Yanzong fair and square. Annoying.
Song Linyu had an intense possessive streak toward Fu Yanzong, before and now. It only needed Fu Yanzong’s affirmation—no one else’s input required. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to hear talk of destined unions, heavenly matches, fated lovers.
After a while, he decided to honor his pursuit. Regretfully pinching Fu Yanzong’s slender knuckles, he let go with great reluctance. His voice grew a fraction more distant from Fu Yanzong as he grumbled dejectedly, “Then I’ll withdraw my respect for metaphysics. No more pandering to it.”
Very pragmatic, that President Song—ditching his reverence for auspicious days the instant he couldn’t hold Fu Yanzong’s hand. Not exactly a role model.
“So currying favor with me directly is more reliable, right?”
Fu Yanzong laughed outright. Saying this, he lifted his eyes to Song Linyu, who’d shifted two steps away, and pulled him back in. Their fingers naturally intertwined, laced together.
“You could try making requests of your open admirer.”
Fu Yanzong dipped his head, his hair brushing lightly against Song Linyu’s faintly flushed cheek. The teasing itch made Song Linyu grip tighter instinctively, knuckles whitening slightly.
He nodded quickly, halted his steps, tilted his face up—long black lashes fluttering—and made his bold advance on Fu Yanzong with utmost seriousness.
“Then, can I kiss my open admirer?”
Song Linyu laid out his request one point at a time, utterly serious.
“Sure.”
His crush pondered the matter solemnly for a moment before agreeing with a smile.
Then his crush leaned down smoothly, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.
A few stray hairs slipped past his ear as his teeth—edged with a hint of sharpness—grazed lightly over the tip of Song Linyu’s obediently offered tongue. It felt like being teased by a kitten’s paw, only for the kiss to deepen moments later.
Song Linyu realized he was cradled in Fu Yanzong’s arms, enveloped entirely in his scent. His fingers, intertwined with Fu Yanzong’s, curled involuntarily, brushing against the faint blue veins that stood out slightly on the back of his hand.
Fu Yanzong pulled back from the kiss and stared at him for a long moment. Then, in a calm voice laced with an inexplicable huskiness, he spoke.
“Your crush thinks you two are a match made in heaven,” he said flatly.
Song Linyu jerked his gaze upward, staring at him in a daze. He clearly hadn’t expected Fu Yanzong to read his mind so easily.
Fu Yanzong met his eyes with a frank smile. A moment later, he reached out and patted Song Linyu’s head. The boy’s jet-black hair bobbed obediently up and down, signaling that the message had been received.
Fu Yanzong withdrew his hand, thoroughly satisfied.
Only then did it belatedly dawn on Song Linyu what he ought to do next. He curved his eyes into a smile, gripped Fu Yanzong’s hand with all his strength, and nodded vigorously.
