Not everyone liked rubbing shoulders with the elite.
Ruan Heng had worked in places like this for years and knew exactly what those people craved: the innocent, the pure… In other words, someone blissfully ignorant of the world.
Someone easier to control.
He might have gone too far, but what could he do? That kid had come looking for him.
He wasn’t exactly a saint.
The young man boarded the bus, his expression calm and unflappable.
Qi Jing’s skin was flushed a deep, unnatural red. The smart wristband on his wrist had activated its auto-recording and listening functions, vibrating incessantly with a low buzz.
His body temperature was wildly off-kilter, and faint electric pulses coursed through the band in waves.
One after another.
—Who the hell is this? Coming here all by himself?
—Don’t touch him randomly. Someone’s coming to pick him up.
—Tch, you trying to keep him for yourself, Old Liu?
Laughter erupted around them.
The conversation streamed nonstop through the car’s Bluetooth speakers. Bo Chengyan’s face darkened—not just because of the venue, that notorious gay bar, but because Qi Jing wasn’t making a sound.
The camera feed showed only a chaotic blur of colored lights.
Qi Jing had always been a good kid.
He didn’t have a thrill-seeking bone in his body, and Bo Chengyan had certainly never permitted him to drink out.
Someone else had dragged him there.
Bo Chengyan reined in his emotions as best he could. He got out of the car without a word and headed inside, the veins on the back of his hand standing out faintly.
How many days had he been out at school?
He pushed through the writhing crowd, drawing inevitable stares—looks heavy with undisguised lust.
At one meter eighty-seven, Bo Chengyan cut an elegant, upright figure. He’d rushed over in the middle of a meeting, abandoning it without a second thought.
His crisp suit stood out like a beacon amid the haze.
—What’s going on today?
—Some kid who looks like a student just came in. They treating this place like a tourist trap?
—Gotta say, though, he’s kinda…
Qi Jing lay slumped alone over the bar, an empty glass beside him. His cheek burned red where it pressed against the surface, and he didn’t stir.
As if he’d lost consciousness entirely.
No one paid him any mind.
Something snapped taut inside Bo Chengyan. For a fleeting moment, a radical impulse seized him: the world outside was too chaotic. Better to keep him locked away at home.
“Hey, who are you?”
The bartender—the colleague—just opened his mouth when he caught sight of the man’s expression, fierce as a vengeful spirit. Understanding dawned instantly. “You’re Mr. Bo?”
No answer came.
“Take him. Go ahead, take him.”
The bartender felt a chill and backed off without pressing further. He was just an employee; he had no desire to catch stray anger.
Qi Jing’s mind swam in a hazy fog, as if he were roasting alive over an open flame—hot, swollen, unbearable.
Tears welled up unbidden.
It hurt so much.
He couldn’t even feel the stinging shocks from the wristband anymore.
In his daze, he sensed hands on his body. Panic surged, and he tried to jerk away, but strong fingers clamped down, holding him fast.
“Little Jing.”
The voice held no inflection.
“Huh…”
The boy’s body burned with fever. He forced his eyelids open a crack and peered blearily at the figure before him.
The lights strobed wildly, offering only a split-second glimpse of a sharp jawline.
Bo Chengyan stared until Qi Jing reached out a hand.
It was as if his soul itself had recognized him.
A broad hand encircled the white T-shirt, revealing the lithe curve of his waist. Qi Jing’s awareness sharpened for a brief moment, latching onto that familiar scent before darkness claimed him again.
His cheek nestled against the man’s neck, ragged breaths escaping in hot puffs.
Bo Chengyan’s tone turned sharp. “What did you give him to drink?”
“Who brought him here?”
The bartender blinked in confusion. Ruan Heng didn’t know them?
He didn’t dare speculate. “We’re totally legit—swear it. Just Deer Blood Wine, with a little aphrodisiac kick. That’s all.”
Silence fell like a shroud.
The bartender paled and rushed on. “It’s fine, really. This is the GAY Bar—hookups are normal here. The drinks are priced right and cleared all inspections.”
Qi Jing’s body grew hotter still, the effects fully taking hold. He began to whimper restlessly, teeth nipping at anything within reach.
Like the shirt collar.
Saliva soaked the fabric as his warm tongue tip probed insistently.
It was as if he’d regressed to the rawest instincts of infancy.
The urge to bite. To suckle.
Bo Chengyan strode out, carrying him away from the den of debauchery.
Once in the car, he settled Qi Jing across his lap and dialed with his free hand.
“Bureau Chief Chen.”
“Yeah… Nanhua Road.”
“Come straight here. Consider it a favor I owe you.”
The Maybach sped away, but scarcely fifteen minutes later, police cruisers pulled up.
A hive of filth.
The dancing crowd was in full frenzy, a few already entangled in shadowed corners. Then the music cut out abruptly, and harsh lights flooded the room.
Sobered nerves prickled back to life. Under the glaring illumination, every blemish and flaw stood exposed.
Curses bubbled up in waves, delivered in snide, sarcastic tones.
Society sometimes bred its own disorders: minority groups demanding privileges from the masses, all while cornering themselves.
The lead officer’s face remained impassive. “There’s no law in China discriminating against homosexuality. We just crack down on group indecency, AIDS transmission, and illegal booze sales.”
“If you can pass inspection, no one’s out to target you.”
~~~
Chen Zhuo heard the news at home and arched a brow. “Oh? He filed the report? What a vigilante.”
The young man chuckled, but his amusement faded when he recalled who was involved.
How had Bo Chengyan veered onto the path of true romance?
A buried spark of rivalry flared in Chen Zhuo. He frowned, discomfort gnawing at him. Pure love, huh?
“Aren’t you the same, bro? You seem thrilled. I thought the gay community was supposed to be super tight-knit.”
Chen Jiangqiao had been spoiled rotten since childhood. She spoke her mind bluntly, always with a teasing edge.
“What does it have to do with me? I don’t fool around.”
“But didn’t you take in…”
“I haven’t switched partners. Haven’t gotten into any kinky stuff.”
“…”
Chen Zhuo picked up his book again with feigned nonchalance, flipping through a couple of pages. Then something clicked, and he turned to his sister.
“Here’s the thing: minorities stay minority for a reason. Some folks are just promiscuous—letting their dicks do the thinking, no better than animals.”
“So, pick your people wisely. Don’t go chasing gays all the time.”
Chen Jiangqiao: “…”
“You think I want to?”
Straight guys were slobs. Gays were a mess…
Chen Jiangqiao decided she should just marry a 2D waifu.
~~~
Around five or six in the afternoon.
Qi Jing went to the hospital first for a blood draw. His mind remained foggy; he couldn’t even sit up straight.
In the end, Bo Chengyan had to hold him in place, gripping his elbow for the needle.
The pain made him cry.
The doctor returned with a straightforward verdict. “No heavy drugs—those back-alley operations wouldn’t dare. Probably just a gimmick, though the deer blood is real enough.”
“And a hefty dose at that.”
In the privacy of the exam room, the doctor told Bo Chengyan, “Take him home. A few tugs should sort it out. Bring him back if anything’s still off.”
The words were blunt.
Luckily, Qi Jing hadn’t overheard.
On the drive back, he had three nosebleeds that nearly wouldn’t stop.
Qi Jing kept squirming, fixated on gnawing at an Adam’s apple, his gaze glassy and intense. Only when his hands were restrained did he settle somewhat.
Bo Chengyan had a rough idea by now. The alcohol content was sky-high—probably five hundred milliliters. No wonder recovery was slow.
He was dead drunk.
Back at Brocade River Villas, Bo Chengyan carried him straight to the bedroom.
He tossed the boy onto the bed. Qi Jing’s face was dazed, his pants tented noticeably.
“I’m stepping out. Handle it yourself.”
Bo Chengyan received no reply. He bent to the drawer for wet wipes, then pinched Qi Jing’s chin to wipe his face.
His expression stayed neutral.
He pointedly ignored the stirrings in his own body.
“You know what to do?”
“You’ve watched the videos, right?”
Qi Jing nodded groggily. Bo Chengyan lifted his wrist, applying cooling oil to the mosquito bites on his arm.
“Good. I’ll be outside. Call if it doesn’t feel right.”
The man’s voice had gone husky. Qi Jing stared after him until the door clicked shut.
Videos… how did they do it in the videos?
His pale legs dangled off the bed’s edge. Soon, fabric slid down, pooling at his ankles.
“Mm…”
Qi Jing’s thoughts ran in straight lines, piecing together fragments: videos… mimic the videos.
His feet arched taut.
He’d dealt with morning erections at school before, but ignoring them had always worked. Nothing like this unrelenting ache.
Qi Jing fumbled clumsily, his grip erratic. The more he tried, the more he cried.
It hurt.
In the end, nothing came of it.
He didn’t understand.
The people in those videos must have been faking it.
Tears streaked Qi Jing’s cheeks, his lashes clumped wet. He recalled Bo Chengyan’s words: call if it hurt.
He swung his legs off the bed—and promptly tripped on his own clothes, crashing down hard.
“Wah…”
The oversized T-shirt draped to his thighs. After the fall, he tried to rise, but the world spun wildly.
His head thrummed.
As he teetered toward another tumble, strong hands hoisted him by the waist.
“What am I supposed to do with you?”
Qi Jing could only sob. He tilted his head back, words tumbling out in stutters. “It hurts… it hurts.”
Tears smeared his face, rendering him pitiably distraught.
Circumstance left no room for retreat.
He couldn’t even manage this.
How had he ever dared to go to the clubhouse to learn such things…
The young man’s sharp chin was buried against the edge of the man’s crisp shirt collar. His calves were gently guided apart as they held each other face-to-face.
Perhaps he had simply grown accustomed to such devoted service.
Qi Jing didn’t even want to stir. His eyes brimmed with unshed tears, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he nipped at the fabric of the other’s shirt.
He liked uniforms.
Once wasn’t enough.
Qi Jing arched his body without thinking, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks as if he had regressed to those utterly unreasonable moments from his past.
The night stretched on interminably—a one-sided torment, pure and unrelenting.
It dragged all the way until four or five in the morning.
Beneath the dim yellow glow of the lamp, the man on the bed still bore faint tear tracks on his cheeks. His eyelashes were damp, and he had finally drifted off to sleep.
Bo Chengyan approached, his entire presence radiating an icy chill, his fingers numbingly cold.
He hesitated just before making contact.
Instead, he reached for the mug of hot water and cradled it for a moment to warm his hands. Only then did he take hold of the other’s slender wrist.
With meticulous care, he applied the ointment.
Mosquito bites.
Red, swollen welts covered the skin.
Bo Chengyan’s brow furrowed. Why did he keep making the same mistakes?
Once, twice… and after that?
Unconsciously, the pressure of his touch grew firmer.
The man on the bed let out a faint sound of discomfort, and Bo Chengyan immediately released him.
He stared fixedly for a full two seconds.
Leaning closer, he gently pried open Qi Jing’s mouth. The tip of a flushed tongue lay there, nestled amid perfectly even teeth.
Then he let go.
It wasn’t until daylight broke.
Bo Chengyan placed a call to Lin Se, cutting straight to the chase. “I desire him.”
A long silence stretched from the other end of the line.
