Chapter 102: The Lion Carries Its Spoils

After Shen Jixing finished speaking, he turned and walked away.

The silver sensor pressed against his racing pulse; Shen Jixing seemed to sense something, and the corners of his thin lips curled ever so slightly in secret.

So soon the flower has bloomed.

Pathetic.

“Where are you going?” Zhou Yili effortlessly wrapped one arm around his slender waist, pulling him back into his embrace as easily as holding a large, affectionate pet.

Shen Jixing’s brow quivered faintly.

Whenever Zhou Yili was drunk, he became unwittingly clingy.

Shen Jixing was accustomed to coming and going, “To shower… mm.”

His cool voice paused lightly, his slim waist arching as he tried to evade the lips and tongue nibbling at the nape of his neck.

But Zhou Yili’s temperament was stubborn; his warm palm slid beneath the thin shirt, clasping Shen Jixing’s frosted, delicate waist, pinning him firmly in his arms.

Shen Jixing’s long lashes fluttered, “Don’t…”

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city’s night glowed in splendor; the apartment’s first floor was brightly lit, leaving a sense of exposure and loss of control.

Zhou Yili’s gaze was deep, “Don’t what?”

This lofty superstar, when held in his arms, was fragile-boned, like a soft, resisting white dove fluttering its wings.

“Don’t forget the promises you made me.”

Shen Jixing was never bad at coaxing people.

He was exceptional at it.

A few words, and Zhou Yili was nearly reduced to a helpless state.

“After the shower…” Shen Jixing pressed his cold, pale fingertips to Zhou Yili’s lips, as if the warmth was too much, retracting slightly to preserve a final stubborn purity.

Zhou Yili could not help but laugh, muffled and unending.

“Why are you so obsessed with cleanliness?”

Shen Jixing gripped his wrist, his cold fingertips touching the sensor, the contrast in color stark.

Zhou Yili searched for the little rose and found nothing.

Looking down at Shen Jixing’s cool, slightly moist eyes, he lifted the man in his arms and strode upstairs, “To wash.”

Shen Jixing: “…?”

Who wants to wash with him?

Shen Jixing lay on his shoulder, the soft shirt sliding up to reveal half a stretch of pale waistline, “I meant, I’ll wash alone…”

The little lion looked both lazy and dangerous.

Shen Jixing wanted him to calm down.

But whenever Zhou Yili looked at him, he simply couldn’t. Naturally, he patted him, “Don’t move, I won’t listen.”

The little white bird on his shoulder was stunned.

Shen Jixing’s cool, long gaze was usually indifferent, but now, for once, he was bewildered and dumbfounded, then deeply embarrassed, “Zhou Yili!”

Where did he pat him?

Zhou Yili could no longer hold back and burst out laughing.

Upon reaching the final step, he gathered the man into his arms like a princess, cradling him as a dangerous lion cherishes his prize, and kicked open the master bedroom door, stepping into their den.

“Wrong, wrong, let me rub it for you.”

“…”

……

The celebration banquet dispersed.

Sheng Que, clutching grievances larger than any ghost, stood up and saw the empty banquet hall, feeling abandoned by the world.

Sikong Xiu tossed him the keys, “Here.”

Sheng Que caught them instinctively, forgetting he’d come by hitching a ride.

He asked Sikong Xiu, “Any recent heartbreaks? Tell me so I can cheer up.”

Sikong Xiu: “…”

He squinted in amusement, his foxlike eyes gleaming, “I spent the whole day gaming, didn’t even beat you, did I?”

Sheng Que scoffed.

In the past, he’d have stood tall, saying that even if Zhou Yili teamed up with Sikong Xiu, he’d never be afraid.

He had his little uncle.

His little uncle could keep all those wild pups in check.

But soon, his little uncle would no longer be his.

Sheng Que hung his head, rambling, “I’m not a good husband, not a good father, not a good son—but so what, I’m a girl.”

Sikong Xiu sputtered, spraying champagne everywhere.

“You’re drunk???” He remembered Sheng Que hadn’t touched a drop. What nonsense was this child spouting?

Sheng Que covered his face, “Not drunk, just crazy.”

He’d gone from being the beloved young master to the unwanted one.

It didn’t matter; he was indomitable little Que.

“Wah wah wah…”

Sheng Que cried bravely.

Sikong Xiu looked on in distaste, “Fine, I’ll call a driver. Your little uncle’s net worth is far higher than yours.”

Sheng Que paused, “What’s happened with my little uncle?”

“He drank too much on the balcony, definitely can’t drive. I don’t dare rummage his pockets for his phone to contact his assistant…”

Sheng Que dashed toward the balcony.

Sikong Xiu chuckled softly.

No need to call the assistant, apparently.

“Slow down, slow down.” Sheng Que, like a little maid, supported the distinguished Mr. Fu, half-hugging, half-carrying him to the passenger seat, sighing in relief, “Perfect, successfully relocated.”

Fu Chen: “…”

His tolerance for alcohol was low; his thoughts now muddled, he raised his eyes briefly, then closed them again.

Sheng Que saw his cool indifference and didn’t feel awkward, reaching over with the seatbelt, his small hand brushing the outside of Fu Chen’s suit-clad thigh.

“Little uncle, move a bit.”

Fu Chen opened his eyes again: “…”

Meeting Sheng Que’s delicate features up close, his Adam’s apple shifted slightly.

He took the seatbelt from Sheng Que’s palm and clicked it into place himself.

His tone carried faint resignation, “Out.”

Sheng Que lowered his lashes and exited the passenger seat.

He hates me.

There’s a wall between us now.

Sheng Que moved to the driver’s seat and started the car, lips pressed tight, but still asked, “Little uncle, where is your new home?”

If Fu Chen didn’t want to stay at the Sheng residence, Sheng Que would take him to his new place.

He had grown up.

That rebellious child was learning to respect the person he loved most in this world.

Until Fu Chen said, “I don’t have a new home.”

Neon from outside cast light on Fu Chen’s profile; Sheng Que froze, “Where have you been staying these days?”

“At the company.”

Fu Chen said no more, and Sheng Que started the car quietly.

The top-floor lounge was anything but shabby—spacious and bright, but cold and empty.

Sheng Que’s only impression of it was loneliness.

After endless busy days, Fu Chen didn’t even have a warm room to rest in, and in that moment, Sheng Que seemed finally to make peace with himself.

He helped his little uncle to bed, knelt beside him to loosen his tie.

Fu Chen, whether asleep or avoiding eye contact, did not reprimand Sheng Que’s bold gesture.

Until Sheng Que spoke, “Little uncle, starting tomorrow, I’ll help you pick a match.”

Fu Chen’s eyes moved, opening.

Sheng Que knelt beside him, chestnut hair soft in the moonlight, fingers removing the tie, then starting on his suit buttons, “I have good taste—I’ll find you a gentle, beautiful aunt.”

Fu Chen caught Sheng Que’s hand as he undid the buttons, “No need. It’s late. Go home.”

Sheng Que was stunned.

Fu Chen no longer looked at him, turning his back and letting himself sink into the abyss of sleep.

The sounds behind him faded, and Fu Chen remained motionless.

He didn’t blame Sheng Que; it was his own fault, his own reckless hope.

He didn’t even deserve pity.

Fu Chen’s hand lowered slowly—he’d never managed to hold on to the parents who abandoned him, and now he couldn’t grasp the light that once illuminated his life.

Until a warm, gentle hand carefully held his.

Sheng Que slipped to his front, somehow having removed his jacket, wearing a pale, soft T-shirt as he climbed onto the bed, squeezing into his cold sheets.

“I don’t want to.”

Sheng Que’s rebelliousness had never truly changed.

“It’s too dark—I don't want to drive. I want to sleep with you.”

Sheng Que stubbornly held Fu Chen’s hand, embracing his warmth with childish fervor.

“Little uncle, I’ve grown up. I will give you a home.”