After the Fake Young Master Betrayed the Australian Farmer - Chapter 5

“A friend in bed is still a type of friend.”

“Have you got everything?”

Adams picked up Han Yan’s luggage and placed it in the trunk.

While admiring the bulging muscles on Adams’ arms, Han Yan sized up the man’s heavy-duty off-road vehicle. The pure black Jeep sat there like a great beast with retracted claws, its finish glossy and glowing like obsidian under the sunlight.

“Nice car. It suits you.”

“Thank you.”

Adams closed the trunk and stepped aside, finally revealing the license plate he had been blocking.

[ADAMS]

Tsk, plain and uninspired. It’s exactly Adams’ style.

Han Yan walked around to the left, opened the door, and hopped into the passenger seat. Adams followed into the driver’s seat, buckled his seatbelt, and asked, “Should we grab something to eat first? We won’t arrive until at least five or six.”

“Sure, let’s just have a quick bite so we don’t get delayed if there’s traffic.”

“Okay. Hungry Jack’s?”

“That works.”

Han Yan took a bite of a saucy Whopper and a long sip of a large Frozen Coke—which only cost one dollar with an app coupon—and squinted his eyes in contentment. Adams only managed a couple of bites whenever they hit a red light. Seeing that the burgers were getting cold and Adams still had two wrapped ones left, Han Yan couldn’t stand it anymore. He picked up a burger, unwrapped it, and held it to Adams’ lips.

“Open up.”

Adams, focused on driving, instinctively opened his mouth. A bit of sauce splattered onto the corner of his lips. Before he could react, a soft fingertip pressed against the spot, casually wiping it away a few times.

“Two more bites?”

Just then, they hit a red light, and Adams stepped on the brake.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it myself.”

He took the burger from Han Yan’s hand and swallowed it down greedily, looking as if a predator were chasing him. Because he ate too fast, he suddenly choked and began to cough violently.

Seeing this, Han Yan quickly grabbed the nearest drink and handed it over. Adams drank half the cup through the straw in one breath. Only after he caught his breath did he realize he had just drunk from Han Yan’s cup.

“Cough… sorry.”

Han Yan let out a very soft laugh.

“What’s there to be sorry about? We’re close, aren’t we? By the way, you didn’t finish it, did you?”

Adams shook the cup, felt the weight inside, and shook his head. Han Yan took the cup back and naturally sipped from the exact spot Adams had used. The dark liquid rose through the white straw and flowed between his lips.

Adams stared blankly at Han Yan’s lips until a sharp honk sounded from behind. He snapped back to reality, turned his head, and stepped on the gas, shooting forward like an arrow from a bow.

Han Yan’s gaze drifted noncommittally across the man’s tightly pressed lips and the bulging veins on the back of his hand. He turned to rest his chin in his palm, looking at the scenery flying past the window, his eyes curving with a good mood.

“Han Yan, wake up. We’re here.”

Han Yan half-opened his eyes with some irritation. Upon opening them, he met Adams’ emerald-green eyes. Seeing his own reflection in them, his heart skipped a beat. He rubbed his eyes, his voice raspy from sleep. “We’re here?”

“Yeah. A bit earlier than expected; the traffic wasn’t too bad today.”

Adams drove very steadily, and the air conditioning was cold, so Han Yan had drifted off without realizing it. He had intended to take over if Adams got tired, but he ended up sleeping through the whole trip. He yawned, unbuckled his seatbelt, and got out of the car.

The first thing to enter his view was a vast field. A man with white hair but a very robust physique was swinging a hoe, turning the soil. Han Yan glanced at the man’s bare feet stepping on the dirt and nodded silently.

Yep, that’s very Aussie.

Adams led Han Yan forward. Hearing the commotion, the man turned around, revealing emerald-green eyes identical to Adams’.

“Adams, you’re finally here! Your grandmother has been nagging about you for days. I heard you brought a friend back?” The man turned his gaze to Han Yan and gave him a friendly smile.

“This is my friend, Han Yan. Han Yan, this is my grandfather, John.”

Han Yan greeted him with casual familiarity. “G’day, John. How ya goin’?”

“Not bad at all.”

Hearing Han Yan’s authentic Australian accent, John’s smile became even more genuine and kind. He shouldered his hoe and led the two toward the house, chatting with Han Yan along the way.

Han Yan had previously asked Adams where his family lived and knew this was a famous affluent area, but he hadn’t expected the Wilson family home to have this kind of vibe. While others usually grew flowers and grass in their yards, this family used the whole space to grow vegetables. In the middle of the yard, an old hen even occasionally chased a rooster around to peck at him.

The fish in the pond weren’t ornamental koi either. According to John, they were all edible freshwater fish; if they wanted fish, they just scooped one out of the pond.

A Golden Retriever lying in front of the villa door stood up and barked twice at them. John patted the dog’s head, and the dog immediately sat down obediently, tongue out, tail wagging wildly.

“Good boy.”

“What’s his name?”

“His name is Benny.”

Adams saw Han Yan’s hand twitching with the urge to pet the dog and a smile flashed in his eyes. “You can pet him. Benny is very good and won’t bite.”

Having received the owner’s permission, Han Yan eagerly reached out to scratch the Golden Retriever’s chin. The smooth, fluffy texture made his eyes light up. He spent a good while playing with Benny before reluctantly pulling his hand away.

“Fang Rong! Adams and his friend are back!” John shouted with a booming voice as he entered the house. Footsteps approached, and a figure ran over excitedly.

“Grandma,” Adams said in Chinese, leaning down to hug Zhou Fangrong, a petite woman with an Oriental face.

Zhou Fangrong pulled him back to look him up and down. “It’s only been a short while, but you look thinner. Are you used to farm life? Is it very hard?”

“If it’s no good, just stop going to that broken farm. Let your grandfather go back to doing it himself. He just loafs around the house all day anyway; he could easily work another twenty or thirty years!” She doted on her precious grandson and gave John a slightly reproachful look.

That look immediately landed on John’s mud-stained feet and the trail of black footprints behind him.

“John! You’re barefoot again! When are you ever going to change that damn habit!”

John raised his hands in surrender, silently went to the bathroom to wash his feet, and then came out with a mop to diligently clean the floor.

Han Yan watched the family interaction with great interest; it was quite funny. Based on what the grandmother said, John used to work on a farm too. Did farm employees these days follow a “son-inherits-grandfather’s-job” system? But then he remembered it was the Wilson Farm—a massive corporation—and suddenly everything seemed reasonable.

“Ah, right. You must be Han Yan?”

“Adams told me he was bringing a friend from the farm. When he said you were Chinese, I was so happy! Finally, I can see a fellow countryman and don’t have to face these gweilo (foreigners) all day.”

Zhou Fangrong lowered her voice when she said the word “gweilo.” Han Yan met her eyes, and they shared a knowing smile. Even if the other two heard it, it didn’t matter; they couldn’t understand it anyway.

“Hello, Grandma. Adams told me his Chinese and his cooking were both learned from you. You’ve really raised a wonderful grandson!”

Han Yan gave a thumb-up, and Zhou Fangrong waved her hand dismissively, though she looked pleased. “Oh, his cooking is still far off! He’s only learned about seventy or eighty percent. Tonight, I’ll show you my skills and let you taste authentic Sichuan cuisine!”

“Then I’m truly in luck! Thank you, Grandma!” Han Yan charmed the old lady until her face bloomed like a flower.

Seeing that his wife’s attention had finally been diverted, John breathed a sigh of relief and patted his grandson’s shoulder. “Adams, you’ve made a good friend.”

Adams gazed at Han Yan’s spirited eyes. After a long silence, he slowly spoke: “I think so too.”

Adams’ parents had passed away in a plane crash when he was very young, so he was raised by his grandparents. When Han Yan learned this news from Zhou Fangrong, his expression faltered for a moment, and guilt appeared on his face.

“I’m sorry.”

Zhou Fangrong comforted him while she chopped vegetables. “It’s okay. It’s all in the past; you don’t need to feel sorry.” She paused, then smiled with sudden emotion. “Actually, I should thank you. Adams was quite cheerful as a child, but his personality changed after his parents left. He became less fond of communicating with others.”

“I was quite surprised when he said he was bringing a friend home a few days ago. After all, he’s had almost no friends since he was a child; he’s always been used to being alone.”

“Truly, thank you, Han Yan.”

Zhou Fangrong’s sincere gaze made Han Yan feel like he was being grilled on a fire.

Friend?

From the very beginning, he hadn’t intended to be just friends with Adams; he was simply lusting after the man’s body. He curled his lips into a perfect, practiced smile.

“Adams is a great person. I’m very happy to be his friend too.”

Well, a friend in bed is still a type of friend, isn’t it?

Han Yan wasn’t going to give up on the idea of getting the man into bed just because of a few words from Zhou Fangrong or Adams’ tragic past. His thoughts were never influenced by outside factors. If he wanted something, he had to have it.

After Han Yan nearly cut his hand for the third time while chopping vegetables, a terrified Zhou Fangrong chased him out of the kitchen and had John step in to help.

As soon as Han Yan left the kitchen, he saw Adams in the living room decorating the Christmas tree. The tree was much taller than he was, at least over two meters.

“Do you need help?”

“Just help me hang these ornaments and pinecones. Thank you.”

Han Yan walked over and took a few golden ornaments from an open cardboard box on the floor. He sat cross-legged and began hanging them on the lower branches.

He accidentally glanced at the shipping information on the box. When his eyes landed on the “Recipient” line, his hand jerked, and the ornament fell to the floor. His pupils suddenly contracted.

[Recipient: John Wilson]