The Big Shot and His Brothers All Love Me - Chapter 4

Lian Yuan watched as Meng Fang’s expression shifted—a change he couldn’t quite describe.

Meng Fang didn’t speak either, he seemed to be considering things seriously.

With his waist sore and legs weak, Lian Yuan slumped back onto the table.

If they weren’t particularly close friends, Lian Yuan wouldn’t be so careless with his image. But after doing everything there is to do with Meng Fang all through the night—and considering he was in this state specifically because of Meng Fang—he didn’t feel too embarrassed.

Facing Meng Fang’s direction, he rested his face—which wasn’t particularly fleshy—on his arm, squeezing out a bit of baby fat that looked both pitiful and cute.

Meng Fang stroked Lian Yuan’s face, then squeezed his neck.

As Lian Yuan shrunk his neck back, the squeeze turned into a gentle caress: “I’ve considered it. Let’s do it.”

Lian Yuan felt a bit happy. He was happy that he could continue to do those intimate things with Meng Fang—even though he was currently completely out of commission, the memory of that extremely close, intense, and intoxicating contact still made his face flush and his heart race, leaving him with a sense of lingering attachment and obsession. He was also happy about the windfall of wealth.

When he smiled, it was subtle, but his eyes were very bright.

There was obvious shyness, but also joy.

Meng Fang covered Lian Yuan’s eyes and couldn’t help but chuckle. His tone was direct, and the falling pitch at the end of his words carried a forceful weight: “Be good!”

Be honest and stop seducing him.

If he weren’t afraid of killing Lian Yuan in bed, he would have dragged the boy back under the covers by now.

Another call came in; Meng Fang directly rejected it.

He asked for Lian Yuan’s bank account number to transfer the funds, and they added each other’s contact information.

Lian Yuan’s profile picture was a sketch of a young boy sleeping facedown on a stone table. Meng Fang’s profile picture was a vast blue sky with a mountain range in the distance—grand and desolate.

After adding the contact info, Lian Yuan pinned Meng Fang to the top of his chat list.

Meng Fang glanced over. Lian Yuan previously only had one pinned contact: “Brother Qing.”

He thought to himself that with such a monotonous lifestyle, a simple social circle, and crude living quarters, the boy was like a blank sheet of paper. He had truly found a hidden gem here.

Meeting him the first time, it seemed that voice message was indeed just banter between friends. He had misunderstood.

Misunderstanding to the point of actually desiring him, misunderstanding to the point of running into him while drunk and stopping him, and then to the point where everything happened—one had to say it was a form of fate.

Meng Fang still had things to do. Today wasn’t the weekend, and disappearing for a day had caused a lot of official business to pile up.

He reached the door but then turned back.

Seeing Lian Yuan still slumped on the table, he touched Lian Yuan’s forehead. Fortunately, he didn’t have a fever.

Although he had lost control a bit last night, the prep work had been sufficient. The science articles online were very clear: if you don’t prepare enough, the one on the bottom suffers—it can even lead to high fevers or hospitalization.

Lian Yuan tilted his head up to look at Meng Fang. From this angle, Meng Fang was still very handsome.

It wasn’t the ‘pretty boy’ look of an idol drama. Meng Fang was heroic and rugged, yet rugged without being coarse. He was the most handsome and charismatic person Lian Yuan had ever seen.

His voice was still a bit hoarse as he whispered: “I’ll be fine after I rest for a while.”

Meng Fang: “Go lie in bed?”

Lian Yuan gave an “Mhm,” but slumped on the table was very comfortable. He needed to wait a bit to gather the strength to move.

Then, Lian Yuan was carried to the bed by Meng Fang.

As a large area of his body made contact with the bed, Lian Yuan felt his muscles relax instantly.

The clothes were meant for going out, but they were freshly changed and hadn’t been outside yet, so they were clean enough—lying on the bed was acceptable.

Thinking quickly like this, Lian Yuan grabbed Meng Fang’s finger just as the man was straightening his waist.

One of Meng Fang’s eyebrows twitched slightly. This allowed a bit of the hidden, wild romanticism beneath his well-bred and clothed exterior to leak out.

Lian Yuan pulled Meng Fang downward.

His strength wasn’t great, but Meng Fang sensed the meaning behind it and compliantly leaned down until Lian Yuan indeed kissed him.

Lian Yuan kissed the corner of Meng Fang’s mouth.

Unlike Meng Fang’s highly aggressive style, his kiss was like a dragonfly skimming the water—gentle, like a child who had received a beloved toy. He even gave a little lick with the tip of his tongue.

Lian Yuan had shed tears last night.

More than once.

Now, the area around his eyes—especially the corners—was still red, and his eyes were misty and watery, looking both pitiful and beautiful.

Meng Fang knelt on one knee by the bed, squeezing the little pitiable one’s neck and pinching his jaw to force his mouth open, pouring all his unvented fire into this kiss.

Last night, both had been a bit clumsy when kissing—one weakly clumsy, the other crashing and thumping.

Now, Lian Yuan hadn’t made much progress, but he felt that Meng Fang’s kissing skills had become sophisticated enough to have eighteen different tricks.

Restraining his impulses with his last shred of humanity, Meng Fang propped himself up on the bed to maintain distance from the dying Lian Yuan.

After a few seconds, he stood up.

He simply tidied up the delivery food on the table to calm his nerves as well.

The table was right next to the bed. The living room wasn’t even as large as the bedroom; once a sofa set was placed there, it became very cramped.

Lian Yuan hurried to stop him.

Meng Fang’s movements were very agile. He looked back at him: “What’s wrong?”

Lian Yuan said not to throw it away. It was still edible, he hadn’t finished.

Meng Fang: “You have a million. What can’t you afford to eat?”

Lian Yuan: “It’s a waste.”

It looked as though if Meng Fang dared to throw away the leftovers, Lian Yuan would crawl out of bed even if he had to.

Meng Fang didn’t care to persist. He took out the plastic boxes tossed haphazardly in the bag, threw away the empty ones, stacked the ones with plenty of leftovers, and followed Lian Yuan’s instructions to put them in the fridge.

The kitchen was also tiny—a narrow corridor. Meng Fang subconsciously walked sideways to avoid hitting the walls.

The fridge looked old and ran loudly, clearly approaching the end of its life.

The inside was empty, containing only two heads of baby cabbage and half a piece of ginger. The cut on the ginger was dehydrated and shriveled.

Further in was the trash can.

At the very top of the trash can was an empty packet of instant noodles.

Meng Fang suddenly understood why Lian Yuan wanted to keep the leftovers—it saved so much trouble.

After Meng Fang left, Lian Yuan fell asleep and didn’t wake up until eleven o’clock at night.

The soreness on his body wasn’t as intense, but it had evolved into another stage: his bones felt like they had been soaked in vinegar—soft and weak.

The first thing he did upon waking was check the SMS for the bank transfer.

The message had arrived before he slept. He had read it several times, every single word, yet he was still afraid it was a dream.

Exactly 1,045,000.

An extra million. The sequence of numbers in the text was very long.

Lian Yuan felt at ease. He was very hungry, so he forced himself to go to the fridge, get the porridge and two small dishes, and heat them up for a meal before his mind cleared.

Outside, the sky was pitch black.

This old residential area was a low-lying spot in the city center, mostly inhabited by elderly people who slept early. Now, the only lights outside were from the distant high-rises.

That feeling returned—as if he were living in this world all alone.

But the marks on his arms—the hickeys, the grip marks—and the ring of blue and purple around his wrist reminded Lian Yuan that he wasn’t alone.

Lian Yuan leaned against the wall and moved to the bathroom to look in the mirror.

He focused on his chest, even touching it; the sensation was different from when Meng Fang touched it.

His reflection in the mirror looked back at him shyly.

He was probably also very surprised that he was actually someone so obsessed with bed sports.

Clearly, there hadn’t been a single sign of this in the past twenty-two years.

Having slept enough, Lian Yuan’s brain resumed functioning. He then remembered that he had accepted a large sum of money from someone, but he hadn’t asked what specifically he was supposed to do.

The default assumption was that that was required.

But was it just that? Did he need to do anything else?

This wasn’t the kind of thing you could ask while knowing nothing at all. Lian Yuan searched online: “What do you have to do when you are being kept?”

The answers were varied.

Some replies claimed to be personal experiences, which made Lian Yuan break out in a cold sweat. Could there really be such perverted people in this world?

Lian Yuan tried very hard not to overthink.

But the information shock was too great.

When a palm-sized area on one side of his brain began to ache, he realized he had overthought again; his migraine had been triggered.

It was almost midnight.

Lian Yuan estimated that given the exuberant energy Meng Fang showed last night, he probably wasn’t asleep yet.

Especially since wealthy people likely had very rich nightlives.

Tentatively, he sent a message to the other party: “For that money, what all do you need me to do?”