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When he was thrown abroad to fend for himself, Yu Yanshuang realized he was the “fake young master” in a cannon fodder role. His entire family loathed him, and he was destined to die of a disease while studying in the US.
“What did I do wrong? I did nothing wrong.” Filled with resentment, Yu Yanshuang grew to hate everyone—especially the school’s star figure, Cyan.
Whenever that tall man with black-gold hair walked through the halls—cold-faced, eyes fixed ahead, never sparing a glance for anyone while everyone else clamored for his attention—Yu Yanshuang would burn with jealousy.
Finally, an opportunity arose. Taking advantage of Cyan being drunk, he dragged him into a room. Knowing Cyan couldn’t understand Chinese, Yu Yanshuang unleashed a torrent of bitter sarcasm: “You’re 192cm, have abs, and can box—so what? I can’t kill you with one punch anyway!” “You’re only handsome because of your mixed-race genes. If I were back home, you wouldn’t even rank!” “Everyone acts like they’re afraid of you because you’re rich and powerful. If you were poor like me, they’d all abandon you!”
Even though he was hurling insults, Yu Yanshuang cried bitter tears. Cyan, seemingly oblivious to the verbal abuse, merely lowered his eyes and comforted him: “Don’t cry.” In that moment, Yu Yanshuang felt a twisted sense of pleasure. Remembering that the “perfect” Cyan’s only weakness was his homophobia, he flashed a wicked, petty smile.
Later, when Cyan received the “intimate photos,” he was actually staring intensely at a red mole in the picture—right where he himself had kissed. Cyan had noticed a “little tail” following him lately. He had deliberately hosted a party and pretended to be drunk just to catch this little tail. Seeing the smug, “cat-who-caught-the-canary” look on the boy’s face, Cyan changed his mind.
[You don’t want anyone else to see these photos, right? Come to Room 2308, Seton Hotel tonight.] [P.S. Bring those boxing gloves you never let anyone touch.]
Reading the text from his “little cat,” Cyan’s lips curled into an expectant smile. He replied slowly: [Fine. But I’m warning you: don’t do the things you did in the photos to me again.]
That night, Cyan pinned him against the floor-to-ceiling window. His massive frame completely enveloped Yu Yanshuang, a single hand pinning both of the boy’s wrists easily. As Yu Yanshuang cried and cursed, the man leaned in, kissing his neck and coaxing him in fluent Chinese: “Don’t cry. Now that you’ve finished cursing… shall we continue?”
