The Little Crybaby Continues to Court Death as a Cannon Fodder - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Xi Yue didn’t expect the opportunity to come so quickly.

When Yu Qing woke up, his mind was still a foggy mess. He hadn’t slept enough that morning, and after sleeping too long in the afternoon, he felt heavy and groggy.

In front of him, a well-defined hand pressed into the bedding. As he lifted his eyelids a bit further, he saw the smooth, powerful lines of an arm and a broad shoulder. Looking up further, his gaze locked onto a pair of somewhat cold eyes.

Seeing it was Xi Yue, he reached out his hand without hesitation.

Xi Yue looked down at the sleepy Little Master. The boy’s cheeks were flushed with a faint pink warmth, his lips were vivid and full, and the curve of his thick, curled lashes was perfect.

When Xi Yue didn’t immediately take his hand, Yu Qing lazily opened his eyes. The snow-white blanket slipped from his chin, revealing a face glowing with post-sleep rosiness. He dived headfirst into Xi Yue’s embrace, leaning listlessly against his shoulder. His chin was slightly raised, his lips nearly touching the skin of Xi Yue’s neck.

“Xi Yue…”

One of his hands slipped between Xi Yue’s legs while the other tugged at Xi Yue’s sleeve—a posture of total dependence. Yu Qing spoke with a soft, breathy voice, “I want to go to the bathroom.”

Perhaps because he wasn’t fully awake, his voice sounded light, soft, and excessively sweet. Xi Yue couldn’t help but recall the spoiled tone Yu Qing had used with the butler at noon.

Yu Qing had a habit of keeping the air conditioning low and burying himself under thick quilts, so the invasion of cold air when leaving the bed usually made him shiver. But leaning against Xi Yue, he had no such worries. Xi Yue carried the distinct heat of an adult male; being in his arms felt like being wrapped in a warm furnace.

After announcing his need for the bathroom, the Little Master went still again. His eyelids drifted shut, and his lips parted slightly. He was so obediently still that he didn’t even realize he was being unwrapped from the blanket. Instead, he cooperatively hooked his arms around Xi Yue’s neck.

Xi Yue’s arm strength was formidable. At first, he let Yu Qing lean against him, then lifted him up with a single arm. Yu Qing’s frame was small and slender but not lacking in “meatiness”; the sensation transmitted to Xi Yue’s palm was firm yet soft—a very good feel.

Upon reaching the bathroom, Xi Yue placed his left arm under Yu Qing’s left leg at the crook of the knee, using both hands. He held him exactly like one would hold a small child.

Yu Qing remained in a daze until the knot at his waist was threatened. Suddenly, his scalp prickled with shock: “What are you doing?!”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to go to the bathroom?” Xi Yue’s expression was calm and natural, impossible to find fault with.

The half-awake Yu Qing was still a bit confused. He looked down at himself. Xi Yue was holding him from behind, arms cradling his naturally spread legs. Xi Yue’s right hand was reaching around from between his legs, preparing to untie him.

It was very “considerate” service.

But the palm pressed against his cool, soft skin was scorching hot. As Xi Yue held him, the flesh of his straight legs dipped slightly under the pressure, his snowy-white skin seemingly overflowing from Xi Yue’s hands.

It was an indescribable sensation.

Yu Qing’s voice was still groggy from sleep, but he didn’t forget to reach out and protect himself. “I can go by myself.” He was starting to get angry—anyone would be angry being held like this. He wasn’t a baby!

Xi Yue looked down at him. From this angle, he could see the fluttering black lashes and the flush of shame on the cold, beautiful face. The way the boy shivered while stubbornly protecting himself created a strange, striking contrast.

“Put me down!” Though it was a command, even Yu Qing didn’t realize the hint of pleading in his tone, as if he were truly afraid Xi Yue would keep holding him like that while he used the toilet.

The moment Xi Yue set him down, Yu Qing’s legs went weak and uncontrolled. His fingernails dragged across Xi Yue’s collarbone, leaving startling red marks.

“Little Master, are you alright?” Xi Yue asked, ignoring his own injury.

Yu Qing bit his lower lip and said nothing. The minor scratch was nothing to Xi Yue, but seeing Yu Qing’s twisted, trembling, yet stubbornly arrogant expression in such a private space, it was hard not to read into it. It looked as if he had bullied Yu Qing.

“Aren’t you going out?” Yu Qing remained vigilant, his eyes glaring fiercely. “Do you want to watch me go to the bathroom? Are you a pervert?!”

First an exhibitionist, now a pervert. In a short time, Xi Yue had acquired two unprecedented labels. Xi Yue pressed his knuckles to his temple. This Little Master of the Yu family… was quite different from what he had imagined. No, he was the complete opposite.

…

Meanwhile, Shang Ling had finished his day’s work and arrived at the ancestral home, only to be told that Yu Qing was still asleep. Checking the time, it was already 4:30 PM. Shang Ling had never seen someone so lazy.

Shang Ling had been watched over by Uncle Lin since he was a child, so his displeasure didn’t escape the butler’s notice. Uncle Lin smiled and said, “The Little Master must sleep for twelve hours a day, otherwise he has no energy. Perhaps you went to the manor too early today and he didn’t get enough rest, which is why he’s sleeping longer this afternoon.”

Shang Ling only knew Yu Qing’s health was poor; he didn’t know the specifics. Or perhaps, he simply didn’t care. He remembered that morning when the servants said he needed to wait an hour and a half for Yu Qing to wake up naturally—he had treated it as an excuse and barged in. And then there were the marks on Yu Qing’s wrist…

He had indeed been too rough.

“But the Little Master should be waking up soon. If he doesn’t get up now, he won’t be able to sleep tonight. I’ll go call him—”

“No need.” Shang Ling awkwardly took the glass of milk from Uncle Lin’s hand. “I’ll go call him.”

The Yu ancestral home was built in a traditional Chinese style—classical, rich, and magnificent. Traversing the winding corridors, Shang Ling stopped at Yu Qing’s door. He knocked tentatively, but the person who opened the door wasn’t Yu Qing. It was Xi Yue.

Xi Yue hadn’t expected the person at the door to be him, either. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for the other to speak first. However, neither of them said a word.

The main light in the bedroom wasn’t on; the room was lit only by the nightlight and the faint glow from the bathroom. This young man, nearly as tall as Shang Ling himself, was wearing a bathrobe. His collar was loose, revealing a lean, sexy chest and collarbone—marked with conspicuous fingernail scratches.

From the perspective of another man, this body was perfect. Normally, Shang Ling wouldn’t be stingy with praise, but not now. Shang Ling believed in hard work and struggle; he loathed “free rides.” He didn’t like Yu Qing because he saw him as a wastrel, and he viewed the Xi Yue before him the same way—a man with strength and ability who chose the “crooked path” of being kept by Yu Qing.

Shang Ling’s gaze darkened. “Xiao Qing is young and playful; there are many things he doesn’t understand. You should be more mindful. But I don’t understand your thinking. We are from two different worlds. Even if you have him temporarily, so what? These things will never belong to you.”

Xi Yue watched him with interest. Shang Ling’s posturing was truly laughable—he clearly detested Yu Qing, yet he stiffly used his childhood nickname as if to emphasize the social gap.

“Our life is not the same as yours,” Shang Ling warned. “He is not someone a person like you should dream of.”

This “master of the house” attitude made Xi Yue’s eyelashes twitch. Just then, a cry came from the bathroom: “I can’t stand steadily, Xi Yue!”

Xi Yue flashed a perfunctory, apologetic smile at the grim-faced Shang Ling. “Apologies, President Shang. I’d love to continue our chat, but the Little Master seems to need me.”

The voice from the bathroom continued: “It hurts!”

Xi Yue turned back to Shang Ling, his eyes filled with regret and self-reproach. “The Little Master and I both have no experience; accidents in the process are unavoidable. He was indeed startled by me, but I will improve myself. Don’t worry, President Shang, I won’t let the Little Master hurt again.”

Shang Ling’s warnings were completely ignored. Instead, he received a series of needle-like retorts. Those gentle, respectful words poked holes in his heart that were impossible to ignore. Since words were useless, he had nothing left to say.

He pushed past Xi Yue toward the source of the sound.

Inside the bathroom, Yu Qing was propping himself up against the wall, his legs trembling together, the heels of his feet flushed a panicked pink. Shang Ling’s gaze once again locked onto those small feet sinking into the rug. His feet were truly exquisite.

“Why are you here?” Seeing Shang Ling, Yu Qing wasn’t happy. He looked behind him. “Where’s Xi Yue? I want Xi Yue.”

Shang Ling couldn’t describe his feelings. He should be happy that Yu Qing was focusing on someone else, yet hearing him call for another man made him feel a sense of indignant possessiveness.

Xi Yue brushed past Shang Ling, wrapping a long arm around Yu Qing’s back to let him lean in. Yu Qing immediately shifted all his weight onto Xi Yue. Xi Yue asked him, “Do you still want me to help you use the bathroom?”

Yu Qing’s face turned bright red. Coupled with his trembling legs, he looked pitiful and weak. Yet even in this state, he insisted on being stubborn. “Who wants you to help with that!”

The numbness in his calves surged again. Yu Qing bit his lip in discomfort, his voice shaking: “Carry me.”

Xi Yue did as told. Yu Qing seemed genuinely unwell, likely suffering from a leg cramp. After placing him on the bed, Xi Yue grasped his ankle. The lines of his legs were smooth, the skin supple and slender without a trace of excess fat. When actually touched, the skin felt excessively smooth, like fine mutton-fat jade that would melt if handled too firmly.

Xi Yue focused on massaging him to relieve the discomfort. Because the pressure was just right, soft hums of satisfaction echoed through the bedroom. The leg held in the man’s hand tensed in a beautiful line, his toes curling slightly from the long-awaited comfort.

Witnessing the entire scene, Shang Ling’s knuckles whitened. Their intimate, oblivious manner and Yu Qing’s obvious cold-shouldering made his inner fury burn even hotter. Normally, Yu Qing would be clinging to him, annoying him to death.

“Drink this,” Shang Ling said coldly, handing over the glass of milk.

It was prepared by Uncle Lin, but it was already cold. The pampered Yu Qing would never drink it. However, Shang Ling took an uncompromising stance, pushing the milk toward him. In the struggle, the milk splashed out, soaking Shang Ling’s trousers.

“Yu Qing, you—!”

“Why are you yelling at me? I haven’t even blamed you for getting my sheets wet yet.” Yu Qing indifferently pulled some tissues from the nightstand. Before Shang Ling could explode further, he pressed his hand against the wet spot on the trousers and began to wipe carelessly.

Shang Ling froze like a statue.

Strangely, Shang Ling’s Hate Value didn’t change. But doesn’t Shang Ling hate it when I touch him?

Yu Qing looked up in confusion, meeting a pair of deep, dark eyes. He suddenly felt bored; he wiped a couple more times at random and prepared to withdraw his hand. He wasn’t one to serve others—those two wipes were more than enough.

But before he could pull his hand away, it was covered by a large, powerful palm and pressed down firmly. The fabric couldn’t block the skin’s temperature; a strange heat seemed to sear through the thin material into Yu Qing.

Yu Qing warned Shang Ling to stop, but to no avail. Instead, he felt a deliberate caress. His skin was delicate, and his wrists were particularly thin-skinned; he couldn’t stand being handled like this.

Yu Qing slumped weakly against Shang Ling’s lap. His hand couldn’t be pulled back, and his foot accidentally kicked out. His toes brushed against the corner of Xi Yue’s lips, then slid across his cheek.

Even when “bullied,” Xi Yue didn’t make a sound. He maintained his submissive appearance and continued to relieve the cramp in the Little Master’s leg. He was very focused, moving his massage upward, being thorough and attentive without a single mistake.

Yu Qing struggled to move, but his leg was held by Xi Yue and his hand was pinned by Shang Ling. He was trapped. His brain went blank, unable to figure out what was happening, but since he saw Xi Yue as the “vulnerable party,” his spearhead naturally pointed at Shang Ling.

Attributing Shang Ling’s abnormal behavior to just looking for trouble, Yu Qing—lying on Shang Ling’s lap—revealed his beautiful, cold eyes, the corners tilting up. It was the sign of an impending explosion.

Shang Ling only noticed Yu Qing’s hand. It was very beautiful. The long, white fingers were exquisitely shaped, the nail beds a pale pink. The faint blue veins on the back of his hand made his skin look like white jade. His wrist bone was delicate, though now circled by a startling dark bruise he had caused earlier.

Yu Qing’s skin was truly tender. Now held in his palm, the bone-soft sensation became clearer and more direct. The skin dipped with the slightest touch, and a little pressure would rub up a red mark that was slow to fade.

Shang Ling, who used to avoid Yu Qing’s touch at all costs, was now being bewitched by a single hand, his mind drifting, never feeling satisfied. His dark eyes reflected the delicate white hand, and he unconsciously increased his grip.

Yu Qing was calling his name. But Shang Ling heard nothing. His voice was as deep and composed as ever, but carried a new, unidentifiable undertone: “Keep wiping.”

He said again, “It’s not clean yet.”