The Little Crybaby Continues to Court Death as a Cannon Fodder - Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Yu Qing was carried downstairs by Xi Yue, while Shang Ling, with a striking palm print on his face, descended the stairs with an expression as composed as ever.

In the dining room, everyone else had already taken their seats.

Elder Yu’s face, weathered by time, was etched with wrinkles. Though advanced in years, his eyes remained sharp and bright, and his constitution was robust; he remained the true head of the Yu Group.

As Elder Yu’s most cherished grandson, the seat beside the patriarch naturally belonged to Yu Qing. Directly across from him sat his uncle, Yu Yang.

Yu Yang didn’t speak to Yu Qing first. Instead, he swept an ambiguous glance toward Xi Yue. “Young people these days certainly play in… unconventional ways. I’m getting old and can’t keep up, but Xiao Qing, you should be careful—”

“Your body is weak; can you handle it? Don’t end up breathless just from a kiss.”

“Then again—”

Yu Yang set down his chopsticks, teasing, “Are you really the one sleeping with him? He looks perfectly fine, yet you couldn’t even get out of bed this afternoon and had to be carried. From where I’m sitting, it looks like you were the one who got to sleep.”

“Of course I was the one sleeping with him,” Yu Qing retorted stubbornly. “Who would be so pathetic as to spend millions just to get slept with? That would be a mental illness.”

“Xi Yue, tell them. Wasn’t it me who slept with you?”

The dining table was no place for such talk, and given Xi Yue’s awkward status—only allowed at the table out of favor to Yu Qing—he had no right to speak here anyway.

“Silence while eating, silence while sleeping,” Elder Yu warned, shooting a sharp look at Yu Yang. When he turned back to Yu Qing, his expression softened into one of gentle affection. “Eat first.”

Despite his poor temper, Yu Qing had impeccable table manners. He chewed slowly and refinedly, appearing graceful and elegant. Combined with his cold, ethereal beauty, even the simple act of eating was a feast for the eyes.

The Yu family discipline was strict, manifested most clearly in Shang Ling. His rigidity and conservative nature were largely products of Elder Yu’s grooming. In Shang Ling’s eyes, Elder Yu was not just a benefactor, but family.

After the meal ended, Elder Yu called Xi Yue away privately, presumably to question him about the afternoon’s events.

“Grandpa…” Yu Qing tried to speak up for Xi Yue, but Shang Ling interrupted coldly, “Silence while eating.”

Elder Yu coaxed Yu Qing with a few gentle words but insisted on taking Xi Yue away. Once the elder had left, Yu Yang found the atmosphere dull, spared Yu Qing a cold huff, and departed.

Aside from the servants waiting nearby, only Shang Ling and Yu Qing remained in the dining room.

Staring at the silently eating Shang Ling, Yu Qing hatched another wicked idea.

Yu Qing intentionally made noise by scraping his plate. Instead of eating, he propped his chin on his hands and looked over with a beaming smile.

“Eat properly,” Shang Ling warned.

A moment later, Shang Ling let out a muffled grunt, his eyes snapping up in startled, thin-veiled fury.

Yu Qing maintained that same smiling facade, even playfully tilting his head.

Shang Ling suppressed his rising anger. Just seconds ago, under the tablecloth, a foot had reached over from across the table.

Still clad in a cotton sock and a slipper, the foot was lazily treading on him, grinding and missing his expensive suit trousers.

Yu Qing was full of smiles. His eyes were usually cold and arrogant, but now they were filled with the malice of someone treating life like a game. Like a naughty child who had successfully pulled off a prank, he provocatively licked the corner of his lip.

He was certain Shang Ling wouldn’t make a scene. Even if Grandpa wasn’t there, the servants were.

And Shang Ling valued his dignity above all else.

Vindictively treading on Shang Ling’s thigh, Yu Qing decided to withdraw once he’d had his fill. But the moment the thought of “retreat” sparked, it was ruthlessly cut off—

Shang Ling grabbed his ankle.

He even yanked it toward himself.

Caught off guard, Yu Qing lurched forward, nearly falling. He only managed to steady himself by grabbing the edge of the table.

Immediately after, his eyes widened.

A chill rushed up the sole of his foot. His slipper and sock had been stripped away. His bare foot had fallen into a trap, circled and held fast.

The young master finally knew fear. He glared back fiercely, trying to intimidate Shang Ling into letting go.

However, with such a delicate and beautiful face, the attempt only added fuel to the fire.

Shang Ling took it a step further. His thumb forced its way between Yu Qing’s toes, crudely mimicking the very behavior Yu Qing had just displayed—

Maliciously grinding, rubbing, and “treading.”

Yu Qing’s spine arched involuntarily. His interlaced fingers trembled finely as he rested his forehead against them. His narrow shoulder blades looked like the wings of a butterfly in a gale, precarious and trembling.

“Young Master, are you alright?” A servant approached.

“Don’t… don’t come over…”

Yu Qing’s fingers shook violently. His voice was a hushed, trembling thrum, as if all his strength had been siphoned away.

Shang Ling didn’t stop. It was a relentless retaliation—the rough friction of his calloused skin overstimulating Yu Qing’s already precarious nerves.

A thin layer of sweat broke out on the back of Yu Qing’s neck. A faint scent of medicinal fragrance suddenly filled the dining room.

The servants exchanged glances. The young master looked like he was in deep distress, yet he wouldn’t let anyone get close. They were at a loss.

In contrast, Shang Ling appeared perfectly normal, his expression relaxed. He was positioned in a blind spot so that even though he had lifted part of the tablecloth, no one could see.

The exquisite small foot rested upon his lap. The jet-black fabric of his trousers made the skin appear white as snow. The flesh was incredibly tender; a little “punishment” was enough to flush it with a vibrant, spring-like hue.

“You bastard…” Yu Qing cursed in a broken, trembling whisper. He wanted to kick him, but his eyes were red and his limbs felt heavy and weak.

Because his voice was low and soft, it sounded like it was laced with honey—sweet, cloying, like a petulant whimper.

Shang Ling continued eating as usual, save for the hand hidden beneath the table and the controlled rise and fall of his shoulders.

No one knew that in the unseen darkness, the pampered young master was being bullied into nothing but fragmented, sobbing breaths.

In truth, if Yu Qing had just begged for mercy or called for help, he would have been saved.

But he was too proud—so proud he would rather suffer the numbness spreading up his spine than lower his head.

Consequently, for Shang Ling, the thrill of conquest far outweighed the pleasure of revenge.

“Young Master?”

A cold, indifferent voice drifted from behind, rising slightly at the end. Footsteps stopped a short distance away, as if hesitant to proceed.

Xi Yue had entered through another door. From his angle, he could clearly see how Shang Ling was treating Yu Qing—how he was breaking the high-and-mighty young master until he was utterly defeated.

Seeing him enter, Shang Ling glanced over. Far from being deterred by a third party witnessing his “evil” deed, the corners of his mouth quivered, and his actions became even more aggressive.

The soft skin that lived in memory as pure and white was now a mess.

Perhaps because the lesson was too harsh, Yu Qing bit down on his lower lip, letting out a pitiful whimper.

Or perhaps, hearing someone call him, he lifted his wet, flushed face in a final spark of consciousness. He parted his lips in a daze, but only a puff of hot, moist vapor escaped.

Like the last lonely leaf shaking on a branch, he finally drifted down.