The Little Crybaby Continues to Court Death as a Cannon Fodder - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The Disgust Value changes for Xi Yue were far too abnormal. Every time Yu Qing assumed the value would rise, the reality proved the opposite.

The pampered young master suddenly realized that the “Protagonist Shou,” Xi Yue, was not as simple as the plot introduction suggested. At the very least, he was certainly no innocent “white lotus.”

Shang Ling’s home was a sprawling luxury flat in the city center. Before reaching the heart of the bustling metropolis, they passed through a street shimmering with neon lights. It was peak rush hour, and cars were bunched together on the asphalt like a military formation, inching forward with agonizing slowness.

Frustrated by the lack of progress, Yu Qing turned his gaze toward the small stalls lining the narrow side road. Stalls of various sizes were packed neatly together, plastered with colorful food photos and price tags. Pop music mingled with the crowd, sounding exceptionally festive amidst the artificial daylight and the sweltering night.

Yu Qing’s attention was suddenly caught by a little girl. She had cute braids and a plaid skirt, and was tugging piteously at her mother’s hand, pleading for something ahead. Beside a somewhat dilapidated stall stood a wooden rack filled with colorful, fluffy items that looked like clumps of cotton.

The stall owner took out a wooden stick, sprinkled some sugar into a metal pot, and swirled the stick around several times before handing it to the satisfied girl. From a distance, Yu Qing couldn’t see it clearly; he only felt as if the girl were holding a pink cloud, which piqued his curiosity.

Yu Qing poked Xi Yue’s arm. “I want to eat that.”

The three people in the car, all suffering from the traffic jam, turned their gaze toward the stall.

Shang Ling was the first to speak: “Those things don’t have health permits. They’re filthy. You’re not allowed to eat them.”

No one replied. Lin You tried to smooth things over for him: “True, Young Master. Especially since you have a sensitive stomach; if something goes wrong…”

“I want to eat it.” Yu Qing stared straight at Xi Yue.

The young master was throwing a fit. His tantrum this time was interesting; he didn’t scream or shout. Instead, he sat there with a cold, elegant face, remaining silent no matter how much they tried to persuade him.

This “cold violence” style of tantrum was the hardest to handle. If he had caused a scene like before, they could at least communicate. Now, even that was impossible.

Xi Yue spoke up: “The traffic is backed up anyway, and there’s a spot to pull over ahead. Let me out to buy it.” He added, “This kind of pigment and saccharin doesn’t actually taste good. The Young Master is used to fine things and is likely just curious. Once he gets it, he’ll probably only take a few bites before getting tired of it. A few bites won’t hurt him; he’s not that fragile.”

Xi Yue was quite eloquent—validating Shang Ling while subtly advocating for Yu Qing. A win-win.

Shang Ling agreed.

Xi Yue soon returned with the cotton candy, having bought a pink one just like the little girl’s. Yu Qing still remembered the girl’s joyful expression; he wanted to taste what she had tasted. Throughout the ride, he stared at the pink cloud through its plastic packaging, fascinated as if it were a novel toy.

After a few more lights, the road cleared, and the car finally sped up.

Shang Ling’s apartment featured a private elevator entrance. Stepping out, Yu Qing first saw a massive pair of copper doors in a New Chinese style. Beyond the foyer was a rosewood console table displaying a welcoming pine and a circular marble landscape painting. The flat was over 400 square meters but only had three bedrooms; the living room alone was over 100 square meters.

After turning on the lights, Shang Ling turned around to see Yu Qing standing before his “little lover,” slightly lifting one foot. Xi Yue was helping him take off his shoes and put on slippers.

The young master, annoyed by Xi Yue’s clumsiness, petulantly lifted his foot and pressed it against Xi Yue’s shoulder. Under the natural light, his foot was smooth, delicate, and exquisite; pressed against the man’s shoulder, it carried an inadvertent eroticism.

Shang Ling’s throat felt strangely parched.

The young master, having finished his “lesson,” suddenly glanced over. Caught in the act of staring, Shang Ling felt an inexplicable surge of guilt, his fingers tensing. However, Yu Qing had no intention of acknowledging him; he raised his chin haughtily and walked past, treating Shang Ling as if he were invisible.

Yu Qing needed to inspect the rooms to decide where to sleep. As he passed Shang Ling, a hand caught his arm, blocking his path. He lifted his eyelids, his brow furrowed with impatience.

“It’s late. You should sleep,” Shang Ling said seriously, eyeing the cotton candy. “Stop eating that junk.”

Here we go again.

Yu Qing suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Why were some people so obsessed with acting like a stern father and lecturing others? Earlier, with Grandpa present, Shang Ling had shown a decent face out of respect for his upbringing. Now that Grandpa was gone, who was this act for?

Yet, Shang Ling’s overly solemn expression gave the wicked young master a bad idea. Yu Qing glanced at the large hand gripping his arm. His light gaze held no physical force, yet it felt like a kitten’s claws scratching at the heart. Under that gaze, the skin Shang Ling was touching felt suddenly scalding, prompting him to retract his hand immediately.

Regaining his freedom, Yu Qing didn’t leave. Instead, he turned to face Shang Ling.

Under Shang Ling’s watchful eyes, Yu Qing stuck out his tongue and licked the pale pink cotton candy. Some of it melted into sugar clumps upon contact with moisture; some stuck wetly to the corner of his mouth. The spoiled young master used his slender white finger to hook a portion of the candy, slowly bringing it to his mouth and teasing it with his tongue.

This intentionally provocative way of eating successfully repulsed Shang Ling—the sharp brows began to knit together, only to be replaced by shock. Yu Qing was indeed eating the candy from his finger, but he wasn’t just eating it; he was licking it with deliberate slowness. His tongue lingered on his fingertip before pulling back into his lips, cleaning off every trace of saccharin.

He did it slowly on purpose, staring straight at Shang Ling the entire time. The wet reflection, the arrogant expression, and the leisurely movements were laced with provocation.

Shang Ling was momentarily at a loss for words. He was handsome and upright but exceptionally conservative—a true workaholic who had lived a clean, disciplined life. Even if he had encountered seduction before, it was always subtle. No one had ever made such a suggestive gesture directly to his face.

An unprecedented rush of blood surged from the soles of his feet to his head, making his brain feel like it was being whirled by a blower, leaving him dizzy and flushed.

Shang Ling’s eyes remained fixed on Yu Qing’s reddened lips. “This is very unhygienic.”

“Brother Shang Ling,” Yu Qing suddenly changed the subject, “Have you really never had this before?”

Hearing that long-lost address, Shang Ling froze. He was older than Yu Qing, so “Brother” was appropriate, but Yu Qing hadn’t called him that in a long time. When Yu Qing used to call him that, it had never triggered such a powerful sense of craving and heat as it did now.

Shang Ling’s gaze darkened unconsciously. His voice was husky as he replied, “I haven’t.” He paused, then asked, “Is it good?”

Yu Qing was too beautiful; it was impossible not to stare at him. Even his spoiled nature seemed intoxicating.

Seeing the look in Shang Ling’s eyes, Yu Qing knew he had guessed correctly. This way of eating was indeed causing a reaction. Since Shang Ling thought cotton candy was unhygienic, Yu Qing would eat it in an even more unhygienic way.

His finger left his teeth but didn’t pull away; instead, it pressed down on his lower lip. His knuckle glowed under the light, stained with the pink he had sucked into it.

“Come closer, and I’ll tell you.”

Yu Qing’s lashes tilted up, and the corners of his eyes followed. Anyone who knew him would know he was up to no good again. Anyone could see he was playing a trick. Yet he was a walking contradiction—extremely pampered, yet possessing a gaze that was lazy and alluring.

No one could resist that look. Shang Ling leaned in. He swore to himself he had no other intentions; he just wanted to know if the candy tasted good. That was all.

But Yu Qing didn’t speak. He just breathed into Shang Ling’s ear, the rhythmic warmth of his breath pouring over the shell of the ear, the sound amplified a thousand times. As the heat intensified, Shang Ling moved slightly, only to feel his cheek turn soft and… wet.

Yu Qing had used his still-damp finger to smear the candy across Shang Ling’s cheek.

Shang Ling’s expression shifted violently. Shock, anger, and bewilderment crossed his handsome face. He wiped his face forcefully as if he had been touched by something filthy. Feeling the distinct moisture, his shoulders stiffened, the veins in his temples throbbed, and he snapped in embarrassment: “You are absolutely unreasonable!”

Compared to the burning, nearly crumbling Shang Ling, Yu Qing wore a triumphant smirk. That’s what you get for provoking me.

The prank was a success, and the young master was satisfied, but the leftover saccharin on his finger was sticky and uncomfortable. He tilted his chin, gesturing toward the tissues, and offered his fair hand to Xi Yue. “Wipe it clean.”

Having issued the command, he continued to enjoy Shang Ling’s fury. Shang Ling’s eyes flashed with rage, his chest heaving. But suddenly, the anger vanished, replaced by a new kind of shock.

Yu Qing was confused until his finger was suddenly enveloped in a moist, warm sensation. Following Shang Ling’s stunned gaze, he froze in place as well.

The pampered young master’s hands were as beautiful as the rest of him—fair, tender, with slender knuckles. It should have been a picturesque sight—provided one ignored what Xi Yue was currently doing.

That wrist, white as fresh snow, was held firmly in a large palm, appearing even more delicate by comparison. Visually, the two shared a strange harmony.

And Xi Yue was focused, his head lowered, helping him clean the sticky sugar from his finger.

By licking it off.