The Pampered Young Master Is Adored at Art School - Chapter 8

“It’s a gift for you,” Dylan said, leaning back against the sofa. He flicked his finger slightly, signaling the clerk, “I’ll take everything he selected.”

Su Zhan froze on the spot, “That’s not right. We clearly came here to pick out things for your sweetheart.”

“No, today felt more like finding the right owner for these clothes. They were all crying out to me, saying they wanted to go home with you,” Dylan replied, handing his black card to the clerk.

Su Zhan looked at the pile of paper bags, feeling a bit lightheaded. Even back when he had money, he never dared to shop like this!

He struggled to loop the handles of the bags over his wrist, nearly disappearing under the mountain of paper. Dylan naturally stepped in and took them, the bags appearing a size smaller in his grip, carried without the slightest effort. Dylan then handed the bags over to the mall’s concierge staff.

North Court was a high-end mall. Su Zhan had spent tens of thousands here in a single trip before, but no one had ever offered to carry his bags for him. He wasn’t sure how much one had to spend to unlock that level of service, but it was clear that Dylan was wealthy beyond his imagination.

The two of them continued their stroll unburdened. Su Zhan selected an extremely delicate black necklace for Dylan. It was slightly shorter than the one Dylan had picked for himself, toning down the suggestive undertones. Paired with a classic Ralph Lauren shirt, it made him look like the ultimate “refined rogue.”

As they passed a Godiva shop, Su Zhan came to a halt. When he emerged, he was holding two ice cream cones, one dark and one white, looking like two small snow-capped mountains nestled in wafers.

Su Zhan held the ice cream out toward Dylan, “Which one do you prefer? My treat.”

After a moment’s thought, Su Zhan asked cautiously, “You’re not allergic, right?”

Dylan feigned a look of distress, “I’m not allergic, but what if I like both?”

Su Zhan pursed his lips slightly, thinking he should have bought a swirl flavor.

Dylan winked, “There’s another way.” He turned back into the shop, grabbed two small spoons, and came back out, “Shall we share?”

Su Zhan briefly wondered if this was a bit too intimate, but he figured his own intentions were pure, and since Dylan didn’t seem to mind, there was nothing to say.

Su Zhan obediently ate his vanilla ice cream, feeling too shy to touch Dylan’s. He even left the back of his own cone untouched, saving it for Dylan to scoop from.

But Dylan completely ignored Su Zhan’s careful boundaries.

At first, he took a few small scoops from the side Su Zhan had left for him, but after that, he became reckless, intentionally or unintentionally scooping from the side Su Zhan had already eaten from.

Su Zhan had a bit of a perfectionist streak; he even liked his ice cream to stay neat. Seeing it ruined by Dylan, he started to get a little annoyed. He grabbed his spoon and began digging into Dylan’s chocolate ice cream in retaliation.

The two ice creams became a battlefield, the small wooden spoons turning into weapons of conquest. Dylan seemed particularly invested in winning, and in the end, he simply put down his spoon, leaned over, and took a direct bite out of Su Zhan’s ice cream.

Su Zhan didn’t know whether to scold Dylan for breaking the rules first, or to mention that he had already licked that exact spot. His face turned bright red, and he couldn’t find the words to speak.

But as he looked into Dylan’s sea-blue eyes, his anger slowly dissipated.

Fine, for the sake of the money, this was his “benefactor” after all.

He wasn’t sure if he was overthinking it, but he couldn’t help feeling that they were becoming a little too close.

Perhaps it was just the cultural difference? Although Su Zhan didn’t go to parties, he had seen plenty of movies where a group of people would share the same glass of alcohol. Ice cream probably fell into the same category.

The two spent the entire day at North Court. Dylan received countless calls, but he only checked the messages, replied quickly, and set his phone aside. It was as if he was willing to spend every second of the day accompanying his supposed dream lover.

By evening, Dylan led Su Zhan to a French restaurant, “Since you’re going to help me pursue him, why don’t you help me test the menu to see if it suits his taste? I’d hate to successfully land a date only to leave a bad impression.”

Dylan had already done his research; Su Zhan often went to a cliffside restaurant near the university for Western meals. That place specialized in French-style cuisine, so bringing Su Zhan to a more authentic French restaurant seemed like a choice that would please him.

Dylan pretended to have stumbled upon the place by chance, but in reality, he had long ago booked a garden seat that overlooked all of North Court.

Su Zhan wouldn’t refuse. Dylan was ninety percent sure of it.

But Su Zhan shook his head.

There was still a pot of ribs at home that Xu Chenjian had made for him. The ribs had been simmering all day, soaking up the flavor. If they sat until tomorrow, the soy sauce would make them too salty, and the dish would be ruined.

“A friend made dinner for me, and it won’t taste good if I leave it until tomorrow. Can I come with you to test the menu next time?” Su Zhan said, carefully choosing his words.

“You prefer Chinese food, don’t you?” Dylan’s voice was flat, as if he were intentionally smoothing over his emotions, “Or is it because your friend made it?”

His perfect date was supposed to end with a formal dinner. Ideally, they should have gone for a drink, but unfortunately, Su Zhan was under twenty-one.

Then again, when Su Zhan and that friend were home together, who knew if they shared a drink? After all, the legal drinking age in China is eighteen.

“I’m really sorry…” Su Zhan bit the inside of his cheek, racking his brain for a way to avoid offending his generous employer without wasting the food Xu Chenjian had prepared. Finally, he hit upon a brilliant idea.

“How about I treat you to dinner? The flavors of my hometown are rarely found in Chinese restaurants out here.” Su Zhan looked up, his face glowing with satisfaction over his clever plan.

Thinking of that pot of ribs, Su Zhan emphasized his invitation even further, waving the banner of Dylan’s “sweetheart” once more, “You know, we Chinese people respect food very much. If the ribs my friend made are left until tomorrow, they won’t be good anymore.”

Dylan took a few deep breaths, his thoughts unreadable, “That sounds… quite difficult to compete with, then.”

His bright, perfect smile flickered with a momentary stiffness, causing Su Zhan to feel a flash of confusion.

Who would compare French cuisine to home-cooked food? They were clearly two different types of cooking.

However, since English wasn’t Su Zhan’s native language, he sometimes doubted his own interpretation of things and chose not to dwell on it.

Su Zhan added in a whisper, “And if we eat at my place, we can sneak a drink. They’d check IDs if we went out.”

Dylan lowered his gaze, his eyes turning a dark, shadowy blue.

So they really did drink at home.

Su Zhan was far too defenseless against that friend of his. Su Zhan was so slender that Dylan could easily pin both of his wrists with one hand. Even when sober, Su Zhan wouldn’t be able to resist much, let alone when drunk.

And yet, this Su Zhan dared to let someone stay and drink at his house?

He even dared to invite Dylan, someone he’d known for less than a day, over for a drink?

Dylan let out a soft, breathy laugh, unsure whether to feel flattered by his own “special” status or concerned by Su Zhan’s lack of caution.

Dark thoughts began to churn in his mind again, wanting to get Su Zhan drunk and teach him a lesson.

Just like his brother would do—take what he wanted first, then talk about compensation later. Aside from Dylan himself, the members of the Foster family had never been known for high moral standards, nor were they ever stingy when it came to spending money on their own pleasure.

But it had to be said, their methods were certainly convenient and fast.

Dylan’s desire for Su Zhan was not as harmless as it appeared on the surface.

The first time Dylan saw Su Zhan, the boy was heating up his lunch at the student center. During those few minutes of waiting, Su Zhan had played the piano. The elegant line of his neck and spine resembled a harp, and his entire being radiated an air of untouchable purity.

It made Dylan want to ruin him.

Dylan had dreamed more than once of pinning Su Zhan’s legs against a grand piano, biting and licking the earlobe with the single stud until it bled.

Did Su Zhan never consider how dangerous it was to drink in front of a stranger? It wasn’t even safe in front of a friend. Su Zhan’s intuition was terrible; he clearly had no idea what his “friend” actually thought of him.

Thinking back, that lunch Su Zhan had been heating was likely made by that “friend” as well. Otherwise, how could someone as picky as Su Zhan bear to eat reheated leftovers?

“Alright, I have wine in my car,” Dylan promised, maintaining his smile, “I can also mix cocktails.”

High-quality vodka is almost tasteless when mixed.

Dylan’s peripheral vision caught the Godiva bag. They hadn’t just bought ice cream; they had bought chocolates too.

He began to loathe his previous thoughts again. He never wanted to be a typical Foster, even though his horde of half-siblings proved that the “rake” gene was a stable trait in their bloodline.

“Lucian, will you teach me how to cook Chinese food?” Dylan asked.

If he could secure more time together, perhaps a genuine connection would be worth more than a transaction.

Su Zhan thought he could agree to anything, but this time he was truly stumped. He opened his mouth, “But… I don’t know how to cook. And where is the person you like from in China?”

“China is huge, and the cuisines of each region are completely different. What if they like spicy food? I can’t even handle a little bit of spice…”

Su Zhan had the palate of a child; he couldn’t handle spice and didn’t even like ginger.

For a rare moment, Dylan didn’t know how to continue the lie. One lie led to a web of others. He could only say seriously, “I believe as long as the food is delicious, the region doesn’t matter.”

“And although I don’t know exactly where they are from, I am absolutely certain they cannot handle spicy food,” Dylan said, staring into Su Zhan’s eyes.

He did indeed know that now, since Su Zhan had just told him.

Dylan put on a sorrowful expression, looking like a big, abandoned dog, “I can follow a recipe, and you can help me taste it, okay? Only you know what’s authentic. It would be terrible if I offended them by making something like Beef with Broccoli.”

Su Zhan thought of the General Tso’s Chicken and Beef with Broccoli at Panda Express and decided Dylan’s concerns were valid. He agreed.

He sent a message to Xu Chenjian: “Do you have any cooking app recommendations? One with recipes.”

Xu Chenjian replied quickly: “You want to learn to cook? You’ll inevitably get burned while cooking. Forget it.”

“I’m just playing around,” Su Zhan replied.

Xu Chenjian sent over a few screenshots of apps and some ready-made recipes: “These are simple. Don’t burn yourself. If water gets into hot oil, it will splatter. Be extremely careful.”

Su Zhan curled his lip. Xu Chenjian always treated him like a child.

Su Zhan held his phone up, “My friend sent me some recipes, but they’re in Chinese. I’ll translate them and send them to you in a bit.”

Dylan grasped Su Zhan’s wrist to pull the phone closer, making Su Zhan realize he had still underestimated Dylan’s height.

But the recipes were all in Chinese. What on earth was he looking at?

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