The Sickly Double Doesn't Want to Be Spoiled - Chapter 26.2

Chapter 26.2

“Also, I have never looked like a monkey,” Lu Cong emphasized.

“…Then how about this,” Meng Yuan had another idea. “Let’s watch short dramas! I happen to have bookmarked a few—”

Lu Cong turned to leave.

Meng Yuan quickly grabbed him. “Fine, fine, fine, we won’t. When did your temper get so short?”

“I’m going to dock Qin Qing’s salary.”

Lu Cong turned back, arms crossed, looking very grumpy.

Meng Yuan: “?”

What happened? Why was Sister Qing getting caught in the crossfire again?

“What does this have to do with Sister Qin Qing?” Meng Yuan was confused.

Lu Cong looked at him, his expression cold: “I once warned her not to let you watch short dramas anymore, but she clearly didn’t listen.”

He observed Meng Yuan’s expression: “If I’m not mistaken, you guys have probably watched even more of them, haven’t you?”

Meng Yuan: “…”

He didn’t speak; his guilty expression was as good as a confession.

“Heh,” Lu Cong sneered. “Her courage is getting bigger and bigger, actually openly defying my orders.”

Meng Yuan frowned as he listened.

He found Lu Cong a very strange person.

As a CEO in a novel, he was never domineering where he should be; he even once seemed like a normal person.

But in some unimportant corners, the smell of “dog-blood” (melodramatic) dialogue was frighteningly strong.

Like right now.

“I think you might have misunderstood,” Meng Yuan split his mouth into a conciliatory smile. “I’m the one who made Sister Qin Qing watch them.”

Lu Cong: “?”

“At first she refused too, but she couldn’t resist my enthusiastic invitation. I took her to watch the first short drama of her life and helped her open the door to a new world.”

Meng Yuan’s voice held a touch of seduction: “Don’t you want to see the new world too?”

Lu Cong: “…………”

Two pairs of equally pitch-black eyes met. Meng Yuan curled the corners of his mouth teasingly, feeling confident.

“No.”

“.”

“Rejecting so thoroughly?” Meng Yuan felt his pride take a bit of a hit.

Lu Cong looked him straight in the eyes, expressionless and unmoved.

…

The huge projection screen in the bedroom lit up.

A Russian science education film from twenty years ago leapt onto the screen.

Meng Yuan: “==”

He nestled on the bed, the blanket pulled up to his chin. The opening titles had only played for a minute before he let out a yawn.

Lu Cong sat side-by-side with him, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the screen, full of concentration.

Meng Yuan rested his chin on his knees, looked at the screen, then at Lu Cong, and couldn’t help but click his tongue.

“Can you really get into this?”

As if to prove himself, Lu Cong’s gaze lingered on the screen for two seconds before moving to Meng Yuan’s face.

The lights in the bedroom were off; only the light from the projector fluctuated in brightness, occasionally illuminating Meng Yuan’s profile before dimming again.

His eyes were sparkling in the dark, still holding tears from his yawn, looking up at him slightly he looked quite pitiful.

“It is a film of great educational significance,” Lu Cong said. “Humans need to watch more of these heavy, profound things to improve their cultural literacy.”

He added specific emphasis to the last words.

Meng Yuan didn’t speak. He looked at him blankly for a while, then tilted his head: “Are you looking down on me for being uncultured?”

Lu Cong: “?”

“I didn’t, I’m not…” Lu Cong almost spoke excitedly, then calmed down: “Do not misinterpret my meaning.”

“Oh.” Meng Yuan turned his head back toward the dry screen: “Have you seen it before?”

For some reason, Lu Cong didn’t answer immediately upon hearing this.

He fell into an eerie silence for a few seconds before speaking: “I’ve watched it since I was a child.”

“Alright.”

Meng Yuan decided to witness Lu Cong’s taste.

Five minutes later.

Meng Yuan fell asleep.

Ten minutes later.

Lu Cong went down with him.

The four-and-a-half-hour educational film they couldn’t even make it past the first piece of narration.

…

Four hours later, Lu Cong woke up precisely on time.

The projection screen was showing the end credits, the text scrolling up.

He remained silent for two seconds and turned off the projector.

Still like this. Always like this.

Twenty years had passed, and whenever he turned on this type of film, he could accurately fall asleep before the first narration and wake up with a start at the end.

Twenty years had passed, and the stars of the film had all returned to the heavens, yet the content of the film remained brand new and a complete blank in Lu Cong’s mind.

He turned his head to look at Meng Yuan.

Meng Yuan was sleeping even more soundly than him, leaning on his shoulder with both hands hugging his waist.

Only then did Lu Cong realize he had been acting as a human pillow for four hours.

Meng Yuan’s face was red from sleep, his breathing heavy. He didn’t have nightmares today, but his eyes kept moving who knew what he was dreaming about.

Lu Cong watched him quietly for a while, his gaze sliding from the beautiful brow arch to the perky bridge of the nose, and finally to the tightly closed lips.

Tightly closed lips…

Very good. A sudden sense of relief washed over Lu Cong’s heart—comfortable, pleasant, and refreshing.

Meng Yuan was not a mouth-breather.

Very good.

When Meng Yuan woke up, sunlight had already leaked through the gaps in the curtains, casting a thin golden line at the foot of the bed.

He lay there without moving, blinking his eyes, sensing his own body.

His head didn’t hurt, his stomach didn’t feel uncomfortable, and his whole being felt as if it had been reassembled. Although he still felt a bit lazy, that sense of fatigue emanating from his bones had disappeared.

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, thinking about last night.

The projector was off, and the screen had been raised. Lu Cong had probably left long ago; he was the only one in the bedroom now.

What a truly terrible movie.

Meng Yuan reminisced and found that besides the first few minutes of narration, he had zero impression of it. Lu Cong really must love watching it.

But… was Lu Cong really not just pretending?

This guess suddenly popped into his head, but Meng Yuan immediately shook his head to disperse it.

How could that be? He’s a novel CEO. It’s perfectly normal for a novel CEO to have this kind of setting; it’s used to show his class.

Meng Yuan climbed out of bed with random thoughts, finished washing up, and changed into clean clothes.

Just as he finished tidying up, there was a knock at the door.

It was Song Zhen, bringing a breakfast set.

“The boss asked me to tell you he has a video conference this morning and will be back at noon.”

“Okay.”

Meng Yuan took the breakfast and smiled at Song Zhen: “I understand, Special Assistant Song. You should get busy too.”

Song Zhen smiled, nodded, and turned to leave.

The breakfast was very much to Meng Yuan’s taste: steamed egg custard with shrimp, two small flower rolls, and a glass of fruit and vegetable juice.

Meng Yuan sat by the window eating slowly while looking at the sea view outside, feeling good enough to hum a song.

Their itinerary for these two days had changed slightly. Considering that Meng Yuan was often unwell, they didn’t arrange any more outdoor activities.

Fearing he would be bored, Qin Qing had booked a full-body SPA for him.

After finishing breakfast and resting a while, Meng Yuan couldn’t wait to head over.

In his previous life, he hadn’t even entered a massage parlor; he always felt it was a luxury and couldn’t bear to spend the money.

But in this life…

One would be a fool not to go.

The SPA ritual took place in the “Healing House” deep in the forest.

According to the therapist’s introduction, this was no ordinary massage, but an ancient Polynesian therapy.

The therapist would use their forearms, soaked in warm essential oils, to perform deep muscle relaxation, then use heat-wrapped herbal stones for energy conduction.

It was explained very convincingly.

In the past, Meng Yuan would have definitely thought it was a scam, but now… anyway, he didn’t have to spend his own money.

The spa pavilion was connected to the main house by an elevated teak walkway.

The sides of the walkway were dense with ferns and wild ginger flowers. The South Pacific sun in the morning was soft, and the flowers and leaves carried dew.

Meng Yuan took out his phone and snapped two photos. After hesitating for a moment, he sent them to both Qin Qing and Lu Cong.

Pushing open the double-leaf rattan doors, heat and fragrance spilled out together.

This was a hexagonal stilt pavilion, surrounded on three sides by floor-to-ceiling glass, currently adjusted to frosted mode, filtering the outside world into soft-focus shadows of trees and sea light.

The floor was polished smooth Bali black stone, warm to the touch, with hidden floor heating pipes.

The couch faced a low long window framing the horizon. At this time, the morning sun was rising, and the sea and sky were of the same color.

The therapist could speak some Chinese and raised her hand to lead the way: “Please follow me.”

She led Meng Yuan to change clothes first. Along the way, the air was filled with a special sandalwood fragrance. He was the only guest in the entire spa pavilion.

If Meng Yuan didn’t speak, no one would speak the entire time.

He followed the therapist’s guidance to change clothes and wash his hands and feet. He did whatever he was told throughout the process, feeling a bit dazed.

If the therapist hadn’t been so gentle, Meng Yuan would have felt like he had accidentally trespassed into the private domain of the spa owner.

The therapist was about thirty years old, tall and slender, barefooted. Her palms were broad and warm, and she wore a strand of whalebone beads passed down from her grandmother on her wrist.

Her eyes fell on Meng Yuan’s neck and shoulders with a professional humility.

“You didn’t sleep well last night.” It wasn’t a question, but an observation.

Meng Yuan was startled; he hadn’t expected her to see that.

Before falling asleep last night, his last memory was planting his head on Lu Cong’s shoulder.

Lu Cong had probably shown some mercy and hadn’t pushed him away.

Meng Yuan had slept with his head tilted like that all night and successfully got a stiff neck.

He smiled awkwardly: “Your guess is very accurate.”

The therapist said no more and guided Meng Yuan to lie face down.

She first placed her warm palms gently over Meng Yuan’s sacrum, remaining still for nearly a minute.

Then, she slowly poured essential oil along the midline of Meng Yuan’s spine. The base oil was coconut oil infused with Tiare flowers for six weeks, with a light and faint fragrance.

The therapist used the heels of her palms along both sides of Meng Yuan’s spine, pushing toward his shoulder blades at an extremely slow speed, repeating the motion as the pressure gradually deepened.

Meng Yuan heard himself let out an extremely light sigh—not from pain, but from an indescribable relaxation.

It was too comfortable…

Meng Yuan thought groggily; so there were such comfortable ways to enjoy life in the world.

The sound of the waves outside the window was very pleasant, and the sunlight leaked through the gaps in the blinds, falling line by line on the wooden floor.

Meng Yuan stared blankly at those few flickering shadows of light, and before long, his eyelids felt heavy.

It was truly too comfortable.

He had never enjoyed this kind of massage in his previous life; he didn’t even know it could be done like this.

Back then, he worked three or four jobs until late at night every day. His shoulders would be so painful he couldn’t lift them, yet he couldn’t bear to go to a small street-side shop for a massage.

He thought he was still young and would be fine after a night’s sleep.

As it turned out, it hurt even more after waking up.

Thinking about it, Meng Yuan drifted off into a groggy sleep.

He wasn’t completely sound asleep; he could still vaguely hear the sound of the waves.

Time passed slowly, and Meng Yuan’s stiff neck and back were massaged until they were soft and burning hot.

Thinking he was asleep, the therapist didn’t disturb him, gently placing a dry fleece blanket over him.

After an unknown amount of time, the sound of wind chimes echoed in the air, and there was a soft knock on the wooden door.

Meng Yuan thought the therapist had returned and didn’t open his eyes, continuing to listen to the waves.

Then, amidst the waves and the wind, he heard a familiar voice.

“Not finished yet?”

Meng Yuan snapped his eyes open.

Lu Cong was standing at the door.

He must have just come over after finishing his meeting, still wearing a crisp shirt with a dark-patterned tie tied meticulously and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Lu Cong’s expression was neutral as he looked at him.

Meng Yuan’s brain short-circuited, and he sat up abruptly, followed by a wave of overwhelming dizziness.

It took him several seconds for his vision to clear, and then he remembered what he looked like right now.

The reason an essential oil massage is an essential oil massage is that, at the very least, one has to be stripped bare from the waist up.

Lu Cong stood by the door, leaning against the frame with arms crossed, his gaze falling directly on him.

It wouldn’t have been so revealing.

Meng Yuan only needed to stay lying down as he was at the start, with his back covered by the blanket; then nothing could be seen.

But he just had to sit up, and he just had to freeze in place like an idiot.

His shoulders, rubbed with essential oil, were moist and red. His back was thin, his ribcage showed clear bone structure, and his collarbones were deeply recessed.

“Why did you come over?” Meng Yuan asked blankly.

Lu Cong’s gaze slid over his collarbone and then moved away.

“The meeting ended early,” he said, his voice as flat as usual. “Came to take a look.”

“What’s there to see about me?”

Lu Cong raised an eyebrow, wearing an expression that said “You might want to think about what you’re saying.”

“It’s almost lunchtime.” He tapped his watch.

“So?”

“Who was it yesterday who insisted I must wait for him to eat lunch together, and threatened to cry if I didn’t?”

Meng Yuan: “…”

“I did not cry.”

He performed a four-word, pale defense for himself.

“Fine, you didn’t cry.”

To his surprise, Lu Cong didn’t press the attack at all.

“So, are you eating or not?” Lu Cong threw out the bait: “Qin Qing is cooking personally today as well.”

Meng Yuan immediately swallowed his saliva and surrendered at light speed: “Eating.”

“Then hurry up. Also—”

Lu Cong’s gaze swept over him: “Put your clothes on.”