The Wealthy Old Man’s Palm-Sized Pet - Chapter 4

Since Fu Can’s birthday banquet, Fu Xingnian knew Song Zhiyuan would seek him out again. He had sensed it from the boy’s words and read it in his every move. He knew Song Zhiyuan was approaching him with a goal; the boy had been blunt about that from the very beginning. This had actually surprised Fu Xingnian; over the years, many had approached him with hidden agendas cloaked in grand excuses. Song Zhiyuan was different—unmasked and transparent. It was interesting.

Just as Fu Xingnian expected him to make a move, he discovered that Song Zhiyuan, instead of approaching him, had grown closer to Fu Can. Several times he saw them together, acting quite intimate. Fu Can would drape an arm over his shoulder, and Song Zhiyuan wouldn’t push him away; they laughed and talked freely.

When Song Zhiyuan did see Fu Xingnian, he would simply call him “Uncle” just like Fu Can did, looking at him obediently with a sweet smile as if he truly were just a family elder. He didn’t spare Fu Xingnian a second glance afterward, acting as if their previous encounter had never happened and as if he had never sought the man out. It seemed he had completely forgotten the things he had said that night.

Fu Xingnian let out a cold sneer. Switched targets so quickly? Truly stopping at nothing to achieve his goal.

After Song Zhiyuan left one afternoon, Fu Can turned around to see Fu Xingnian in the living room and greeted him. Fu Xingnian gave a noncommittal hum before casually asking, “Is that your boyfriend?”

Fu Can hurried to clarify: “Uncle, don’t talk nonsense. He’s not my boyfriend, we’re just friends… well, just best friends for now.” Thinking his uncle had forgotten who the boy was, he added, “His name is Song Zhiyuan. You met him at my birthday party a few days ago.”

“You’ve been together a lot lately. He’s really not your boyfriend?”

At this, Fu Can’s face turned bright red, and he stammered, “Uncle, really, he’s not. We’re just good friends. Don’t say things like that… we’re only friends right now.”

Fu Xingnian laughed slightly. “If he’s not, he’s not. Why are you so nervous?”

Fu Can was nervous because if Song Zhiyuan heard that, he might be unhappy. He had secretly liked Song Zhiyuan for a long time, but he didn’t know the boy’s sexual orientation. If Song Zhiyuan were straight and found out, he might loathe him. He could only stay by his side as a friend.

Fu Can was also a bit flattered; his uncle had proactively spoken so much to him today and even inquired about his life. This prompted him to share more: “Uncle, it’s like this: in a few days, a friend of ours has a birthday, so we’ve been planning a surprise together. That’s why we’ve been meeting more often. It’s really not what you think.”

“Oh.”

Fu Can couldn’t help but brag about Song Zhiyuan: “Zhiyuan is great at studying. He was first in our class on the college entrance exam and third in the whole school.”

“You have a very good relationship?”

“Very good,” Fu Can said proudly. “I am his best friend.”

Whenever Song Zhiyuan was mentioned, Fu Can became exceptionally talkative. His eyes would brighten, and he looked both shy and excited—the hallmark of a young man in the first flushes of love. Fu Xingnian understood: Fu Can liked Song Zhiyuan but didn’t dare let him know.

After the Fu Group’s independently developed product hit the market, the company’s stock jumped significantly, netting the group hundreds of billions. It was an occasion worth celebrating, and Fu Xingnian’s friends naturally wanted to host a party for him.

The chosen venue was, of course, that exclusive club. The manager skillfully and eagerly led Fu Xingnian’s group through the corridors to his private VIP suite. The club became extraordinarily lively at night, but due to excellent soundproofing, the hallways remained relatively quiet.

Each suite had a small glass panel that allowed a glimpse into the room. However, the patrons here were all people of high status; no one would peak inside, and the staff certainly didn’t dare to look.

Shortly after the group sat down, waiters began bringing in drinks and fruit. A friend asked if they should call over some celebrities to liven things up. Fu Xingnian didn’t seem particularly interested today and just said, “Whatever.”

The manager standing nearby quickly recommended the club’s male models, claiming several new arrivals were exceptionally handsome. This caught the others’ attention, and they told the manager to bring them in. Soon, several models entered—fresh faces, indeed quite young and good-looking. The man to Fu Xingnian’s left waved a hand, indicating they should all stay.

One model cautiously sat beside Fu Xingnian to pour him a drink, but Fu Xingnian’s gaze landed on the very last waiter to enter the room.

The waiters all wore uniform work clothes white shirts and black trousers. It was a very ordinary uniform. But on this boy, it felt different. Both the shirt and pants were far too loose for him; the oversized clothes and the belt at his waist only served to emphasize how thin his waist was. It looked as if a single hand could encircle it entirely, and as if it would easily bruise.

A friend sitting next to Fu Xingnian noticed his gaze and followed it, taking a sharp breath. Even in the dim, uncertain light, the boy’s face was clean and beautiful. The friend considered himself a man who had seen countless people and celebrities, but he had never seen a boy this handsome; no wonder Fu Xingnian was looking.

Fu Xingnian watched Song Zhiyuan with a flat gaze. Song Zhiyuan was half-squatting, his fair, beautiful hands holding bottles as he neatly arranged the drinks on the table. Once finished, he asked, “Hello, would you like me to open these for you?”

He addressed the man closest to him. The man looked at him and said, “Open them all.”

Song Zhiyuan began opening the bottles. Perhaps because he was unpracticed or because the caps were difficult, his pale fingers soon flushed a faint pink. The man stared at his hands, wondering what they would look like if gripped tightly.

Once they were all open, the man asked him, “Can you drink?”

“Not really,” Song Zhiyuan replied.

The man laughed and handed him a freshly opened bottle. “Drink it.”

Working here, refusing a guest’s drink would make them unhappy, and if a guest was unhappy, the night’s commission might vanish. It was just one bottle of beer. Song Zhiyuan took the bottle with both hands.

Everyone in the suite instinctively looked at him. Song Zhiyuan tilted his head back slightly, his pink lips against the bottle, his eyes half-closed. His long, thick lashes fluttered slightly. The liquid in the bottle swayed, and with a soft, barely audible swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

As the liquid vanished, some of the amber fluid escaped the corner of his mouth, slowly trickling down his slender neck, over his sexy collarbone, and finally disappearing into his white shirt, dampening the fabric. It made him look even more alluring.

One of the models looked at Song Zhiyuan and thought: Lucky this guy is just a regular waiter.

After the bottle was empty, a faint pink flush rose to Song Zhiyuan’s cheeks. The boy was simply too beautiful; the men in the room all wanted him to stay. They hadn’t seen this waiter before; he was likely new, as his every gesture carried a hint of clumsiness and greenness.

The man took a liking to him. “You, stay. Sit next to me.”

The commission for staying was much higher than that of a regular waiter. Song Zhiyuan stole a glance at Fu Xingnian. He had to admit, the man was truly handsome from every angle—an aggressive, commanding kind of handsome. But since he had entered, Fu Xingnian hadn’t looked at him once, choosing instead to drink with the model beside him.

Just as Song Zhiyuan was about to move toward the man, a voice rang out, neither heavy nor light:

“Come here.”