The Wealthy Old Man’s Palm-Sized Pet - Chapter 5

The private room fell into a sudden silence. Fu Xingnian’s friends looked at him in surprise, then at the beautiful waiter. Under the collective gaze, Song Zhiyuan maintained a slight, polite smile. “I’m sorry, sir, but this gentleman called me over first.”

His tone and gaze were perfectly practiced as if he were meeting Fu Xingnian for the very first time. The other models in the room broke into a cold sweat for him. Even as newcomers, they knew Fu Xingnian was someone you never, ever offended. Yet here was a part-time college student daring to speak to him like that.

The atmosphere turned eerie. The friend who had initially called for Song Zhiyuan quickly backed off, not wanting to “compete” with Fu Xingnian. Song Zhiyuan took his seat next to Fu Xingnian, while the previous model tactfully moved elsewhere.

The tension was only a brief interlude. The men returned to their drinking and revelry, and in the dim light, no one noticed that Song Zhiyuan’s ears were burning red. He had never actually been in a situation like this before. To mask his nerves, he blinked and looked at Fu Xingnian. “Mr. Fu, let me pour your wine.”

Fu Xingnian watched him. “Do you know what it means to ‘stay’?”

Song Zhiyuan thought for a moment and whispered, “Pouring wine?”

Clearly, he didn’t fully understand. Fu Xingnian’s glass was empty. This time, Song Zhiyuan didn’t fill it to the brim as he had before, but poured it to the perfect level before handing it over. On the wide sofa, Fu Xingnian sat imperiously, making Song Zhiyuan look like a small, delicate creature beside him.

Because of the beer he’d drunk earlier, Song Zhiyuan’s cheeks were flushed a light pink. He carried a faint, sweet scent—like a freshly ripened Hami melon. It was a refreshing, novel, and pleasant fragrance. Fu Xingnian’s gaze drifted to the boy’s shirt, which was still slightly damp and clinging to his skin from the spilled alcohol.

Song Zhiyuan looked as if he had accidentally stumbled into a world of debauchery, gazing at Fu Xingnian with innocent, wide eyes. Suddenly, Fu Xingnian reached out and pulled the boy toward him. Song Zhiyuan fell into his arms, colliding with his firm chest. Up close, the scent of Fu Xingnian’s perfume was sharp and biting—much like the man himself—but it was intoxicatingly good.

Perhaps hurt by the collision, Song Zhiyuan’s eyes shimmered with a faint, misty glaze.

“Drink this,” Fu Xingnian commanded, handing him the glass he had just sipped from seconds ago.

Following Fu Xingnian’s lead, Song Zhiyuan’s lips touched the rim of the glass. By chance or design, they touched the exact spot Fu Xingnian’s lips had been. The cool wine slid down his throat, a bit too sharp; the burn forced a tear to the corner of his eye, leaving his lids rimmed with red. He looked like someone begging to be bullied.

Song Zhiyuan finished the wine quickly. Fu Xingnian stared at the droplets remaining on the rim. “You didn’t drink it all.”

Song Zhiyuan’s tongue darted out, quickly and delicately licking the remaining drops into his mouth. When he looked up, he saw Fu Xingnian staring at him. He offered an innocent smile. “Mr. Fu?”

Fu Xingnian flicked his eyelids, and Song Zhiyuan understood the signal immediately, refilling the glass. He expected to be made to drink again, but Fu Xingnian drained it himself. After that, he didn’t ask the boy to drink any more. Song Zhiyuan breathed a secret sigh of relief; he really wasn’t a drinker and would have been drunk in a few more rounds.

A plate of fresh, imported fruit was placed before them. A deep red, juicy strawberry caught Fu Xingnian’s eye. Thinking he wanted it, Song Zhiyuan moved the plate closer. Instead, Fu Xingnian picked up a large, dark red berry and fed it to Song Zhiyuan.

Song Zhiyuan’s white teeth bit into the fruit, the flesh vivid red and dripping with juice. A bit of the sweet nectar escaped the corner of his mouth. The air between them filled with the scent of strawberries, and Song Zhiyuan’s lips grew flushed and vivid from the juice. He took a small bite, leaving neat teeth marks on the fruit.

Fu Xingnian remained unruffled, pushing the rest of the strawberry into the boy’s mouth. “Eat it all.”

The strawberry was so large it puffed out Song Zhiyuan’s cheeks. He chewed slowly, looking at Fu Xingnian with those beautiful eyes that could make anyone—except, perhaps, Fu Xingnian—feel a surge of pity. As more juice threatened to spill, Fu Xingnian reached out and wiped it away with his thumb.

Touching the skin, Fu Xingnian’s pupils contracted slightly; it was incredibly delicate. His thumb moved with some force, causing a faint pink mark on the boy’s fair face. Song Zhiyuan looked up with a pleading gaze, his mouth full, unable to swallow all at once. He didn’t realize that such a look only made one want to tease him more. Fu Xingnian’s thumb ground heavily against the boy’s lips until the fruit was finally gone.

“Is it good?” Fu Xingnian asked.

“Yes,” Song Zhiyuan replied honestly.

By the end of the night, Song Zhiyuan had eaten every strawberry on the plate. He felt a bit stuffed and secretly patted his stomach. He had spent the whole night being fed by Fu Xingnian without knowing what the man’s intentions were.

“Mr. Fu,” Song Zhiyuan whispered after swallowing the last bite. “Have you decided? Can you help me?”

Fu Xingnian looked at the beautiful face so beautiful it was hard to read. He disliked the feeling of being unable to maintain total control. “You aren’t my type.”

“Oh,” Song Zhiyuan replied, his expression unchanging. “Mr. Fu, can I leave then? I still have to work.”

His tone was calm and devoid of lingering attachment, as if his cooperation all night had merely been part of the job. Fu Xingnian looked at him. The white shirt was stained with juice, and a button at the top had gone missing, revealing a glimpse of collarbone. The white skin was startling in the dim room.

Fu Xingnian threw his jacket at him. “Wear it.”

Fu Xingnian’s clothes were high-end custom pieces, and the quality was obvious to the touch. Song Zhiyuan knew that if he ruined the jacket, he couldn’t afford the dry-cleaning bill. He tried to hand it back. “Thank you, but I don’t need it.”

“Put it on,” Fu Xingnian said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

The people in the suite watched as Song Zhiyuan left wearing Fu Xingnian’s jacket. They knew very few people were ever allowed to touch the man’s clothes. In the corridor, the manager’s eyes nearly popped out when he saw the boy.

Song Zhiyuan clocked out at 3:00 AM and changed back into his own clothes. The early summer morning was cool and quiet, the air fresh. Standing on the deserted street, Song Zhiyuan pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes given to him by a colleague. He didn’t smoke, but he wanted a boost of energy.

A beautiful boy standing alone at night with a cigarette was a sight that made people want to protect him. Just as he lit it, a voice came from behind: “Excuse me, can I borrow a light?”

Song Zhiyuan tried to hand over the lighter, but the young man shook his head. He leaned in, the tip of his own cigarette touching the glowing end of Song Zhiyuan’s. From behind, the pose looked like a kiss.

Song Zhiyuan froze for a second before regaining his composure; he’d seen people borrow lights this way before. As the man straightened up, Song Zhiyuan saw his face he was a patron from the club. The man blew a cloud of smoke and smiled. “You don’t actually smoke.”

He’d noticed it took Song Zhiyuan several tries to light it, and the way he held it was clumsy. Song Zhiyuan gave a small smile, embarrassed to be found out. Encouraged by the interaction, the man offered: “It’s late, let me drive you home.”

Before Song Zhiyuan could answer, a luxury car pulled up beside them. The window rolled down to reveal a face shrouded in shadow. The man in the car glanced at Song Zhiyuan.

Song Zhiyuan turned to the young man. “Thank you, but no need. I’m leaving now.”