The Wealthy Old Man’s Palm-Sized Pet - Chapter 9

September is the season for school to start. While other freshmen were accompanied by their families, Song Zhiyuan was alone carrying his suitcase, queuing, and paying fees all by himself. He handled all the procedures solo before taking his dormitory key to the residential building.

As he walked through the campus, many seniors both male and female approached him enthusiastically to offer help. Some even tried to grab his luggage and walk off with it, all invariably asking for his contact information. Song Zhiyuan declined them all.

His luggage wasn’t heavy, and he easily reached his dorm. One roommate had already arrived: Sui Tang. Shortly after, the other two roommates, Wang Meng and Zhi Chenyu, arrived as well. All four were from City H and had reported to school on their own. They chatted as they unpacked, eventually agreeing to go out for a celebratory barbecue dinner.

Song Zhiyuan agreed, thinking that Fu Xingnian was away on a business trip and hadn’t contacted him for three days; he likely wouldn’t show up tonight.

That evening, the four boys headed to a barbecue joint near the school. They ordered a large quantity of lamb skewers, boiled peanuts, and edamame. Wang Meng, who turned out to be the oldest and therefore the “dorm head,” ordered a few bottles of beer.

While the other three had already celebrated their 19th birthdays, Song Zhiyuan was still 18. In fact, they had doubted he was even an adult until they saw his ID and realized his birthday actually fell on the day of the College Entrance Exam.

As they ate and drank, Sui Tang noticed a mark on Song Zhiyuan’s collarbone. Though it had faded, his sharp eyes still caught it. “Zhiyuan, what’s that on your collarbone? Is it an injury or a birthmark? It actually looks quite nice.”

Against Song Zhiyuan’s milky-white skin, the faint purple mark looked like a butterfly. Sui Tang, having never been in a relationship, didn’t think twice about it, especially since Song Zhiyuan looked so “well-behaved.”

Song Zhiyuan casually pulled up his collar. “I think it was a mosquito bite.”

“What kind of mosquito bites that hard?” Sui Tang asked.

“A poisonous one,” Song Zhiyuan replied.

Wang Meng and Zhi Chenyu, though also inexperienced, knew exactly what that mark was. They watched with “fatherly” expressions as Sui Tang actually started recommending effective mosquito repellents. Wang Meng eventually stuffed a lamb skewer into Sui Tang’s mouth to shut him up. “Just eat.”

While they were eating, Song Zhiyuan’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Fu Xingnian.

He had actually returned. Song Zhiyuan had been quietly happy to have a few days of rest, but it seemed his freedom had ended sooner than expected.

Song Zhiyuan: [Mr. Fu, can I come tomorrow instead?] Fu Xingnian: [Reason.] Song Zhiyuan: [I’m out having barbecue with my roommates.] Fu Xingnian: [Address.]

Song Zhiyuan sighed inwardly—the man simply never listened to excuses. He sent the address.

Half an hour later, a luxury car pulled up across from the shop. Song Zhiyuan recognized it immediately and told his roommates he had to leave. Sui Tang, who was already a bit tipsy after two beers, clung to Song Zhiyuan’s arm. “Are you coming back to the dorm tonight?”

“Probably not,” Song Zhiyuan said. Sui Tang stumbled and ended up leaning his head on Song Zhiyuan’s shoulder before Wang Meng pulled him away.

Song Zhiyuan crossed the street and opened the car door. He was surprised to see Fu Xingnian actually sitting in the back. “Mr. Fu, you’re back?”

“Why did it take you so long to come over?” Fu Xingnian asked tonelessly.

“I was saying a few words to my roommates,” Song Zhiyuan said, sitting beside him. Seeing the man’s cold expression, he turned on his “spoiled” charm. “Mr. Fu, I was wrong. I missed you.”

Fu Xingnian’s expression softened slightly, and he handed Song Zhiyuan a bag. It was the first time Fu Xingnian had given him a gift personally rather than through Chu Wei. “A back-to-school gift.”

It was a pair of limited-edition sneakers. Song Zhiyuan was genuinely happy. As he leaned down to look at them, the marks on his collarbone became visible to Fu Xingnian, whose gaze darkened.

They went to the usual presidential suite. After showering, Song Zhiyuan emerged in his bathrobe and sat directly on Fu Xingnian’s lap. “Mr. Fu, I’m all washed up.”

Feeling the change in Fu Xingnian, Song Zhiyuan trembled slightly. After a few days of absence, he feared the man would be particularly relentless. “Mr. Fu,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “Can you… bite a little lighter? It leaves marks, and people see them.”

But his words fell on deaf ears. Fu Xingnian buried his face in the boy’s neck, savoring the sweet scent of Hami melon. He loved to “slow-taste” this fragrance.

Fu Xingnian enjoyed the boy’s reactions, Song Zhiyuan was like a kitten that would reveal its belly if teased just right. He was a delicate rose; a gentle touch made the dew slide from the petals.

Song Zhiyuan was turned over, his hands propped against the sofa. He heard the sound of clothing being unfastened behind him.

Much later, Song Zhiyuan lay on the bed, utterly drained and parched. When he struggled to reach for water, a bottle was held out to him. He tried several times but couldn’t twist the cap; Fu Xingnian took it back, opened it, and handed it over again.

After a rest, Song Zhiyuan whispered, “Mr. Fu, we have military training in a few days…”

Fu Xingnian looked at the vivid marks on the boy’s collarbone. “What are you trying to say?”

Song Zhiyuan, feeling sore all over, bargained softly: “Can you… not be so fierce before training starts?”

“We’ll see,” Fu Xingnian replied.