What Bad Intentions Could a Spoiled Little Brat Possibly have? - Chapter 20.1

Missing Brother to the Point of Madness

Who “he” was, Richard did not fully know, but what Richard did know was that Fu Zheng had once let himself fall into utter heartbreak and agonizing despair because of “him.”

Later, with great difficulty, he had managed to restore himself to that cold, indifferent state abstaining from tobacco and alcohol as if that period of collapse was merely a severed alternate personality that had nothing to do with his current self.

Looking at Fu Zheng’s expression now, Richard knew his guess was mostly correct.

“Are you that bored?” Fu Zheng held a cigarette between his fingers, casually picked up a glass, and took a sip of the alcohol.

“It’s not that I’m bored; it’s that those ladies over there have been watching you. They want your contact information and sent me to scout you out.” Richard leaned in closer, tilting his head to indicate the direction. “Well? Interested in getting to know them?”

Fu Zheng extinguished his cigarette and gave him a silent look.

Richard suddenly covered his mouth in an exaggerated fashion, feigning shock: “Oh my god! I almost forgot you like men. It seems this beautiful lady is destined for a sleepless night.” Richard’s tone carried a deliberately crafted sense of pity.

Fu Zheng picked up the nearly empty bottle and stood up to walk toward the wine cabinet.

Richard immediately grew alert, reaching out to block him: “What are you doing?”

Fu Zheng’s demeanor was listless. He raised an eyebrow and gave him a defiant look, calling out his name: “Richard.”

Richard shook his head in confusion.

Fu Zheng spoke bluntly: “Have you considered switching back to your mother tongue?”

“Of course not! Is my Chinese not standard? Little Fu-Fu, you don’t understand. This is called ‘When in Rome—'” Richard’s tone suddenly turned sharp: “Wait, wait a minute. You’re still drinking? Do you want to die?”

He snatched the bottle from Fu Zheng’s hand, slammed the wine cabinet shut, and frowned as he summoned a server. “Exchange this for a pot of Da Hong Pao tea.”

Fu Zheng stood there with one hand in his pocket, showing no signs of drunkenness. “You’re turning down a business deal given to you for free?”

“Am I lacking for your business?” Richard dropped his joking expression, pressed Fu Zheng back onto the sofa, and poured a cup of tea. He set it on the table with a thud, splashing water everywhere. “What is actually going on?”

At the mention of this, a dark cloud gathered over Fu Zheng’s brow. He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted.

Richard truly couldn’t understand. With Fu Zheng’s current status and power, shouldn’t getting the person he liked be as easy as reaching out his hand?

There were many times he wondered if it was because foreigners’ emotions were too outward, making it impossible for him to understand the overly restrained and internalized emotions of Chinese people.

“If it really doesn’t work, why don’t you just force him?” Richard offered a terrible suggestion. “I’m really curious—who exactly is this holy figure who can turn you into this half-human, half-ghost wreck? You can’t even handle the person you like; you are truly a disgrace to our kind!”

The more Richard spoke, the angrier he got. Feeling that there was a lack of booze on the table, he beckoned a server and had a bottle of Hennessy Richard opened. He poured himself half a glass and downed it in one go.

As the strong liquor hit his throat, Richard’s face flushed within three minutes. He ruffled his hair messily, his previous elegant grace vanishing instantly.

Fu Zheng: “?”

He half-closed his eyes, not quite understanding Richard’s erratic behavior.

“What madness has gripped you?” Fu Zheng asked, amused.

“I’m angry! I’m sad! Did you try? Did you fight for it? You just look like you’re half-dead. Back in my day back in my day, I—!” Richard suddenly choked on his words. He seemed to think of something and stopped halfway.

“You what?”

“I…” Richard downed a few more gulps of alcohol. The booze had completely gone to his head. Stirred by some old sorrow, he actually began to wail and sob, not forgetting to reach out an arm to hug Fu Zheng.

“Fine, fine, fine.” Fu Zheng patted his shoulder, thinking to himself: Who is supposed to be comforting whom?

For the next week, Cheng Huai lived under the collective gaze of everyone.

Fu Zheng had many pursuers. He originally thought he was accustomed to such situations, but this time seemed more aggressive.

Initially, people were just curious about what kind of person could receive special treatment from Fu Zheng.

But gradually, when they discovered that Cheng Huai seemed to have no merits other than a hot body and striking looks, that curiosity began to sour.

They could not accept that the god in their hearts was being tainted by a “vase” who was all style and no substance. Resentment began to fester in the shadows.

Furthermore, since the forum leak, Fu Zheng had never appeared to respond, and he was rarely seen on campus. More and more people began to conclude that this was merely a self-scripted publicity stunt by Cheng Huai a new type of “clinging” pursuit tactic.

Thus, that dissatisfaction quietly fermented into an omnipresent malice that followed Cheng Huai like a shadow.

In the classroom, a ring of seats around him would always be eerily empty, as if an invisible barrier isolated him.

In the library, seats he had clearly reserved would always be snatched away by others, who would even slam their books onto the table provocatively.

Even in the cafeteria, in the brief moment it took for him to turn around to go to the restroom, he would return to find his lunchbox flipped onto the floor, with soup snaking across the ground in a messy trail.

In an instant, Cheng Huai became the target of public criticism. People avoided him like the plague while simultaneously taking pleasure in giving him the cold shoulder and bullying him.

“A bunch of blind idiots!!” Gu Siming shouted in the cafeteria, holding his freshly served meal. He kicked a nearby empty chair in anger, only to end up clutching his ankle and grimacing in pain from the impact.

Cheng Huai had only gone to grab a pair of chopsticks when his lunchbox was flipped again.

Today, Uncle Wang had brought his favorite Tom Yum soup, but now it was spilled all over the floor, the orange-red liquid spreading across the tiles.

Gu Siming leaned in cautiously and said, “Huaibao, eat with me. I don’t believe they’d dare flip mine too.”

“It’s fine.” Cheng Huai looked at the overturned tray and smiled. “You guys eat first.” His expression was calm as he found a cleaning lady to borrow a mop, leaning down to clean up the mess bit by bit.

While cleaning the stains, he accidentally got some soup on the back of his hand. The sour, greasy smell clung to him; even after wiping repeatedly with wet tissues, the scent remained. Cheng Huai simply carried the mop and went to the restroom.

Water rushed over the back of his hand. Once it was clean, Cheng Huai cupped some water and washed his face.

“Shameless b*tch… trying to seduce the Senior this way.”

Cheng Huai turned off the faucet. Water droplets rolled down his jaw.

“Look at him; who knows how many times he’s been slept with…”

“Probably just begging for it… tried to offer himself to the Senior, but the guy ignored him…”

“See those cheeks? So perky, they must feel great to pinch…”

“Gross… a male prostitute.”

Revolting laughter drifted from the stalls.

Cheng Huai looked at his expressionless face in the mirror. He pulled out a paper towel and slowly dried every finger. Just as he was about to leave, more gossip drifted from the stall.

“Forget it. You really think Fu Zheng is some kind of saint?”

“Hey, hey, I heard about that too. I wonder if it’s true…”

His body reacted faster than his thoughts.

Cheng Huai picked up the bucket of mop water, walked to the front of the stall making the noise, used the mop handle to jam the door latch, and raised his hand to pour the entire bucket of dirty water over the top.

“Holy sh*t!!!!”

“Which bastard did that!! F*ck!!”

The stall door was kicked violently, and a stream of foul language erupted.

“Who the fck is out there? Open the door! Motherfcker, don’t let me catch you!!”

“I’ll f*cking kill you, you XXXXX—”

Cheng Huai put down the bucket, pulled a lighter from his pocket, and flipped the cap. The rhythmic click-clack of the metal mingled with the curses inside like a bizarre concerto.

Once the shouting weakened slightly, Cheng Huai reached into the paper towel dispenser, balled up all the tissues, lit them with the lighter, and tossed the flaming ball into the stall.

The person inside seemed to be burned, letting out a series of frantic shrieks.

“Ahhh! You idiot!!”

“I’m burning to death! Ahhh! Ow!!”

Amidst the deafening sound of the door being pounded, Cheng Huai returned to the sink. He pumped the soap, lathered it, and meticulously scrubbed every knuckle.

The running water rinsed away the white foam. He reached for the hand dryer. As the warm air enveloped his fingertips, the curses from the stall had turned into low, howling moans.

Before walking out of the restroom, Cheng Huai composed his expression in the mirror. The corners of his lips curved into a gentle arc, and the malice in his eyes vanished completely, as if the person who had just calmly carried out that retaliation had never existed.

Lunch was completely out of the question, and Cheng Huai had lost all interest in staying at the cafeteria.

Since there were no classes in the afternoon, he gave Gu Siming a brief explanation and left campus with his bag.

He wandered aimlessly to the school gate and hailed a taxi. It wasn’t until he spoke an address that Cheng Huai buried his face in the crook of his arm and took a deep breath.

He missed Fu Zheng.

He missed him until his heart ached, until every inch of his skin screamed that name.

He missed him to the point of going mad.

The nerves in his temples throbbed, and his heartbeat accelerated in the surging waves of longing, nearly crashing through his ribs.

I want Brother. I want to see Brother. I want to be held in Brother’s arms… These thoughts spun in his mind like a demonic mantra.

Cheng Huai pinched his arm hard, trying to use the pain to maintain clarity. It wasn’t until the driver reminded him they had arrived that he looked up in a daze, realizing the taxi had stopped in front of a magnificent glass-walled skyscraper.

The outer wall was embedded with four cold, metallic characters: “Yunhuan Technology.”

Cheng Huai froze. The address he had subconsciously given was actually Fu Zheng’s corporate headquarters.

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