What Bad Intentions Could a Spoiled Little Brat Possibly have? - Chapter 23

“Good boy.”

Cheng Huai had already kicked away most of the quilt. Beneath the rolled-up hem of his shirt, sections of his waist pale and delicate as white leeks were exposed. Further down were the full, rounded curves of his buttocks, rubbing against the bedsheets as he twisted restlessly.

His legs were clamped around the quilt, his fingers scratching helplessly at the sheets. His sweat-drenched face was tilted back as he lay there, looking like a fish stranded on the shore, his lips parted in a difficult gasp for air as if he might suffocate from lack of oxygen at any second.

Fu Zheng forced himself to look away, placing the water glass and the medicine bottle on the nightstand.

He pulled the discarded quilt back over him, swiftly covering that alluring, spring-like scenery. Then, he slid one hand behind Cheng Huai’s damp neck and pulled the boy, quilt and all, into his arms.

Cheng Huai leaned limply against Fu Zheng’s shoulder, his burning cheek buried deep in the lapel of the man’s clothes. The cool, crisp scent lingering on Fu Zheng seemed to be his only antidote, and he greedily drank in that sense of security.

“Brother…” Cheng Huai whispered his name incessantly.

With one hand, Fu Zheng unscrewed the medicine bottle and poured three white tablets into the cap. He set the cap on the table, then gently squeezed Cheng Huai’s chin, forcing him to open his mouth to place a tablet at the root of his tongue.

The bitter taste of the medicine spread instantly through his mouth. Cheng Huai’s entire face wrinkled in an instant, and his tongue instinctively tried to push the pill back out.

Fu Zheng tilted his chin up, closing his mouth for him. “Don’t spit it out.” He then picked up the water glass and brought it to Cheng Huai’s lips. “Open up.”

Cheng Huai let out a soft whine, unconsciously obeying Fu Zheng’s command. But the lingering bitterness wouldn’t fade; he gripped Fu Zheng’s arm aggrievedly, silently protesting in his heart.

Brother is bullying me while I feel bad. I’m never going to be nice to Brother again.

The process of feeding medicine and water was repeated twice more until the three tablets were finally swallowed.

“Good boy,” Fu Zheng stroked his back, praising him in a low voice.

The wait for the medicine to take effect was equally agonizing.

Unable to find relief, Cheng Huai began to bite his own fingers. His saliva wet his hand, and before long, it glistened with moisture.

“Brother, I want…”

In an incoherent state, the words a person spoke were even less filtered by thought.

As Cheng Huai felt the hard muscles of Fu Zheng’s body, he suddenly felt incredibly wronged. He felt as though his brother was no longer his brother, but had turned into a hard, silent stone statue. At the thought of this, he couldn’t help but burst into tears.

It was impossible to tell if the tears were from physical discomfort or emotional distress. Cheng Huai gripped the collar of Fu Zheng’s dress shirt tightly, wrinkling the once-smooth fabric into a mess.

“Wooo… your body is so hard…” Cheng Huai complained while kicking the quilt helplessly, struggling to roll over to the other side of the bed.

A dark cloud loomed over Fu Zheng’s expression. He laid Cheng Huai flat on the bed and stood by the bedside, watching the youth sob helplessly and piteously.

“Brother, can you help me…” Cheng Huai repeated the phrase over and over, reaching out to Fu Zheng with a gaze full of supplication.

Fu Zheng leaned down and caught his wrist. The scars there were winding and distorted—and there was more than one.

As he traced the texture of those scars, dark thoughts began to grow wildly in his heart. He knew all too well what he wanted to do at this moment.

Instead of giving Cheng Huai medicine, he wanted to kiss those pale lips forcefully. He wanted to press the crook of his thumb against that fragile throat and watch him shed tears as he obediently surrendered everything. He wanted to imprison him in a corner where only he could reach, making the boy belong solely to him, so that he would be the only one allowed to see every version of him…

This terrifying thought had flashed through his mind more than once. Time and again, he had forced himself to push Cheng Huai away. But having held out until now, his proud composure and self-restraint seemed to have been torn open by a crack.

Fu Zheng stroked the lines of the scars, suddenly snapping back to reality. During the years he had been absent, what exactly had this person the one he had always carefully protected behind his back endured all alone?

Once upon a time, Cheng Huai’s arrival in this world had been like a beam of intense, unavoidable sunlight that pierced through his own scarred and battered heart.

In the home where he had lived for six years, he had always naively believed that Cheng Jiayun and Chang Shu were his biological parents.

Until an accident cruelly stripped away the truth: not only did he share no blood relation with this couple, but he had no connection to this so-called “home” at all.

Fu Zheng closed his eyes, bitterness surging in his memory. Had it not been for that accident, he might have enjoyed a few more years of false warmth under the shadow of ignorance. But beautiful dreams are always fragile. In his brief life, that illusory happiness had been particularly fleeting.

And Cheng Jiayun and Chang Shu were the culprits who had personally shattered it all.

It was a rainy afternoon. The months of August and September in southern cities can never escape the plum rain season, and that year was no exception.

At that time, he was six years old. He wasn’t called Fu Zheng yet; he was Cheng Zheng, the eldest son of Cheng Jiayun and Chang Shu in name.

Chang Shu had become pregnant a year prior and was currently close to giving birth. The entire family’s attention was fixed on the new life about to be born; no one cared how this six-year-old child got to school, ate, or slept every day.

But the young Fu Zheng had long since grown accustomed to this neglected life. Or rather, in his childish perception, this didn’t even count as neglect.

He only knew that if he wasn’t “good” or sensible, his parents would treat him coldly. If he tried hard to perform well, he might earn a reluctant smile. Before the age of six, he had never experienced the feeling of being cherished in the palm of someone’s hand; he even naively thought this was the normal way for parents and children to interact.

At six, he had already learned to cook simple meals to fill his stomach.

Because his parents were often not home, no one naturally concerned themselves with whether he was fed or warm especially after a new baby was in his mother’s belly. Even seeing his parents once became a luxury.

In the empty villa at night, he was often the only one left. Whether it was the roar of thunder or the howling wind and rain, he could only curl up in bed, clutching the corner of his quilt for dear life.

Over time, he thought he had conquered the fear of being alone. Only later did he realize it was merely a numbness to fear.

On the day of the heavy rain, school was forced to close early. He left school ahead of time but missed the school bus because he had been stayed behind for cleaning duty.

He didn’t have an umbrella. He watched as his classmates were all picked up by their parents, but he didn’t know who to turn to for help.

Fortunately, the school wasn’t too far from home, and he ran back through the rain. When he stood at the front door, soaked to the bone, he was surprised to find his parents’ shoes in the entryway.

In that moment, his heart leaped with joy. But looking down at his drenched, “drowned rat” appearance, he hurriedly stopped. He would definitely be disliked looking like this.

He quietly put down his schoolbag, intending to go up to the second floor to take a hot bath first and then prepare dinner. That way, when his parents saw him, they would see a clean and tidy child, and perhaps they could even share a warm dinner together.

His bedroom was at the far end of the second floor; to get there, he had to pass the study.

Just as he was tiptoeing past the half-ajar door, the conversation coming from inside made him freeze in his tracks.

“Maybe… we should just send him back.” Cheng Jiayun’s voice drifted through the crack in the door, his tone carrying an impatience that wasn’t usually there, mixed with a hint of regret for having done something wrong.

Fu Zheng’s footsteps instantly stiffened. Rainwater from his wet bangs slid down his cheek—one drop, two drops gradually forming a small puddle by his feet.

He knew eavesdropping was wrong, but in that moment, he felt as if an invisible force had nailed him to the spot. As a young child, he didn’t yet understand what a “premonition” was; he only felt his heart grow heavy, as if something important was breaking.

“Send him back? You make it sound so easy!” Chang Shu’s sharp voice broke the silence of the room. “We’ve raised him for six years. Now you’re saying we should just send him away? What if he makes a scene?”

Fu Zheng unconsciously clenched his fists. The Chang Shu of this moment was a different person entirely from the gentle and kind mother in his memory.

Although Chang Shu wasn’t close to him, she had always been gentle and amiable. He had believed the most beautiful and gentle person in the world was his own mother.

“I told you long ago that we shouldn’t have used this method! What ‘indirect route’ of adopting a child first? It was completely absurd!” Cheng Jiayun’s voice was trembling. Peering through the crack in the door, he was clutching his hair in agony, slumped into the sofa.

“Absurd? Cheng Jiayun, we’ve been married for six years, and I’ve been trying to conceive for five! There wasn’t a single sign of movement in my belly! Who was the one who vowed that he’d get me a child no matter what? And the result? That mistress of yours won’t even let you touch me! I’ve never interfered with your sexual orientation; I’ve always played the role of the good wife in front of both our families. But you? You couldn’t even keep the most basic promise!”

“Why bring up those old stories now?” Cheng Jiayun wiped his face irritably. “Didn’t you say back then that since we couldn’t conceive, we should adopt one first? What’s the use of saying this now? The priority is to find a way to get rid of the kid.”

His voice suddenly lowered, carrying a trace of reluctance: “After all… we’ve raised him for six years. Even though we didn’t look after him much, it really doesn’t feel great to just send him away.”

“Cheng Jiayun, let me tell you!” Chang Shu’s voice suddenly spiked. “Clean up your own mess! The family property can only be left to the child in my belly. As for the older one, send him back to wherever he came from! Whether you send him away or sell him, I don’t care. If you don’t handle it well, don’t blame me for tearing things apart with your family!”

Cheng Jiayun’s expression changed instantly. He immediately adopted a placating tone: “Chang Shu, don’t get upset; it’s not good for the baby. I’ll go contact the orphanage from back then right away and see if we can take him back.”

The puddle on the floor grew larger and larger. Cold rainwater kept dripping down Fu Zheng’s trouser legs. The overwhelming amount of information left the six-year-old completely at a loss.

From that conversation, he pieced together the cruel truth.

He wasn’t their biological child. And the parents who had raised him for six years were currently plotting how to abandon him.

With nothing but the deafening sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, Fu Zheng completely forgot why he had been so joyfully heading upstairs. He only felt something warm on his face, mixing with the icy rainwater, falling together into the growing puddle at his feet.

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