What Bad Intentions Could a Spoiled Little Brat Possibly have? - Chapter 5

“What, do you want me to feed you?”

“Come downstairs.”

Fu Zheng’s reply came quickly.

The smile at the corners of Cheng Huai’s mouth gradually widened. He tossed the razor blade into the trash can, rinsed the sink clean, and pulled out two tissues to casually wipe the beads of blood continuously welling up from his palm. With light steps, he ran to the dormitory balcony and glanced down.

The black Panamera was parked under the goldenrain tree next to the dormitory building, its body half-hidden in the tree’s shadow and half-illuminated by the sunlight.

Cheng Huai did an excited little twirl on the spot, clutched his phone tightly, and rushed downstairs.

Not long after Fu Zheng sent the message, he saw a figure dash out of the dormitory entrance, a radiant smile hanging on his face.

Cheng Huai naturally pulled open the passenger door and sat inside. He immediately held out his hand flat in front of Fu Zheng and said, “Brother, it hurts so much. Brother, blow on it for me.”

He was still using the same old spoiled act from when he was a child.

Fu Zheng glanced at Cheng Huai, noticed the lingering bread crumbs at the corner of his mouth, and only then let his gaze fall upon the palm held out before him.

What was originally just a burn now had several additional bloodstains out of nowhere, with bright red beads of blood seeping out.

There was a look of scrutiny in Fu Zheng’s eyes. “How did you fall?”

His arms were long; he turned sideways to grab a brown paper bag from the back seat, which contained a full set of alcohol, iodine, and gauze.

“I was washing my military training uniform and accidentally slipped…” Cheng Huai fabricated a lie on the fly and rubbed his nose. Having waited a while without receiving Fu Zheng’s “blows,” his hand was getting tired from being held up, so he tried to pull it back.

“Stretch it out,” Fu Zheng commanded coldly.

Cheng Huai obediently flattened his palm again.

His slender wrist was gripped. Fu Zheng took out a cotton swab, dipped it in iodine, and applied it evenly over the wound.

In an instant, Cheng Huai’s body tensed up.

Fu Zheng’s palm was broad and warm, and the calluses on his palm rubbed against Cheng Huai’s delicate skin. It felt as if an electric current had passed through Cheng Huai’s entire body; a numbing sensation spread from his wrist bone all the way to his four limbs and bones, and that familiar itch began to ferment within his body again.

I want to hug Brother so badly.

Cheng Huai bit his lower lip, restraining his body’s impulses.

Fu Zheng was fully concentrated on disinfecting the wound for him, not noticing his restless unease.

To distract himself, Cheng Huai started moving around.

Since his left hand was being held by Fu Zheng, his right hand touched this and that, and he occasionally wrinkled his nose to sniff here and there.

There was no aromatherapy in the car, but there was the scent of the cologne Fu Zheng loved most, a fragrance that hadn’t changed in ten years.

Cheng Huai savored it carefully. He didn’t smell any other scents, but he still wasn’t at ease, so he asked out of the blue, “Brother, has anyone else sat in your passenger seat?”

“No,” Fu Zheng replied without looking up.

Cheng Huai’s mood improved by several notches, leading him to ask a question that was somewhat overstepping: “Brother, are you not living at the school now?”

“Why do you ask that?” Fu Zheng suddenly lifted his eyelids and shot him a look.

Cheng Huai’s brain short-circuited for a moment, and he stammered for a long while without being able to answer.

Fu Zheng reacted instantly and stopped his movements. “You studied computer science just for this, didn’t you?”

He had raised Cheng Huai himself; he knew exactly what mischief the boy was up to the moment he moved.

Seeing that nothing could escape Fu Zheng’s grasp, Cheng Huai simply gave up and tried to change the subject: “It hurts, Brother, blow on it.”

Fu Zheng didn’t feel like humoring him, but as he watched the iodine form a film on Cheng Huai’s palm, he still gave in to Cheng Huai’s request and blew gently.

Cheng Huai looked at Fu Zheng’s stern yet soft profile a side that was shown only to him.

“Why move out to live? Is it because Uncle Fu…”

“He’s dead.” Before Cheng Huai could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by two ice-cold words.

He said it so casually that at first listen, one might have thought he said “asleep” rather than “dead.”

Cheng Huai let out an “Ah?”, thinking he had misheard.

“He’s dead,” Fu Zheng repeated, as if he were talking about something insignificant.

Disinfecting the wound, bandaging, and tying the knot Fu Zheng performed the entire process effortlessly. Just like his fifteen years of taking care of Cheng Huai, it was etched into his very bones.

Cheng Huai’s wrist was released, and a wave of coolness rose where it had just been warm. He stared at the knot on the back of his hand, dazed for a few seconds; he was still processing the fact that “Uncle Fu is dead.”

“Cheng Huai,” Fu Zheng suddenly called him.

“Hmm?” Cheng Huai turned his head. He still wasn’t used to this form of address.

Since this reunion, Fu Zheng had called him by his full name every time, as if constantly reminding him that one of them was surnamed Fu and the other was surnamed Cheng.

But being called by his full name like this made his scalp go numb for some reason. He liked the feeling of being controlled by Fu Zheng, body and soul; that way, he could live under Fu Zheng’s protection forever, clinging to him for a lifetime.

Fu Zheng gazed at him quietly. The coldness in his eyes was stained by a dark inkiness, and the way he looked at Cheng Huai was like looking at prey. Finally, he spoke: “Have I not taught you that lying results in punishment?”

The youth’s lying skills were too clumsy; they were exactly the same after all these years.

Cheng Huai lowered his head and touched the gauze on his palm. Knowing he couldn’t hide anything from Fu Zheng, he confessed honestly: “You refused to see me, so I had no choice. Brother, I missed you so much. I sent you so many messages and you never replied. I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

As Cheng Huai spoke, tears began to fall. He expressed his obsession with Fu Zheng recklessly: “Brother, can you please hug me and kiss me? Otherwise, I feel like I’m going to die…”

Thinking of what he had been worried about before, Cheng Huai asked almost without thinking, “Brother, have you slept with anyone else?”

These words made the veins in Fu Zheng’s temples throb with anger. He pinched Cheng Huai’s chin, forcing the boy to face him. “Cheng Huai, you just don’t learn, do you?”

Fu Zheng’s gaze was gloomy, with a hard-to-capture fire hidden deep within his eyes, but on the surface, there was only a boundless calm. That calm itself was a bone-chilling detachment.

Cheng Huai crumbled under this gaze. Startled to his core, he decided to go all out and began to cough violently while covering his mouth.

It was as if he were going to cough out his lungs; his shoulders shook incessantly, and his small face turned deathly pale. Yet, he still kept tugging at Fu Zheng’s sleeve, calling “Brother, Brother, Brother” without stopping.

Recalling Yu Chuan’s diagnosis, Fu Zheng had no choice but to suppress the stomachful of anger he was harboring.

After a moment of silence, Fu Zheng leaned back against the seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stop acting. Get out of the car.”

The earth-shaking coughing stopped instantly. Cheng Huai’s eyes began to redden again. He gripped Fu Zheng’s clothes tightly, even pulling out the shirt Fu Zheng had tucked into his trousers.

Fearing that Fu Zheng would drive him away, he gritted his teeth and directly stood up, climbing over the partition between the front seats. He spread his legs and sat in Fu Zheng’s lap, leaning forward to throw his arms around Fu Zheng’s neck as two rows of tears immediately fell.

“Brother, I’m hungry. I want to eat the sweet osmanthus rice wine dumplings you make.” Cheng Huai sobbed uncontrollably, rubbing his tears onto Fu Zheng’s clothes. His pale face was covered in tears, and even the tip of his nose turned red from crying.

He tearfully accused, “I don’t dare to eat the school food. I’ve been gnawing on bread for two days. It tastes so bad. I’m so hungry.”

As he spoke, he kept rubbing his buttocks against Fu Zheng’s lap, grinding back and forth.

Inhaling the scent on Fu Zheng was like drinking poison to quench thirst; Cheng Huai felt like he was floating on air. He was completely infatuated with his brother, and the arms he had wrapped around Fu Zheng tightened even further, wanting to embed himself into Fu Zheng’s body.

Since he was a child, Cheng Huai had been raised by Fu Zheng to be delicate. He was extremely picky about food: he wouldn’t eat onions, ginger, garlic, or seasonings at all; the only vegetable he ate was celery, and he would develop red rashes if he ate anything else; he wouldn’t eat greasy food, food that was too sweet, or spicy food; mangoes and peaches could only be eaten if they were cut into cubes; he couldn’t eat fruit that was too sour; and he only ate crabs and shrimp if Fu Zheng peeled them for him.

To ensure Cheng Huai had a balanced diet, Fu Zheng had personally cooked three meals a day for fifteen years. He would then hold the boy on his lap and coax him into eating. Each time, it took half an hour to coax Cheng Huai to eat, and then he would finish the leftovers in three to five minutes. He had never let Cheng Huai eat a single meal from outside.

Having been raised with such a pampered appetite since childhood, in the first year after Fu Zheng disappeared, Cheng Huai vomited everything he ate. He vomited until he had gastric bleeding and was hospitalized, becoming so thin he looked like a different person, surviving only on daily glucose IV drips in the hospital.

With one arm resting on the car window, Fu Zheng felt his blood boiling from the little fellow squirming in his arms. He commanded coldly, “Get back over there and sit properly!”

Cheng Huai stopped crying and looked up, not reacting for a moment.

Fu Zheng’s eyes were dark. “Or do you want to drive?”

Cheng Huai knew he had succeeded. He wiped away his tears and obediently retreated to sit back in his seat.

Just as Gu Siming had said, in only ten-odd minutes, Fu Zheng parked the car in front of a villa.

Cheng Huai followed him out of the car and saw the words “Guange Academy” engraved on the low wall outside the villa.

The neighborhood was very quiet with lush trees. From the outside, it didn’t look particularly luxurious in fact, it was even more modest than Cheng Huai had imagined.

The air was filled with the faint fragrance of sweet osmanthus. Cheng Huai took a deep breath; it was a scent he loved.

Fu Zheng led him into the elevator.

Cheng Huai was incredibly well-behaved now. Having achieved his goal, he stopped crying and making a fuss. He quietly held onto Fu Zheng’s pinky finger, following closely behind him like a little tail.

The elevator stopped on the third floor, and the doors opened directly into the foyer.

Sensing someone’s arrival, the double doors opened automatically.

“Get the slippers yourself.” Leaving behind these words, Fu Zheng headed into the kitchen.

Cheng Huai stood still for a moment and looked around. He couldn’t tell if it was his imagination, but he felt a strange sense of familiarity.

It wasn’t until he naturally opened the shoe cabinet and found the slippers without any effort that he realized the structure and layout of this house were remarkably similar to the one he and Fu Zheng used to live in.

Cheng Huai walked inside, and as if to verify his suspicion, he walked through the living room, the bedroom suite, and even the sunroom and bathroom. Every layout, decoration, and arrangement of items was almost a perfect replica.

Cheng Huai’s heart felt sour and swollen. He ran through the living room and into the kitchen.

Fu Zheng hadn’t even changed his clothes. His shirt had been mussed by Cheng Huai’s grabbing earlier, but he ignored it. He simply rolled up his sleeves, the veins on the back of his hands bulging and disappearing into the edges of his cuffs.

While taking a phone call, he skillfully washed vegetables, started the stove, and heated the oil. The man’s deep voice echoed in the enclosed space, making Cheng Huai’s ears feel slightly tingly.

There were no ready-made small dumplings at home, so Fu Zheng took some flour to make them himself.

Cheng Huai’s heart softened completely. Just as Fu Zheng hung up the phone, he trotted over, wrapped his arms around Fu Zheng’s waist, and pressed his face against the firm back, rubbing against it.

Fu Zheng’s hands were covered in flour, and he didn’t want to touch him. He warned, “Don’t go looking for trouble.”

Cheng Huai refused to let go. He clung to Fu Zheng’s back like a little tail; wherever Fu Zheng went, he followed while hugging him. It wasn’t until Fu Zheng’s phone rang again that he reluctantly let go.

Four dishes and one soup were quickly prepared, all of them being Cheng Huai’s favorite dishes.

Fu Zheng brought the dishes to the dining table and set out the bowls and chopsticks, his gaze falling on Cheng Huai, who was curled up on the sofa with bare feet. His phone call hadn’t ended. “Come over and eat.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then the person on the other side asked tremulously, “Boss, am I disturbing you?”

Fu Zheng withdrew his gaze. “It’s nothing. Continue.”

Cheng Huai walked over slowly. Seeing that only one set of chopsticks had been laid out, he pursed his lips.

He picked up a spoon and took a sip of the sweet osmanthus rice wine dumplings. The familiar taste instantly made his entire body feel comfortable.

Fu Zheng walked a few steps toward the window, quietly giving instructions. Occasionally, his gaze would turn to fall on Cheng Huai, who was eating in small bites.

Cheng Huai was accustomed to sitting up straight when eating. His upper clothing dipped in along with his waist, outlining the sexy curve of his buttocks. Fu Zheng stared for a while, his Adam’s apple bobbing twice, before turning his face toward the window.

When he finally hung up and walked over, he discovered that Cheng Huai had only finished a bowl of dumplings; the rest of the food hadn’t been touched at all.

Cheng Huai looked at Fu Zheng expectantly and asked, “Brother, aren’t you going to eat?”

“No, you eat.” He placed his phone on the dining table and prepared to go to the bedroom to take a shower. Before he could take a step, his hem was grabbed.

Cheng Huai looked up at him, the plea in his eyes practically bursting forth.

Fu Zheng was taken aback. Then, understanding dawned on him. A soft chuckle escaped his nose, and he looked at him with a meaningful expression: “What? Do you want me to feed you?”

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