Chapter 03#

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This incident dealt Song Zhiyan quite a shock, so much so that he didn’t dare leave his room even after changing his underwear. Only when he spotted Zhou Yan, dressed in a suit, getting into a car and leaving the old estate from his window—and estimated he wouldn’t be back anytime soon—did he finally stand up, rubbing his numb legs from squatting so long, and sneak down to the first-floor bathroom to wash his underwear behind closed doors.

Although the Zhou residence was a bit old, the interior decor and appliances were all quite new. After washing his underwear, Song Zhiyan squatted in front of the imported washing machine for a few minutes, found the dryer function, tossed his underwear in, and pressed the start button.

By the time he finished washing up, the washing machine had stopped. Song Zhiyan pulled out the thoroughly dried underwear, clutched it to his chest, and once again furtively slipped back into his own room, folding it and tucking it at the very bottom of the wardrobe.

So embarrassing.

He didn’t want to look at it.

When he went downstairs, Zhou Yun was also up, seated in a wheelchair and being pushed to the dining table by a servant for breakfast. Without her makeup, her face looked quite pale, but she was still beautiful. Her legs, hidden beneath a blue house dress, appeared perfectly normal—and indeed, she had walked around with ease at yesterday’s wedding banquet. It was unclear why she always used a wheelchair instead.

Song Zhiyan was curious, but after all, he was just an outsider hired to do a job. It seemed inappropriate to casually ask about personal matters that Secretary Xu hadn’t informed him of, so he swallowed his words and cautiously said good morning to Zhou Yun.

Zhou Yun was just like her brother—completely devoid of the charming, affectionate demeanor she’d shown at the wedding banquet. She ate her breakfast without paying Song Zhiyan any attention, leaving him sitting across from her without even a glance.

…Okay then.

Song Zhiyan silently lowered his head and drank his milk, finishing a sandwich packed with ham and eggs, plus a small bowl of sliced bananas. He sat through at least fifteen more minutes of that heavy, oppressive silence before Zhou Yun finally set down her knife and fork, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and ended the meal.

Song Zhiyan remembered his daily duties. Seeing a servant come over to push Zhou Yun toward the front door, he hurriedly followed.

“You’re not needed. Go do your work.” Zhou Yun propped her chin on her hand, lazily glancing at Song Zhiyan. “Let him push.”

The servant acknowledged with a “yes,” traded places with Song Zhiyan, and headed back inside, leaving Song Zhiyan alone to push Zhou Yun on a stroll through the garden.

Without others around, Zhou Yun became a bit more talkative. She called Song Zhiyan by name, asked how old he was, and whether he was still in school.

Song Zhiyan answered each question truthfully. After hearing his answers, Zhou Yun said, “So I’m two years older than you. You can call me by my name, or call me ‘jiejie.’”

Her expression was faint, but there was always a hint of a smile when she spoke, and her tone was languid—partly mocking, partly teasing. She wasn’t any easier to deal with than her cold, taciturn brother.

Song Zhiyan thought about how they were nominally married—well, husband and wife—and how the girls in his grade were all around Zhou Yun’s age anyway. Calling her “jiejie” felt awkward, so he chose the other option and called her Zhou Yun.

Zhou Yun acknowledged with an “eh,” then replied with a coaxing “good boy,” like she was humoring a younger brother, and told him to go pick a flower for her to play with.

Song Zhiyan had no idea what Zhou Yun meant by “play.” The flowers nearby were either thorny or shed pollen, neither of which were good to hold, so he ran a bit farther and picked a few dandelions to bring back to her.

“…You’ve never been in a relationship?” Zhou Yun blew lightly on the dandelion, stripping it bare in one breath, then tossed away the stem and casually plucked a red rose growing beside her leg. “Girls prefer these.”

Song Zhiyan vaguely said he had been in one, and reminded Zhou Yun that roses had thorns, so she should be careful not to prick herself.

Zhou Yun laughed out loud. “How could any girl be willing to date a guy as clueless as you… hmm, little brother?”

“No girl.” Song Zhiyan pressed his lips together. “I dated a senior.”

Zhou Yun paused mid-pluck, looking at Song Zhiyan with some surprise. “Gay?”

Song Zhiyan nodded and said yes.

He had always been open about his sexual orientation. It had been Qin Shu who requested they keep the relationship private, and Song Zhiyan had agreed without much concern.

“Oh.” Zhou Yun turned back to continue ravaging the already half-stripped rose. “Then you’re just like my brother.”

Now it was Song Zhiyan’s turn to be surprised. “Zhou… your brother is too?”

“Yeah.” Zhou Yun scattered the plucked petals along the path, a careless sneer curling at the corner of her mouth, as if she were discussing some amusing gossip about someone else’s family. “Not only is my brother gay, he’s also a pervert who jerks off while smoking in front of a wall covered in photos. You’d better watch out for him.”

Song Zhiyan let out a complicated “mm,” reminded of the nightmare he’d had last night and the underwear he’d stuffed at the bottom of the wardrobe, and even felt a flicker of unjustified guilt.

“How do you kn—”

Song Zhiyan realized mid-question that it wasn’t very polite to ask, but Zhou Yun seemed like she’d finally found someone to confide in. She picked up his sentence without any hesitation: “Because I walked in on him myself. It was in my brother’s apartment. The bedroom wall was plastered with photos, and he was half-reclined against the headboard with his shirt open, hair still wet, a cigarette dangling from his mouth while he stroked himself—though the lighting was too dim to make out who was in the photos. Anyway, it was a guy. I watched for a while through the crack in the door, then left. Didn’t want to get an eyeful, haha.”

Song Zhiyan listened with his head bowed as Zhou Yun spoke. It wasn’t until he returned to his room that he realized his palms, gripping the door handle, were damp with sweat. Whether it was because his imagination was too vivid or Zhou Yun’s storytelling was too evocative, he dreamed of an identical scene that very night—except the person hiding outside the door was no longer Zhou Yun, but him, covering his mouth in nervous silence.

He saw Zhou Yan half-reclining against the headboard, eyes half-closed, expression indifferent as he took a drag from the cigarette held between his fingers.

His suit jacket had been carelessly tossed to one side, his open shirt revealing broad swaths of sharply defined muscle. One hand held the cigarette while the other worked below, and occasionally his Adam’s apple would bob, releasing a breathtakingly hoarse groan.

Droplets of water rolled from his hair, slowly trailing down his solid chest and abdomen before disappearing into the shadows below—soon blocked from view by the large hand pumping up and down. All Song Zhiyan could glimpse was that fierce, purple-red monster occasionally peeking out. It was unclear how long it took before a thick, milky white stream shot out onto the blurry photo in front of him.

Song Zhiyan watched, his whole body burning hot, until his legs gave out and he crashed to his knees with a thud. The moment he locked eyes with Zhou Yan, who had turned at the sound, he jolted awake in shock.

…That’s the second time.

Song Zhiyan changed his soaked underwear, thinking in near despair.

Luckily, Zhou Yan hadn’t come back tonight. The housekeeper and servants had all gone to sleep. Fearing that going downstairs would make too much noise and wake someone, Song Zhiyan decided to use the en-suite bathroom in Zhou Yan’s room instead—it was the closest option—to wash his underwear.

This bedroom was larger than his own three rooms combined. Usually, when Zhou Yan wasn’t around, the door was left open for the servants to clean. The decor resembled a hotel suite—luxurious and tidy, but lacking any sense of life, feeling quite cold and empty. The bathroom was also much bigger than the one downstairs, with a bathtub and shower stall on separate sides, a multifunctional toilet next to the vanity, and besides a separate washing machine, there was also a hairdryer and a hand dryer.

Song Zhiyan sighed inwardly as he washed his underwear—this put any hotel suite to shame, it was way too upscale. He wondered if he’d ever get the chance to experience it once in his life.

Who knew the opportunity would come just two days later.

Song Zhiyan had three evening classes on Friday and didn’t get home until past 10 PM. Only then did he learn that the water pipes in the first-floor bathroom were broken—no water coming out. The soonest a repairman could come was tomorrow.

Zhou Yun had already gone to bed, and the housekeeper and servants had all washed up early. Only he had come back late, squeezing onto the subway and then the bus, drenched in sweat. He couldn’t stand the thought of going to bed without cleaning up first.

Coincidentally, Zhou Yan wasn’t back tonight either. Song Zhiyan crouched by his own door, waiting and listening until he could no longer hear any sounds from outside, then quietly opened the door and peered downstairs. After confirming everyone had retreated to their rooms and the lights were off, he snuck into Zhou Yan’s bedroom in the dark to take a shower.

After all, nobody would catch him in the middle of the night. Song Zhiyan first sat on the toilet to try out the bidet function, then stripped off his clothes and tossed them into the washing machine. While running water into the bathtub, he washed his hair and body in the shower stall.

By the time he was clean, the tub was almost full. Song Zhiyan lay down to soak for a while and tried out the massage function while he was at it—it wasn’t exactly comfortable, more like when his dad used to hold him against a pool drain as a kid and water kept pounding his back. The pressure was strong, numbing and tingly, and after a while it made his heart feel a bit uncomfortable, so he switched it to the constant-temperature function and soaked until he got sleepy before slowly getting out.

Then he realized he’d forgotten to bring his pajamas. The washing machine here didn’t have a dryer function either. Song Zhiyan hugged his spin-dried clothes, shivering from the cold, but he couldn’t put them on. He gritted his teeth and decided to just make a run for his room first.

But he never imagined he’d run into Zhou Yan at a time like this.

And a Zhou Yan reeking of alcohol, no less.

Song Zhiyan was so startled he dropped his clothes and didn’t even have time to flee. The next second, Zhou Yan picked him up and pressed him against the door, asking in a hoarse voice if he’d done it on purpose—stripped naked and come here to seduce him.

Ooh-ooh! (Eager look)