Some upheaval in the business world had occurred, but outsiders knew none of the truth and its ripples had not yet spread. Meanwhile, the restless heat of midsummer seemed to short-circuit everyone’s minds, concentrating all thought on the pleasures immediately before them. Their thoughts thickened into sticky caramel. Enjoy life while you could.
A few days later, the sunny lawn outside the company building faced the blue harbor, decorated with blue-and-white flower spheres for a cheerful summer party. Servers from a professional catering company, all in matching white uniforms with gold buttons, circulated carefully through the crowd with trays of delicate hors d’oeuvres, polite and attentive.
This was Mr. Yan’s summer party for employees from several branch companies, this time a Western-style reception built around an island-cool summer theme.
“This is what happens when we get a new director. He actually understands how things should be done.” Secretary Yao held a vanilla prawn puff in her left hand, crumbs at the corner of her mouth, champagne in her right, while a bacon-wrapped asparagus spear was wedged between her ring finger and little finger in case someone else snatched it later.
“Completely different level. Overseas returnee, comes in and gives us the full red-wine-and-Western-food treatment. Watch, even Mr. Yan doesn’t dare object!” Young Guy C shook his shoulders, showing absolutely no mercy while mocking the boss behind his back.
“If the old HR person were still here and we let Mr. Yan choose the menu, we’d get spicy pork intestines, skewers, beer, and crayfish again!” Front Desk Girl A said.
Two fingers lightly hooked her shoulder from behind. Yan Xiaodao stood there in a formal shirt, gently swirling his wineglass, expression dangerous. “What’s wrong with skewers and crayfish? I think they’re delicious.”
“Boss, I gave six years of my finest youth to eating skewers and crayfish with you. You’ve finally changed tastes,” Secretary Yao said.
The faithful employees saw their company’s number-one mascot as if a camera shutter had just opened in front of them, every face blooming into a grin. “Boss, this meal must be incredibly expensive, right? It hurts us to see you bleeding money!”
Yan Xiaodao smiled broadly, wearing the expression of a rich local tyrant with too much money to worry about. “As long as you’re enjoying yourselves.”
What he thought was, Fuck. As long as that Mr. Ling is happy after all this fuss, that’s enough.
A dazzling streak of light seemed to press into everyone’s vision. It was not threatening, but carried a powerful presence that made every face brighten. They looked up and saw Ling He crossing the lawn straight toward them, or rather, straight toward the “mascot.”
Ling He did not wear the same foolish grin as the rest of them, but he toasted every employee with remarkable ease and perfect manners.
Secretary Yao lifted her glass and praised him sincerely. “Director, the wine is especially good today too. You’re wonderful.”
“You flatter me, beautiful lady. You’ve become even prettier and slimmer since getting married. I almost regret joining the company so late.” Ling He complimented people without blinking, and Miss Yao’s eyes instantly went dreamy.
Ling He really had chosen the wine himself. He had taken the beverage list and ordered the HR manager to coordinate with catering companies, running the poor man nearly to death between Ling He and various Western-food suppliers. There was barely a catering brand on the mainland capable of meeting Director Ling’s precise and fussy standards. They finally settled on a menu covering appetizers, cold soup, cheese and foie gras platters, mains, desserts, ice cream, and alcohol, and Ling He still thought every dish lacked refinement.
Ling He sweet-talked several veteran female employees who practically ruled the company, drinking freely and chatting with ease. Yan Xiaodao felt faintly jealous, unable even to insert himself into the conversation. He secretly glanced at Ling He several times, but Ling He was too busy to spare him a look.
Ling He was far more easygoing than before and had learned how to accommodate and look after the people around him. Yan Xiaodao knew all of this effort was for his sake, Ling He winning people over for him. He understood, felt grateful, and always sensed that in one way or another he owed this man too much.
Secretary Yao and the front-desk girl each rolled up a French crepe filled with fresh fruit, chocolate sauce, and sweet cream. The two reported to Director Ling with shameless flattery. “Director, you’re so handsome! Before you came to our company, Mr. Yan fed us scallion pancakes at the annual party. Add millet rifles and we could’ve charged straight to the front lines!”
“Really?” Ling He fought back a laugh. “And you people still work for a man like that?”
“You believe them?” Yan Xiaodao pointed indignantly at the two traitorous demons betraying their own camp. “When did I ever feed you scallion pancakes at the annual party? Complete nonsense!”
Ling He laughed and tossed a piece of roast meat into his mouth, delighted by Yan’s misfortune.
Yan Xiaodao blocked the dieting Secretary Yao with a plate of cheesecake. “Girl, answer according to your conscience. What did we eat at that annual party? Tell Director Ling the truth or you’re finishing this cake.”
Secretary Yao covered her mouth, laughing. “Fine, boss, I surrender. I forgot to mention the main course was crispy roast duck served two ways!”
Time always moved too quickly in a bright, joyful atmosphere. Whenever Yan Xiaodao pretended to catch Ling He’s gaze by accident, Ling He was often already looking at him. Those green eyes rippled like blue water, hazy with alcohol and pleasure, intoxicating.
Night fell. The energetic young employees still had not had enough, and after dinner they moved on to entertainment that involved closer physical contact and a stronger atmosphere.
Laughter and teasing drifted through the clear night sky. People complained that the company’s old midnight dance parties had been as rustic as public-square dancing, with Mr. Yan leading them through “Little Apple” and military boxing drills. Now one homemade musket had been traded for a ton of foreign artillery, and naturally everything was different.
Mr. Yan took the barrage of teasing without anger and remained in excellent spirits all evening. Most of the mockery was invented nonsense, but underneath it lay the easy intimacy among everyone and the enthusiastic ass-kissing directed at a certain director. Yan thoroughly enjoyed both.
The lights, atmosphere, and fireworks all felt transformed. Jazz, blues, and new country music murmured beneath the moonlight, enough to set hearts swaying.
The young men and women had already chosen targets, pairing off and descending into the dance floor to engage in close-contact combat.
A graceful waltz turned suddenly into a cheerful sailor dance, then drifted into soft romantic music.
Someone called for Ling He to dance.
Everyone told Director Ling to choose a partner from the women present.
Ling He stood with both hands in his pockets, surveying the crowd of demons with an untouchable air. “I dance very well. I can’t find a partner because I’m afraid you won’t keep up and your shoes will fly off.”
Far too arrogant. A man this cocky could not be allowed to escape easily. Secretary Yao told Ling He to go to the pile of gifts and draw one. Whoever’s name was attached would be his dance partner. He had to dance and was not allowed to dodge.
This was the party’s masked gift-exchange game. Every employee, including executives and the boss, had privately wrapped a present, expensive or cheap as they liked, then placed it into the anonymous drawing.
Ling He had been waiting for exactly this opportunity.
He strode over and dug straight through a large box of brightly wrapped gifts, searching for a particular pattern of wrapping paper he recognized. Without hesitation, he pulled out the one he wanted.
Yan Xiaodao sat broad-legged on a garden bench, clinking glasses with several male employees, drinking beer by the mouthful and talking so animatedly spit nearly flew.
Secretary Yao tore open the wrapping and pulled out the little name card tucked inside. “Aiya, the mascot!”
Beer foam clung to Yan Xiaodao’s lips and natural color warmed his eyelids. He looked up and collided with the gaze Ling He had been waiting through an endless river of time to give him. Ling He’s entire attention covered Yan’s face, deep and provocative.
“Dance? Heh… Fine. I can dance too.” Yan Xiaodao lowered his head and calmly adjusted his shirt, rolling the sleeves to his elbows and deliberately avoiding those two burning eyes.
Even his fingertips felt slightly sticky as ripples spread through his heart. He had not expected Ling He to tease him so openly in front of everyone.
Secretary Yao earnestly tattled to Ling He, “Our boss dances really well. I’ve seen him. Director, you’d better be careful you don’t fall behind!”
Ling He changed the music and chose a tango. With a gentlemanly gesture of invitation, he asked his boss onto the dance floor.
Yan Xiaodao wore a fitted shirt and suspender trousers that evening, his exposed forearms tanned the color of dark beer, strongly masculine. Ling He wore a loose white shirt, his figure drifting through the night light. Their hands clasped. Inside, both were hopelessly entangled in feeling, yet neither showed a trace on the surface. The music began and they stepped at the same moment.
Yan Xiaodao immediately realized Ling He had seized the advantage from the first move. Without the slightest hesitation, Ling He wrapped an arm around his waist and drew him forward with the opening beat, invisibly forcing him into the follower’s steps. Once they started, there was no changing roles without ruining everything. Ling He led him through a full circuit of the dance floor under stunned eyes, setting off whistles and applause.
It was the first time the two had danced as partners. They had never practiced together. When Ling He had been confined to a wheelchair, aboard Cloudtop and later in Yan Xiaodao’s home, he had imagined this scene more than once, holding Mr. Yan and dancing with him.
Lack of practice did nothing to their instinctive understanding, the spark between them, or the compatibility of their bodies. They had each met an equal. On the dance floor it was a match between worthy opponents, neither willing to show weakness. Shoulders, thighs, and knees brushed and collided through countless turns, their coordinated steps explaining perfectly what it meant for two people to be made for each other.
Yan Xiaodao’s right hand stroked the back of Ling He’s shoulder, and his fingers inevitably slid into that long hair.
Soft. Perfect beneath the hand. The feeling made his fingertips itch. It reminded him of their heated nights, Ling He pressing over his chest and kissing him fiercely while Yan’s rough fingers plunged into Ling He’s hair, mussing, biting, twisting, devouring.
The outside and inside of their thighs brushed constantly. Ling He suddenly flung out his left leg in a flourish, hooking his calf behind Yan Xiaodao’s knee and sweeping him outward. Caught off guard, Yan reacted on instinct and bent backward into a dip.
Fortunately his waist was strong. Ling He held him and drew him upright until their noses nearly touched. Scalding breath washed over each other’s faces and brows, while drunken light trembled in their pupils.
The crowd erupted in cheers, whistles shrilling through the air.
Many people stared in open amazement. They caught hints from the excessively heated harmony between the two men, yet had no real evidence to prove anything. They could only reach one sincere consensus: these two men looked absurdly good together.
Neither man even smiled as they danced. They sold no cheap flirtation, hiding everything beneath reserved masks and an outward aura of proper self-control. Each waited for the other to break first, yet both were seasoned enough to hold steady, deliberately suppressing the passion until the final rest at the end of the piece, enduring through the very last beat.
A thin layer of summer clothing hid almost nothing. What they enjoyed beneath their palms was simply each other’s warmth.
Both had been drinking and were pleasantly half-drunk. Late that night, they rode the subway home.
There were few passengers in the carriage. Ling He sat lazily in his seat, looking upward and appreciating Xiaodao’s build. Yan Xiaodao had one wrist hooked through a hanging strap. As the carriage swayed, he was thrown heavily toward Ling He and nearly landed outright on Ling He’s thigh. Their eyes had both begun to lose all restraint, emotion carrying them along.
Back at the villa, they did not turn on the lights, moving through the dark and trying not to disturb anyone as they headed straight for the bedroom.
The smell of human bodies inevitably alerted the two sharp-nosed dogs. The “paparazzi” who had discovered the affair chased them all the way from the living room to the bedroom door. The two men nervously ordered Lord Bear and Sanniang to move aside. Good dogs did not block the road.
Fortunately there was no football match tonight, so the living room was empty. For the past several weeks, the league and the final qualifying round had been in full swing, and the younger men crowded onto the living-room sofas every evening to watch live broadcasts and shout. They had even dragged Mrs. Yan into watching football. She had gone decades without caring about a match, yet became addicted as soon as she started, instantly transformed into an auntie-level fan. “Fangirl” no longer fit. She was a “fan-mom.”
Women tended to watch football emotionally, favoring handsome players on the field. If a player Mama Yan liked lost, she would sigh and feel sad with him.
The door locked, the two men twisted their limbs around each other while stripping clothes away, barely able to make it onto the bed without collapsing onto the floor halfway there.
Harsh breathing exploded beside their ears. Their movements were so rough that several more buttons seemed to go flying. Mrs. Yan had recently complained that she was always sewing buttons back onto her son’s clothes. Modern clothing must be terribly made. His buttons had never come loose this often before.
This degree of passion and roughness did not happen every night. An occasional loss of control made it unforgettable.
The last time Mr. Ling had gone this wild was after Mr. Yan returned from Secretary Yao’s wedding.
Yan Xiaodao had attended his secretary’s wedding, given an enormous red envelope, and personally served as one of the groomsmen. His appearance and presence were so striking that he became famous in one night, collecting admiring looks and matchmaking notes from every auntie in attendance. Relatives, friends, and busybodies asked about Mr. Yan’s birth date, family circumstances, property, and income.
Then they learned Yan Xiaodao had no biological parents, only an absent godfather and an adoptive mother from the countryside. A house, a car, and no parents. He was practically the marriage market’s ultimate golden bachelor. The matchmakers were ready to stampede over his threshold.
Yan Xiaodao loyally drank on behalf of the newlyweds and came home thoroughly drunk, his suit pockets stuffed with matchmaking cards and slips of paper. The consequences of such behavior, practically begging for punishment, were predictable. That night, both his wrists were bound above him to the headboard with a tie. Ling He pinned him down, stripped him piece by piece, and fucked him mercilessly in revenge through the night. Yan Xiaodao was drunk, weak, and had no wish to resist. The sensation was devastatingly pleasurable, as though alcohol had opened some hypersensitive meridian in his body, sharp waves of pleasure inside him becoming almost unbearable.
This time they were on the sofa in the sitting area of the master bedroom.
The sofa had never been replaced. It was still the same long couch where they had read together, fought together, and made love.
“Looks good,” Ling He said, judging Yan Xiaodao’s suspenders.
“Handsome?” Yan Xiaodao asked, eyes softened by peaceful drunkenness.
Ling He satisfied Mr. Yan’s occasional vanity with a deep kiss and what followed.
Yan Xiaodao lay across the sofa, half-naked body radiating masculine strength. The deep lines of his abdomen trembled faintly. As Ling He slowly entered him, sweat broke across his skin and a breath escaped his throat.
Ling He deliberately left the shirt on Yan’s body even though it no longer covered much, the buttons scattered everywhere. Yan Xiaodao was completely naked below the waist, both bare thighs strong and sensual, yet opened in a bold, welcoming posture to receive his lover.
Ling He wrapped Yan’s legs around his waist. His irises deepened to dark green, dangerous as a great cat preparing to pounce.
Ling He suddenly remembered something and scooped Yan’s trousers from the floor, quickly removing the two suspenders.
Yan Xiaodao knew at once what Ling He intended. He did not resist, memories of that earlier rough, mad night surging through his mind. Ling He used one suspender to bind Yan’s hands behind his back, then looped the second loosely around his neck and tied it to the knot at his wrists.
The bound posture pulled the lines of his chest into sharper, more beautiful relief.
Ling He took one of the reddened points on his chest into his mouth and bit gently, sucking at him until Yan’s body surged hard with arousal.
Xiaodao like this was unbearably exciting.
Yan Xiaodao looked like a handsome god bound for display, holding nothing back. Both men were painfully hard and nearly out of their minds.
The loop around his neck was loose enough that it did not trouble his throat, yet in another way Ling He was leaving him breathless. Wave after wave of forceful movement stole Yan’s ability to breathe evenly, almost splitting his legs from the hips. One leg rested along the back of the sofa while the other hung down, his body driven gradually backward by the repeated impact.
His head dipped against the armrest.
The line formed by his profile and Adam’s apple trembled constantly, quivering and swallowing, every tiny sensation of pleasure visible through his body.
They fought for oxygen between overlapping deep kisses. The air in the room seemed increasingly thin. Both faces flushed red, each breath striking sparks from the air. Ling He looked down at that handsome face, drove in hard, then sealed Xiaodao’s mouth completely, forcing muffled sounds from between his lips while feeling the tight warmth below suddenly contract around him.
“Fuck, hurry up,” Yan Xiaodao ordered in a low voice, craving the pleasure deeper inside.
“How do you want it? You choose.” Ling He’s hair brushed Xiaodao’s chest as he turned the expletive into a verb.
“Harder… come on.” Yan Xiaodao’s eyes were damp, full of pleasure and indulgence. As long as it made the man in front of him happy and satisfied, he was willing to give. It had nothing to do with anything else and required no complicated mental detours.
Excited starlight rose in Ling He’s eyes. He pulled out sharply, lifted Xiaodao, and sat him upright on the sofa.
Yan Xiaodao now sat like the lord of the house, still bound. Ling He thoughtfully wedged two cushions behind his back, then drove into him again with ruthless force, drawing a low, deep cry from his throat.
That sound alone was unbearably sexy.
Could anyone else make a man like Yan Xiaodao sound like that in bed?
Their bodies tangled and struck together, drenched in sweat. No man could resist such erotic intensity.
Through Yan Xiaodao’s unfocused gaze, Ling He’s body moved before him, long and perfect.
Ling He held nothing back either, naked as a beautiful man from a Greek myth painted in oil, wearing nothing except his streaming hair and the token pendant on his chest. Mr. Ling’s cock was a beautiful, tempting color; there was nothing about him that wasn’t beautiful, and Yan loved looking at him.
Release came freely, followed by satisfaction and exhaustion.
Yan Xiaodao worked free of the suspenders now tangled into a mess. This counterfeit version of a sex toy could not truly restrain him. The riding crop they had packaged at the stable a few days earlier had a little more bite. They moved to the bed and piled together like stacked pancakes, breathing hard and kissing with feeling. One round was obviously nowhere near enough, merely an appetizer for the night.
“Are all foreign cocks pink?” Yan Xiaodao teased softly, touching Ling He between the legs.
“Never studied anyone else’s,” Ling He answered truthfully.
“No one else looks as good as you. You’re the prettiest…” Yan Xiaodao murmured in a low voice.
Yan Xiaodao lowered his lashes and looked down, wrapping one hand around himself and slowly stroking with rough fingers until he hardened again, the lines firm and prominent, veins gradually rising. Then he pulled Ling He’s hand over and closed it around him, openly showing himself off as he asked softly, “Like it?”
Ling He answered with his eyes: yes.
Yan Xiaodao kissed Ling He’s eyelids and forehead. “Want to do it? Want to try?”
His movements remained gentle, the rhythm of his probing unhurried. This question carried a very different meaning. It was not the ordinary kind of “doing it.”
Ling He fell quiet. His peripheral vision swept over Yan Xiaodao’s aroused body, but he did not answer.
A full three minutes of silence failed to extinguish the restless spark. Heat began burning through the air. Yan Xiaodao suddenly rolled over and pressed Ling He beneath him, searching his face with desire and pleading. “Xiao He, let me do it once.”
His hard body was already pressed against Ling He’s lower abdomen, but Yan Xiaodao forced himself to stop before going further. He still refused to force him.
Emotionally, he did not feel unsatisfied or as if he had somehow lost out. He was not that petty. Yet buried inside his body was a fundamental desire he could not suppress. Whenever an opportunity appeared, it broke through the earth like floodwater released through a gate. It had tormented him for a long time.
In terms of raw physical desire, Yan Xiaodao still thought of himself as more of a top. It was simply that his bed partner was young, strong, well-endowed, skilled, and perfectly willing to work hard to please him. Lying back and enjoying it was comfortable too.
“You really want it that badly?” Ling He stroked his back.
“Yes.” Yan Xiaodao answered without hesitation.
“Go out and jerk off Lord Bear. He’s got one too.” Ling He pointed toward the hallway.
“Fuck!” Yan Xiaodao grabbed Ling He in retaliation. The blankets rustled violently as they shoved and wrestled.
Ling He was not angry or disgusted, but faint hesitation and conflict showed between his brows. He shrugged. “Ahem…”
“I’m very good at this,” Yan Xiaodao whispered while kissing the man beneath him.
“You’re good at it? How would I know? You’ve slept with men before?” Ling He teased.
“Tsk… I’m good at riding horses. You think I can’t ride a mule?” Yan Xiaodao looked completely experienced and confident.
“Fuck you! You’re the fucking mule!” Ling He kicked him hard. He had already learned some of Xiaodao’s favorite expressions.
“I won’t hurt you.” Yan Xiaodao kept dragging things out, faintly aware that tonight was probably not the right time, yet once he had said it aloud he found himself trapped by his own momentum. Tonight he had been impulsive, trying to cross a boundary in one step. Ling He remained silent about everything in the past that might become friction or an obstacle, and Ling He’s strength sometimes made Yan Xiaodao consciously or unconsciously want to ignore certain things.
“If it feels bad, we stop.” Yan Xiaodao held Ling He’s earlobe between his lips, nearly unable to endure any longer. His arousal seemed to possess a will of its own, pressing insistently between Ling He’s thighs and trembling there. His skin felt ready to burst with the strain. Yet he did not dare force anything, afraid the next moment some buried sac of venom would rupture in front of him.