Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Qi Jing finished all the juice and, to avoid waste, asked the waiter to pack the small cake before leaving with his belongings.

He just felt like his stomach was sloshing with water.

Strange.

Outside, the sun had emerged. As the young man approached, the car doors unlocked automatically.

After settling in, Qi Jing noticed his coconut shell still on the small tray and paused.

He carefully placed the cake down. "I was going to give it to you, but you weren't in the car, so I drank it."

The implication was: *Here, have this cake instead.*

Bo Chengyan reached out, taking hold of Qi Jing's wrist, tracing his fingers down the palm before finally intertwining them. His tone was gentle:

"My fault."

"I should have picked you up."

The car began to move slowly, the front partition rising automatically. The air conditioning was comfortable, and the young man took off his hat.

His cheeks were still a little flushed from the sun.

"Who opened the coconut for you?"

Bo Chengyan inquired subtly.

Qi Jing was looking down at their clasped hands, idly playing with their intertwined fingers, and replied casually, "The old security guard."

"Hmm."

*

Jiang Xiuyuan pulled on a black T-shirt and padded barefoot to the balcony. He looked down at the window—a dizzying twenty-five stories below.

He took a step back.

The young man's hair was slightly long, his bangs almost obscuring his eyes. Beneath the loose clothing, his frame was slender, his skin speckled with faint marks.

Click.

The lighter flipped open, the flame dancing prettily.

Jiang Xiuyuan lit a cigarette for himself, but the moment he tried to affect a seasoned smoker's air and put it between his lips, he broke into a coughing fit...

"Cough, cough."

He instinctively tried to stifle it, but it still roused the person in the room. The cigarette was plucked from his fingers.

Jiang Xiuyuan's neck was seized, his chin forced upward, compelling him to meet the other's gaze.

"If you can't smoke, why bother?"

The tone was peculiar, almost like scolding a child for playing with fire.

Chen Zhuo had never been gentle. When he released his grip, he noticed the other was breathing rapidly, a distinct handprint already forming on his neck.

"Tch, come on, you could've at least made a sound."

The man bent down, squatting, and carefully examined the neck of the person before him.

"Wouldn't want to snap it by accident."

Jiang Xiuyuan merely replied indifferently, "Just remember to wire the funeral money to my account, Young Master Chen."

Chen Zhuo paused, looked up, and sneered, "You still want to send money to that dump you call home? Even after you die?"

"Never met anyone so self-deprecating."

Jiang Xiuyuan's face paled slightly, but he said nothing.

Chen Zhuo suddenly lost interest and made to leave, but just then, his sleeve was tugged.

He arched a brow slightly. "What—"

Jiang Xiuyuan looked up and asked, "Do you still want this Cartier lighter?"

"..."

Sometimes, one had to acknowledge a simple truth: different social strata bred different values, and even the very flesh and bone seemed to be cast from different molds.

Jiang Xiuyuan hadn't had much schooling. Beneath his delicate facade lay a spirit that bowed to its betters.

Scraping by.

It was sickening.

Chen Zhuo's eyes gradually turned cold. "No."

He left without another glance.

Jiang Xiuyuan had been living in the hotel for a long time, on a very high floor. He couldn't go down freely; he had to call Chen Zhuo.

It was like a birdcage.

But the one trapped inside wasn't a golden canary; it was just a sparrow.

The young man curled up in a corner of the balcony, looking down at the ground below the window—so very far down...

He didn't really have any friends.

It was in that moment that Jiang Xiuyuan remembered Qi Jing.

111: You there?

Qi Jing had already returned to his bedroom, cake in hand. Bo Chengyan didn't eat sweets, so it was all his.

His phone buzzed with a message notification.

Qi Jing glanced at it, just in time to see the entire process of the other person unsending a message.

Hates Broccoli: I saw that. I'm here.

About two minutes passed.

111: Oh... it's nothing.

Jiang Xiuyuan was truly at a loss. It had been so long since he'd spoken to anyone else, and he didn't know what had come over him today.

He and Qi Jing weren't close either.

Hates Broccoli: How have you been recently?

The young man paused, then forced a weak smile.

111: I'm okay.

Jiang Xiuyuan didn't know why, but his hands trembled so badly he couldn't even hold his phone. When it dropped to the floor, his mind went blank for a long time.

Until the phone buzzed again.

The young man immediately picked up the phone, wiped the screen clean with his shirt, and anxiously opened the messaging app.

His breathing became ragged.

But it was just a news alert.

Not a message from the other person.

Jiang Xiuyuan sat on the floor, hugging his knees, his thoughts a blur.

The phone screen automatically went dark, reflecting the lost young man, his face delicate.

He absently touched his lips—no lip ring...

Qi Jing had once said it looked good.

His emotions slowly settled into a quiet despair.

What was he doing with his life?

Hates Broccoli: Sorry, my mom just knocked, so I couldn't reply right away.

Hates Broccoli: Are you still working at the club?

The question was indeed too blunt.

To an outsider, it might sound sarcastic.

Jiang Xiuyuan knew it wasn't like that; Qi Jing was just a child who had been protected too well.

111: Kinda, yeah.

111: I've been taken on by another long-term client.

His fingers trembled as he typed, but he sent it all anyway.

As if someone knowing would make him feel better.

Hates Broccoli: That’s not good. Being a kept man is not good. You shouldn’t do that job anymore, find another one.

Jiang Xiuyuan thought bitterly, *He finally understands that this isn't good.*

He'd been taught.

111: But I don't want to work anymore. I'm so tired.

Hates Broccoli: Then don't work.

Jiang Xiuyuan laughed when he saw this message—such a naive thought.

111: But I need money.

111: Lots and lots of money. My family member has cancer, and I need to pay for expensive medical bills. Only this kind of work brings in money fast.

Qi Jing frowned, thinking seriously.

Hates Broccoli: Don't you have other family members? They can also work to earn money. It shouldn't just be you.

Jiang Xiuyuan was silent for a while, as if utterly despairing.

111: They don't work. They say they need to take care of the elderly.

Hates Broccoli: Then you'll be under a lot of pressure.

111: No choice.

Hates Broccoli: But I heard cancer is very difficult to cure.

Jiang Xiuyuan's heart nearly stopped. He knew that... but what could he do?

Grandma was perfectly healthy just a few years ago, how could this...

Time passed, second by second.

The immense weight on his shoulders choked the young man.

At sixteen, he was outed as gay by his classmates, mocked, bullied... parents were called, a complete mess.

Other students' parents in the group chat condemned him, believing that homosexuality would corrupt their children.

His own parents were ashamed of him.

He dropped out of school, stayed in his hometown for a while, but truly couldn't get along with parents he barely knew.

Left-behind children couldn't compare to the well-behaved children they raised themselves in the big city.

Jiang Xiuyuan came to Beijing alone, only to find that no job here didn't require a degree. He drifted aimlessly for several years.

Then he fell into the sex trade.

Homosexuality seemed to require no love; he numbed himself again and again.

Finally, he sent the money he earned home. That way, his parents would think he was capable, and might even praise him a few times.

Even if every video call ended with a request for money.

He had been seeking love from those who could never give it, yet he neglected the elder who had raised him.

Jiang Xiuyuan wanted to go back, but his parents said the travel expenses were money that could cover a few days of hospital fees.

He couldn't go back.

Lives were different.

Jiang Xiuyuan found it hard not to feel jealous, resentful... of Qi Jing.

Why was he so lucky?

Tears slid down, one by one... his very bones felt cold.

Just then, his phone buzzed again.

Hates Broccoli: I don't know much about cancer treatment costs either, so I asked Bo Chengyan. He told me that medical expenses vary depending on the condition, but generally, a million should be enough to cover it.

Hates Broccoli: I think you should go see your family. Sick people really need companionship. Please don't stress over the money.

Hates Broccoli: I have enough—I can help you out. Go home quickly. And don't do that kind of arrangement anymore, it's not good.

Jiang Xiuyuan's eyes were red, frozen in shock, because his phone screen was filled with continuous transfers.

Until it hit the 200,000 transfer limit.

His throat felt constricted, his vision blurred.

111: Does he know you're sending me money?

As soon as he finished typing, another message came through from the other side.

Hates Broccoli: Or do you want to give me your card number?

Hates Broccoli: You mean Bo Chengyan? He's right here with me. He said my money is mine to decide, so don't worry. He thinks using this money to save someone will be more meaningful, and he hopes your family gets through this smoothly.

The young man seemed to lose all control, tears streaming onto the screen. He trembled as he typed, deleting and retyping, over and over.

Finally, a thousand words condensed into just two.

—Thank you.

Jiang Xiuyuan leaned against the wall, crying like a child, wiping his tears, his body curled into a small ball.

Some people are like this: despite their superior circumstances and fortunate lives,

they remain kind.

All dark emotions had nowhere to hide, finally dissolving into nothingness under the sunlight.

"I hope they'll always be happy."

*

Qi Jing sat on the desk, propping his arms and looking up at the man. Bo Chengyan, who had been looking at his phone, gently raised his eyes to meet his.

"What's wrong?"

Qi Jing's nape was lightly caressed, then the touch moved to his chin. Just as that warmth was about to withdraw, the young man caught the other's fingers.

Their gazes briefly intertwined.

"I thought you wouldn't let me give that much money."

Bo Chengyan put down his phone, a quiet atmosphere flowing between them. Qi Jing tilted his head back, his neck forming a graceful curve, like a small swan.

He reached out, lifted the young man by the waist, and placed him on the desk, saying gently, "Why would you think that? It's your freedom."

Qi Jing looked down as the other adjusted his sleeve, muttering distractedly, "Good thing I didn't set the AC too low, it's 20 degrees."

"I'm not cold."

This was a comfortable height; Qi Jing didn't need to strain his neck to look up, but could meet his gaze naturally.

"But I've never earned money myself. I'm spending yours."

The conversation circled back.

His perception of money held a certain contradiction.

Qi Jing truly didn't know the cost of cancer treatment. When he learned that a million could roughly cover it, he was surprised, because his allowance alone was that much.

He vaguely realized his clothes were very expensive...

And his accessories even more so.

The price of a single brooch, perhaps... could be equivalent to someone else's medical treatment.

"Don't get caught in a loop."

A deep voice resonated in Qi Jing's ear.

A finger lightly pressed against his cheek, turning his face to meet his gaze.

"You have to accept that society has various strata. Wealth didn't just appear in my hands; my ancestors, my parents... they were already wealthy."

"It's nothing."

Bo Chengyan asked perceptively, "Did I make you uneasy?"

The young man's knees were gently eased apart. Qi Jing was oblivious, his hands still wrapped around the other's neck.

"Yeah, you're really rich."

Very honest.

"Accept me."

Qi Jing paused, then looked up, suddenly meeting a very profound gaze.

"One's birth cannot be chosen. Because of my family background, I might possess some cold traits, losing a certain degree of human empathy."

"Perhaps in the future, you might still feel this slight discomfort, but you'll forgive me, won't you?"

Qi Jing was a little bewildered, but instinctively replied, "I accept."

His lips parted and closed, revealing a rosy mouth.

"You're very good, not cold at all..."

The young man repeated, his eyes bright.

He understood nothing.