Chapter 140: October Is a Great Month

Chapter 140: October Is Truly a Good Month

Twenty minutes later.

Even after finishing all the calls to the reporters, Jian Ruochen still couldn’t free his calf from Guan Yingjun’s grasp.

Perched on the desk made it hard to exert force—he couldn’t exactly shuffle backward against the desk. He wasn’t sure if Guan Yingjun had done it on purpose, placing him right in front of the desk lamp and pen holder.

His left leg was held firmly in Guan Yingjun’s hand, his knee bent against the edge of the desk, while his right foot dangled, occasionally nudging the man’s knee, who was sitting with his legs parted.

Guan Yingjun had a book spread open on the desk, turning the pages from time to time. Jian Ruochen watched, unsure whether he was actually absorbing any of the content.

If he was, then what was the meaning behind Guan Yingjun gripping and kneading his leg?

If he wasn’t, then the rhythm of his page-turning was convincingly realistic, as if he were genuinely reading.

Guan Yingjun skimmed through the last two pages while multitasking, closed the book, and set it aside. He looked down at the leg he was holding.

Jian Ruochen hadn’t been exerting any force, so the muscles in his calf were soft and pliant under Guan Yingjun’s touch. With a gentle squeeze, the flesh would slip through the gaps between Guan Yingjun’s fingers.

He was wearing pale yellow ankle socks today, revealing slightly prominent ankle bones that made his legs appear straight and fair.

Jian Ruochen nudged Guan Yingjun’s shoulder with his toe. “What are you looking at?”

So engrossed.

Guan Yingjun’s throat worked as he replied in a low voice, “Nothing.”

The spot on his shoulder where he’d been kicked tingled, a prickling heat spreading to his fingertips.

His eyelids flickered slightly as he let go of Jian Ruochen’s leg, albeit reluctantly.

Jian Ruochen looked down and saw that his calf had turned red.

He reached behind him, picked up the book Guan Yingjun had been so engrossed in, and flipped through it. Without hesitation, he skipped the content and looked at the cover: "Public Security Intelligence Studies Under Criminology."

Jian Ruochen pondered for a moment but still couldn’t make sense of it.

How could someone read a professional textbook while gripping someone’s leg?

After a brief thought, he got a mischievous idea. He picked up the book, cleared his throat, and said, “Ahem. Finished reading, huh?”

Guan Yingjun replied, “Yeah.”

“Then let me test you.” Jian Ruochen flipped to the last few pages Guan Yingjun had hurriedly skimmed.

—Reprint Afterword!

Flipping back ten more pages, he found Afterword 1.

Jian Ruochen burst out laughing. “You spent twenty minutes reading the afterword?”

He never bothered with prefaces or afterwords when reading books, yet Guan Yingjun had read through all of them carefully.

“Many authors include the origins of their inspiration and words of gratitude in the prefaces and afterwords. They often mention other books, which helps me decide what to read next,” Guan Yingjun explained. He reached out, guided Jian Ruochen down, parted his legs, settling Jian Ruochen to straddle his lap. He stared into Jian Ruochen’s eyes for a moment before lowering his gaze slightly to give a kiss.

How could someone grow on you more and more the longer you looked at them?

He used to not understand why people in Hong Kong liked to be all over each other so much when dating. Back when they had just graduated, Liu Qishang had a crush, and the group of brothers had gone out for drinks together.

Liu Qishang, drunk, had grabbed Ji Bailou’s hand to demonstrate, slurring emphatically, “During the police academy’s simulation of taking out a gang leader, Lin Yazhi was on my team and asked me for a mag. I thought she was asking me to do a heart gesture with me, like this.”

He formed two “C” shapes with his hands, resembling a heart shaped like an apple.

After demonstrating, Liu Qishang said tearfully that he had misunderstood and got beaten up by Lin Yazhi. He said that was when he knew his future wife had to be her—if he couldn’t get with Lin Yazhi, he wouldn’t marry anyone.

Holding Jian Ruochen close, Guan Yingjun finally understood how Liu Qishang felt.

If Jian Ruochen didn’t agree to be with him, he would never marry anyone else.

Jian Ruochen’s ears turned red under Guan Yingjun’s intense gaze. He put a hand over Guan Yingjun’s eyes and bent down to kiss the corner of his lips. “Quit staring.”

What kind of look was that? It was as if he wanted to devour him.

Guan Yingjun started sweating from the kiss. His white short-sleeved shirt clung to his body, slightly see-through, outlining the lean muscles of his chest.

Jian Ruochen glanced at him and began to sweat too.

The air conditioner wasn’t on in the study, and the heat seemed to rise and linger, enveloping them in a light sheen of sweat.

Jian Ruochen removed his hand from Guan Yingjun’s eyes, pulled up the bottom of his shirt, and wiped his face with it.

His fair waist, adorned with a thin layer of muscle, and his round navel were exposed boldly.

Guan Yingjun turned his head away, avoiding looking directly.

Sometimes, he couldn’t quite figure out why Jian Ruochen’s personality was the way it was—as if he had grown up surrounded by men, the kind who would throw an arm around someone’s shoulders and call them “bro.”

Though he averted his gaze, the image of that fair, exposed belly remained vivid in his mind.

Guan Yingjun asked, his voice rough, “When will you turn twenty?”

He could wait a little longer—at least until Jian Ruochen turned twenty.

Otherwise, it would seem like he was pushing too far.

“Sometime in October…” Jian Ruochen didn’t know the original body’s birthday. He thought back to the medical file he had stolen from the church hospital while investigating Oliver Keith. “October 11.”

It was the same day as his original birthday.

He also had a meeting with someone from the mainland on October 7. October was truly a good month.

“Nine more days,” Jian Ruochen calculated before smiling at the man in front of him. “I’ll have finished university by the time I’m twenty. Impressive, huh?”

Guan Yingjun gave a noncommittal grunt.

The thought that he would be turning twenty-seven on the surface but was almost twenty-eight in reality by the time Jian Ruochen turned twenty made him feel a little uneasy.

Jian Ruochen couldn’t stand the heat any longer. He lifted his leg, slid off Guan Yingjun’s lap, walked over to the box air conditioner, and switched it on. Turning his back to it, he let the cool air blow against his tank top. “When’s your birthday?” he asked Guan Yingjun.

Guan Yingjun replied, “The ninth day of the ninth lunar month.”

A calendar sat on top of the box air conditioner. Jian Ruochen turned to look at it. “The Double Ninth Festival… So this year, your birthday falls on October 23. We’re pretty close.”

After saying this, he remembered that in traditional numerology, nine is a yang number. The Double Ninth Festival, though meant for respecting the elderly and praying for longevity, as well as climbing mountains for fitness, literally emphasized yang energy.

From a literal perspective, it made sense that Guan Yingjun had such strong yang energy.

Being over seven years older than him… seemed fitting too.

Jian Ruochen thought about it and couldn't hold back, chuckling softly.

Guan Yingjun leaned back in his chair watching him, breathing a little rapidly, and pointed toward the door, "Go take a shower first. If you want to soak, the bathtub is in the bathroom next to the study."

"Okay."

Jian Ruochen went out to grab the spare clothes he had there, stood in front of the shower for a moment, and still felt a bit unable to face this glass enclosure.

Just the sight of it made his inner thighs throb faintly.

Better to take a bath instead.

The bathroom next to the study probably wasn't used often; the furnishings inside were new and clean. Once the tub was filled with hot water and he lay down in it, he grew drowsy almost immediately.

In his daze, Jian Ruochen felt that Hong Kong treated its decorated officers quite well indeed.

A large flat in the city center, a 3,000-square-foot luxury apartment overlooking the lights of Victoria Harbour, and a bathtub big enough to fit at least three people.

Zhuo Yawen, who'd been dragged into the building bombing case and the execution site video case, could actually afford a sports car if he saved up. Then he too could take his wife and daughter out for drives.

Too bad Lu Rong was underhanded.

First, he let Zhuo Yawen "win" the car through a raffle, then waited seven days.

Only after everyone knew Zhuo Yawen had a sports car did Lu Rong reveal where it came from and what he wanted in return.

It was practically coercion—a coerced bribe.

To keep things quiet, Zhuo Yawen naturally wouldn't refuse Lu Rong's seemingly harmless request.

Jian Ruochen's face flushed red from the hot water.

Just a wall away.

In the study, built like a fortress, the person inside shouldn't have been able to hear a thing from outside, but Guan Yingjun almost thought he heard the sound of water.

He couldn't sit still any longer. He got up, turned off the study's air conditioner, went to switch on the one outside, grabbed a towel, and headed to the shower to take a cold shower.

·

Several kilometers away.

Lu Rong tossed the lightweight financial report onto his desk, leaned back in his chair, and narrowed his eyes at the person standing before him. "Are you telling me we didn't win a single one of the bidding projects I outlined?"

The man stood in the study, knees locked together, fingers icy cold, and could barely swallow.

Lu Rong curled his index finger and lightly tapped the armrest. "Speak."

The bidding manager hesitated for a long moment, then answered tremulously, "Yes… none of the first-tier projects."

"I reviewed the bids—they were fine," Lu Rong said, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his forehead on his hand. "So was there a problem with how you handled the bidding?"

The manager stole a glance at Lu Rong, a sour taste rising in his mouth that soon made his eyes water.

He said shakily, "We didn't have enough money. We couldn't outbid the competitors."

After he spoke, the only sound in Lu Rong's study was the faint chattering of the manager's teeth.

He'd been to the Lu residence several times and had even run into the second young master of the Lu family, Lu Qian, but he'd never been afraid.

Lu Qian was just a gloomy, entitled heir who liked bullying the poor.

The manager wasn't poor enough for Lu Qian to bother with.

Lu Rong was different. He was shrewd and cunning—he could make his subordinates prosper, but he could also leave them with nothing in an instant.

In a place as expensive as Hong Kong, if you lost everything, you might not survive 30 days.

But losing the bids really wasn't his fault.

Lu Rong's budget was sufficient, but the competitors clearly had more.

Lu Rong flipped through the report. "How did you manage to win the chain restaurant bid?"

In the 1990s, chain fast food was just taking off, with fast-food shops popping up everywhere.

Cheap fast food was so profitable that many restaurant companies began taking an interest in mid-to-high-end chain dining.

Now was the most competitive period.

The manager said awkwardly, "For this bid… the agent we were competing against was absent."

He'd won something others didn't want.

It was downright embarrassing.

Lu Rong coughed in anger, then curled his lips into a smile.

Losing due to lack of funds was a failure of skill—a lack of substance. But picking up scraps others discarded was a failure of face—too shameful.

"Who's competing with us?" Lu Rong asked.

The manager paused. "We… we can't find out."

"Never mind." Lu Rong stared at him for a moment, then murmured, "Right now, in all of Hong Kong, besides Jian Ruochen, who else has that kind of financial power?"

He had less than HK$3 billion in liquid assets, and his focus still had to be on the mainland.

He'd heard that Gu Youming had already invested most of his funds there and become a guest of honor, even meeting with senior officials.

The mainland was short on capital at the moment. If he could launder HK$6 billion and move it there, not only would there be profits in the future, but he could also one-up Jian Ruochen.

Didn't he just invest HK$5.9 billion?

Lu Rong calculated for a while but didn't take his anger out on the trembling manager. "Since Jian Ruochen wants to snatch the projects I bid on, let him."

The more he snatches, the less money Jian Ruochen will have on hand, and the fewer opportunities he'll have to invest in the mainland.

"He's so well-informed—probably has people monitoring your moves. From now on, be careful. Don't make our bids too strong; let him take them."

Lu Rong chuckled lightly.

Jian Ruochen was clever and had good political instincts, but he lacked financial acumen. This was a fall he was destined to have.

Time to teach Consultant Jian a lesson.

·

Jian Ruochen was currently being taught a lesson by Guan Yingjun.

On Being a Man.

Guan Yingjun, noticing that Jian Ruochen had been in the shower for a long time without coming out, worried he might have fallen asleep and drowned in the hot water, brought a glass of iced orange juice into the bathroom. Sure enough, he found Jian Ruochen slumped over the edge of the bathtub, his face flushed red from the steam, lips slightly parted, like a puppy panting to cool itself.

The cold water tap by the bathtub was running, pouring water in with a rush.

Guan Yingjun held the orange juice and brought it to Jian Ruochen’s lips to drink.

Jian Ruochen drank eagerly, some of the juice dripping down and trickling along his neck, pooling slightly in the hollow of his collarbone.

Watching this, Guan Yingjun felt the cold shower he had just taken was completely useless. He tossed the empty glass aside, thoroughly tasting the orange juice from Jian Ruochen’s mouth, then buried his head against his body to lick what had dripped onto him.

When two people are mutually attracted, it’s always easier to become aroused.

Jian Ruochen felt he had reached an age of raging hormones—what he needed wasn’t orange juice, but some herbal tea to cool the heat.

His hand wandered downward, but he couldn’t quite find the right technique.

Having grown up largely on his own, raised in a strict *dayuan* (a communal compound, often with military ties) where boys slept in crowded bunk beds, competing to see who could pee farthest, no one had ever taught him how to pleasure himself.

Guan Yingjun covered his hand with his own and said helplessly, “Slow down, why are you so impatient?”

Aren't you usually so composed when interrogating criminals?