Chapter 52 Insatiable Desires

Chapter 52: Insatiable Desires

After somewhat unhappily sharing a dessert, the two went to Shen Zongnian’s room to needle-felt a giant panda.

Shen Zongnian usually disliked others entering his private space, but Tan Duole’s occasionally downcast eyes while talking to her mother reminded him of Zheng Xinqiong, so he didn’t object.

The child expressed a wish to see real pandas, and the doting uncle readily agreed: “We’ll go to the Ocean Park this weekend.”

Tan Youming felted the tail, Tan Duole felted the ears, and the result was a rather peculiar, unidentifiable creature.

Shen Zongnian worked nearby, seemingly wanting to speak but ultimately just bending down to meticulously clean up the wool scattered across the floor by the uncle and niece.

As he turned, Tan Youming didn't even look up: "Where are you going?"

Shen Zongnian masked the complexity in his eyes: "To warm some milk."

After finishing the short tail, Tan Youming found a mug placed beside him. To his surprise, the warm milk was for both of them, one cup each for him and Tan Duole.

“Do I have to drink it too?” Tan Youming looked up, bargaining, “We just had mango sago.”

Shen Zongnian remained unmoved: “Drink it all.”

Tan Youming “tsk”ed, grumbling, “When you’re sick, you’re a treasure; once you’re discharged, you’re treated like dirt.”

Shen Zongnian ignored him, standing like a silent mountain, ensuring both the adult and the child finished their milk before washing the cups.

Tan Duole quickly finished felting one eye and showed it to Tan Youming, accidentally knocking over a photo frame on the cabinet in the process.

When she caused trouble, Tan Duole was still a little intimidated by Shen Zongnian: “Uncle Zongnian, sorry—”

“It’s fine,” Shen Zongnian said, straightening the frame.

The photo was old, showing three youthful faces in Yinghua graduation gowns beneath a century-old redbud tree. Zhao Shengge gazed calmly at the camera, already shedding some youthful innocence, beginning to reveal the authority and dignity he would later possess. Shen Zongnian, with a backpack slung over one shoulder, looked expressionless and slightly impatient, as if he’d walk away the moment the photo was taken. Tan Youming was the happiest, always standing in the center for photos, even the sunlight seemed to favor him, the phoenix emblem on his uniform gleaming.

With arms outstretched, he hooked one around each brother, brimming with pride, tilting his head toward Shen Zongnian, his peach-blossom eyes beaming as he smiled brightly at the camera, full of youthful spirit.

Shen Zongnian averted his gaze, only to meet Tan Youming’s intense stare.

Tan Youming questioned, “Why is Zhao Shengge in it? Annoying.”

“...” Shen Zongnian didn’t want to answer, lowering his head to close the webpage about psychological counseling.

Tan Youming pressed on: “Don’t we have a photo of just us? Why display this one?”

A photo with three people hid one person's discomfort; a photo of two risked revealing his feelings, or breeding unwanted thoughts. Shen Zongnian said, “This is the only one I found.”

Tan Youming, dissatisfied, ordered: “I have others at my place. Go get one and replace it.”

Shen Zongnian had no choice but to agree: “Okay.”

Tan Duole, tired from playing, had another idea: “Uncle, I want to fly like an airplane.”

Tan Youming stood up and stretched, then crouched down: “Hop on.”

Tan Duole climbed onto his shoulders, and Tan Youming slowly stood up, announcing takeoff, bouncing her until she giggled. Still not satisfied, she asked, “Uncle, can we fly higher?”

Tan Youming grumbled, “Then find a pilot with longer legs.” He lifted her onto Shen Zongnian’s shoulders. Shen Zongnian frowned, somewhat flustered, but held her securely.

Tan Duole laughed heartily, and Tan Youming couldn’t help smiling too, aiming his phone at the two. Shen Zongnian’s broad shoulders and patient, silent gaze, combined with Tan Duole’s joyful face, softened his usual sternness.

Like an ice cube in a drink, glowing golden under the light.

Tan Youming hadn’t been drinking, but for a moment, he felt intoxicated, lost in thought, as if struck by a sudden warmth and fullness in his heart, nearly overflowing.

In this most ordinary moment, he realized Shen Zongnian had truly returned.

The most familiar room, the most familiar person—such ordinary nights had filled nearly twenty years of his life.

But only tonight did Tan Youming suddenly realize this was his happiest, most content moment in months.

Was he happy about the project’s success? Yes. Happy about being surrounded by admirers and sharing drinks? Also yes. But none of it compared to the happiness Shen Zongnian brought.

Shen Zongnian didn’t need to do anything; just being nearby made Tan Youming happy.

Not just in this moment—though he didn’t want to admit it, every day, every minute, every second since Shen Zongnian’s return had been joyful, so much so his heart felt like it was soaring.

A crack had formed in what was once smooth jade, and even the carefree admirer suddenly understood the value of what he’d once taken for granted.

Shen Zongnian looked over curiously. Afraid of being caught taking photos, Tan Youming averted his gaze first. Calming his heartbeat, he absentmindedly took a few more pictures and sent them to Tan Yulin to reassure the mother.

Guan Kezhi came to urge Tan Duole to sleep, carrying her away and promising a bedtime story.

Tan Youming sat on the carpet, one knee bent, elbow resting on it, editing messages with his head down. Shen Zongnian called out, “Tan Youming.”

Tan Youming lifted his eyelids: “Are you going to advise me?”

Without waiting for a reply, he raised an eyebrow: “Are you sure?”

Shen Zongnian walked over, bent down, took his phone, and set it aside: “Who’s advising you?”

It was clear Tan Youming was plotting against Ceng Shaohui. Given Tan Youming’s temperament, hiring someone to secretly photograph the affair was certain, and he’d likely also hired influencers to escalate the matter, ensuring Ceng Shaohui would be scandalized in Haishi’s major media for weeks.

Once the Zeng family’s company reputation and stock price were affected, the elders would inevitably approach Tan Zhongshan and Guan Kezhi to plead for mercy.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tan Youming leaned against the table lazily, “Am I afraid of them? How dare they bully a daughter of the Tan family? Perhaps he’d been playing the good guy for too long, making everyone forget the troublemaker he truly was.”

Shen Zongnian crouched to meet his eyes: “So what do you want to do?”

Tan Youming tilted his head, smiling lightly: “At the very least, Ceng Shaohui should be ruined and left with nothing.”

Shen Zongnian: “Okay.”

“The mistress and illegitimate child can’t take what belongs to Duole. The Zeng family must pay hefty alimony and set up a trust fund for her.”

“And?”

“Ceng Shaohui and the Zeng family must publicly apologize to Big Sister.”

“Anything else?”

Tan Youming shrugged: “That’s all for now.”

“Okay, go to sleep.”

Tan Youming knew this meant Shen Zongnian would take over. After all, Shen Zongnian didn’t bear the Tan surname, and Huantu wasn’t the primary co-organizer of this Maritime Trade Association event. If things turned ugly and the Zeng elders applied pressure, Tan Zhongshan and Guan Kezhi wouldn’t be put in too difficult a position.

But Tan Youming wasn’t having it, narrowing his eyes coldly: “What’s the difference between you handling it and me handling it? Aren’t you representing the Tan family? Aren’t you one of us?”

His sensitive mood shifts were like a tiger changing expressions. Shen Zongnian patiently replied: “I am. So you can confidently leave everything to me. Anything.”

He had dealt with too many such ugly, messy situations—one more or less made no difference.

"What you need to do now is take your medicine, then go to sleep, get plenty of rest, and get your strength back."

Shen Zongnian went to pull him up. Tan Youming bent one leg: "I haven't leveled up my game yet."

"I'll play it."

Tan Youming leisurely stroked the panda tail: "I haven't finished my felting project yet."

"I'll do it."

Tan Youming was pushing his buttons again—he couldn't help himself.

Compared to the previous compensatory overindulgence, his current provocation felt more like testing limits.

How far did he need to push before he was satisfied? He didn't know.

Shen Zongnian was back, but Tan Youming felt increasingly unsatisfied. Was going back to how things were enough? No, not enough, not nearly enough. Even if things were like before, Shen Zongnian could still leave him. He needed to tie him tighter, so tight it could never be undone.

The void in his heart grew harder to fill; the caged beast grew more restless. Tan Youming had never faced it before, had never even been aware of its existence. But now, with Shen Zongnian's return, it was gradually awakening, growing wilder, snarling and clawing, trying to break free from its cage.

What lay beyond the cage? Tan Youming didn't know. But his body moved faster than his mind, his words and actions more direct than his thoughts. His nerves, his mood, his desires—they no longer belonged to him. They constantly urged and coaxed him to step forward, to take a look, to give it a try. After all, Shen Zongnian wouldn’t get angry—Shen Zongnian always indulged him.

His well-defined eyebrows relaxed then furrowed, as if scheming something. Shen Zongnian didn’t mind him venting verbally, but he wouldn’t let him act recklessly when it came to serious matters. He simply pulled him to his feet and took him back to his room.

He watched Tan Youming take his medicine, wash up, and change into his pajamas. He adjusted the ventilation system and set the air conditioning temperature. Once Tan Youming was in bed, Shen Zongnian tucked him in and turned off the bedside lamp.

Just as he turned to leave, Tan Youming’s voice came from the darkness: "Shen Zongnian."

Shen Zongnian stopped.

A long moment passed, but Tan Youming said nothing more. Shen Zongnian ribbed him deliberately: "Do you want a bedtime story too?"

They had stayed together in the hospital room, but at home, it wasn’t possible.

"Shen Zongnian, did I agree to make up with you?"

Shen Zongnian opened his mouth and said softly in the dark, "No."

Tan Youming lay motionless in bed. Shen Zongnian walked over worriedly, bent down, and checked his hands and feet: "Are you feeling unwell?"

Tan Youming was forthright: "Were you hurt? Arguing with me." Or was he the only one having sleepless nights all this time.

Shen Zongnian paused, unsure why he was asking, but admitted: "Yes."

"How bad was it?"

Shen Zongnian never spoke sentimental words—he simply stated: "It was really painful."

Tan Youming sounded somewhat satisfied now: "Then why didn’t you come find me?"

"I thought you wouldn't want to see me."

"How did you know I didn’t want to?"

Shen Zongnian didn't dare to hope.

"If it hurt, remember this," Tan Youming closed his eyes and said in the dark, "This is the first and last time."

No one could put him through this. If anyone treated Tan Youming this way, he would never forgive them. But because it was Shen Zongnian, there were always exception after exception.

"If you ever do this again, I will never forgive you."

Shen Zongnian knew—this meant they'd turned the page.

"Okay."

He closed the door very gently. But in the darkness, Tan Youming opened his eyes again, took out his phone, and almost without thinking opened those photos from earlier that night.

It was strange—when Tan Duole was carried by Tan Youming, she would occasionally grab onto his collar carefully. But when sitting on Shen Zongnian’s shoulders, she wasn’t afraid at all. His shoulders were broad and strong, steady enough to support a child's joyful trust.

For someone usually calm and detached, that sudden softness and warmth felt especially precious, something that made him yearn and ache. He couldn’t help but look again and again.

Tan Youming stared at his phone for a long time, lost in thought, his chest growing warm. He let out a soft, inexplicable chuckle, rolled over, clutched the phone to his chest, and fell asleep just like that.