Chapter 13 Little Fag Missing

Chapter 13: The Little Fag Goes Missing

Lin Zaishan didn’t sleep well last night at all.

All night long, that little fag clung tightly to his arm; if he moved, that little fag moved too; if he turned over, that little fag would burrow into his embrace. He slept fitfully, waking up repeatedly, and when he finally looked at the clock—it was already almost an hour after his alarm had gone off.

Now sitting in his office, the more he thought about it, the more annoyed he got.

Ever since he got tangled up in the Yuan family’s mess, he hadn’t had a single peaceful day. The siblings kept tormenting him in their own ways, and that eccentric father-in-law was practically invisible—only sending money, never saying a word. The more he thought about it, the more suspicious everything seemed.

He planned to take a trip to the island one of these days to sound out Yuan Jingtian, but it wasn’t happening anytime soon.

This morning, as soon as he entered the company, he was ambushed at the elevator.

The finance director handed him last quarter’s report, saying outsourced procurement costs were forty percent over budget—if this kept up, cash flow would take a hit. Legal was waiting for him to sign the litigation documents, saying a clause in the contract needed his personal confirmation. Procurement had sent a message too—that factory in Jiangli had raised its price by another twenty yuan per ton, asking whether to renew the contract.

Lin Zaishan handled all this nonsense as he walked toward the office, replying to two messages in the elevator. Two hours late, and a mountain of work was already waiting on his desk—he had no idea when he’d be done tonight.

The truth was, if it weren’t for that little fag, he wouldn’t have been so late this morning.

Oversleeping was already annoying enough, but that pervert seemed to have perfect timing—the moment he opened his eyes, the little fag's lashes fluttered too. Luckily, he got out of bed early. After showering, he was about to head straight out, but that clingy guy followed him to the door, grabbed hold of him, and wouldn’t let go, pestering him for a while longer.

It grossed Lin Zaishan out.

Over the years, he’d dealt with plenty of women—seen all types—but he’d never met anyone so clingy. So clingy that even now, sitting in his office, his mind couldn’t help replaying the scene—that man pressing against him in the morning as he saw him out.

Yes, a man.

Even if it were a woman, he couldn't stand it, let alone a man.

He had no idea how he made it through this morning.

Thinking about it, Lin Zaishan’s fingertips tapped absently on the desk. It was better to stay busy—at least then he could push these annoying thoughts aside. Otherwise, the more he thought, the more frustrated he got.

The office door opened, and Assistant Chen walked in holding a stack of documents.

“Mr. Lin, the board meeting is at ten this morning. All the materials are here. Lunch with Director Wang from the Construction Department is arranged—the driver is ready. In the afternoon, the tech department will report on the new production line progress—”

“Got it.” Lin Zaishan raised a hand to stop her. “One more thing. Go to Liulichang. The old lady admired a small rosewood deer figurine at someone’s place—I don’t know which shop it’s from. Find out, buy it, and send it over. Take the money from my personal account.”

Assistant Chen nodded. “Understood, Mr. Lin. Anything else?”

Lin Zaishan didn’t reply, just motioned for her to put the documents down.

A few days ago, on the phone, the old lady mentioned that when she visited an old friend's place, she saw a small rosewood deer figurine—beautifully carved. Lin Zaishan could tell she liked it. He didn’t say anything, but he remembered. After finally getting back from out of town, he immediately thought of taking care of it. But now, he was also wondering if he should buy something for his 'male wife' at home. After all, they were married—everything had to look proper at least on paper.

Just as Assistant Chen was about to turn and leave, Lin Zaishan suddenly said, “Wait.”

Before he could figure out what to say, the phone on his desk rang. He picked it up casually, grunted in acknowledgment, and waited for the caller to speak.

It was the production line manager, his voice low and rough. “Mr. Lin, Wenjun is in trouble.”

Lin Zaishan didn’t say anything. He covered the receiver, turned to Assistant Chen, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Never mind. I’ll find you later.”

Assistant Chen took the hint and quietly slipped out.

“Go on.”

“He… got into a fight on the line. Broke someone’s nose. The other guy’s family is now blocking the factory gate, threatening to call the police.”

Lin Zaishan closed his eyes.

“…Tell him to come to my office.”

After hanging up, he didn't stick around. He got up and went to lunch with Director Wang from the Construction Department, at a restaurant near the company. Director Wang hinted that the supplementary regulations might drop in the fall, with a focus on encouraging local procurement. They should prepare early. Lin Zaishan understood—the message was received, so the meal didn't go on too long. After seeing Director Wang off, he returned to the company two hours later.

When he pushed open the office door, Lin Wenjun was curled up on the sofa playing with his phone. He looked up at the sound of footsteps, a flattering smile on his face.

“Brother—”

Lin Zaishan ignored him. He walked to his seat, sat down, opened the documents, and didn’t lift his head.

The office was quiet for five minutes.

Lin Wenjun couldn’t sit still. He got up from the sofa, walked to the desk, placed both hands on the edge, and leaned forward.

“Brother, listen to me, it really wasn’t my fault. That guy was such a smartass, he said—”

“Stand up straight.”

Lin Wenjun froze for a moment, not moving.

Lin Zaishan looked up at him.

There was no emotion in that look—couldn’t even be called stern. It was just flat and indifferent, but Lin Wenjun felt a chill run down his spine. He sheepishly pulled his hands back and stood up straight.

Lin Zaishan then lowered his head again and continued flipping through the documents.

Lin Wenjun stood there, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable. Today, he was wearing a light pink fitted shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of collarbone. His pants were white, tightly tapered at the ankles, making his legs look slender. His hair was clearly styled, drenched in gel and gleaming. Standing in the gray-and-white-toned office, he looked like a parrot that had flown into a jungle.

He couldn’t stay still for long. He fidgeted, toying with the ornaments on the desk, then checking his nails.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lin Zaishan saw him flicking a pen in the pen holder with a dainty, pinky-up gesture. His eyebrow twitched, but he held his tongue.

Another five minutes passed. Lin Zaishan closed the file, leaned back in his chair.

“Talk.”

Lin Wenjun’s eyes lit up. He immediately stepped forward and spoke quickly. “Brother, today’s thing really wasn’t my fault! That guy’s a lunatic. I was checking the machine, and he came over, all sarcastic, saying—”

“Saying what?”

Lin Wenjun paused, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face, but he still said it. “He said… dressing like that to come to the production line—was I planning to pick up clients tonight?”

Lin Zaishan looked at him.

“So you hit him?”

“He had it coming!”

“Broke his nose?”

“I… I didn’t hit him that hard. Who knew he was so fragile…”

Lin Zaishan suddenly laughed. It was a faint smile, gone in a flash.

He stood up, walked around the desk, and stood face to face with Lin Wenjun.

Lin Wenjun instinctively took a step back, retreating to the edge of the sofa, with nowhere to run.

"Brother…"

"Do you have any idea what I've been dealing with?"

Lin Wenjun opened his mouth but couldn't get the words out.

Lin Zaishan took another step forward, the distance between them now less than two feet.

"That bastard Jia Yu poached our people, all the mine data's lost, the new production line is waiting for materials, and Jiang Li's goods are double the usual price—I haven't had a decent night's sleep this whole time."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear, and the look he gave Lin Wenjun could have killed.

"How many days have you been on the production line?"

Lin Wenjun hung his head and stayed silent.

"Four days," Lin Zaishan answered for him. "Four days, and you went and got into a fight and broke his nose."

He turned and walked back to his desk, picked up a stack of documents, and looked back at Lin Wenjun.

Lin Wenjun expected him to throw them again and instinctively raised his hand to block.

Lin Zaishan saw that raised hand—arm raised to shield his face, pale and slender wrist, pinky finger slightly curled.

A complex feeling welled up inside him. Not anger, not disappointment, but something deeper, something he couldn't quite put into words.

How did this kid turn out this way?

He remembered Lin Wenjun as a kid—playing with dolls among his older sisters, crying whenever anyone teased him. Back then, it was cute; Lin Zaishan figured he'd grow out of it. But he never did. It only got worse. Grandma was so worried she couldn't sleep at night, tried setting him up on dates, but he wouldn't see any of them. Later, word started spreading in their social circle—people called the Lin family's son a sissy.

Lin Zaishan had just taken over the company then, busy as hell with work. When he heard about it, he was quiet for a moment, then called Grandma: "Stop pushing him."

He didn't think it was a big deal. What someone liked to wear, who they liked—that was personal. As long as it didn't interfere with important matters, he didn't bother with it.

But now, watching Lin Wenjun stand in front of him in that pink shirt, pinky finger curled, can't handle anything except taking a swing when someone insults him, and then unable to handle the consequences—it hit him: maybe not caring was no longer an option.

Not because it was humiliating, but because if this kid stayed like this, what would become of him in the future?

He tossed the papers onto the desk instead of throwing them at him.

"Come here."

Lin Wenjun shuffled over obediently.

"Sign it."

Lin Wenjun looked down at the paper—a settlement agreement for eighty thousand yuan, with both parties agreeing to drop the matter.

"After you sign, go to Finance, pick up the money, and deliver it to him. Apologize in person."

Lin Wenjun's head shot up, eyes wide. "Apologize? He insulted me and I'm the one apologizing?"

Lin Zaishan looked at him with a blank face.

"I'm not signing." Lin Wenjun tried to resist.

Lin Zaishan didn't say anything, just kept staring at him.

Lin Wenjun felt unnerved by that look, but he still held his ground. "Bro, I know I shouldn't have thrown the punch. But did you hear what he said to me? He knew the kind of person I am, he said it deliberately. Why should I apologize?"

"What kind of person are you?"

Lin Wenjun froze.

Lin Zaishan looked at him, his gaze moving from his face to that pink shirt, then back.

"Tell me—what kind of person are you?"

Lin Wenjun's expression shifted, and he bit his lip, saying nothing.

Silence filled the office for a few seconds.

Lin Zaishan looked away, picked up his cigarette pack from the desk, pulled one out, and lit it.

"Wenjun," he exhaled a puff of smoke, his tone suddenly becoming slow. "What you like to wear, who you like—I don't care about that. But right now you're on the production line. Dressed like this, arguing with people with your pinky stuck out like that—how do you think they see you?"

Lin Wenjun's eyes reddened.

"How do you expect others to respect you?"

"I… I was never cut out for this anyway…" Lin Wenjun's voice grew teary. "You're the one who made me go to the production line…"

Lin Zaishan said nothing.

Of course he knew Lin Wenjun wasn't cut out for it. Sending him to the production line wasn't about expecting him to actually accomplish anything. He just wanted the kid to get out, meet people, learn how to get along with others. Even if he couldn't really learn, at least he wouldn't spend every day in nightclubs and bars, hanging out with that shady crowd.

He was twenty-seven, twenty-eight. How long could he keep relying on him? There would come a day when Lin Zaishan couldn't look out for him anymore. Their parents had died early, and Grandma wouldn't be around forever. When that day came, who would take care of him?

He couldn't say any of this out loud. If he did, Lin Wenjun would only feel more wronged, more convinced he couldn't measure up.

"I didn't send you to the production line," he said finally. "I sent you to learn how to handle yourself in the world. You're twenty-seven, twenty-eight. Are you going to let Grandma worry about you forever?"

Lin Wenjun hung his head, shoulders shaking, tears rolling down one by one.

Lin Zaishan glanced at him, pulled two tissues from the box on the desk, and pressed them into his hand.

"Stop whimpering."

Lin Wenjun wiped his eyes with the tissues. When he finished, tears still clung to his lashes. Looking closely, there were probably traces of makeup on his cheeks—two straight streaks running down.

Lin Zaishan looked at him like that and almost sighed.

Forget it. What could he do? One step at a time.

"Sign it."

Lin Wenjun didn't move.

"After you sign, go apologize, then come back and do what you need to do. Don't let it happen again."

Lin Wenjun looked up, eyes red, voice still choked with tears: "Then… you're not angry anymore?"

Lin Zaishan ignored him, walked back to his seat, and went back to reading his documents.

"Close the door on your way out."

Lin Wenjun stood there, watching his brother for a moment, then finally picked up the pen and signed his name quickly.

At the door, he turned back.

"Bro, I wasn't trying to keep this from you." Lin Wenjun stood by the door, his hand still on the handle. "After what happened, I went to your place, but no one was there. Then I remembered you might be at the company."

Lin Zaishan looked up. "Which place of mine did you go to?"

"Your own place."

"No one was there?"

"Yeah."