Chapter 22 Time for Divorce!

Chapter 22: Time for a Divorce!

Lin Zaishan was so pissed off at the little fag that he didn't get a wink of sleep all night.

He tossed and turned in bed, replaying the scene from last night over and over in his mind. That line "I need to contact Xiaozhou by phone," that self-righteous look, that attitude of daring to lecture him even as his ear was being pulled—the more he thought about it, the angrier he got. So angry he actually laughed, and then the laughter turned back into anger.

And so it went, back and forth. He finally dozed off just as dawn broke, but was woken up early by the commotion in the living room.

The sound of chopping, the clatter of a spatula, and those familiar, irritating footsteps.

Lin Zaishan pulled the pillow over his head, trying to block out the noise, but it was useless. The sounds seemed to deliberately burrow into his ears.

He was already annoyed from lack of sleep. He pretended not to hear it at first, but as he turned over, it suddenly hit him—

The little fag was actually cooking!

He opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, and listened carefully again. Yes, he was cooking.

Once he confirmed it, Lin Zaishan felt a jumble of emotions.

They had fought so fiercely last night. He had slammed the door and stormed off, not returning to sleep all night, and yet this guy got up early in the morning to cook for him? Wasn't he holding a grudge? Or did he just not realize Lin Zaishan was angry?

He wanted to stay in bed a little longer, but his curiosity got the better of him—what was this little brat up to? After thinking it over, he decided to get up and see for himself.

The moment his hand touched the doorknob, he hesitated again.

The humiliation of almost being "returned" last night surged back. He, Lin Zaishan, had been outshone by some pretty boy from nowhere? If word got out, how could he face anyone?

He glanced at himself in the full-length mirror and suddenly felt a strange surge of competitiveness.

Fine. If you're going to play it cool, I'll play it cool too. Let's see who can outlast who.

Without further hesitation, he went to the inner room, changed into his suit, fixed his hair, made sure he looked energetic and confident, and then pushed open the door.

In the open kitchen, Yuan Che was busy working in an apron.

Hearing the sound, he didn't turn around. He kept his head down and concentrated on the task. The spatula flew back and forth, his movements surprisingly skillful—a far cry from the disaster he had made the first time he was in the kitchen.

Lin Zaishan watched him from the corner of his eye and sat down at the dining table as usual.

Staring at Yuan Che's busy back, a question suddenly popped into his mind—

Did this little fag also cook for that pretty boy back on the island?

The thought made him inexplicably irritable, and then he recalled Yuan Che's words: "There's no one else in my heart but you." He let out a cold laugh. At the time, it sounded cheesy, but at least it was something human. Now, it was all bullshit!

There's no one else in my heart but you? Then who was the ghost chasing after Xiaozhou's phone number last night? This little brat never tells the truth!

Just as he was thinking that, the lying little fag came over carrying two plates.

Lin Zaishan stared at his face, trying to convey his displeasure through his eyes. The look roughly translated to: I haven't forgotten how you pissed me off last night.

But the other party didn't take the bait.

Yuan Che placed the plate in front of him, turned around, and went back to the counter to do other things. He didn't even look at him or say a word, as if Lin Zaishan were just air.

Lin Zaishan gritted his teeth and stared at that back, wishing he could burn two holes in it with his eyes.

On purpose.

This guy was definitely doing it on purpose.

Alright. You want to play cold war with me? Then I'll play hot!

"Yuan Che!" he shouted rudely. "Come here!"

Yuan Che's back stiffened almost imperceptibly. He slowly turned around, looking a bit bewildered at the sharply dressed man at the table, and asked in confusion, "What's wrong?"

"Come here." Lin Zaishan tapped the table with his fingers, trying to maintain an air of authority.

Yuan Che didn't ask further. He untied his apron, walked over slowly, and sat down at the other end of the table.

Lin Zaishan raised an eyebrow: "Sitting so far? Afraid I'll eat you?"

"I've always sat here," Yuan Che replied gently, his tone as usual, but his face expressionless.

"That was before." Lin Zaishan's voice turned stern. "Now I want you to sit closer."

Yuan Che frowned, as if thinking about the logic of that statement. After a few seconds, he stood up and obediently moved to the chair next to Lin Zaishan.

As soon as he sat down, he looked at the distance between them—seemed to think it wasn't close enough. So he scooted a little closer to Lin Zaishan.

A little closer.

A little closer.

Thus, two men over 1.8 meters tall ended up crammed together at one corner of the table, knees touching knees, toes touching toes, squeezed tight. Yuan Che sat upright, like a primary school student waiting for the teacher to speak.

Lin Zaishan gave him a cold, speechless look.

"Sometimes I really don't know if you're genuinely dumb or just pretending," he said sincerely.

Yuan Che looked at him, his eyes clear and confused.

Lin Zaishan couldn't be bothered to explain. He shot him a helpless sideways glance, picked up his cutlery, and prepared to eat breakfast.

But when he looked down, he froze.

Today's breakfast turned out to be bagel with butter and bacon, and in the other plate, there was even beef with sautéed broccoli stems.

He stared at the plate for a full three seconds, then lifted his head, utterly shocked: "You... you've started eating meat?"

Yuan Che shook his head: "This is for you. I've already had my breakfast."

"Then why have you started making meat for me?" Lin Zaishan looked down at the plate again, and for a moment even suspected that the little fag had poisoned the meat.

But Yuan Che didn't read his mind. He looked at him with a completely open expression and said earnestly, "Because I don't want to kiss you today."

The hand holding the cutlery froze mid-air. Lin Zaishan's head snapped up, and the words he just heard echoed in his ears—"Because I don't want to kiss you today."

Don't.

Want.

To kiss.

You.

He stood there frozen for a long time, processed it for a while, and finally had to accept a shameful fact—he had been rejected again. Rejected again!

Lin Zaishan was completely furious! This time, his anger carried a hint of disbelief, a touch of mortified rage, and some embarrassment—a sense of being backed into a corner.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to suppress the fire.

Reason told him that losing his temper now was absolutely not an option; the outburst last night had already been stupid enough. Clearly, this kid responds better to gentleness than toughness—the more he clashed head-on, the more stubborn the kid got.

So without a word, Lin Zaishan stood up and walked straight away.

"Aren't you going to eat breakfast?"

Yuan Che's voice called after him from behind.

This time, he didn't look back. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't. If he did, he'd end up teaching the little brat a lesson against his will—but how? To what extent? He hadn't figured any of that out yet.

If he blew up too much, it would make him look jealous, which would be even more humiliating. If he held back, he'd be suffocating from frustration. When had he ever suffered such humiliation? Getting rejected twice by the same person?

Alright, just suck it up for now.

But he couldn't just let this slide. This time it wasn't about money—it was about his pride. Otherwise, even if he later married and had kids, he'd never be able to let this go.

He made up his mind. He went back to the bedroom, grabbed his phone, and returned to the living room, ready to take the little fag to work. But what he saw made him see red again—the little fag was wearing an apron and washing dishes!!

Washing dishes!!

Lin Zaishan stood frozen, a lump in his throat that wouldn't go up or down.

He had just been in an internal struggle, psyching himself up, while this guy calmly did dishes like nothing had happened?

Great! He had a bellyful of anger with nowhere to go!

He strode over, in the rudest tone possible: "We're about to leave, so why the hell are you washing dishes?"

Yuan Che stopped, staring blankly at him, his hands still dripping with dish soap foam.

Before he could speak, Lin Zaishan added sarcastically, "What are you staring at? Want me to help you with those?"

"No." Yuan Che answered quickly, his eyes firm as he looked at him. "As long as I'm here, I won't let you lift a finger."

Lin Zaishan choked on his anger, absolutely livid.

That sentence left him completely speechless. Standing there, he inhaled, exhaled, inhaled again and again.

"What's the matter with you?" Yuan Che spoke up at the perfect moment, pouring fuel on the fire with an innocent look.

Lin Zaishan looked at him and suddenly felt a deep sense of powerlessness.

Talking reason to this guy fell on deaf ears; getting angry didn't faze him; giving him the silent treatment went right over his head.

So what else was he supposed to do?

"Follow me right now!!" He could only bellow that.

"Oh..." Yuan Che drawled.

"Take off the apron!!!"

When Lin Yajun opened the door today, she immediately sensed Yuan Che was not himself.

The two had been spending almost every day together recently, but she had never seen the kid this distracted.

In the past, as soon as he walked in, it was a string of "whys" followed by countless "how comes." Those questions struck her as childish, but she never got annoyed. The country boy wasn't worldly—it was natural he wouldn't know these things. When she patiently explained, she even got a kick out of it, like playing teacher.

They would sit on the sofa and chat for half the day. Everything she said, Yuan Che listened to earnestly, as good as gold.

But today?

He came in, said "Mom" as usual, and then clammed up.

While Lin Yajun was busy in the kitchen, she caught him sitting stiffly on the sofa, staring blankly at the coffee table. She specially made his favorite vegetable salad, chopping extra fruit to mix in. But when she handed the bowl to him, the kid actually shook his head and said he didn't want any.

Didn't want any? The guy who usually polishes off two big bowls was saying no?

Lin Yajun stood there holding the salad bowl, momentarily at a loss.

She wasn't the type to butt into young people's business. She never pried into her son's business, and as for this one—well, he wasn't her daughter-in-law, so she should stay out of his business too. But seeing him sitting there so downcast made her heart ache.

Still, after mulling it over, she opened her mouth but couldn't bring herself to pry.

Forget it, let the young people work it out on their own.

She set the salad bowl on the coffee table, sat down beside him, picked up the remote, and turned on the TV.

The DVD of The Men of the Bathhouse had arrived just yesterday evening. She had planned to watch it alone, but on second thought, she decided to wait for Yuan Che to come over so they could watch it together. The kid might be clueless about many things, but watching TV with him was always a blast—he always had the weirdest questions that cracked her up.

But today, clearly, neither of them had their head in the show.

Lin Yajun kept stealing glances at him, noticing his eyelids drooping, head nodding, like he could conk out any second.

On TV, the sons of the bathhouse owner were being forced by the old man to get up early and go hiking. The men trailed behind listlessly, yawning and stumbling all over.

Yuan Che sat on the sofa, staring at the screen, looking exactly like them.

Lin Yajun couldn't stand it anymore.

"Xiaoyuan, are you sleepy?"

The instant Yuan Che heard his name, he jolted upright and instinctively denied it: "Mom, I'm not sleepy."

"Not sleepy?" Lin Yajun leaned in skeptically, pointing at his eyes. "Look at those dark circles—they're almost down to your chin."

Yuan Che glanced at her, then lowered his head guiltily. "Okay, maybe a little. Can I take a nap, Mom?"

"Sure, go ahead and sleep." Lin Yajun nodded quickly, pointing behind her. "Go lie down in the bedroom."

Yuan Che didn't budge.

"What's the matter?" Lin Yajun looked at his hesitant expression, a bit puzzled.

"Can I... sleep out here?"

"Here?" Lin Yajun was taken aback, looking from the sofa to him. "There's a bed, why would you sleep on the sofa?"

Yuan Che hung his head, mumbling weakly: "I can't sleep alone."

What?

Lin Yajun thought she must have heard wrong.

"Last night, my husband left me alone in the room," Yuan Che continued, his voice completely drained. "But no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get to sleep on my own."

This was the truth. Last night Yuan Che had basically stayed up all night.

During the half month he lived at Lin Yajun's house, he had slept on the floor with a pillow and blanket — there was no helping it, without a servant to keep him company, he wasn't used to sleeping in a normal bed. Last night he tried that too, but lying on the floor he still couldn't sleep. One was a matter of habit, and another was that he was just too upset. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Lin Zaishan leering at Yu Yizhou, and his ears automatically looped that line: "He's allowed to touch, but you're not." The more he thought about it, the more upset he became, and the more upset he was, the less he could sleep. When dawn was approaching he finally started to feel drowsy, but then worried he would oversleep and be unable to make breakfast for Lin Zaishan, so he forced himself to drag himself up. Yet after all his hard work cooking, that man didn't eat a single bite. He had planned to catch up on sleep once Lin Zaishan left, but unexpectedly the man had dragged him out again, insisting on bringing him to his mother's to watch TV. The thing was, today he simply didn't want to watch TV. He just wanted to sleep.

Thinking of this, he yawned again, his eyelids so heavy he could barely lift them.

Lin Yajun, listening from the side, quickly grasped the key point: "How did Xiaoshan leave you alone in the room? Didn't he come home?"

Yuan Che was so sleepy his mind felt numb; he stared at her blankly, not registering what she meant.

"I had Old Xu take you to meet up with him last night, didn't I?" Lin Yajun pressed. "He didn't go home with you?"

"He did," Yuan Che said groggily. "I mean... last night we slept in separate rooms."

"Separate rooms?" Lin Yajun's eyes went wide, and she snapped off the TV. "Why?"

"Because..."

Yuan Che opened his mouth, then suddenly trailed off.

Could he say this? With his husband not here, would telling his mother this be ratting him out?

"Oh, why?" Lin Yajun leaned forward anxiously. "Child, you're worrying me to death!"

Yuan Che saw how anxious she looked, and couldn't bear it.

He sighed and decided to tell the whole truth —

"Because I think my husband is about to divorce me!"