Pei Tingsong was startled. He even felt Fang Juexia was teasing him, though he was clearly acting like a child right now.
“When did I get you dirty?” he demanded, righteous indignation in his voice.
“Just now, when you leaned on me. You’re so heavy,” Fang Juexia stammered, grabbing the hem of his pink strawberry wine-stained shirt and pulling it up for him to see. “Look, here. It’s dirty.”
So that’s what it was…
“Then take off the dirty clothes, okay?” Pei Tingsong lifted the hem, helped him out of the T-shirt, coaxing like a child, “We won’t wear dirty clothes.”
Fang Juexia mimicked his words, angrily balling up his top and tossing it on the floor. “Not wearing it anymore.”
Afterward, he looked down at himself, staring intently without lifting his head. He was dead serious.
“What are you looking at?” Pei Tingsong found it odd and leaned in closer.
“Look at what?” Fang Juexia asked, his voice trembling slightly.
“Look at what?” Pei Tingsong repeated, After that, he bent down to examine himself, staring intently for a long while without lifting his head. He was dead serious.
“What are you looking at?” Fei Ting Song found it odd and leaned in closer.
He saw Fang Juexia staring wide-eyed at a kiss mark on his chest, slightly purple.
But Fang Juexia didn’t recognize it as a kiss mark. He thought it was just a dirty spot, so he let out a questioning grunt and began rubbing it with his fingers. He rubbed quite hard, and within moments, the area turned bright red. “This… this is dirty too.”
Pei Tingsong found his reaction both amusing and endearing. He raised his hand in honest confession, “I made this dirty too.”
“What should we do?” Fang Juexia pouted, his beautiful eyes innocent. “It won’t come clean…”
Pei Tingsong caught his frantic hand and leaned close to his chest. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll lick it clean.”
With that, he extended his tongue, tracing the kiss mark he’d planted on that snow-white chest days ago, his tip circling gently.
“Mmm…” Fang Juexia felt an indescribable sensation he couldn’t hide. His chest itched, his heart itched—he couldn’t scratch it, and it drove him mad. Pei Tingsong began kissing him again, moving from the mark to his pink nipple—beautiful. His lips and tongue enveloped it, the tip circling the small protrusion, occasionally nudging his erect nipple. He could feel Fang Juexia’s entire body trembling.
He wrapped his arms around Fang Juexia’s waist, caressing his smooth back. Yet his touch did little to soothe Fang Juexia; instead, it only made him more restless and agitated. His moans grew louder and more distinct than when sober. Alcohol made him honest. The kiss pried open his mouth, pouring desire into his heart until it overflowed.
“It hurts…”
Pei Tingsong lifted his head slightly, his fingers gently kneading the stiffened nipple where his lips had been, feigning ignorance as he asked, “Where does it hurt?”
He studied the drunk Fang Juexia up close—his flushed face, his open mouth—like a helpless young chick begging to be fed.
It felt almost cruel—like watching a flower bloom.
Fang Juexia traced his hand to his chest, then to the neglected side, murmuring, “Here… and here.” He guided Pei Tingsong’s hand downward.
He was half-hard.
“I want a kiss, Pei Tingsong. Will you kiss me?” he pleaded haltingly, eyes glistening.
Pei Tingsong went along with it, rubbing his lower body, pausing after each stroke. “Beg me.”
Drunk Fang Juexia could barely think; he could only express himself.
“Please…”
Fang Juexia melted beneath the kiss, murmuring indistinctly like a small animal. His mind shrank to childlike simplicity—school-age children excel at imitation—so he mimicked Pei Tingsong’s movements, licking and kissing back. Their hot, wet tongues tangled together until moans and wet sounds rose and fell like waves.
Pei Tingsong had no intention of letting him off so easily. He pulled away forcefully and deliberately declared, “Enough.”
“Not enough!” Fang Juexia clung to him, rolling over to pin Pei Tingsong beneath him. He demanded another kiss, his fervor overwhelming Pei Tingsong. “Be good. Wait a moment.”
“No waiting!” Fang Juexia lowered his head to kiss him again. Pei Tingsong could only yield to his will, devouring his tongue and lips until they were soft and swollen. The kiss left him sprawled across Pei Tingsong’s chest, a melted strawberry slushie, with only syrup
stuck to his chest.
It was too hot. Pei Tingsong had been rubbed hard long ago. He stretched his arm to the bedside table and pulled open the bottom drawer.
He’d brought condoms and lube from his apartment earlier, joking that they absolutely had to do it on Fang Juexia’s bed. Fang Juexia had flat-out refused back then, but Pei Tingsong had secretly stashed them in his bottom drawer anyway.
Who knew they’d actually come in handy.
“Baby, kiss me.”
Finally getting the lubricant, Pei Tingsong kissed him while lifting Fang Juexia onto himself. He pulled off Fang Juexia’s pants, leaving him naked and curled like a baby against his chest, kneeling with legs spread wide at his hips. They were like two starved creatures surviving only on each other’s saliva, kissing as if to comfort yet devour.
Pei Tingsong kneaded his buttocks while his other hand caressed the dip of his back with aroused urgency, touching him until he nearly cried out. Unable to see clearly, he squeezed lubricant onto Fang Juexia’s tailbone. The translucent, slippery liquid trickled down his butt crack as his fingertips, coated in honeyed fluid, massaged the entrance.
“…Hm?” Fang Juexia sensed something, a fleeting illusion of clarity, a dazed feeling that he was about to be devoured. Pei Tingsong kissed his lips. “I’m going in, baby.”
He rarely called Fang Juexia “baby” in bed, but his drunken state made him look exactly like a little darling, which only deepened Pei Tingsong’s sense of guilt.
But he liked that guilt.
“Call me baby…” The finger below had already entered most of the way, stirring the vortex inside his body. Fang Juexia murmured dazedly, “Who’s your baby?”
“Juexia is my baby.” Pei Tingsong kissed him, pushing another finger inside. The pressure made Fang Juexia writhe like a small snake, his lower body rubbing against the hardness in Pei Tingsong’s pants.
“Don’t move, be good.” Pei Tingsong stretched him with his right hand while his left arm held him steady from behind, coaxing, “Call me ‘baby,’ okay?”
One’s native language always carries a special kind of emotion, capable of stirring the deepest feelings.
Deep down, he truly believed he was Pei Tingsong’s treasure—that he’d be held in the palm of his hand, kissed until he melted.
Fang Juexia adored that name. As he lay atop him, gasping for breath with three fingers inside him, he murmured sticky words: “Baby… I’m your baby.”
“Yes, you’re the sweetest baby. You’re the prettiest, the most obedient…” So he writhed, craving skin-to-skin contact with Pei Tingsong. His hands frantically tugged at his own clothes, then Pei Tingsong’s pants. His soft hands grasped the hot, swollen member, and Fang Juexia felt a wave of fear wash over him.
The moment he released his grip, Pei Tingsong saw the panic in his eyes and deliberately asked, “Baby, what did you discover?”
Just as he finished asking, he found the sensitive spot in the wet, soft passageway and lightly scraped it like scratching an itch. “What is it?”
Fang Juexia shuddered, burying his face against Pei Tingsong’s chest. Like a child, he grabbed the front of his shirt and gave an equally childish answer, “Little dick…”
Pei Tingsong instantly lost his patience, his temples throbbing with frustration. He wanted to pin him down and thrust inside, but he held back. Instead, he guided Fang Juexia’s hand to his cock. “Is it small?”
Fang Juexia answered honestly again, “Not small. It’s big.”
“Then is it a big dick?”
Fang Juexia hummed in response to the prodding but nodded obediently. “Mm, big dick.”
“Want to eat it?” Pei Tingsong slowly teased his G-spot. Such enticement always worked, so Fang Juexia nodded. He had no idea how to eat it or what to eat, but Pei Tingsong’s words felt like a spell, like sacred teachings, like an order he couldn’t disobey.
Drunk memories were jumbled, his mind a shuffled deck of cards. He suddenly drew one and blurted out, “You said it had to be fair. You said we take turns—you kiss me, I kiss you back.”
Pei Tingsong nodded at this sudden reminder. “Yeah.”
“You… you pinned me down and bullied me so many times,” Fang Juexia’s eyes reddened. “I haven’t… I haven’t gotten my revenge yet…”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Pei Tingsong lifted him up. “I’ll let you take your revenge now. You’re on top. Bully me however you want, okay?”
The hand once bitten by Fang Juexia more than once now gripped his slender waist. The bedside lamp cast a luminous glow over his snow-white skin, making it seem less like he was holding a body thirsty for love and more like a piece of burning moonlight.
Moonlight was cool and distant, yet it belonged to the night. When veiled in lustful moans, it became even more beautiful.
“Ah, ah…” Fang Juexia’s body stretched open as he slowly devoured his lover, taking him deep inside.
The moon was a hole in the night sky, and so was he. He was a lollipop with its white stick removed, his crystalline body hollow inside, leaving only an empty eye. So he let Pei Tingsong enter him, returning the object to its rightful owner as recompense.
This candy would come alive, would melt.
Exhausted, he leaned back, his lover’s form protruding from his pale belly. He was a bizarre, erotic living porcelain piece.
This was his first time sitting, so free. It was also his first time making love so childishly, copulating without restraint. Alcohol stripped him of emotional control—he cried out when it hurt, tears streaming freely. “It’s… so full… Pei Tingsong…” “
Fang Juexia nodded, tears still streaming down his face like a child afraid of pain. His birthmark glowed a beautiful crimson. “It hurts… inside…” Pei Tingsong couldn’t hold back any longer. Gripping his waist with both hands, he thrust deeper inside. “Like this? Does it feel better?”
He cried out wildly, utterly reckless. A faint worry stirred in Pei Tingsong’s heart—what if the door opened next moment, their teammates returned, saw Fang Juexia straddling him, saw them mating like two animals in heat. Yet this very fear became a hormone-spiking catalyst in that instant.
After thrusting up and down many times, Pei Tingsong felt his scalp tingle from the tight, tender opening below. His lower back and abs tensed, pleasure mingling with discomfort. “Baby, you wanted to bully me? Come on then, do it yourself.”
His words were irresistibly tempting. Fang Juexia’s mind was consumed with fairness, with the urge to turn the tables.
Yes, he would fight back.
“Mm…” Fang Juexia braced one hand against Pei Tingsong’s chest while the other gripped his protruding hipbone. Leaning back slightly, his elongated neck held a fragile beauty. His hips swayed like flowing water, indistinguishable whether from a dancer’s instinct or pure desire. The sharp tool buried deep inside ground relentlessly against his most sensitive spot, making his desire grow even more frenzied. “Ah… ah, so good…”
“Baby, Juexia,” Pei Tingsong gripped his waist, thrusting twice amidst overwhelming pleasure, coaxing him to call him husband.
“Ah, mmm… Husband…”
He was the most exquisite blend of innocence and lewdness.
His hips swayed wider and wider, mirroring his own moans. Fang Juexia’s pitifully limp cock finally stiffened under the rear stimulation, dripping pre-cum as his hips swayed.
He became a honey pot with a crack, dripping sweet nectar.
“Ah, husband, I can’t take it anymore, I can’t…”
As the passage suddenly tightened, Fang Juexia lost all strength, collapsing limply onto him. Pei Tingsong knew he had climaxed, so he wrapped his arms tightly around him, thrusting upward into that supremely sensitive, wet cavity. Each low moan ended with a gasp, the sensuality explosive.
They were indeed on the verge of exploding. The friction, coated in viscous fluid, amplified their pleasure to infinite heights. The sounds of wetness and moans flooded the late night air. Fang Juexia was pinned beneath him, then hurled to the clouds. The only place they were connected revealed pink flesh and white foam. He was alive, yet teetering on the edge of death.
“Too deep, too deep… Tingsong, Tingsong…”
In his haze, he repeated Pei Tingsong’s name, breathy and soft, lewd and tender. Pei Tingsong flipped him over, changing positions to penetrate deeper. He hoisted his long leg onto his shoulder, pounding him fiercely, thrusting, listening to his childlike cries, like a child craving embrace, then he came, returning all his pent-up desire to his lover.
His lover, so rarely childish.
When it ended, Pei Tingsong’s phone coincidentally rang—the alarm he’d set. One minute before midnight, reminding him not to forget to wish him a happy birthday the very first second.
The plan had been perfect—he’d send his beloved a timely greeting like a teenager.
But now his beloved lay in his arms, drunk and weeping. Pei Tingsong patted his back soothingly. “Happy birthday, baby. You’re another year older.”
Fang Juexia’s eyelids were puffy. He lifted his gaze at Pei Tingsong, the trembling subsided, though his voice still came out in gasps. “Birth… birthday. It’s my birthday.”
“Yes, your birthday.” Pei Tingsong kissed his birthmark. “Thank you for coming into this world, for letting me meet you.”
“Then… then are you my gift?” Fang Juexia stared at him, pressing his lips together.
Pei Tingsong hadn’t expected that question. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. “Really? Can I be considered a gift?”
“You can.” Fang Juexia nodded earnestly. “Because I like you. You… you’re better than any other gift.”
He held Fang Juexia as if holding the entire world.
No, better than the entire world.
Fang Juexia was too exhausted and fell into a deep sleep after being comforted for just a moment. Only when he was sound asleep did Pei Tingsong gently rise, bringing warm water to wash him, as carefully as if handling the most precious porcelain. Once he was mostly clean, Pei Tingsong carried him horizontally to his own room, laying him down to sleep in his freshly laundered bed.
The scent lingering in Pei Tingsong’s quilt brought Fang Juexia deep comfort. He offered little resistance, quickly settling into this new cocoon of dreams. Pei Tingsong was left to tidy up afterward, washing every sheet and duvet cover.
The young master who once needed Fang Juexia’s help just to make his bed had grown remarkably capable at caring for others.
After laying out fresh linens, Pei Tingsong was too exhausted to move his precious bundle back. He returned directly to his own room and slipped into the bed Fang Juexia had warmed.
He racked his brain for lies to deflect his teammates’ questions tomorrow. Fang Juexia was drunk anyway—he could pin everything on him.
The unsuspecting little moon, unaware he’d taken the fall, rolled over when Fei Ting Song slipped in and obediently wrapped his arms around him. Leaning against each other, they both drifted into a deep sleep.
Pei Tingsong had overestimated his teammates’ self-control. When he woke up, the dormitory was empty. He guessed they must have been too drunk to walk and had passed out in the luxury private room.
At eight in the morning, it was the perfect time for a nap, but Pei Tingsong got up.
He had more important things to prepare than sleep.
By noon, an utterly exhausted Fang Juexia finally stirred, groggily wondering why he’d woken up alone when he’d clearly felt embraced while sleeping.
It must have been a dream.
After a while, he noticed the unfamiliar pattern on the sheets—he was in Pei Tingsong’s bed. At first, he was dazed, but then Fang Juexia suddenly remembered everything. His face burned, his hands went numb, and he scrambled out of bed in a panic.
This time, his lower back ached intensely. Fang Juexia could barely walk, shuffling slowly back in his slippers.
“Pei Tingsong?”
No one answered. The dorm seemed deserted. The others were gone, but why wasn’t Pei Tingsong here? He called out again, still no response.
His bedsheets were drying on the living room balcony—no one else but Pei Tingsong would do that. Guessing he might have gone shopping or been called away by Brother Qiang, Fang Juexia decided to freshen up first.
He walked back to his room. Pushing open the door, the balcony curtains billowed in the breeze like a giant white curtain. The scent of herbs flooded in, washing over Fang Juexia’s face.
His phone vibrated several times. Walking over, he saw numerous birthday wishes—from familiar faces and strangers alike—their names flooding the small screen all at once.
He replied with thanks to each one, until he saw Xiao Wen’s message.
[Xiao Wen: Juexia! Happy Birthday! Oh, and Qiangge asked you to post a Weibo—just say thanks to everyone!]
He replied with “Okay,” logged into Weibo, and did as asked, posting a simple “Thank you all.” After posting, he intended to log out, but his finger instinctively swiped, refreshing the homepage.
To his surprise, he saw a media account he followed had posted an anniversary message.
[@Yiwen Platform: Today is June 26th, International Day Against Drug Abuse. Cherish life, stay away from drugs.]
Fang Juexia stared at the brief line of text for a long time, carefully examining it. He tapped to view the attached image below, then closed it.
Such a coincidence felt almost predestined.
At least, he no longer felt those two characters as jarring or terrifying as before. There was still a hint of irony, but it wasn’t unbearable.
[@Kaleido Fang Juexia: Reposting this Weibo.]
This was the first time he’d reposted something he genuinely wanted to share, without his agent prompting him.
He would remember this forever.
The room felt stifling, almost suffocating. Fang Juexia usually opened the curtains during the day to let in some air, and this time was no different. But when he swiftly pulled them aside, he froze in place.
His little garden was blanketed in snow-white anemones. They bloomed on the jasmine branches, the gardenias, the spider plants, the geraniums, and the pansies—a sea of white stretching as far as the eye could see.
Even the sturdy cactus bore a single bellflower.
Fang Juexia gathered them one by one, eventually holding a full bouquet of snow-white blossoms. The last stem rested against the cactus. Crouching down, he noticed a bow tied to the cactus pot, like a small gift.
Only then did he notice a large, deep blue box hidden behind the cactus, concealed among the plants. He moved the cactus aside and lifted the lid. On top lay a white notebook.
Fang Juexia opened it to find the words “Happy Birthday” written on the first page in the most familiar handwriting—beautiful and bold. Flipping further, he found every page filled with Pei Tingsong’s handwriting—poem after poem, each one written by him.
He had said he would give him everything.
Fang Juexia’s heart swelled so full he dared not look closely, closing the pages instead. He recalled that afternoon in the hotel when Pei Tingsong had told him stories about his grandfather, mentioning he’d filled an entire notebook with unfulfilled love poems.
Now Pei Tingsong had done the same. He had truly gathered every word ever written for him, compiled them as a gift, and presented them. Within lay his talent, his late-night longing and desire.
Beneath the notebook lay a small box containing a tiny USB drive. Fang Juexia recognized it immediately—his own USB drive, the one he’d used to store his demo tracks, which Pei Tingsong had snatched away.
Feeling a twinge of unease, Fang Juexia took it out, walked to the desk, placed the bouquet and poetry collection on the surface, opened his laptop, and accessed the contents of the USB drive.
The file was named [to:fjx].
This is a video clip, and the footage appears to be quite old. It opens with a toddler, two or three years old, sitting in a garden bathed in bright sunlight, squinting his little eyes.
Fang Juexia hears an elderly voice calling him “Little Song.” The child turns his head, raises his tiny fist, and calls out “Grandpa!” His eyes crinkle into crescent moons, adorable as the moon itself.
It was the young Pei Tingsong. Seeing this scene, Fang Juexia’s heart melted. He found himself leaning closer, unable to look away from the child.
It was as if by doing so, he could participate in his past.
Soft music played in the background. He saw the beautiful house Pei Tingsong lived in as a child, the swimming pool where he claimed rainbow trout had drowned, and watched him stomp on winter branches bundled up warmly, laughing with childish glee. He saw him riding on his grandfather’s shoulders in midsummer, stretching his little hand to pluck apricots.
His hand grasped nothing but sunlight.
All those moments he felt he’d missed were neatly organized and stored here.
A small piece of Fang Juexia’s heart collapsed, as if that little boy had stepped on its tip, leaving it soft and tender. In a daze, he actually heard his own heartbeat—not from within his chest, but right beside his ear. The background music shifted, incorporating his sampled heartbeat.
He watched the figure of Pei Tingsong in the footage gradually grow up, transforming from a tiny child into a teenager. Every moment of change was captured in this video, yet the scenes where he was edited out repeated endlessly here.
All of them were “I love you,” each phrase mirrored against the rhythm of his heartbeat.
There was the sweet “I love you” from his childhood, likely spoken to his grandfather. There was the playful, affected tone from when he was a bit older, deliberately goofing around. There were moments of sadness, moments of hurt, moments when he unconsciously read aloud while studying.
Finally, there was the teenager, leaning over a stark white hospital bed, his shoulders filling the empty space beneath his shirt. Crying, his fingers clenched the sheets as he uttered his final “I love you.”
The screen suddenly went black, leaving only the heartbeat in the background resonating with Fang Juexia.
Fang Juexia suddenly realized tears were streaming down his face.
“I love you.” He suddenly heard the confession, a voice utterly different from before—not the childish voice of a young boy, nor the fragile, uncertain tone of a teenager. It was the mature him, the Fang Juexia he knew.
He spoke his love in a deep, gentle voice, repeating it over and over in the darkness.
This scene reminded Fang Juexia that darkness with him was safe and warm. Each declaration of love collided with his heartbeat, making his throat grow increasingly tight.
The subconscious habit of timing told Fang Juexia he had said “I love you” a total of 22 times.
The screen suddenly lit up, revealing Pei Tingsong’s smiling face before him—so strikingly handsome, a face that deserved to be adored by everyone.
Yet his eyes were fixed only on him, brimming with the most sincere and ardent affection.
“Juexia, happy 23rd birthday.”
Finally, he uttered the twenty-third time.
“I love you.”
