Qiao Hailou used his phone to locate Shen Yuan.
Since he had been drinking too, he called a driver and rode in the back seat with Shen Yuan.
Shen Yuan, having sent him to pick him up, didn’t even say thanks; he climbed into the car silently, turned away, and ignored him.
“Eh! This little one…”
Qiao Hailou felt like he’d been bewitched. He was used to others catering to him, never had he imagined himself coaxing some young kid.
It had been years since he’d been involved with someone so young. Not that he couldn’t find younger partners—he just found most in their late teens or early twenties too immature, vain, and shallow, interesting only for physical reasons.
And at that age, young men tended to be far too earnest, like creeping vines, clinging to someone’s life with a weight he didn’t want to bear. He was a lone wolf, had no interest in marriage, and had no patience for little lovers.
If not for Shen Yuan’s appearance hitting all the right spots, he wouldn’t have been tempted to sleep with him.
Qiao Hailou even admitted to himself he had the leisure to play at romance with this kid—he must be way too bored lately.
Mostly, he couldn’t quite read Shen Yuan’s intentions.
At first, he thought Shen Yuan was a gold digger, but that morning after a shower, the boy had run off, leaving eight hundred yuan on the bedside table! What was that for? Surely not a payment for… well, that kind of thing?
He had guessed Shen Yuan would tease him some more, so he’d slipped a note with his number into Shen Yuan’s pocket in advance.
Being bored, he figured it was harmless fun.
He’d waited for Shen Yuan to contact him… and ended up waiting over a week.
Perhaps he had never encountered such a sharp-tongued, playful kid before; sparring with him verbally was rather entertaining.
Still, he assumed Shen Yuan was a toy for playing with rich men.
That was until he met him with Li Chen, seeing his shy, rustic, gentle stepchild.
Qiao Hailou barely recognized him at first glance.
Was this really the same insolent little beauty? They looked identical, yet gave off completely different vibes. Which one was the real Shen Yuan? Qiao Hailou was genuinely curious.
How could this kid be so unpredictable?
He turned to look at him, noticing a small mole on Shen Yuan’s neck. His gaze lifted to the glasses perched on his ears. “How strong is your prescription?”
Shen Yuan glanced at him sideways, replying flatly, “A little over two hundred degrees.”
Qiao Hailou asked, curious, “So you could manage without glasses? Do you usually wear them, or go without like when you meet me?”
Shen Yuan, annoyed, answered, “Why are you so irritating? Why do you care? We don’t usually meet anyway.”
Qiao Hailou pretended to be troubled. “Little one, why do you get angry so unpredictably? How did I offend you? You called me ‘Uncle Qiao’ so sweetly today, and now you snap at me—don’t you know how to respect your uncle?”
Shen Yuan scoffed, “You have an uncle’s bearing? I don’t respect you.”
All he wanted was Qiao Hailou in bed, not small talk.
This old rogue was a weirdo; even saying unpleasant things didn’t faze him, and he smiled cheerfully, making it impossible to read his thoughts.
Qiao Hailou softened his tone, “Then I won’t act like your uncle. I’ll just be Qiao Hailou, speaking nicely. You answer me nicely, alright?”
Shen Yuan, used to being polite, felt some of his anger dissipate after exchanging a few barbed words. He asked, “What do you want to ask?”
Qiao Hailou asked, “Your stepfather told me your name is Shen Yuan. Which ‘Yuan’? The one for ‘fate’ (缘) or ‘origin’ (源)?”
Shen Yuan replied, “…the ‘Yuan’ from ‘Yu Li Qiu Yuan’ (雨荔秋垣).”
Qiao Hailou didn’t expect that. He paused, softly reciting: “露階晚砌，穿簾不度寒砧；雨荔秋垣，隔院稀聞怨笛。” He frowned, puzzled. That wasn’t a good character—its connotations were bleak. “Why would your parents give you a name like that?”
Shen Yuan had checked the dictionary when he first learned to. Hardly any good phrases contained ‘垣’—断壁残垣, 雨井烟垣, 雨荔秋垣—all evoked ruin and desolation.
It was his biological father’s doing—deliberate. He knew why his father chose it: because he despised him.
But why should he tell Qiao Hailou? Shen Yuan pursed his lips. “None of your business.”
Qiao Hailou, realizing his misstep, expected as much, and chuckled: “You say ‘none of your business’ to me the most.”
Shen Yuan wasn’t keen on talking; this man was far too clever—he had to stay on guard.
Qiao Hailou continued, “Then let me ask something trivial: how old are you this year?”
Shen Yuan glanced at him, “Twenty, nominal age.”
Qiao Hailou nodded, candidly, “I’m thirty-six.”
Shen Yuan blinked. “Actual or nominal?”
Qiao Hailou hesitated slightly. He’d never cared about age before, but hearing Shen Yuan was twenty made him conscious—he reported the youngest age he could. Actually, in a few months, he’d be thirty-seven. Still, no need to lie. “Actual age.”
Shen Yuan, surprised and moved, said, “You’re really that old?” He had assumed thirty, but thirty-six was… a shock.
Qiao Hailou said, “I’m in the same generation as your father. You call me ‘Uncle Qiao’; your dad’s forty. How young do you think I can be?”
Shen Yuan sneered inwardly. No wonder this old rogue came running—his age had reduced his appeal. Even with money, few young people wanted him. He even sleeps with boys his nephew’s age. Clearly, a morally corrupt old man.
Qiao Hailou showed his ID to book the hotel room. Shen Yuan, however, didn’t produce his own—he had no intention of leaving a trace of being there.
This time, he was seeking pleasure fully conscious.
But when it came to the final moment, Shen Yuan suddenly hesitated. In his heart, he argued with himself: Shen Yuan, are you really going to let yourself sink again and sleep with this old rogue a second time? If you keep this up, it’ll only get messy!
Then he reasoned: this old playboy clearly wouldn’t be serious. What’s the harm in indulging a little? The fun alone made him feel free and unrestrained.
Surrendering to self-indulgence, he decided: I’ve come all this way—might as well enjoy it!
Qiao Hailou asked, “Shall we shower first? You, me, or together?”
Shen Yuan: “You first.”
He changed into the hotel pajamas while Qiao Hailou showered. Qiao Hailou was fast—ten minutes later he was out.
As he turned off the water, Shen Yuan’s phone rang. It was Li Lin calling, worried: “Bro, you’re not home yet? Dad said I should make you some sobering tea, but it’s cold now.”
Qiao Hailou had just stepped out, wearing only a towel around his waist, revealing his toned arms, chest, and half-arm tattoo. Shen Yuan made a shushing gesture, lying to his brother: “I thought about it, decided to head straight back to school. Thanks for the tea, sorry I didn’t call.”
“I’m tired, want to sleep early.”
Li Lin, disappointed: “Oh…”
Shen Yuan softened: “You sleep early too, don’t game late. Good night.”
Li Lin: “Mm, good night, bro.”
Shen Yuan hung up, exhaling. He turned to see Qiao Hailou watching him with interest. His face flushed, and he snapped, “What are you staring at?”
Qiao Hailou leaned closer, wrapping him in an embrace, kissing him lightly: “So gentle… I didn’t know you could be like this.”
“Mm, no alcohol taste today.”
Shen Yuan pushed him away: “I didn’t get drunk this time.”
He removed his glasses, cheeks faintly pink, glancing at Qiao Hailou. He was fully conscious—here for indulgence.
Sweat dampened his hair at the temples as he leaned back on the pillow, recovering from the almost overwhelming pleasure.
He noticed the soft light from the bedside lamp falling on Qiao Hailou’s tattooed right arm. The memory of that arm supporting him earlier, the flushed face and neck, made it seem even more sensual.
Shen Yuan reached out to touch the tattoo.
Qiao Hailou sat up, taking a cigarette from a silver case and searching for a lighter. Shen Yuan quickly grabbed it.
Qiao Hailou asked, “What? Don’t want smoke in your face?”
Shen Yuan held the cigarette between his fingers: “Light it for me.”
Qiao Hailou smiled, did so, then pulled another cigarette from his pocket. Without using a lighter, he brought it to Shen Yuan’s cigarette tip to light it.
Shen Yuan exhaled a plume of smoke, feeling both relief and the hollow emptiness after pleasure.
“This smoke’s too strong,” he complained. “It stings my throat.”
Middle-aged Qiao Hailou said, “This is the kind of smoke men my age enjoy.”
Shen Yuan felt unprecedentedly decadent, leaning against this old rogue smoking. Normally, he rarely smoked or drank unless obliged for social occasions. He extinguished half the cigarette, overwhelmed by its strength.
Shen Yuan then said seriously, with a deliberately aloof tone: “We’re only keeping it physical. No romance. I won’t be responsible for you. You need to understand that—don’t take it seriously, or I’ll be troubled.”
Qiao Hailou: “…?”
Shen Yuan continued: “I thought of setting some ground rules. Listen up.”
Qiao Hailou: “???”