Wen Liu was already a seasoned reader.
Her favorites folder held dozens of different “authors” she followed—many of them she even kept up with on Weibo, casually nudging them to update their stories. On days with new chapters, she felt utterly delighted.
That day, as usual, she finished reading the updates and scrolled through Weibo. She noticed one of the authors she’d liked for the past two years had a new post.
She clicked casually and was met with a flood of “hahaha” and some painfully straightforward, almost clueless comments.
Skimming quickly, Wen Liu couldn’t help laughing.
This particular author specialized in “infinite-loop” stories, and she had read several of them. The author’s ideas were fresh and unusual, and while the writing style could be terrifying—often leaving readers questioning their existence after finishing an update—
she was truly a hidden gem!
…except for her painfully straightforward way of speaking, of course.
Wen Liu laughed softly, added a “+1” in line, and only then realized—wait a minute, this wasn’t the author posting.
She hurriedly checked.
Ah, turns out it was a little newbie asking a question.
Wen Liu quickly looked up this little one’s ID. Sure enough, a genuine newcomer. But their subscription list was full, and all the novels were ones she had already read and loved.
Not bad. Could it be a kindred spirit?
She glanced at the Weibo name and chuckled:
“Oh my God, I’m a CEO-type!”
But, this had to be a fellow sister in spirit!
She thought a moment and replied:
“Hey, when you left that comment, didn’t you have a ‘throw a mine’ thing? Spending just one coin on a mine will get you a cute little paw~”
After replying, she followed the account.
…If only she had glanced at this “sister’s” previous post, she wouldn’t have thought so.
Yin Chen had slept well.
When he woke up, he realized he had missed several calls.
As he changed out of his wrinkled shirt, he started returning the calls.
The design team had already had preliminary discussions, but Yin Chen had a new idea.
He had read several novels mentioning a game called “chicken dinner” (PUBG), which seemed to require a high-end computer setup. Somehow, he felt intrigued by the concept and decided to add a recreation room.
Also, the study could accommodate one more desk.
And the wardrobe—he’d finalize that once the fashion team came over.
As he organized his thoughts and allocated tasks, he reached the last call and paused.
A name flashed in his memory: Zong Cheng, founder of 24time Company.
Also the new partner he planned to collaborate with.
Seeing the time, it was already two hours past the missed call.
He dialed back, his tone apologetic.
“Mr. Zong, my apologies for missing your call—I fell asleep. Has your assistant been in touch? We’ll need to postpone today’s meeting to tomorrow. I hope this hasn’t caused too much inconvenience.”
“I’ve been in touch, but I heard Mr. Yin was unwell. I was just calling to check on you—sorry to have disturbed you.”
Zong Cheng’s low voice triggered instant flashes in Yin Chen’s mind—words from novels he’d read, describing a certain type of man.
His mind jumped in delight as he responded naturally:
“Just didn’t sleep well last night due to some matters—nothing serious.”
He glanced out the window at the night sky. “At this hour, have you had dinner? If not, we could have a meal together and chat a bit.”
“Of course, that’s fine!”
Hearing that, Zong Cheng immediately stood up.
No overtime today! He grabbed his suit jacket and headed out.
The assistant couldn’t help grinning—finally, the workaholic boss left!
He quickly typed in the group chat:
“Did you guys work overtime today? The big boss left! You can pack up now!”
“Today’s slaves of labor, did anyone lose hair? Finally, a day off! Going to take my girlfriend out for dinner tonight!”
“Salary increase today? Unbelievable, a whole day without overtime! Love it! But why did the big boss leave?”
“Seems Mr. Yin of Yin Corporation called to have dinner with the big boss to discuss business. Enjoy this brief happiness before the work resumes!”
The group, previously lively, instantly deflated—heartbroken, hair falling out metaphorically.
Yin Chen, having confirmed Zong Cheng agreed, quickly changed into less formal clothes.
“How about hot pot? A private room, I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Zong?”
“Hot pot?” Zong Cheng hesitated mid-step. A memory of yesterday flashed briefly in his mind. Shaking it off, he got in the car.
“Do you have a favorite place? I can make a reservation.”
Yin Chen thought for a moment and removed his watch.
“Went to a decent place yesterday. Let’s go there.”
He gave the name of the hot pot restaurant Lin Yuhan had taken him to the day before.
…Coincidentally.
Zong Cheng’s lips twitched upon hearing the familiar name.
He wiped his face. Forget it—all minor issues.
Compared to the ridiculously wealthy Yin Chen, his own self-made small company seemed poor.
“Reservation done, see you at the restaurant, Mr. Yin.”
“Good, see you there.”
Yin Chen adjusted in the mirror and left.
Arriving first, Zong Cheng picked the quietest, most secluded room.
After pondering the hot pot base, he chose half spicy red oil, half clear broth.
Actually, he leaned toward a mushroom delicacy hot pot, thinking it would suit Yin Chen’s upper-class identity. But then realized—Yin Chen invited him to a casual hot pot place, not some fancy restaurant. Overthinking.
After a while, a bit nervous, Zong Cheng excused himself to the restroom.
At the hot pot restaurant, Yin Chen noticed Zong Cheng’s message and planned to go straight to the room. Halfway there, he paused.
The waitress smiled at him.
He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, where’s the restroom?”
“Go straight down this way, at the end.”
The restroom was spacious and clean. Early enough, there was only a tall figure inside.
Yin Chen naturally walked to the other side.
Belt jingling. Only the sound of water flowed.
Then—
“Hmph~!”
A sudden sultry moan broke the quiet.
Yin Chen’s ears perked.
The man beside him stiffened.
Next moment, the voice became clearer:
“Mm-hmm! Don’t, don’t be too rough, I—I can’t hold it in…”
“What’s to fear? They’re just here to use the restroom. Otherwise, kiss me, and no sound will escape.”
A sound of exchanged saliva echoed.
Yin Chen’s ears flushed.
The man beside him cursed under his breath.
He instinctively looked over—just in time to see the other man retreating.
Yin Chen’s mind raced: this guy seems older…
Lost in thought, the man suddenly leaned close.
“What are you looking at?”
Zong Cheng noted the shock in the other’s eyes—any man would feel a sense of achievement.
But—
To stare at someone else’s, um, “assets” in this audio backdrop, and to look this devilishly handsome… could he be gay?
Anger rose inexplicably, and he asked lowly.
Huh? Yin Chen snapped back—noticed the man’s displeasure.
Just about to speak, the man frowned.
“It’s you?”
Yin Chen froze.
“You know me?”
He tidied his clothes neatly.
Zong Cheng glanced down—sizeable, but appears clean?
Hearing the question, he pursed his lips.
“Brief encounter at the hotel, not exactly acquaintances.”
Yin Chen recalled, nodded firmly: “You were at the White Swan Hotel the day before yesterday.”
Zong Cheng’s chest tightened.
“You remembered me?” He thought this person wouldn’t notice him.
Yin Chen washed his hands elegantly.
“I have a good memory.” He paused, raised an eyebrow. “If it was you, my earlier behavior was impolite—but don’t mind it. I was joking with my friend.”
Zong Cheng’s expression stiffened. That day’s expression… ugh, so awkward!
He washed his hands stiffly, replying dryly: “No offense taken. I also happened to hear your conversation—apologies.”
“Not a big deal. It wasn’t exactly private, and you only overheard at the door. Seems like it caused some trouble?”
Yin Chen took out a handkerchief to dry his hands.
This guy must be gay, carrying such a delicate handkerchief?
Zong Cheng, having calmed down, thought differently about gay men—polite, refined. The conversation earlier—probably like straight men joking crudely. Relief washed over him.
He looked at Yin Chen with gratitude.
“Earlier was a bit awkward, but chatting now clears things up. Let’s be friends. Which table are you at? Today’s meal’s on me.”
Yin Chen blinked, waving it off. “No need, just a casual encounter, all good.”
Zong Cheng persisted:
“Call it my courtesy, a meal is nothing.”
Yin Chen was speechless: “Really unnecessary, and I’m not dining alone anyway.”
“Minor matter,” Zong Cheng insisted.
Suddenly, a sweet voice screamed inside.
“Ah—!”
Yin Chen jumped—slipped on water and crashed into Zong Cheng’s chest.
Zong Cheng instinctively wrapped him with a warm, firm hold.
Yin Chen grabbed his arm, nose close to Zong Cheng’s chest, inhaling a faint, pleasant scent—dry pine aroma, oddly soothing.
Zong Cheng steadied him and released. His hidden ears burned.
Yin Chen felt awkward, whispered thanks, suggesting:
“Let’s leave here first.”
Slightly shorter, maybe half a head?
Zong Cheng’s thoughts scrambled, nodding blankly.
Outside the restroom, they nodded faintly.
“I’m meeting someone, I’ll head out first,” Yin Chen said.
Zong Cheng hesitated about paying, but didn’t follow—he feared further mental chaos if he did.
He returned to knock on the innermost restroom door, coldly:
“Attention, this is public. You can save the fun for home.”
Inside silence, then a rascal voice:
“None of your business!”
Zong Cheng’s face darkened:
“Not my business, true. But advise the other inside—someone who can’t pay or control themselves, imagine being with them. And if someone barges in, you’ll be in trouble.”
He kicked the door, leaving.
Inside, a pig-like scream erupted:
“Can’t control yourself! Exposed both inside and out! No action for a month!”
Zong Cheng asked the waitress—another guest arrived.
He hurried to the private room:
“Sorry, restroom delayed me, hope Mr. Yin doesn’t mind…”
Opening the door, he froze.
“Did you take the wrong room?”
Yin Chen smiled lightly: “No, you didn’t. Relax.”
He stood and extended his right hand:
“I’m Yin Chen.”
Zong Cheng, dazed, extended his hand:
“I’m Zong Cheng, hello Mr. Yin.”