Four Big Shots

The sports car crawled into an upscale residential development with every amenity, passed the detached villas, and pulled into the parking lot for the high-rise apartments on the other side.

Song Xuanhe glanced at Xiao Yuanmu, who sat expressionless in the passenger seat, resting with his eyes closed. Starting today, he would not only be sharing meals and a home with this big shot, but also finding ever more inventive ways to torment him. He couldn't help shedding a few inward tears for his future self, whose fate could hardly be more miserable.

The instant the car came to a stop, Xiao Yuanmu opened his eyes. Cold as a deep pool, they were clear and fully alert, without the slightest trace of sleep.

Song Xuanhe wasn't surprised. If Xiao Yuanmu had actually managed to fall asleep in the car of a man forcing him to submit, that would have been a horror on par with the return of the Jurassic period and dinosaurs coming back to life.

"We're here. Get out." Song Xuanhe dutifully delivered his lines. "You'll be living here with me from now on. I'll show you your room in a minute. After that, go to the kitchen and make dinner."

Xiao Yuanmu gave him an indifferent glance, opened the door, and got out.

Song Xuanhe breathed a sigh of relief. First, he showed him around the small two-story apartment they would be living in for a while. Only then did he open one of the bedroom doors and say, "This is your room from now on."

As far as Song Xuanhe was concerned, sleeping in a separate room from Xiao Yuanmu was probably the only thing the original owner of his body had done right in the entire book. He had no idea why the man had kept a lover only to sleep apart from him, but thanks to that decision, at least Song Xuanhe wouldn't have to spend his nights on edge too, bracing for Xiao Yuanmu to get upset and murder him to silence him for good.

Xiao Yuanmu glanced at the clean, tidy room without much interest, then turned his gaze to Song Xuanhe. "What do you want to eat?" he asked flatly.

"Anything." Outside the scenes dictated by the plot, Song Xuanhe had no intention of making life any harder for this big shot. Besides, he wasn't a picky eater. "I eat everything. Just make whatever."

Without another word, Xiao Yuanmu turned and went downstairs.

Watching him disappear down the stairs, Song Xuanhe let out a long breath. He opened the door to the neighboring bedroom and flopped onto the bed, the muscles throughout his body slowly relaxing. He'd had far too many scares today. He needed time to recover.

He lay there for more than ten minutes. Just as he was drifting off, the sudden ringing of his phone yanked him back out of the hazy darkness.

Lazily raising the phone, he glanced at the number, which wasn't saved in his contacts, and answered. "What is it?"

"Young Master Song, everything you asked for is ready. When would you like to visit the set?" Even over the phone, Song Xuanhe could hear the flattery dripping from the man's voice.

That one remark, however, reminded him who the caller was—and what he himself had planned two days ago.

"I'll come this weekend." Having nearly fallen asleep a moment ago, Song Xuanhe spoke in a soft, husky voice that carried some of a rich young wastrel's careless indifference. "Don't make a big production of it. I'm just coming to have some fun."

"Of course, of course," the man hastily agreed, showing admirable savvy as he supplied Song Xuanhe with a suitably respectable excuse. "You're considering investing in a few films, Young Master Song. This weekend's visit is simply an inspection of the set."

Amused, Song Xuanhe chuckled and added a reminder. "I've admired Best Actress Liu for a long time. I hope I get to meet her in person tomorrow."

The man on the other end gave a knowing laugh. "It's an honor for Best Actress Liu to have caught your eye, Young Master Song. She'll certainly be there this weekend."

After hanging up, Song Xuanhe couldn't keep his eyes from crinkling with amusement. The caller was a director named Huang Cong who had his own crew. His filmmaking skills might not be particularly impressive, but he knew how to work every angle. His flattery always hit its mark, and he was an excellent comic foil. Put him in ancient times, and he'd be the very image of a chief eunuch of the Eastern Depot: fawning over his superiors and bullying his inferiors without a moment's hesitation.

Song Xuanhe didn't see anything wrong with that, though. As long as you stood far enough above a man like this, he couldn't stir up much trouble. And he had to admit, talking to him was entertaining. Anyone would find a conversation comfortable when all they had to do was offer the first hint of an idea and the other person would fill in everything left unsaid.

Tossing his phone onto the bed, Song Xuanhe burrowed into the bedding a little longer, reluctant to leave it. Only then did he sit up and stretch, intending to go downstairs and see how Xiao Yuanmu was doing with dinner.

But the moment he turned his head, he sprang backward with the speed and wildly exaggerated reaction of a kitten that had suddenly discovered a cucumber behind its butt. He nearly pitched headfirst off the bed.

After finally managing to steady himself by grabbing the bench at the foot of the bed, Song Xuanhe scrambled up. Pale-faced, still shaken and thoroughly furious, he snapped, "How the f*ck did you suddenly get behind me?"

Anyone who was completely relaxed would struggle to stay calm upon suddenly discovering someone standing behind them. All the more so for the otherwise fearless young Master Song, whose sole lifelong terror was the supernatural creatures in movies and stories that appeared and vanished without warning, with blue faces and vicious fangs—ghosts.

Xiao Yuanmu's soundless appearance behind him had nearly scared him out of his wits. If he hadn't retained a shred of reason, his usual spoiled temper would have sent him marching up to kick Xiao Yuanmu first and worry about the consequences later, just to vent his anger at being frightened.

In some respects, Song Xuanhe's spoiled-young-master temper was every bit as bad as the original owner's. The difference was that, much as he liked having fun, he still followed the principles and limits of a normal person. He had an internal scale for weighing what he could and couldn't do. Otherwise, with his parents dead so early and no one to rely on, how could he have grown up so safely and freely in a great clan like the Song family, where people would eat you alive?

Once he'd vented his temper, Song Xuanhe began to feel a little guilty. He didn't know how long Xiao Yuanmu had been standing outside, or whether he'd heard what Song Xuanhe had said on the phone. He'd only just forced the man to agree to become his lover, then turned right around and expressed an interest in another woman—and been caught red-handed. It gave him the absurd feeling that he'd been caught cheating in bed.

The original owner, however, would never have felt guilty. So he sat up straight, raised his chin, and drawled, "Is dinner ready?"

Xiao Yuanmu's gaze swept over the eyes that had grown especially moist with fright and the thick, dark lashes still trembling slightly. Suddenly, the pent-up gloom that had weighed on his heart lately seemed to dissipate a good deal. For some inexplicable reason, his mood had improved considerably.

Xiao Yuanmu nodded and, in a rare moment of elaboration, added, "Tomato-and-egg noodles."

Song Xuanhe's eyes lit up. Tomato-and-egg noodles were his absolute favorite kind of noodles. Nothing else even came close!

"Let's go, then." Song Xuanhe got off the bed and strolled over to Xiao Yuanmu. Giving him a sidelong look, he said imperiously, "From now on, don't come into my room without my permission."

Xiao Yuanmu said nothing. He merely gave him an indifferent glance and walked out ahead of him.

Song Xuanhe had already read in the book that Xiao Yuanmu was a fantastic cook. One of his seven eventual boyfriends had even fallen madly in love with him after eating a bowl of meatless noodles he'd casually thrown together. At the time, Song Xuanhe had only sneered. He'd dismissed the whole thing as proof that the author had no need for decency or logic when it came to delivering men to Xiao Yuanmu.

But after actually tasting Xiao Yuanmu's noodles, Song Xuanhe felt he owed an apology for his youthful arrogance and narrow-minded ignorance. With taste buds that had been pampered and discerning for twenty-two years as his witness, he could guarantee that this was the best bowl of tomato-and-egg noodles he'd ever eaten!

If he could only eat one dish for the rest of his life, he would genuinely be willing to eat Xiao Yuanmu's noodles for all three meals, every single day!

Song Xuanhe ate with impeccable manners. He sat upright, his eyes lowered, and ate very quietly. Even with noodles, there was hardly an unseemly sound. Yet, for some reason, Xiao Yuanmu, who had initially had little appetite, found himself growing hungry as he watched Song Xuanhe finish the noodles one bite at a time.

And when Song Xuanhe looked up from his bowl with shining eyes and told him, in complete earnestness, "They're delicious," Xiao Yuanmu suddenly felt that if he asked for more, he would immediately make him another bowl.

Song Xuanhe didn't ask for more. Although he genuinely thought he could eat another serving, he knew his own position very well. He'd already settled on a basic policy: outside the plot points he absolutely had to follow, he would never make trouble for Big Shot Xiao. For the sake of not making his future even more miserable, he could only swallow the urge, however much he wanted another bowl.

To Song Xuanhe, telling the cook that a delicious meal had tasted good was simply a small, casual habit. His mother had been a celebrated, top-tier chef. When he was still too young to have learned table manners, his parents had already taught him to respect every bite of food he ate, and to respect the person who made that delicious food.

It was a habit ingrained in him from the time he could speak. Even after saying it, Song Xuanhe never considered whether the remark fit the original owner's characterization. It came too naturally to him, like using chopsticks for Chinese food and a knife and fork for Western food. Following the most basic rules required no conscious thought.

After dinner, Song Xuanhe sat on the couch watching Xiao Yuanmu wash the dishes, his fingers tapping somewhat anxiously against a throw pillow.

Just thinking about how he would have to pin Xiao Yuanmu down in a moment and force himself on him made his legs go weak. He knew he wouldn't succeed, but he was still a little scared. After all, the difference in their builds was plain to see. What if Xiao Yuanmu got so angry that he broke his legs?

But this was a major plot point. Even if Xiao Yuanmu broke his legs, he still had to act it out.

When Xiao Yuanmu came out of the kitchen, he found Song Xuanhe curled up cross-legged on the couch, hugging a throw pillow. His lips were lightly pressed together, and there was no telling what he was thinking. His lowered, thick lashes cast a shadow beneath his eyes. Perhaps because the couch was so big and soft, he had sunk right into it, somehow looking rather innocent and pitiful.

But Xiao Yuanmu knew it was nothing more than an illusion.

There were plenty of pitiful people in this world. An arrogant, overbearing third-generation rich boy like Song Xuanhe was definitely not one of them.

Author's Note:

Song Xuanhe: Small, pitiful, and helpless.

Xiao Yuanmu: Be good. I'll whip out my noodles for you.