Chapter 27

Ruan Zhen felt he was just asking for it.

He hadn’t responded to Song Shuling’s goodnight, and he tossed and turned for so long without falling asleep. The Ruan Zhen of the past had never known the taste of insomnia, except when he was too cold to sleep. Otherwise, he would always fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Being young was truly a blessing.

Now that he had finally responded, he felt at ease. He tucked himself back into bed, pulled the covers over his head, and the fatigue and exhaustion from the previous night finally caught up with him, allowing him to fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Or so it seemed at first.

But then, he had a very strange dream.

He dreamed of his former brother.

The one who had been the catalyst for Ruan Zhen’s first, innocent foray into the adult world.

The memory was yellowed and blurry, like an old photograph pressed under thick glass, indistinct and unclear, but he knew it was that person. In the dream, Ruan Zhen raised his hand and rubbed his eyes hard.

A hazy figure.

He didn’t have myopia; his vision was so good it could make the heavens weep. He could tell the gender of a fly from several dozen meters away. The last time he had this feeling was when he tried on his desk mate’s glasses, which were as thick as the bottom of a wine bottle. When he put them on, the world started to spin.

Every color was there: the sky was a vivid blue, the mountains and sea a lush green, and the warm blood was vividly red. The sounds were especially loud, including Song Chunfeng’s sarcastic remarks, Song Xiaoyu’s hearty laughter, and the squawking of a little parrot.

Snow-white, as if he had never seen it before.

Everything began to twist and distort, and Ruan Zhen felt as if he were inside a kaleidoscope, cold and with a headache. Then, from the spinning world, Song Shuling walked towards him.

Dressed in fine attire, looking every bit the part.

He was slightly disappointed, thinking it might be his former brother.

But seeing Song Shuling wasn’t bad either. This man had never done anything truly wrong, had a good heart, and could fight. When he called out, it gave a sense of security.

“Have you come?”

Song Shuling looked at him, his eyes like amber, shimmering with light—Ruan Zhen knew he was dreaming. Sometimes, people realize they are in a dream but can’t wake up. This usually happens during nightmares when they are being chased. Ruan Zhen usually slept well, deeply and soundly, with few dreams, so this rare occurrence was quite unusual.

He asked again, “Why have you come?”

He paused, wondering why he was being so polite even in a dream.

Song Shuling looked at him, “I’ve come to take you.”

“Take me where?”

“Where do you want to go?”

This man was so annoying. Ruan Zhen had previously summarized that people in business often had this habit of speaking in circles, never saying things directly but instead trying to draw out information. It was quite tiresome.

He pursed his lips, “I want to go home.”

“Home to see Grandpa and the yellow dog?”

“Yeah.”

At some point, Song Shuling had walked up to him and knelt down, looking up at him, “Grandpa and the yellow dog are getting old. They will leave one day. What will you do then?”

Ruan Zhen blinked slowly.

Grandpa and the yellow dog leaving?

He had never thought about this, never even considered it. Whether it was avoidance or cowardice, Ruan Zhen had never pondered what he would do if one day he was the only one left in that small alley. No family left.

The dream twisted again, becoming a kaleidoscope of distorted images.

Ruan Zhen couldn’t remember the rest. His head ached, his eyelids moved uncontrollably, and his heart felt uneasy. He was in a state of shallow sleep, caught between dreaming and waking, with only fragmented images remaining.

Finally, Song Shuling took his hand and asked, “Are you cold?”

Three seconds before the door was kicked open, Ruan Zhen woke up.

He didn’t sit up but rolled over, clearly hearing the countdown from outside the door.

“Three, two, one…”

What was going on? Were they setting off explosives?

Then came a loud bang, and the door was kicked open, crashing to the ground.

The next second, the perpetrator stepped back, making way for Song Shuling, “Sir.”

Ruan Zhen was startled, grabbing the blanket and sitting up, his gaze meeting the other man’s.

To be honest, the worry and anxiety in Song Shuling’s eyes were quite evident.

But Ruan Zhen’s thoughts were entirely different.

He thought, this man finally called in his henchmen to do the job instead of doing everything himself. Otherwise, he would have laughed at him for half a month. A big shot like him doing everything himself was quite ridiculous.

“What’s going on?”

Song Shuling quickly approached, followed by a young man carrying a briefcase, “Are you feeling unwell? The doctor is here.”

“I’m fine,”

Ruan Zhen’s voice was still hoarse and raspy, “Why did you make such a big fuss? Why did you kick the door down?”

“I called you for a long time, and you didn’t answer,” Song Shuling stood by the bed, “I had no choice… Do you need to take your temperature or listen to your heartbeat?”

The doctor had already opened his briefcase and taken out a stethoscope, “Yes.”

The cold instrument pressed against his chest, and Ruan Zhen suddenly realized, “What time is it? How long have I been sleeping?”

The curtains were so thick that it was impossible to tell if it was day or night. He knew he hadn’t slept well the previous night and had come to Song Shuling’s place early in the morning to borrow a bedroom and avoid trouble.

“It’s eight in the morning.”

Song Shuling’s chest rose slightly, “You’ve been sleeping for twenty-three hours.”

Yesterday morning at nine, the two had parted at the bedroom door, with Song Shuling nearly getting his nose smashed by the door Ruan Zhen had closed. By four in the afternoon, he had already woken up, thinking Ruan Zhen must be exhausted and not wanting to wake him. He had just instructed the kitchen to prepare some late-night snacks, something warm and comforting, ready to soothe the stomach.

But Ruan Zhen hadn’t moved.

Song Shuling stood outside the corridor for a long time, smoking half a pack of cigarettes. His assistant, Xiao Liang, had even suggested breaking the lock to check on him.

His parrot, Ball, had a special skill of picking locks with a piece of wire.

Song Shuling shook his head, saying no.

Xiao Liang continued, “Should I press my ear to the door to see if he’s still sleeping?”

That was even worse. How could he eavesdrop and invade someone’s privacy?

Song Shuling dismissed Xiao Liang and crushed the cigarette butt when he suddenly realized that he had done something similar before.

Back then, he had suspected Ruan Zhen’s identity, thinking he might be a pawn sent by someone. He had arranged for him to stay in a room on the second floor, which was filled with “unclean” things, almost like a transparent glass box. Ruan Zhen’s privacy was completely exposed.

Thinking about this, Song Shuling felt ashamed and a bit embarrassed.

He didn’t dare stay there and hurried to the kitchen. As he stepped in, the chef greeted him with a smile, “Don’t worry, I’ve added sugar to the scrambled eggs and tomatoes!”

Song Shuling stood there for a moment, then asked, “Do we have any ducks?”

The chef was taken aback, “We don’t have any ducks.”

Song Shuling’s meals were prepared according to strict nutritional standards. He was particular about fitness and muscle, and duck meat wasn’t as easy to cook as beef or salmon. Unless it was French cuisine or roasted in a Beijing-style oven, it could have a strong smell that needed to be masked with ginger and other seasonings.

The chef, cautious, said, “I can have the garden catch a couple and prepare them. Is that okay?”

Song Shuling had a small farm-like garden where he grew vegetables and fruit trees, with a lake large enough for boating. He raised fish, ducks, and loaches, not for eating but for the beauty of watching them. The fat-tailed ducks would paddle and create long, green ripples on the water, and Song Xiaowan, one of the twins, would recite a poem:

“White feathers float on green water, red feet stir the waves!”

At the time, his elder brother was still alive, and there were many people around, all praising the young master for his intelligence.

Song Shuling sat in a pavilion at the back, flipping a page of a book, thinking to himself, “That’s a goose.”

Later, seeing the children’s fondness and not often returning himself, he had basically given the garden to his elder brother. But whenever he came back, he would still get fruits and vegetables from there, as the people who maintained it were all his own.

So, getting a couple of fresh ducks was quite convenient.

Although the chef didn’t understand why Mr. Song suddenly wanted duck meat, it wasn’t a big deal. He was confident he could show off his skills. Then, he saw his usually stern boss lightly cough.

“Just clean them and prepare them whole.”

So, he wanted roast duck!

The chef understood, “Got it, I’ll send them right away!”

The ducks were delivered at eight in the evening, five of them, white, tender, and plump, cleaned and prepared perfectly.

Then, the chef watched as Song Shuling picked up a boning knife.

“Is this how you chop it?”

The man’s tone was calm, his sapphire cufflinks and wristwatch removed, his sleeves casually rolled up, revealing well-defined forearms. He wore a custom-tailored white shirt and suit pants, made by a top-notch tailor, and even a tie—

Standing in the kitchen, asking how to chop a duck.

Who was more shocked, Song Shuling didn’t know, but he felt a bit uneasy.

Ruan Zhen in the guest bedroom still hadn’t moved.

He remembered those words.

Under the night sky, the two walked side by side. The other had asked if he had a smoking habit, and he had replied no, half-jokingly saying that smoking men had a certain charm.

“Do you need to smoke to have charm? A handsome man has charm even when chopping a duck with a cleaver.”

The moonlight was soft.

Ruan Zhen’s eyes sparkled when he smiled, “It’s not about what you do; it’s about who does it.”

So now, Third Master Song wanted to see if he could chop a duck with grace.

He started practicing.

It was more difficult than he imagined.

Never having been in a kitchen before, he first picked up the wrong knife. The chef didn’t dare correct him, as a boning knife in Song Shuling’s hands was quite intimidating—

Song Shuling had just grabbed the first knife he saw, chopping a few times before realizing it was wrong and asking for the correct one.

His strength was great, and his cuts were fierce, the five-digit cutting board resonating with each chop. He didn’t follow any joints, chopping according to his own preference.

All small pieces.

He felt that Ruan Zhen’s mouth wasn’t big, so he shouldn’t chop large pieces, as it would be difficult to eat.

Following the chef’s advice, he made beer-braised duck, a dish that was both delicious and easy to prepare, with fresh and fragrant meat.

The steps were all correct.

When it was done, Song Shuling was very satisfied.

He even took a photo and sent it to his aunt, who had been rehired by the university and was deeply involved in teaching, preparing no PowerPoint presentations for her undergraduate classes, relying solely on chalk and a blackboard, meticulous and busy, yet fulfilled.

She was probably still awake, and after sending the photo, Song Shuling took a few more from different angles. His phone rang, and his aunt replied quickly.

“Cold rabbit cubes?”

Song Shuling paused, “No, it’s beer-braised duck.”

He turned to the chef, “Did I chop the pieces too small?”

The chef didn’t dare contradict him, scratching his head, “It’s fine. For a home-cooked meal, the size doesn’t matter.”

Song Shuling was silent for half a minute, decided to take a shower, and then check if Ruan Zhen had woken up. If he hadn’t, he would chop another duck himself.

After all, five ducks had been delivered, so he could chop as many as he wanted.

But Ruan Zhen still hadn’t moved.

Song Shuling even counted the pebbles in the giant fish tank before giving up and resting in his room, thinking he shouldn’t wake Ruan Zhen and should wait for him to wake up on his own.

By morning, Song Shuling was completely restless.

He called, knocked on the door, but there was no response.

Where was he?

The parrot perched on his shoulder, looking at him with its black eyes.

Song Shuling stroked its white feathers, “Ball, go open the door.”

Unexpectedly, the bird squawked and flew away, quite haughty.

Perhaps because Song Shuling had just killed five ducks, and since they were all birds, it felt a kinship and was upset with itself?

There was no time to think about it.

One of his men kicked the door open.

Song Shuling’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Ruan Zhen, still in bed, groggy and disheveled, the bedcovers rumpled.

He didn’t know if Ruan Zhen noticed, but his heart was beating fast, “…You’ve been sleeping for twenty-three hours.”

Ruan Zhen looked at him blankly, seemingly not understanding what twenty-three hours meant.

It meant that Song Shuling had smoked half a pack of cigarettes and chopped a duck.

What was the fastest and most efficient way to wake him up?

The silver stethoscope was still on Ruan Zhen’s chest, and the doctor was listening to his heartbeat, head down, focused.

But this doctor didn’t have the skill to hear Song Shuling’s heart from such a distance. It was beating strangely.

Perhaps because the just-awake Ruan Zhen was so adorable.

So, Song Shuling smiled, looking at him with what he thought was his most charming and elegant expression, his tone light.

“Do you want to see me chop a duck?”