10 Plaything
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Wang Yue felt utterly humiliated, but he dared not say another word. Tonight was destined for him to swallow his pride silently.
The bar manager was so frightened that he barely dared to breathe. He had been nervously standing by for over ten minutes, and only when the young masters finally concluded their business did he dare to restart the dance floor.
“What are you standing there for?” he whispered to Xie Guilan, urging him, “Hurry up and open the wine for Young Master Cen.”
Xie Guilan looked at Cen Wu with a complicated expression, hesitated for a second, then turned to leave.
The scents of smoke, alcohol, blood, the overpowering perfume in the bar, and the swaying crowd made Cen Wu’s face go pale, waves of nausea washing over him in bouts, thin sweat trembling down his back.
Yet his black, tousled hair fell over his neck like a veil of snow, and his expression was icy cold. No one noticed anything unusual.
“Stand up,” Cen Wu raised his hand and pointed at the boy from earlier. “What’s your name?”
The boy was already terrified into stupor, kneeling motionless on the ground. Hearing Cen Wu call him, he shuddered violently.
A middle-aged man nearby hurried over, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. Bowing, he handed Cen Wu a business card. “Second Young Master, this is Shen Qingjian. I… I’m his manager, Zhang Liao.”
He wasn’t the type of manager who peddled talent. He had finally gotten his hands on a promising starlet, but Wang Yue had taken him away. His anger was spent; all that remained was worry for the night.
Cen Wu confronting Wang Yue was one matter, but he feared that once he left, Wang Yue would vent his fury on the people under his charge.
Cen Wu didn’t take the card, lowering his eyes with a meaningful look. “If you need anything, call me.”
“…” Zhang Liao was stunned, his eyes instantly reddening. He quickly nodded in agreement. “Alright, alright, thank you, Second Young Master.”
He didn’t have Cen Wu’s number, but as soon as Cen Wu spoke, Chu Zijian stepped forward smoothly, swaggering as he handed the contact information over.
“Consider yourself lucky to get Second Young Master’s contact,” Chu Zijian said with a sinister smile, squeezing Zhang Liao’s shoulder so hard the latter shivered.
Cen Wu: “…”
This was truly the villain of all villains.
Wang Yue’s face, already swollen and purplish, twisted further with rage. He had been holding back a storm of fury, planning to punish the young star harshly once Cen Wu left.
Who would have known Cen Wu’s reach was so long, even meddling with people from his company? Madness!
Cen Wu ignored Wang Yue. His father was a director, and having grown up on film sets, no one understood the entertainment industry better than him. Wang Yue’s intentions were transparent.
Xie Guilan moved quickly, having already opened the wine and brought it over.
“I won’t bother Brother Yue any longer,” Cen Wu was already unsteady on his feet. He steadied himself with Xie Guilan’s arm and tilted his chin slightly toward Wang Yue. “Go ahead.”
The bar’s dance floor was packed; cold sweat drenched Cen Wu’s back. He leaned against the wall, trying to avoid the crowd, but after a few steps, his calves suddenly weakened.
Xie Guilan instinctively reached out, catching him before he could collapse. But before they could leave, the turbulent crowd pushed them into a corner.
Cen Wu half-leaned into Xie Guilan’s arms. Taller by over half a head, Xie Guilan’s warm breath brushed over one side of Cen Wu’s cheek and neck, causing his mind to reel.
A primal fear and anxiety gripped his breath.
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Under the light, Xie Guilan barely made out Cen Wu’s face. His naturally pale skin looked even colder, the tips of his ears flushed red to the point of bleeding, lending him a hazy, ethereal beauty. His long, thick lashes fluttered, as if awakening a tide of blossoming spring.
Cen Wu’s mind was a chaotic mess. He was terrified of contact and shivered as he leaned against Xie Guilan’s chest.
The dance floor was crowded. Clutching Xie Guilan’s shirt tightly, he couldn’t control himself and buried his head deeper into his embrace like an ostrich, revealing only the slender, snow-white curve of his neck.
“…”
Again, touching him.
Xie Guilan’s eyes darkened, brow furrowing in irritation. Cen Wu had touched him multiple times tonight. Those delicate, pampered hands made the muscles in his back tense uncomfortably.
He didn’t know why Cen Wu hated him so much—his hatred surpassed even Xie Shangjing’s murderous intent. Yet, though Cen Wu used to say he felt disgusted just seeing him, why was he now clinging like this?
“Young Master,” Xie Guilan lowered his head, tempering the cold malice in his black eyes like a fierce dog retracting its fangs.
He looked at Cen Wu’s pale face and trembling shoulders and asked, “Are you feeling unwell? Shall I take you home?”
The business deal for tonight was already lost. The manager had told him to clock out immediately without docking his pay.
He didn’t want to bother with Cen Wu’s troubles, but since this was his workplace, if anything happened to Cen Wu, the Cen family wouldn’t let him off easy. He couldn’t afford that kind of trouble.
Cen Wu: *sniffle*.
Take him away? He hated men.
Xie Guilan changed clothes in the dressing room, gathered his things, and accompanied Cen Wu home.
It was past eleven at night, and the rain still hadn’t stopped. Xie Guilan hailed a taxi; Cen Wu obediently got in, crossing his legs as Xie Guilan climbed in.
Leaning against the window, neon lights fragmented by the rain cast reflections on Xie Guilan’s sharply defined profile—his straight nose and deep-set eyes with a hint of mixed blood allure.
His injury was still fresh—a purple bruise contrasting with pale skin. Cen Wu clutched his schoolbag, anxiously shifting his legs, unable to help staring at Xie Guilan.
“…”
Noticing Cen Wu’s cautious gaze, Xie Guilan’s thin lips pressed into a cold line. Suddenly, a strange thought occurred to him: Could this idiot be falling for him?
From last night until now, he had helped him repeatedly and kept squeezing his hand.
Saying “like” wasn’t quite right; like tonight’s male model, Cen Wu was merely a plaything of the young Cen master.
The absurd idea flickered for a moment, then was dismissed. After all, Cen Wu had hated him enough to wish him dead for the past ten years and had never even added him on WeChat.
Cen Wu stared at Xie Guilan’s side profile, suddenly recalling a similar incident from the original story—but it wasn’t tonight; it was two weeks after Xie Guilan’s hand injury. The person he ran into then wasn’t Wang Yue but Wang Yue’s cousin, Wang Ling.
At that time, Xie Guilan’s right hand was broken and still in a splint, so the manager assigned him to reception and guiding duties.
That’s when he offended Wang Ling.
Though he won the fight, his injury worsened. Many things were broken in the bar, including a bottle of liquor worth over a hundred thousand. He was fired by the owner and forced to pay compensation.
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Xie Guilan couldn’t afford that. He was introduced to an abandoned racetrack on the outskirts, where many wealthy second-generation heirs gambled on illegal car races. One stormy night, Xie Guilan nearly broke his leg there and still owed several thousand.
Even the homeroom teacher couldn’t stand it and went to the hospital to find Song Lingwei, who then asked Xie Guilan’s father for money.
Xie’s father gave the money but raised his son like tending to a venomous insect. He enjoyed watching Xie Guilan and Xie Shangjing fight and shared this information with Xie Shangjing.
An abyss, a descent without end—Xie Guilan paid a heavy price to find a way out.
Cen Wu suddenly felt grateful he had dared to skip class and come to the bar with Xie Guilan tonight.
A car passed by. Xie Guilan, annoyed by Cen Wu’s stare, turned his head just as the headlights illuminated Cen Wu’s snowy face. His small, sparrow-like eyes darted away in panic.
“I… I won’t bully you anymore,” Cen Wu said. “I… I want to apologize.”
Xie Guilan didn’t care much. Whatever Cen Wu wanted, he was willing to go along. It was better than Cen Wu causing trouble. He wasn’t afraid—just annoyed and inconvenienced.
Xie Guilan lowered his posture, his gaze soft and misty like cold fog. “It’s never been your fault.”
Cen Wu: “…”
Cut the act, brother.
On this rainy night, the muddy road took over an hour to reach the Cen family’s manor villa. Xie Guilan accompanied him to the main door and said, “Young Master, I’m leaving now.”
“You… where will you stay tonight?” Cen Wu hesitated.
Xie Guilan somehow read between the lines—it was a question about what he’d do if he ran into Xie Shangjing. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he replied, “I’m not going home. I have somewhere to go.”
Only then did Cen Wu feel at ease.
The Xie family home was far from school, hospital, and the bar. To avoid missing school and to care for Song Lingwei, Xie Guilan had rented a place.
“Okay, good… good night,” Cen Wu said, then suddenly remembered something and hurriedly called after Xie Guilan, “Wait!”
“Anything else, Young Master?” Xie Guilan stopped.
Cen Wu realized he couldn’t follow Xie Guilan everywhere. If something happened and he didn’t know, it would be worse. It was better to exchange contact information so Xie Guilan could message him if needed.
He reached out and grabbed Xie Guilan’s shirt hem, his beautiful lashes wet with nervous eagerness, as if something long awaited had finally arrived. “Can… can we add each other on WeChat?”
“…”
Xie Guilan’s face darkened.