BSS CH 26

Drunken Night

After leaving the hospital, Cheng Jing lay in the back seat of Liang Jingmin’s car, already fast asleep.

Confiding and healing both took a toll on him. He had come out even weaker than when he went in, complaining of a headache before immediately dozing off once he got in the car.

The front passenger seat was piled with medication the doctor had prescribed, along with repeated warnings: Cheng Jing must not stop taking his meds on his own, nor should he take any others without approval.

When they arrived downstairs, Liang Jingmin opened the back door and called his name in a low voice. “Wake up, Cheng Jing. We’re here.”

Cheng Jing’s eyes fluttered open, briefly dazed. Then, rubbing his temples, he murmured, “Already?”

“We’re home. Do you have the strength to walk?”

Cheng Jing slowly shook his head.

Liang Jingmin reached out to carry him, but before he could touch his shoulder, Cheng Jing lifted a hand to block him. “I’ll walk on my own.”

Instead, he grasped Liang Jingmin’s elbow for support as he got out of the car, then walked ahead without looking back.

Being pushed away, Liang Jingmin’s expression visibly cooled, though he still held back any reaction. He asked in a low voice, “What do you want to eat tonight?”

Cheng Jing paused slightly, lifting his eyelids but not turning around. “Depends on who’s cooking.”

“I’ll order takeout for you tonight. I have a dinner meeting and will be flying to Singapore tomorrow morning.”

Cheng Jing didn’t stop again. He simply tossed back, “Do whatever you want.”

---

That night, Liang Jingmin ordered a whole table of food, letting the housekeeper set everything out, but Cheng Jing didn’t touch a single bite. He curled up on the sofa, reading a book.

“You should eat something, at least a little. How else is your body supposed to handle this?” The housekeeper had reheated the dishes twice already, her voice full of concern as she tried to persuade him.

“I’m not hungry. Even if I eat, I’ll just throw it up,” Cheng Jing said without looking up. “I told you not to go through the trouble. Just sit down and rest.”

The housekeeper paced anxiously, as if she’d never met someone so stubborn.

Cheng Jing put his book down, opened the fridge, grabbed a chilled soda, and took a long drink.

“Oh dear, skipping dinner and drinking something cold—how can that be good?” The housekeeper was practically hopping in frustration.

Cheng Jing frowned. “It’s too hot.”

Xijing’s heat was stifling, enough to make one feel dizzy. Cheng Jing had always been sensitive to heat, and in weather like this, he refused to move around more than necessary. The villa’s air conditioning was already set so low it was nearly freezing, yet he still complained about the warmth.

Seeing this, the housekeeper nearly lost her temper, grumbling that the AC couldn’t be lowered any further before storming off to her room in exasperation.

Cheng Jing continued reading.

The clock ticked on, and the dishes on the table cooled, a layer of congealed oil forming on their surface. Midnight had passed.

Cheng Jing had read through most of his book and was nearing the time to sleep.

He stood up, barefoot on the cold floor, and knocked on the housekeeper’s door.

She came out, rubbing her eyes, about to scold him for not wearing slippers, but he cut her off with a businesslike question. “Aunt Wang, before Liang Jingmin left, did he say whether he’d be coming back tonight?”

“He did. He said he’d be back.”

“It’s this late already. Who’s he having dinner with?” Cheng Jing frowned slightly.

“He didn’t say, but I can ask his assistant. Or do you want me to call him?”

Cheng Jing shook his head. I don’t care if he dies. He turned to head back to his room.

Before he could enter, the housekeeper caught up with him. “I already asked! He’s with President He from Liangsheng at Fuming Restaurant.”

Cheng Jing stopped in his tracks, frowning. “He Haoyu again? That project was settled ages ago.”

Reading from the call notes, she replied, “Xiaoming said it’s about a last-minute withdrawal of funds, something to do with Young Master Liang.”

Cheng Jing sighed. “Didn’t I say not to ask? And you still did.”

The housekeeper chuckled. “You always say one thing but mean another. A little extra inquiry doesn’t hurt.”

His brows remained furrowed. After a moment of deliberation, he said, “I’ll go take a look. Why is it always Liang Yulin? Does he ever let things go?”

Surprisingly, the housekeeper didn’t stop him from going out late at night. She only reminded him, “Be careful on the road.”

Cheng Jing waved a hand, signaling that he heard her.

He went to the garage and picked the flashiest car from Liang Jingmin’s collection, deliberately showing off. That way, if he got caught snooping, he’d have an excuse.

He suddenly realized he had become adept at tracking Liang Jingmin’s whereabouts—perhaps it was a skill honed in his youth.

He grabbed a passable outfit, trying to conceal his abdomen, but it was nearly impossible. In the end, he had no choice but to wear a jacket, despite the heat.

The red sports car shot out of the villa garage like lightning. Within minutes, he arrived outside Fuming Restaurant.

The parking lot was nearly empty at this hour. It didn’t take long for him to spot Liang Jingmin’s car.

Not wanting to draw attention, Cheng Jing didn’t enter the restaurant. Instead, he leaned against Liang Jingmin’s car and waited, casually lighting a cigarette.

Thin wisps of smoke curled up. He didn’t have to wait long.

Liang Jingmin emerged, surrounded by a group of people.

He had been drinking.

Cheng Jing stubbed out his cigarette and stepped back into the shadows, waiting for Liang Jingmin to reach for the car door handle.

“Drunk driving? Upgrading your list of illegal activities, are you?” His voice was indifferent, carrying the hint of a smile, but undeniably cold.

When they left the hospital, Cheng Jing lay sprawled across the back seat of Liang Jingmin’s car, already fast asleep.

Confiding in someone and seeking solace was an exhausting ordeal. By the time he left, he was even weaker than when he had arrived, complaining of a headache before promptly passing out the moment he got into the car.

The passenger seat was piled with medication prescribed by the doctor, along with repeated warnings—Cheng Jing was not to stop his medication on a whim, nor take anything else without approval.

After parking downstairs, Liang Jingmin opened the rear door and called to him softly, “Wake up, Cheng Jing. We’re home.”

Cheng Jing’s eyes fluttered open, dazed for a moment before he slowly sat up, rubbing his temples. “We’re here?”

“We’re home. Do you have the strength to get upstairs?”

Cheng Jing shook his head.

Liang Jingmin reached out to lift him, but before his hands could settle on Cheng Jing’s shoulders, they were pushed away.

“I can walk by myself.”

Even so, Cheng Jing reached out naturally, resting his hand against Liang Jingmin’s elbow for support as he stepped out of the car, then walked ahead without looking back.

Liang Jingmin’s face darkened slightly at being pushed away, but he restrained himself, only asking in a low voice, “What do you want to eat tonight?”

Cheng Jing stopped briefly, lifting his eyelids slightly but not turning around. “Depends on who’s making it.”

“I’ll order takeout for you tonight. I have a dinner meeting, and I’m leaving for Singapore in the morning.”

Cheng Jing didn’t stop again, merely tossing back, “Do as you see fit.”

---

That night, Liang Jingmin ordered a full table of food, allowing the housekeeper to set everything out. Yet Cheng Jing didn’t take a single bite, curling up on the sofa with a book instead.

“At least eat something. How can your body take this?” The housekeeper had reheated the dishes twice already, her voice full of worry.

“I’m not hungry. Even if I eat, I’ll just throw it up.” Cheng Jing didn’t even lift his eyes. “I told you not to trouble yourself. Just sit and rest.”

The housekeeper paced around anxiously, looking as if she had never encountered someone this stubborn before.

Cheng Jing set his book down, opened the fridge, and pulled out a chilled soda, downing a large gulp before returning to the sofa.

“Oh dear, skipping dinner and drinking something cold—how is that acceptable?” The housekeeper grew even more flustered.

“It’s too hot,” Cheng Jing stated flatly.

The heat in Xijing was stifling, making his head pound. He had always hated the heat, and now that it was unbearable, he refused to move at all. The air conditioning in the villa was already set low enough to make the room feel icy, yet he still complained of being hot.

The housekeeper, exasperated, declared that the temperature couldn’t be lowered any further before storming off to her room, grumbling under her breath.

Cheng Jing continued reading.

The clock ticked on, the food on the table growing cold, a thin layer of grease congealing over the dishes. Midnight arrived.

By now, Cheng Jing had read most of his book and was about ready to turn in for the night.

He stood, bare feet against the floor, and went to knock on the housekeeper’s door.

She came out rubbing her eyes, about to scold him for not wearing slippers when Cheng Jing’s flat, businesslike voice cut her off: “Aunt Wang, did Liang tell you if he was coming back to the villa tonight?”

“He said he would.”

“It’s this late. Who’s he having dinner with?” Cheng Jing frowned slightly.

“He didn’t say. Maybe ask his assistant? Or should I call for you?”

Cheng Jing shook his head, thinking to himself that he didn’t care, and was about to head to bed.

But before he could step into his room, Aunt Wang caught up with him. “I already asked—it’s with He Haoyu from Liangsheng at Fuming Restaurant.”

Cheng Jing’s frown deepened. “Him again? I thought that project was already settled.”

Aunt Wang read off her notes from the call. “Ming said it’s a last-minute withdrawal of investment. Something to do with Little Liang.”

Cheng Jing muttered under his breath, “Didn’t I say not to ask? Yet you still called.”

Aunt Wang chuckled. “You always say that, but you never mean it. What’s the harm in a little inquiry?”

Cheng Jing’s brows remained tightly furrowed. After a pause, he said, “I’ll go take a look. How many times is Liang Yulin going to pull this nonsense?”

For once, Aunt Wang didn’t stop him from going out late, simply reminding him, “Drive safely.”

Cheng Jing waved dismissively, signaling that he heard her.

He went to the garage and picked the flashiest of Liang Jingmin’s sports cars, deliberately making a show of wealth—just in case he got caught spying, he’d have an excuse.

He realized he had become quite skilled at tracking Liang Jingmin’s whereabouts. Must’ve been something he perfected in his youth.

Throwing on an outfit that would pass for an outing, he tried to conceal his midsection but found it impossible, ultimately resigning himself to wearing a jacket despite the heat.

The red sports car roared out of the villa’s garage, and in no time, he arrived at Fuming Restaurant.

He circled the parking lot briefly before spotting Liang Jingmin’s car.

At this hour, the lot was mostly empty, so it didn’t take much effort.

Knowing his car was too conspicuous, he didn’t dare walk right into the restaurant. Instead, he leaned against Liang Jingmin’s car, lighting a cigarette and waiting.

Thin tendrils of smoke curled in the air. He didn’t have to wait long before Liang Jingmin emerged, surrounded by a small crowd.

He had been drinking.

Cheng Jing put out his cigarette and stepped back into the shadows, waiting until Liang Jingmin reached for his car door.

“Drunk driving?” he said with a faint, mocking smile. “Upgrading your crimes, are we?”

Liang Jingmin lifted his gaze, eyes slightly hazy. After a long pause, he let out a hoarse laugh. “I’m waiting for a chauffeur.”

“Now that I’m here, do you still need one?”

Liang Jingmin’s voice, tinged with the weight of alcohol, drifted lazily, as if he were speaking in a dream. “What are you doing here?”

Cheng Jing didn’t bother answering honestly. “Just taking a walk.”

Liang Jingmin leaned against the car, staring at Cheng Jing’s eyes, as if searching for something hidden within them. After a while, he spoke, slow and deliberate. “Your head doesn’t hurt anymore?”

Before Cheng Jing could respond, an arm slipped around his waist, pulling him in.

Their bodies pressed together, the scent of cigarettes mingling in the air. For a fleeting moment, it felt too entangling to break apart.

But Cheng Jing’s will was firm. He pried Liang Jingmin’s fingers off his waist. “You’re drunk.”

Liang Jingmin blinked heavily. “Maybe just a little.”

“Why do you always follow me when I go out?” he murmured, pressing his face into Cheng Jing’s shoulder.

Cheng Jing, unable to bear the weight, shoved him off. “I don’t. You’re overthinking.”

A breeze stirred the night. Liang Jingmin, unhurried, began counting on his fingers. “In the past two years—once at the club, once at the wedding, and now this. And before that… baby, are you really that afraid of losing me?”

Cheng Jing scoffed. “If I don’t keep an eye on you, your dear wife might fill the villa with more brides, and I’ll be sleeping on the streets.”

Liang Jingmin cupped Cheng Jing’s chin, studying him like a prized possession. “How many times do I have to tell you? It was all fake.”

And then, as if to prove a point, he closed the space between them, pinning Cheng Jing against the car—his hand cradling the back of Cheng Jing’s head, voice low and smoldering. “How many times will it take for you to believe me?”

Then, without hesitation, he bit down on Cheng Jing’s lips.