MW CH53

Chapter 53: Can You Be Good for Me?

He Nanyuan, like Mochuan said, really hates Haicheng playboys. I’m not one, but from first glance, he slotted me in—now, no matter what I do, he sees fake nice-guy vibes.

He’s started blocking me and Mochuan alone time. Day visits to the temple? If he’s there, he lingers in the hall with excuses. Busy? He sends Li Yang as a third wheel.

With someone else around, talking’s awkward—plus daytime believers popping in. After a week, I switched to nights.

But nights suck too.

Post-dinner, confirming the kids won’t barge in—eight p.m. Mochuan’s bedtime’s ten, or he’s a groggy mess. Two hours max, daily.

Haicheng couples don’t always meet daily—sure—but we’ve been apart over two months, just reunited! Thinking that, I’m kinda pissed.

This till September? Every winter and summer break too??

“Secretary Yan, what do sixteen, seventeen-year-olds like these days?” Post-dinner, Yan Chuwen walked the dog, I smoked—strolled the village side by side.

“You mean what He Nanyuan likes, right?” He cut straight.

Sheepish grin. “Can’t hide from you. Kid’s on me like I’m some secret boss—blink, and I’ll whisk his uncle to Haicheng for kidney harvest.”

He cracked up. “You, stumped? Rare sight.”

Took a drag, sighed. “New talents rise—I’m not the wild kid I was. Can’t go nuts anymore.”

Same age as He Nanyuan? No talk—fight it out, done. But I’m a grown-ass adult now, and he’s Mochuan’s nephew—only living kin. Tricky.

“Little Kite’s pretty sensible.” Erqian squatted, shat—Yan Chuwen grabbed a tissue, scooped it into a baggie, pro move. “When I first got here, he was hostile too. Time passed, saw I meant no harm—genuinely cared—he came around.”

“Expecting him to buddy up? Nah, not his style. But hope for neutral’s fair. Old saying—sincerity cracks stone.”

Sincerity cracks stone?

Mulling it, eight p.m. hit—I left the institute for the temple.

Phone-scrolling into the hall, looked up—Mochuan, brow furrowed, flipping through an English workbook.

“What’s that?” Dragged a cushion, sat close—peeked. Childish scrawl—Li Yang’s.

He flipped pages—latest one, big red X’s on multiple choice, sunk into eerie silence.

“Li Yang’s young—first grade, right? Learning Xia and English at once—normal he can’t juggle yet.” Gently pried the book away, set it aside.

“English barely passing—language, math, middling too.” Pinched his nose, tired-dad vibe. “First grade’s this bad—what about second, third?”

Barely passing English is rough—Haicheng’s got solid basics. Even as an art kid, I never dipped near the line.

Never a dad, no clue about kids Li Yang’s age—couldn’t relate, just soothed. “You aced Capital U—worried you can’t raise a college kid?”

Shouldn’t have—his face chilled. “He might not even want college. Today he said he doesn’t get why a Yan Guan needs Xia books—useless to him. Doesn’t know how much blood and sweat went into giving them these ‘useless’ chances.”

Patted his chest, calming. “Easy, easy—kids say dumb shit. Check these gifts for your nephew—good?”

Handed my phone. “You got him stuff?”

“You said he wants our school—takes mad effort. Grades solid, but to lock it in, practice books are key.” Showed my cart—two hours’ haul. “This set, that set—great reviews. He won’t stop doing ‘em.”

Last bit, extra emphasis.

Glanced at me—two words: “Not bad.”

His okay eased me—hit up the shop, begged fastest shipping. Three-day promise—left the app, satisfied.

Chores done—main event.

Locked the door, knelt by him—kissed his neck, tugged his belt.

“Veggie week—can I get some meat today?”

He clamped his belt, stopped me. “Day after tomorrow, I’m giving an award—you’re getting it. Can’t be silent.”

The Cenglu Twelve Xin Yin series sold hot—first charity chunk hit the Cuoyansong fund this month, eight figures.

For boosting Cuoyansong’s economy, Shannan’s government’s giving me an award in two days—Mochuan’s co-presenting with the brass.

True—him mute up there’d be weird.

Bit his earlobe hard, let go fast. “Lend me some sutras then—I’ll study.”

Mochuan’s monk-life might shrug it off, but yanking a guy fresh off meat back to greens? Cruel.

Nibbling leaves just makes you miss the rare meat more. He calls me lusty—he’s the abstinence freak.

Headed for the corner bookshelf—he grabbed my hand, thinking I’d bounce.

“Wait…” Hesitant look, caved. “My room.”

This hour, his room…

Grinned—caught his drift—pulled him in.

Pushed me onto the bed, wedged between my legs, lifted my tee’s hem to my lips. “Bite.”

Heart raced, breath hitched—bit down, eyes locked on him.

“Know you’re pent up.” Long finger slid down my chest, over the bulge. “But I’m silent too much lately—Qia Gu’s suspicious.”

Trapped, zoned on his hand—he circled, teasing, in control.

Stopped—looked up. “I feed you full—you be good, okay?”

That low, sexy growl—blood rushed south, damn near busting my pants. “No” wasn’t an option.

Nodded fast—he took pity, unzipped me.

Free at last—big exhale. Next second, he slipped Immortal off his neck, wrapped it around my raging hard-on.

Cold metal hit skin—shivered hard. Wanted to ask—shirt in mouth, nada.

Checked the clock. “Still early—let’s take it slow.”

That night, he nearly drained me dry.

Two hours straight—hands non-stop! Front tapped out, he hit the back—ended up crying for mercy before he stopped.

Slept fuzzy on his bed—woke five-ish, stumbled back to the institute, legs jelly.

Not full—stuffed to puking.

This round? Celibate for half a month, easy.

Award day—early, Xiong Mingjie from Cuoyansong’s Rural Revitalization Bureau rolled up to grab me and Mochuan.

Big guy, forties, bit plump—his grin screamed Disney sidekick, goofy and warm.

“Your nephew, huh? Never met—heard he looks like you. Yep, spitting image.” Peered at the back seat via rearview.

Was just us two for Shannan—He Nanyuan muscled in, insisted on tagging along.

“Nephew takes after uncle.” Glanced back—stone-faced He Nanyuan beside Mochuan.

Caught me looking—shot a glare. Smiled—he ignored, turned away.

Sat back, checked my phone—practice books en route, arriving tomorrow. Mood soared.

“Still more like his mom.” Mochuan, gentle.

“He’s in Shannan for school?” Xiong Mingjie asked.

“Yeah—Gan County, sophomore next term.”

“Dream college?”

Before Mochuan answered, He Nanyuan cut in, firm. “Capital University—my uncle’s school.”

Xiong laughed. “Ambitious! Major picked? Post-grad plans?”

No pause. “Coming back here—help Pinjia build Cuoyansong. No one looks down on me—or Cenglu—ever again.”

That answer—etched in his heart a thousand times. No doubt, no sway.