BSS CH 9

Deception

Liang Jingmin’s hand ran along Cheng Jing’s back and stomach as though tracing waves; with each rise and fall, Cheng Jing’s breaths grew heavier.

Gradually, everything around them dissolved; their bodies softened, turning fluid, as Cheng Jing’s hand glided down Liang Jingmin’s frame. He traced Liang’s leg, feeling his way to a scar from a burn. Only then did a delayed ache hit him.

But oddly, there was a secret satisfaction mixed in. The burn wasn’t large but rubbed painfully with every step Liang took, ensuring Cheng Jing would cross his mind in those moments.

So maybe love was pain, after all. All Cheng Jing had done was offer a substitute, something simple to make Liang taste even a fraction of what he suffered daily.

Soon, though, such thoughts faded. Liang Jingmin knew his body better than he did.

As his body felt pleasure, a sense of false affection flooded him. For Cheng Jing, it was torment — he leaned against Liang, breath ragged, his lip bitten until it bled as he fought his own instincts.

Liang’s fingers buried into his tousled hair, cradling the back of his head. His voice, usually cool and low, sounded strangely filled with desire: “Go ahead. There’s no one else here.”

He kissed Cheng Jing fiercely. Abandoning resistance, Cheng Jing surrendered to the burning heartbeat and his voice, like the pulse of the earth, swallowed by the night.

…

When Cheng Jing woke, he felt a faint ache, bearable enough to guess that because he’d been ill, Liang Jingmin had held back.

He reached beside him; the sheets were cold. Liang had left, probably for hours. Busy as he was, his brief trip to Yue City must have piled up enough work to last the night.

Cheng Jing lay still for ten minutes, listening to the silence.

He eventually sat up and saw a transparent container with six color-coded pills on his bedside table, labeled by time of day. Three bottles of medicine sat nearby.

He recognized Liang’s handwriting immediately. He’d spent too many years stealing glances at Liang’s notebooks in school; his penmanship had a familiar flair.

Sighing, Cheng Jing cast away needless thoughts, swallowed the morning dose with the bitter-tasting liquid.

He wandered the large apartment, searching through cabinets and drawers, though there was little to find. Liang’s private life was barer than he’d imagined; most storage spaces sat empty, likely untouched for a long time.

In one cabinet, he found a wrench that he weighed thoughtfully before stowing it under the bed. In another storage box, he uncovered an old touchscreen phone, outdated by at least a decade.

With no SIM card and a dead battery, he thought it a lost cause until he stumbled upon a charger and a Wi-Fi password conveniently taped to the router.

Twenty minutes later, the ancient phone powered on. Though every touch took seconds to register, Cheng Jing had time and patience to spare.

While an app downloaded, he browsed the default video site idly.

He realized he’d been out of touch with the world too long; jokes and language in the comments seemed foreign, hard to understand. Long videos bored him; short ones were too loud. He’d already watched too many movies and shows to pass the time in the lakeside villa and once again found himself bored.

Then, at noon, he heard the electronic lock at the front door. Liang Jingmin had returned, surprisingly early. Hurriedly, he hid the old phone under the bed.

Liang greeted him, suggesting they go out for lunch. Cheng Jing listened with indifference. His sore throat made eating feel like swallowing razor blades, but he didn’t refuse the chance to leave.

“Aren’t you busy with work?” he asked.

“If I didn’t come back, would you even have lunch?” Liang retorted coolly, shutting him up.

Somehow, Liang now knew his habits better than Cheng Jing himself.

Twenty minutes later, they sat in a secluded restaurant decorated in an elegant Chinese style, with even a mahjong table in the private room.

Cheng Jing sipped his porridge, mildly surprised that Liang had thought of his illness. Floating within the plain porridge were rare shellfish, turning this humble meal into something only the wealthy could casually afford.

Noticing Cheng Jing’s interest in the mahjong table, Liang remarked, “If you’d like to play, I can call a few people to join you next time.”

Cheng Jing shook his head. “Winning your money is pointless. It’s just moving from one pocket to another.”

Liang raised an eyebrow as he finished his meal, replying, “You’d have to win first, babe.”

“I have a meeting at two,” Liang said, checking his watch. “Uncle Zhai will take you back.”

Cheng Jing ignored him, dreading that Liang might suggest they return to the lakeside villa. He feared that once he recovered, Liang would bring up his attempted escape again.

He wanted to ask, but kept quiet, afraid that mentioning it might remind Liang.

Liang added, “If you need anything, let me know. Just don’t go running around again.”

Cheng Jing looked aside. “Fine, I’ve had enough of being cooped up. I want to go back to work. When can I return?”

Liang’s gaze turned cold. “Which job?”

Cheng Jing chuckled dryly at the absurd question but answered, “The one in Yue City. I just started teaching organic chemistry, and I prepared all the lessons.”

He barely finished before a coughing fit interrupted him.

Liang sneered. “You seem to enjoy playing the rural teacher?”

Hearing the sarcasm, Cheng Jing shot back, “You’re still so eager to ruin my career. At least there’s no one betting against you this time. What harm does teaching kids do to you?”

Tired of the verbal sparring, Liang approached and gently pressed Cheng Jing’s shoulder. “If you stay put and get well, we can discuss all this later.”

Then Liang leaned in for a kiss, but Cheng Jing turned his head away.

For once, Liang didn’t push, merely smiled and left.

The butler, Zhai, arrived a little late and found Cheng Jing chatting with the waitress, who even shared where her kids went to school.

As he left, she called after him, “Come back soon, Teacher Cheng!” He smiled at her warmly, waving goodbye.

The butler was surprised. It had been a long time since he’d seen Cheng Jing so lighthearted. He thought that if Cheng showed half this warmth to Liang, perhaps everyone’s lives would be easier. Then again, from Cheng Jing’s point of view, Liang didn’t deserve it.

The moment passed as Cheng Jing strode out, calling, “What are you waiting for?”

Once back at the penthouse, Cheng Jing retrieved the old phone. With WeChat now downloaded, he sifted through unread messages.

Most were ordinary fare: colleagues asking why he had resigned, farewells from students.

Yet when he read Lin Shuheng’s message, he froze.

“Cheng Jing, where are you? Are you with Liang? Your parents got word that you’re in the hospital but couldn’t find you. They contacted the school, and I got in touch with them.”

“I know you haven’t shared much about your life with them, so I didn’t say much. But they seem to know more than I thought. If you see this, please reach out to them. They’re very worried.”

“If you need help, just let me know.”

He remembered Liang’s solemn promise not to mention anything to his parents. Another lie.

A fierce anger surged in Cheng Jing, his pulse pounding. Liang had deceived him yet again.

The phone slipped from his hand, shattering as it hit the floor.

Cheng Jing had endured Liang’s dominance, his coldness, and his disregard. But this time felt different.

He tried to calm himself, gripping his pulse as he counted breaths to steady himself.

When he finally composed himself, night had already fallen. Standing by the window, he lit a cigarette, the breeze tousling his hair. He had never felt so clear-headed.

Ignoring the midday and evening doses of his medication, he put on a suit from Liang’s closet, which lent him an almost regal air.

He called the front desk to unlock the door, and fifteen minutes later, he was in the lobby of the adjacent building, holding a bouquet of roses.

Liang had instructed the staff to notify him if Cheng left. Receiving the call, he headed downstairs, where he found Cheng leaning casually against the reception desk.

The tailored suit accentuated Cheng’s tall frame, drawing glances from passersby. His pale skin made him strikingly noticeable.

The sight struck Liang as absurd, but he approached, ready to confront him.

Then, Cheng extended the bouquet of dew-kissed roses, a playful smile in his pale, clear eyes.

His voice, still a bit hoarse, teased, “I heard there’s a fireworks show by the river at eight tonight. Since you’re already here, care to join me?”

Liang’s heart skipped a beat.

Seeing him hesitate, Cheng tilted his head, his smile deepening. “What, is it inconvenient?”

Despite knowing something was off, Liang found himself responding, “It’s rare for you to ask. How could I say no?”