Chapter 19

019.

The man crossed his arms, one long brow arched, his tone a stark departure from his usual coldness—half-smiling, half-mocking. Lu Yuan immediately filed it under "top-tier provocation." He scrambled back three more steps, raised a hand, and pointed a trembling finger at the man's straight nose bridge, his eyes wide with disbelief.

In all his years, Bai Yu had never had anyone point a finger at his nose.

He didn't find it offensive—rather, he found the cat's hissy fit quite amusing.

Seeing that Bai Yu's expression remained unchanged, even looking like he was enjoying the show, Lu Yuan whipped his head toward the kitchen island and shouted, exasperated: "Where's the knife, where's the knife! Charlie, where's your cleaver!"

Today, he was going to teach Bai Yu a lesson!

Big-bearded Charlie was clearly stunned by the exchange between his current employer and the man who'd tried to poach him—and might very well become his next employer. What did he mean, "a conservative boy who bared his waist and legs in front of me last night"?

Was it what he thought?

As the household chef, should he be hearing this? Should he even be here?

Was it too late to hide in the cabinet?

His mind was flooded with nothing but "help me! who's gonna help me!"—but when he saw his future employer looking left and right, genuinely trying to find a cleaver with the apparent intention of murdering his own husband right in front of an outsider, he reacted lightning-fast: "Excusez-moi, je ne comprends pas le chinois.①"

Lu Yuan: "?"

His search for the knife paused for a second as question marks popped up above his head: "What?"

Charlie stood ramrod straight, his expression grave: "Excusez-moi, je ne comprends pas le chinois."

Lu Yuan: "..."

What the heck was he babbling about?

Not understanding a word of it, Lu Yuan instinctively glanced at Bai Yu, who, having enjoyed the show long enough, offered a helpful reminder: "He says he doesn't understand Chinese."

Lu Yuan: "..."

He'd just been complaining that his current employer was blind, and now this guy suddenly couldn't understand Chinese? Beyond his shock, Lu Yuan's eyes showed deep disappointment at the big-bearded chef.

Heartbroken.

Totally heartbroken!

But before he could voice his accusation, Bai Yu spoke again—calm, yet with a hint of fake friendliness.

He said, "The cleavers are in the second drawer over there. The conservative young master can pull the drawer open and take a look—if his eyes are working properly, he'll spot them at a glance. And there's quite a variety, so take your pick."

Lu Yuan: "..."

Bai Yu urged, "Not going to get one? Back hurts too much to walk? Want me to help you?"

Provocation—maximum-level provocation!

But the man himself seemed utterly unaware, so forward it was almost scary, and he actually started striding toward the kitchen on those long legs of his. Seeing the man about to pass him and bend down to reach for the second drawer, Lu Yuan jolted, quickly grabbed the hem of his sweater, and yanked him back with all his strength.

Unfortunately, his waist was too injured to generate any real force—the pull was as weak as a flirty tug.

Bai Yu looked down at the cat's paw hooked on his sweater and asked, "What?"

Lu Yuan: "On second thought, in a lawful society, I should still be a law-abiding good kid. Forget the cleaver—way too dangerous."

Bai Yu: "Are you sure?"

Lu Yuan nodded vigorously immediately.

Bai Yu: "Then when is the law-abiding good kid going to take off the patch?"

Lu Yuan: "..."

No matter how they circled around, they always ended up back on the original topic.

Knowing full well that a poor little rich kid like him could never outmatch a ruthless capitalist like Bai Yu who controlled an entire conglomerate, Lu Yuan could only hang his head and crab-walk out of the kitchen.

As he passed Bai Yu, he deliberately snapped in a fierce tone, "Move—"

A single look from the man made the word "move" stretch into an endless drawl, and Lu Yuan was forced to add on a "please" to show goodwill.

The fierce "move" became "move, please."

Lu Yuan: "..."

Even he thought it sounded lame.

Hanging his head like a defeated goose, Lu Yuan sighed silently as he made his way back to the empty, silent living room.

Watching that reluctant retreating figure, Bai Yu turned back to the big-bearded chef—who was trying desperately to shrink his massive 1.9-meter frame into a tiny figurine while theatrically covering his ears. After a pause, he said, "Prepare one of your signature desserts for him for lunch."

Charlie: "Entendu!"

Bai Yu paused mid-step as he walked out and said flatly, "You're supposed to not understand Chinese, not not speak it."

Charlie: "..."

Back in the living room.

The glass kitchen door slid shut slowly, and Bai Yu saw Lu Yuan standing by the sofa. He couldn't move his waist, so he could only crane his neck like a giraffe to inspect the patch on his lower back. But Young Master Lu was hardly a giraffe—after holding that awkward position for thirty seconds, he felt his neck about to snap. He could only keep a serious face, reach back under his sweater, and feel for the wrinkled tape.

The tape had peeled up at one corner from friction against his skin, sweater, and bedsheets, but the adhesive elsewhere remained stubbornly strong—which really said something about the quality. Lu Yuan gave up in less than half a second.

He pretended to look nonchalant as he walked past Bai Yu: "I'll go peel it off in my room."

Smack!

The moment he took a step, the man unceremoniously grabbed him by the collar. Cool fingers accidentally brushed against the back of Lu Yuan's neck, and he immediately shuddered.

"Wh-what."

Bai Yu cast him a casual glance, "Peel it off right here. It's just the two of us—even if you strip naked, you're still a conservative boy."

Lu Yuan nearly jumped out of his skin, "Can you stop saying 'conservative'? I'm about to have an allergic reaction just hearing it!"

Bai Yu was merciless, showing no quarter, "No."

Lu Yuan: "..."

With a slight twist of his wrist, the man easily dragged the struggling young master back onto the sofa. Lu Yuan still had half a mind to fight back, but the man's fingers moved decisively from the back of his collar to his front shoulder and gave him a gentle push.

"My waist, my waist—my waist!"

Bai Yu's push was perfectly angled, so when Lu Yuan plopped onto the sofa, his lower back landed right on the thick throw pillow.

His shout died in his throat.

Rubbing his nose awkwardly, knowing Bai Yu was going to do it himself, Lu Yuan could only obediently shift positions under the man's gaze and lie face-down on the sofa. As he rolled up the hem of his sweater, he couldn't help adding a few more words: "Go slow, don't yank it off like my roommate did—it hurt so bad it made me want to cry."

After spending long hours hunched over his drawing board, Lu Yuan had plenty of experience with medicated patches. Every time, the relief of putting one on was matched only by the agony of tearing it off—plus, his pain tolerance was rock bottom. After every removal, he'd end up with red-rimmed eyes like a rabbit cosplayer, cursing his roommate for being a monster.

Bai Yu said nothing, so Lu Yuan nervously gripped the pillow pressed against his chin.

Knowing Bai Yu as he did, the guy definitely thought he was being a whiner and was probably annoyed as hell inside, wanting to just rip it off flesh and all—

Hmm?

Contrary to the pain he'd imagined, a slick, cool sensation suddenly spread across his lower back. He craned his neck awkwardly to look, only to see a tube of hand cream held between the man's long fingers.

Bai Yu patted his side in warning to stop squirming—his body wiggling along with his restless head—then drenched the entire patch with hand cream. Noticing Lu Yuan's obvious curiosity, he casually explained: "The oil in hand cream breaks down the adhesive."

Warm water compresses would've worked too, but since Lu Yuan's back wasn't fully healed and couldn't take heat yet, that idea was out.

Olive oil would've had a similar effect, but knowing the little rich boy as he did, Bai Yu figured he'd probably turn his nose up at that.

"Wait two minutes, then I'll peel it off."

The hand cream's fragrance was sickeningly sweet, not at all to Bai Yu's taste. He glanced down at his fingertips and palm, now greasy from the thick application, frowned slightly, and headed to the bathroom, where he scrubbed with hand soap several times to get rid of the smell.

By the time he returned to the living room, Lu Yuan—who'd been dying to check the results and had already secretly peeled up a corner of the patch—quickly withdrew his hand, pretending nothing had happened, and asked: "Isn't this your own hand cream?"

Why so disgusted by it?

Bai Yu shot him a look: "It's from the good Samaritan who invited you to taste two chefs' cooking."

Lu Yuan: "..."

Ah, so the old butler was pretty trendy after all.

Lu Yuan recognized the brand of hand cream—it was quite popular among the younger generation, and both the boys and girls in his class loved using it. It was just expensive and hard to get, only available through overseas agents.

Lu Yuan had never even considered it, since he was saving up money.

Now that he'd smelled it, it wasn't all that impressive—not as amazing as the internet and people made it out to be.

His fingers found the tube carelessly tossed onto the coffee table. It looked plump, but it was actually completely empty inside. Lu Yuan couldn't help suspecting Bai Yu had smeared the entire tube onto his waist. He paused, then reminded him: "This was expensive. You should buy Grandpa Wei a new one."

"Me buy one?"

Though it was only two simple words, Lu Yuan understood what he left unsaid—

Wasn't this hand cream used on you? Why should I pay for it?

Lu Yuan said with full confidence: "Even though I'm the one using it, you're the one who borrowed it, and you're currently making amends to me, so you're fully responsible."

Besides, the big boss of the Bai Group—how could he be so stingy over a tube of hand cream? So petty!

Bai Yu said nothing. He reached out and pressed his hand onto the patch, now fully saturated with hand cream, and continued peeling from the corner Lu Yuan had already lifted. The entire patch slid off easily, without eliciting any wailing from the pain-fearing man, but the pristine white skin of his lower back still bore a large red mark.

His fingertips traced along the outline of the red mark, inch by inch. A faint itch hid within the stickiness of the hand cream, and Lu Yuan's goosebumps rose. He was about to shiver and protest when Bai Yu spoke expressionlessly: "Lu Yuan, don't curse at me in your head."

Lu Yuan: "..."

Wait, he'd only mentally commented that the man was petty, hadn't he?

How did he know?