AVRL 27

Yu Tingzhi hadn’t woken up particularly early. After the excitement wore off, all that remained was a wave of exhaustion and lethargy, as if his post-coital clarity had only now arrived, belatedly.

Meng Chi was still sleeping beside him, very still, barely having moved all night. Perhaps he was simply too worn out; even in sleep, his brows were furrowed.

Seeing this, Yu Tingzhi reached out and pressed his fingertip to Meng Chi’s brow, gently smoothing away the crease. Noticing that his temperature seemed a bit high, he covered his forehead with his palm. Meng Chi shifted restlessly, revealing his neck, covered in red marks.

Yu Tingzhi’s gaze fell upon them, and his eyes darkened. After a moment’s contemplation, he recalled the marks he’d seen on Meng Chi’s body while cleaning him after he’d passed out the night before. A flicker of regret crossed his brow, and he moved carefully as he got out of bed.

After a night’s rest, Yu Tingzhi had regained much of his strength. After a quick wash, he changed clothes in his bedroom, then picked up the clothes he’d stripped off Meng Chi, which were strewn about the living room, and prepared to head out.

Remembering the mess in the living room, Yu Tingzhi called She Shan again, telling him he’d deliver the items left at his place in a couple of days.

“Sure, just get them to me before the opening,” She Shan said, probably still half-asleep, his voice hazy and indistinct.

Yu Tingzhi grunted in acknowledgment. His throat itched, and he coughed twice. She Shan seemed to wake up a bit and asked, “Why’s your voice so hoarse? Last night—”

“Nothing,” Yu Tingzhi interrupted him. “I’ve got things to do. I’ll hang up.”

She Shan: “…”

No sooner had he hung up than another call came in—from the academic affairs director of the school. A freshman art teacher had fallen ill and was hospitalized and couldn’t lead the group to Xichi for the sketching class. The director asked if Yu Tingzhi would be willing to adjust his schedule and fill in for that teacher, essentially treating it as a trip.

Yu Tingzhi replied flatly, “I’ve never taught sketching.”

All the art faculty knew that Yu Tingzhi had been specially hired to teach art history. The academic affairs director, assuming he simply didn’t want to travel, didn’t press further, gave an awkward laugh, said he’d think of something else, and hung up.

Yu Tingzhi locked the door and headed out. He first took Meng Chi’s clothes to a dry cleaner near the neighborhood, then stopped by a breakfast shop to order food, and finally went to the pharmacy to buy medicine.

As he walked out of the pharmacy, he received a call from the pet hospital, saying the kitten had finished its vaccinations and was ready to be picked up.

Remembering there was someone at home, and that this someone didn’t like cats, Yu Tingzhi said he didn’t have time right now and would pick up the cat later.

By the time Yu Tingzhi had finished getting everything he needed and reached the ground floor of his apartment building, he didn’t go straight upstairs. Instead, he stood outside the elevator, opened the pack of cigarettes he’d just bought, and lit one.

When the second cigarette was half-burnt, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A notification popped up on the screen—a motion alert from his security camera, showing someone moving.

Meng Chi was awake. Yu Tingzhi opened the monitoring app and saw him wearing his shirt, passing through the living room into the bathroom, then coming back out and searching around, finding his phone, fiddling with it, and then playing with the whip.

Meng Chi moved slowly, his gait somewhat odd. Through the less-than-clear image, traces of marks on his legs were vaguely visible. Yu Tingzhi took a deep drag of his cigarette, his eyes flickering for a moment before settling back into their usual depth.

Before long, Meng Chi stood up from the sofa, went into the guest room for a bit, came back out, circled the living room again, and then headed toward Yu Tingzhi’s bedroom.

Yu Tingzhi’s brow twitched. He stubbed out the remaining half of his cigarette beside the trash can, pressed the elevator button, and went upstairs.

When Meng Chi opened the white wooden wardrobe in the room and saw not clothes but bedding and canvas, he realized that the bedroom he’d slept in was probably not Yu Tingzhi’s.

He wandered around, found the study, and then the master bedroom. Just as he was standing at the master bedroom door, deliberating whether to go in and find something to wear, he heard the sound of the door lock clicking open behind him.

Yu Tingzhi came in carrying several paper bags, changed his shoes, and entered.

Meng Chi cleared his throat uncomfortably, then stepped out and spoke: “Perfect timing. Where are my clothes?”

Probably because he’d been vocal the night before, Meng Chi’s voice was hoarse and deep, with a magnetic quality. Yu Tingzhi lifted his eyes slightly, his gaze passing over Meng Chi’s somewhat flushed face: “I sent them to the dry cleaner.”

Meng Chi stopped in his tracks, letting out a soft “ah” of surprise. He thought to himself that Yu Tingzhi was being a bit too considerate—without clothes, how was he supposed to leave?

“How are you feeling?” Yu Tingzhi walked straight to the kitchen after entering. He took out a crystal glass, made a cup of warm honey water, and brought it back to the living room, handing it to Meng Chi. “Aside from your throat, is there anywhere else that doesn’t feel right?”

Everywhere felt wrong.

Out of some inexplicable pride, Meng Chi said reservedly, “It’s fine.” Then he added, “Since my clothes are at the cleaner’s, I’ll have to trouble you to lend me a set. I need to get going.”

Yu Tingzhi glanced at his legs and said, “First, take your temperature. I also bought some medicine—applying it will help you feel better.”

While Yu Tingzhi was pouring the water, Meng Chi had already spotted the pharmacy bag. Besides a temperature gun, there were anti-inflammatory pills, iodine, band-aids, and the like—quite comprehensive.

“Take my temperature?” Meng Chi did feel a bit dizzy and touched his own face; it felt reasonably normal.

“Yeah, to check if you have a fever,” Yu Tingzhi said. He tested the temperature gun on the back of his own hand, then walked up to Meng Chi and pressed it against his forehead.

“N—” Before the word “need” could come out, the temperature gun mechanically announced his temperature: 37.2°C. At the same time, Meng Chi caught the scent of tobacco on Yu Tingzhi. This made him frown slightly.

If he remembered correctly, She Shan had mentioned that Yu Tingzhi didn’t smoke—unless he was dealing with something very troubling.

“Not bad. Take some anti-inflammatory pills.” Yu Tingzhi withdrew his hand, took out the pills from the pharmacy bag, snapped one in half, placed it in his palm, and held it out to Meng Chi along with the crystal glass.

“The pills will be a little bitter. I also bought some candy.”

Meng Chi looked at the pills in his hand and let out a soft laugh, feeling that Yu Tingzhi was treating him like a child.

“Why would I need candy? I’m not a kid.” Meng Chi obediently swallowed the pill. Then he sat down on the sofa, took out the ointment, and prepared to apply it himself.

Though Yu Tingzhi had been somewhat crazed the night before, he’d still known his limits and hadn’t injured Meng Chi internally. Still, the prolonged friction left him uncomfortable even now.

That could wait for now. Meng Chi focused mainly on treating the bite marks and abrasions on his thighs. Without any hesitation, he sat down, lifted the shirt he was wearing, and began disinfecting with a cotton swab dipped in iodine.

He sat with his legs spread in an M-shape on the sofa, hitching up the hem of the shirt, and bent his head to carefully dab the broken skin on his thighs. Yu Tingzhi watched from the side, observing the wounds shift from pale pink to deep red. Something must have crossed his mind, because his Adam’s apple moved briefly before he looked away.

When Meng Chi twisted his body, struggling awkwardly to apply medicine to his waist, Yu Tingzhi turned back and said, “Let me help you.”

That twisted position really was uncomfortable. Meng Chi glanced at Yu Tingzhi and handed him the cotton swab.

Yu Tingzhi lifted his shirt and looked at the flushed patches on both sides of his narrow waist—they looked like a butterfly painted there. He tried to rein in his emotions, but with such a sight before him, it was hard to keep his thoughts from straying. He even found those marks beautiful, and if only he could preserve them…

“Yu, Teacher Yu,” Meng Chi suddenly called out.

It was a perfectly normal form of address, but because Yu Tingzhi had called him “Meng classmate” the night before while holding the soft whip, Meng Chi’s pronunciation came out a little halting.

He thought about changing it, but after a moment’s consideration, calling him by his full name felt strange, so he stuck with it.

“Hmm?” Yu Tingzhi pushed those thoughts aside and continued applying the ointment over the red marks.

“That man from last night—do you know him?” Meng Chi’s voice was still a little hoarse, so it came out soft.

Yu Tingzhi shook his head. “No.”

Meng Chi raised an eyebrow and looked back at him. “You don’t know him, and you still drank his alcohol?”

Yu Tingzhi paused in his application for a moment, then said, “I didn’t drink his alcohol. I drank what I ordered myself.”

Meng Chi frowned and thought for a couple of seconds, then understood: that man must have been watching Yu Tingzhi for a long time. Either he’d conspired with the bartender, or he’d seized the moment when he saw that the drink was meant for Yu Tingzhi and made his move.

Whether in approach or technique, he was clearly a seasoned offender.

“Scumbag,” Meng Chi spat.

“I’ll handle this matter. You don’t need to be angry,” Yu Tingzhi said.

Meng Chi paused, thinking to himself, Who said I’m angry? But when he turned and saw Yu Tingzhi’s downcast eyes and apologetic expression, he swallowed the words that were about to come out.

After applying the iodine, Yu Tingzhi put on the anti-inflammatory ointment. When the creamy white paste touched the broken skin, Meng Chi couldn’t help but hiss.

Yu Tingzhi stopped. “Does it hurt a lot?”

Meng Chi was sore all over. After lying still for a while, he felt tired. At that, he made a sound of acknowledgment from his throat.

After a moment of silence, he heard Yu Tingzhi’s sincere apology: “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

Truth be told, being roughed up like this did leave Meng Chi with a bit of resentment. But it wasn’t just because he’d been made the bottom—after all, he’d agreed to it. It was more that Yu Tingzhi’s dominance the night before had made him uncomfortable.

Yu Tingzhi’s behavior had surprised Meng Chi and, to some extent, disillusioned him. In his imagination, an artist should be as gentle and refined as polished jade, cultured and graceful.

Whether it was deliberately tormenting him or using rope to restrict his movements, it had more or less affected his mood and inevitably stirred some dissatisfaction.

But that was all in bed. Once they were out of it, there was no need to make too much of it.

Though Meng Chi had never experienced such sex before, he understood that Yu Tingzhi had probably been influenced by the drug. Besides, he himself had derived unprecedented pleasure from it, so his resentment wasn’t that strong. Now that Yu Tingzhi was putting on such a remorseful front, even if he had a temper, he couldn’t very well let it out.

Meng Chi let out a very faint, dry laugh. “It’s nothing.”

Yu Tingzhi said nothing more, only softened his movements considerably. It wasn’t until he had treated the small bite mark behind Meng Chi’s ear that he suddenly said, “Next time, I’ll try to hold back a bit more.”

Next time?

Meng Chi was startled, a flash of surprise and bewilderment crossing his eyes. Then he turned his head back to look at Yu Tingzhi and gave a dry laugh: “Teacher Yu, let’s not have a next time for this kind of thing.”

Yu Tingzhi’s movements stopped. “Why can’t there be a next time?”

The smile on Meng Chi’s face faded. He asked calmly in return, “Why should there be a next time?”

They had known each other for less than a month and could barely be considered friends. And between such friends, a next time was hardly appropriate, was it?