Chapter 24

Kong Fugui had been one of Ai Qing’s best playmates in the old neighbourhood—same as Xiao Youqian.

The difference was that Xiao Youqian’s family had moved to the main urban district in primary school when their building was demolished, while Kong Fugui stayed with Ai Qing all the way through middle and high school. Naturally, the two boys were closer.

Pity the kid’s grades were nothing to brag about. When the college-entrance scores came out he could barely scrape into a vocational college—maybe wrangle a spot at a second-tier university if his parents pulled strings. In the end Uncle Kong simply shipped him overseas for a quick gilt-layering. He only came back for summer holidays and Chinese New Year.

Ai Qing hadn’t expected the guy to finish early and come home ahead of graduation.

“Here, drink.” Ai Qing showed him in, pointed him to the sofa, and set a glass of water on the coffee table. “Why are you back in March?”

“Missed you, man.” Kong Fugui flopped onto the couch, arms flung along the back, legs spread wide, his brown-to-green ombré hair impossible to miss. He grinned. “Honestly, my coursework’s done. You know how it is—overseas diploma mill. Scares the locals, that’s all. Hand over the cash, get the scroll. I couldn’t be bothered to stick around, so I came home early for a breath of real air.”

The families in the demolition zone around Ai Qing’s place had pretty much all caught the rising tide of the last dozen years; none of them were short of money. Ai Zhongguo, though, was the honest sort—an old-school journalist back when reporters still had a halo. His moral bar stayed high; he earned his keep the straight way. Comfortable, sure, but nothing like the ones who rode the wind.

Kong Fugui’s folks ran an overseas-trade outfit. With the country growing stronger and production booming, their market had exploded, and the profits had poured in. After four years of “university” in Canada, Kong Fugui was now officially gilded.

“So you’re taking over Uncle Kong’s business?” Ai Qing settled into the single-seat sofa.

“You kidding?” Kong Fugui laughed. “The old man’s barely fifty. He’ll hang on another decade at least. No point me butting in.”

“Couldn’t hurt to learn the ropes.”

“Forget it.” He waved the thought away. “I’m not the type. Let my little brother inherit the empire; I’ll kick back and be a model rich-second-gen.”

“If I remember right,” Ai Qing said, mouth twitching, “your little brother is twelve—hasn’t even started middle school.”

“Shows Dad’s foresight.” Kong Fugui smirked. “He saw early his eldest son was a dud, so he levelled up a second account. Makes life easy for me.”

“Then why come back at all?”

“Fun.” He spread his hands. “Got myself a girlfriend. Gonna take her travelling in a few days, see the sights.”

“You absolute bastard.” Ai Qing clicked his tongue—used to the routine. The guy’s love life had been a mess since middle school. If they weren’t childhood brothers, Ai Qing would’ve greeted him with spit.

At least Kong Fugui stayed semi-decent: every romance was official, no overlapping fleets, no “Sea-King” fishpond. Call it chasing the emotional high, or—bluntly—swap when bored. Ai Qing didn’t approve, but if it wasn’t illegal he kept his nose out. Rich people’s world.

“Go play with your girl, then. Why bug me?” Ai Qing still had to teach Xiao Yu how to walk; these minutes were precious.

“First day back—gotta meet my brother.” Kong Fugui shrugged. “Sis Qian said you were here, so I dropped by. Later we’ll grab Lao Wu, the three of us’ll knock back a round.”

“Wu Yong’s back? I thought he was still in uniform.”

“Discharged—last month.” Kong Fugui blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, Dad told me. Some injury, don’t know how bad. Typical Wu, didn’t breathe a word.”

“That idiot—should’ve said something.” Ai Qing frowned, worried.

“You know him—quieter than you. He’d never mention it. We’ll just camp on his doorstep.”

“Works for me.”

The topic exhausted, silence settled. Kong Fugui looked around, curious, then grinned. “You rent this whole place alone?”

“What about it?” Ai Qing shot him a glance. “It’s a friend of Dad’s, so it’s cheap—two thousand a month. For that price in Hangzhou you’d normally get a shoebox.”

“Nice.” Kong Fugui nodded, then couldn’t resist: “Perfect for keeping some gorgeous girl on the side. No girlfriend yet—or is there?”

“Hell no. You think I’m you? Never dated in college, let alone now.”

“That’s unhealthy, man.” Kong Fugui wagged a finger. “Too long without love and you rust—body and brain. Watch out.”

“Thanks, doctor.”

“No thanks needed. I can set you up. My girl has a best friend—long legs, queenly vibe, bright and bubbly, killer smile. Interested?”

“Nope.”

“At least look.” He whipped out his phone and scrolled to her Moments. “See?”

Ai Qing glanced. Pretty, but heavy make-up, lipstick dark enough to scare crows—and the domineering type wasn’t his thing.

Didn’t hold a candle to Xiao Yu.

Wait—why was he comparing her to Xiao Yu?

He waved the phone away. “Drop it. Not in the mood for romance.”

“Every great writer’s a romantic rogue. You crank out novels—how can you be so clueless?” Kong Fugui sighed. “Ask your readers; maybe some cute fangirl—”

“You’re hilarious.” Ai Qing snorted. Nine out of ten commenters were single dogs; the tenth cross-dressed. Online, everyone was a bro until proven otherwise.

“I’m off dating. Mind your own harem.”

He’d barely finished when the bedroom door-handle rattled.

Both heads snapped toward it.

The door opened.

A head of snow-white hair poked out, cat ears twitching.

Xiao Yu, on all fours, peeked into the living room.

Kong Fugui looked from the cosplay girl to Ai Qing, mouth twitching, fighting laughter.

“Damn, Ai... you’re kinkier than I thought.”

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