When Xing Ming woke up, it was already 1 PM. Usually, he would get up at 6 AM no matter what had occurred the night before, taking his morning run and morning shower, eating breakfast, then listening to CNN news… The disturbance in his biological clock that resulted in such lateness and unpunctuality was partly attributed to his excessive drunkenness last night, and partly because of Yu Zhongye—Xing Ming was nearly twenty years younger than Yu Zhongye, yet he hadn't gained even a sliver of victory in the battle between body and body. With a soreness in his waist and an ache in his legs, Xing Ming stayed in bed for a while before he completely woke up. His vision was still a little bit blurry, but fortunately, he hadn't gone blind. He walked naked to the bathroom and faced the mirror above the sink. At first, he was astonished, standing stock still for a few seconds and growing a strong dislike for the man reflected in the mirror, disheveled and dirty, without any propriety whatsoever.
Xing Ming found brand-new toiletries and took a shower. His clothes had already been taken away, so he had to put on one of Yu Zhongye's shirts. Though it was one size too large, his six-foot frame fit it well enough.
Getting over his negative emotions and burying them deeply in his mind, he rearranged himself, walked out of the bedroom, and stepped down the stairs.
Yu Zhongye was already there, and, hearing someone approach, he looked up to glance at Xing Ming. "Come and sit."
Xing Ming obediently sat on the seat next to Yu Zhongye and faced a table full of mild and refreshing dishes. Lowering his head, he began wolfing down the food. Though his stomach was still uncomfortable, he was starving.
Yu Zhongye had a long habit of eating until only 70% full, so he'd already stopped eating by that point. He observed Xing Ming for a while. Then, in a sudden motion, lifted his hand to pinch his chin—only, Xing Ming reflexively leveled his hand to block, and the two wrists collided with a loud bang. In such plain daylight, Xing Ming felt a bone-deep unwillingness to be so intimate with other people.
Meeting the gaze of a pair of deep eyes, Xing Ming finally realized who the "other people" had been and immediately regretted his actions. Sincerely, he called out, "Laoshi."
"You don't look so good." Yu Zhongye didn't seem mad. "You should take some time off."
Coming from the instigator of the situation, it was a novel concept that metaphorically dripped with crocodile tears. Xing Ming instinctively refused, "It's Monday, I have to be at the Station…"
"I won't let you rest in vain," Yu Zhongye interrupted, pushing to Xing Ming the stack of documents that had been lying on the table. "Take a look."
The stack was quite thick. Xing Ming suspiciously opened the folder, and saw on the first two pages the printed words: The Chairman's Mailbox. Xing Ming knew this tradition; it had existed at Pearl Station ever since its establishment. Anyone could anonymously report or complain about any internal conflicts between employees to the chairman. However, in most cases, the chairman of Pearl Station would always be quite busy. Since a chairman may not be able to reply to people individually, most mail would just be assigned to the personnel at the chairman's office. As time went on, this practice became less and less prevalent in people's minds.
Xing Ming was a little bit stunned. He'd always thought that the chairman's mailbox was just a front, an empty façade that allowed a chairman to claim democratic process while using it to build up personal social networks. It never occurred to him that Yu Zhongye actually had people organize and print out all those reports for perusing in his spare time.
Xing Ming roughly skimmed the documents and found out that nearly all the papers talked about him, and that there was not a single word of praise or support. Every letter and every report held tip-offs and charges against him.
Since it was industry-standard for the producer to determine the larger picture for a particular show, nearly all hosts had become accustomed to directly reading script lines. However, Xing Ming was noticeably disdainful of being a mere megaphone through which script writers spoke. He was no longer as modest and affable as he had been when initially joining Pearl Station; not only did he actively propose topics, several times he had even started conflicts with producers and directors in the process of recording programs. There were more than a couple instances of him embarrassing various people.
For instance, during the politically volatile time of the Two Sessions, when the National People's Congress and Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference had held their annual meeting sessions, Xing Ming had ordered all members of the team to bring bedrolls to the News Center, not permitting leaves of absences for even funerals or weddings. For another instance, when the News Center had been holding an important conference and everyone was clapping politely, he had been the only one brazen enough to dare stand up and say, "I have a news draft to prepare." Xing Ming didn't remember how many annoying things he had done, nor had anyone reminded him. At the time, he had been at his peak, energetic and passionate with his outstanding writing skills and unique perspective on viewing the news. Traditionally, it wasn't rare to have programs within the same genre or same theme. Pearl Line wasn't cliché or bland; it was a program that was just touching enough when it needed to be sentimental, but also just thought-provoking when it needed to be critically incisive. Therefore, in the News Center, each staff member feared bothering Xing Ming like they feared waking sleeping tigers. They only dared complain about him in private or through the anonymous chairman mailbox.
Through the letters and documents, Xing Ming learned to see himself in a new light. He saw himself in a way he never had in the past, as someone tough and sharp, and even mean and vicious.
He was particular about topics, about storyboards, about cameras, about everything. He was confrontational with the director, with the post-production, with the photographer, with everyone.
In truth, it wasn't that he was unwilling to lose to the others, but that he was unwilling to lose to himself.
Yu Zhongye took a sip of tea, then asked, "What do you think?"
Xing Ming replied honestly, "What a bitchy guy. Doesn't seem very popular."
Yu Zhongye put down the teacup. "In contrast, I see a young media professional full of ideals. Only, he has yet to learn to run before setting his mind on flying. Too impatient."
Ol' Chen had said the same thing but in a completely different context. Xing Ming filtered this sentence through his mind with the fastest speed, secretly rejoicing that the latent meaning of these words meant praise rather than criticism
"To have the skill to invite someone and have that person accept, to keep someone and have that person remain, that is a part of the art of leadership." Yu Zhongye smiled slightly, staring into the eyes of Xing Ming. "In this point, you've fallen short of Ol' Chen."
Xing Ming wasn't opposed to the criticism, nor was he unwilling to lose to Ol' Chen. But Yu Zhongye's expressionless face held a kind of pressure that couldn't be ignored. Xing Ming was so nervous that he didn't dare to breathe or speak too loudly, and it made him feel uncomfortable from head to toe.
"I'm full." Xing Ming urgently wanted to flee from this pressure and stress, yet when he stood up, the seated Yu Zhongye suddenly grabbed him and forced him to sit on his legs.
A woman busying herself around the dining table threw a glance at them. She was around thirty years old, with a short stature but quick dexterous movements. This was Phoebe, Xing Ming knew, a woman from Southeast Asia, though he wasn't sure which country. She had long been charged with taking care of Yu Zhongye's daily domestic life.
Right in front of Phoebe, Yu Zhongye thrust his knee between Xing Ming's thighs and reached up to unbuckle the first button of his shirt.
Phoebe had not moved her eyes off of Xing Ming.
Xing Ming could not bear such a look from a bystander, eyes filled with contempt and sympathy alike, sharper than knives. His whole body stiffened, and his backbone twisted in a bizarre way, like a nervous cat with fur standing on end, caught in fight or flight.
Yu Zhongye unfastened all the buttons of Xing Ming's shirt, revealing a body full of marks and hickeys. His fingers rubbed his nipples with practiced movements, teasing them to hardness, then followed the curve of his chest muscles, caressing all the way down to his lower abdomen.
"Laoshi… Not here…" Xing Ming felt like he was on fire. He was flushed, slightly panting, and sweat had beaded on his skin like oil spray.
"Relax," Yu Zhongye suddenly said, "your buttons were fastened crookedly." He caught Xing Ming by his waist, refastening each button for him again.
Xing Ming didn't remember if he really misaligned his buttons before he walked out of the bathroom, but after a few seconds, he somehow caught a sense of teasing in Yu Zhongye's eyes.
Such an unexpected gaze made Xing Ming's heart thump out of rhythm. The man in front of him had oddly long, lush eyelashes paired with naturally amorous and deep eyes, just like a rippling lake that held the reflection of verdant mountains in its waves.
Xing Ming held his breath, feeling the icy touch of a long, slim finger slowly stroking from the corner of his mouths to his chin… Then he saw Chairman Yu smile before he said, "Rest well. You have such a lovely face; it would be a pity if you scarred it."
A shallow mark still remained on Xing Ming's face from when he had struggled against the bodyguards at the chairman's office and injured himself in front of Yu Zhongye.
After lunch, the driver, Ol' Lin, waited at the door for Yu Zhongye, who planned to go out. Before leaving, Yu Zhongye assigned Xing Ming a task: arrange and memorize the files of every one of Pearl Station's subcontracted employees.
The official term for these subcontractors, the waixie employees, coincided with the waixie of internet slang, which referred to the Appearance Association, a tongue-in-cheek title given to those who were overzealous about good looks when it came to dating and romance. Of course, these subcontractors had nothing to do with that. Instead, they were generally dispatched personnel and temporary workers at the Station, the lowest class in the Station hierarchy but also the most hard-working group of people there. Their salaries were largely dependent on performance, which meant their enthusiasm raged like infernos.
Xing Ming had indeed heard that the HR system of the Station had been upgraded recently but couldn't figure out the intentions behind Yu Zhongye's words. Not only was he unable to catch the meaning, but he was also unwilling to cooperate. At the workplace, there was another group of people were called "copy kings" and "copy queens." In short, they were newly hired rookies who focused on organizing and photocopying various resources, all boring and trivial jobs. Xing Ming obviously wasn't a rookie, yet right now he urgently needed time to build up a new team.
Xing Ming's first reaction: this sounded like a deliberately plotted punishment.
Yu Zhongye had left without telling Xing Ming whether he was to stay or to leave. Xing Ming was inclined towards the former—he had other plans.
Without telling Phoebe, he snuck into the study, which gave a pretty good first impression. The decoration was simple with cold-tones, perfectly suited to Yu Zhongye's usual tastes. Heading further inward, Xing Ming was captivated by the collection of books. The abundance of books really surprised him. It included books from all over Afro-Eurasia and all throughout five thousand years of human history. It looked less like a study and more like a library. Even further inward, he saw the panel screen in between the shelves and Yu Zhongye's office. The four elements of traditional calligraphy were set on the table: ink brushes, ink sticks, Xuan paper, and an ink slab.
Xing Ming remembered, Yu Zhongye had expertise in both calligraphy and Chinese painting. His style was powerful, invigorating, and vivid.
Indeed, the man's calligraphy and paintings were like a reflection of the man himself.
Xing Ming again recalled the poetry with Yu Zhongye's signature. The beautiful line of words often gave him the false impression that he had known this man for a very long time.
He stopped at Yu Zhongye's desk, contemplating where his feeling of déjà vu came from.
It was only after ten minutes that Xing Ming realized: Yu Zhongye's calligraphy was kind of similar to his father, Xing Hong's.
It was probably the common problem for this kind of artist. When Xing Hong had still been alive, he had been keen on studying calligraphy. Not only would he constantly practice, but he had also often forced Xing Ming to practice. Xing Hong would often light a cigarette and smile while watching his son stand on the little stool to practice calligraphy, not caring at all whether the desk was too high for his son to reach.
Sometimes Tang Wan would come in all worried, shouting, "If you want to smoke, then smoke outside. The kid has younger lungs, don't choke him!"
The words Xing Hong would pick for his son had always been short. Most of them had been four-character idioms that promoted kindness and virtue.
Xing Ming wasn't typically a patient person, but when he really got in the zone, he could concentrate to the extent that nothing would disrupt him.
He had been only six years old then, and he thought that the world was just like the black ink against white paper beneath his brush, that good people lived long and well, and that bad people would be eternally vilified in the memory of history.
Xing Ming wandered around for a while in Yu Zhongye's study, but he didn't find what he was looking for, so he returned to the bedroom.
Phoebe was cleaning there. She had already diligently taken Xing Ming's clothes, and, just then, was changing the sheets. After the whole night spent by two unrestrained men, the black velvet sheets had so many obscene marks that they had to be changed.
Yu Zhongye's bed was luxurious, comfortable, and extremely large, but Xing Ming did not like the floor-to-ceiling window that faced the bed, perfectly square and very bright. During the day, it looked fine, showing the view of a waterside pavilion and a long winding walkway, but at night, it was a mirror, reflecting back only those lewd and lustful images that could never be divulged.
For instance, last night, this mirror had reflected two men like two pieces of a puzzle, locked together for the whole night. Just like the first time, Xing Ming had simultaneously felt joy and shame. On top of that, the more intense the pleasure that took over him, the more noticeable became the humiliation. With Yu Zhongye, he had at times lost acuity and at other times lost acumen, drifting like a lone plankton in the vast ocean, constantly aware of his own insignificance.
Phoebe bustled happily, and Xing Ming made simple small talk with her in English. Then, on a sudden whim, he asked, "Does Yu-laoshi always bring home people like me?"
He then startled at his own question; what were "people like me"? What people were like him? What was he, Xing Ming, even like?
Then he quickly realized to his own disappointment, he couldn't even really be counted as this theoretical group of people that would be brought home by Yu Zhongye. His actions last night, his skills in bed, they'd been horrible—neither sexy nor innocent, neither seductive nor submissive. His deliberate demands had been unnatural and awkward, yet once he stopped, he had become too relentless and somber. He was utterly unsuitable and utterly unsolicitous.
But Phoebe's answer was completely surprising. She said that she had worked here for over five years, and he had been the only one who permitted to stay overnight.
Thinking over and over, he knew that both in and out of the Station, a great number of young men and women yearned for the favor of his majesty, Chairman Yu, but he had never heard of anyone who had successfully snuck into his imperial bed. The tightness he had felt in his heart loosened mysteriously, and Xing Ming reassured himself: it was just sleeping, with a woman it was sleeping and with a man it was also sleeping. Not to mention that this man was someone whose words held great authority, someone with absolute power over the Station.
Phoebe worked for a while longer, then left, and Xing Ming noticed the silhouette of a familiar man through that awful glass window.
Although Xing Ming would shield his subordinates from stabbings with his own body, he usually wasn't able to recall their names. The strange thing was, however, that Xing Ming recognized this man with merely a glance—Tao Hongbin.
Anyone who knew Tao Hongbin also knew how difficult his life had been. As an excavator working in the city's Sanitation Department, he had been hit by a car in the process of rescuing someone. That rescued individual had fled without another word, but Tao Hongbin himself had scarcely avoided death, losing one of his own legs in the process. His family of five had never lived too comfortably, and after their main breadwinner had lost the ability to work, after incurring so many costly medical bills, the family fell on even harder times and accumulated even greater debts. To avoid having his three children drop out of schools, Tao Hongbin had dragged his crippled body to numerous governmental institutions to appeal for a Good Samaritan certificate in recognition of his heroic and self-sacrificing deed. In the end, not only had he suffered eyerolling and stonewalling from contemptuous government workers, but the revelation of his three children had resulted in heavy fines for violating the One Child Policy. Denied of help on all fronts, in the depths of his despair, Tao Hongbin contemplated ending it all: an easy murder-suicide via carbon monoxide poisoning. All they had to do was leave the gas on
But he didn't end up doing that, for he was invited to Pearl Line.
Xing Ming hadn't been the first media host to invite Tao Hongbin on a show, as Tao Hongbin had already thought about seeking help from the media. Once, a female host tightly grasped his hand on the stage, weeping and ceaselessly for the cameras, then, offstage, immediately turned to repeatedly sanitize her hands.
Compared to Pearl Line during Zhuang Lei's time, which often utilized the tears and hugs as a way to help ease the guests' pains and sorrows, Xing Ming had a manner that was much colder and more distant, a flaw born of his inhumanly attractive appearance. His language was also not particularly affable, resulting in him seeming to be completely unfamiliar with the concept of empathy. However, after recording the show, he used the public platform of Pearl Line to seek witnesses of the car accident and repeatedly sent journalists out for evidence and information. He even took the program's lawyer team to visit government officials in the related departments, trying to negotiate with reference to national law and local regulations. In the end, he finally succeeded at having a Good Samaritan certificate awarded to Tao Hongbin.
With merely this thin sheet of paper, not only had Tao Hongbin gotten financial compensation, he had also gotten an offer for employment as a groundskeeper in this luxury villa community, earning him a very decent salary.
When Tao Hongbin had received the ¥300k[1] compensation from the government, his wife and three kids had all knelt down in a kowtow of gratitude for Xing Ming.
Later, when Xing Ming had used his own money to invite migrant workers, unable to return to their home villages over the holidays, to a collective New Year's Eve banquet, Tao Hongbin had been among the attendees. At the dining table, the eight-year-old son of Tao Hongbin had loudly read out the essay he had written for his final exam, which had gotten full marks, before hundreds of migrant workers and multitudes of video cameras. The first sentence of that essay had been, "My dream for when I grow up is to become a host just like Uncle Xing Ming…"
Xing Ming had smiled; such a nice kid, so pure and naive that he could not differentiate illusion, dreams, and reality, just like the minute differences between soul, flesh, and body. But the kid had continued speaking. After drinking for a while, as Xing Ming's eyes had gradually become hot and misty while his face glowed—he was always like that when he was tipsy—the New Year's Eve banquet continued into the night, with the sound of people waxing and waning, with the stars emerging high over the night sky, twinkling, then fading into oblivion.
Tao Hongbin raised his head in between the tree branches, recognizing Xing Ming with just one glance. Not waiting to be approached, he put down his hedge trimmers. Wiping and scrubbing his hands on his pants, he approached Xing Ming and greeted him. It had been quite a few days since they had last seen each other. Although they had met several times, he was still so excited that his hands and legs quivered, and he stammered as soon as he started, "You… do you remember me? We've had some drinks together before, and you once saved my family's life."
"I remember you." Xing Ming looked at his dark face, showing a smile that had been lost for a while. "You look great. How's your family?"
"We're all doing well," Tao Hongbin hurried to reply, nodding all the while.
Xing Ming and Tao Hongbin sat together in front of the trellis walkway. With a grass straw in his mouth, Xing Ming answered Tao Hongbin's every question.
"Why did Pearl Line change its host?"
"Following the orders of the boss. I'll get a better show."
"Could anything be better than Pearl Line? Pearl Line is be the best show in China." Tao Hongbin didn't have much education, nor did he read enough books, therefore, the only words he could come up with for praise was "the best."
Xing Ming turned his face and looked at Tao Hongbin. Then, after a few moments, he pretended to nod in promise, "It will definitely be better than Pearl Line."
Upon humoring Tao Hongbin through various discussions, Xing Ming forgot the assignment that Yu Zhongye had given him. To be honest, he regarded everyone in Pearl Station as the same; from leaders to temps, he didn't care about any one of them. Now that he had his ambition back again, he just worked on his job, spending three days coming up with planned proposals for the new show and repeatedly going over them.
Yu Zhongye came back home on the third night. As soon as he stepped in, Xing Ming, who had already been waiting in the living room, stood up to welcome him. He had decided to be fully committed to this role; at least before the new show was completely established, he had to perform the role of Chairman Yu's secret mistress well.
Two of them naturally gravitated to each other to kiss tenderly, and the kiss continued and lingered to gradually deepen and intensify.
Xing Ming closed his eyes and, with a slight humph, melted into this kiss. Staying in this big echoey house during the daytime, he had reflected upon his sins, but this man was just too good at kissing, so good that it muddled and confused him, made him unable to differentiate real passion from the false emotions that tangled between their tongues and teeth. With their lips seemingly conjoined yet not, Yu Zhongye asked about the files of those temporary employees.
"I think that task… was quite boring." The kiss gave Xing Ming the courage to bargain. Eyes misty and opened wide to stare straight at Yu Zhongye, he tilted his lips up to initiate another kiss.
Yu Zhongye stopped talking, pushing Xing Ming down on the sofa and slipping his tongue into his mouth again, sweeping and rubbing against his palate in a gentle yet dominant way. One hand caressed and petted at the back of his waist, and the other started to tear at his shirt.
Phoebe, who was setting out dinner, cast a glance at the two men's cuddling and rutting, one of whom was perceptive enough to catch the gaze.
"Laoshi… Let's eat dinner first…" Xing Ming acted like a spoiled child, coquettish and begging, trying to stop this; he didn't like to perform such intimate acts in front of strangers, but Yu Zhongye responded bluntly:
"Going to eat you first."
Xing Ming was stripped to complete nudity, but then the doorbell suddenly rang.
"Go and open the door."
Xing Ming bent down to pick up his clothes from the floor, but Yu Zhongye stepped on them, saying, "Go ahead just like that."
He looked out the window, vaguely identifying that the visitor was Tao Hongbin, bringing along two girls and one boy—his three kids.
Xing Ming instantly froze. The passionately burning blood aroused by their earlier acts cooled suddenly, leaving not a single trace of warmth.
Outside, Tao Hongbin rang the bell again.
Butt naked, Xing Ming didn't budge. He couldn't believe that Yu Zhongye actually meant it.
"Open the door."
The ringing of doorbell urged him to respond, but Xing Ming was too paralyzed to move, his frozen eyes like coagulated ink, yet his eyelids and eyelashes trembling continuously.
The earlier kiss had been so perfect that he had gotten a boner, the stem of which held the same color as his skin, a pale white that evoked frigidity, yet the veins of which remained distinctly blue-violet and tip of which remained moist and flushed darkly red.
Yu Zhongye sat on the sofa, sizing Xing Ming up with amusement. Such an interesting reaction.
"Anyone there?"
Outside the door, Tao Hongbin pounded the door heavily and loudly. Maybe he thought the bell was broken.
Phoebe heard the sound and came to open the door. Right before Tao Hongbin and three of his children stepped inside, Xing Ming suddenly seemed to have woken up, fleeing in a panicked flurry. As soon as he hid in the bathroom, Tao Hongbin and his kids entered the house. Xing Ming heard Tao Hongbin tell Yu Zhongye that the oranges of his hometown had seen a surprisingly good harvest, and that he'd brought some to gift to Yu Zhongye.
Tao Hongbin was always a grateful person who tried repay other people's kindness. He asked his daughters and son to bow to Yu Zhongye, saying that without his recommendation, he wouldn't have been able to get such a great job.
"Not a big deal at all." Yu Zhongye smiled lightly. "The hero is Xing Ming, not me."
Out of turn, the eight-year-old son Tao Yang said abruptly, "Uncle Xing Ming is indeed a hero. I wrote my essay about the story of Uncle Xing Ming and I won the first prize in our grade. Everyone in my class loves him!"
Both of Tao Hongbin's daughters also added to the praise. It was not hard to know that the whole family regarded Xing Ming as their idol, their model, their hero… all the titles given to those people of bright eyes and forthright actions.
Through the mirror in the bathroom, Xing Ming saw his own disheveled appearance. In sudden bewilderment, he wondered: that guy they're describing, who is he?
After putting down two baskets of sweet oranges, Tao Hongbin sat down and talked for a while. His nature was reserved and taciturn, which meant that most of the time it was his three children who prattled on. During the conversation, Tao Yang tried to go to the bathroom. When he tried and failed to twist the doorknob of the bathroom, he heard the sound of flowing water inside and was then guided by Phoebe to use another one.
Yu Zhongye didn't talk much, yet he sometimes burst into candid laughter.
Even though he had seen Xing Ming during the daytime, Tao Hongbin was still worried about him. Not wanting to miss this great chance, he asked Yu Zhongye, "Boss Yu, why has Pearl Line changed its host?"
Tao Hongbin was a guy who had a warm heart, yet he wasn't very good at articulating his words. When he talked about serious problems or issues, he would usually stammer. It was his eldest daughter, a highschooler, that helped him to complete the sentence, "Last week, we didn't see Uncle Xing Ming's show, so the next day, my dad reached out to some colleagues who were supposed to be on the show. They can all prove that even though The Ordinary Roadhad used paid actors, the reports had actually happened…"
This fifteen-year-old girl was quite hot-blooded, arguing firmly and reasonably. She repeatedly emphasized that the so-called "paid actor incident" had been based on the truth, that it had only happened due to extenuating circumstances. They definitely shouldn't allow the cyberbullying internet mobs turn this into a situation where "bad money drives out good" and punish a talented and excellent host.
"The rumors online weren't the reason Pearl Line changed its host. Xing Ming has his own new show." Yu Zhongye wasn't annoyed but instead seemed to respect and understand this brave girl. He even talked to her about the homogenization, sensationalism, and marketing of news media, as well as its continued survival status. He said, "The whole news media industry is simply waiting for some reckless and clueless fool to singlehandedly turn everything around by force."
Tao Hongbin's family left, but Xing Ming stayed in the bathroom to hide.
Yu Zhongye stood from the sofa and walked to the bathroom. He saw the showerhead running and Xing Ming, covered in a white towel, sitting under the spray of water.
He tested the water temperature, which was almost scalding.
Only, sitting underneath, Xing Ming shivered like a thief who had scarcely dodged the police.
Yu Zhongye took off his coat and put it around Xing Ming's shoulder, roughly embracing him and taking him into his arms. His palm lightly caresses the back of Xing Ming's head as he softly assured him, "It's all right; it's all right."
Xing Ming raised his head from his arms and saw Yu Zhongye, also exposed to the shower's spray. The water slipped over the outline of his handsome face, streaming down. His shirt clung to his flesh, sketching out the shape of his strong and perfect pectoral muscles.
The effervescent steam filling the bathroom invigorated Xing Ming's desire. It felt as if his earlier shock had taken something out of him, and the void that remained hungered to be invaded and filled by the man in front of him.
Xing Ming took initiative and begged for it, tearing off Yu Zhongye's shirt buttons, kissing his lips, touching his chest, and playing with his nipples… His fingers roamed over Yu Zhongye's body, groping wildly before eventually grasping that heavy length, rubbing it against his abdomen.
Yu Zhongye wasn't in a hurry for penetration, instead grabbing Xing Ming's cock in hand, stroking it at a pace that was neither fast nor slow.
The soft, tired length aroused in Yu Zhongye's hands, and Xing Ming finally woke up. He tilted his face up to stare at Yu Zhongye, asking, "How did you know Tao Hongbin?"
"I have not missed a single episode of Pearl Line." With a faint smile on his face, Yu Zhongye's fingers sped up and his grip tightened. "I'm your fan."
Without warning, Xing Ming grunted and shot his load into a callused palm in satisfaction. As if having just survived some perilous disaster, he slumped into Yu Zhongye's arms. Eyes closed, he said, "The files of those temps aren't all that. I'll memorize every word by morning."
When Ol' Chen telephoned, Xing Ming was kneeling before Yu Zhongye, "helping" him.
Yu Zhongye's cock bore a kind of brick-like color that reflected its many "battlefield" experiences. It stood at attention beautifully, and it even had an appealing smell. But it had a stunning size that made even the prominent urethra in the slit seem ferocious. Xing Ming quietly inhaled, grabbed Yu Zhongye's cock at its base, then touched the tip of his tongue to the underside of the cockhead, licking carefully.
Compared to Xing Ming's reactions in bed, his tongue, much more flexible and dexterous, obviously knew its way around. Yu Zhongye pulled out from Xing Ming's mouth and lowered his head to look into his eyes, "Not your first time?"
Knowing it was impossible to lie, Xing Ming nodded, "As a naïve student, I often misbehaved."
Yu Zhongye didn't respond, instead closing his eyes and, with the hand at the back of Xing Ming's head, pushed him closer, indicating that he opened his mouth and continued his job.
Like a feasting snake consuming prey in a single bite, Xing Ming tried desperately to swallow the entire cock deep into his throat. But when he was only halfway down, he felt the gigantic length in his mouth pushing against the very back of his mouth, already breaching the deepest place there was. Deep throating was uncomfortable, and he felt his windpipe get blocked, able only to slowly exhale but not at all to inhale.
He wanted to bite, to gag, to wail.
But he could not, and nor did he dare. He could only continue to suck, to endure, to please.
Yu Zhongye put his phone on speaker, and Ol' Chen, on the other end of the call, tried again to kick a downed man: "I don't think Xing Ming wants this job anymore. He just talked to himself and stopped coming into the Station—without even asking for a leave of absence—"
All of a sudden, Xing Ming grunted.
He wanted to let Ol' Chen know that he was here, but he didn't want Yu Zhongye to notice his little plan. Doing it would merely be showing off a paper tiger (since his position as Yu Zhongye's mistress evidently held little actual power), but if no one knew about it, if one would respect him, then his payment in spreading his legs would mean nothing.
Ol' Chen immediately realized and chuckled. "Ah, Yu-shu, you're… being 'helped'?"
Xing Ming wasn't used to hear such things, so he raised his neck and grunted again, but to his surprise, this time Yu Zhongye didn't allow any more sounds from him. His hands forcefully pressed his head inwards and his hips thrusted at once, sheathing himself to the root—
That enormous length tore past the tender membranes inside the mouth, and Yu Zhongye lowered his eyelids, watching as the blood-tinged saliva drooled from the corner of Xing Ming's lips. Then he spoke into the phone at to Ol' Chen, "Keep going."
"Ol' Sun from the East Asian Channel doesn't seem to want to let their personnel go, so it looks like we have to figure out another way to poach…"
Ol' Chen seemed extraordinarily verbose and talkative today, nattering non-stop. Yu Zhongye's expression stayed the same and his breaths remained. Meanwhile, even as he thrust roughly in and out of Xing Ming's mouth, brutally exploring its insides, he still replied calmly to Ol' Chen.
It continued all the way until Yu Zhongye finally satisfied himself and shot his load. Xing Ming gulped down the cum in his mouth, then lay supine on the bed, completely exhausted.
"Xiao Xing was here." Yu Zhongye seemed satisfied with the service and, at the last moment, said with a strict voice, "You're his senior, so don't be so hard on him."
With only one hour of sleep after their wanton craze, Xing Ming was woken by a burst of rain. When he opened his eyes, he still could see that mirror.
Xing Ming remembered that he slept with Yu Zhongye's cock inside him, fully stuffing his ass. But right now, Yu Zhongye had already left, the big empty bed holding him alone.
The rain had cleaned and washed glass of the window wall in front of the balcony of the bedroom until it shone and glittered, clearly displaying in the mirror the pale skin of a nude body. This was a man who'd been fucked to exhaustion and fatigue.
Xing Ming stared at the mirror for quite a while, thinking how good it would be good to smash it someday.
He hadn't slept well recently, maybe because sometimes people just encountered luck so bad that it affected every part of their lives. There was something deep inside his heart that was too prickly to comfort him. This feeling was just like the stress of studying right before exams, that type of unwilling to do something but being unable to not do something. Those files of temporary workers were all trivial information, how could they be worth the attention of a chairman? But he dared not disobey when he'd just climbed into the imperial bed of said chairman. Just earlier, hadn't he been almost forced to stand nude in front of other people? It was 2:30 AM, but, thinking that he still needed to review all those files of those temps, he struggled and got out of the bed, randomly selecting a housecoat to put on.
Before he walked into the study, he saw a beam of warm light leaking out; someone was there.
Xing Ming pushed to open the door of study and saw Yu Zhongye practicing calligraphy.
He was a little bit surprised, and this scene was indeed astonishing—Yu Zhongye's calligraphy was so amazingly beautiful. The ink was poured on the white paper using mature techniques. It looked like roving currents, completely expressing emotion and passion.
Xing Ming hadn't thought about Xing Hong for some years. But just then, without any reason, he recalled the scene when he had still been in primary school, forced to practice calligraphy by his father. Xing Hong's calligraphy had been beautiful as well. Moreover, he had wanted his son to get rid of his capriciousness, and have great calligraphy. However, Xing Ming was too unreceptive to inherit his father's talent. It wasn't because he couldn't write well, but instead due to the fact he had no passion or tolerance for it. He preferred an unrestrained cursive script over the less crude styles of traditional Chinese calligraphy like the seal script, the clerical script, the regular script, or even the semi-cursive script.
While Xing Ming stared absentmindedly at the face of Yu Zhongye under the dim light of the lamp, Yu Zhongye never responded to him with his eyes, only softly saying, "You only have two hours left till the sun rises."
The files on the desk were piled high. In the files, those temporary workers varied, as some of them had just been admitted into the Station, while some had worked for there for over a dozen years without being offered a job as a full-time staff member. Xing Ming knew this well. People were competing with each other not only based on their family backgrounds but also on their working experience, academic degrees, and social networking… the Station was such a place that each corner had its struggle and contest. Just like how consorts and concubines of ancient times might wait many fruitless years to be officially taken into the household as a wife, any mistakes might result in utter devastation of their original, tenuous position.
Which was still better than Xing Ming's current situation.
Sitting in front of the table, Xing Ming was determined to read through the files from the beginning. Soon he found it wasn't as boring as he imagined, it was actually rather intriguing.
For example, this was his first time learning that Ruan Ning, who seemed to be good for nothing except noisiness, had actually been an honor student in high school and, through his top grades in the Radio Hosting and Acting courses, been admitted to the Shanghai Theatre Academy, one of the best preforming arts schools in China. He learned that his graduation project had been a show titled The Case of the New Beauty, which was a show Ruan Ning had directed and performed by himself. The bold mixture and infusion of traditional opera and a modern drama play had made it highly acclaimed both inside and outside the Shanghai Theatre Academy, attracting much attention and praise. Then he read that Ruan Ning's hobby was tennis and that he'd once been selected for the professional team of the city. His most greatly idolized Roger Federer, the Swiss tennis player.
It was quite serendipitous; as a student, Xing Ming had once participated in a competition in Austria as a representative of his school, though it wasn't a tennis competition but instead a contest of mathematical modeling. He happened to meet Federer, who had just won a prize in Austria. The tennis legend was just as elegant, handsome, and friendly as online rumors had said. He'd even given Xing Ming a signed tennis ball. Only Xing Ming was interested in neither celebrities nor tennis, so after getting back home, he just set it aside and then never looked for it again.
Xing Ming knew that he always had this problem. To describe it nicely, he wasn't that down-to-earth, but to say it more straightforwardly, he was so over-confident that he instinctively looked down on everyone, particularly those entertainers who so often feigned madness and idiocy for their shows, as if there was an innate hierarchy existing between news workers and entertainment workers. Everyone else was rolling around in a mud pit, and only Xing Ming himself remained above it all, pure as a handful of snow from the highest mountain peaks. He'd even forgotten that he himself had once been a temp in an entertainment program, and that temps were usually more aggressively diligent than any of those wily old birds at the Station.
Suddenly, he realized something; he'd always thought that Ol' Chen had played dirty tricks behind his back, but today, he finally understood that his inability to get anyone on his team to stay with him had been his own fault, not anyone else's.
Xing Ming, concentrating in front of the computer screen, heard the rain gradually increasing, crackling. It made the night noisier and more stimulating even than daytime.
He secretly leaned out from behind the Chinese panel screen, stretching his head out and making sure that Yu Zhongye was still practicing calligraphy on the other side of the study.
When he saw Yu Zhongye was still there, a sense of assurance and relief grew, sweeping away all his drowsiness. Even up until morning came, Xing Ming hadn't closed his eyes. There was only a panel screen between he and Yu Zhongye, and they'd spent the entire night without conversing.
Outside the window the night was still dark, and inside the lamplight was low. Compared to being repeatedly fucked to climax by this man, he more enjoyed this type of nights.
After sorting out the last files, Xing Ming took a cold shower and ate the breakfast downstairs.
At the dining table, he made a show of being humble and in search of advice, voluntarily talking about the planned proposal for the new show. Most of the time Yu Zhongye was just his audience, but sometimes the man offered some tips that were enlightening and effective alike.
"I'll change my way of social networking later, but right now, I'd better build the team up first and pick out my people." Xing Ming had never been an indecisive person. Since he'd realized his mistakes, he would start everything over. He specified that through the files that he'd spent the whole night sorting through and arranging, he had found several capable and knowledgeable people. Some of them had once participated in some significant projects.
Yu Zhongye stared at him, "Name them."
Xing Ming obeyed, listing people by their positions. Yu Zhongye had few comments. Once even the most trivial of positions were filled out, he asked, "Who do you plan to ask for your producer?"
"I decided to do it myself." In fact, Xing Ming had a name in his mind, but upon glancing into Yu Zhongye's eyes he had swallowed the name back. Pretending to be at ease, he shrugged, saying, "I'm planning to be careful, crossing the river by feeling out the stones underfoot. Let me try."
"You're being reckless." Yu Zhongye smiled, then raised his hand to boop Xing Ming's nose.
Phoebe threw a strange glance at those two men. Xing Ming didn't move at all, already used to such stares and able to act normally under it. As he grinned at Yu Zhongye, showing all eight teeth in perfect alignment, he internally praised himself for his own capacity to both submit and stand tall, to be both sharp-cornered and blunt-edged. His adaptability was promising.
After breakfast, Xing Ming sat in Yu Zhongye's Mercedes, going to Pearl Station with him. The car window was down, the sky was a perfect blue, and the flowers along the road bloomed with a mellow fragrance as the breeze stirred softly. Originally Xing Ming was in a good mood, but the closer they got to Pearl Station, the more uneasy he felt. Intimidating Ol' Chen was definitely a part of his plan, but it had pros and cons alike. Xing Ming himself had become the most despised and vulnerable type of person in the media industry… or to put it bluntly, that type of sellout.
Maybe Yu Zhongye noticed his uneasiness, or maybe he didn't want their illicit affair to be leaked, but regardless of the reason, Yu Zhongye abruptly spoke right before they got to the Pearl Station Garden. "Stop at this intersection and let young Xing get out of the car."
Xing Ming secretly sighed in relief and quickly left the car. He thought everything over and added, "My dad's death anniversary is coming. I have to go back to be with my mom."
Although he'd been the one and only person who was permitted to stay in that villa overnight, Xing Ming wasn't foolish enough to believe that Yu Zhongye would treat him differently. The fact that he had not been expelled out of the house so far was probably only because of the transient kindness and empathy of Chairman Yu. But people always had some sort of self-awareness. Not to mention, anyone who'd been tricked or deceived so many times, would become more cautious. Yu Zhongye had the experience and cunning of his years, and dealings with such a man wouldn't be so straightforward. Xing Ming must learn when to stop and when to retreat.
Yu Zhongye said, "Okay."
Then the car left.
Relieved, Xing Ming put both hands in his pockets. It wasn't until the black Mercedes completely vanished from his sight that he began to follow in its wake.
[1] Three hundred thousand (300 000) Chinese Yuan is about forty-seven thousand (47 000) US Dollars