Nothing off limits, nothing off limits…
Fang Chen muttered in his heart, his expression less than pleasant.
Foreigners really just say whatever comes to mind. Why talk about stuff like that at the dinner table?

“Don’t mind him.”
The man spoke quietly, “And don’t believe him—he’s making things up.”

He led Fang Chen to sit, handed over a glass of juice. “Try this.”

Fang Chen cradled the cup, took a sip, and his eyes lit up. “Apple juice!”

Uncle Boer brought over a plate of grilled mushrooms, smiling, “It’s juice from the farm’s apples. I didn’t know if you drink alcohol, so I prepared it specially.”

Fang Chen hurriedly replied, “I can have… a little.” He held up a finger, “A little!”

Seth quirked his lips, “So you want some?”

Fang Chen licked his lips, “Sure!”

Seth didn’t give him more—just had Uncle Boer bring a can of beer.

Opening the beer, Fang Chen hesitated, then turned to Seth and softly said, “Seth, thank you for bringing me out. I’m really happy—you’re the first friend I’ve made outside the pizza shop! Even if the way we met was a bit silly.”

When he spoke, he tilted his head—his eyes bright and a little curved.

Friend…

Seth looked at him deeply, then replied quietly, “No need to thank me.”

He picked up his own glass and tapped it lightly against Fang Chen’s.

It was Fang Chen’s first time drinking after transmigrating, and in such a friendly group, he got a little excited. He downed a big gulp.

The fermented wheat’s fragrance exploded in his mouth; a moment later, the alcohol hit his brain and he started feeling dizzy.

That’s when Fang Chen realized something was off.
How strong was this beer…?

He wanted to see the label on the can, but as soon as he picked it up, Seth thought he was going for another drink and stopped him, “Don’t drink so quickly.”

Fang Chen reacted slowly, dazed. “Hmm?” The sound came from his nose, muffled—almost like he was acting cute.

Seth’s gaze grew even darker, but his voice softened, “Eat something first.”

Fang Chen blinked and supported his chin with his hands. “Okay.”

He said “okay,” but didn’t move.

Seth put some grilled chicken and fish onto Fang Chen’s plate—seasoned with their secret spice, it smelled amazing.

Finally Fang Chen made a move, poking at a piece and eating it, then nodded, “Tastes great!”

Joey felt so jealous it made his teeth ache. He wanted to say something but, scared Seth would toss him out, kept quiet.

Most people were from the club, so they inevitably discussed matches—and the speed and jargon made Fang Chen only half-understand. Still, he put on a very attentive face.

Seth sat next to him, lounging in his chair with his arms folded, looking nonchalant but never taking his eyes off Fang Chen for even a second.

Fang Chen couldn’t finish his beer. Sometimes he acted like a kid, sneaking out a finger to push the can further away, as if that’d prove it wasn’t really his.

Every little gesture was caught in Seth’s eyes. He tipped his head, holding back a smile, and leaned in quietly, “If you’re full, you can go.”

Fang Chen turned to him, dazed.

Because of the alcohol, his English was slower—he waited a few seconds, then asked, “Where?”

“Anywhere you want—depends what you want to do.”

Fang Chen obediently stood, nodded, walked out with matched hands and feet—then turned, waving to everyone, “I’m done, I’m heading out.”

Everyone froze a second, then all waved back, “Bye—”

Seth stood, scooped up the beer Fang Chen had just pushed away, and drank it down in one go.
The gesture was smooth, like he did it every day.
Luckily Fang Chen didn’t see, and even if he had, his fuzzy brain wouldn’t have registered much.

Fang Chen sat on the steps, spacing out with his chin on his hands. Seth came out behind him and naturally stood where he blocked the harsh sunlight.

Seth meant to ask if Fang Chen wanted to go pick blueberries, but unexpectedly Fang Chen looked up and, raising his hand as high as he could, poked Seth in the chest.

The man was briefly startled—he didn’t expect Fang Chen to do that.

“It’s really springy here.”
Fang Chen said, very seriously.

Seth was quiet a while, then asked, “Do you like it?”

Fang Chen nodded enthusiastically.
Last time he’d buried his face there—the feel was great!
Never expected such a surprise when tipsy.

Seth fought the urge to scoop Fang Chen up, his blue-gray eyes deepening. He whispered, “If you want, you can touch it.”

That sentence was really tempting. Fang Chen swallowed, swapped his single finger for his whole palm, and pressed straight against Seth’s chest.

Through the fabric, it felt just as springy as he remembered—very satisfying.

Fang Chen got bolder, spreading both hands to wander all over Seth’s chest.

At first Seth only meant to tease him, but after enough groping, he could feel heat rising.
He couldn’t allow this to go on—he grabbed Fang Chen’s wrist, stopping him.

Not allowed to touch anymore, Fang Chen pouted, looking dissatisfied.

“I’ll take you back to rest.”

Seth hadn’t expected him to get drunk so easily; he gave up on games and just wanted to tuck him in, let him sleep it off.

Fang Chen was very obedient, did whatever he was told, and followed Seth back without a fuss.

When they entered Fang Chen’s cabin, the lamb was still inside. Hearing them, it poked up its head and bleated.

“Get some sleep—I’ll take the lamb out,” Seth said.

“No!” Fang Chen objected instantly, “I want to sleep with the lamb.”

“He’ll disturb your sleep.”

“He won’t!”

“Okay, have it your way,” Seth relented. “You’ll rest up?”

“I will, I will.”

The man and the little drunk negotiated without much meaning, until Fang Chen started to change for bed. Only then did Seth, exercising restraint, turn and leave.

Just as he walked out, Joey texted to ask him to come join their card game.
“Seth, bring your little lamb and play with us!”
“I’m going—he’s sleeping.”
“What? Sleeping? You two—”
Seth hung up, cutting off all nonsense.

Fang Chen slept all the way in the car, ate, and then slept some more—totally out cold. When he finally woke, his hair was a wreck; he just sat there dazed for ages.

Who am I? Where is this? Have I transmigrated again?

Only when he saw the lamb in the corner did he come to his senses, and all his memories flooded back, making his face blush bright red.

God!
How does the original owner have such a low tolerance—KO’d after one drink!!

And not only that—he started babbling nonsense to Seth when drunk, and…he touched Seth too…

Fang Chen stared at his own hands, wishing he could just cut them off and forever sever ties with his lustful fingers!!

He wrapped himself in the quilt and rolled around miserably.

Maybe he should just run away now!
If he started now, how long would it take to reach the city?
He lay there, feeling hopeless, until the lamb bleated. Fang Chen finally scrambled out.

He poked his head out, staring at the lamb.

Zero experience as a new lamb-dad.

He probably…was hungry?

Fang Chen climbed out of bed, grabbed the rest of yesterday’s bottle, and fed the lamb some more.

He sighed, and said to the lamb, “Why don’t you go find Seth and tell him it was you touching his chest, not me.”

The lamb looked up with innocent black bean eyes.

Even more of a headache.

When fed, the lamb hopped out, scampered to the door, and squeezed through the crack.

“Hey, where are you going?”
Fang Chen quickly put on shoes and followed.

Outside, it was already dark. There weren’t many lights around the ranch, so he didn’t notice at first, but after running a while it felt off.

Where was he, anyway??

Fang Chen looked around—the building ahead looked like a warehouse, and the lamb probably darted straight inside.

Hesitating, Fang Chen followed.

It was even darker inside. Moonlight shone enough to reveal a pile of corn.

“Meh meh? Meh meh—”
Fang Chen called twice, but the lamb didn’t respond.

He frowned, kept walking—and suddenly his foot hit something—a protruding board, maybe covering a cellar.

Wait—
A cellar?!

His face went pale, and Joey’s lunchtime horror story flashed in his mind.
“…The farm owner is actually a murderer. He killed his wife, then hid her in the cellar…”

Fear always brings wild thoughts.

Fang Chen’s breathing quickened; he started backing up, and was just about to run when footsteps sounded behind him.

His heart jumped—he spun around—

It was Seth, flashlight in hand.

“What’re you doing here?” Seth asked.

The lingering fright helped reduce the awkwardness. Fang Chen whispered, “Looking for the lamb.”

“Don’t worry—he’ll show up when he’s hungry.”

Seth saw Fang Chen’s pale face and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Fang Chen didn’t dare admit how much he’d spooked himself, shaking his head.

Seth squinted, then chuckled softly, “Don’t tell me you think I’m some crazy killer again?”

Fang Chen blushed, “I didn’t…”

The man stepped closer, his big frame nearly enveloping Fang Chen, exuding pressure. He lowered his eyes, deliberately deepening his voice, “How do you know I’m not?”

“Why do you think I invited you to the ranch…”

Fang Chen’s eyes widened.

He panicked and tried to back away, but tripped, nearly falling—Seth caught him.

He held Fang Chen by the wrist instead of releasing him, scooped him up, and carried him out.

“Bolder than a lamb, but still can’t help running off.”

Once someone eats you, you behave.

Author’s note:
Non-canon short [rose]
The ranch owner has a temper, lashes the slave a few times during the day, but still sneaks over at night to bring medicine.

The slave got punished to sleep in the warehouse.

He pushed the door open, poking his head in.

Inside, a soft light glowed; the slave was still working, laying straw and taking off his shirt to make things comfortable.

In the glow, the slave’s muscles looked honey-colored, rippling as he worked, sweat trickling down his spine.

The ranch owner watched, swallowing, rudely demanding, “Who told you to make your bed so comfy?”

“Master, I made it for you.”

The slave wasn’t surprised by his visit—he glanced up with a teasing smile.

“If you still aren’t comfortable, you could just sit on me instead.”