When you dive deep into the ocean of knowledge, your sheep brain gets overloaded—constantly oscillating between drowning and surfacing, till you end up limp as a kebab on the couch, senses lost to the world.

“I can’t study anymore,” Fang Chen muttered in Chinese, eyes glazed over. “If I see one more letter, I’ll puke.”

Seth frowned.

His Chinese hadn’t progressed that far; sometimes he could only catch the gist of what Fang Chen said.

Puke?

He looked down at Fang Chen’s tummy, then casually reached out and poked it, voice neutral, “It’s not bulging—how could you puke?”

Fang Chen’s eyes went wide.

How did he do that—say weirdly suggestive things with such a straight face?

He shot upright, hands clutching his stomach, and stared warily at Seth, hoping to see something in his expression. But Seth only looked down at him as if he’d said something completely normal.

Maybe he was just paranoid.

Fang Chen sulked.
Blame Jamin, always sending him wild stuff and filling his brain with all these yellow thoughts.

Hugging his little tummy, he explained honestly, “I’m dizzy. I don’t want to study anymore.”

Seth watched for a few seconds and nodded, “Alright, the rest can wait till tomorrow. I’ll make a study plan—you’ll have daily assignments.”

The little lamb despaired, his legs trembling, ready to bolt.

“Tomorrow too?”
Seth announced coldly, “Not just tomorrow. At this rate, you’ll need to review every day until exams finish.”

Thud—the little lamb collapsed onto the couch, spiritless as a roast rack of lamb.

A rare smile flickered across Seth’s face; he reached over and flicked Fang Chen on the forehead. “Take a break. I’ve got some games—you can find something to play while I make dinner.”

“No more Chinese food,” Fang Chen said suddenly, looking up at Seth seriously. “I’ll eat whatever healthy meals you normally have. Is that okay?”

Seth raised an eyebrow, “Bet.”

Right in front of Fang Chen, he called someone—chef, assistant, whoever—and gave a brief, calm order, then hung up.

When he turned around, Fang Chen was still gazing at him in a daze.
Soft-hearted now, Seth couldn’t resist reaching out to ruffle his hair—so soft and obedient, just like Fang Chen himself.

Well, not always obedient. He’d gotten mad plenty, especially over the phone.
But even a little hint of anger from Fang Chen sent Seth scrambling.

Because he cared.

Lowering his eyes to hide his emotions, Seth asked, “What games do you like? Or want to watch a movie?”

Fang Chen perked up, “Have you seen COco?”

Coco was the only movie Fang Chen liked enough to watch over and over, whenever he was bored.

“No.”

Seth hardly watched movies, but if Fang Chen was there—

“Is this what you want to watch?”

He had it playing in no time. “I’ve heard of it. Supposed to be good.”

Fang Chen pouted, “It’s touching. I always cry.”

Seth frowned. “Should we pick something else?”

Fang Chen shook his head, “No, this one’s my favorite.”

“Alright.”

Seth stared at him for a while, wanting to say he hoped Fang Chen wouldn’t cry. But then he thought, if he was by Fang Chen’s side, a few tears were fine.
He’d comfort him.

But Seth wasn’t prepared for just how pitiful Fang Chen would look—eyes and nose both red, tears falling unchecked.

“Don’t cry.”
Seth frowned, gently coaxing, “Let’s stop. Food’s here, let’s eat something first.”

Fang Chen looked up, his eyes watery as if blinking would set them off again. “If nobody remembers you, you’ll disappear. I’d be the first to die.”

He was an orphan, no parents or family, and now that he’d transmigrated, even more adrift.

Seth reached out, brushing Fang Chen’s lashes—catching a tear just before it fell.

“No.” Seth said softly. “You won’t disappear.”

Fang Chen paused, staring at Seth. Normally, those gray-blue eyes made him seem cold and distant, but just now he seemed gentle.

Fang Chen sniffled, still nasally, “Sorry, I’m embarrassing.”

He glared at himself in the mirror afterward.
Crybaby!!

When he came back, suddenly feeling hungry, Fang Chen ran happily to the kitchen—only to freeze at what was on the table.

He’d said he’d eat like Seth, but hadn’t expected it to be so healthy.

A vegetable salad, grilled chicken, salmon, and a glass of wine. At least, he got orange juice.

Seth pulled out his chair for him. “Used to meals like this? If not, I can make you something else.”

Fang Chen quickly shook his head, “It’s fine!”

Just then, thunder crashed. He nearly dropped his fork in surprise.

Looking up, he saw storm clouds outside; a huge storm must be coming.

“Scared?”
Fang Chen popped a cherry tomato in his mouth and nodded.

“There’s a warning. The rain’s going to get bad tonight.”

He blinked, not quite catching Seth’s meaning—until torrents slammed against the glass in seconds.

Seth said, “It’s too rainy—there are plenty of rooms here. Just stay tonight; I’ll take you back tomorrow.”

Eh??
What???

He almost refused by reflex, then stopped himself.

Wasn’t he here to test Seth anyway?
If he could stay over, all the better.

So he ducked his head and ate another bite of fish before replying, “Okay.”

Both of them nearly smiled at the same time.

There wasn’t much food, so Fang Chen wolfed it down quickly, then watched Seth expectantly.

After a moment, Seth offered his wine glass. “Want to try a sip?”

Fang Chen shook his head.

“It’s not strong, helps you sleep.”

Hesitant, Fang Chen caved—he was easy to persuade.

He took a sip, smacked his lips, eyes lighting up—hey, it really did taste good!
He took another…and another…until the whole glass was empty, licking his lips after.

Seth’s eyes darkened. “Good, huh?”

Fang Chen nodded eagerly, “Yeah, sweet.”

“You finished it, but I haven’t even tasted any.” Seth stared at Fang Chen’s lips.

Fang Chen blanked.

Such a dumb, dazed face, eyes still tinged red from his crying—Seth wanted to strip and eat him up right then.

But he tore his gaze away, letting him go.

“Are you full?”

Fang Chen hiccuped softly in answer.

Seth laughed, “I’ll clean up. Go shower—there are spare clothes in the wardrobe.”

“Okay!”

Despite the low alcohol, Fang Chen’s head was spinning from drinking too fast. He silently repeated, Steady, walk straight, don’t embarrass yourself, then Seth watched as the little lamb wobbled sideways into the bedroom.

There was no need for Seth to clear up himself—he just needed a distraction to keep from bursting into the guest room.

After cleaning up, Seth didn’t shower or change, just stood at the window, making work calls.

He’d barely hung up when the guest room door opened.

Fang Chen emerged barefoot.

His hair was still dripping, water tracing down his black locks and soaking the white shirt—turning the wet part see-through.

There were plenty of clothes in the closet, but he’d chosen a formal white shirt, and wasn’t wearing pants, buttons done up all crooked—innocence mixing with hidden sensuality.

To be fair, not wearing pants was reasonable—Seth’s shirt was huge on him, falling around his knees, the collar all loose, leaving everything exposed just by glancing down.

Worse, Fang Chen stood there, frowning, frustrated, “Seth, the disposable underwear here is all too big—they don’t fit.”

Seth visibly swallowed, his gaze locked on Fang Chen.

They don’t fit?

So, under that shirt…

He’s wearing nothing at all?