WRA CH31

Chapter 31: “Wash It, I Have to Wash It Off”

Zhou Sicheng sat up straight and extended a gentlemanly hand toward Xiang Zhen: “Come up.”

Xiang Zhen feigned being a normal human: “Hubby, my bottom hurts.”

Zhou Sicheng’s unrestrained indulgence had always been built upon the freedom granted by his wife’s extraordinary physical constitution. Hearing Xiang Zhen say this, a bizarre, uneasy alarm bell that conflicted with medical science rang out in his mind.

He had been careless. Perhaps his wife was simply too good at enduring it.

In a flash, Zhou Sicheng hooked an arm under Xiang Zhen’s knees, supported his back with the other, and laid him flat onto the bed.

The next second, Zhou Sicheng’s middle finger probed inward.

Outwardly, there were no unusual signs. The fingernail at the deepest point came out slightly oiled and slick, with not a trace of blood.

Xiang Zhen let out a whimper, caught off guard by the abrupt, swift intrusion.

Hearing that short, breathy, sensitive sound, Zhou Sicheng let out a sigh of relief. He delivered a light swat to his bottom and pulled his pajama pants back up.

“Trying to scare your husband, are you?”

Blushing furiously, Xiang Zhen scrambled up. Having witnessed Zhou Sicheng’s transition from tyrant to examining doctor, he had ended up getting spanked—not hard, but the tip of the peach burned hot.

“Hubby.”

“Lie back down.”

“Oh.”

Immediately, Xiang Zhen felt his ankles grasped by a pair of large hands. Drawing on past experience, he prepared to bend and spread his long legs, but an opposing force pushed back against his ankles, pinning his legs flat against the mattress.

“Don’t move.”

Zhou Sicheng’s voice came from the foot of the bed. “My wife walked around a construction site all day today, you must be exhausted. I happen to have learned some foot reflexology techniques too.”

Xiang Zhen froze. Having studied it himself, he could tell that Zhou Sicheng’s posture and movements were genuine.

Curling his index finger, Zhou Sicheng used his knuckle to firmly press down on an acupressure point on the sole of Xiang Zhen’s foot.

Controlling Xiang Zhen’s ankles was effortless for him, and applying pressure took no strength at all.

“It hurts!”

A sharp, intensely satisfying ache surged up. Tears were forced into the corners of Xiang Zhen’s eyes, and he twisted sideways onto the bed. Straining his eyes to focus, he noticed the book Zhou Sicheng had tossed on the nightstand—the title was actually Meridians and Collaterals of Traditional Chinese Medicine, not AI Algorithms.

He had clearly intended to massage his husband, yet in the end, it was his husband massaging him.

Before he could catch his breath, his body was suddenly hauled forward. Just as Xiang Zhen thought he was about to collide with Zhou Sicheng’s chest, the soles of his feet dipped into a basin of hot water.

A scent of herbal medicine wafted to his nose.

Xiang Zhen propped himself up on the bed and stared down at the dark, murky foot-soak bath.

Two words clicked belatedly in his mind: foot spa.

It felt wonderful.

Zhou Sicheng was definitely worth more than the technician in the qipao he had seen earlier, because Zhou Sicheng’s massage packed real strength.

“Hubby, you must be in the 598-yuan tier.”

Going into the service industry for just 598? Zhou Sicheng couldn’t help but chuckle. “Do you even know what kind of service 598 includes?”

Xiang Zhen licked his lips: “A buffet?”

Zhou Sicheng: “You’ll find out after you finish your buffet.”

Zhou Sicheng scooped his feet out of the water, rested them on his lap to dry them with a towel, and unfolded the mini over-bed tray table. Then, he brought out two plates of seared steak, a plate of fruit and vegetable salad, a pastry assortment, a platter of fried rice and fried noodles, and a selection of beverage samples.

“This is what a foot spa buffet looks like,” Zhou Sicheng said. “I can recreate it for you. Regardless of your reasons for wanting to go to a foot parlor, it is strictly forbidden with me.”

Once they were “rich,” they could just hire a professional to come to the house.

Xiang Zhen stared at the lavish spread covering the table. There were even multiple types of drinks served in tiny, bite-sized cups.

The very first time he ate at a buffet was right at home!

Zhou Sicheng helped him slice the steak into bite-sized pieces. Considering Xiang Zhen disliked the sight of raw meat, he had cooked it medium-well.

Holding his knife and fork, Xiang Zhen speared a piece of steak from the edge and popped it into his mouth. With his left hand, he picked up a miniature pearl milk tea, chewed a bit, swallowed the steak, and chased it down with the milk tea.

Delicious.

Next, he picked up a tangle of fried noodles loaded with sliced ham sausage—rich and savory. Fried noodles paired even better with cola, so Xiang Zhen took a sip of Coke.

So this was what eating at a buffet felt like! Zhou Sicheng had even prepared eight different desserts for him, though each was only the size of a ping-pong ball.

No wonder his husband had been home so early; preparing all of this must have taken the entire afternoon. He had completely misjudged him.

Xiang Zhen handed the tasted cola to Zhou Sicheng, picking up a glass of sour plum juice for himself. “Hubby, cheers.”

It wasn’t a tall wine goblet and it wasn’t red wine, but the color was passably similar.

Zhou Sicheng clinked glasses with him cheerfully.

Zhou Sicheng: “If you like buffets, I’ll take you to a seafood buffet tomorrow.”

Xiang Zhen shook his head solemnly: “No, we have to buy a house. I already found one I like.”

Zhou Sicheng: “Which development?” He’d buy it up first.

Xiang Zhen: “Wangxi No. 1, which opens for presale next year.”

Zhou Sicheng looked down on it: “Don’t become a mortgage slave.”

Xiang Zhen: “Don’t worry, hubby, I’ll be the mortgage slave. Fan Hao said I can take out an employee loan.”

Zhou Sicheng fell silent. The thought of losing even the freedom to take his wife to a seafood buffet in the future made him feel like an overworked pack mule immersed in an endless grind.

“Why are you in such a rush to buy a house? Do you not want to squeeze into this rental apartment with me anymore? Do you think the space is too cramped and we’re too close together?”

Xiang Zhen: “Not at all! Hubby, I never thought that.”

“Then don’t buy yet. Wait for a better one.”

After finishing off the scraps his wife had left behind, Zhou Sicheng carried the dishes to the sink with a forlorn, pitiful slump to his back.

Sitting on the bed and rubbing his full belly, Xiang Zhen heard his WeChat chime.

It was the coffee Yao.

The coffee Yao’s WeChat handle was “Mandheling”—a dark-roasted coffee bean with zero acidity, deep bitterness, and rich aroma, perfect for making iced Americanos.

In reality, he had left the mountains several years earlier than Xiang Zhen. He had received startup funds from Auntie Guihua, but rather than entering the city right away, he noticed that the climate was ideal for growing beans. Finding a high mountain at an altitude of 1,500 meters, he self-pollinated and yielded countless coffee beans.

The fruit, which completed cleistogamous self-pollination right inside the flower bud, grew in batches just like human hair.

Having completed the primitive accumulation of production materials, he cheerfully descended the mountain to sell coffee.

These beans were of exceptional quality; forty yuan a cup wasn’t expensive at all.

[Mandheling: The tin container roof is leaking. Thunder is rolling in tonight, so I’m going to hide at a customer’s place. Should I rent an apartment?]

All Yao were afraid of thunder, and the long summer ahead promised many stormy nights.

Xiang Zhen’s eyes darted around, hitting upon a mutually beneficial idea: “I rented two apartments. I can sublet one to you for 200 yuan a month.”

[Mandheling: Why did you rent two? Did you make a lot of money?]

[Xiang Zhen: I didn’t make a lot of money, but I got married. One belongs to my husband. Don’t tell Auntie Guihua.]

[Mandheling: Husband?]

Speaking of his husband, Xiang Zhen had endless things to say. His fingers tapped the screen at lightning speed:

[I found an outstanding human husband. Ever since I got a husband, I get driven to and from work, there’s hot food waiting for me when I get home, someone washes my clothes, someone clears the dishes, someone massages me when I’m tired from work, someone splits the down payment on a house, and someone talks to me before bed.]

Xiang Zhen glanced at Zhou Sicheng doing the dishes and summarized: “Having a husband is truly wonderful.”

[Mandheling: Your husband sounds really great.]

The corners of Xiang Zhen’s mouth lifted. The coffee Yao was someone who spoke well of his husband—sure enough, only a Yao truly understood a Yao.

Yu Yueyue was a close girlfriend, but Mandheling was a true brother.

[Xiang Zhen: You can find a husband too.]

This splendid realization was definitely going into the Guide to Adulthood.

Speaking of the Guide to Adulthood, each Yao could keep it for five years. Did the coffee Yao have one?

[Mandheling: I haven’t read it, because I spent the last few years being a coffee tree on the mountain.]

He was actually a poor Yao who lacked the guidance of the Guide to Adulthood, struggling through human society with difficulty.

Xiang Zhen: “Then move over tomorrow, and we can read it together.”

[Mandheling: Thank you. I’ll repay you with lots of coffee beans.]

Xiang Zhen was about to say he preferred milk tea when he remembered that Zhou Sicheng was a programmer and likely drank coffee for work.

If you wanted coffee, nothing could surpass the quality of what came from the coffee Yao’s hands.

Xiang Zhen slid off the bed, wrapped his arms around Zhou Sicheng’s waist from behind, and said, “Hubby, do you like drinking coffee?”

Zhou Sicheng: “Occasionally.”

Xiang Zhen: “Then I’ll deliver coffee to you at noon next year!”

The bank job was great; they had a three-hour lunch break every day, which was plenty of time for him to make the trip.

Zhou Sicheng politely declined, since doing that would require setting up an entire fake office space just to play along.

Xiang Zhen: “I bought one for Fan Hao yesterday, and it cost forty yuan.”

Zhou Sicheng: “You bought coffee for Fan Hao?”

Xiang Zhen: “I didn’t realize it was that expensive.”

Zhou Sicheng: “Then I want one too.”

Xiang Zhen: “Okay! Hubby, I rented out Room 1620 to a friend.”

“What kind of friend? Do they have a family?” Zhou Sicheng grew vigilant. Renting out 1620 didn’t matter much—he hardly had time to hit the gym at night anyway, getting all his exercise on the bed.

Xiang Zhen: “He doesn’t have a husband.”

Zhou Sicheng felt an odd wave of relief. Having no husband was fine; a bachelor with no wife was what worried him.

“When did you meet?”

Xiang Zhen: “Today.”

Zhou Sicheng was speechless. Handing over a lease to someone he had met just today—Xiang Zhen had clearly just found a tenant and claimed he was a friend.

Still, he couldn’t bear to dampen his wife’s enthusiasm for running the household. In the future, he would have vast real estate holdings to hand over for Xiang Zhen to manage.

Zhou Sicheng: “When is your friend moving in?”

Xiang Zhen: “Tomorrow morning. He lives in that corrugated iron shed next to the construction site. Can you help him move? Hubby, you’re the best.”

The trunk of Zhou Sicheng’s BYD had immense capacity; moving across cities wouldn’t be an issue, let alone down the road.

Zhou Sicheng: “…” Did I ever say I was helping him move?

Considering his schedule for the next morning, it wasn’t impossible to step away. If the guy harbored ill intentions, he would reject him on the spot.

Drying his hands after finishing the dishes, Zhou Sicheng said, “Fine, tomorrow at noon. But I’ll collect some payment first.”

Xiang Zhen clamped his hands over his rear; he understood now.

Watching his reaction, Zhou Sicheng found it comical. Pinching his cheek, he said, “I won’t go inside tonight, and you don’t need to take your clothes off.”

Before Xiang Zhen could celebrate, Zhou Sicheng pulled a misty-blue, waist-cinching qipao from the closet.

Putting it on, it looked tailored to perfection. The side slits were cut so high that a single flick pulled it right up—how was this any different from wearing nothing below?

Xiang Zhen lay nervously on the bed, the qipao accentuating the graceful curve of his lower back.

As the rustle of movement and approaching heat neared, Xiang Zhen’s eyelashes fluttered rapidly up and down. He felt Zhou Sicheng straddle him, gazing down from above to admire his shivers.

The back hem of the qipao was rolled up to his waist, and the snug underwear was pulled down three inches, exposing a palm-sized patch of porcelain skin.

Zhou Sicheng proceeded to make full use of that modest expanse.

…

Xiang Zhen squeezed his eyes shut, his cheeks flushed crimson with heat. The stray hairs at his temples were held in place by a sunflower clip, though a few strands escaped, fluttering with his shallow breaths.

The blazing eruption of the sun lacked the ocean trench to contain it, leaving a small scrap of fabric on the outside to catch the entirety of the fallout.

With every breath, Xiang Zhen could feel how thick it was. It would have been better inside—inside, it only felt full and searing hot.

Left on the outside, it brought a frantic, helpless mess.

Zhou Sicheng helped him up: “Aren’t you going to wash your underwear? It’s going to seep through to the sheets.”

Dazed, Xiang Zhen muttered, “Wash it, I have to wash it off.”

Otherwise, not only would it soak into the bed, it felt as though it might try to creep inside.

Wearing only the loose qipao, his slender, fair legs trembled as he stood before the washbasin. His hands shook as he held the scrap of cloth under the faucet.

Out of the goodness of his heart, Zhou Sicheng turned on the tap for him, letting out a thin trickle with barely any water pressure.

As Xiang Zhen rubbed it with his hands, he seemed to hear the squelching, viscous friction between the fabric and his palms.

Under Zhou Sicheng’s watchful gaze, washing his own underwear had never felt so humiliating.

Zhou Sicheng had left such a massive volume, yet he only turned the water on to a tiny trickle.

“Water is five yuan a ton. We must be frugal, baobei.”

…

At noon the next day, having collected full compensation, Driver Zhou arrived as promised to help Xiang Zhen’s friend move.

Driving the BYD to the construction site Xiang Zhen had mentioned, he saw the corrugated iron coffee shack.

Fan Hao had been looking for Zhou Sicheng to sign a document, only to find him missing. Having made a wasted trip, he had no choice but to call: “Where are you? Your schedule clearly says you’re having lunch at the headquarters building.”

Zhou Sicheng: “Out getting coffee.”

Fan Hao: “You’re actually in the mood for coffee?”

Xiang Zhen introduced his husband to the coffee youth: “This is my husband, Zhou Sicheng.”

Looking at the brand-new BYD—large, white, and spotless, completely unlike the transport trucks at the construction site—the youth asked, “Did your husband buy this car?”

Xiang Zhen nodded, speaking straight from the heart: “It was a bit pricey.”

The youth also replied with absolute sincerity: “Your husband is so rich.”

Zhou Sicheng: “…”

Xiang Zhen really managed to make a true friend.

Over the phone, Fan Hao caught the voice of the coffee shop owner and instantly guessed where Zhou Sicheng was. Recalling the mind-numbing bitterness of that insomnia-inducing brew from yesterday, he knew that anyone who could swallow it without flinching must truly love the shopkeeper.

“Madam is treating you to coffee, huh? Drink up, then. Drink a few extra cups.”