Disobedience To Control chapter 16
The Illusion of Gentleness
The snow fell heavier and heavier, and pedestrians hurried along the streets.
Since they didn’t eat outside, Song Siheng decided to return to the hotel early. It was the peak hour, and the whole city was in a traffic jam. It took them half an hour just to get a taxi, and they stood shivering in the cold wind.
The map was all red, surrounded by honking and braking sounds, which made people feel annoyed and restless.
Song Siheng regretted refusing Li Ke’s proposal to take a business car in the morning. What made him decide to take a walk with this person in such freezing weather?!
After a while, a driver finally picked them up, and Song Siheng walked up to the car.
Yang Xiaobei shouted from behind as he walked, “Who goes on a date and doesn’t even eat dinner?”
Walking ahead alone, Song Siheng didn’t turn back. “Nobody said it was a date.”
“Tsk, so heartless.” Yang Xiaobei caught up with long strides.
The hotel was located in a bustling area, and the driver dropped them off at the intersection before driving away. Song Siheng patiently got off the car and braved the cold wind to walk back.
The cold in the northern city was worse than Song Siheng had imagined. Just walking on the roadside for a while made him feel chilled to the bone. When he pushed open the door to the hotel room, he felt that his limbs were already freezing cold, and no matter how thick the scarf and coat, he couldn’t warm up.
Song Siheng took off his coat, took a deep breath of the warm indoor air, and then leaned back on the sofa, lost in thought.
“What’s wrong? Lost in thought? Am I so charming that you’re captivated?” Yang Xiaobei haphazardly stripped off his clothes until he was left with just a T-shirt and pants, then leaned over to Song Siheng, teasing him.
Song Siheng didn’t reply, subconsciously rubbing his ice-cold hands.
However, to his surprise, Yang Xiaobei directly held his hand, wrapping one of his hands around Song Siheng’s, fitting them snugly together.
Song Siheng looked up at him.
But Yang Xiaobei’s expression was very sincere. “Your blood circulation is poor. Why are your hands so cold? Do you want me to help you unblock your veins?”
Song Siheng was a bit unhappy with his words. He also exercised regularly, so how did he become a typical example of poor blood circulation in his eyes?
But the words changed as they came out of his mouth, “Do you even know how to unblock veins? Don’t make me disabled.”
Yang Xiaobei proudly patted his own arm, “Of course. I’m quite good at it. I learned from a physiotherapist.”
Song Siheng pondered this statement for a moment, recalling that he had mentioned competing in the northern city before. Perhaps this person really had some background in sports rehabilitation.
Without waiting for his reply, Yang Xiaobei rolled up his sleeves, revealing his smooth and delicate upper arms.
Yang Xiaobei’s hands were much wider than his, and their hands intertwined, pressing and kneading from the wrist, gradually moving upward.
Occasionally, when he pressed on a certain spot, Song Siheng couldn’t help but hum in discomfort.
“Mm—”
“Does it hurt?” Yang Xiaobei asked.
“It hurts.”
“Good, that means your muscles are a bit strained, and poor blood circulation is normal.” With that, Yang Xiaobei increased the pressure until faint red marks appeared on his skin.
“Be gentle,” Song Siheng cautioned.
Yang Xiaobei didn’t listen, “Being gentle won’t work. It’s like being bitten by ants, what’s the use?”
Yang Xiaobei’s fingers reached his neck side, “Sit up straight.”
Song Siheng twisted his wrist and indeed felt a bit more comfortable. He followed his words and straightened his back.
“A bit forward,” Yang Xiaobei patted his shoulder.
“What do you mean?”
“Move forward a bit, make room for me.” Yang Xiaobei said and straddled behind Song Siheng.
His whole person almost enveloped Song Siheng in his arms.
For a moment, Song Siheng didn’t notice anything wrong and earnestly enjoyed his massage technique.
Yang Xiaobei’s thumb and forefinger pressed down together, loosening the muscles of his scapula. At first, he controlled the pressure just right. Song Siheng clearly felt his body starting to warm up, and his back became more comfortable.
However, Yang Xiaobei seemed to find his knot, suddenly pressing hard.
“Hiss—” Song Siheng winced in pain, instinctively trying to dodge, but was held in place by Yang Xiaobei’s arm, unable to move.
The two of them got closer and closer, and the sofa, which was not wide to begin with, seemed even more crowded.
Yang Xiaobei’s fingers slid from his collar to his collarbone, but the movement seemed to change shape. Before he knew it, the pressing turned into a light caress.
Song Siheng tilted his head slightly and asked, “What muscle or vein is this?”
Yang Xiaobei was momentarily stunned, then chuckled softly and replied, “It’s not.”
Song Siheng was puzzled, “Then what are you doing?”
“This… is… flirting with you,” he answered softly.
Song Siheng couldn’t figure out where things had gone wrong. A serious physical therapy session had turned into this.
Yang Xiaobei’s T-shirt had been thrown onto the ground at some point.
He was completely turned around, and the two of them were now facing each other.
“The room was too dark the night before last, I couldn’t see clearly,” Yang Xiaobei propped himself up on his legs, staring at Song Siheng’s face.
“See clearly what?”
“Your face.” With that, Yang Xiaobei extended his fingers, lightly tracing his eye corners, cheekbones, and then to his jaw. “How old are you? Twenty-five or twenty-seven?”
Song Siheng didn’t want to answer his trivial questions at a time like this.
Thud—the sound of a door closing suddenly came from next door. The soundproofing of this hotel wasn’t great.
Song Siheng’s back tensed suddenly for two seconds. This tension was precisely captured by Yang Xiaobei.
“Oh, is it your little secretary coming back? Does he live next door to us?” Yang Xiaobei asked innocently, burying his face in Song Siheng’s neck and pretending to speak softly.
“Shut up,” Song Siheng’s body was already out of control, like molten metal burning and melting, unable to control its flow.
“Doesn’t he know about your private life?” Yang Xiaobei continued, “He keeps his mouth shut really tight, boss.”
It’s unclear if there was a double entendre. Song Siheng longed for his touch, yet at his words, he wanted to draw a knife and chop him into mincemeat.
Yang Xiaobei’s coat was lying by the side of the sofa. He stretched out his fingers, feeling around in the pocket and pulled out a round object.
“What’s this?” In the dim light, Song Siheng’s vision was blurry.
“You don’t like perfume. How about this?” Yang Xiaobei brought it in front of Song Siheng.
A small bottle of essential oil. Song Siheng caught a whiff of a scent mingling roses and fruits.
“When did you buy this?”
“This afternoon when you went out for a smoke. It’s peach-scented, very much like you.” Yang Xiaobei said as he hugged Song Siheng’s arm tighter.
Song Siheng had no strength left to resist, his eyelashes trembling lightly. “It’s up to you.”
“Can I borrow a lighter?” Yang Xiaobei patted his thigh.
Song Siheng remembered that he had bought a lighter in the afternoon and put it in his pants pocket.
Before Song Siheng’s fingers could reach the lighter, Yang Xiaobei’s hand had already followed suit.
Half a minute later, the lighter still hadn’t been retrieved, and Song Siheng couldn’t help but let out a couple of moans.
“It sounds really nice,” Yang Xiaobei commented, looking up.
Song Siheng grabbed the lighter and slammed it against his chest, “Say another word, and I’ll light you up.”
Yang Xiaobei nodded repeatedly on the surface, but he still didn’t give up, “Sometimes I feel like I should pay you.”
Song Siheng grabbed his hair, wanting to press him against the wall, but there was a gap in strength, and it was in vain. In the blink of an eye, the two had changed positions.
What kind of Yang Xiaobei was the real one?
On the verge of sinking, Song Siheng pondered. Was it the young man with an explosive desire for victory in front of the basketball machine, or was it the pervert who held him down and didn’t let go?
Before Song Siheng could figure out the answer, his arm was opened again.
“If you can’t sit still, grab onto this,” Yang Xiaobei moved his hand to find another support area for him.
Song Siheng’s palm pressed down firmly to maintain his balance.
There was a faint sound of water coming from next door; it seemed like Li Ke was washing up. Song Siheng tilted his neck back, biting down on his lower lip.
His consciousness gradually blurred, his fingers slid, and suddenly between Yang Xiaobei’s ribs, he felt a long and thin scar.
Previously, he hadn’t noticed amidst the overall picture, but now, with a closer look, there was a slightly irregular line embedded there, similar in color to the skin.
It looked very much like the trace left by a washed-off tattoo.
The next day, the intermittent snow in North City finally stopped. The sky cleared up, and the sunlight penetrated the cold air, casting a warm filter over the city.
Song Siheng had a relatively good night’s sleep, and when he woke up, he didn’t feel tired. He reached out and felt around for a moment, finding his watch on the bedside table. Checking the time, it was exactly nine o’clock. He recalled his schedule for the day and breathed a sigh of relief. He could probably sleep for another hour.
But as he prepared to close his eyes again, he sensed something was off.
There seemed to be no one beside him.
Song Siheng sat up from the bed in one go, looking around the room. It was tidied up very neatly, his clothes neatly folded and carefully placed in the corner of the sofa.
The bathroom was quiet, without the sound of water.
He got out of bed and stood up. He walked to the entrance and opened the closet door. Inside, aside from his coat, there was nothing else.
Turning back around, he noticed the safe under the low cabinet. The door was wide open, and the backpack and one hundred thousand yuan in cash were gone.
There was no trace of Yang Xiaobei in the entire room, as if he had never been here.
Song Siheng’s heart skipped a beat.
He opened the window, and the cool wind rushed into the room. Looking outside, the streets below were bustling with people, and traffic lights were flashing.
The wind swept over to the bedside table on the other side, causing a rustling sound.
Song Siheng walked over and saw a light-colored envelope on the bedside table, with a note pressed on top.
There were a few lines written on it: “I have class, so I’m going back first. I slept well these past two days, so I’m leaving the red envelope for you to buy some good food ^^”
Song Siheng touched the envelope, feeling it thin. Opening it, he found two hundred yuan inside.
Damn.
He turned the note over and saw two more lines on the back: “If you’re satisfied with the service, can I have a tip? This is my bank account number: 6200XXXXX…”
Yang Xiaobei, you lunatic.