FSGOR Ch17

Standing beneath the dappled shade of the trees, patches of light danced across Jiang Tian’s face. One flicker hit his eyes, snapping him out of his daze and back into reality.

Afternoon Tea: You were never a good boy to begin with.

The boy mouthed the words to himself, his face flushing even hotter. He could almost imagine President Chu’s deep, dangerous voice saying through the screen, “I’ve always known you were a little scammer.”

Jiang Tian realized this happened often—he’d be chatting normally, then thrown off balance by something the other man said, disrupting all the planning and strategy he thought he had in place.

Afternoon Tea: Why aren’t you replying?

Afternoon Tea: Does it still hurt?

Jiang Tian stared at the incoming messages—especially the one with “sweetheart”—his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to regain his composure.

KIRA: It’s better now.

KIRA: Doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

Afternoon Tea: What did the doctor say?

KIRA: Severe sprain.

KIRA: Cast for about a month.

KIRA: Are we still meeting tomorrow?

After hitting send, sweat began to bead on Jiang Tian’s temples, rolling down his fair cheek.

He was incredibly anxious, afraid the young CEO would start asking for details—like requesting a diagnosis report.

Truthfully, he had prepared one—a real diagnosis—but he had edited the date and a few details using an app, just to buy time and delay the meeting.

Afternoon Tea: Got it.

Afternoon Tea: Focus on recovering.

Afternoon Tea: [Transfer: ¥500,000]

Jiang Tian sucked in a breath. “…”

It was that familiar transfer trick again. He couldn’t figure out what the ¥500,000 was supposed to mean—was it for medical expenses, or some kind of affectionate “hush” money?

KIRA: Ge…

KIRA: That’s way too much.

Summer had quietly arrived, and in the rising heat, Jiang Tian felt like he was overheating. His face burned like he had sunstroke, and the screen seemed blurry to his eyes.

He hadn’t intended to ask for money, but if he turned it down now, how could he keep up the act of being a “money-grubbing fake rich high school jock scammer”?

Afternoon Tea: Embarrassed to accept?

KIRA: Mm.

KIRA: crying soybean emoji.jpg

Afternoon Tea: Just take it.

Afternoon Tea: I have limited patience.

KIRA: …

In a moment of hot-headedness, Jiang Tian actually accepted the money. His fingers trembled slightly as he did so, trying to convince himself he’d return it one day.

Just like the ¥200,000 from last time—he hadn’t touched a cent of it. It was still lying untouched in his digital wallet. He’d return it with interest.

But right now, if he didn’t at least pretend to be after money, the other party might start to suspect he wasn’t a scammer and start tracing things back to his sister.

KIRA: Thank you, ge.

KIRA: I’ll rest well and recover properly.

Afternoon Tea: Send me a sticker.

KIRA: …

KIRA: confused soybean.jpg

Afternoon Tea: ?

Jiang Tian’s head was throbbing, emotions surging in his chest. Giving up, he searched up a cuter sticker on the spot.

He sent a cartoon of a border collie puckering up with little hearts surrounding it—a cutesy sticker meant to coax.

It seemed to work. The other party was clearly in a good mood and kept chatting in a kind tone, though he did ask again how the injury happened.

By now, the act was half-blown. He’d already outed himself as someone pretending for money—where did the scooter story even come from? He couldn’t keep lying anymore.

KIRA: I fell while playing soccer.

Afternoon Tea: Why didn’t you just say that?

KIRA: I didn’t mean to lie to you.

KIRA: I was afraid you’d think I sucked at soccer.

When he sent that message—

Jiang Tian scratched behind his ear, recalling how last year when his sister was on a work trip, he had also lied to her and never mentioned getting injured—just so she wouldn’t worry.

He’d rarely been close to any older people. Since childhood, most relatives treated him and his sister like burdens.

That’s why he had become so independent. Aside from teachers, hardly any adult had ever genuinely cared about him.

And yet now, the other party’s “typing…” indicator appeared for a long time. Then, finally, he sent back the exact same border collie sticker Jiang Tian had just sent.

But this version had one extra detail—a large, steady hand gently patting the crying dog’s head, full of comfort and reassurance.

“…”

The noise of traffic roared in his ears, mingling with his chaotic thoughts. Jiang Tian stood there, stunned. For the first time, he truly felt the older man’s warmth—strange, unfamiliar, yet inexplicably soothing.

And he knew, deep down, that the man he was chatting with was his sister’s former boss, who had treated her with great kindness. That added a subtle, complex weight to the gratitude he now felt.

Afternoon Tea: I don’t mind.

Afternoon Tea: We’ll meet after you’ve recovered.

KIRA: …Okay.

After the chat ended, Jiang Tian was utterly dazed, feeling like he had just been chatting on pure instinct.

The photos he had specially gone to take ended up being useless—clearly showing just how tolerant President Chu was toward him. Even someone as emotionally dense as Jiang Tian could sense it.

And that wasn’t a good thing. On the contrary, if they really met in person, it would be a disaster.

When he got home, the lively chaos of the night before was gone. Now, only his sister and Sister Lu Yang were there.

Lu Qiao had been dragged off to cram school. Without the most rambunctious member of their group, dinner was just Jiang Tian and the two older women.

By now, both siblings gave off an air of quiet doom, enough to make even the cheerful, vibrant actress Lu Yang feel bad for them.

“Don’t be so gloomy.”

Lu Yang ladled a bowl of soup for Jiang Tian and smiled at him. “That President Chu didn’t lose out either—he got an exclusive shot of our Xiao Tian’s abs for free!”

Jiang Jing: “…”

Jiang Tian: “…”

The boy practically buried his face in the bowl. Despite his good looks, his modest and well-behaved demeanor only encouraged Lu Yang to tease him more.

“I’m serious,” she went on. “I even mentioned it to my boyfriend. He has a friend with a similar background.”

“In those circles, they’re all a little… quirky. Most people can’t get close to them. Our Xiao Tian here offering warmth like this—it’s probably a whole new experience for that big-shot CEO.”

“Stop thinking like you’ve done something terrible.”

“…”

She was making it sound so reasonable, but all Jiang Tian could think about was how he’d sent a bunch of private photos to his sister’s boss—and that both his sister and Lu Yang had seen them.

He glanced at Jiang Jing. His handsome face remained impassive, but his eyes held that worried tenderness, making her think he was about to cry.

Already wracked with guilt, Jiang Jing practically lunged to shut her friend up—offering dishes and drinks to block her mouth—finally easing the tension at the dinner table.

After dinner, Jiang Tian shut himself in his room and tried working on some advanced math problems to calm himself.

But his mind kept drifting back to something Lu Yang had said while laughing and joking with Jiang Jing at the table: “Tian is our little brother. Worst case, just block him and run. Better than getting beaten up by your boss if you meet.”

Lu Qiao and Lu Yang really were siblings—those words echoed each other perfectly. Even his childhood friend had encouraged him to disappear and delete everything if things went south.

Like a dark seed taking root, the thought kept resurfacing, tempting Jiang Tian to just run away from it all.

Unable to focus, Jiang Tian grabbed his phone and—for the first time—seriously examined the CEO’s social media profile.

His Moments feed was completely empty, just a single blank line. Maybe it was hidden from him.

Jiang Tian figured President Chu was someone with strong personal boundaries, which made it all the more unbelievable that he’d managed to get close and “hook” him.

But… he hadn’t even done anything special.

Jiang Tian scrolled through their past chats, trying to figure out what trick he’d pulled—but the truth was painfully clear: all he’d done was use a few low-effort flirtation tactics.

“…”

Taking a deep breath, he was about to exit when his finger slipped and tapped the other man’s profile picture.

The screen immediately popped up a notification: “You tapped Afternoon Tea.” Jiang Tian panicked and quickly hit “unsend.”

Normally sharp as a tack, he didn’t know how many times he’d completely fumbled in front of this man—even getting caught in the act.

Afternoon Tea: What did you unsend?

Afternoon Tea: I saw it.

KIRA: …

Jiang Tian’s mind spiraled further.

How could such a busy CEO see that right at that moment? Could it be that the man was also hoping to talk to him?

At Jingting Lakeside, inside the penthouse, Chu Xuyu had just woken up from a nap. Wearing a robe, he stood in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, facing the lake.

He had his phone in hand and happened to glance down just as the message popped up—before it was hastily withdrawn.

Wasn’t this just classic “playing hard to get”?

Afternoon Tea: Stop sending ellipses all the time.

KIRA: …

KIRA: Okay.

Afternoon Tea: ?

KIRA: Mmhm.

KIRA: Ge, I won’t do it anymore.

Chu Xuyu’s lips curled slightly. ‘This guy got fifty thousand and suddenly became so obedient. Interesting.’

He wasn’t in a rush to meet. Although he was getting older and his outlook had changed, he wasn’t one of those overly thirsty types.

If this was just a money-hungry little scammer, then there were surely more tricks in store. For someone like Chu Xuyu, whose life was bland and monotonous, dragging this game out a few more days wasn’t a bad thing.

He sank into the single armchair and gazed out the window. The willow trees swayed gently in the breeze, sunlight rippling across the lake. Even the familiar view looked particularly pleasant today.

Afternoon Tea: Sweetheart.

Afternoon Tea: How long has it been since you last sent a photo?

KIRA: Uh…

KIRA: I’ve been busy lately.

KIRA: Forgot to send one.

On the surface, it looked like a casual, flirtatious exchange. But on Jiang Tian’s end, he was already in full-on crisis mode.

His head was pounding so badly he nearly forgot—before this absurd online romance ended, the other party had specifically asked him to send a photo every day.

And not just any photo—those kinds of suggestive photos.

As a straight guy, Jiang Tian was shocked. No, more than shocked—terrified. In his head, the Lu siblings’ brainwashing chants played on loop: “If it really doesn’t work out—just run!”

But maybe… maybe President Chu was just messing with him? It seemed unlikely he truly had any ulterior motives.

At Ning City High School, there were three mock exams. The final one was called the “baseline test,” after which came the official college entrance exam in June.

Jiang Tian now also wanted a “baseline” test—to probe President Chu’s limits. If the man found out he was a scammer and still didn’t cancel the meeting, then it might really be time to delete his account and vanish.

He was a hardcore straight guy—not gay—and this whole thing was a massive misunderstanding. He couldn’t just keep doubling down on the lie.

Because Chu’s tolerance and indulgence toward him were real. And if this continued spiraling, it would all crash and burn.

With that in mind—

Jiang Tian replied, saying his leg injury made it hard to take good photos. Could they have a phone call instead?

He almost never initiated calls. So, when Chu Xuyu saw the request, he was in a good mood and called him directly.

“Sweetheart.”

The man’s voice was still magnetic and deep, imbued with a commanding aura. In the quiet of his bedroom, Jiang Tian heard it all too clearly.

This was probably the first time they had spoken since the man knew his real identity. Jiang Tian opened his mouth—but no sound came out.

Still, the man prompted lazily, “Why aren’t you talking?”

“…Nothing.”

Jiang Tian unconsciously gripped his phone tighter. His Adam’s apple bobbed, a dry swallow audible through the line. “Ge, I was just thinking about what to say.”

It was the first time he had called the man “ge” voluntarily—no ulterior motives, no lingering resentment. Maybe just some guilt. After all, dragging an innocent outsider into this mess was pretty shameful.

But Chu Xuyu misunderstood it as a sign of affection and smiled, clearly pleased. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

“Not much, really.”

Jiang Tian’s voice tightened. He wanted to gauge the man’s attitude but was afraid of giving himself away. He tried probing: “It’s just… you keep calling me ‘sweetheart’.”

Chu Xuyu: “Mm.”

Jiang Tian: “Can you… change it?”

Chu Xuyu: “……”

Trying to switch things up? For someone inexperienced in relationships like Chu Xuyu, that seemed like a move to spice things up. He narrowed his eyes slightly and asked, “What do you want me to call you instead?”

Jiang Tian paused briefly. It wasn’t that he wanted anything in particular. He just wanted to know where the man’s boundaries were.

After all—

Text messages could be misread, but tone revealed emotion. If the man said it out loud, Jiang Tian could judge how serious he really was.

Just then, Jiang Tian thought of a particular term—a nickname an overly creepy guy at a bar had once used on him: “baby.”

It had made him want to throw up. Thinking back on it now, there was no way this high-and-mighty CEO would ever call him that—unless he were seriously head-over-heels in some delusional online crush and planning to meet in real life.

And yet—

A low breath echoed from the other end of the call—like long-suppressed feelings finally spilling over. The man’s voice turned rough and husky, dangerously flirtatious, brushing past Jiang Tian’s ear like a dark whisper:

“You want to hear me call you that?”

Jiang Tian swallowed hard. “…Yeah.”

“Baby.”

Chu Xuyu deliberately slowed his words, letting the syllables roll off his tongue, thick with intimacy—so suggestive it was almost unbearable.

“Then what should you call me?”