Staring at the message on the screen, Qiao Yan sniffed his still-stuffy nose, completely at a loss for how to reply.
The tears had just dried, leaving his face feeling uncomfortably tight. That phone call with his family just now had drained every last bit of his energy; he felt completely hollow, cold, and exhausted.
He didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Consequently, the message he sent back was half-hearted at best.
Little Peach Bites Real Hard: How did daddy know…
Yan: App birthday reminder.
Oh, right. When he set up his dummy profile on Moyu, he had filled in a fake birthdate, and it happened to be around this time.
Qiao Yan buried his face against his knees and rubbed it back and forth, wiping away the leftover dampness before picking up his phone again.
Little Peach Bites Real Hard: I don’t really want anything. Just knowing that daddy remembered makes Little Peach so happy.
Even he felt the words sounded incredibly fake as he sent them. Right now, he clearly wanted so many things—he wanted a home where he wouldn’t be driven away, and he wanted his parents’ unreserved trust and partiality.
But these were things He Yanzhou was powerless to give. He Yanzhou was merely his benefactor, nothing more than a stepping stone and a springboard for his revenge against Qiao Yunguang.
He Yanzhou’s reply was equally direct.
Yan: Just say it. No need to be polite.
Looking at those few words, the grievance and awkwardness in Qiao Yan’s heart flared up again. He felt like a piece of merchandise, selling his looks and charms just to survive. It truly was pathetic and degrading.
Frustrated, Qiao Yan ruffled his hair. He was just about to make up a random excuse like “I want a new lipstick” when his phone suddenly vibrated.
An incoming call notification from Moyu flashed across the screen.
Caller: Yan.
Qiao Yan’s hand shook violently in fright, nearly sending the phone flying.
Why a sudden call?!
Panicking, he scrambled up from the floor, scrambled over to his desk, and rummaged through it in a chaotic rush. Finally, he fished the phone out from beneath a thick stack of textbooks.
After connecting his audio equipment and putting on his headphones, Qiao Yan took a deep breath and pressed answer.
“Hello, daddy?”
He pinched his vocal cords, trying his best to make his voice sound as sweet and cheerful as usual. However, the nasal tone from his recent crying spell gave him away anyway; it sounded muffled and slightly raspy.
Silence fell on the other end of the line for a brief moment.
Then, He Yanzhou’s deep voice came through the network, carrying a few hints of unusual gentleness: “Have you been crying?”
Qiao Yan’s heart tightened, and he immediately denied it: “No! I just caught a bit of a cold, so my nose is stuffed up.”
He Yanzhou asked, “A cold? Have you taken any medicine?”
“I did, I did,” Qiao Yan lied smoothly. “Did daddy need something?”
The moment he asked, Qiao Yan felt a bit foolish. Why did there have to be a reason to talk? Didn’t he usually strike up casual, aimless chats with Yan all the time?
“Can we not voice chat unless there’s a reason?” He Yanzhou countered. “You didn’t seem to be in high spirits just now.”
“I was packing my things, so I wasn’t paying close attention to my phone.”
As Qiao Yan spoke, he sniffed again, realizing that the muffled nasal tone was impossible to suppress.
After a few seconds of silence, He Yanzhou suddenly said, “Turn off the voice chat.”
Qiao Yan blanked for a moment: “Huh?”
“Switch to video,” He Yanzhou commanded. “Let me see you.”
Qiao Yan’s brain went completely numb.
Video?! Right now?!
He was wearing wrinkled loungewear, his hair was a tangled mess from his frantic scurrying earlier, and his eyes were bound to be red and swollen. Appearing on video looking like this would expose him instantly.
“There’s no need, daddy. I look too ugly right now.”
“Switch to video,” He Yanzhou ordered, paying absolutely no heed to Qiao Yan’s excuses. “Right now.”
Qiao Yan didn’t move. He clutched his phone, his fingertips icy cold. A mixture of grievance and sorrow suddenly surged up inside him; his nose stung, and his vision began to blur again.
Why does he insist on looking? Does he want to see that badly?
Is it because he paid money, so he thinks he has the right to look at me whenever he wants? Even when I’m feeling so miserable that I just want to curl up into a ball and hide from the world?
That’s right. Isn’t that exactly what our relationship is? I sell cute and sexy photos in exchange for money. Of course the benefactor has the right to check on his investment at any time.
How tedious.
How utterly exhausting.
Qiao Yan felt a suffocating tightness in his chest. His voice trembled as he spoke: “Does daddy really want to see that badly? Even if I can’t force a smile right now, and even if I look hideously ugly, you still insist on seeing me?”
He Yanzhou fell silent for a moment, seemingly picking up on the volatility in his emotions: “I just want to make sure you’re alright.”
“I am fine,” Qiao Yan pulled at the corner of his mouth, though the other man couldn’t see it. “What could possibly be wrong with me? If you want to see, just say so.”
With that, his movements turned rigid as he disconnected the voice call.
Qiao Yan walked over to his wardrobe and yanked the door open. Hanging inside was a brand-new outfit he had bought online a few days ago, which hadn’t even been unwrapped yet—a highly extravagant, deep-blue Lolita dress adorned with layers of lace and bows.
When he bought it, his only thought had been, “This looks expensive and exquisite enough; that old man will definitely like it.”
Looking at it now, it only made his chest feel tighter.
Qiao Yan pulled the dress out and pulled it over himself without even cutting off the tags. The dress was quite complex; his fingers wouldn’t cooperate properly, and it took him several clumsy attempts before he managed to tie the ribbons behind his back.
He then dug out the matching white thigh-high socks and round-toed leather shoes, putting them all on in one go. Finally, he picked up the lace-trimmed headband with a matching bow and placed it onto his messy hair.
Once fully dressed, he stood in front of the full-length mirror.
The person in the mirror looked bizarre. The overly elaborate dress contrasted sharply with his red, swollen eyes, a pale face bearing uncleansed tear tracks, and a few tufts of hair sticking up randomly. He looked like a beautifully dressed doll that had been dropped and shattered.
Pitiable and fragile.
Qiao Yan tugged at his hemline and tried to force a sweet, “Little Peach-style” smile for the mirror, but after several attempts, the corners of his mouth refused to curve upward. He gave up entirely, picked up his phone, reopened Moyu, found Yan, and directly sent a video call request.
The very next second after the request went out, the video was accepted.
The screen lit up, but the opposite side remained completely dark—the camera was covered.
Only He Yanzhou’s voice could be heard, sounding somewhat caught off guard: “Little Peach?”
Qiao Yan didn’t say a word. He secured his phone onto the desk stand, adjusting the angle so that his entire body was visible in the frame.
He took two steps backward to ensure the other man could clearly see his extravagant outfit. Then, lowering his eyes to avoid looking at the darkness representing He Yanzhou, his trembling fingers gently reached for the zipper on the side of his dress.
His movements were very slow, carrying a raw, self-deprecating awkwardness.
“Didn’t daddy want to see?” Qiao Yan spoke, his voice incredibly soft, laced with a lingering nasal tone that made it sound sweet yet entirely devoid of energy. “Look then. Didn’t you say before that you wanted to see the new dress?”
As he spoke, the fingertips of his other hand lightly traced up the side of his leg, moving from the back of his knee up to the edge of the hemline. The skin beneath his fingers flushed slightly pink, leaving faint red marks under the pressure.
“Right here,” his voice grew even softer. “Does daddy want to look?”
He bent one leg slightly. The posture accentuated the lines of his leg, making the skin of his thigh look exceptionally delicate, radiating a gentle glow under the light. Due to his nervousness, the flesh trembled slightly, causing the hem of the dress to sway faintly along with it.
He bit his lower lip, his eyes still red, and his thick, damp eyelashes clung to his eyes. He looked simultaneously pure and alluring, like a child forced to display a precious treasure.
The camera could only capture a short section above the knee, but it was already more than enough. The skin on his legs was dazzlingly fair, and the root of his thigh was half-hidden beneath the deep blue fabric, leaving an alluring shadow that invited imagination.
“Daddy…” Qiao Yan called out once more, a hint of a sob in his voice. “Say something…”
His voice was incredibly soft, like a kitten scratching at a door.
The hemline swayed gently with his subtle movements, and each shift caused a highly nuanced change in the shadows. The light caught the side of his leg, tracing a perfect boundary of light and shade; further up was the area completely concealed by fabric, which was currently rising and falling gently with Qiao Yan’s breathing.
Qiao Yan remained kneeling there, turning his body slightly to present himself to the darkness behind the lens.
His fingers rested on the knee of the leg that was lifting the dress, his tips curling inward, his neatly trimmed nails showing a warm pink hue. His other hand helplessly clutched the bedsheet, gripping the light gray fabric into a mess of wrinkles.
Qiao Yan kept his damp, reddened eyes lowered, refusing to look at the camera. Tear drops hung from his thick lashes, trembling gently with his shallow breaths. His lips, bitten a rosy and moist red, parted slightly, letting out a faint, choked, and warm breath.
Fragility, beauty, and a sacrificial sort of temptation.
Every inch of exposed skin spoke of its owner’s chaotic, self-abandoning, and desperate attempt to please.
The camera faced him silently, recording this quiet scene.
It wasn’t until several seconds later that He Yanzhou’s tight, strained voice finally came through the phone:
“Stop.”