An accidental slip.
A precisely calculated accidental slip.
This was obviously no ordinary slip of the hand.
Wei Lu felt a secret wave of astonishment internally. Wondering just how he had managed to piss the general off, he hurriedly pretended nothing was out of the ordinary and retreated to the other side to keep out of the way.
Geng Nuo keenly sensed that Gu Chengayan was in a foul mood. To avoid provoking him and triggering his wrath, he also changed his position, turning his back to the crowd and silently picking at the wall peeling.
The two of them stood on opposite ends of the room, finally worlds apart.
“General Gu, where was I just talking about? Ah yes, if it’s obedient ones you want, we have plenty right here. Even if they’re disobedient little Omegas or Betas, I can train them to be completely docile for you…”
Nobody present gave this little interlude a second thought. After a round ended, they started another, while Pixiu spared no effort to spew flatteries and cater to the general’s preferences, introducing just how obedient the club’s Omegas could be.
Yet General Gu exhibited a total lack of interest, letting the conversation drop entirely.
In a corner where no one was paying attention, Geng Nuo pried off a piece of peeling paint and set his sights on the nearby ice maker. He was still missing a component, and there should be one inside…
Only, he hadn’t found a suitable opportunity to make a move.
He wondered if they would simply forget him and leave him behind once they finished playing.
The room remained lively, the sound of billiard balls colliding and idle chatter filling Geng Nuo’s ears, with Pixiu’s obsequious voice particularly prominent. Just as Geng Nuo was pondering how to further lower his presence, Gu Chengayan suddenly raised his voice slightly and called out, “You.”
He was calling someone in particular.
This tone was practically identical to the day he had ordered him to stay.
The room fell silent in an instant. Believing the call wasn’t meant for him, Geng Nuo curiously turned his head to see which unlucky soul it was this time. As a result, upon turning around, his gaze locked from afar with Gu Chengayan’s eyes.
Geng Nuo: “”
You’ve got to be kidding me, me again?
There was little emotion in Gu Chengayan’s eyes. “Come here.”
Pressing his lips together, Geng Nuo accepted his fate and walked over, his expression as solemn as if he were heading to his own execution.
During this brief window, Gu Chengayan sank another ball, while Pixiu’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them.
“Do you know how to play?” Gu Chengayan straightened up and handed the cue stick over to Geng Nuo. “Take a shot for me to see.”
Geng Nuo accepted the long cue, the remaining three parts of bewilderment still lingering in his eyes as he answered honestly, “I do not.”
Pixiu immediately jumped in to salvage the situation. “Since he doesn’t know how, General Gu, let me find someone who does for you. Who was it—ah, yes, you, come over here.”
The waiter pointed out by him beamed brightly and sidled closer, whereupon Pixiu fawned, “General Gu, let him accompany you in a game—”
Without even sparing a glance, Gu Chengayan told Geng Nuo, “I’ll teach you.”
Pixiu was interrupted once more, his expression turning somewhat subtle.
Gu Chengayan pulled Geng Nuo in front of him, firmly encircling the boy within his arms and trapping him against his chest as he guided his hands to set up the posture. Gu Chengayan’s chest practically pressed against Geng Nuo’s back, and the Alpha’s elevated body temperature made him involuntarily shrink back.
Frowning, Gu Chengayan offered a light reprimand: “Don’t move around.”
Geng Nuo didn’t dare move anymore.
Fiddling with Geng Nuo, Gu Chengayan actually taught him with considerable patience. “Rest the cue on the web of your thumb, aim from this angle, lower your head a bit, and don’t hunch your neck.” Like a machine lacking maintenance for ages, Geng Nuo emitted a faint creaking sound from all his joints at the slightest movement, remaining entirely rigid from head to toe.
“Tsk.” Gu Chengayan looked somewhat displeased. “Why are you even stiffer than you were in bed?”
“”
Geng Nuo’s cheeks flared a violent red. Fortunately, Gu Chengayan had spoken in a relatively low voice, and those nearby didn’t seem to have heard it.
However, his body grew only more rigid as he stiffly adopted the requested posture and stiffly calculated the collision angles. Yet the actual feel of holding a cue stick in his hands was ultimately different, and more importantly, his entire focus was fixated on remaining on guard against every single move made by the Alpha behind him.
Should he just strike it randomly to muddle through?
Staring down from above at Geng Nuo’s crown, Gu Chengayan could naturally feel the stiffness beneath his palm. Remaining silent, he lifted his right hand away from Geng Nuo’s arm and unceremoniously pinched his waist.
The person in his embrace instantly drew in a sharp breath, jolting with a reflex start as he turned back with shock and grievance in his eyes, only for Gu Chengayan to seize the opportunity and guide Geng Nuo’s arm forward with a push.
With several crisp snaps, the cue struck the cue ball, causing the balls to scatter and strike one another.
Watching three balls sink into the pockets simultaneously, Geng Nuo tried to review the trajectory of the shot just now, yet remained somewhat dazed. With his mouth unconsciously hanging open in an O shape, he turned his head back in shock to look at Gu Chengayan.
Gu Chengayan was looking down at him too, his expression still indifferent. Geng Nuo’s look of worship was immensely pleasing to him, and compared to just a moment before, his mood was clearly much better.
The shot was indeed exceptionally neat, earning applause from the surrounding onlookers. Emboldened, another waiter sidled closer with a melting, velvety tone full of heavy implication, “General Gu, I don’t know how to play either. Can you teach me?”
Ignoring the person entirely, Gu Chengayan patted Geng Nuo’s rear. “Go to the next position.”
He patted him so naturally and fluidly that Geng Nuo felt as though making any reaction at all would be making a mountain out of a molehill.
Your grandfather…
Under the meticulous guidance of General Gu, Geng Nuo gradually grew proficient in the skills of billiards. He had to admit that while the general was taciturn, cold-hearted, and frightening when he didn’t smile, and even more frightening when he did, he surprisingly proved to be patient when teaching others. After a few rounds, Geng Nuo caught on: whenever Pixiu opened his mouth, Gu Chengayan would patiently and meticulously point out flaws in his posture.
So he simply couldn’t be bothered to deal with Pixiu and was using him as a shield.
Geng Nuo silently glanced toward Pixiu, who indeed wore a gnashing, tooth-grinding expression, glaring at Geng Nuo without the slightest attempt to conceal his malice.
None of my business.
Making Pixiu angry was clearly a development Geng Nuo was happy to see, so he began actively asking Gu Chengayan for pointers, punctuating it from time to time with exaggerated expressions of worship and amazement.
He discovered that whenever he did this, the general’s mood would improve just a fraction more.
Arrogant Alphas truly all loved being flattered. Geng Nuo thought to himself silently, before letting out another sincere gasp of wonder the very next second.
In short, it left Pixiu without a single chance to wedge a word in.
The location of the next shot was somewhat distant, and after trying out several angles that still fell a bit short, Geng Nuo looked hesitatingly toward Gu Chengayan.
He seemed unaware that such a gaze was filled with an unconscious reliance, which invisibly pleased the general.
Stepping forward, Gu Chengayan gave his rear another pat. Unsure whether he was being told to clear the way or adjust his posture, Geng Nuo looked up at him in lingering bewilderment.
Gu Chengayan murmured in a deep voice, “Lift your legs and place them on the table.”
Raising no doubts, Geng Nuo obeyed.
Moments later, he realized something was wrong.
Catching sight of Gu Chengayan waving a hand from the corner of his eye, the others retreated toward the exit one after another. In no time at all, only the two of them remained in the room.
Stiffening all over, Geng Nuo didn’t dare move an inch, not even daring to look back.
Gu Chengayan’s hand still rested ambiguously against his buttocks.
The tightly bound uniform made the legs resting upon the tabletop feel constrained and sore. Hoping to fake physical exhaustion and lower his legs quietly, Geng Nuo watched as Gu Chengayan seemingly sensed his intention—the man’s hand slid downward to the backs of his knees, his broad palm nearly encircling his legs entirely to anchor them firmly onto the table.
With that, Geng Nuo completely lost any chance of retracting his legs.
“Gen—General Gu…” Geng Nuo turned back in distress. He didn’t want this here, whereupon a hand promptly smacked his rear.
“What I just taught you,” Gu Chengayan pressed his waist down forcefully, “where are you looking?”
With no choice but to turn his head back, Geng Nuo suddenly felt weight descend upon him as Gu Chengayan pressed nearly his entire body down against his back.
When left alone, the general’s actions were evidently far more unrestrained.
Yet he also appeared to be genuinely helping him adjust his posture.
After aligning the cue to aim at the ball, the weight on his back vanished. Gu Chengayan straightened up, yet Geng Nuo didn’t dare move.
Gu Chengayan remarked, “This angle won’t sink the ball. Still a bit off.”
What should he do then? Geng Nuo pondered in panic.
He found out very quickly.
Gu Chengayan supported his other leg and hoisted it onto the table as well. Now Geng Nuo was kneeling squarely atop the tabletop in an M-shape, his upper body unable to support his weight, forcing him to prop himself against the table with his arms.
This posture was practically wide open. To say he wasn’t panicked would be a lie; turning back in humiliation, Geng Nuo’s eyes betrayed a pleading expression, hoping the general might show mercy and spare him this once.
Before he could voice a plea, a tearing sound ripped through the air the next second as Geng Nuo’s trousers split open right down the middle.
His expression gradually morphed into sheer terror. Now he was truly wide open.
Stepping half a step back, Gu Chengayan rubbed his chin and appreciated the fine view with keen interest. As Geng Nuo propped himself up with his arms to stand, Gu Chengayan pressed him right back down.
“Hold the cue right, aim.” The man’s stern voice came from behind. With his waist held down into an arch, Geng Nuo could only manage to raise his upper body slightly, gripping the cue as he attempted to line up the cue ball.
He couldn’t line up a single thing!
Geng Nuo’s hands were trembling, and maintaining this posture made applying any force utterly impossible.
Leaning in close, Gu Chengayan propped his elbow to steady him and re-aimed, before sinking his teeth gently into Geng Nuo’s earlobe, rubbing it back and forth between his upper and lower teeth. “Can you sink it from this angle now?”
Staring at the cue tip and the cue ball ahead, with more than half of Gu Chengayan’s weight pressing down upon him, Geng Nuo had no bandwidth left to think. Panting and stammering intermittently, he replied, “I… I can.”
Before the words fully faded, Gu Chengayan exerted a burst of force, thrusting Geng Nuo’s cue-holding arm forward. The scattered balls on the table clicked against one another, though a louder sound quickly swallowed the noise as Geng Nuo let out a low cry, gasping and sobbing in rapid succession. Suddenly, his chin was seized by Gu Chengayan and forced upward.
“Does one need to maintain focus when striking the ball?” Gu Chengayan posed a question. “Did it go in?”
Paying no attention whatsoever to whether the ball had gone in, Geng Nuo couldn’t even make out the numbers on the billiard balls anymore as he wept and whined without answering. Gu Chengayan nibbled on his neck, repeating the question right beside his ear with heavy suggestion: “Did it go in?”
Geng Nuo finally hit upon the correct answer. “In… it went in.”
“Very good.”
Clearly quite satisfied, Gu Chengayan chose to linger a while longer in the billiards room.
Sobbing in a low voice with tear tracks dried upon his face, Geng Nuo lay sideways across the messy table. Left all alone in the billiards room, his lower half felt nearly numb, and he continued to heave with involuntary sobs.
His clothes were torn beyond recognition, but before leaving, Gu Chengayan had kindly left behind his outer coat, draping it loosely over his frame.
Unaware of how long the man had been gone, nor how much longer it would be before someone came in to clean up the scene, Geng Nuo forced himself to crawl down. Staggering over to the ice maker on weak legs, he pried open the motherboard to retrieve the part he needed, while also leaving some subtle modifications in the room’s other electrical wiring.
Water began to drip from the ice maker as Geng Nuo wrapped himself in the coat and stumbled out of the billiards room step by step.
Perhaps the billiards room would suffer a short circuit and catch fire shortly, or perhaps someone would go in to tidy things up before that happened. Regardless, compared to a missing minor component, the far more eye-catching spectacle would be the leaking water and short circuits—as for why such a thing had happened…
Pixiu surely wouldn’t nitpick over what kind of wild play distinguished guests liked to indulge in.
Leaning against the wall, Geng Nuo walked back barefoot, his steps sluggish.
Originally, he had wrapped the oversized black coat tightly around himself. After walking a few steps, however, he simply loosened the collar, deliberately skewing it to expose large patches of marks while leaving the bruised purplish marks on his knees fully visible. Strutting past the others in this fashion, anyone laying eyes on him would instantly know what he had just been through.
You can take the blame for this one, General Gu. Geng Nuo thought resentfully.