Chapter 96 – Extra – The Crybaby’s Treasure Trove

Late at night, autumn wind tapped against the window.

Wei Lai feigned sleep with his eyes closed, while Chu Yin sprawled beside him, twisted in all directions. Yet whenever he slept next to Wei Lai, he always slept soundly, undisturbed even by thunder.

Wei Lai confirmed that Chu Yin was deeply asleep before carefully getting out of bed and tiptoeing out of the bedroom.

Tonight, Wei Lai was going to do something monumental—clean out Chu Yin’s hoard.

Over the years, Chu Yin had accumulated countless pieces of junk—broken odds and ends—haphazardly piled up in the garage. They were things he would never use in his lifetime, yet he stubbornly refused to throw anything away. Whenever Wei Lai asked him to tidy up, Chu Yin would half-heartedly comply, always finding a million excuses to procrastinate. When he couldn’t weasel out of it, he’d rub against Wei Lai, seducing him with his looks to get his way. And Wei Lai, unable to resist, would inevitably cave under the onslaught of Chu Yin’s whining.

Afterward, Wei Lai would always regret it, his heart itching with frustration—just like now.

Wei Lai went downstairs, shining a flashlight around the garage before zeroing in on the items he most wanted to toss out.

Like a thief in the night, he stuffed the broken mop head, tattered slippers, and busted umbrella into a trash bag, slung it over his shoulder like a bandit, and sprinted to the garbage bin, dumping it all in with a flourish.

Bliss!

Wei Lai felt refreshed, as if he’d just popped a stubborn blackhead that had been festering for years.

He calculated that if he secretly threw out one bag a day, after a dozen or so trips, there’d finally be enough space in the garage to park his car.

Wei Lai slipped back into bed, and Chu Yin, oblivious, snuggled up to him, wrapping his arms around Wei Lai’s arm and nuzzling against it.

Listening to Chu Yin’s steady breathing, Wei Lai found himself unable to sleep.

On one hand, he thought tossing out a few pieces of junk was no big deal. On the other, the tragic incident of the furball toy kept replaying in his mind.

That mop head… surely it didn’t have some sentimental backstory, right?

Wei Lai tossed and turned. The initial satisfaction of solving a major problem was gradually replaced by a guilt similar to that experienced by a cheater. Frowning, he abruptly sat up, went back to the garbage bin, fished out Chu Yin’s precious trash, and returned it to its original spot.

After this inexplicable midnight escapade, Wei Lai yawned, drowsiness creeping in, and wondered if he’d lost his mind.

But his sleepiness vanished the moment he saw the bedroom light on.

Chu Yin was awake.

Wrapped in the blanket, Chu Yin’s eyes were wide open as he asked, “Madam Wei, what were you doing?”

Wei Lai naturally couldn’t admit he’d been sneaking around to throw out Chu Yin’s hoarded junk, so he replied nonchalantly, “Just went to the bathroom.”

Hearing this, Chu Yin scooted toward the edge of the bed. As Wei Lai climbed back in, Chu Yin warily tucked his feet away.

Wei Lai hadn’t gone to the bathroom—Chu Yin had already checked.

Why was Wei Lai lying to him?

The Mystery of the Disappearing Bedmate at Midnight.

Chu Yin recalled a ghost story he’d heard as a child in the orphanage.

Xiao Ming hadn’t fully relieved himself before bed and got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. An hour later, Xiao Ming returned.

His roommate teased him, asking if he’d fallen into the toilet since he’d taken so long. Xiao Ming gave a strange smile. Confused, the roommate looked into the mirror behind Xiao Ming and saw a pale, shadowy figure. The person standing before him wasn’t Xiao Ming at all—it was a blood-drenched female ghost in white. The real Xiao Ming never came back. That was the fate of those who went to the bathroom at midnight.

Little Chu Yin had been terrified, and even now, grown-up Chu Yin wasn’t much better.

Wei Lai lay down and noticed Chu Yin wasn’t burrowing into his arms like usual. A pang of guilt hit him—had Chu Yin figured it out? Forcing a smile, he said, “Come here, let’s sleep.”

The unnatural expression on Wei Lai’s face only deepened Chu Yin’s unease. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he tentatively grabbed Wei Lai’s hand—ice cold!

Fuck, it felt like touching a ghost!

Outside, tree shadows swayed like specters, the wind rattled the window, and Wei Lai radiated an eerie chill.

With a whimper, Chu Yin yanked his hand back and jerked away, tumbling off the bed with a thud.

Wei Lai was baffled. Peering over the edge of the bed, he asked, “Did my overwhelming charm electrocute you? What’s wrong?”

Before he could finish, Chu Yin moved like lightning, slapping a ghost-repelling talisman onto Wei Lai’s forehead.

Wei Lai: “…”

Chu Yin: “…”

Wei Lai blew on the talisman and suddenly understood.

Of course. Given Chu Yin’s paranoid, jumpy nature, if Wei Lai sneaked out in the middle of the night and returned ice-cold, it was only natural he’d freak out.

Amused and suddenly mischievous, Wei Lai crawled over Chu Yin on all fours, giggling, “My big crybaby, you caught me~ Tonight, I’ll drain all your yang energy~”

Chu Yin, backed into a corner, wasn’t scared anymore—no ghost could laugh with such slutty energy. This was definitely Madam Wei.

Wei Lai pecked Chu Yin’s cheek. Chu Yin didn’t move. Wei Lai nuzzled his neck, then kissed his Adam’s apple. Chu Yin straightened slightly, his long legs wrapping around Wei Lai.

“Want to?” Wei Lai licked his lips.

Like a cat perpetually at odds with its own tail, Chu Yin’s 18 Centimeters-kun and Chu Yin himself seemed like two entirely different creatures. Chu Yin angrily pressed down the “big tail” and huffed, “No. You lied to me.”

Wei Lai: “Really don’t want to?”

Chu Yin: “Hmph!”

Wei Lai chuckled softly and began noisily “sucking yang energy.” The two played out a scene of a thousand-year-old slutty demon draining the life out of a crybaby, finally falling asleep as dawn broke.

But Wei Lai’s secret still didn’t stay hidden. After waking up, Chu Yin’s curiosity got the better of him, and he checked the home surveillance footage, stunned by Wei Lai’s bizarre antics.

At noon, the two bickered loudly over the junk in the garage.

Chu Yin: “You threw out my stuff? Not only did you throw it out, you did it behind my back! Madam Wei, you’ve gone too far!”

Wei Lai was a little annoyed. He’d endured his germaphobia to fish that mop head out of the trash, and now Chu Yin was yelling at him?

“I did it behind your back because I knew you’d throw a fit!” Wei Lai argued passionately. “If you’re going to hoard stuff, at least collect things with value! Other people collect rare currency—yours just attracts cockroaches! And who’s the one who always kills them? Me! The thought of all that cockroach bait piled up at home keeps me up at night!”

Chu Yin choked, unable to retort.

It suddenly struck him—this was their shared home. Just as Wei Lai tolerated his messiness, he should tolerate Wei Lai’s cleanliness. Besides, Wei Lai couldn’t even sleep because of it.

Pursing his lips, Chu Yin awkwardly said, “Then… then we can take some stuff out together. Don’t lose sleep over it.”

Wei Lai had expected another round of their usual arguments, but Chu Yin had compromised first. This left Wei Lai with all his fighting spirit and nowhere to direct it. Sheepishly, he followed Chu Yin to his “treasure trove.”

Wei Lai grumbled inwardly. Chu Yin’s rare concession made it seem like he was the unreasonable one—but trash was trash, and it needed to go!

The garage was packed to the brim. Holding a trash bag, Wei Lai stood amid the clutter like a fisherman ready to cast his net.

He filled a bag and brought it out for Chu Yin’s inspection.

Chu Yin sat on a small stool, chin propped on his hand as he watched Wei Lai.

Wei Lai pulled out a tattered Xinhua Dictionary, its cover completely detached from the spine—and the name written inside wasn’t even Chu Yin’s.

Wei Lai: “…Who’s Sun Luren?”

Chu Yin puffed his cheeks. “Dunno. I found this.”

He’d discovered this dictionary while scavenging. Back then, it had been nearly new. When he couldn’t sleep at night, Chu Yin would read it under a streetlamp, barely understanding anything—but at least it kept him from becoming completely illiterate.

Wei Lai decided this dictionary counted as Chu Yin’s first Chinese teacher and set it aside.

Next, Wei Lai fished out a blue towel.

Scowling, he pinched it between his fingers and asked disdainfully, “What the hell is this?”

Chu Yin thought for a moment. “A hair towel. Yun Yun was looking for a 1.”

Wei Lai: “…”

In Chengdu, bottoms were everywhere, sisters trapped in a cage waiting for a miracle top. Yan Yunshui sighed daily in the ocean of zeros, pent-up and flamboyant, dragging Chu Yin along to help him find a top.

Why not ask Wei Lai? Because that old slut Wei Lai would only flaunt their relationship in his face.

The “Find Yun Yun a Top” campaign lasted months. They didn’t find many tops, but the two formed a deep friendship, often gathering to wash hair, get facials, and ogle handsome men. The blue hair-washing towel was a testament to their sisterly bond—one that made Wei Lai green with envy. Eventually, he barged into their activities just to keep an eye on them.

Miraculously, Yan Yunshui did find someone in the end—a long-haired male model Chu Yin used to work with. The man, too lazy to maintain his hair, got a membership at Zero Salon. Over time, Yan Yunshui somehow landed himself a boyfriend.

Wei Lai dangled the towel, his voice dripping with jealousy. “Why keep this? Nostalgia? Yan Yunshui and that long-haired guy are already talking marriage!”

Chu Yin cupped Wei Lai’s face, straightening his tilted head. “Good sisters.”

After some hesitation, Wei Lai decided to wash the towel and keep it—after all, Chu Yin didn’t make friends easily.

Wei Lai dug around some more and pulled out an unremarkable water bottle. “This one can go, right?”

Chu Yin thought for a while. “This was our first indirect kiss.”

Wei Lai: “…What?”

Chu Yin struggled before admitting, “Back then, we were on a plane. I asked you to unscrew the cap for me. You struggled with it for ages and, for some reason, took a sip yourself. I… I already liked you back then, but you ignored me. So I secretly drank from the same bottle—it felt like you’d kissed me.” He paused, suddenly feeling embarrassed, and his pride flared up. “Hmph! If I’d known you liked me too, I wouldn’t have done something so creepy!”

Instantly, the bottle took on new significance in Wei Lai’s eyes.

Next, Wei Lai pulled out an empty glass jar with a crack at the bottom. He shook it. “What’s this? A vase?”

Chu Yin pursed his lips, annoyed at Wei Lai’s poor memory. “This held the dried fish you made for me!”

When Wei Lai first became Chu Yin’s manager, Chu Yin had severe anorexia. Wei Lai tried everything to get him to eat, and the dried fish became Chu Yin’s favorite. Wei Lai knew scarcity increased value, so he only ever made two pieces at a time to keep Chu Yin wanting more. Back then, Chu Yin was unbearably tsundere—he’d never eat the fish in front of Wei Lai and would never ask for more after finishing. Instead, he’d just shake the glass jar in Wei Lai’s direction, hoping he’d get the hint that the male celebrity required a fresh offering.

Wei Lai adored how Chu Yin would curl up on the sofa, cradling the little jar, nibbling carefully on the fish, and using the jar to catch crumbs.

No, this couldn’t be thrown out.

Wei Lai sifted through more junk and pulled out a charging cable. He racked his brain but couldn’t think of any special meaning it held for Chu Yin.

Chu Yin prompted, “Our first breakup.”

Wei Lai and Chu Yin had only broken up once—many years ago, right after Wei Lai’s brain tumor surgery and when Chu Yin’s career had hit rock bottom.

At the time, Wei Lai was swamped, doing everything he could to salvage Chu Yin’s years of hard work—but in the process, he neglected Chu Yin himself.

Chu Yin had endured long-term psychological control and physical abuse from Chen Meixian, and fan support had been a major pillar of his identity. After he came out, many fans stood by him, but many others couldn’t accept it. Some simply unfollowed and criticized him, while a few extreme fans even threatened suicide.

Chu Yin was on the verge of collapse. Wei Lai noticed but believed that if he could just suppress the scandal, Chu Yin would feel better—so he worked even harder.

The breaking point came when Wei Lai returned home late after a business dinner, drunk and vomiting into the toilet. Chu Yin, eyes red, asked for a breakup.

Wei Lai thought Chu Yin was being unreasonable. Chu Yin believed Wei Lai was already sick of him. Their argument escalated until Wei Lai snapped, “Fine, let’s break up!”

Even though Chu Yin had initiated it, hearing those words from Wei Lai felt like a thunderbolt. Heartbroken, he threw down a bank card and stormed out.

Wei Lai, too drunk and exhausted to chase after him, tried to stand but collapsed onto the toilet lid instead.

I’ve spoiled him rotten. Why is it always me apologizing?

Through blurry, tear-filled eyes, Wei Lai saw the bank card on the floor and felt wronged. Why was Chu Yin paying him off as if their relationship could be measured in money? All he’d ever wanted was to be a delicate flower, but Chu Yin had forced him into the role of a frizzy-haired Hercules. It was the first—and only—time Wei Lai ever considered breaking up with Chu Yin.

But he still loved him deeply. Wei Lai crumpled up the thought and tossed it into the trash along with the bank card. Relying on his germaphobe instincts, he filled the bathtub and dropped in a deep rose-colored bath bomb before collapsing into the water.

The moment he closed his eyes, he was out.

Sometime later, a blood-curdling scream jolted him awake.

Under the bright bathroom lights, Chu Yin knelt on the floor, gasping for air as if one missed breath would kill him.

“What…?” Wei Lai stirred, startled.

The entire bathtub was filled with dark red water. To Chu Yin, who had just opened the door, it looked exactly like Wei Lai had slit his wrists.

The faint scent of essential oils hit Wei Lai’s nose—the red bath bomb!

“Wei… Lai.” Chu Yin seemed drained of all strength. He tried to stand but collapsed again, staring at Wei Lai in horror before crawling toward the tub on trembling limbs.

Wei Lai scrambled up, not even bothering with a robe, and splashed down beside Chu Yin. “I’m fine—it’s just the bath bomb!”

Chu Yin grabbed Wei Lai’s wrists first, scrutinizing them before throwing himself into Wei Lai’s arms. He hit his head on the sink but didn’t seem to notice, too busy clutching Wei Lai tightly. His breathing was still ragged as he whispered Wei Lai’s name over and over, trembling violently.

Wei Lai had never seen Chu Yin like this. His heart ached so much his eyes turned red. Softly, he said, “I’m okay, I’m fine. Remember that limited-edition Harry Potter bath bomb we bought together?”

Chu Yin calmed slightly, burying his face in Wei Lai’s neck. “…Terrible… product.”

Wei Lai laughed despite himself. “Let’s get up first—I’m freezing.”

Chu Yin took a few deep breaths, steadied his jelly-like legs, and wobbled to his feet before draping a robe over Wei Lai. Every step felt unsteady.

Wei Lai asked, “I thought you ran off. Why’d you come back?”

Chu Yin sniffled. “I went to buy you hangover medicine. When I came back, I saw…”

Wei Lai had been about to tease him, but putting himself in Chu Yin’s shoes—if he’d seen Chu Yin lying in a “pool of blood,” he probably would’ve fainted on the spot without even screaming. So he wisely kept his mouth shut.