EIP 22

Zhou Jun instinctively wanted to deny it, but Yong Jin’s voice was too certain, and the disgust in his eyes was too clear. He could only manage a smile that felt false even to himself. “It was just for fun. When I was abroad, everyone…” Before he could finish his sentence, the fingers on his face withdrew with some force, as if brushing away something dirty.

His expression changed instantly, his jaw clenched tight. He felt that Yong Jin was completely humiliating him, both before and now, and he was foolishly chasing after disdain. The effects of the weed hadn’t fully worn off, and he was in an impulsive state. So some words slipped out before he could think. “Yong Jin, what are you pretending for?”

Do you really think you can do anything in this world? Are you looking for a fight? With your idealism, how did you even become a major general? Don’t tell me you’re unaware of all the dirty tricks and dealings in the Ministry of Military Affairs.” As he spoke, Zhou Jun felt himself crossing a line, hating his own words, but he couldn’t control it, and even worse things tumbled out. He let out a meaningful “oh” and then grinned, “Right, I almost forgot. You’re a prince here, the son of Governor Yong. Who would dare to make things difficult for you?

He expected Yong Jin to erupt in anger or perhaps even get physical with him. But Yong Jin merely looked at him coldly, as if he were a stranger, and posed a question: “How do you know about the dirty dealings in the Ministry of Military Affairs?” Zhou Jun found the question amusing. “Major General Yong, there are no secrets in social circles.”

Yong Jin seemed to nod in confusion, observing Zhou Jun before him, who looked like a fighting cock, his face flushed and every hair standing on end, as if he might charge forward at any moment in a dazed state. The words Zhou Jun had just spoken echoed in his mind; when he had just joined the military department, he had quickly learned to address the most rotten and sensitive issues within the army, hearing even harsher criticism.

It wasn’t unheard of for his power to be diluted and undermined; even within the Yong residence, various factions had their eyes and ears everywhere, pulling strings at will. He had to endure it all. Being a son of Governor Yong wouldn’t help him, at least not according to his father’s words. If he couldn’t even handle being a major general, then he could only be seen as a useless person who isn’t worthy of being called a son.

Yong Jin let out a deep sigh, a smile curling at the corners of his lips as he looked gently at Zhou Jun. “I’ve overstepped, Mr. Zhou. You’re not quite yourself right now. Let’s talk again the next time we meet.” Zhou Jun stared blankly at Yong Jin, as if the person who had just said those words wasn’t him at all. He felt dazed, almost like he was dreaming.

But even in this dreamlike state, he didn’t like being called “Mr. Zhou” by Yong Jin. Just a short while ago, he had been called “Jun Jun,” and the difference made him feel uncomfortable all over. Acting like a spoiled child, he reached out and wrapped his arms around Yong Jin’s waist, gently swaying and murmuring softly, “I was wrong. I won’t smoke anymore.”

Yong Jin tried to pry his hands away. “Mr. Zhou, let go for now.”

Zhou Jun furrowed his brow, pressing harder against Yong Jin as he tried to pull him closer. Their bodies were both firm, yet he felt they fit perfectly together. His chin rested on Yong Jin’s shoulder as he rubbed against it like a petulant child. “I won’t let go. Don’t be mad. I just got a little heated earlier; it wasn’t like that…” He struggled to articulate his thoughts, clinging tightly to the major as if his grip alone could keep him from leaving.

But he still couldn’t hold on. He was left in that corner like a lonely leaf abandoned in the autumn night, feeling desperately forlorn. Slowly, Zhou Jun crouched down, staring at a pile of burnt paper remnants, only a small white corner left among the blackened ashes. He gazed at the pile for a while before lightly laughing, “It burned so completely that not even the top can be restored.”

He pulled out a handkerchief and carefully gathered the ash, leaving nothing behind.

As they returned to the ballroom, Miss Wen approached with a wine glass in hand, playfully pouting, “Stinson, where did you go? You left me in the dance floor just now.” Zhou Jun offered an apologetic smile. “I must have waited too long to smoke; it just hit me.” Seeing his pale complexion, Miss Wen believed him. However, Zhou Jun took the opportunity to inquire about the woman he had seen dancing with Yong Jin.

Miss Wen’s expression soured immediately, her beautiful eyes narrowing. “What, do you think she’s pretty too?” Zhou Jun wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’m just curious. Since you won’t tell me, I’ll have to find out myself…” Before he could finish his sentence, a sharp pain shot through his side. It was Miss Wen, who had twisted the soft flesh around his waist, causing Zhou Jun to grimace in pain.

The woman naturally wouldn’t agree to let Zhou Jun go, but if she did, it seemed that her partner for the evening would end up going home with someone else. Reluctantly, Miss Wen took a sip of her drink and went into the crowd of women to inquire. The music in the hall softened, and even the lights turned a warm yellow. It was his favorite dance tune, just a step away.

Holding a drink, he walked toward Yong Jin, who stood a good distance away. Zhou Jun thought he was gone, but he had actually stayed. Yong Jin stood tall and straight, like a sword inserted among gentlemen and ladies, out of place, exuding an air of nobility. When Zhou Jun was about ten steps away, Yong Jin slowly met his gaze. Amidst the crowd and the melodies of the accordion and violin, Zhou Jun reached out his hand.

He was a frivolous young man, completely the opposite of the serious Young General Yong. Thus, Zhou Jun confidently approached Yong Jin in front of everyone and invited him to dance the tango. This was a city of indulgence, and the era was one of living for the moment. Dancing together as men was nothing unusual; what mattered was who danced with whom.

Naturally, the pairing of these two unlikely individuals attracted some attention. Miss Wen almost lost her smile, staring in surprise at the two gentlemen not far away. The socialites chatting with her also fell silent, turning to observe the scene. In that corner, where many eyes were focused, Yong Jin remained unfazed by the stares and calmly replied, “I don’t dance the lady’s step.”

Zhou Jun straightened his back, still holding his hand up. “I’ll dance. Are you coming?” The Young general didn’t respond, but Miss Wen was already worried sick: “What’s gotten into Stinson tonight? He shouldn’t be provoking anyone…” She caught herself, as the young general had already agreed, and the two stepped onto the dance floor.

As they moved in, their right hands linked, Zhou Jun began the prelude, swaying his hips with calm composure. He was dancing the lady’s step, his movements a blend of softness and strength. As the music picked up speed, they spun faster, their faces inches apart, stepping forward and retreating in rhythm. The heels of their shoes clicked against the floor. When Yong Jin loosened his grip, Zhou Jun quickly spun around a few times, only to be pulled back by his hand again.

Their chests collided, making Zhou Jun let out a soft sound of discomfort. As he leaned back, Yong Jin followed by bending down as if to kiss him, but in an instant, he pulled away. Zhou Jun’s gaze was focused, while Yong Jin’s was probing, examining him closely. One moment they were almost kissing, and the next, they had both released their grips, feeling as if they were worlds apart despite being so close.

As the dance grew faster, it felt as if a strong force was crashing between them, fueled by an intense dislike for each other, with their glances becoming increasingly fierce. Zhou Jun crouched down and spread his legs, like the time he knelt between Yong Jin’s legs to please him. The difference this time was that he didn’t have to take him into his mouth; instead, he lifted his eyelids and shot an angry look at Yong Jin.

He was pulled up by the face, and Yong Jin’s movements became less forceful, as if he were soothing him, slowing the pace to match Zhou Jun’s retreat and resistance, and his advances and provocations. In another embrace, Zhou Jun heard Yong Jin whisper, “Do you hate me?” Zhou Jun responded noncommittally with a soft “mm,” and then he heard the man ask, “Do you like me?”

The tone was sweet like honey, tempting him to lower his guard. Zhou Jun, without putting up any resistance and regardless of whether what awaited him below was a sharp blade or a beautiful dream, gave an answer. He said he liked him, not with a mere hum but softly, his words dancing like sugar on his tongue, the sound dissipating into the air, full of a sweet, cloying fragrance.

For Zhou Jun, the question was tempting. But for Yong Jin, the answer was equally enticing. Because of this, Yong Jin’s heart raced out of control. He felt his face flush, but he didn’t allow Zhou Jun to see it.