By the next afternoon, the jade would be back—flown on a private jet, placed in Yu Tan's hand. That night, they finished what hadn't been finished. Somewhere between kisses, Yu Tan called him little fox.
Teetering on sleep, Hu Xiaoyu asked about the name. Yu Tan looked into those drowsy, glossy eyes—siren-sweet after passion, unaware of it—and chuckled. "So many questions. Want more?"
The boy vanished under the blanket in a flash, then peeked out, eyes curved. "I like it when you call me that."
Like a hundred years ago—when Yu Tan would stand under the eaves, by the window, in the garden, calling patiently: Little fox, time to come home.
—
A week after the meeting, Fei Sizhen called.
"Xiaoyu, I'm sorry," I was truly embarrassed. "I might have to go back to my word. There's trouble with the family business. We'll have to put the film on hold."
On hold often meant forever. Disappointment pricked—but Hu Xiaoyu comforted him. "It'll be alright."
It sounded like a platitude, yet he'd seen Fei's fate: born to fortune, only a benignian bump this year. It would pass. Fei hadn't expected zero complaint; guilt stabbed sharper. He also thanked him for the earlier warning—without it, his father might be in ICU, not a regular ward.
The truth was messy: a forced handover, a planned "feigned illness," a crisis Yu Tan would help manifest. The quarrel never happened; Mr. Fei fell ill for real—a hypertensive stroke caught early because tempers stayed cool. With his father down, Fei shouldered responsibility. The film waited.
When the call ended, Hu Xiaoyu sagged on the sofa.
Yu Tan glanced up, saw the name, and knew. Just as planned. Yet victory tasted hollow seeing the boy slump.
"After work," he said, "I'll take you out."
—
"Out" meant a small gathering—Shi Jingyang, Ren Zhifan, a few others. Yu Tan didn't like his fox close to anyone else, but once in a while, he could tolerate it.
The private room was a small square with three transparent walls—five meters high, thirty long—holding a ring of sea-blue water. Fish drifted past in lazy swirls. It felt like the bottom of the ocean.
Hu Xiaoyu lit up. He tugged Yu Tan at the glass.
Yu Tan watched only him. The boy had drooped all afternoon; now brightness bloomed. Right place, then. He straightened the boy's collar, hiding a red mark. "Like it?"
A bobbing chin, eyes still on fish. The fish began to feel like rivals. He reined it in.
Buy an aquarium? Next time the fox wanted to play, he'd be within sight. No distractions.
Around them, heirs and hangers-on stared—half awe, half disbelief. The living iceberg let himself be towed to look at fish. Without a hint of impatience.
The room split into two camps:
—Yu Tan and Hu Xiaoyu watching fish.
—Everyone else was watching Yu Tan and Hu Xiaoyu.
Shi and Ren traded a look. Something's changed, hasn't it?
From one angle, Shi saw Yu Tan pin the boy lightly to the glass—fingers on his chin—doing things that needed no explanation. Hu Xiaoyu flushed, embarrassed by the crowd.
"It's fine," Yu Tan murmured, blocking the view. "No one can see."
It took a long breath and a fistful of his jacket before Hu Xiaoyu steadied. Tide-bright eyes, bitten-soft lips—Yu Tan's gaze went dark. He decided then: he'd invest in an oceanarium and bring his fox—alone.
"As for what to do…" He pecked the reddened mouth. "Next time, let the fish be the audience, hm?"
"What?"
A ghost smiled. "Nothing."
"Jingyang and Zhifan are here," he added, palming the boy's cheek, turning him aside. "Go say hi."
Up close, several people questioned reality. Can someone truly look like that? Those who'd hoped to "move up" wilted. A few men who liked men wobbled—until a cold, shadowed glance swept the room and eyes skittered away.
Hu Xiaoyu noticed none of it. He was used to being stared at—by foxes or humans. What did catch his eye was the lump in Ren's arms: a plump orange cat with a small, exquisite face?
"May I… pet it?"
The cat, Ginger, meowed eagerly, ready to leap—only to be lifted by the scruff and deposited back into Ren's lap.
Yu Tan's arm curled around Hu Xiaoyu's shoulders as he sat. "I hear there's a dish called Dragon-and-Tiger Fight. Sounds like it's volunteering."
Ginger mewed indignantly. Ren hugged him tighter. "A vegetarian diet promotes well-being," he told Yu Tan dryly.
"Mm. Then keep a closer eye on it."
Hu Xiaoyu still looked longingly at that glossy coat. It must feel so smooth.
Yu Tan sighed inwardly. He refused to let the fox's attention wander. He adopted a thoughtful frown. "You can play, if you want. But if you do, don't come too close to me for a while."
"Why?"
He pinched the nape of the boy's neck, savoring the warmth. "I'm allergic to cat fur. In severe cases…"
A pointed glance at Shi and Ren. Instant friendly telepathy: nods, coughs, a clumsy chorus of it happens. The boy's modern medicine was rusty, but he understood: allergies were bad.
He twined their fingers. "Then I won't touch it. Don't be afraid." A pause. "Do… all furry animals not work?"
"Probably not," Yu Tan said smoothly. "If you really want to try, we can—doctor on standby."
Doctor? The boy deflated. Was his beautiful fur a weapon to Yu Tan?
He straightened anyway, solemnly. "Don't worry. I won't touch long-haired animals."
End of Part II.