Chapter 8: Treating to a Meal
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He—didn’t care?
He—said it didn’t matter?
He—just didn’t mind?
Didn’t mind = willingly being a third wheel?! Being a third wheel = knowing he’s the third but still doing it?! Knowing and still doing it = I’m willing to marry Shen Shuyi even if I have to be his concubine??!!
After Zhao Yuheng said that, there was silence for a long, long while.
When he finally turned his head, Shen Shuyi’s expression looked like he’d just been struck by lightning.
Zhao Yuheng: ?
What did he say that was so strange?
Whether Shen Shuyi had a boyfriend or not—what did that have to do with him?
If anything, he was just a little surprised.
He hadn’t expected Shen Shuyi was gay.
But in Hong Kong, that wasn’t anything shocking. The city had long been open-minded; centuries ago, it was even influenced by the British Empire for a time.
Ten years ago, Hong Kong became the first city in the country to legalize same-sex marriage.
Whether in entertainment or among ordinary people, same-sex couples getting marriage licenses were common and well accepted.
Even among the wealthy elite, male-male alliances weren’t rare.
Zhao Yuheng called out again, this time with rare concern:
“What’s wrong with you?”
Shen Shuyi finally forced himself back to reality. His face was still twisted with disbelief, his voice stiff and awkward:
“It’s nothing. I just didn’t expect you… wouldn’t even care about something like that.”
Care? About him being gay?
Zhao Yuheng said calmly, “I don’t have any prejudice toward that group.”
Right. Shen Shuyi thought miserably. Of course he doesn’t—he’s already ready to be a male mistress. How could someone like that have any prejudice left?
The shock had clearly rattled Shen Shuyi. By the time they arrived at the tea restaurant, he had no memory of how he got there.
Normally, with his lazy temperament, he’d never walk more than 400 meters without taking a car.
Zhao Yuheng had learned his lesson from earlier and now fully understood what kind of picky prince this young master was.
This restaurant cost five to six hundred yuan per person—basically a month’s worth of grocery money for Zhao Yuheng. If not for accommodating Shen Shuyi’s spoiled palate, he probably wouldn’t step into such a “fancy” place in the next two or three years.
Shen Shuyi sat down, took two sips of hot tea, and finally calmed himself.
His stomach growled too—he was hungry. When the waiter handed them the menu, Shen Shuyi was already composed again.
Zhao Yuheng glanced at it. Mostly small dishes and desserts. He asked casually, “Anything you can’t eat?”
Just polite conversation—like how some people hated cilantro or green onions.
Shen Shuyi scanned the menu, then said, “I don’t eat onions.”
Zhao Yuheng nodded, “Got it. Note down—”
But before he could finish, Shen continued, ignoring him entirely, his tone meticulous and cold:
“No cilantro, no garlic, no onions, mushrooms, or celery. No raw tomatoes. Watermelon must be seedless, apples must be cut and peeled. Rice must be Thai jasmine only. No wide noodles, no pasta wider than 1.5 millimeters. Milk must be room temperature—exactly twenty-seven degrees Celsius—and I refuse all carbonated drinks. Oh, and don’t let pizza appear in front of me. That thing looks like vomit. I hate triangular biscuits, and bread must not have raisins. No offal, no leftovers, no chocolate cake—if there’s cream, it must be animal cream, not vegetable. Also—”
He closed the menu, looked up, and added calmly, “I’m allergic to mango and peanut butter. Understood?”
The entire restaurant fell silent.
The waiter stood frozen, brain blank. After a long pause, one thought finally popped up:
…Is this guy sent by a rival restaurant to cause trouble?
The waiter turned pleadingly to Zhao Yuheng.
Zhao Yuheng: “…”
How had this fragile, high-maintenance creature even survived to age twenty-one?
Zhao Yuheng suddenly understood the gossip columns that once claimed Shen Shuyi had fired thirteen Michelin chefs. He’d thought it was an exaggeration. Now he realized—it was a documentary.
Shen Shuyi didn’t find his list strange at all. He’d been pampered like this since birth.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“No.” Zhao Yuheng closed the menu, silently reciting five hundred thousand yuan compensation in his head to calm himself.
“Just do as he says.”
The waiter: …
We’re human too, you know!
You want to show off, go somewhere else! Why torture the waitstaff in a restaurant that’s only 500 per person?!
He silently cursed them ten thousand times, but on the surface, bowed respectfully.
“Of course.”
Which, in waiter language, meant: F**k you.
He practically sprinted to the kitchen.
If he stayed one second longer, that picky prince might ask him to recite the list again from memory.
Shen Shuyi finished giving orders, completely unaware of how unreasonable he’d been.
To him, being inconvenienced by him was an honor.
After all, he’d been standing at the top of society since birth.
His arrogance and entitlement weren’t learned—they were bought with gold, diamonds, and family estates.
Zhao Yuheng thought privately that Shen Shuyi belonged in another era—maybe as a spoiled little noble who’d say, “If there’s no bread, eat cake.”
Any trace of goodwill he’d just felt evaporated instantly.
The food soon arrived.
No one knew if the kitchen had really followed Shen Shuyi’s absurd requests, but he didn’t complain. He just picked out a few light, delicate dishes, and like a cat, ate a couple bites.
After two or three mouthfuls, he set his chopsticks down.
“I’m full,” he said.
Zhao Yuheng stared at the untouched dishes, utterly dumbfounded.
“That’s all you’re eating?”
“Mm.”
Zhao Yuheng: ?
You eat that little, and still order a full table?!
Sensing Zhao Yuheng’s disbelief, Shen Shuyi looked genuinely puzzled.
“What’s the problem? I wanted to taste everything.”
Zhao Yuheng: “…”
In the end, Zhao Yuheng resigned himself to packing up the untouched food.
After two hours of babysitting this young master, he checked his watch—time to head to work.
Shen Shuyi hadn’t expected him to leave so soon. He thought they’d hang out longer.
Ever since his grandfather’s death, being alone at home made him spiral—he’d cry himself to sleep for nights in a row.
Zhao Yuheng wasn’t exactly fun company, but at least he was company.
His usual rich friends were far more annoying.
If they found out his credit cards had been frozen by Shen Lu, they’d laugh him to death.
So, for now, he’d just… make do.
“You’re going to work again? I thought you were still in school,” Shen Shuyi asked. He vaguely remembered Zhao Yuheng was just a few months older than him.
“Temp jobs,” Zhao Yuheng said simply.
He didn’t want to elaborate—just wanted Shen Shuyi to finish his fun and leave him alone.
And maybe remember the half-million compensation he still owed.
“Oh.” Shen Shuyi looked a bit unhappy.
Zhao Yuheng didn’t care. He went straight to the counter to pay.
When he came out, Shen Shuyi was already waiting by the door.
“Need me to call you a car?” Zhao Yuheng asked.
He remembered the villa was quite far from the university area.
“No need. I called Uncle Lin; he’ll pick me up.”
“Alright.” Zhao Yuheng nodded. Of course the rich young master had his own driver.
Since Shen Shuyi didn’t need anything else, Zhao Yuheng turned toward campus—planning to change clothes and head to his next shift.
He studied translation at the University of Hong Kong.
Besides odd jobs, he took translation gigs and tutored rich kids in foreign languages.
He was excellent—fluent in nearly eleven languages. He’d even interned at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs during his junior year.
After graduation, he’d easily get a good salary.
That was one of the few things keeping him going.
Once Shen Shuyi paid his compensation, he could take his grandfather and finally live a decent life.
And never see this infuriating young master again.
But just as he was leaving, Shen Shuyi called out, “Hey.”
This young master never used names—only “hey” or “you there.”
Zhao Yuheng stopped and turned around.
Shen Shuyi looked conflicted, thinking for a few seconds before saying,
“How much was that meal just now? I didn’t mean for you to treat me. I’ll transfer you the money later.”
Oh?
Funny. Wasn’t this the same guy who had just mooched off another rich friend for lunch earlier?
Still, if he wanted to pay, Zhao Yuheng wasn’t going to argue.
“One thousand eight hundred.”
He even kindly rounded off the 43 yuan change.
He waited.
But Shen Shuyi didn’t move.
Zhao Yuheng: ?
“Weren’t you going to transfer it?”
“Yeah,” Shen Shuyi said confidently.
Zhao Yuheng: “…”
“Oh right,” Shen Shuyi added suddenly, “didn’t I tell you? My personal bank cards were all frozen by my brother. Some… unavoidable circumstances.”
Zhao Yuheng raised an eyebrow.
“So?”
Shen Shuyi cleared his throat.
“So just add it to the fifty thousand I owe you. I’ll pay it all together later.”
Zhao: Yuheng “…”
Zhao Yuheng: “?”
Somebody stop him.
There’s a cat here eating for free!
Author’s Note:
The cat isn’t freeloading, okay? The cat keeps records.
It’s just that… the ransom debt keeps getting bigger and bigger… ??
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