The Cannon Fodder Who Fell in Love at Art School - Chapter 13

No taboos, no taboos.

Fang Chen kept repeating it in his head, his expression looking rather grim.

Foreigners really had no filter. Why bring up such topics at the dinner table?

Don’t mind him,  the man said in a low voice.  And don’t believe a word he says. He’s just talking nonsense.

He guided Fang Chen to sit down and passed him a glass of juice. “Try this.”

Fang Chen took the glass carefully and took a sip. His eyes instantly brightened. “Apple juice!”

Uncle Boer came over with a plate of grilled mushrooms, smiling warmly. 

“Freshly pressed from apples on the farm. I wasn’t sure if you drink alcohol, so I prepared this just in case.”

Fang Chen quickly waved his hands. “I can… drink a little!”

He held up his fingers, showing a small gap. “A little!”

Cis’s lips curved faintly. “So, do you want a little?”

Fang Chen licked his lips. “Sure!”

Cis didn’t give him much just signaled for Uncle Boer to bring over a can of beer.

The can popped open with a hiss. Fang Chen held it up, hesitating for a moment before glancing toward Cis and murmuring, “Cis, thank you for bringing me out today. I’m really happy! You’re the first friend I’ve made outside the pizza shop. even if the way we met was kind of funny.

As he spoke, his head tilted slightly upward, his bright eyes curving into soft crescents.

Friend.

Cis’s gaze deepened. After a moment, he said quietly, “No need to thank me.”

He raised his own glass and lightly clinked it against Fang Chen’s.

It was the first time Fang Chen had drunk since arriving in this world, and surrounded by laughter and chatter, he couldn’t help but get a little excited. He lifted the can and took a big gulp.

The fermented wheat burst across his tongue, and the alcohol quickly rushed to his head. Soon, a warm dizziness set in.

Something felt off.

How strong was this foreign beer?

He wanted to check the label on the can, but just as he picked it up, Cis reached out to stop him, thinking he was about to drink more. “Don’t rush it.”

Fang Chen blinked slowly, two beats behind, then gave a muffled “Mm?” through his nose, the sound soft and almost. coquettish.

Cis’s gaze darkened, but his voice gentled. “Eat something first.”

Fang Chen blinked again, propping his chin up with both hands. “Okay.”

He said “okay,” but made no move to actually eat.

Cis picked up a fork, speared some grilled chicken and fish seasoned with spices, and placed them on his plate. The aroma was mouthwatering.

Finally, Fang Chen stirred, poking at the food and putting a bite in his mouth. He nodded earnestly. “Delicious!”

Across the table, Joey looked like he was about to grind his teeth to dust. He wanted to say something snarky, but one look from Cis made him shut his mouth fast.

Since most people there were from the club, their conversation turned to competition talk, fast-paced and full of technical jargon. Fang Chen only half-understood, but he sat there with his chin propped up, listening with feigned seriousness.

Cis lounged back in his chair beside him, arms folded across his chest, his posture lazy. He looked casual, but his gaze never once left Fang Chen.

Eventually, Fang Chen couldn’t finish the rest of his beer. Like a kid trying to hide his mischief, he discreetly pushed the can a little farther away, as if that made it not his anymore.

Every little gesture was caught by Cis’s eyes. He tilted his head slightly, suppressing a laugh. 

If you’re full, we can leave now. 

Fang Chen turned toward him in confusion, his eyes hazy.

The alcohol had slowed his comprehension. After a few seconds, he finally asked.

“Leave… where to?”

Anywhere you want,” Cis replied, lips curving. “What do you feel like doing?

Fang Chen obediently stood up, nodded, and, moving both his hands and feet at once started walking out. Then he turned back, waved to everyone, and said cheerfully,  I’m full, I’m leaving now.

Everyone paused, then waved back in amusement. “Bye.”

Cis stood too, casually picking up the beer Fang Chen had pushed away and finishing it in one easy motion.

It looked so natural, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Good thing Fang Chen didn’t look back. But even if he had, in his current dazed state, he probably wouldn’t have processed it anyway.

Outside, Fang Chen sat on the steps, chin in hand, lost in thought. Cis came out behind him, stopping in front of him and silently blocking the harsh sunlight with his tall frame.

He was about to suggest picking blueberries when Fang Chen suddenly looked up at him, studied him for a moment, then stretched out his hand and poked Cis’s chest.

Cis froze, momentarily taken aback. He hadn’t expected that.

It’s so… bouncy,  Fang Chen said seriously.

Cis was silent for a few seconds before replying in a low voice, “Do you like it?”

Fang Chen nodded quickly, like a pecking chick.

Last time, when he’d buried his face there, it had felt so nice!

Who knew being tipsy would lead to such surprises?

Cis fought the urge to scoop him up. His gray-blue eyes darkened further, lips curving slightly as he murmured,  If you like it, you can touch it.

The words dripped with temptation. Fang Chen swallowed, replacing his finger with his whole palm, pressing against Cis’s chest.

Even through the fabric, it felt just as springy as he remembered, soft yet firm, addictive to the touch.

Getting bolder, he reached out with both hands and began to knead carelessly.

Cis had started it as a tease, but after a few seconds, the heat in his body flared up.

Enough. Any more of this and something would happen.

His gaze darkened as he grabbed Fang Chen’s wrists, stopping him.

When Fang Chen realized he wasn’t allowed to continue, he pouted, looking displeased.

 I’ll take you back to rest,  Cis said, voice low.

He hadn’t expected Fang Chen to get this drunk, so he abandoned any plans to keep playing and decided to take him back instead.

Fang Chen was obedient he didn’t fuss or resist, just followed along quietly.

When they got back to the cabin, the little lamb was still there. Hearing them come in, it lifted its head and bleated twice.

Go lie down for a bit,” Cis said. “I’ll take the lamb outside.

No!” Fang Chen protested immediately. “I want to sleep with it.

It’ll keep you awake.

It won’t.

Alright, your call,” Cis relented softly. “But will you sleep properly?

“Yes, yes, I will.”

The man and the little drunk had a whole pointless back-and-forth before Fang Chen finally started changing for bed. Only then did Cis turn away and step out, controlling himself.

Just as he left, his phone rang it was Joey. They were playing cards and wanted him to join.

Cis, bring your little lamb with you.

I’ll come. He’s sleeping

What? Sleeping? You two.

Cis hung up before Joey could finish.

Fang Chen had slept through the car ride, through the meal, and now, again, through the night completely knocked out. When he finally woke up, his hair was a mess, and he sat on the bed, dazed.

Who am I? Where am I? Did I transmigrate again?

It wasn’t until he spotted the lamb in the corner that his memory came rushing back and his face turned scarlet in an instant.

Oh God.

The original body’s alcohol tolerance was that bad? One drink and he was done?

And not only that he’d actually talked nonsense to Cis.

 Oh no, he’d touched him!

Fang Chen trembled as he lifted his hands, staring at them like they were traitors. He wanted to chop them off and end their shame forever.

With a groan, he wrapped himself tightly in the blanket and rolled around on the bed like a burrito.

Maybe I should just run away right now!

How long would it take him to run back to the city if he started now?

Feeling like life had lost all meaning, Fang Chen lay in bed, rolling around like a human shawarma, until the little lamb bleated twice. Only then did he poke his head out from under the blanket.

Their eyes met one pair wide and innocent, the other bleary and lost.

Fang Chen’s “new dad” experience level: zero.

Is it… hungry?

He climbed out of bed, grabbed the half-finished bottle of milk from earlier, and started feeding the lamb again.

With a sigh, he looked down at it and muttered, Why don’t you go find Cis instead? Tell him it was you who touched his chest last night, not me.

The lamb blinked up at him, its two black bead-like eyes full of innocence.

Fang Chen groaned, rubbing his temples.

Once it was full, the lamb wriggled out of his arms, trotted to the door, and squeezed its head through the gap to slip outside.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

Fang Chen quickly put on his shoes and ran after it.

As soon as he stepped out of the cabin, he realized the sky had already gone dark. The farm didn’t have many lights, and the surrounding fields were pitch-black. At first, he didn’t think much of it as he followed the lamb, but after running for a while, he started to feel uneasy.

Where was he now?

He looked around. Up ahead stood a large barn or maybe a warehouse. The lamb must’ve run inside.

Fang Chen hesitated, then followed.

It was even darker inside. Faint moonlight filtered through the cracks, revealing piles of corn stacked against the walls.

“Baa? Little baa?”

He called softly twice, but the lamb didn’t respond.

Frowning, he took another step forward and suddenly felt something uneven beneath his foot. Looking down, he realized he’d stepped on a raised plank.

A cellar door?

Wait… a cellar?.

The farmer here is actually a murderer. He killed his wife and buried her in the cellar.

The more scared a person gets, the more their imagination runs wild.

Fang Chen’s breathing quickened. He took two slow steps back, ready to bolt—when footsteps sounded behind him.

His heart leaped into his throat. He spun around.

And nearly sagged with relief.

It was Cis, holding a flashlight.

What are you doing out here? Cis asked.

The burst of fear had momentarily numbed Fang Chen’s embarrassment. He mumbled, looking for the lamb.

Don’t worry about it. It’ll come out when it’s hungry, Cis said, his brows knitting slightly as he noticed Fang Chen’s uneasy expression. What’s wrong?

Fang Chen didn’t dare admit the nonsense running through his head and quickly shook it.

Cis narrowed his eyes, then suddenly chuckled. “Don’t tell me you thought I was some kind of psycho killer again.”

Fang Chen’s cheeks flushed red. I didn’t.

Cis took a step closer. His tall frame nearly enveloped the boy completely, his shadow pressing down on him. With his eyes half-lowered, his voice dropped low, deliberately teasing, “How do you know I’m not?”

He leaned in slightly, voice almost a whisper. Why do you think I invited you to the farm in the first place.

Fang Chen’s eyes widened in alarm.

He stumbled back in panic only for his foot to catch on something. He nearly fell, but Cis caught him in time.

The man’s hand wrapped around his wrist, firm and steady. He didn’t let go instead, he shifted his grip and effortlessly scooped Fang Chen into his arms, striding toward the exit.

Even smaller courage than a lamb, he said, his tone half-scolding, half-amused.

 “Serves you right for wandering off alone.”

After all, sometimes a little scare was the best way to make someone behave.

The farmer had a temper. He might whip his slave a few times during the day, yet still sneak over at night to bring him medicine.

The slave had been punished to sleep in the barn.

The farmer pushed the door open, poking his head inside.

The dim lamplight flickered over the slave’s figure. He was still working, spreading straw neatly across the ground, then removing his shirt to lay it on top of it looked oddly comfortable.

Under the golden glow, his skin took on a warm bronze hue. Muscles flexed and tightened as he worked, sweat tracing the line of his spine.

The farmer swallowed hard and barked gruffly, “Who told you to make it so comfortable?”

The slave didn’t seem surprised by his appearance. Lifting his eyes slightly, a hint of a smile in them, he replied, “Master, this was for you to lie on.”

And then, soft as sin.

If you still find it uncomfortable, you could always lie on me instead.