The Cannon Fodder Who Fell in Love at Art School - Chapter 4

Seth’s memory hadn’t failed him. After driving down the narrow road for another ten minutes or so, an abandoned factory finally came into view a structure long forgotten, rusted and half-collapsed in the dark.

He parked, killed the engine, and cast a sidelong glance at the pale-faced boy beside him. His tone was curt. “Get out.”

The tie he’d used earlier had already been tossed aside. After they’d eaten something simple, Seth hadn’t bothered restraining the boy again.

He refused to admit it was out of pity. In his mind, there was no point wasting energy tying up such a frail little thing.

Everything matched.

The abandoned factory. The serial killer.

Fang Chen’s face was utterly drained of color. His body trembled uncontrollably, the chill creeping deep into his bones. Images of bloody crime scenes kept flashing through his head. He bit down hard on his lip, wishing he could just pass out and be done with it.

The man had already gotten out. Through the car window, he was staring at Fang Chen expressionless, yet the silent demand in his gaze was unmistakable.

Inside the car, the silence was so thick that Fang Chen could hear his own heartbeat pounding wildly, thump, thump, thump, each beat threatening to burst out of his chest.

His throat went dry. He swallowed hard, the bitterness spreading through his mouth.

With trembling hands, he opened the car door. The moment his foot hit the ground, his legs gave out beneath him. He nearly collapsed.

A strong hand caught him before he could fall. The man’s deep voice came from above, calm and cool. “Can’t even stand?”

Fang Chen’s mind was reeling. When he looked up, he met a pair of gray-blue eyes staring down at him with detached indifference.

Before he could react, the ground suddenly fell away beneath him Seth had picked him up.

Fang Chen’s eyes widened. His instincts took over, and he grabbed the man’s shirt tightly, terrified he’d be dropped. “W-what are you doing?”

“If we keep wasting time, the storm will hit before we’re inside.”

He held Fang Chen as easily as if he were a small toy, striding forward without effort. Fang Chen, on the other hand, was so tense his entire body went rigid, his palms slick with sweat.

The moment they stepped into the factory, a thunderclap exploded overhead. Startled, Fang Chen flinched violently and instinctively clutched the man’s shirt even tighter.

Seth glanced down at him but said nothing.

Scared of thunder, too.

Growing up in a boxing gym, Seth had never quite understood how someone could be so delicate, so easily frightened and so absurdly light in his arms.

A flash of lightning tore through the night sky, and moments later, the rain came pouring down in sheets.

Fang Chen froze.

It really was raining.

So… had the man brought him here just to get out of the storm?

While he stood there dazed, Seth carried him further inside and finally set him down on an open patch of ground. His tone was dry. “Planning to cling to me all night?”

Fang Chen blinked, realizing only then that Seth had already let go—it was his own hands still fisted in the man’s shirt.

Flustered, he scrambled away, his ears burning.

He couldn’t help but think about how solid the man’s chest had felt when he’d been carried hard and unyielding, muscle upon muscle.

A troubling thought struck him.

Was this guy planning to use him as a punching bag later?

“The rain’s too heavy to drive tonight,” Seth said flatly. “We’ll stay here till morning. I won’t tie you up, but you’d better not try anything stupid.”

Fang Chen nodded like a pecking chick, his floppy ears bouncing with each movement.

Seth glanced at him for a moment longer, then sat down lazily against the wall, arms crossed, eyes half-shut as if ready to sleep.

Fang Chen didn’t even dare breathe too loudly. When he finally convinced himself the man was asleep, he exhaled quietly and picked a spot as far away as possible to sit down.

No matter how he shifted, he couldn’t get comfortable. He twisted and fidgeted, reaching back awkwardly to tug at something behind him.

Only then did it hit him that he was still wearing the ridiculous lamb costume.

Fine, he could deal with that. But the damn thing even had a tail. Curled up in the car it hadn’t been a problem, but now, sitting on a flat floor, it jabbed into him uncomfortably.

He tried tugging it off a few times to no avail until a cold voice cut through the quiet.

“Your ass hurt or something? Can’t sit still?”

Fang Chen jerked his head around, only to find Seth awake, those gray-blue eyes fixed on him.

“N-no,” Fang Chen stammered softly. “It’s just… there’s a tail on my pants. It’s uncomfortable.”

Seth studied him for a beat, then got to his feet and walked over. Standing above him, he said calmly, “Turn around. Let me see.”

Fang Chen pressed his lips together and obediently turned his back to him.

A moment later, he stiffened.

A large hand settled on his waist. Even through the fabric, Fang Chen could feel the heat of it.

Then, a light tug the tail was lifted.

Fang Chen’s heart shot up into his throat. He instantly regretted saying anything. Why couldn’t he just keep quiet? He was a hostage for god’s sake picking fights over a fake tail was hardly a survival tactic.

His mind ran wild with worst-case scenarios until Seth finally withdrew his hand. His tone was neutral. “Done.”

He’d sliced the tail off with his knife. Holding the small tuft of faux fur in his palm, Seth paused for a second before casually tucking it into his coat pocket.

Fang Chen turned around hesitantly. “Uh… thanks,” he murmured.

Thanking a kidnapper is how absurd.

But the man didn’t seem to find it strange at all.

The air grew quiet again.

Rain hammered against the tin roof, each drop loud and sharp.

Fang Chen shivered and hugged his knees, curling into the corner.

A few seconds later, Seth suddenly got up and strode toward the door.

Fang Chen blinked.

In this downpour? Where was he going?

Then a thought hit him if the man was leaving, maybe this was his chance to escape.

His pulse quickened. He looked around frantically, searching for anything that could serve as a weapon something, anything to defend himself if Seth caught him.

He scanned the dim space. The factory looked like it had once been a textile mill; old machinery was scattered in the corners.

Maybe he could find a wrench.

And if he did run into Seth again he’d just swing it at his head.

But it was so dark he could barely see. He had to feel his way along the walls.

When Seth came back, carrying his jacket, the first thing he saw was the little lamb bent over, rummaging around with its rear stuck in the air. He arched a brow, already guessing what the boy was up to.

Instead of getting angry, he watched with faint amusement.

The boy was thin, yes, but not completely scrawny. His backside was round and soft-looking, outlined clearly by the tight fabric of the costume, a pale little shape even in the dark.

Seth’s eyes darkened. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing over the small tuft of fake fur he’d cut off earlier. He gave it a light squeeze.

Fang Chen, oblivious to the gaze burning into his back, kept searching. Then a flash of lightning illuminated the space before him and he froze.

A weaving rack stood in front of him, its surface stained a deep, horrifying red.

Thunder cracked overhead.

Fang Chen’s face went ghost-white. And just then.

A hand pressed down lightly on his shoulder.

“Ah!”

He yelped and spun around straight into Seth’s chest.

The man had gone to retrieve his jacket and now stood dripping wet, rainwater clinging to his half-transparent shirt.

Fang Chen’s face collided directly with his chest, the firm muscle yielding just slightly under the impact.

Dazed, he jerked back after a couple of seconds, stumbling two steps away.

 “I didn’t mean.”

He braced for the man’s anger, expecting to be tied up again.

Instead, Seth draped the jacket over his shoulders. His eyes flicked toward the red stains behind Fang Chen, and his tone remained as calm as ever.

“This was a textile factory. It’s just spilled dye, not bl00d.”

Fang Chen let out a shaky breath, relief washing over him.

He’d already had enough scares for one night if he stumbled onto an actual murder scene in this place, he might as well just close his eyes and die on the spot.

The man didn’t say anything more. He simply went back to where he’d been sitting, closed his eyes, and rested.

Fang Chen didn’t even dare to think about running now. He shot the man a cautious glance, then sat back down obediently like a frightened quail.

The rain outside had cooled the air, but with the jacket draped over his shoulders, he felt a faint warmth. He’d thought that in a place like this, there was no way he could relax but leaning against the wall, exhaustion eventually won out. His eyelids grew heavy, and before long, he drifted into sleep.

The rain gradually softened.

Inside the factory, it was still pitch-black. Seth lounged lazily where he sat, a cigarette between his lips unlit.

He normally kept to a strict routine to stay in shape for his fights, but even though it was well past midnight, he didn’t feel the slightest bit tired. The faint taste of tobacco in his mouth kept his mind clear and sharp.

From where he sat, he could see the small figure curled up in the distance. His jacket practically swallowed the boy whole, leaving only a messy head of hair sticking out.

Sleeping so soundly, right under his nose utterly defenseless.

Seth frowned slightly. Again, doubt crept into his mind. Could this kid really be as innocent as he looked? Someone this fragile didn’t seem capable of fooling the police or dodging capture time and time again.

The night passed without dreams.

Half-awake, Fang Chen thought he was back in his own bed. He stretched lazily, rolled over and thudded straight onto the hard ground.

Dazed, he rubbed his aching shoulder and looked around. Memories from the previous night rushed back all at once, and his expression instantly fell.

Still in the abandoned factory.

Not far away, the man stood with his back to him, speaking on the phone.

“Seth, you left early last night. What happened? Did you actually catch the rat?”

Seth turned his head slightly. Across the room, the little “lamb” on the floor had lifted his head, blinking at him in confusion.

He let out a faint, humorless smile. “No.”

“Then why didn’t you stay longer?”

“I had things to do. Hanging up.”

He pocketed the phone and strode toward Fang Chen, stopping right in front of him. From above, his gaze pressed down, cold and unreadable.

“Where are all your tickets?”

A full night’s thought had been enough for Seth to make up his mind.

If the boy could keep playing the part of an innocent little lamb, Seth didn’t mind letting him go.

As for the missing money, he could cover that himself.

But after that, the lamb would stay by his side until the debt was paid, one way or another.

Fang Chen blinked, confused, then hurriedly pulled the single ticket from his pocket and handed it over.

Seth frowned, his tone dropping low. “I said all of them.”

Still trying to lie? Even now?

Fang Chen’s face twisted in distress. He bit his lip and whispered miserably, Sir, I only have this one.