Work Text:
The moon was glowing high in the sky as a sleek taxi smoothly glided through the illuminated streets of Pudong. Mobei Jun looked out the tinted window and watched as the car steadily approached a small uphill where a glittering high-rise loomed above the rest of the city. It was late — he didn’t need the glaring screen of his phone to confirm the hour. The rawness gnawing at his bones and the exhaustion seeping through his veins like slow acid were telling enough.
Luo Binghe’s meticulous takeover of Huanhua Enterprises was finally underway, and the entire team had been pulling outrageous amounts of overtime. Tempers flared and paperwork flowed in a neverending torrent as they all worked tirelessly to secure the acquisition. By the time he’d finally stumbled out of his office, Mobei Jun found himself grateful for the late hour if only because the rabble had finally dispersed.
The taxi reached the front of the high-rise with a rolling crunch, and Mobei Jun wordlessly stepped out to begin the ascent up the marble stairs. Whatever modicum of peace he’d felt in the quiet of the car quickly disintegrated as the glass doors of the front entrance came into view.
“Mobei Jun, sir! Welcome back!”
The doorman was practically tripping over himself trying to open the door for him in an obsequious display. Mobei Jun’s high status in Cangqiong Corporations was widely known even amongst the general public. Even if they weren’t familiar with his reputation in the business world, his surname alone was enough to draw attention. The Mobei family was steeped in generational wealth, and though he had branched off to pave his own way, his pockets still ran as deep as the China Sea Basin.
His expression darkened like a contemptuous cloud at the incessant attempts to engage him in insipid banter. He neatly sidestepped the overeager doorman with practiced ease and entered the elevator near the end of the hall.
Mobei Jun swiped his card key against the sensor and let himself sag against the cool wall in relief as the metal doors shut tight, barricading him in silence. The express car soundlessly shot towards the highest floor of the building, where his modern penthouse suite was waiting. He naturally gravitated towards isolation and was conditioned to be suspicious due to his upbringing, so while the living space was inarguably luxurious, the real draw for him was the privacy.
The elevator arrived with a pleasant ding, and Mobei Jun strode across the lushly carpeted hall to his apartment. As soon as the lock clicked into place, he shrugged off his Vicuna wool jacket and rolled his shoulders, releasing some of the tension that had kept his upper back stiff all day.
He indulged in a long, scalding shower and savored the feeling as his intense exhaustion mellowed into a languid tiredness. Luo Binghe had generously pushed back tomorrow’s main meeting, so for once Mobei Jun didn’t have to make an appearance until after lunch. He was prepared to pass into blissful oblivion and shut out the world, but there was still something else he needed to take care of first.
Working back to back shifts significantly reduced the time for food and rest. It definitely didn't allow time to take care of other bodily needs.
He made sure the blinds in his bedroom were firmly drawn before he leaned back against the plush of his bed and pulled his laptop onto the flat surface of his stomach. His fingers deftly clacked against the chrome keyboard, and a lurid webpage was brought up. Dozens of suggestive thumbnails populated the screen, each more obscene than the last.
He scrolled down and ignored the intermittent ads promising elongated manhoods that resembled battering rams more than they did human appendages. Tantalizing figures with hooded eyes twisted their bodies in sinewy seduction through the curated thumbnails, but he remained impassive. Nothing was really catching his eye.
He continued to absentmindedly travel down the page when something unusual made his fingers instinctively pause.
Situated in the middle of all the vivid and lustful offerings was an image of an unassuming table with a bowl of fruit on top…and nothing else. There was no one in the frame — no other furniture nor decorations adorning the walls. Just a table with fruit. He scrolled over the thumbnail, and a small green “LIVE” icon jauntily popped up in the corner. So this was a livestream and not a pre-recorded session. But…where was the model?
Mobei-Jun scanned the page for more clues, but the username only raised more questions. Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky? What did that even mean? The title of the room simply read “Nervous twink’s first time on camera! ; )”, which made him roll his eyes. There was something about the strangeness of it all that wormed its way into his mind, and he couldn’t shake off the curiosity. He resolved to click into the room and satisfy the itch before resuming his search for actual wank material.
What greeted him was exactly what had been advertised. The scene was now in higher definition, and he could see the selection was actually a medley of fruits and vegetables. Oranges, cucumbers, and other indiscernible produce all sat innocently atop one another in an incongruous but colorful display. There also seemed to be a nondescript bottle underneath the table. He glanced to the side and saw no one else in the open chat aside from a lonely bot dutifully spitting out line after line of Viagra deals.
It was a bit disappointing if he was being honest, but just as his hand hovered over the return key, he realized there were some faint clattering noises in the background. So someone is there, he thought. He barely had time to process this information before he heard a violent crash, followed by an undignified yelp and punctuated by a colorful swear.
“Shit shit shit, is someone there? Don’t go! I’m coming right now!” A panicked voice sounded from the distance.
Mobei Jun heard the increasingly loud patter of footsteps, and suddenly the camera shifted and a face zoomed in with all the grace of a jumpscare. He normally wasn’t a skittish person, but he still slammed a hand onto the painful edge of his keyboard. He grunted.
“Oops. This is too close, isn’t it? How do I…there! That looks better.” The camera shifted again, and a young man wearing a sheepish grin appeared at a much more reasonable distance.
He was dressed in a simple pair of shorts and a cropped white shirt emblazoned with a stylized logo that looked familiar – Mobei Jun vaguely recognized it as the new video game plastered all across the city billboards. It wasn’t the most enticing getup he’d ever seen, but it did drive home the whole “uninitiated” persona.
The model looked half his size in both height and width. His chestnut hair was piled into a messy bun, and some wayward strands had loosened during his sprint earlier, naturally framing his face in a youthful way. Mobei Jun took in the model’s shining eyes and trailed his gaze down to the slim waist and milky thighs barely covered by his clothes. Maybe he'd judged the outfit too hastily.
Cute, he decided after a beat. Very cute. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of the other man’s voice calling out to him.
“Hi!” The model greeted brightly. “Sorry about that earlier. I needed to get something and the chat was empty so…ahem anyway! Do you want to chat? I left the room unmuted,” he said with a wink. “How are you tonight?”
Mobei Jun paused. He frequented these sorts of sites on occasion when he wanted something more organic than an overly produced porn video, but he never typed directly in the chats, let alone spoke through his microphone. He considered backtracking out of the room entirely, but the seed of curiosity had already taken root. Keeping his microphone firmly muted, he wrote profoundly in the chat:
Fine.
The model patiently waited to see if there was more forthcoming, but it was clear the other party’s well of words had dried up. Undeterred in the slightest, he eagerly continued, “That’s great! So what are you looking for tonight, my king?”
My king? Mobei Jun frowned before a lightbulb went off. His user icon had been randomly set to a golden crown when he first registered on the site, and he had never bothered to change it. He decided to let it go and tapped out a response:
I don’t know. Something interesting.
It wasn’t a lie. He did click on this room out of genuine curiosity.
“Ah, you are clearly looking for a departure from the mundane. Something to titillate your senses and strike excitement into your heart! I get it, I get it,” the model nodded sagely.
He clapped his hands together like two decisive cymbals and said, “Well, you’ve come to the right place! I have prepared a treasure trove of wonders for tonight! A literal feast for your eyes!” The model reached over to grab the basket of produce and plopped it down heavily in front of him. A few delicate branches of grapes trembled a little from the shock.
Mobei Jun had no idea where this was going.
The model plucked a piece of fruit from the display and held it up to the camera. “Take a look at this marvel! Observe its delicate curve and the exquisite hue that rivals even the golden sun. Tell me, what do your eyes behold?”
Mobei Jun stared stonily at the screen, utterly unimpressed. He responded dryly:
A banana.
“Ah ah ah, not just any banana!” The model tutted, waving his finger in the air like a broken metronome. “A banana from the shores of Ecuador, flown in hardly 24 hours ago and ripened to perfection.” He flashed the banana from multiple angles, showing off its smooth skin and the faintest smattering of sugar spots. Mobei Jun was beginning to lose his patience.
I’m leaving.
The model’s eyes widened like saucers, and he hurriedly said, “Wait, wait! Don’t go, my king! Don’t you want to see what I can do with this wondrous fruit?” The model looked at the camera pleadingly, and against his better judgement, Mobei Jun took the bait.
Does it involve anything other than you running your mouth?
Seeing the fish had swam back to the hook, the model relaxed a little, and his lips lifted into a sunny smile. “Hehe, I was just building up suspense! I’m quite good with my mouth in more ways than one, you know. Shall I demonstrate for you, my king?”
The model leisurely stroked the banana up and down and rubbed it sensually against his cheek in a way Mobei Jun could only assume was meant to be suggestive but really just came across as deranged. He began to peel the banana in mind-numbingly slow increments, and after several excruciating seconds, Mobei Jun had had enough.
GET ON WITH IT.
“Eep!” The model could feel the full force of Mobei Jun’s ire even through text. He quickly finished peeling the banana and fully exposed the soft fruit inside. “Have patience, my king! I promise it’ll be worth your while.” The model proceeded to lick the length of the banana before wrapping his pink mouth around the tip.
His lips were plump and glistening wet and formed a beautiful “o” as they skillfully stretched to take more of the fruit in. He really does have a very nice mouth, Mobei Jun observed. When he’s not yapping. Mobei Jun could feel his cock begin to stir. He reached down and gave it a few firm tugs, feeling himself harden further as he watched the model contract his cheeks and suck with vigor and finesse. This is more like it, he thought. He momentarily closed his eyes to concentrate on the building tension, and he almost—
“HHHHHBLLERCCHHHH—”
—almost flayed his cock off as his hand slipped and his eyes shot wide open to witness the model straight up choking on the banana. He had flung the fruit to the side and was violently heaving and hacking full-bodied coughs, his face a disturbing shade of plum and eyes bulging like a bubble-eyed goldfish. He clung to the edge of the table, intermittently coughing and gasping for air and making a horrible noise that fell somewhere between a tortured chicken and a wronged donkey.
Mobei Jun sat there frozen, too shocked to react. With his upper half still bent over and head hanging down to the side, the model held up one wobbly finger to signify he needed a moment and all but crawled offscreen towards an unknown destination. He soon reappeared with a glass of water and clumsily chugged it down, splashing most of it down his chin. After several deep breaths and a few light wheezes for good measure, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said in a raspy voice, “Um…I choked.”
Mobei Jun was incredulous. No shit, he wanted to say, but even in his shock he recognized it wasn’t the most gracious response to someone who’d nearly met their end by way of perfidious plantain. Instead, he generously inquired:
Are you alive?
“Oh yes, I’m fine. More than fine! Nothing but a little hiccup,” the model said breezily, like he’d just suffered a minor papercut instead of an asphyxial episode. He waved his hand in a dismissive motion, and Mobei Jun watched warily as the model reached over again to the basket that had been shoved to the side.
“Who cares about bananas anyway? Such a cliché to bring one to a sex show, am I right?” He laughed. The model plunged his hand into the hapless pile of produce and pulled out another victim. “Now this is the true star of the show! Its rich coloring is the precise shade of mauve that adorned the royal figures of emperors past, sought after by master craftsmen and nobility alike. Its serpentine shape—”
Mobei Jun cut him off.
…an eggplant’s not cliché?
“Not at all!” The model said with a burst of confidence. “This isn’t your average eggplant. It’s a variant named for its stunning elegance and unparalleled beauty, the Oriental Charm. Unlike its unfortunately bulbous Western cousin, this dazzling gem boasts an elongated form, topped with a vibrant cap of shapely leav—YEOW!! God DAMN IT! That stings—!!”
With an unholy screech, the model dropped the eggplant like a hot piece of coal and brought his finger to his mouth to suck at it furiously, all the while taking small breaks to hurl strings of insults at the audacious aubergine.
“What kind of vegetable has hidden spikes on its leaves?!” The model ranted huffily. “I don’t even like eggplants. They’re spongy, they look like fat purple eels, and they’re botanically weird. Some people even say it’s a berry, and that’s just not right.”
Not for the first time that night, Mobei Jun wondered if he had in fact fallen asleep at the office and all the accumulated stress had finally manifested as a very concerning fever dream he might need to speak to the company therapist about.
Muttering darkly under his breath, the model went offscreen again and returned shortly with a bandaged finger and a glowering expression. But ever the professional, he quickly composed himself. He cleared his throat, and the consternation melted away like ice in the springtime, replaced by his best customer service smile, ready to do damage control.
“Please excuse the little mishap just now, my king,” he said with an apologetic tilt of his head. The model once again lifted the basket of produce, whose appearance was beginning to make Mobei Jun’s eye twitch in a Pavlovian response. “I promise this next one will be a showstopper!”
Next one? Mobei Jun felt a spike of alarm rush through him. Who knew what the model was going to pull out of his basket of horrors next? He recognized he needed to intervene quickly lest the night ended in a fatality, but before he could raise an objection in the chat, the model had plunged his good hand into the produce once again and drew out a bountiful branch of rotund green grapes. But he wasn’t done. This time he also ducked under the table and retrieved the bottle Mobei Jun had seen earlier.
The model plucked several grapes off the stem and carefully piled them on the table. He grinned at the camera and said, “I’ve never done this before, but it should work in theory! These are Autumn Crisps, produced in the Xinjiang region and known for the integrity of their exocarp and solidity.” The model pinched one of the grapes between his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate its firmness and continued shamelessly, “Traditional anal beads are so overrated. Why don’t we see how many of these little beauties I can fit into my hole instead?”
It was Mobei Jun’s turn to choke. He sputtered like a faulty sprinkler and barely had the wherewithal to type:
The grapes are going WHERE?
Mistaking Mobei Jun’s appalled outburst for concern, the model placated, “Don’t worry, my king! That’s what the oil is for. See?” He lightly swung the bottle Mobei Jun could now see was labeled as pure vegetable oil from side to side, and he watched the liquid swish around forebodingly, a distinct feeling of dread settling in.
The pressing thought that he ought to terminate this whole affair fleeted through his mind once more, but he was in too deep and the morbid curiosity was too great. This will end in nothing but disaster, he thought with regretful resignation and steeled himself for the worst.
The model didn’t disappoint. He uncapped the oil with a resounding pop and poured a generous amount over the palmful of grapes, rubbing them down like a child’s messy art project. Then he excitedly leaned in to allow the camera a better view.
And that was when catastrophe struck. In his clumsy haste, his shoulder bumped the bottle of oil as he angled forward, and he realized with mounting horror that he’d left the cap open. The bottle crashed onto the table, and an overflow of slick oil began pouring out in disastrous waves.
“SHIT!”
The model hurriedly reached out to right the bottle, but he unconsciously clenched his other fist in reactive panic, causing the grapes to shoot out of his grasp in every direction like little green bullets.
He yelped and immediately dropped to his knees to salvage the scattered grapes, but he ended up slipping on one of them, causing him to spectacularly faceplant and knock his leg against the table with full force. The shockwaves sent the bottle of oil careening once more, and it fell from the table, this time delivering its contents directly onto the hardwood floor where the model was lying in a haphazard mess of limbs.
He valiantly tried to rise to his feet, but the pool of oil had grown into a small lake in a blink of an eye. With a startled shout, he slipped backwards with flailing arms and painfully landed on his rump in a way Mobei Jun had only ever seen in the farcical cartoons of his childhood.
At that moment, a cheerful chime sounded to alert the room that a newcomer had joined.
User Peerless Cucumber entered the chat just as the model desperately grasped at the table like a lifeline. Unfortunately, the oil on his hands made them slip right off, and he immediately went down again with a piteous cry — like a sinking ship on its last throes, one leg flung in the air in tragic surrender. Another chime went off, and Mobei Jun looked over to the side of the screen.
Peerless Cucumber has left the chat.
Mobei Jun couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. He wished he’d also possessed the good sense to run for the hills the moment that cursed banana first made its appearance, but now he was stuck watching this one man circus play out because he couldn’t pull himself away from the trainwreck of it all.
This was truly the worst sex show he’d ever seen.
Still, as he watched the model skid across the floor on the world’s most unfortunate slip ‘n slide, woefully yowling, he wondered if maybe he’d gone for too long without any action because the model’s increasingly pathetic displays were somehow doing it for him. That or the fact that the model kept landing with his ass up in the air. It was hard to say.
“Oh good, you’re still here,” a weak voice tiredly called out. Face ruddied and panting like he’d just completed a marathon, the model had finally managed to hoist himself into a sitting position and was now slumped over the table like a limp rag. He lay there unmoving for what seemed like an eternity, and Mobei Jun was beginning to contemplate calling emergency services when the model snapped up like an overly wound spring toy, eyes manic and fully alert.
“My sincerest apologies for the intermission, my king!” He said with a level of exuberance that bordered on hysteria. “I’ve done some reflecting, and I realized I’ve gone about this all wrong. I should have known from the start that there was only one fruit worthy of a king such as yourself. Let’s not play any more games. Allow me to present the king of fruits —
Oh god, Mobei Jun thought. Surely he couldn’t mean —
“— the mighty durian!”
And there it was, pulled from god knows where and hefted up against the model’s shoulder in all its stinking, spikey glory, nature’s own organic wrecking ball. It was the most monstrous durian he'd ever laid eyes on, and he swore he could hear it cackling through the screen.
His mind screeched to a halt. Enough was enough. Every man had his limit, and Mobei Jun’s limit had long been reached, stomped on, and ground to dust.
The model froze as a deep voice boomed from the speakers:
“STOP.”
Mobei Jun couldn’t risk waiting any longer. He unmuted himself and commanded, “Put that down now.” The model stared like a deer caught in headlights, and when he didn’t immediately comply, Mobei Jun pitched his voice even lower and growled, “I said NOW.” The model gulped and unceremoniously dropped the behemoth of a fruit onto the floor with a reverberating thud. Good. Mobei Jun breathed out in relief.
“From now on, no more fruit. No vegetables, either,” Mobei Jun added, seeing the model open his mouth to protest.
The model frowned unhappily and said with an edge of disappointment, “But I’ve barely started!”
Mobei Jun heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, it’s almost 2 AM, I haven’t had a proper release in weeks, and I’ll be damned if I leave this room tonight still pent up. So how about this? If you just…I don’t know, jerk yourself off without any funny business, and I mean any — I’ll give you all of my tokens. Is that a deal?”
The model knitted his brows, and the corner of his mouth pinched in skepticism. Before he could fully consider the proposal, an obnoxious “cha-ching!” followed by the jarring sound effect of coins falling made him look up. His jaw dropped to the floor. The preposterous amount shining on his screen was enough to cover two, no, three months’ worth of rent and bills. He tried to work his mouth to respond, but the most he could manage was, “Buh…a-buh…buh…”
“Well?” Mobei Jun raised one brow. “Are we in accord?”
The model shut his mouth with an audible snap. Without a word, he stood up, raised the basket of fruit, and punted it across the room with the force of a cannonball. Something that sounded like glass shattering and the tinny sound of a man cursing floated in from the background. The model paid it no mind. He’d already shoved the table out of the way and had repositioned himself again in front of the camera, unperturbed and perfectly poised. “I am at your disposal, my king!”
“Hmph. Get on with it, then.”
The model lowered his head and proceeded to fumble with the drawstring of his shorts. His hands moved awkwardly and unsure, without any of the bravado from earlier. He seemed lost at sea without his props as a guiding force. With how slowly the model was going, Mobei Jun estimated it’d be dawn before he’d even make it past his underwear. He sighed and took the reins for both their sakes.
“Enough!” He barked. The model jerked his head up. “You’re moving like a snail. Just follow my instructions. Got it?” He ground out the last part as a thinly veiled threat, and the model flushed and gave a series of exaggerated nods. Mobei Jun noticed the model’s reddened cheeks and the way he squirmed and unconsciously rubbed his thighs together. He was beginning to suspect that the other man had a thing for being ordered around. I can work with that, he thought with a smirk and continued his list of demands.
“Now take off your pants – underwear, too. And be quick about it.” The model sprang to action and peeled off both layers in one easy motion, revealing the rest of his lean legs, which he automatically pressed closed to preserve some modesty. A little too late for that, Mobei Jun thought. He rolled his eyes and continued, “Spread your legs and show me how you touch yourself.”
The model swallowed thickly and hesitated just a moment before parting his legs to curl a hand around his cock. He stroked it without much flair, but the residual oil on his palms lent itself well in creating a deliciously smooth friction and he quickly started to harden. His breathing quickened, and he twisted his wrist in a way that made him throw his head back, arching his smooth neck.
Mobei Jun could feel his body responding as well. He took himself in hand and followed the model’s motions. “Touch the tip, too,” he instructed a little breathlessly. The model bit his lip and rubbed his thumb in slow circles around the head of his cock, pressing down with just enough pressure to draw out a needy whine. He was fully hard now. A bead of precum pearled at the tip of his cock and added to the slickness.
Mobei Jun began to pump himself with more urgency, and he groaned, filthy and low. The model visibly shivered. He shut his eyes tight, and gasped shakily, “I-I think I’m close, I’m gonna –”
“Not yet,” Mobei Jun warned. “Not until I say so.” The model looked at the camera with watery eyes but nodded to show he understood. “Good,” Mobei Jun praised. He was pretty close to the edge himself. He grit his teeth and gripped the base of his cock to stave off his own release. “Get some more oil – that’s it. Bend over and finger yourself. Don’t stop touching the front.”
The model obediently got on his knees and turned so that the camera captured his body in full. He bent forward and invitingly lifted his ass high in the air, before reaching back and pressing one oil-slicked finger to his entrance and slowly pushing in, all the while continuing to gracelessly jerk himself off. The initial stretch was tight, but the oil made the slide much easier to accommodate. Soon, he had two fingers pumping in rhythm with the thrusts he made into his own fist.
Mobei Jun drank in the image. The model was flushed prettily from his face down to his neck. He was slack-jawed, eyes glassy and unfocused – his head hung in submission as he panted into the floorboards. A fine tremor ran through the length of his body as he steadily approached his limit, and he made a keening noise as his fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive area. His movements faltered.
“Keep going. Don’t stop,” Mobei Jun bit out. His cock was heavy and pulsing in his hand, and he could feel the coiled tension low in his belly, ready to come undone at any moment. It was time to end this.
“How does it feel?” He demanded, stroking himself faster. “It’s not enough, right? You need something bigger.”
The model took in a shuddering breath. “Y-yes…”
“If I were there, I’d stuff you so full no toy would ever be able to satisfy you again.” Mobei Jun was too lost in the headiness of his pleasure to filter himself, his words a loose tumble. “You thought that eggplant was impressive? I’m just as long and twice as thick. I would break you. I would make you scream.”
And the model very nearly did, a stifled whimper escaping from him as he bit down on his bottom lip. He’d added another finger to mimic the promise of more. Mobei Jun groaned. “Are you close? Are you going to come?” He challenged. The model could barely respond. It took all his effort to manage a wavering nod.
“Do it. Come for me.” And the model let go with a startled cry, coming all over his hand and splattering across the floorboards. Mobei Jun followed right after, the release hitting him like a force of nature, wringing everything out of him. For a while, nothing but the staggered sound of both men fighting for air could be heard.
As Mobei Jun slowly came down from the high and the blood in his body redistributed itself, a sated feeling settled down into his core. The model seemed to be in a similar state. With a slight wince, he sluggishly righted himself to lean against the wall.
However, misfortune seemed to be a constant shadow hovering over the model’s shoulder. He had unknowingly placed his hand right onto a spot of oil he'd missed from earlier, and his arm slipped right out from under him, sending him crashing towards the floor. He scarcely had time to register what was happening before his cheek landed directly on the thick, unforgiving spikes of the long-forgotten durian. Wailing like a banshee, the model leapt up, the side of his face now sporting several bleeding polka dots, and he violently kicked out in pain.
The last thing Mobei Jun observed was the model yelling “HOLY SH-” with a look of abject fear and a large shadow falling across the screen before the footage was completely cut off. The camera went black and the words “Stream Ended” appeared in bold white lettering.
Mobei Jun stared at the screen blankly. He blinked twice. Then he silently closed his laptop, wiped himself down with a fistful of tissues, and settled down to sleep.
The next morning, Mobei Jun woke up feeling lighter than he’d been in weeks. Thick sunbeams were beginning to seep through the blinds like golden liquid, hinting it was close to midday. He got up, stretched out his limbs, and went through the rest of his morning routine. He cast a glance at the clock as he pulled out a neatly pressed suit from his extensive wardrobe. It was just past noon. Plenty of time to make his way back to the war zone.
Mobei Jun stepped out of the apartment with his hair perfectly coiffed and his full-grain leather briefcase slung over one shoulder. He normally had a car called to the front to take him directly to the office, but today he felt an impulse to stray from routine. He crossed the street down to the MRT and rode the train to the stop right before his office, where a bustling morning market was beginning to wind down.
A good number of stalls had already sold through their wares and were in various stages of packing up, but many were still going strong, eager to make sales up until the final hour. The cacophony of people haggling, crates being slammed onto damp concrete, and plastic bags rustling all melded into a singular din around him. Even though the market was hardly three miles away from where Cangqiong’s headquarters stood, it felt like stepping into a different world, completely removed from the grandiose cityscape he was used to.
His polished oxfords crunched against loose gravel as he shuffled his way through the crowd. He watched as a fishmonger descaled a grass carp with agile precision for a young housewife laden with shopping bags. To his left was a red-faced man boisterously trying to convince an indecisive customer to take another box of mung bean cakes for half the price. A throng of students bit into their gleaming tanghulu and tittered in delight as the sweetness spread across their tongues.
Dozens of stands were selling all kinds of freshly made dishes that smelled absolutely divine. The mouthwatering aroma of steamed pork and fried dough made him stop to purchase half a dozen snowy shen jian bao from an elderly lady with crescent eyes and a Hello Kitty clip nestled in her gray hair. She threw in a couple extra with a saucy wink, insisting that “strong men” like him needed to eat more. The spiced meat and savory broth filled his mouth with a burst of flavor, and he marveled at the simultaneously pillow-soft and crisp texture of the dough. He made short work of the steaming soup dumplings, and just as he tossed the paper box in a nearby bin and rounded the corner, an oddly familiar voice cut through the chatter of the crowd.
“Look at the way the gold and crimson blend together like a lustrous brocade. Have you ever seen apples as fine as these? Won’t you take a couple more? Your mother in law is sure to be impressed by such an auspicious arrangement of fruit!”
Mobei Jun snapped his head around, and he immediately honed in on the source of the voice. No way, he thought, completely stunned. A cheery young man with a patch of white gauze plastered across his right cheek was finishing up a sale and handing some change to a satisfied office lady.
It was the model.
The young man felt Mobei Jun’s gaze on him like a sixth sense, and he looked up and locked eyes with a very, very attractive businessman. The man was tall and built like a house, with a domineering countenance and a sharp, icy gaze that made his stomach do a little flip. Eye candy aside, however, it was his personal philosophy to never let a potential customer pass him by, and it was one he took very seriously. The young man leaned over the display table and called out to Mobei Jun with a dazzling smile and an enthusiastic wave of his hand.
“Good afternoon, sir! Are you looking for some fresh produce? You have an eye for quality, I can tell! I have a new shipment of bananas from the shores of Ecuador, flown in hardly 24 hours ago—”
“It’s you!” Mobei Jun gasped, finally recovering his voice. He was standing directly in front of the stand now, pointing an accusatory finger at the stall keeper.
“It’s me?” The young man asked with a puzzled expression.
“From last night. With the…” —Mobei Jun swept a glance at the other man’s bandaged cheek and lowered his voice— “...durian.”
He watched as realization slowly dawned on the stall keeper and his expression morphed from complete bewilderment to outright horror.
“Oh my god, you’re that guy–!!” He squeaked, and he slapped both palms over his own mouth, afraid to let anything else slip.
“You sell produce?” Mobei Jun asked incredulously. He was starting to put two and two together, but his head was reeling too much to complete the equation.
“Er…yes. Or, well, actually this is my grandmother’s stand. She twisted her ankle a few days ago, so I’ve been helping out where I can.”
Mobei Jun pointedly looked down at the beautiful rainbow of fruits and vegetables and raised a brow. “So is this your kink or…?”
It took a moment for the implication to register, but the young man quickly shook his head, appalled. “What? No, I’ve never—! It was my first time streaming, and a friend suggested that I try using sex toys. To spice things up, you know?” The model gave a weary sigh. “But I’m flat broke, and all I had was some leftover produce from the day before, so I just improvised.” He stopped and frowned. “Speaking of which, he said he’d drop by to help bump up my numbers, but I don’t think I saw him at all—”
“Wait. It really was your first time streaming?” Mobei Jun interrupted.
The young man nodded earnestly. “Oh, yes, I overheard some college girls talking about it. I do some writing here and there, but it doesn’t really pay the bills, so I thought why not? It was kind of a shitshow, though.” He scratched his uninjured cheek in embarrassment and suddenly paused. “Wait, you’re not here for a refund, are you?”
Mobei Jun ignored the question. “Will you stream again tonight?” He blurted out before he could stop himself.
“Huh?”
“Will you go online tonight?” He asked again. Mobei Jun didn’t know what he was thinking. There was no reason to encourage another stream session. It really had been a shitshow. But his head was filled with the other man’s brazen shamelessness and the underlying mischievousness of his cheeky grin, and he had no choice but to admit he’d been completely lured in. “I’ll request a private session,” he pressed. “I’ll buy more tokens.”
The young man’s eyes widened in surprise. Then he grimaced and said, “Sorry, but I think my streaming career is over. Between you and me, I have a dozen new bruises, a cracked video camera, and a concussed neighbor who’s threatening to sic his very temperamental chow chow on me. I figured I should probably quit while I’m ahead.”
Mobei Jun felt a pang of disappointment. He took the rejection for what it was and nodded stiffly, only the slightest pull of his lips giving away his dejection. A series of sharp beeps sounded from the alarm on his phone. The next train to Lujiazui would be arriving soon, and it was as good a time as any to head out. If he left now, he might even have time to file the monthly systems report before Sha Hualing spiraled into a meltdown again.
He was about to walk back to the station when he heard an urgent “wait!” and felt a hand curl around his wrist and tug insistently. He turned around and saw the other man beaming brightly at him with a neat, white card held out.
“My cam show days are over, but that doesn’t mean I’m not free for dinner,” he said with a hopeful look. Mobei Jun took the proffered card and read: Shang Qinghua, Novelist, +86 520-9346-8850.
Shang Qinghua. He finally had a name. The corner of Mobei Jun’s mouth ticked upwards, and he tucked the card safely away in his pocket. “I’ll pick you up at 7:30 sharp,” he said authoritatively, leaving no room for argument. “Don’t be late. I hate tardiness.”
Shang Qinghua’s face split into a thousand watt grin. “Perfect! Let’s get yang chun mian!” He cheerfully suggested. “I know a place that makes their own noodles, and their soup—”
As Mobei Jun listened to Shang Qinghua prattle on and on about the virtues of hand-pulled noodles and slow-cooked bone broth with unbridled passion, he couldn’t help but mirror the other party’s wide smile and decided that Sha Hualing could wait a little longer for that systems report after all.