Comrade: Almost a Cat-astrophic Love Story

It was a nap that was unbeatably comfortable.

In his dream, he was a teenager again. He fell ill, and the Genius Buddy from next door was more anxious than he was. Genius Buddy embraced him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

The embrace felt safe and warm.

It was like he felt at that moment.

Pei Zhen sighed in contentment, unconsciously twitched a little, and then gave another soft sigh.

It came from the top of his head.

His brain told him—that was not you sighing.

Who was it then?

Pei Zhen was startled and broke out in cold sweat, and his eyes snapped open in a flash. A dashing face that could send millions of girls shrieking registered in his vision—the face belonging to Fu Sichen.

“Damn!”

In a rage, and without a second thought, Pei Zhen’s hand curled into a tight fist and delivered a vicious punch!

And so, Fu Sichen’s peaceful sleep didn’t last very long.

In the first hour of Pei Zhen’s sleep, Fu Sichen was staring at his face as if he’d never tire of it.

In the next hour of Pei Zhen’s sleep, Fu Sichen embraced the sleeping Pei Zhen and couldn’t bear to let go for a moment.

“Great. Now I don’t even have to think about filming.” Reflected in the mirror was a pathetic-looking Fu Sichen with a black eye. “Pei Zhen, last time I offended half the entertainment circle.”

With the damage done to his dashing face, Fu Sichen expected that he’d offend the other half of his fans.

No filming, no assignments—Pei Zhen had to bear the responsibility.

“Huh.” Pei Zhen angrily stuck his knife and fork into his piece of steak. “Haven’t you already gotten yourself so ahead in the game by becoming a producer?”

Why would a producer need to be involved in acting?

What a lousy way to try to gain sympathy points.

He threw a mocking glance at Fu Sichen and continued struggling with his steak.

Although annoyed by Fu Sichen’s sudden return to the apartment, the fact was that Fu Sichen’s culinary skills were peerless. Pei Zhen was hankering for his cooking. After the meal, he’d burn the bridge and kick Fu Sichen out of the apartment!

The pan-fried steak was golden-brown, and its aroma infiltrated every crevice. Pei Zhen was starving when he woke up.

“Here, have mine instead.” Fu Sichen pushed his plate of cut-up steak in front of Pei Zhen in exchange for Pei Zhen’s mutilated piece of meat. “You must be hungry.”

Apart from the occasional lack in EQ, Fu Sichen excelled in almost everything else.

Great culinary skills aside, even the piece of steak was neatly cut. For whatever reasons, shame or otherwise, Pei Zhen turned red as he looked at the piece of steak in front of him.

“Didn’t you say you weren’t coming back?” He ate a few pieces of the steak, and it was very tender. It was as good as those found in restaurants of five-star hotels. He continued, “You lied to me.”

Fu Sichen didn’t look up. “Yes, I lied. I wanted to see you, and sleep with you.”

Pei Zhen was stunned into silence.

The frankness and transparency hit him like an oncoming ball at high speed. Pei Zhen couldn’t react in time and almost lost his defense.

“You!” Pei Zhen’s heart rate rose, and the tips of his ears turned a bright scarlet. He threw down his fork. “Fu Sichen, do you think I don’t dare to hit you!”

Fu Sichen slowly wiped his mouth. “Of course you dare to. The only question is if you’ll win the fight.”

The disdain in his attitude and his arrogant manner irritated the Little Brat Pei so much that in a rush of adrenaline he charged violently at Fu Sichen.

He wasn’t going to take that sitting down!

Little Brat Pei wouldn’t remain calm; he got up and threw himself at Fu Sichen, punching and kicking. The two wrestled each other in a vicious battle from the dining table to the floor, and even the Persian cat meowed in fright.

“Bastard!” Arm-twisted and unable to break free, Pei Zhen was being subdued and lying on top of Fu Sichen. His other hand grabbed Fu Sichen’s shirt collar, and his expression was indignant, as though he would do anything to give Fu Sichen a good round of punching to vent his anger.

“Don’t you regret provoking me?”