Chapter 26: The Apology of a Primary School Student (Requesting Monthly Tickets, Follows, and Collections)

I fucking hate this.

Gao Feng saw the office door had been pried open, and also saw that all the glass doors of the display cabinets inside were open.

Seeing the display cabinets had been broken into, Gao Feng was completely stunned.

The thief who came to mess up the company really isn’t afraid of going to jail, right? How dare he touch those purple clay teapots?

Purple clay teapots aren’t necessarily expensive, but anything placed in a display cabinet is surely a collector’s favorite.

So when Gao Feng saw someone messing with the purple clay teapots in the display cabinet, his face turned pale.

To Gao Feng, the purple clay teapots were like the sexy big-breasted figurines an otaku keeps locked in a display case.

While Gao Feng was away, someone tampered with his teapots—his conduct was no less despicable than cheating on his wife.

I fucking hate this! They touched my wife!

Gao Feng didn’t care about anything else—he rushed back to the front of the display cabinet and saw all the teapots were still there, their lids not swapped. He let out a shaky breath of relief.

But then he noticed something: every single purple clay teapot had been moved.

Gao Feng froze, his arm trembling slightly as he touched one teapot, shook its body, and confirmed its weight was normal—no shit or piss inside.

No shit poured into my teapots, no lids hidden away… then…

!!!

Gao Feng noticed the spout’s color was wrong—his finger brushed the rim and felt no smoothness, only the texture of plastic.

I fucking hate this! They glued glue to my wife’s spout!

Gao Feng’s expression twisted as he checked each teapot one by one—all their spouts were coated in glue.

And the tea cup bases he collected? They’d been glued solid to the display cabinet with glue poured inside.

I fucking hate this—

Gao Feng turned pale, his limbs going weak; he staggered back and collapsed onto the boss’s chair.

But the moment he sat down, he realized something was wrong.

He felt something hard beneath his ass—and some kind of liquid oozing out.

An Sheng had placed all the leftover glue under Gao Feng’s office seat cushion.

While placing the glue, An Sheng worried the 502 wouldn’t stick Gao Feng’s asshole shut, so he made a special modification.

One bottle of 502 glue contained a long nozzle for dripping glue, and a main body with a glue outlet.

An Sheng didn’t unscrew the long nozzle—he loosened the connection between the nozzle and the bottle body and hid them inside the chair.

When someone sat down, the gravitational force would inevitably crush the unstable joint and squeeze out the glue inside.

Gao Feng now had 502 glue all over his crotch.

By the time Gao Feng felt the burning sensation of 502 on his skin, it was already too late.

His ass and underwear were welded together.

His scrotum had also gotten glued.

Gao Feng’s face went blank; he clutched his overheating balls and collapsed to the floor on his knees.

The burning sensation from the glue touching his skin wasn’t high.

But Gao Feng felt excruciating pain.

His heart bled—he knew he’d soon need to go to the hospital for bomb disposal and butt cleanup.

Ah Dong! Go to the surveillance room! Check the cloud files!

I want to know which goddamn bandit I pissed off to pull this shit on me! Gao Feng clenched his ass and roared toward the second-floor office.

He couldn’t unclench now—his crack and scrotum were all glued together.

Any sudden movement would pop his balls.

Gao Feng roared in fury, his voice echoing through the building—he’d find out who the hell was doing this to him.

Huh? The boss’s surveillance computer won’t turn on.

Weird—did someone remove the hard drive? No, it’s still inside, perfectly fine.

An employee from the consulting firm crouched under the desk, opened the case side panel, and stared blankly at the inside.

Finally, with no other option, he prepared to remove the entire case and shine a light inside.

Then—

He found the power cable wouldn’t come unplugged.

You fucking animal! You glued the power plug? Fine, you glued it—but why the hell didn’t you plug it in properly after?

Boss! The toilet’s clogged! Someone tampered with the toilet tank—it’s continuously running water!

Clogged? Call a plumber! Why call me? Do you expect me to unclog the toilet? Gao Feng roared.

No, boss—the man stammered—today we came in too early, lots of people hadn’t gone to the bathroom yet, so they came straight to the company.

The toilet’s full of strawberry tarts.

The toilet was clogged, filled with shit, and the flush button seemed broken—it kept running water.

All three problems happened at once.

Gao Feng’s pupils dilated in shock: You mean the shit’s overflowing?

The strawberry tarts got blended by the flush— the man’s face was tear-streaked—the fecal water has invaded the office and is now flowing downstairs.

I fucking hate this— Gao Feng felt the world spin, his vision went black, and he collapsed to the floor.

Someone come quick! Fecal water’s flooding the surveillance room! The boss passed out—I can’t drag him!

………………

Across from Gao Feng’s consulting firm, in the Four Joy Tea House on Changle Street.

Mmmmm—

An Sheng, barely full, wore a cunning expression as he shielded his own plate, watching Chen Peipei reach for a fist-sized beef ball, his lips curling slightly.

Now was the time to unleash the charm technique he’d learned from musical notes!

Hm?

Chen Peipei smiled as she watched the fox lean forward, trying to bite the big meatball, and said: Good little fox gets meat if it sits properly.

But An Sheng didn’t sit—he revealed the plate he’d been hiding.

Instead, he carefully turned sideways, letting out a soft, tentative mmm, then opened his mouth and bit the edge of the meatball with his canine teeth.

The fox bit into the meatball—but perfectly avoided Chen Peipei’s chopsticks.

His careful posture made it clear the little fox was putting in tremendous effort to dodge her chopsticks, looking pitifully adorable.

Mmmmm—

An Sheng returned with the meatball, sat down, and looked at Chen Peipei, letting out cheerful mmm sounds.

Hahaha—Chen Peipei paused, then smiled warmly, feeling pity; she glared at her daughter:

You little brat, did you hit Xiao An’s mouth with chopsticks at home? Otherwise, why’s our little fox so scared of chopsticks?

Huh?

Yu Xueqing, mid-bite into a char siu bun, choked, her face full of confusion as she stared at her mother.

Mmmmm—

An Sheng rushed over, grabbed Yu Xueqing, and kept whispering mmm sounds to her:

Qing, don’t speak! Don’t you see I’m working hard to charm our family’s wallet? Our next meal—rice or porridge—depends on this one act.

Mmmmm～ Master, don’t argue. If you’re still hungry, Xiao An will go hunt outside for you.

An Sheng’s fox-speak, translated by Yu Xueqing’s innate machine-translation talent, didn’t sound elegant or refined—but the core meaning was unmistakably cute and pleading.

An Sheng was going all out to convince Chen Peipei to raise the allowance for Yu Xueqing and himself.

He deployed every sly fox trick he’d seen in the musical notes.

Chen Peipei was delighted—had she not needed to return to open her tea shop, she’d have played with Xiao An all day.

After breakfast.

Old Chen paid the bill: 530 yuan.

Just before leaving the tea house, An Sheng signaled to Old Chen for paper and pen.

Old Chen, puzzled, complied. His wife watched silently the whole time.

She knew how dangerous this fox was.

Mmmmm—

An Sheng got into Old Chen’s car and, while Yu Xueqing was saying goodbye to her parents, wrote on the paper:

Uncle, I’m sorry. I’m a fourth-grade elementary student. We had a summer running assignment and accidentally scratched your car.

But don’t worry, uncle—we just secretly painted over the scratch with a black marker while no one was looking. It’s completely invisible now.

Sorry, uncle. We’re off to run now.

Huh?

Old Chen stared blankly at An Sheng’s writing—not because the fox could write, but because of what it said.

But in the next instant, he instantly understood—he looked across the street at Gao Feng’s jet-black, unregistered Porsche Panamera.

It was a brand-new car, extremely new,

so new Gao Feng hadn’t even gotten license plates yet.

To a man, a car was no less than a beloved wife.

Oh my god—Old Chen stared in awe at the cunning, vengeful fox, silently marveling inside: Last time I gave him roast chicken really paid off.

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(End of chapter)