Chapter 91 090. Singing
Colorful lights flickered inside the private KTV room. In the dim, hazy atmosphere, the half-drunk group grew increasingly unrestrained, letting loose emotions normally kept tightly bottled up.
Chen Junjie stood alone in front of the TV, gripping a microphone, belting out “Brother, Just Hug Me” with such throat-shredding intensity that, amplified through the speakers, his voice boomed like thunder—deafening and overwhelming.
An Han slumped against the sofa, cradling an empty liquor bottle, cheeks flushed crimson, eyes hazy as he watched Chen Junjie sway and shout. He hiccuped occasionally and kept yawning.
He’d drunk too fast—and hadn’t eaten anything to line his stomach.
Glancing at the scattered bottles on the table, his sluggish brain couldn’t even calculate how many he’d actually downed.
“An Han, stop drinking,” Su Peng, seated beside him, said with concern. “You’re not doing well tonight—look how red your face is.”
“It’s fine! It’s Long Ge’s birthday! I’m happy!”
An Han flung his arm out, suddenly energized, and sat upright—only to sway and collapse directly into Su Peng’s lap.
Oh no—he was actually drunk!
That thought slammed into him. He forced his heavy eyelids open and looked toward Long Xing—only to find the guy still full of energy, wrestling Chen Junjie for the mic.
When the hell did your alcohol tolerance get this good?!
Normally, An Han always projected an image of high tolerance in front of his roommates. If he pretended to pass out after just a few bottles, they’d see right through it. He’d aimed to stay *just* tipsy enough to act outrageously—but now, he’d genuinely overdone it.
“He!” An Han, lying sideways across Su Peng’s thighs, pointed accusingly at Long Xing. “I’m already drunk, and he’s still completely fine~”
His voice came out soft and slurred, unexpectedly cute—like a tiny newborn kitten mewing.
“Long Xing doesn’t chug bottles like you do,” Su Peng sighed, exasperated, looking down at the drunken mess in his lap. “You really overdid it this time?”
“How much did I drink…? So sleepy… no strength…”
Half the empty bottles were probably his.
As far as Su Peng could recall, this was the first time An Han had ever drunk to this extent.
Drowsiness pulled at his eyelids. His mind went blank for two seconds—then everything turned into fog. His limbs felt boneless, as if all his strength had been drained away.
Yet his consciousness hadn’t fully slipped. After a sluggish pause, he began trying to push himself up.
He couldn’t stay this close to Su Peng.
This guy already had over 90 affection toward him—lying on his lap was like resting your head on a live grenade.
His brain strained to stay awake, racing with random thoughts to prevent blacking out. His hand fumbled around, searching for something solid to push against and lift himself up.
Was drinking this much really an accident? Or had the pressure from the system built up for so long that he’d subconsciously used alcohol to vent his bottled-up stress?
Su Peng’s body felt so warm… and his thighs were just the right mix of firm and soft—actually a really comfortable pillow…
His palm found the sofa edge. With a sudden burst of effort, he tried to rise—but his body flopped back down heavily.
His hand slipped right off the cushion’s edge…
“Stop wriggling—does that hurt?” Su Peng asked, half-amused, half-worried. “You’re not seriously trying to get up for more drinks, are you? Just sleep it off.”
Meanwhile, Long Xing finally snatched the mic and launched into “A Flower That Walks Freely”—singing in his signature, kidney-deficient style.
It was a beautiful song ruined beyond recognition. Not a single note was in tune. His voice was grating, weak, and painfully off-key—yet he sang with full emotional investment, utterly convinced of his own artistry. His performance was practically lethal to the ears.
Lying on Su Peng’s lap, An Han clamped both hands over his ears, trying desperately to block out the noise—but the speakers gave him no mercy. No matter how tightly he pressed, the sound still pierced through.
“Long Xing’s musical bacteria must be off the charts,” Su Peng muttered with a chuckle. He glanced down at An Han’s pained expression, hesitated for a moment, then gently placed his own hands over An Han’s—adding extra insulation against the auditory assault.
An Han’s hands were ice-cold—like freshly pulled soda cans—and surprisingly small. Su Peng’s palms easily covered them completely. They felt soft and delicate, like holding a block of silken tofu—so fragile he feared squeezing too hard might break them.
Lowering his head, Su Peng studied An Han’s face up close. His bangs had slid to the sides, revealing a pale, slightly wide forehead dotted with faint, barely visible pimples.
An Han’s eyes were tightly shut, long lashes fluttering occasionally to reveal glimpses of dark irises beneath. His brows were knotted, his nose slightly scrunched, his whole expression radiating irritation.
Clearly, even Su Peng’s help hadn’t fully silenced Long Xing’s sonic torture.
“IT’S SO HORRIBLE!” An Han suddenly shrieked at the top of his lungs, jerking upright. “SHUT UP!”
Long Xing froze mid-lyric, mouth hanging open, blinking in confusion as he turned—and finally noticed An Han clutching his ears on Su Peng’s lap.
He scratched his head awkwardly. “Is it really that bad…?”
Su Peng gave a silent, solemn nod. Chen Junjie looked stunned—no one expected An Han to be so tactless.
“Come on, it’s Long Ge’s birthday! What’s wrong with singing a song?” Chen Junjie quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “He’s just drunk and sensitive to noise, that’s all.”
An Han snapped his eyes open, suddenly feeling a surge of energy. He pushed off Su Peng’s thighs—only to realize, with dawning horror, where his hand had just landed.
He glanced at Su Peng, who had gone pale, curled forward, and was grimacing in obvious pain.
But An Han’s foggy brain quickly dismissed the incident. Rising unsteadily, he staggered toward Long Xing, stopping right in front of him. He tilted his head up defiantly, hands on hips, and demanded: “Hand over the mic! I’ll sing!”
【Long Xing’s affection toward you –3】
Long Xing frowned slightly—but was instantly disarmed by An Han’s flushed, stubborn little face glaring up at him. He couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m not! How could I be drunk!”
It worked! He’d already canceled out the affection he’d gained earlier!
Of course—Long Xing, the ultimate face-saver, would lose major points when publicly interrupted like this!
“If you weren’t drunk, you’d never sing,” Long Xing teased.
“I’m NOT drunk!” An Han insisted stubbornly, then added with exaggerated arrogance, “Let me show you what real singing sounds like! No—let me teach all of you!”
He snatched the mic, swept a haughty gaze across the room—completely ignoring Su Peng, still hunched over in agony—and declared: “Everyone here is trash!”
“Give it a rest,” Chen Junjie scoffed from beside Wang Sheng, crossing his legs and taking a swig. “We haven’t heard you sing once in over two years. Don’t push yourself just ’cause you’re drunk.”
He turned to Su Peng. “Hey, why aren’t you keeping him in check? What’s wrong—stomach cramp? Why’re you curled up like that—”
But before he could finish—
A voice like willow branches swaying in a spring breeze—soft, melodious, hauntingly feminine—cut him off mid-sentence.
Chen Junjie slowly turned his head, eyes wide.
There stood An Han, swaying gently with the rhythm, singing the second half of “A Flower That Walks Freely.”
Completely uninhibited, thoroughly drunk—An Han had finally let go of every last restraint.
Poor su peng😹