FOBTS CH7

In the consultation room, the doctor waited for a while without receiving a response and patiently asked again, “Mr. Jian?”

Jian Yuheng steadied himself and spoke, “It feels like being submerged in a pool of water, unable to swim to the other side…”

The doctor began taking notes.

“A broken door crackles, and no flowers of focus bloom on the wooden carvings…”

The doctor’s brow furrowed.

“The accumulated words receive no reply…”

Snap. The tip of the doctor’s pen broke.

You don’t understand, do you? That’s exactly right. Jian Yuheng chuckled softly.

Let’s rewind, and I’ll rephrase.

At the hospital entrance, by the bus stop, Song Ruochen stared at the departing bus, his vision going black.

[Excuse me?]

[The bus turned back; can’t you turn back too?]

Song Ruochen: “…”

[Still going back?]

[Want to race your pre-rewind self again?]

“Shut up, shut up,” Song Ruochen said. “I’ll wait for the next one.”

Back in the consultation room, the smile on Jian Yuheng’s face gradually faded, shifting instead to the doctor’s face.

“Mr. Jian.” The doctor handed over a report. “Your brain’s physiological metrics are all normal, and the scale values are also normal. Here is your diagnosis.”

Jian Yuheng opened the diagnosis results.

Hmm, hmm, hmm. 🙂 On such-and-such a date, at such-and-such a hospital, he was diagnosed as… a poet.

“Any other questions?” the doctor asked kindly.

“No,” Jian Yuheng replied as he stood up and left the consultation room.

He walked through the corridor. Near the health check center, several nurses were chatting.

“Where’s that omega from earlier?” the head nurse asked. “Wasn’t he going to do a genetic disease test?”

“This test requires a family member to accompany him,” a nurse replied. “He said he’d come back next time.”

When Jian Yuheng reached the hospital entrance, a heavy rainstorm poured down. Gong Huo stood at the door, holding an umbrella.

“Boss, let’s go.” The 1.8-meter-tall assistant Gong opened the umbrella.

Standing at 1.93 meters, Jian Yuheng suddenly felt a bit faint.

A scene from the surveillance footage he had seen earlier flashed before his eyes: Secretary Song precisely opened an umbrella to shield Yan Ci from splashing water.

Assistant Gong tripped on his foot.

“What’s wrong?” Jian Yuheng asked.

“I suddenly felt the threat of being laid off,” Gong Huo replied.

The rain poured down in torrents.

The bus stop’s canopy was small, providing only a tiny area of shelter. Song Ruochen kept dodging and eventually pressed himself against the edge of the advertisement board.

“Can you turn into an umbrella?” Song Ruochen asked.

[I’m a coin pouch, not a convenience store.]

Song Ruochen: “Didn’t you have a knife last time?”

[That was a privately stashed little toy.]

A gust of wind swept up the rain, soaking half of Song Ruochen. The rain in this season was chilly, and he shivered immediately.

Beep—beep—

A car horn honked.

A familiar car stopped in front of him, and the window rolled down to reveal Jian Yuheng’s face.

“Get in,” Jian Yuheng said.

Song Ruochen: “No.”

Who would want to get in the villain’s car?

“You added me on WeChat. Got something to say?” Jian Yuheng asked. “Get in and talk.”

Only then did Song Ruochen remember—right, there was something. The Jian family’s banquet tonight; he hadn’t had the chance to invite Jian Yuheng yet.

Soaked with 50% rainwater, Song Ruochen climbed into the car. The windows blocked out the sound of the rain, and the warm interior allowed him to let out a long sigh of relief.

“If you’re hitching a ride, don’t just sit there,” said Gong Huo from the driver’s seat. “Secretary Song, come drive.”

Just as Song Ruochen was about to get up, Jian Yuheng pushed him back down.

“Sit,” Jian Yuheng said. “I have someone else for driving.”

He didn’t want another rocket-launch start.

Gong Huo smoothly drove the car away.

“Let’s hear it,” Jian Yuheng said, turning his gaze to the person sitting properly beside him. “What do you need me for?”

“To welcome you back to the country,” Song Ruochen replied. “Tonight, President Jian asked me to prepare a family banquet to celebrate your return.”

“Hmm.” Jian Yuheng responded absentmindedly, “Where is it?”

Song Ruochen named a restaurant.

Jian Yuheng raised an eyebrow. “Why this place?”

“The restaurant has a modern style that suits your vibe, Second Young Master. Its name also aligns with the warm atmosphere of a family dinner,” Song Ruochen explained. “The restaurant has lots of food, the hall is spacious, and it has guests and waitstaff…”

Jian Yuheng: “…?”

Half of the omega’s white shirt was soaked by rain, turning semi-transparent and clinging to his slender shoulders and back.

The tips of Song Ruochen’s hair were damp, and a small droplet of water slid down his neck, leaving a trail along his fair collarbone.

“Oh, right.” Unable to continue, Song Ruochen changed the subject. “I’ve updated your personal information in the company’s records.”

“Thanks for your hard work,” Jian Yuheng said. “Please update it again.”

Song Ruochen: “Why? Did the Second Young Master grow a year younger?”

“My hobbies,” Jian Yuheng said. “Delete them. Leave it blank.”

Song Ruochen: “?”

“Then I wish you an early discovery of a new hobby,” Song Ruochen said.

The car stopped at the entrance of Xiaoshi Group. Song Ruochen took the elevator upstairs and went to the office of the original novel’s male lead.

Jian Feng wasn’t there, but Yan Ci was sitting at the desk, live-streaming a match-three game.

“The streamer isn’t blind,” Yan Ci said. “Clear the right side; there’ll be a chain reaction.”

Hearing the door open, Yan Ci glanced up.

“Secretary Song is back?” Yan Ci said. “Today’s dessert is pineapple cupcakes.”

Song Ruochen: “?”

He felt like this guy kept stealing his lines.

But he was indeed hungry, so Song Ruochen decided to have a few bites.

“During my stream today, my brother called to scold me, and I yelled back at him,” Yan Ci said.

“What did he say?” Song Ruochen asked.

“He said: ‘Shameless, shameless, shameless,’” Yan Ci said sadly.

“What did you say back?” Song Ruochen asked.

“I said, ‘You’re the shameless one,’” Yan Ci replied.

“Progress,” Song Ruochen commented. “But next time, if he says ‘shameless, shameless, shameless’ again…”

Song Ruochen continued, “Tell him: ‘Transfer me to a human representative.’”

Yan Ci: “…”

In this ABO world, their understanding of scents was unparalleled, and the food they made was increasingly delicious.

One pineapple cupcake put Song Ruochen in an exceptionally good mood.

“Secretary Song,” Yan Ci said, “stop eating for a moment. Why are your clothes so wet?”

“The bus drove too fast,” Song Ruochen replied.

Yan Ci: “?”

“Don’t keep wearing them.” Yan Ci moved the cupcake plate away. “You’ll get sick, and it’ll be awful.”

The fork in Song Ruochen’s hand stabbed at empty air, and he vaguely heard the coin pouch in his mind tallying his account.

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” Song Ruochen said.

“I have some.” Yan Ci stood up and pulled a suitcase from the corner of the office. “We’re about the same height; if it fits me, it’ll fit you.”

“This one’s new.” Yan Ci rummaged through the suitcase.

“Madam,” Song Ruochen asked curiously, “why do you keep such a big suitcase in President Jian’s office?”

He had seen it several times when he came to work.

“It’s for convenience when I need to storm out after an argument with my husband,” Yan Ci said.

Song Ruochen: “…”

These melodramatic protagonists.

“Found it!” Yan Ci said. “Wear this.”

Song Ruochen accepted a white hoodie and casual pants and went to the changing room.

Facing away from the mirror, he turned back and stared at the two floppy rabbit ears hanging from the hoodie. He was silent for a moment.

Indeed, the book mentioned that the protagonist shou had a preference for cute clothing.

“Secretary Song, you look amazing in that!” Yan Ci exclaimed.

Amazing? Song Ruochen didn’t think so, but at least it was warm.

“Madam,” he glanced at the clock on the wall, “it’s about time. We should head to the family dinner.”

__

In his office, Jian Yuheng sipped tea and handled some work. When the clock struck six, he went downstairs and drove to the family dinner venue.

The location Secretary Song chose was truly peculiar—close to the company but inconvenient to reach.

He couldn’t figure out what charm this place held to attract the so-called perfect secretary.

The perfect secretary who always wore the same white shirt and maintained a cold expression.

As Jian Yuheng got out of the car and turned around, he saw a pair of swaying white rabbit ears.

Jian Yuheng: “?”

“I finished scolding him,” Yan Ci said, just ending a call with his brother. “He got mad.”

“Good,” said the rabbit.

“Do you think it’s too much?” Yan Ci asked. “He’s my brother, after all. Is this like a flood washing over the Dragon King’s temple, with family not recognizing family?”

“It’s not,” said the rabbit. “This is called ‘making soup from the same stock.’”

Yan Ci: “?”

Jian Yuheng: “…”

“Good evening, President Jian.” Song Ruochen caught sight of him and greeted him perfunctorily, “We’ve been waiting for you. Please take your seat.”

The family dinner wasn’t large. Apart from a few Jian family relatives, the rest were company executives.

Jian Yuheng sat across from Song Ruochen, and the dinner officially began.

“Welcome back, little brother,” Jian Feng said.

Everyone at the table raised their glasses. Song Ruochen’s gaze passed over the glass and landed on the egg yolk chicken wings across the table.

They smelled delicious. He wanted to eat them.

Sitting closer, Jian Yuheng had already taken two.

Everyone put down their glasses.

Jian Feng reached for the roast duck, but it spun away.

Song Ruochen was busy rotating the table, his eyes fixed on the egg yolk chicken wings now directly in front of him—

Song Ruochen: “…”

Why are you all looking at me! Why are you all looking at me!

Why is everyone except the villain staring at me!

Jian Yuheng was focused on the chicken wings, feeling a bit hungry. After eating one, he felt warmth spread through his entire body.

Noticing the commotion at the table, he looked up as well, then curved his lips into a smile.

The perfect little secretary made a mistake. This was truly a moment to savor…

Clink.

Jian Yuheng: “…”

The warmth vanished, and the chicken wing he had just eaten reappeared intact at the bottom of his bowl.

Here we go again.

Fine. He wouldn’t eat for now. He wanted to watch the entirety of Secretary Song’s blunder this time.

Jian Yuheng lifted his head, ready to enjoy the show.

Across the table, Jian Feng had just set his sights on the roast duck. Song Ruochen’s gaze flicked upward as he picked up the communal chopsticks, grabbed the roast duck, placed it on Jian Feng’s plate, and then pushed it toward Yan Ci.

“Madam, here.” Song Ruochen said, “This is from President Jian.”

Jian Yuheng: “?”

Jian Yuheng: “?????”