RBNR Ch47: Unexpected

For the next half month, the two barely saw each other. Qin Bao enlisted help to plan the launch of his personal studio, while Feng Chengyu had his own commitments.

One Friday, they met at home and completed a thorough pheromone exchange, followed by nearly another month apart—Qin Bao had to shoot a new seasonal campaign as the perfume ambassador, film luxury Autumn/Winter ads for Marcos Malory, and attend various luxury events as their brand ambassador.

Feng Chengyu couldn’t trail Qin Bao’s footsteps every time either. Due to his sensitive political status, aside from a few allied nations, there were many jurisdictions where he couldn’t secure immediate travel clearance, and his official schedule was relentlessly tight.

Both had their careers to pursue. Though the terms were spelled out in their contract, putting them into practice revealed that spending every Monday and Friday together—or even stringing together two or three uninterrupted days a month—was a monumental challenge.

In September, Qin Bao’s university term commenced, and by the end of the month, he secured his motorcycle license.

Feng Chengyu, meanwhile, joined several council members on an inspection tour in the north, faithfully reporting his itinerary daily and occasionally sending photos of what he encountered along the way.

Earlier, Qin Bao had learned to log his own whereabouts with Feng Chengyu and reply on Dingxun. Ever since the newlywed home visit, however, the status reports ceased, and his reply frequency plummeted.

One day, Qin Bao received a message on Dingxun.

F: [Got a haircut?]

Qin Bao had just pulled his bike over on the shoulder of the highway, removing his helmet to take a sip of water.

The wind atop the ridge was fierce, whipping his freshly trimmed hair into disarray. He had ditched the pale blonde long ago for an ash-chestnut; this time, prepping for the Spring/Summer fashion weeks, he dyed it pitch black and sheared it significantly shorter.

He had only changed the hairstyle that afternoon and was still on the road home—how did Feng Chengyu know?

Qin Bao: [?]

Qin Bao: [Did you plant surveillance on me?]

Perhaps because he so rarely replied, a video call request came through from Feng Chengyu’s end immediately.

Not having seen him for nearly a month, Qin Bao’s heart beat with an erratic flutter. He tapped decline.

Feng Chengyu didn’t call back.

F: [[Image] [Image]]

The photos were from paparazzi.

The second Qin Bao stepped out of the salon, the lens had zeroed in on him, capturing him alongside his bike in vivid detail. He had naively assumed that with a helmet concealing his face, he could speed through the streets and alleys completely undetected from then on.

He texted Feng Chengyu back: [Fashion week is next week. Might have to cut it even shorter by then.]

Qin Bao didn’t have an overcrowded lineup this season—only two shows: walking for Baufini, and closing for Marcos Malory. Solid bookings, but compared to other supermodels, it was a modest slate; several Omega models who had shared the ranking board with him in the past were walking over a dozen shows.

F: [Alright.]

Nothing else followed.

Qin Bao wondered: Is this guy actually mourning the hair?

Does he love grabbing my hair that much?

He wanted to ask if Feng Chengyu was coming home this week, but swallowed the urge halfway through typing. Locking his phone, he pulled his helmet back on. He was going to be a cold, unyielding dream-chaser.

Returning to the runway brought a deluge of logistical tasks. Qin Bao hired the junior assistant from the collar commercial shoot in Danlong to assist him. The moment she heard the offer, she booked a flight without missing a beat, shadowing him while addressing him as “Teacher Qin” with every sentence.

“I’ve told you so many times, stop calling me ‘Teacher.'”

Approaching nineteen, Qin Bao couldn’t stand the industry’s inflated honorifics.

The assistant, Xiao Xu, was two years younger than him. Pondering for a moment, she switched the address: “Alright, Bao Ge.”

That reminded Qin Bao of the other person who called him Bao Ge: Shan Yike.

Shan Yiming had messaged him saying Shan Yike had stirred up major trouble at school—stabbing a pencil straight through a classmate’s palm. Facing lawsuits and expulsion, she had gotten into a ferocious blowout with her family.

Having bolted from home with nowhere to stay while Shan Yiming was tied down and unable to break away, Qin Bao sent Xiao Xu to handle the logistics, booking a hotel room for the girl with plans to check on her later.

As the closing model for Marcos Malory, Qin Bao was under intense scrutiny. Having faded from view for nearly a full year, staging a comeback with such premier luxury backing proved he remained the fashion world’s undisputed darling.

The pressure on Qin Bao this time far outstripped the emergency fill-in for Baufini. Backstage and out on the floor, his nerves were drawn taut as a bowstring.

Camera flashes flared continuously. Paced to the rhythmic tempo of the finale soundtrack, Qin Bao strode onto the circular runway clad in a Marcos Malory Autumn/Winter couture ensemble.

The runway featured a dynamic wraparound layout. Qin Bao wore understated makeup, his tall, superior bone structure effortlessly carrying the snowy fur and floor-sweeping trousers, with delicate silver body paint and iridescent glitter dusting his throat and collarbones as his sole ornamentation.

Beneath the stage, through countless lenses, endless pairs of eyes were trained on his figure.

Qin Bao was a consummate clotheshorse, a living piece of art, and unequivocally himself.

What he never anticipated in his wildest dreams was the presence of people he least expected in the audience below.

An Qingyan had come to watch the show, seated beside Shu Helan—a sight Qin Bao had caught from the runway earlier.

Just as he was finding it peculiar, he heard from Xiao Xu after the finale that An Qingyan had brought flowers. Qin Bao rushed over, intending to demand what on earth was going on between the two of them, only to be met with two additional faces—Mr. Qin and Ms. Rong.

Qin Bao was dumbfounded: “Dad… Mom?”

Ms. Rong offered him an embrace first: “Congratulations, Bao’er. You delivered a magnificent show.”

Qin Bao was still in a fog: “Thank you, Mom.”

Ms. Rong had attended a few of Qin Bao’s shows before, even bringing her friends along on two occasions. For Mr. Qin, however, this was his very first time. Watching Qin Bao stand there looking entirely at a loss, Mr. Qin mirrored Ms. Rong’s gesture, stepping forward to give him an awkward embrace, patting his back twice before releasing him.

“You performed well,” Mr. Qin said, stumbling over words. “The Baufini one was great too.”

Qin Bao was stunned: “You went to the Baufini show as well?”

Ms. Rong chimed in, “No, I couldn’t get away that day. Only your father and Chengyu went.”

Qin Bao: “?”

An Qingyan laughed from the side, shoving the bouquet into Qin Bao’s arms: “If you want to thank someone, thank me! I dragged them to several shows over the past few days, showing them all sorts of bizarre runway spectacles while they bombarded me with questions that could drive any fashion insider to insanity.”

“Exclude me from that. I only arrived tonight,” Shu Helan interjected smoothly.

An Qingyan shot him a glare: “You’re not much better—an absolute brute.”

Clutching the bouquet, Qin Bao didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t fathom why Mr. Qin would come here, let alone Feng Chengyu… Wasn’t Feng Chengyu supposed to be on an inspection tour in the north? How did he carve out time to watch fashion shows?

Mr. Qin said, “Chengyu mentioned we ought to understand your profession better. Your mother had visited before, but I hadn’t, so I set aside some time.”

Qin Bao: “…”

His chest filled with a tangled knot of emotions.

He was happy Mr. Qin had come, but he couldn’t understand why Feng Chengyu had orchestrated this. This was a fashion show, not a dramatic recital; people gathered here to focus on the tailoring and the label.

A master of conversational ease, An Qingyan joked, “Uncle Qin, now that you’ve dipped a toe into the fashion world, what are your thoughts on your precious son’s career?”

Mr. Qin was momentarily at a loss for words.

Knowing how submissive and timid he had always been before the old master, Ms. Rong smoothed over the silence: “Whatever his thoughts are doesn’t matter; not objecting is already wonderful enough.”

Yet Mr. Qin suddenly straightened his posture, patting Qin Bao’s shoulder once more: “I am proud of you.”

Though he had never needed validation from anyone, Qin Bao froze for a split second.

The weight of those words…

Felt genuinely momentous to him.

Immediately after, Mr. Qin added, “I hope your grandfather can come see your show one day too.”

The second those words landed, the air froze solid.

Qin Bao answered coldly, “That won’t be necessary.”

Even though he had already removed his makeup and changed into street clothes, and the crew was dispersing, Qin Bao took several steps back holding the flowers: “Thank you for coming to watch the show. I have other matters to attend to, so let’s call it a night.”

Without checking their expressions, he spun on his heel and walked off.

Heading back, he thrust the bouquet into Xiao Xu’s hands.

Xiao Xu was surprised: “Bao Ge?”

“If you don’t mind, take them home for a vase,” Qin Bao said. “Head home early.”

“I don’t mind at all!” Xiao Xu grinned, nodding vigorously. “Then I’ll call you punctually tomorrow afternoon!”

Tomorrow evening was Flow’s anniversary gala, dubbed Flow Night, for which Qin Bao had also received an invitation. In the past, he had hated attending such affairs; now he was much more proactive. After all, he had duties to fulfill as an ambassador, making an appearance decked out in Marcos Malory.

Pressed for time, Qin Bao didn’t head home. Instead, he swung onto his motorcycle and rode straight toward the hotel where Shan Yike was staying. He had received a massive spending alert on his card earlier, suspecting she might be throwing a wild bash in the suite.

The money was trivial; his real fear was a pack of minors running wild and getting into trouble.

The midnight wind roared in his ears. The speedometer hovered steadily at sixty kilometers per hour, never breaching the speed limit of any street, yet every surge of acceleration and every leaning turn sent an adrenaline rush straight through his skull.

Qin Bao suddenly grasped why Shan Yiming loved riding bikes: the wind carried the unmistakable taste of freedom.

Arriving at the hotel, Qin Bao pulled off his helmet and shook out his hair.

He had taken only a few paces when he sensed movement lurking in the periphery. Relying on his sharp vision, he quickly spotted a minivan parked nearby, its window cracked open, the dark interior concealing whoever sat inside.

Paparazzi?

He frowned slightly.

He couldn’t be bothered. Life was chaotic enough without turning into a paranoid wreck at every shadow.

Gazing in that direction for a few seconds, Qin Bao turned and entered the hotel lobby.

A second before the elevator doors slid shut, Qin Bao hit the call button, forcing the doors to reopen so he could slip inside.

Stepping in, Qin Bao was caught off guard.

The man standing inside wore a baseball cap and a face mask, draped in a taupe-brown Baufini coat from the current season. He gave off a subtle Alpha aura, his phone-holding fingers sporting a prominent row of knuckle tattoos.

Wasn’t this the wildly popular rapper, Mo Xiao?

Qin Bao recognized him because they had crossed paths at the Baufini gala dinner a few days ago; for reasons unknown, Mo Xiao had even posed for a photograph with him back then.

Mo Xiao clearly recognized Qin Bao as well.

After all, Qin Bao’s face was fully exposed, and anyone who followed fashion would hardly forget him.

“Qin Bao? What a coincidence. You’re staying here too?” Mo Xiao pulled down his mask.

“Quite a coincidence,” Qin Bao said. “Are there paparazzi stalking you outside?”

“There were, but… now they’re probably stalking the two of us,” Mo Xiao remarked. Having navigated the entertainment industry for years, he knew the drill intimately. “Want me to drop a word to clear it up?”

A word from him could keep Qin Bao from being dragged into unnecessary speculation.

Otherwise, who knew how tomorrow’s headlines would twist it.

“I’m not staying here. I’m leaving shortly,” Qin Bao replied, completely indifferent.

“Fair enough…” Mo Xiao didn’t press the matter.

The elevator reached Mo Xiao’s floor shortly. Tossing out a casual “Bye,” he stepped off first. Qin Bao rode the lift up to the twentieth-something floor, heading for Shan Yike’s room.

Xiao Xu had picked up an extra keycard when booking, but Qin Bao pressed the doorbell first anyway.

Muffled thuds sounded from within before Shan Yike yanked the door open with a sullen face: “Bao Ge.”

The imagined scene of underage debauchery was absent, though the room reeked of heavy alcohol. Qin Bao stepped inside to find bottles strewn haphazardly across the tables and floor—most of them expensive vintages, which explained the exorbitant spending alert.

“You’ve been drinking?” Qin Bao asked.

“Yeah.” Shan Yike slumped despondently onto the sofa, bare-faced and dull-eyed. “Don’t worry, I have money. Once I get my cards unblocked, I’ll pay you back.”

Seeing reflections of his younger self in her, Qin Bao snapped irritably, “Is money the point? You’re an underage girl…” He caught himself, despising the fact that he was sounding like a lecturing adult, and cut straight to the core: “Even if you’re an Alpha, you shouldn’t be downing this much booze alone in a hotel room. What if something happened to you?”

News reports of people choking to death on their own vomit while intoxicated surfaced all the time.

Having a high Alpha metabolic rate didn’t make someone immune to alcohol poisoning.

“I’m sorry,” Shan Yike apologized, hanging her head.

Gone was her usual abrasive arrogance. She seemed to grasp that beggars couldn’t be choosers, terrified that Qin Bao might drag her straight back home.

Qin Bao had no intention of letting her hole up here indefinitely; aggravated assault was no minor infraction.

“A mistake is a mistake; if you screwed up, you face the music,” Qin Bao said. “Hiding here drowning your sorrows is useless. Don’t be so cowardly.”

Shan Yike lifted her head: “You sound identical to my brother.” Her tone dripped with bitter resentment: “Easy for you guys to talk. Every single one of you gets to chase whatever you want. It’s easy to stand on high ground and preach. I just wanted to fight for my own choice—why is that so wrong?”

Qin Bao had a pounding headache. He wasn’t particularly mature himself, yet here he was, forced into playing life coach to a brat: “You having personal dreams is one thing—what does that have to do with driving a pencil through your classmate’s hand?”

Shan Yike spat, “He discriminated against me! He called me a freak!”

Qin Bao frowned, his anger stirring: “Why? What did you do?”

Shan Yike sounded profoundly wronged: “I just like wearing collars, and occasionally sticking on a scent patch… What’s so wrong with me wanting to be an Omega?!”

Qin Bao: “…………”

Tears suddenly welled in Shan Yike’s eyes: “Bao Ge, I want to be an Omega like you! Gender reassignment surgery is completely advanced now. My body is my own choice—why won’t they just let me be who I am?!”

The problem had officially exceeded the syllabus. Qin Bao pulled out his phone and dialed Shan Yiming’s number: “Shan Yiming, handle this yourself.”