RBNR Ch49: Because I think Xiao Bao is very obedient

Slandered by Qin Bao as “smelling the worst,” Feng Chengyu didn’t take it to heart. Instead, he dragged him into the bathroom, where they took a shower together.

After blow-drying their hair and putting on bathrobes, Feng Chengyu’s phone began to ring.

On the other end was presumably Director Feng of the Imperial State Security Bureau—Feng Chengyu’s aunt, Feng Ruian. Judging by the tone, aunt and nephew were talking official business.

Qin Bao headed downstairs to find his phone, wanting to text Shan Yiming.

The situation with Shan Yike the night before had been wild. Shan Yiming had rushed to the hotel today, and Qin Bao wanted to check on the situation.

Picking up his phone, he saw several unread Dingxun messages from Shu Helan.

[Xiao Bao, is your husband back yet?]

[Why isn’t his phone going through?]

[If he’s back, let me know he’s safe.]

Shu Helan’s sense of boundaries flickered on and off. Normally, he rarely texted Qin Bao, only occasionally leaving a like on Qin Bao’s social feed, but every interaction opened with “your husband.”

Qin Bao stared at the phrase “let me know he’s safe,” then turned his gaze toward the foyer.

He walked over to the console table. The cold weapon lay right there on the surface—jet-black and sleek, commanding an instinctive sense of dread.

Qin Bao messaged Shu Helan back: [He’s back. He’s on a call with someone, which is why his phone didn’t connect.]

Shu Helan replied instantly: [Rushing back in a frenzy to catch an affair—arms and legs still intact?]

Qin Bao: […]

Catch an affair?

Shu Helan: [Just kidding. He didn’t doubt you. He just drank a ton of vinegar.]

Bullshit.

Qin Bao guessed Shu Helan had seen the tabloid rumors linking him with Mo Xiao, so he ignored the teasing.

However, Qin Bao recalled another matter: [Are you and An Qingyan together?]

Shu Helan: [You could say that. Why?]

Shu Helan: [Perfect timing. Since you’re his friend, got any tips for me?]

Qin Bao: [No.]

He disliked meddling in others’ business. An Qingyan and Shu Helan were both considerably older than him; what business did he have lecturing them? It was just that An Qingyan clearly had no plans to settle down yet, so he wondered what Shu Helan’s angle was.

Qin Bao: [Have fun together.]

Ending the chat with Shu Helan, Qin Bao tapped open Shan Yiming’s thread and sent: [Are you still at the hotel?]

“Xiao Bao.”

Feng Chengyu’s voice caught him off guard, startling Qin Bao.

Turning around, he saw Feng Chengyu walking down the stairs: “What are you doing?”

Still standing by the console table, Qin Bao said, “Nothing,” and tucked his phone away. As Feng Chengyu drew near, he finally asked, “Did you run into some kind of danger?”

Feng Chengyu embraced him from behind, resting his chin beside his ear: “What is it? Worried about me?”

A decorative mirror hung on the wall, flanked by sconces.

In the glass, Qin Bao saw Feng Chengyu smiling. Perhaps he had discussed good news with Director Feng, because his mood had suddenly improved.

“Who’s worried about you? Just asking casually.” The bite mark on the nape of Qin Bao’s neck was still fresh; the newly reinforced mark influenced him, making him innately fond of Feng Chengyu’s embrace. “Didn’t you say there were bodyguards outside?”

Why carry a firearm if not in danger? Why would there be bodyguards?

Why would a friend demand a message confirming his safety?

Feng Chengyu said, “Security was arranged for everyone returning to the capital for this conference. Tensions are running high along the star system’s borders. Standard protocol from State Security, nothing to worry about.”

Qin Bao nodded, half-believing him.

Feng Chengyu picked up the sidearm, wrapping Qin Bao’s hand around the grip: “Do you know how to shoot?”

Old Master Qin was a general, and Mr. Qin had served in the imperial military in his youth. Had Qin Bao been an Alpha, he would have been raised along the same track. Feng Chengyu figured firearms weren’t foreign to him.

Sure enough, Qin Bao cut him a glance: “Stupid question.”

Breaking free of Feng Chengyu’s grip, he ejected the magazine with slightly rusty precision, inspected it, slotted it back into place, and flicked the safety.

Feng Chengyu smiled: “Bao Bao, planning to murder your husband?”

Qin Bao: “…”

Utterly shameless. If he were to kill him, it would be an assassination.

Feng Chengyu flipped the safety back on, returned the heavy sidearm to its resting spot, and nudged it out of reach: “I’m leaving tomorrow morning and returning next week. What are your plans for next week?”

Qin Bao: “Don’t know.”

Probably paying rent or handling paperwork. They had settled on a location for the studio, secured an agent’s name for registration purposes through personal connections, and entrusted other logistical tasks to Jin Si. The administrative procedures were tedious.

Feng Chengyu asked gently, “Could you let me know once you’ve planned out what you’re doing?”

Qin Bao grew alert: “Feng Chengyu, are you demanding that I report my schedule to you?”

Feng Chengyu mimicked Qin Bao’s tone: “Mm-hmm.”

To be fair, their reunion this time had been quite tender. Had this been an authentic marriage, it could easily be described as absence making the heart grow fonder. As a marital partner, Feng Chengyu was practically flawless.

Qin Bao’s resolve softened slightly. He reasoned that, at most, whenever Feng Chengyu messaged him with status updates, he would just shoot a reply back. Tapping a few keys wouldn’t kill him.

Right then, a Dingxun notification chimed on his phone.

Without overthinking, Qin Bao pulled out his phone to check the message. Shan Yiming had replied: [Still here. When are you coming over?]

Feeling the breathing of the man behind him hitch slightly, Qin Bao realized the chat bubbles looked somewhat questionable.

He texted back: [Tomorrow, probably.]

Feng Chengyu asked, “You went to the hotel last night because of Shan Yiming?”

“Yeah,” Qin Bao said. “Something came up.”

Assuming Feng Chengyu would press further, Qin Bao jumped in first: “It’s genuine business. Shan Yiming helped me a lot growing up, he’s like an older brother to me—”

Feng Chengyu cut him off: “Understood.”

As if respecting Qin Bao’s term that “who I go out with is my own freedom,” Feng Chengyu didn’t pry further, sparing Qin Bao any need for an explanation.

However, he failed to keep his appointment at the hotel with Shan Yiming the following day.

Because he had underestimated the possessive streak of an S-rank Alpha.

The second he woke in the morning, Qin Bao was pinned beneath the sheets by Feng Chengyu for a relentless round, drenching him in Alpha pheromones. There was no way he could show up in front of Shan Yiming like this; he couldn’t very well order the guy to inhale suppressants out of the blue.

Gritting his teeth, Qin Bao snapped in fury, “Don’t you have things to do… don’t you have a meeting?”

“Sleep with you first, meet later.”

Feng Chengyu slipped into a fresh dress shirt, fastening the buttons looking revitalized and refreshed.

“A very reasonable schedule.”

Foul rogue!

How blind had he been to ever think this man was an aloof, untouchable flower?

Qin Bao felt wronged and rebelled in silent indignation, resolving never to sleep with Feng Chengyu again. A contractual marriage could easily be a sexless one.

It wasn’t until the third day that he finally met Shan Yiming at a café. Shan Yiming had arrived first, spotting Qin Bao bundled up from afar through the plate-glass window.

Not having seen each other in four or five months, Qin Bao showed subtle changes.

Pulling off the hoodie and face mask, his exquisite features retained their trademark pride, yet the boyish naivety had receded considerably. Turning nineteen, Qin Bao had matured.

Sitting down, Qin Bao asked immediately, “What did the doctors say?”

Shan Yiming ordered him a drink, remembering what he liked: a caramel macchiato.

“She didn’t pass the psychiatric evaluation,” Shan Yiming said. “They concluded her stress levels were excessive, manifesting as a desire to change her gender to escape that pressure. Initial diagnosis indicates she doesn’t fall under genuine gender dysphoria or transgender criteria, requiring continued observation and adjustment.”

Adolescents expressing desires for gender transition required careful attention.

Returning to the capital over Shan Yike’s crisis, Shan Yiming had contacted his family for the first time in four years. Uncle Shan had discussed solutions with his son calmly, personally picking Shan Yike up from the hotel to take her to a specialist.

Qin Bao was puzzled: “Excessive stress? From school examinations?”

“No, because of me,” Shan Yiming said. “After I left, they loaded all their expectations onto Yike. Because she’s an Alpha too, the responsibilities meant for me were forced onto her shoulders. Subconsciously, she probably assumed being an Omega would be vastly easier. But she’s mistaken—in modern society, Alphas and Omegas share equal status. Especially in families like ours, there isn’t much difference between an Alpha and an Omega.”

Saying so, Shan Yiming looked intently at Qin Bao.

“Xiao Bao, I was hoping you could talk to her again. She’s idolized you since she was little and copied everything you did; she might listen to you.”

Qin Bao: “…Yeah.”

For a second, he had worried Shan Yiming had picked up on something.

Shan Yiming felt quite apologetic that Shan Yike’s mess had dragged Qin Bao into tabloid gossip.

Talking a bit longer, the conversation drifted back to her stabbing her classmate with a pencil.

The victim was an Alpha too, with a family background comparable to the Shans. Even though he had initiated repeated verbal harassment, Shan Yike had resorted to physical violence. With the other party facing potential permanent nerve damage to his hand, Shan Yike had narrowly avoided prison time for intentional assault. Uncle Shan had gone in person to apologize, and the school had issued an expulsion; she was currently on an academic suspension.

Qin Bao asked, “If observation shows Shan Yike truly wants to transition into an Omega, will Uncle Shan agree?”

Shan Yiming countered, “What do you think?”

Both fell silent.

Not wanting the mood to turn somber, Qin Bao tapped the table: “Pull yourself together, Shan Yiming! Don’t tell me your conscience flared up and you’re considering quitting racing to shoulder family duties. That’s just emotional blackmail. Both you and Shan Yike have the right to fight back—don’t make me look down on you!”

Shan Yiming held his head as if nursing a headache: “No, it’s not that dramatic.”

Then, Shan Yiming pivoted to lighter topics: “Tu Yisen has a few days off around New Year’s. Did he tell you?”

“Could he keep quiet about it? He wants to broadcast it to the galaxy,” Qin Bao curled his lip. “Brought it up countless times. Annoying guy.”

Shan Yiming laughed too: “He hasn’t even returned in glory yet, but he’s already terrified we won’t throw him a proper welcome banquet.”

Qin Bao said, “I’ll book the venue. I’ll make sure it’s grand.”

They didn’t chat for long. Shan Yiming had to head back to the racing team, and Qin Bao had an appointment with Jin Si to inspect the studio space.

Qin Bao hailed a cab by the curb, inputting the destination into the smart AI interface, then glanced into the rearview mirror as Shan Yiming’s figure shrank into the distance. With the phone wallpaper incident smoothed over, their dynamic remained unchanged from the past, bringing Qin Bao relief.

Unlocking his phone, the message Feng Chengyu had sent that morning sat pinned at the top of the chat thread.

F: [Flight at noon.]

That message had been sent three or four hours ago.

Feng Chengyu was remarkably persistent, firing off unilateral updates without pause—almost pitiful.

Qin Bao hesitated for a moment, then typed out a brief response: [Just finished meeting Shan Yiming. Heading to the studio now.]

Then he locked the screen and stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

The car felt somewhat warm, and his face was heating up too. Reaching forward, he pulled the floating smart AI console closer: “Hey, is the climate control actually running?”

The smart AI promptly displayed the active temperature panel.

Qin Bao still felt flush. Feng Chengyu’s Dingxun avatar lit up with an incoming reply.

F: [Received.]

Then, the Dingxun interface displayed: “F” nudged you.

Qin Bao: [What are you doing?]

F: [Consider it me patting your head.]

How childish. Qin Bao snapped: [Told you I’m not a dog. Are you deaf?]

F: [Because Xiao Bao is being very well-behaved.]

Qin Bao dragged the smart console’s temperature slider all the way down: […………]

If he ever felt pity for Feng Chengyu again, he really would be a dog.

Arriving at the rendezvous, Jin Si was already waiting: “Qin Bao—”

With the weather turning chilly, Jin Si had bought two hot coffees, handing one to Qin Bao.

“Thanks.” Taking it, Qin Bao headed upstairs alongside Jin Si. “Don’t wait outside next time, just head straight up.”

Jin Si insisted, “Walking in together gives it a sense of ceremony!”

Jin Si had scouted the studio location, spending days checking options over the break. Quiet by nature, she was exceptionally thorough, factoring in every detail on Qin Bao’s behalf. Touring the space in person for the first time, Qin Bao was thoroughly satisfied.

Signing the lease with the property manager and paying a substantial deposit, Qin Bao walked through the rooms, plotting out the interior layout.

Handling administrative logistics, Jin Si was even more excited than Qin Bao: “When are Brother Meng and Xiao Xu arriving? Let’s brainstorm together!”

Qin Bao burst her bubble of an immediate operational launch: “Xiao Xu needs a few days to finalize her resignation before coming over. Brother Meng is just lending his name to the registration; he’s only reviewing contracts for me in his spare time. He has his own talent roster to manage and can’t handle my bookings. It’s just a temporary favor.”

Jin Si: “Ah? Brother Meng already has talent to manage?”

“Not manage, shadow,” Qin Bao clarified. “Ever heard of Lu Chengan? Brother Meng is his manager.”

Jin Si nodded enthusiastically: “Lu Chengan! I know him, he’s massive! I loved him in The Chronicle of the God of Cookery! And the dynamic between him and his boyfriend, Mi Fei, is so sweet—I ship them so hard!”

“Mm,” Qin Bao replied lazily. “So you get it. The man is slammed. If he weren’t friends with my mother, he wouldn’t have agreed. Having him help streamline our operational pipeline and offer advice on projects is already a huge win.”

Jin Si remained cheerful; joining Qin Bao on this “venture” brought her genuine excitement. Meticulously jotting down items that needed purchasing, Jin Si promised to see Qin Bao back on campus.

After she left, Qin Bao lingered by the studio window for a long stretch, gazing down at the view below.

He knew this studio remained an empty shell. Beyond an agent, it lacked accounting, legal counsel, marketing, and numerous other departments. Only when those roles were staffed could the studio formally launch.

His excitement was no less than Jin Si’s, yet beneath it lay an overwhelming uncertainty.

A couple of days ago, the renowned producer Sister Lü had contacted him, mentioning an upcoming film project and inviting him for an audition.

Having met only once, she had extended such an olive branch. Qin Bao felt flattered and apprehensive. He worried about blowing the audition, and feared letting a golden opportunity slip away.

If only someone were around to guide him.

As if the heavens heard his plea, Qin Bao’s ringtone suddenly broke the quiet.

A name he hadn’t seen in ages flashed across the screen—the manager who had guided him for five years: Brother Lu.