RBNR Ch29: If you cheat, I’ll kill you

“I’m really curious, how on earth did you manage to piss him off?” Shu Helan asked, poking at the asparagus in his bowl. “Weren’t you two sending things back and forth earlier, flirting and bantering? How did everything get turned upside down right after his birthday?”

Feng Chengyu: “Silence while eating, quiet while sleeping.”

The two had taken time out of their schedules for a working meal, with no one else around.

The food at the Alliance cafeteria wasn’t particularly appetizing, leaving Shu Helan rather uninspired: “Come on, talk to me. I’ve got plenty of experience.”

Feng Chengyu hadn’t mentioned that night’s events to anyone, so Shu Helan remained completely in the dark. Still, when it came to romantic experience, Shu Helan truly wasn’t bragging.

Feng Chengyu glanced at him and said, “It seems I gave the wrong birthday gift.”

Shu Helan was surprised: “Wait, that narcissus brooch was Aunt Lin’s coming-of-age gift to you, and you’ve worn it to several major occasions. It was very fitting—how could it be the wrong gift?”

Feng Chengyu said, “He didn’t remember our connection. Once reminded by someone else, having an item with such explicit symbolism land in his hands made him uncomfortable.”

Shu Helan: “Didn’t remember? You mean he didn’t know you were his fiancé? Then why was he sending you things before?”

“Perhaps there was some favorable impression, but not to that extent,” Feng Chengyu said. “I misunderstood his intentions.”

Besides, given Qin Bao’s personality, if he received a gift from an acquaintance, he would inevitably return the favor. It didn’t prove anything.

“Tch, a kid’s fragile pride. He wants to choose for himself, and hates being arranged,” Shu Helan evaluated. “Make a single misstep like this, and he can wipe out every shred of goodwill he accumulated toward you in an instant.”

Who could argue with that? Even Feng Chengyu hadn’t anticipated things unfolding this way.

Shu Helan suggested: “Then send some other gifts to make it up to him and coax him a bit?”

Feng Chengyu gathered his utensils and dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

Then, he admitted to Shu Helan: “It’s not just a matter of the gift. You were right; there is indeed a generation gap. Last month, when the 13th Precinct and I raided an illegal lounge club, I caught him there.”

“That place with the boundary-pushing underground boxing?” Shu Helan paused, then laughed. “I’m finding out your little one really loves to play wild.”

Speeding away on someone else’s motorcycle the day of high school graduation, getting into a fight at university with an Alpha who harassed him—the surveillance footage had been quite the spectacle. He was also a regular at fashion circle parties; that An Qingyan loved to fool around most, and in those social media photos, Qin Bao was hanging out with him nine times out of ten.

Catching him at an underground boxing club didn’t seem all that surprising in hindsight.

Shu Helan: “I heard that on top of underground boxing, they staged suggestive, boundary-pushing shows. You could stomach that?”

Feng Chengyu said, “Why couldn’t I?”

Shu Helan gave a thumbs-up: “The ultimate forbearance master.”

Feng Chengyu remarked, “His family pushed him too hard, placing him under immense pressure. With everything piling up, his rebellious streak naturally flared stronger. Besides… it was likely his first time going.”

Shu Helan sighed: “That old gentleman of the Qin family truly is a ruthless character.”

Coming from similar backgrounds, both fell silent for a moment.

That night, when Feng Chengyu stepped into that dim room and saw the person lying on the bed, weak and dying of hunger, he was instantly reminded of an identical quiet night from his childhood.

In the ancestral shrine of the Feng family estate, Feng Ruian, who had just been appointed Deputy Director at the time, knelt on the floor looking as though she were drunk. Weeping softly, she showed none of the pride that accompanied the acquisition of power: “…Did you see? I succeeded. I gave up everything… Are you satisfied now?”

So downtrodden and desolate, a complete contrast from her usual high-spirited self. True, she felt joy, but she was equally drowned in loss.

Feng Chengyu had never understood why his aunt acted like that. Only much later did he hear that in her youth, Feng Ruian had been a remarkably gifted snooker player.

“In any case, I’ve already set a time to talk with him,” Feng Chengyu mused. “If there’s a chance for us to be together… I want to help him. I’ll handle speaking to his grandfather.”

Shu Helan observed him for a long while before teasing deliberately: “Wait, hold on. I remember that wasn’t what you said a few years ago. Didn’t you say that once he grew up, if he wasn’t willing, you’d settle things equitably? Now that he’s unwilling, you’ve set your sights on him and refuse to let go?”

Not feeling the least bit embarrassed, Feng Chengyu said candidly, “My principles haven’t changed; I still won’t force him. But I want to try and fight for it. Any objections?”

Shu Helan: “None, how would I dare? What objections could I have to you pursuing your Omega? I’ll just keep saving up for that red envelope. Wishing you success.”

Feng Chengyu raised his glass, everything understood without words.

Shu Helan added, “As for how to patch things up now—his temper is fiery, and he’s just a kid. I suggest you stroke his fur the right way. That’s how he’ll slowly come to like you.”

The corner of Feng Chengyu’s mouth curved slightly: “Not necessarily.”

The meeting location Qin Bao sent was a themed private cinema.

When Feng Chengyu arrived, the front-desk clerk was practically stunned. While registering him, the clerk’s eyes kept darting back and forth between him and Lin Zi.

Feng Chengyu headed upstairs alone. Lin Zi tapped the front desk counter, saying politely, “You are aware that guests require privacy, correct?”

The clerk was terrified out of his wits and nodded repeatedly.

A while back, a massive vice raid had swept across the southern district. Rumors flew about whether Councilor Feng had shifted his focus to poke his nose into other affairs, leaving everyone guessing what he was up to. With his sudden appearance here, the clerk had genuinely thought their shop had committed some illegal infraction.

Just as Lin Zi finished speaking, another tall, slender figure walked in through the front entrance, breezing past him like a gust of wind.

Judging by his frame and style of dress, Lin Zi immediately recognized the young master of the Qin family who frequently appeared on advertisements.

When Qin Bao entered the room, he was dumbfounded by the overwhelming sea of pink.

He had merely booked a random room on the app, but the beaded bed curtains, the plush shag rug, and that feathered wand meant for heaven-knows-what made the place look every bit like an erotic suite no matter how one looked at it.

Feng Chengyu had arrived before him. Dressed impeccably in his suit, he sat upon a seashell-shaped chair, his buttons fastened straight to the very top collar, his cufflinks aligned neatly—the clash with his surroundings was glaringly jarring.

Qin Bao: “…”

This place was meant purely for watching movies in a quiet setting. He had visited once before with Xu Tangzhou, and the room back then had been completely proper.

Propping his cheek with his fingers, Feng Chengyu watched him, looking entirely at his disposal: “Have a seat.”

Qin Bao walked over to sit in the other seashell chair.

The chairs couldn’t be pushed back and were placed very close together, but this time he had inhaled plenty of suppressants, guaranteeing he wouldn’t catch a single whiff of anything.

Since Qin Bao was the one who asked to talk, it was only right for Qin Bao to open the floor.

Facing Feng Chengyu, he discovered that the seashell could actually swivel. Pivoting the seat all the way around, he lifted his chin and asked, “Was what you said last time true? Can you really make my grandfather change his mind and stop meddling in my business?”

Qin Bao had fair skin and exquisite features; if this were a fashion editorial, he would look like a pearl prince emerging from a shell.

Feng Chengyu: “Yes.”

Qin Bao had expected to be given a hard time; turning back to plead for terms usually meant bowing one’s head, especially in their industry.

Yet Feng Chengyu was so straightforward that it threw Qin Bao off completely.

“Fine… You mentioned having some requests, but I want to lay down mine first,” Qin Bao said gruffly. “If you can’t accept them, then we don’t need to continue talking, saving us all the subsequent procedures.”

“Alright. You go first.”

Qin Bao said, “I can marry you to fool my grandfather for now, but I have no intention of throwing my entire life into your hands. We must set a time limit. That way, you fulfill your grandfather’s dying wish without delaying yourself for too long, so you won’t lose out either.”

Feng Chengyu asked, “Set a time limit? How long do you want?”

Qin Bao hesitated: “Two years.”

Two years should be enough for his wings to fully harden, and two years later he would only be twenty—very reasonable.

He was being utterly shameless right now; marrying Feng Chengyu truly wasn’t a loss for him.

He only wanted the benefits, without the romance.

The seemingly agreeable Feng Chengyu rejected his premise without a second thought: “Two years is too short. Starting from ten years.”

“Ten years? Ten years is way too long!” Shocked, Qin Bao compromised through gritted teeth, “Then three years! I’ll add one year!”

“No. Nine years at least.”

“Four years!”

“Eight years.”

Qin Bao hardened his heart: “Five years. That’s the absolute most I’ll add! Don’t push your luck; that’s enough.”

Any more disagreement and he would walk out immediately.

Unexpectedly, Feng Chengyu agreed on the spot: “Alright. Five years it is.”

Qin Bao: “…”

Something feels off.

Feng Chengyu’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest, making it impossible to tell whether he had deliberately dug a trap. He even added, “Five years—while on the shorter side, it is reasonable for both of us. Setting up preparations in advance by then will make it easier for our families to accept.”

True enough. Getting married also meant having to divorce eventually.

Back then, from the first signs of discord to their official divorce, Mr. Qin and Ms. Rong had dragged it out for three to four years, and Xu Tangzhou’s parents had been dragging things out for years as well.

Grudgingly accepting it, Qin Bao asked, “…Starting from when?”

Feng Chengyu: “The day we register our marriage.”

“Can’t we just have a fake marriage without registering?” Qin Bao, harboring ulterior motives, bristled. “Besides, can’t we count starting from today? Why must it start from the day of registration? What a waste of time!”

“A fake one won’t fool anyone.” Feng Chengyu raised his wrist to check his watch. “The civil affairs bureau isn’t far from here. If we head over to register right now, we should make it in time.”

Qin Bao’s face flushed crimson instantly. Stunned into speechlessness, he could only accuse: “I haven’t even fully made up my mind yet! How can you be so reckless, casually bringing up getting married on the spot!”

Feng Chengyu said, “You seemed to be in a rush. This is more efficient.”

Qin Bao: “……………”

He was completely unable to refute it.

Since it was hypothetical anyway, and since it was a contractual agreement, both parties had the right to voice their terms.

Putting on a composed front, Qin Bao bypassed Feng Chengyu’s suggestion and said, “I’m not in that much of a rush. I haven’t figured out the rest yet; let’s hear your conditions first.”

Know yourself and know your enemy to win a hundred battles—better to inspect his demands first.

Feng Chengyu pulled out a laptop directly: “One moment.”

Qin Bao: “…”

A drafted document was already displayed on the screen—a prenuptial agreement.

Skimming through it quickly, several clauses caused Qin Bao’s brows to knit tightly.

[Regardless of how busy either party’s work schedule may be, both parties must meet every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. If work commitments make this entirely impossible, the meeting shall be postponed to the weekend. The time spent together per week must not be less than three days. Whoever finds it more convenient shall travel toward the other, with no limitation on location.]

Qin Bao said, “We aren’t even that familiar. Is there really any need to stick together for three whole days every week?”

“It isn’t ‘sticking together.’ To be safe, spending more time together during the first two years gives the impression of a solid relationship, allowing me to better assist you. In the later stages, it can be reduced,” Feng Chengyu said. “If you find it unsuitable, you can modify it.”

Qin Bao deleted the “Wednesday” from [every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday], prepended it with [for the first two years], and appended [meeting once a month for the remaining three years].

Finishing his edits, Qin Bao asked, “Like this? I think this is more reasonable.”

Because they had to look at the screen together, Feng Chengyu leaned over slightly, his handsome face drawing very close. Keeping his face taut, Qin Bao promptly shifted his body away.

Reviewing Qin Bao’s edits, Feng Chengyu said, “Tentatively agreed.”

Qin Bao pointed at the screen: “And this clause.”

[During the duration of the relationship, on important occasions including but not limited to ‘Birthdays,’ ‘Valentine’s Day,’ ‘Anniversaries,’ and ‘Holidays,’ both parties must meet and celebrate together.]

Qin Bao: “Valentine’s Day and anniversaries need celebrating too? We aren’t real; can’t we skip that?”

Feng Chengyu: “Do you think not celebrating looks reasonable?”

Qin Bao: “…”

His parents used to spend those holidays together in the past. The first sign of discord had surfaced the year they failed to spend Valentine’s Day together.

What a hassle, but it was fairly logical.

Qin Bao: “…Fine.”

The final disputed clause: [Both parties have an obligation to cooperate with one another by attending any events akin to ‘Family Gatherings.’ If either party requires a partner for professional engagements, both parties are obligated to cooperate.]

Qin Bao: “You mean if you have some official business cocktail reception, I have to attend too?”

Feng Chengyu said, “Yes. A married status helps establish my public profile and spares me a great deal of trouble.”

Qin Bao knew that some politicians built family images to appeal to the public. Was Feng Chengyu this eager to marry because of that?

He criticized Feng Chengyu bluntly: “You are truly calculating.”

Feng Chengyu took it in stride: “Passably so.”

Feng Chengyu was impossible to read, and Qin Bao was genuinely terrified of hidden pitfalls.

Yet having reviewed contracts not long ago, reading through this line by line, he could only see that Feng Chengyu had thought of everything with meticulous fairness. The terms didn’t favor either side, imposing mutual constraints on both.

Looking at the big picture, aside from these few clauses making them stick together for too long and curtailing his freedom a bit, there were no harsh demands.

Having finished reading, Qin Bao voiced neither acceptance nor rejection.

He leaned back into the seashell chair, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive posture: “Now it’s my turn to raise conditions.”

Feng Chengyu made an inviting gesture, as if at a formal negotiation table: “Please proceed.”

Qin Bao said, “Since this is a contractual marriage and not born out of mutual love, I don’t want it publicized. If we are truly going through with this, our marriage must be kept strictly confidential. Aside from my family and close friends, nobody else is allowed to know.”

These were points Qin Bao had prepared well in advance.

Checking Feng Chengyu’s expression, he saw the man looked completely serene, as though he had anticipated this all along, which allowed Qin Bao to continue.

“Your identity is sensitive, and I am a public figure. If we marry, I don’t want people looking at me with strange eyes because of our connection being exposed. Even less do I need you to use special privileges to secure benefits for me. Helping me shake off my grandfather’s control is enough; you are strictly forbidden from meddling in anything else concerning me.”

Feng Chengyu said, “Agreed.”

In truth, beyond this point, Qin Bao didn’t have many demands. He merely wanted his career back, terrified of being controlled by anyone ever again.

Only one last question remained.

Qin Bao hesitated: “I want to ask—if our relationship is finalized, are we obligated to remain faithful like a real marriage?”

“Naturally.” Feng Chengyu looked over with a deep, penetrating gaze this time. “I do not accept infidelity in any form.”

“Perfect. Neither do I.” Qin Bao turned his eyes back to the screen. “I have a severe emotional cleanliness habit. If you dare cheat, I will kill you.”