RBNR Ch35: Are you not feeling well recently?

Each carrying their own breakfast, the two sat across from each other at the long table. After that sudden episode earlier, the atmosphere at the table turned remarkably quiet, save for the soft clink of cutlery against porcelain.

Noticing the glint of reflected light on Feng Chengyu’s left ring finger, Qin Bao took a discreet glance.

—Feng Chengyu was wearing his wedding ring.

The doorbell chimed unexpectedly.

Who would come to their new home so early in the morning?

Remembering something, Qin Bao sped up his eating: “It must be Uncle Sheng. I’ll head down right away.”

There was no honeymoon.

Given the unique nature of Feng Chengyu’s work, he couldn’t take such an extended leave.

Qin Bao had classes today as well. He had been requesting leaves of absence constantly, final exams were fast approaching, and his attendance points were lacking—he was more than likely to fail courses.

Besides… there was no need for them to go on a honeymoon anyway.

The new house was quite a distance from the university. Qin Bao had mentioned to Mr. Qin that he would need to rely on the family driver for a while; checking the time, the car had likely arrived.

Feng Chengyu had already finished eating: “I’ll get the door.”

The moment he left the table, Qin Bao breathed a quiet sigh of relief. If he stayed around this man any longer, his brain would crash from loading too many explicit mental images.

The house was built into the sloping terrain; the basement level opened directly onto the main road, functioning as both a garage and a small lounge with a scenic view.

A row of stone lamps lined the stairs. When Qin Bao descended, he didn’t see the Qin family’s car; instead, he was met with a flatbed freight truck and that silver-white Phantom being unloaded from it.

Feng Chengyu stood beside a cluster of snowy-white decorative hydrangeas, looking far more striking than the flowers. He was in the middle of untying a card fastened to the ribbon bow on the handlebars. Wondering what was written on it, Feng Chengyu held it out as Qin Bao approached: “Someone sent this to you.”

Seeing the Phantom, Qin Bao had already made a good guess.

The bike was far too cool. Even though plenty of people in the capital owned one, there was only one possible reason it would be delivered to his doorstep.

Taking the card, he confirmed it completely.

The card read: [Happy wedding. I’m entrusting my son to you; take good care of him.]

“Are you Qin Bao?” The delivery courier was still waiting for the sign-off: “Please sign here.”

Qin Bao quickly signed the slip, took the keys, and said, “Thank you.”

Once the truck drove off, Qin Bao couldn’t resist running his fingers over the cool frame of the Phantom, remarking to Feng Chengyu, “It’s a wedding gift from Shan Yiming. But how did he know our address?”

Feng Chengyu was appraising the bike as well: “He probably asked Grandpa.”

Realizing this, Qin Bao nodded with an “Oh,” his eyes shining brightly: “Is it pretty?”

“Very pretty,” Feng Chengyu replied. “You seem to like this bike a lot.”

Qin Bao had no idea that Feng Chengyu had seen him riding this very motorcycle long ago.

His fondness stemmed from the fact that Shan Yiming was willing to send a wedding gift, proving that Shan Yiming still viewed him as a friend, just as before.

“Of course,” Qin Bao said. “Shan Yiming loved this bike to death too. The hardest part for him when he ran away from home back then was having to leave it behind.”

Back then, Shan Yiming had severed ties cleanly with the family, refusing even to take the phone paid for by his parents—his spine was unyielding. Who knew what methods Shan Yiming had used this time to finally wrest it out of the Shan household.

Feng Chengyu remarked, “I heard Uncle Shan mention it.”

“Really?” Qin Bao asked in surprise. “Uncle Shan would talk to you about that?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Qin Bao realized that Feng Chengyu was different from them. Even though Feng Chengyu was only a few years older and technically of the same generation, in the eyes of the elders, he was someone who could converse on equal footing.

Unlike their bunch, who remained reckless brats in their elders’ eyes no matter how old they grew.

“Because of the newspaper announcement back then,” Feng Chengyu explained.

Daring to publish a public declaration severing familial ties had created quite a massive stir at the time; many considered Shan Yiming an unfilial, heartless son.

Perhaps Feng Chengyu held that view as well.

For some reason, Qin Bao didn’t want him thinking that way: “Do you know what someone has to do if they’re forced to go against their family’s values for the sake of their inner convictions, in order to make it as clean and decisive as possible?”

Without waiting for Feng Chengyu to answer, he revealed the answer himself: “Minimize the family’s burden of guilt.”

It was rare for Qin Bao to say this much, especially before Feng Chengyu.

“Because human nature is very complicated. Beyond genuine familial affection, people are often swept up by outside perceptions and their environment, just like my grandfather… Even if Uncle Shan was ultimately willing to let Shan Yiming chase his dreams, he couldn’t completely ignore the public chatter. Although on the surface they cut ties, blood and kin don’t simply vanish. Rather than enduring endless torment, it’s better to cut the knot cleanly and walk away, bearing the outcome whether it leads to success or failure.”

There was another, more critical point: as long as the Shan family’s influence loomed, even if Shan Yiming joined a racing team, he would never receive genuine, unvarnished tempering.

Feng Chengyu could grasp that without Qin Bao needing to spell it out.

Feng Chengyu: “You understand Shan Yiming very well.”

“I admire Shan Yiming a lot,” Qin Bao said.

He spoke only of admiration, without explaining why Shan Yiming could do it while he himself couldn’t.

“Forget it, you wouldn’t understand anyway,” Qin Bao murmured.

As the years passed, anyone could see that among Qin Bao’s circle of peers, there were no genuine slackers. Their chosen paths might differ, but none of those who truly got along with Qin Bao fit the stereotypical mold of useless wealthy playboys.

Feng Chengyu was remarkably well-mannered and an attentive listener: “Perhaps if you explain it, I will understand.”

Just standing there, the Alpha was an existence revered by the crowd, the very definition of success. What could someone as proud and aloof as him possibly understand?

Just as Qin Bao was about to speak, the Qin family car pulled up. Uncle Sheng, the old master’s personal driver, lowered the window: “Xiao Bao!”

Qin Bao hadn’t grabbed his bag yet. Forgetting everything else, he called out to the driver: “Uncle Sheng, give me five more minutes!”

With that, he swung his long legs over the bike and started the ignition.

The engine’s roar shattered the morning quiet, his silhouette overlapping seamlessly with the image from years ago. Only now, the boy had grown taller, his posture appearing even crisper and more at ease.

Feng Chengyu exchanged greetings with Uncle Sheng.

The Qin family’s driver was very polite, stepping out of the vehicle at once. Respecting his elders, Feng Chengyu shook his hand with elegant courtesy, and the two spoke a few words.

Qin Bao didn’t emerge until he had parked the Phantom safely inside the garage.

The silver-white motorcycle sat parallel to Feng Chengyu’s black sedan—one black, one white, creating an oddly discordant yet fascinating pairing.

Uncle Sheng asked with a smile, “Xiao Bao, you don’t have a motorcycle license yet, right?”

Not only did he lack a motorcycle license, he didn’t have a driver’s license for cars either.

Qin Bao paused: “Right… but I plan on taking the test soon.”

“I happen to know an instructor friend; I’ll introduce him to you later,” Uncle Sheng said, then turned to Feng Chengyu: “Well then, Mr. Feng, we’ll take our leave.”

Feng Chengyu: “Alright, drive safely.”

Qin Bao instinctively wanted to say “I’m leaving” to him as well, but found it rather awkward. He simply pulled open the car door and slid inside.

Having eaten the fried egg made for him after all, he lowered the window right before pulling away: “Bye.”

Feng Chengyu uttered an “En” and raised a hand in acknowledgment.

When Qin Bao slipped into the back row of the lecture hall, the professor was just beginning roll call: “Qin Bao.”

“Here—”

He raised his hand.

Instantly, several gazes from the front rows snapped toward him.

The professor checked the roster: “Good. I actually get to see you this month.”

Qin Bao’s face burned hot. Though he had official leaves of absence, this sort of thing was hardly a badge of honor. He had attended even fewer classes this semester than the last; incredulously enough, he was far less busy than he had been previously.

Some classmates were secretly taking photos with their phones, excitedly sending them to friends. The student sitting beside him looked very nervous too—after all, in their eyes, a big celebrity was seated right next to them.

No one knew about Qin Bao’s marriage. After class, a classmate he was relatively familiar with came over to ask if he was feeling better.

“Much better,” he replied. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me.” The speaker was a quiet Omega girl named Jin Si, who spoke in a gentle, refined manner: “Do you want to grab dinner together tonight? My treat.”

Qin Bao had brought Lucy’s autograph for Jin Si once, so Jin Si was always looking for a chance to treat him to a meal. Just as they were speaking, An Qingyan called.

“Free for dinner tonight?” An Qingyan asked. “I’m flying to Yatan tomorrow and won’t be back until the end of the year.”

Asking An Qingyan to help with the wedding had incurred a massive favor. Qin Bao naturally wouldn’t turn him down, but having just made plans with Jin Si, he hesitated: “Tonight?”

An Qingyan misunderstood: “Aiyah, I know you two are newlyweds and your man is so busy he didn’t even have time for a honeymoon. Even if you can’t bear to be apart, you still have to carve out time tonight. Trust me, it’s for your own good.”

Qin Bao denied it hastily: “Who can’t bear to be apart? It’s not what you think.”

Jin Si couldn’t hear what they were discussing, but guessed Qin Bao had other plans: “It’s fine, I’ll treat you next time.”

Qin Bao then went to keep his dinner appointment with An Qingyan.

The dinner was held at a renowned private restaurant that required reservations months in advance; Qin Bao had visited once with Ms. Rong. An Qingyan had been waiting downstairs early on. Meeting Qin Bao, he said, “A friend is here, let me introduce you two.”

Seated inside the private room was a Beta woman, roughly in her forties, dressed sharply and looking somewhat familiar.

“This is an old friend of mine, Ms. Lü Rui, a famous producer behind countless acclaimed works,” An Qingyan said. “You’ve definitely seen it—last year’s The Mortal Realm, starring Ying Chen, was Sister Lü’s masterpiece, sweeping several major international awards.”

He then introduced Qin Bao: “Sister Lü, this is Qin Bao. You mentioned keeping an eye on him before.”

Sister Lü put on no airs, shaking Qin Bao’s hand: “It’s been a long time since you made an appearance. Several costume designers on our past crew were big fans of yours. Meeting you today, it turns out you aren’t just photogenic—you look even better in person.”

Qin Bao was flattered: “Thank you, you flatter me.”

Qin Bao wasn’t one for pleasantries, nor was he adept at navigating these social settings. Fortunately, An Qingyan didn’t seem to be angling for networking; it truly felt like a casual meal between old friends.

The dinner didn’t drag on, and the atmosphere remained light. Upon parting, Sister Lü even took the initiative to exchange contact details with Qin Bao.

As night deepened, they walked downstairs together. Sister Lü’s driver pulled around, offering to drop them off. It was an MPV; Sister Lü climbed in first. Just as Qin Bao was about to slide inside, An Qingyan tapped his shoulder: “Look over there.”

Qin Bao glanced over, baffled, and noticed something flashing through the window of a car not far away. His expression soured instantly: “Paparazzi again?”

Neither of them was wearing a mask; they had likely been photographed clearly.

Qin Bao didn’t care much for himself, but An Qingyan liked to let loose in private and normally despised being photographed.

“Ignore them.” An Qingyan actually offered a light laugh: “Get in.”

Once inside the vehicle, An Qingyan asked Qin Bao, “After resting for so long, have you started looking into work recently?”

“Not yet.”

Qin Bao didn’t explain why.

In truth, after his hiatus began, he hadn’t completely fallen out of touch with the industry. Word of his contract expiration had likely circulated; several agency managers had reached out through various channels, extending olive branches. However, these were mostly smaller, less-established firms unaware of the Qin family’s “ban.”

Qin Bao had looked into one or two, but on one hand, he couldn’t gauge their true capabilities, and on the other, he worried he’d be ordered back home before even setting foot on a runway. Thus, no real partnership ever formed.

Meanwhile, the major, highly capable agencies that had tried to scout him in the past remained uniformly silent.

An Qingyan smiled: “It won’t be long now.”

Qin Bao: “What do you mean?”

An Qingyan said, “Trust me, a turning point is coming soon.” Leaning closer, he added in a whisper, “Don’t thank me, thank your Mr. Feng.”

Qin Bao gradually pieced it together: tonight’s arrangement had been orchestrated by An Qingyan intentionally. Eating together wasn’t the point; who he ate with was. Even the paparazzi… had likely been tipped off by An Qingyan.

The “ban” was invisible; no one could take a megaphone into the street shouting, “The Qin family’s Xiao Bao is free to take work again!” This method was the most understated, preserving Qin Bao’s market value without cheapening him.

A feather seemed to lightly tickle his heart.

Qin Bao trusted that Feng Chengyu would keep his word, but he hadn’t expected the man to move this quickly.

For tonight’s arrangement to happen, it could only mean that Feng Chengyu had already made moves with the old master months ago.

Perhaps right after they formally registered their marriage.

When Qin Bao returned home, Feng Chengyu wasn’t there.

He checked the calendar on his phone, confirming today was Monday.

“Every Monday and Friday” was their agreed-upon schedule to spend time together. Could Feng Chengyu be breaching the contract on their very first day of marriage?

Qin Bao wanted to call him out, but deleted the draft after typing it.

For some reason, even though their relationship was built on a mutual exchange of conditions, he simply didn’t want Feng Chengyu thinking he was reaching out actively just because his career was seeing progress.

Emerging from his shower, the phone was still silent.

Qin Bao played a few video games, finally crawling into bed around eleven at night. He caught a very faint trace of scent on the other pillow—the fragrance of Feng Chengyu’s pheromones.

It felt hot.

His sleep was restless.

In a groggy haze, he sensed someone beside him. Opening his eyes, he found Feng Chengyu had returned.

“The AC is on full blast, yet you aren’t using the blanket.”

Feng Chengyu glanced at those bare, long legs, pulling up a corner of the light duvet to cover him.

Qin Bao: “…”

Thinking Feng Chengyu wouldn’t return, he hadn’t bothered being modest; the man wouldn’t assume he was doing it on purpose, would he?

A desk lamp was switched on, casting warm light across a small corner of the room.

Feng Chengyu had already removed his cufflinks and was unbuttoning his shirt. The contours of his skin and muscle faded into the shadows, making Qin Bao’s breathing quicken and his scent gland throb.

With that, he was completely wide awake.

Fuck, here we go again… Are you going to let me sleep or what?

He couldn’t very well leap out of bed right now to inhale suppressants; that would be far too obvious.

Click.

A soft sound echoed. Qin Bao looked over to see Feng Chengyu taking off his wedding ring and placing it on the nightstand, seemingly preparing to head to the bathroom.

The exquisite band gleamed softly under the lamp.

True enough, Feng Chengyu was already fulfilling his promises.

Qin Bao thought.

They had drawn up a contract to reach this point; everything fell within a reasonable arrangement.

Doing it or not doing it… didn’t breach their terms.

Since he was prepared to freeload anyway, and the other party matched his tastes so thoroughly, compounded by such high compatibility—with every major buff stacked—why force himself to hold back?

“Hey.” Pulling the duvet over half of his burning face, he mumbled, “Have you been having performance issues lately?”