RBNR Ch39: Already miserable as a married young man

Feng Chengyu pulled another cigarette from the pack and flicked his lighter.

Tall and imposing, his handsome profile drifted between light and shadow beneath the leafy canopy, rendering his mood entirely inscrutable. His shirt buttons remained casually undone, his hair still tousled, yet an aura lingered about him that warned anyone from approaching.

The midsummer dawn was relatively cool. Qin Bao didn’t have much of a craving to begin with, and after letting the breeze brush over him on the balcony for a little while, he wanted to head back inside.

The compact balcony was too narrow. Feng Chengyu merely shifted the hand holding the cigarette slightly to the side, his body not budging an inch.

Qin Bao was left with no choice but to step right over him: “Pardon me, thanks.”

Feng Chengyu gave an “Mm” and lifted his gaze. That look was so deep and dark that it made Qin Bao’s heart skip several erratic beats.

Only after stepping inside and turning back did he see Feng Chengyu’s broad, solitary back.

What is his deal?

Why make it seem like I’m the heartless jerk… I clearly asked him first, and he was willing himself before we rolled into bed.

Halfway through his shower in the bathroom, the door suddenly clicked open.

Feng Chengyu asked, “Mind if we share?”

Huh?

You’ve already walked in, and you’re still bothering to ask?

Showering wasn’t making love; Qin Bao hadn’t prepared himself mentally to stand completely naked before him like this. Caught off guard and stripped bare under his gaze, he quickly turned his back: “…Then stand a little further behind me.”

The roar of the running water masked any sound, making it impossible to tell what Feng Chengyu was doing.

Qin Bao picked up his pace, trying to take a lightning-fast shower, when a pair of hands abruptly wound around his waist.

Feng Chengyu had stepped directly into the shower stall.

I told you to stand further back, not like this.

Qin Bao grumbled inwardly.

Unable to see Feng Chengyu’s expression, Qin Bao only saw those hands resting across his lower abdomen. The knuckles were flushed from the hot stream, the blue veins on the back of his hands prominent, his fingers exceptionally long—long enough to sink in all the way to the knuckles when they pressed deep.

Qin Bao’s Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily: “…”

Immediately after, those hands hauled him straight backward.

“Feng Chengyu!”

A wet smack sounded.

His back hit the solid chest, followed by a sharp jolt of pain at his earlobe—he had been bitten.

Losing his footing, Qin Bao could only brace a hand against the vintage brass shower rod, pleading in a low voice, “What are you doing? Didn’t I say we were done? Can’t you understand plain words?”

“Mm, you said it,” Feng Chengyu replied, teeth still grazing his earlobe. “I didn’t agree.”

Those lips traced a scorching path from his earlobe down the curve of his neck, leaving a blooming trail of red, finally settling over the bite mark on his nape. The canine teeth sank back into the scent gland, and Qin Bao’s spine arched instantly in an involuntary reflex, his fingers burying helplessly into Feng Chengyu’s wet hair.

Numbed like prey, he surrendered all resistance.

A moment later, the Alpha’s soft lips left his nape and came around to seal his slightly parted mouth.

A wave of sweet cream blended with crisp floral scent flooded in. Realizing what was happening, Qin Bao’s eyes flew wide open.

He shoved desperately to push the man off, only to be spun around. Feng Chengyu hoisted both of his wrists high, pinning them against the cold tile wall, while one arm locked firmly around his waist, driving the kiss even deeper.

The hot water poured down endlessly, washing over them in rivulets.

When the kiss finally broke, Qin Bao spat while scrubbing the back of his hand across his mouth: “Feng Chengyu! Are you some kind of pervert?!”

Water dripped from Feng Chengyu’s brows and lashes. Reaching out with a large hand, he swept Qin Bao’s soaked hair back to expose his forehead, staring down into his reddened eyes and countering, “You call this being a pervert?”

Prying the boy’s hand away, he rested his lips right against his: “You need pheromones. I have plenty of ways to give them to you.”

With that, he sealed his mouth once more.

An hour was lost inside the bathroom. The morning sun had climbed high enough to spill into the room, slicing a thin golden ribbon across the patterned carpet through the curtains.

Qin Bao lay prone on the bed, stewing in sullen rage. Another bite mark had been stamped directly over the previous one on his nape.

The glistening sheen from the Alpha’s soothing licks still lingered, making the puncture wound look rather pitiful. Feng Chengyu peeled open a fresh scent patch, but just as he went to apply it, Qin Bao violently swatted his hand away, turning his crimson face toward the other side.

“Get lost.”

Damn it. If things went on like this, how would this provide any relief? Wouldn’t he still end up with pheromone dependency again in a few days?

He just wanted to live a normal life and work like a normal person.

Instead, he had gone for wool and come home shorn—it would have been far better if Feng Chengyu hadn’t shown up at all.

“Stop thrashing around,” Feng Chengyu warned in a low voice.

With that, regardless of whether he was throwing a tantrum, Feng Chengyu pressed the patch firmly onto his skin.

Qin Bao’s complexion was pale; the light-beige patch was a shade darker than his skin, and though designed to be invisible, it remained distinctly noticeable on him.

Once it was secured, Feng Chengyu smoothed a hand over his damp hair, then fetched a hair dryer to carefully dry it for him.

Only then did Feng Chengyu pick up his scattered clothes and dress piece by piece. Every button was fastened with immaculate precision, restoring his polished, gentlemanly persona that kept all strangers at an icy distance. Before leaving, he said, “You’re attending the evening reception with me.”

Qin Bao: “…”

So he came all the way here just to drag me along to some reception?

Who is freeloading off whom here?!

Qin Bao spat back with pure spite, his voice thoroughly drained and weak: “I have an afternoon flight back home. I’m busy. Go by yourself.”

Feng Chengyu turned a deaf ear: “Get some sleep. I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Pick me up or don’t, see if I care,” Qin Bao muttered into the pillow. “The second I wake up, I’m gone.”

Ten thousand miles away from you.

He slept straight through until noon. The Baufini PR representative who had agreed to arrange the airport escort called, saying they were preparing to head over to the hotel to pick him up.

Qin Bao ruffled his hair in sheer frustration: “…Thank you, but something came up on my end. You don’t need to send a car for me.”

The other party was very considerate: “Would you like me to help you reschedule your flight?”

Qin Bao said, “No need. I’m not sure when I’ll be leaving yet.”

Hanging up, Qin Bao wanted to murder someone.

What on earth had he agreed to when signing that contract? Why did he promise to accompany Feng Chengyu to some bullshit reception?

Qin Bao was intimately familiar with that kind of function; he had accompanied Mr. Qin and Ms. Rong a few times when he was very young and roughly knew the drill.

Receptions required identity verification and seating arrangements well in advance, even tailoring menus and drinks to each attendee’s preferences and dietary restrictions. The guests all knew who would be attending ahead of time, engaging in hollow pleasantries and small talk—utterly boring and pointless.

At such a formal affair, given Feng Chengyu’s status, showing up alone after having registered a plus-one would be glaringly improper.

Qin Bao had no choice but to go.

Yet going meant buying formalwear; he couldn’t very well show up in an oversized graphic tee.

Which meant he had to go shopping.

Qin Bao wanted to murder someone even more.

As a historic western capital, beyond the major luxury fashion houses, Grodie boasted numerous prestigious bespoke tailoring houses. A few of them commanded prices far exceeding the top luxury brands; ordering a bespoke suit required reserving measurements months or even over a year in advance.

Having just walked the Baufini runway the night before, Qin Bao wanted to keep a low profile, so he ducked into a few bespoke boutiques to see if there was anything off-the-rack that fit.

“Qin Bao?”

Someone suddenly called his name.

Qin Bao turned around. The Alpha wearing black-rimmed glasses behind the counter looked remarkably familiar, radiating an equally recognizable scholarly air. Searching his memory for a moment, he matched the face to the name: “…Brother Mu Xian?”

Mu Xian was a former student of Ms. Rong’s. When Qin Bao visited Ms. Rong’s studio as a child, he ran into him all the time. The man was exceptionally gifted; his maternal grandfather had even praised one of his paintings.

Then, out of nowhere one year, Qin Bao never saw him again. Only later did he hear from Ms. Rong that Mu Xian had switched careers to study fashion design.

“Seeing you on the Baufini runway yesterday, I was wondering if I might run into you. Who would have thought we’d not only meet, but that you’d walk right into my shop?”

Mu Xian walked over, greeting Qin Bao with a warm smile: “Long time no see, Bao’er.”

“Long time no see.”

Qin Bao was equally surprised.

Clothing truly possessed the power to transform a person’s presence. Clad in a tailored suit, Mu Xian looked completely different, no longer that paint-splattered art student from years past.

Noticing the measuring tape draped over Mu Xian’s shoulder, Qin Bao asked, “Is this your shop?”

“How could I have that kind of clout?” Mu Xian laughed. “This is my master’s shop. I’m working here as an apprentice.”

There was indeed an elderly, silver-haired master tailor inside. Mu Xian introduced them. Qin Bao could understand a bit of the local language, catching Mu Xian describing him as “a younger brother I’ve known since childhood” and “a very famous model.”

After exchanging a few pleasantries, Mu Xian brewed a cup of black tea for Qin Bao, saying, “Apologies, this is all I have here. We don’t really drink coffee.”

“Thank you, I’m not picky about tea. Plain water works fine too,” Qin Bao said, sinking into an armchair. “The thing is, I need to pick out a suit to wear tonight. Do you have anything suitable off-the-rack?”

“With me here, even if it doesn’t fit, I can alter it for you right away,” Mu Xian said.

After pouring the tea, he asked Qin Bao about Ms. Rong: “How is Teacher doing?”

Qin Bao said, “Very well. My grandfather has been holding art exhibitions these past few years, so she went back to help him out.”

More than just helping out; after the divorce, Ms. Rong closed her studio and returned to his grandfather’s side to continue studying oil painting, presenting several impressive pieces at his grandfather’s exhibition last year.

“Art leads to the same destination in the end. Whether Teacher does installation art or specializes in oils, she’ll thrive,” Mu Xian said. “As for you, I never expected you to stick with it for so long, and become so successful.”

When Mu Xian left the studio, it was the exact year Qin Bao had entered the modeling competition. Qin Bao had registered behind his family’s back, and for several training sessions and rehearsals, it was Mu Xian who had secretly escorted him there.

Qin Bao remarked with casual ease, “Since I started it, I just kept going. I don’t have talent in other areas anyway, so why wouldn’t I capitalize on the one advantage I have?”

Mu Xian smiled: “That’s not just ‘one advantage’—it’s a gift from the heavens.”

Mu Xian remembered that back then, the interviewer asked Qin Bao why he wanted to be a model, and Qin Bao answered that he wanted to make money.

What the seemingly pampered young master had been thinking in his head was something perhaps nobody understood except Mu Xian—his parents had been separated back then, and Ms. Rong’s studio was struggling financially. She had to bow her head to his grandfather to secure commissions and stay afloat, inevitably enduring his paternalistic suppression and biting sarcasm. If becoming a famous model could bring in a lot of money, Qin Bao could help his mother sustain her art studio.

Yet Qin Bao had never spoken of this to anyone, not even to Ms. Rong.

Mu Xian truly hadn’t expected that even after Ms. Rong’s studio ultimately shut down, Qin Bao would remain in the industry all this time.

The two chatted a while longer before Qin Bao began browsing the suits.

Hearing that he had to attend a relatively formal reception tonight, Mu Xian picked out two options for him. When Qin Bao stepped out of the fitting room, Mu Xian still felt slightly dissatisfied.

Mu Xian suggested, “A person is dynamic, while clothes are static. These off-the-rack pieces look too stiff on you. Why don’t you find some time to come back so I can take your measurements properly and tailor a bespoke set suited to your proportions? You can never have too many formal suits; you’ll always have occasions to wear them.”

Qin Bao asked, “No need to book an appointment and wait in line?”

Mu Xian laughed: “Others have to wait in line, but for you, of course not.”

Mu Xian had a packed schedule, and the suit Qin Bao selected required rush alterations on the trouser cuffs, so they scheduled the measuring session for the following morning.

Looking at the room full of suits, Qin Bao suddenly remembered the tie clip he had bought for Feng Chengyu two days ago.

He unzipped the tote bag he carried everywhere and found the box was still inside; he had brought it all the way to Grodie.

I’ll just hand it to him in a bit, he thought with a flat expression.

Qin Bao checked his phone. There had been no activity from Feng Chengyu—no messages sent—their chat log still frozen on the last text Qin Bao had sent.

Qin Bao: [Just focus on your own work.]

The message bubbles in the chat were sparse. Feng Chengyu sent more, while Qin Bao rarely replied.

Aside from necessary wedding logistics like “Check the planning group announcement” and “Suit fitting at 10:00 AM,” there were only the location pins and status updates Feng Chengyu had sent after the wedding. The only exchange that could pass for casual conversation was the day Shu Helan brought the helmet, when they exchanged a few lines that weren’t strictly official.

They had nothing to say to each other. He didn’t understand Feng Chengyu, and Feng Chengyu didn’t understand him.

Qin Bao’s urge to share had nowhere to go. Every time Feng Chengyu messaged him, he wanted to ask what the man had seen and done that day, and then recount where he had gone and what had happened to him.

Yet every time he saw words like “Not coming home tonight,” he was reminded that their relationship existed solely on paper.

Being a married teen was miserable enough; catching feelings in a contractual marriage was even more pathetic.

Just a tiny fraction more, and he would have assumed Feng Chengyu had flown to Grodie in the dead of night because he was worried about him.

Just a tiny fraction, and he would have foolishly taken the initiative, exposing the fact that he was still in love with Feng Chengyu.

__

Author’s note:

Xiao Bao: I admit, I lost my cool a little too.