RBNR Ch59: Kissing

It was only through the photos Feng Chengyu sent him that Qin Bao confirmed a faded, pale bite mark now sat at the nape of his neck.

Boarding the spacecraft had been rushed, and caught in the initial, dizzying haze of his heat, he had left his phone behind in Surilan. Fortunately, Feng Chengyu had remembered and had someone retrieve it for him.

The starscape had been breathtaking—how could one not document it?

Feng Chengyu’s phone had captured plenty of stunning vistas, and along the way… a few of themselves.

Nothing scandalous, but quite a few shots of them kissing. Qin Bao had practically no recollection of those moments; ironically, judging by the angles, most hadn’t been taken by Feng Chengyu, but by his own hand.

Perhaps it was the ingrained urge to perform as a model asserting itself—even in a daze of unraveling senses, he instinctively knew where the lens was.

In one photo, he sat straddling Feng Chengyu as they kissed. The frame caught only Feng Chengyu’s broad back and half of Qin Bao’s face; the composition and lighting were blurred, yet his eyes reflected the clear shimmer of the viewport and the starlit galaxy.

He adored it.

Qin Bao loved things that were unapologetically bold and washed in dreamy, ambient light. In his personal creative work, sets were often dressed with laser projections, sequins, and iridescent rainbows—loud and eye-catching.

He just hadn’t expected Feng Chengyu would play along with him.

The cabin had featured vibrant cyan, green, and violet LED ambient strips. In one shot, he was kneeling on the crisp white sheets while Feng Chengyu held him from behind, both looking directly into the camera.

Though both were fully dressed in bathrobes, the picture left Qin Bao feeling absurdly self-conscious for reasons he couldn’t name.

He saved it to his phone in a flash, fully intending to look at it twenty or thirty times a day.

As for that bite mark, Qin Bao still remembered how it went down.

“Are we… done?”

Back then, he had been incapable of coherent thought, his body so oversensitized that a mere brush against his skin sent shivers through him.

“We’re done,” Feng Chengyu had murmured, kissing the side of his neck. “Want to see?”

That was how the picture came to be—one of the few selfies Feng Chengyu had taken himself.

Qin Bao was draped limply over Feng Chengyu, head resting against the man’s shoulder. With his left hand, Feng Chengyu gently parted the boy’s dark locks, exposing the healed, indelible bite mark that stood for a permanent mark.

Great. Now he couldn’t leave the house without slapping on a scent patch.

Qin Bao sighed internally.

If there were a downside to a permanent mark, this had to be the only one.

After the fifteen-day leave ended, he and Feng Chengyu seemed to transition into a genuine honeymoon phase. Many times, Qin Bao would forget why they had gotten married in the first place, truly validating Feng Chengyu’s earlier words: Perhaps after we’re married, we might get along quite well.

Living like this, Qin Bao couldn’t claim his heart hadn’t stirred.

In the end, he had still become the fool who fell in love in a contract marriage.

Yet he also knew with absolute clarity that, per their agreement, they only had five years—less than three years remained.

Then sinking into it with full awareness didn’t matter, did it? Take whatever he wanted to his heart’s content, within whatever time was left.

—Qin Bao V: [Shared an image]

[Holy crap? What is this, BB? It’s gorgeous.]

[Is this teaser footage from Echo? Looks pretty sci-fi.]

[What a gorgeous starry sky [Starry Eyes] Thanks for sharing, BB~]

[The emblem beside the window looks kind of familiar, haven’t I seen it somewhere?]

[Ahhh I know that logo, it’s that Alliance interstellar travel agency! Bao, did you go on a trip?!]

[Interstellar travel! I want to go too!]

[Bao Bao, did you go alone or did someone go with you! [Screams]]

Qin Bao was never stingy about interacting with fans, so he replied to that last one: [Didn’t go alone.]

The comment section erupted into chaotic shrieks and wild guessing games, but he reined himself in and refrained from leaking anything more.

Only Xiao Xu wore an immensely knowing grin after spotting the post on Flow.

She knew far more than the rest of them, after all.

Feng Chengyu noticed Qin Bao’s post as well, teasing, “Why didn’t you post that other one?”

He meant the one of them kissing, where only half of Qin Bao’s face was visible.

Qin Bao: “…My account would get banned!”

“Nothing else was in frame,” Feng Chengyu said. “Are you scared?”

“What do I have to be scared of? It’s not like I ever pushed a single persona,” Qin Bao retorted. “It’s because you’re in the picture.”

“Me?”

“Obviously! Don’t underestimate the internet. Even if you only showed the back of your head, who’s to say they wouldn’t dig you up?”

Ever since being photographed together in Grodie, Qin Bao had been even more vigilant about maintaining his distance from Feng Chengyu in public. Even taking a stroll near the house, he made sure to stay ten meters away.

“Besides, I just wanted to share the night sky,” Qin Bao emphasized. “It has nothing to do with anything else.”

If it had nothing to do with anything else, why go out of your way to reply ‘Didn’t go alone’?

Feng Chengyu didn’t call him out. He had recently discovered a new secret: teasing Qin Bao was entertaining, but push too far, and the boy would retreat right back into his shell.

Feng Chengyu had plenty of patience to take things slow now.

Their progress had been completely reversed from the start; now that they had bottomed out, what was the rush? He might as well coax him out of that shell step by step.

The chase would be plenty fun along the way.

From the first day back in the capital, both threw themselves straight into work.

In April, Qin Bao joined the set of Guido by the Sea, playing the second male lead who harbored an unrequited crush on the protagonist. The role was heavy and tragic, packed with tearful scenes; Qin Bao shed more tears here than in his entire acting career combined. Perhaps because he was so immersed, over the two months of filming, he felt as if he had died alongside the character.

Undeniably, this project also offered an outlet for the emotions he had kept bottled up for nearly a decade, brightening his entire demeanor.

“Feng Chengyu!”

The second he stepped out of the car, Qin Bao shouted toward the upper floor.

The lights were on; Feng Chengyu had made it home before him.

Sure enough, a moment later, Feng Chengyu appeared on the front steps: “Heard you.”

In the heat of June, the outdoor ground-lamps flanking the steps were lit again. Dressed in a light-colored dress shirt, Feng Chengyu descended past the massive clusters of white blossoms. Qin Bao rushed up and caught him by the arm.

They locked eyes for a few seconds, looking as if they had a thousand words to say, held back only by a third party present.

The unspoken current between them was so palpable that no outsider could wedge their way in.

Brother Lu kept his eyes forward, focusing entirely on unloading the luggage, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth: “Councilor Feng.”

Feng Chengyu nodded politely: “Hello, Brother Lu.” Taking the bags, he added, “I’ve got it. Thank you for your hard work.”

Brother Lu was several years older than Feng Chengyu, yet every meeting left him slightly intimidated by the man’s presence: “No trouble at all, just doing my job.”

Not daring to linger, he stuck to essentials: “Xiao Bao has had a persistent cough these past two days, but Xiao Xu tattled that he refuses to take his medicine properly.”

Qin Bao: “…”

Feng Chengyu merely glanced at Qin Bao, murmuring, “Thanks for the heads-up.”

The second Brother Lu left and the front door clicked shut, the two crashed into a deep, consuming kiss.

Qin Bao was remarkably enthusiastic; ever since receiving the permanent mark, he had become far more proactive than before. Not just in bed—he genuinely seemed to crave holding hands and kissing far more than he used to.

…

After a thorough, breathless round of intimacy, Qin Bao showered and headed downstairs, finding Feng Chengyu stewing snow pear with rock sugar for him. He padded over, wrapping both arms around Feng Chengyu’s waist from behind.

“I barely cough anymore, Brother Lu is just worrying over nothing.”

“Why didn’t you take your medicine?” Feng Chengyu squeezed his hand. “You told me over the phone that you were completely better.”

Qin Bao explained, “I just forgot. Once cameras roll, there’s no telling when we’ll wrap.”

He loosened his hold: “Weren’t you slammed these past couple of days too? How did you manage to get away tonight? I saw on the news that you visited the military base.”

The Imperial Armed Forces were conducting a centennial commemorative military exercise, attended by senior figures of the Feng family, including Feng Chengyu. Though seated in separate viewing galleries without direct interaction, media outlets had stitched portraits of Marshal Feng, Director Feng, and Feng Chengyu side by side, creating a striking visual impact.

In the past, netizens used to joke that half the Empire shared the surname Feng, but such quips had practically vanished. Even comments calling Feng Chengyu the “Flower of the Empire,” gushing over his looks, or dissecting his marital status had disappeared, scrubbed clean as if by an invisible hand.

The public knew full well that these were not figures open to casual gossip.

Yet that very figure was currently rinsing a saucepan in the kitchen.

The contrast was jarring.

“Because I heard you have a kiss scene coming up.”

Feng Chengyu leaned against the island counter, looking down at the Omega who had just taken the pan from his hands.

Qin Bao: “…”

Bringing that up the second we get home?

Feng Chengyu laid it bare: “So I carved out time to come back and ask if it’s true.”

“There is a kiss scene,” Qin Bao said stiffly. “A farewell kiss, you know the type. Nothing erotic about it.”

Feng Chengyu took the utensil from his hands, set it aside, and turned him around to face him directly: “Can it be changed?”

Changed how?

Qin Bao had known about this scene from the moment he read the script; he hadn’t seen a need to dodge it back then, and felt the same now.

Qin Bao said, “Probably not. From the character’s perspective and the arc of the story, that kiss is quite necessary.” Looking into Feng Chengyu’s eyes, his pulse quickened. “Why do you ask?”

Feng Chengyu countered, “What do you think?”

Averting his gaze, Qin Bao moved to get back to work: “How would I know?”

Feng Chengyu caught his jaw, keeping him rooted in place: “I ask because I don’t want you taking that scene. I don’t want you kissing anyone else, I don’t want anyone else touching you—not even for acting. I ask because I’m jealous.”

Unable to pull away, Qin Bao couldn’t meet Feng Chengyu’s eyes, heat creeping down to the base of his neck: “What are you talking about? I’m an actor, this is just my job, it’s not like I want to kiss someone else. Back when my grandfather banned me from acting, his excuse was that actors who rely on camera angles for kiss scenes lack professional integrity. I don’t want to become the kind of privileged young master he looks down on.”

Everyone on set saw how hard Qin Bao worked.

Transitioning from modeling, his acting wasn’t flawless, but his attitude was dead serious—unafraid of retakes, unfazed by hardship. Even the director praised his potential in the craft.

Feng Chengyu asked, “So you’re determined to shoot it according to the script?”

“Yeah.”

Qin Bao stared at the floor, lashes screening his gaze.

In reality, nothing was set in stone; tweaking scenes on set was common practice. Over the past couple of days, the director had even been weighing whether to swap it for a kiss on the cheek—Qin Bao looked so pure that, given the character’s dynamic, a parting kiss on the cheek was arguably more fitting than on the lips.

Qin Bao had no intention of telling Feng Chengyu that, though.

He argued his corner: “We never agreed before that this kind of professional work—”

Feng Chengyu dipped his head and kissed him.

A soft brush first, then a deeper, consuming pull.

The post-permanent-mark Alpha scent lured Qin Bao in, scrambling his senses within seconds until he began returning the kiss.

Just as he parted his lips to deepen it further, Feng Chengyu pulled back.

“No tongue.”

The possessiveness in Feng Chengyu’s eyes was entirely unmasked.

“No matter what kind of kiss scene it is, you’re not allowed to use your tongue with anyone else.”

Qin Bao’s eyelashes fluttered, his chest swelling to near-overflowing: “…”

Having received Feng Chengyu’s permanent mark, he was no longer repulsed by other Alphas.

That didn’t mean his professionalism stretched far enough to French-kiss another Alpha; he vetted scripts carefully before accepting roles anyway.

“I’m not forcing you to rewrite the scene,” Feng Chengyu told him. “You have your principles, and I have my boundaries. This isn’t something we can’t discuss. But as your Alpha, I also need to voice it, to let you know how intolerable it feels to me.”

Just voicing it?

Qin Bao understood his words, yet felt even more bewildered: “That’s it? You… you don’t have any other conditions?”

He was agreeing to the kiss scene just like that?

Growing up, whenever Qin Bao wanted to pursue something, the family would eventually agree, but always attached strings—demanding he trade his own performance or compliance in return.

Naturally, Qin Bao had always delivered, no matter how grueling, learning early on that anything worth having required fighting for through his own grit.

Faced with Feng Chengyu’s approach, he felt thoroughly unaccustomed.

Feng Chengyu said, “I do.”

Sure enough, a familiar knot tightened in his chest, leaving Qin Bao with a strange, resigned sense that this was how things were supposed to be.

He asked, “What is it?”

Whatever it was, he would see it through.

Cupping Qin Bao’s face, Feng Chengyu pressed a thumb firmly against the boy’s lower lip, using enough force to redden the soft contour: “You have to nail this scene in a single take.”

Qin Bao’s pupils dilated slightly as he looked at Feng Chengyu, before murmuring a moment later, “Understood.”

Feng Chengyu let go, but Qin Bao caught his fingers instead.

“And if I don’t get it in one take, are you going to drown in vinegar?” Clasping Feng Chengyu’s hand, he picked up from the man’s earlier words: “I won’t be held responsible if you sour yourself to death.”

Thump-thump, thump-thump.

He couldn’t tell whose heart was beating loud enough to shake the room.

“If I say yes…” Feng Chengyu smiled faintly. “Xiao Bao is going to be in trouble.”