Life could not be replicated.
Qi Jing had only known before that Auntie was surnamed Lin, with the given name Yiyang. But now, after searching on his phone, he discovered a Baidu Baike entry.
It featured a photo from her youth: she was holding a trophy, smiling gently.
She looked so high-spirited.
“That was all a long time ago,” she said.
Qi Jing shook his head, tilting his face up toward her. “It’s a life of great value. Truly wonderful.”
But after a moment…
“Still, taking care of me… doesn’t that feel like a waste of your talents?”
The boy’s life experience was still too limited.
He couldn’t grasp the concept of life’s ups and downs. He simply felt that someone so accomplished shouldn’t be stuck here looking after him. Wasn’t she burying her potential?
“How could it be?” Auntie replied. “Little Jing, does life always have to have ‘value’?”
“Those trophies and honors you saw—they’re just rules and systems created by another group of people in society. In the end, they’re nothing more than hunks of metal.”
The woman spoke with refined elegance, faint lines of age crinkling at the corners of her eyes, but her tone was gentle as she explained:
“Why should I let the world’s judgment define who I am or whether my life has value?”
Qi Jing paused, utterly bewildered.
Until—
“I can award the trophies to myself.”
~~~
In the bedroom, Qi Jing sat at the desk lost in thought. 996 rolled back and forth across the surface, looking like a rolled-up towel.
【Little Jing, actually, there’s a lot of money. You could spend it recklessly if you wanted.】
【You could buy a big house, eat all the delicious food.】
【Isn’t that how it goes?】
The boy merely propped his chin on his hand and stared out the window, replying very earnestly:
【No.】
【I think… I should learn something.】
School was, in a way, an ivory tower. The knowledge it imparted leaned toward theory, slightly disconnected from real society.
But that didn’t mean the education system was worthless.
On the contrary, it offered the simplest path to learning for the average person—no need for arduous quests to access the clearest frameworks of knowledge.
Qi Jing gazed at the trees outside the window and suddenly said, “Temperate deciduous broadleaf forest.”
996’s beady eyes blinked in confusion.
Huh?
Just then, his phone began to buzz.
Snapping back to attention, the boy picked it up and glanced at the screen…
Panic hit him all at once.
He clutched the phone with both hands, dazed for a moment before answering.
His earlobes flushed pink.
996 sat beside him on the desk, baffled by human psychology. Why would they still feel nervous even after getting together?
It rolled back and forth again.
“Have you eaten?”
The voice on the other end was deep, accompanied by the rustle of turning pages, as if the man were very busy.
Qi Jing lowered his eyelids and murmured a quick “Mm.”
His fingers twisted together.
“Say something.”
The man prompted.
Without thinking, the boy tilted his head and said earnestly, “Bo Chengyan.”
His voice was muffled.
But no longer quite so hoarse.
“Nothing else you want to ask me?”
It felt like gentle coaxing.
Qi Jing didn’t catch on at first—until the man casually mentioned the midday incident.
“Little Jing, you should have come to me.”
The words were perfectly calm.
Like the sea before a swell: layers of gentle ripples on the surface, but uncontrollable undercurrents lurking beneath.
Qi Jing blinked in surprise. How did he know?
And so quickly?
But he paid it no mind, replying earnestly, “You weren’t home.”
His tone was soft.
Just stating the facts.
The voice on the phone responded with refined courtesy, making a suggestion:
“I could have sent a driver to pick you up.”
~~~
In truth, they hadn’t been apart for long.
It was merely a trick of perception.
Days dragging on like years, that was all.
The Chief Assistant arrived in high spirits to fetch him—this job was a breeze. He spotted the boy at the entrance the moment he stepped out of the car.
Qi Jing’s cheeks were clean and fresh; he seemed to be chatting with Auntie, his head tilted to the side.
When he turned and saw the car, he trotted over.
“Hello.”
His breathing was still a bit uneven, his clear eyes looking up.
He was greeting the man.
The Chief Assistant paused for a few seconds, then smiled warmly. “Hello, hello.”
“Let’s get in the car.”
The door opened.
Qi Jing settled into the back seat, hugging his backpack.
It contained a power bank and some tissues.
“Thank you.”
His tone was utterly sincere.
He even buckled his seatbelt without prompting.
The Chief Assistant thought for a moment. “You can nap if you’d like. It’s about twenty minutes’ drive.”
He had reviewed the kid’s file before.
President Bo had even sent him to the hospital for the medical report, which noted high schooler hypersomnia…
Truth be told, it was just drowsiness in the car.
Not a big deal, but they had seen a doctor anyway.
He cared deeply.
“Okay.”
The boy sat quietly.
The car pulled into the underground garage of Lingda Building, but Qi Jing hadn’t slept. He followed the Chief Assistant out, glancing around.
He had been here several times before.
Yet it still felt… so vast.
The executive elevator arrived shortly.
The Chief Assistant smoothly escorted him to the top floor and said warmly, “Just go on in.”
Qi Jing looked up at him and nodded.
“Thank you.”
This was the first time he had come alone, so he felt a touch of nerves. Being brought here to the “parent’s” office was entirely different from coming independently…
He stood in the reception area, lips pressed together, glancing back at the elevator.
The doors had closed.
The Chief Assistant had left.
Nearby was the secretary’s workstation—an open gray desk—but the person there was on the phone.
Everyone seemed so busy.
It was like stepping into the adult world.
Qi Jing hesitated, then approached the door. It even had a screen and a keypad.
He froze. How had he gotten in last time?
At a loss, he had forgotten to call. He reached out and touched it; the door chimed.
【Door unlocked.】
The sound was rather loud.
Qi Jing glanced nervously at the secretary nearby and stammered, “S-sorry.”
But his wrist was already caught, gently tugged inside.
A familiar scent enveloped him.
Almost instinctively, he reached out. He was lifted into an embrace, and only then did he relax.
Qi Jing clutched at the man’s shirt, his heart pounding wildly. He buried his chin on the other’s shoulder.
He didn’t know what to say.
“Bo Chengyan.”
The words came out prim and proper.
“What were you doing, standing out there so long?”
The man supported him under the thighs, lifting him higher. His eyes lowered, he grabbed a glass of water from the desk with one hand, all effortless poise.
“There’s a code.”
The man’s voice was low; the boy in his arms sounded a little aggrieved.
That emotion had risen so casually.
“But didn’t you just unlock it? Your fingerprint’s registered.”
Qi Jing blinked. When had that happened? He started to lift his head, but a hand pressed the back of his neck, right by a doorframe.
Only now did he realize they had entered the lounge…
The lighting was dim.
A single table lamp glowed.
With a gentle tug, the boy’s legs were guided, and they settled face-to-face in the most natural way.
Qi Jing’s eyes reddened at the corners, his hands resting on the man’s shoulders and back. Having been through it once, he seemed to understand a little.
His gaze darted away.
Bo Chengyan looked down. “Why won’t you look at me?”
His tone was indifferent.
Qi Jing had no idea this position was one of total control, leaving him immobile. His knuckles were lightly rubbed—not too hard, not too soft.
His breathing grew shallow.
After a moment’s thought, he tilted his head up to meet those eyes.
That gaze was so profoundly dark, like ink too thick to dissolve…
His lips were parted.
In an instant, all strength fled him; his neck needed support just to hold steady. Qi Jing’s eyes grew misty. The kiss lasted a good while before he was released.
His loose white T-shirt had slipped, exposing his collarbone.
“Mm…”
Qi Jing didn’t know what came over him. He wrapped his arms around the man again, as if he never learned.
Or perhaps… he simply loved it.
Beneath the warm yellow lamplight, clothes wrinkled.
A faint woody fragrance lingered…
“What did you ask Auntie?”
The slender neck could be encircled by a single hand, as if it might snap with the slightest pressure.
“I wanted to ask you first, but you weren’t there.”
The boy’s voice was muffled against the man’s shoulder, his eyes tinged red.
“I was just thinking… maybe I should start considering my future.”
It was like a pebble dropped into water, sending ripples across the surface.
In the lamplight, Bo Chengyan’s features stood out in sharp relief, his high nose bridge tilting slightly as if to brush a kiss against the boy’s hair.
Like cradling a treasure.
“Why think that now?”
The question came calmly, probing the trigger.
Was it a person? Or something else?
“Mm… I just feel like I should.”
“What am I going to do in the future?”
“I can’t wander aimlessly forever.”
What had it started as? Survival. Playing a “role.” Anxiety over being “abandoned.”
After shedding that virtual identity?
Exams next. How to get into university? Academic pressure mounting.
And after that?
Qi Jing had found love, but it dragged him into a subtle anxiety. Imagined futures of parting ways flooded his mind.
The future was terrifying.
He shied away from it almost on instinct.
“Living in the moment” was the best solution the young man could come up with.
It bought him some time.
He hadn’t given much thought to what came after, anyway.
Today’s troubles could stay right where they were—in today.
“I want to ask you… what should I do in the future to be better?”
It was a childish question, straightforward to the point of naivety.
He sounded as if he truly saw the man before him as a teacher.
Bo Chengyan lowered his gaze, his face impassive. Yet he could feel his blood surging faster through his veins.
The future?
Of course, the future meant staying together with him.
Like this, for a lifetime.
Any way at all was fine.
Chaotic thoughts flooded in.
As if some baser instinct had seized control of his mind.
But in the end—
“Little Jing, it depends on what you like. No one’s life can be copied from another’s.”
Veins stood out faintly on the back of Bo Chengyan’s hand, though his expression remained perfectly calm.
“Like… I like you.”
The youth’s answer came almost by reflex. He had no idea that such words had long been passé in the game of romance.
But he didn’t mean it that way. He truly believed it.
Innocent. Ignorant. Easily led.
Traits shared by all who had yet to be hardened by the world.
Bo Chengyan could easily leverage his greater experience to draw him into a future of his own imagining—one containing nothing else.
Nothing but him.
But time slipped by, second by second.
It felt like only a few heartbeats had passed—or perhaps an eternity.
“No.”
“Little Jing, you can’t treat me like one of your life’s little preferences. There’s a difference between people and things.”
“Liking me is just a small part of your life.”
