Chapter 2: · Sweet Orange

In the past, Pei Zhen had felt his luck was fairly decent.

Before the age of twenty, a fragrance he blended had received high praise from internationally renowned masters. Riding that momentum, he launched his own independent perfume brand, which became an instant hit, bringing both fame and fortune.

Unfortunately, the good times didn’t last. That fateful encounter with Yi Changqing on a snowy night at the airport completely kickstarted his streak of bad luck. In the years that followed, his entire being was tormented, heart and soul, leaving him withered and haggard.

Thankfully, he cut his losses in time and they forgot each other in the rivers and lakes.

Recently, he felt that the luck value that had been dragged down was now rebounding!

His new company’s products were selling well, and his days were getting more and more comfortable—mainly because of the newly acquired Little Wolfdog, Han Fu, who was simply so handsome, adorable, and caring. Watching him for ten minutes every morning could energize him a hundredfold for the entire day, with a healing effect that was absolute max.

Speaking of merits, Han Fu wasn’t just good-looking with long legs, diligent, and considerate; he was also exceptionally good at warming people up.

Warming… people up.

Warming? My ass!

Pei Zhen glanced down at his wristwatch. He had been wandering like a lost soul through the deserted streets in the middle of the night for fifteen minutes now. Where was the person who promised to pick him up?!

“Beep beep—” Speak of the devil. A jet-black, gleaming Land Rover rounded the street corner, slicing through the starry night, and whooshed to a stop beside him.

“This gentleman, need a ride?” The driver was very young, his sharply defined face half-hidden in shadow.

Pei Zhen: “No thanks, no ride.”

“Come on, just one ride? At a conscientious price, even cheaper than a taxi. Guaranteed delivery right to your doorstep, absolutely no detours.”

Drama queen.

Pei Zhen: “No, I’m a law-abiding citizen and refuse to ride in unlicensed cabs.”

The unlicensed cab driver slumped over the steering wheel, chuckling to himself.

President Pei took a few more steps forward alone when a weight settled on his back. A warm, dark gray cashmere coat was draped completely over him. At the same time, a tug from behind pulled him stumbling back into a warm, solid embrace.

His back shoulder pressed against the other’s chest and collarbone. Pei Zhen was quite tall himself, but that person was still a tiny bit taller than him. The temptation of citrus cologne floated through the icy air, a warm voice right beside his ear, tingling and numbingly pleasant.

“So, how about a clearance sale on myself, with an added manual labor service of carrying you right to the bedroom door?”

“….”

“Got anxious waiting, didn’t you? Traffic jam on the road just now. I called you but you didn’t pick up. Are you cold? Are you angry?”

Pei Zhen: “No.”

That “No” was painfully forced. The person behind him laughed, tightening his arms. “Really not angry? Turn your head back and let me see?”

Pei Zhen: “….”

He didn’t want to turn back.

Because he knew very well that if he turned around right now, he would immediately be faced with a pair of bright, warm eyes up close, eyes that reflected only him.

His kept, high-quality young man, Han Fu.

A killer body with long legs, flawlessly handsome features, and most devastating of all, a soul-stealing tiny tear mole beneath his right eye.

Though his usual state was a sort of silly, bounding enthusiasm, whenever he looked at someone intently, he inexplicably held a pitiable sense of “utterly devoted unto death without regret” and “looking wronged and begging for attention.”

That kind of gaze, lately… was truly troubling him more and more.

…

Twenty-three years old. In Pei Zhen’s understanding, that was the most alluring age for a man, poised right between callowness and maturity.

Before his eyes, the twenty-three-year-old Han Fu stood under the misty moonlight. Exquisite, raw, tempting, yet with eyes full of gentle light and brilliance. The sheer beauty of the man was so striking that it made his Sugar Daddy feel a dazed sense of guilt.

…What he had bought with money was, after all, the best years of someone else’s youth.

And a young man of that age was usually completely unaware of his own preciousness.

Thus, Han Fu was still meticulously fulfilling that piece of “indentureship” contract, enveloping his Sugar Daddy in an extremely tender gaze, and dutifully reaching out to warm his Sugar Daddy’s ice-cold cheeks.

“Zhenzhen, look at you. With your leg trouble, you still walked this far all by yourself. Tired? Do your joints hurt? Want me to carry you?”

“You’ve been to a drinking party again, haven’t you? Still not recovered and you go to those events. What did you promise me before?”

“Get in the car first. I have hangover soup, it’s hot.”

As gentle and considerate as always, and as nagging and long-winded as always.

Pei Zhen lowered his eyes.

…Originally, his demands truly hadn’t been high.

Just finding a somewhat agreeable young man who was willing to accompany him for a fee and perfunctorily humor him day-to-day would have sufficed.

Who would have thought that at the market-average price for a kept lover, what he bought home was an incomparably handsome young man with top-tier visual appeal, maxed-out domestic skills, plus a full-time, all-around, deeply affectionate and gentle soul who acted his heart out?

Was he happy? Of course, he was happy.

Uneasy?

Every day felt like he’d secretly picked up millions on the street and was constantly terrified the owner would come looking for it.

Just as he was thinking this, his body felt light.

The entire scenery before him flipped upside down.

“How can you… how can you again—”

He’d just had a serious discussion about this exact issue the day before yesterday!

No slinging me over your shoulder on the street just because you feel like it! No randomly brewing those weird Chinese herbal soups for me! And most importantly—what the hell was this “Zhenzhen” business?!

It was agreed. Call me Boss or Young Master Pei. Any more “Zhenzhen” means deducted pay, remember?

…

The next morning, Pei Zhen opened his eyes in his single Super King Size bed, 2.8 meters wide, to the insistent stepping of his chubby, white-gloved orange tabby cat master.

Without hesitation, he scooped the cat over and inhaled deeply against its fur. The master struggled, its fluffy tail swatting his face with utmost disdain.

After the master fled, a trace of subtle sweetness still floated in the air.

It was the lingering sweetness of Han Fu’s citrus cologne.

Mixed with the crispness of egg crepes and the temptation of oat milk, stirring an immense appetite.

The scent still held residual warmth.

It meant that someone had come to his bedside after finishing breakfast and had once been very, very close.

…

There had been one time before.

Pei Zhen was actually awake, just too lazy to open his eyes.

Footsteps gradually approached. The right hand resting outside the covers was carefully lifted. The ring finger wearing the black jade ring was gently brushed over, then the hand was tucked back under the blanket.

Han Fu tucked the corner of the blanket neatly around him, paused for a moment, then bent down and stole a peck on his cheek.

As the sound faded away, Pei Zhen opened his eyes—8:15 AM. A full forty-five minutes until the 9:00 AM “work start time” stipulated in the keeping contract.

Today was even earlier, not even 7:30 yet!

…

Based on the principle that “employees who voluntarily work overtime generally love their jobs,” Pei Zhen thought it over carefully—he, himself, could be considered handsome, wealthy, mature, steady, and reasonable.

To a young, naive, penniless youth lacking social experience—a so-called sweet, innocent young thing—he should still hold a certain degree of lethality.

Being with him, at first, it was certainly just for the money, but maybe later…

All sleepiness vanished in an instant.

He flipped out of bed as if injected with chicken blood. Unfortunately, his eyesight wasn’t great, and he clumsily bumped into the full-length mirror in the hallway.

For fuck’s sake.

Who the hell was this guy in the mirror?!

…

In recent years, busy dodging debts, getting beaten up, and laboriously staging a comeback, Pei Zhen really hadn’t been in the mood to pay attention to his appearance.

His impression of his own looks had stubbornly remained stuck in the time from several years ago, when his career was successful and he was full of high spirits.

Back then, he wore stylish suits with gold cufflinks and a neat, short hairstyle. He was tall and slender, with striking, bold features. His entire being radiated confidence, and from head to toe, he exuded a chic, dashing air.

Looking in the mirror, he himself thought he was such a Gary Stu.

Now, the reflection inside ruthlessly shattered all illusions.

The wretched years had eroded away much of his former handsomeness, leaving a shallow groove at the corner of his eye. His once gentle and calm eyes were now tinged with a subtle, almost fierce neuroticism.

He had gone home late again yesterday, and after being waited on hand and foot through a bath, it was already half past twelve. By the time he truly fell asleep, it was past one o’clock. With age, recovery ability really deteriorated. Right now, beneath his eyes hung a patch of weary, lifeless, dark bluish-black.

Hah.

Originally, his eyes were already two different colors, earning him comparisons to a Persian cat.

Now he looked like a Persian panda directly—and he wasn’t even thirty yet! What about the adage that a man is in his prime at forty?

Immediately, he rummaged through everything, pulling out his most expensive shirt and tie.

Fine feathers make fine birds—an eternally unchanging hard truth.

He combed his hair, seriously styled it into something presentable, then frowned with a disgruntled, awkward grimace. The image of the brooding, mismatched-eyed man in the mirror finally seemed to hint at a return to handsomeness.

…

The restaurant’s glass windows faced the courtyard.

A tiny, ethnic-style tin wind chime hung there, letting a patch of brilliant light shine through.

With a whoosh, he slid open the warming cabinet. Inside rested the daily, handmade loving breakfast prepared by the Little Wolfdog. Hot milk and an egg-wrapped rice omelet, its surface even stamped with a huge, smiling face and rosy cheeks made from seaweed and ketchup.

“….” Even that little smile was far cuter than the sickly, tense, sinister, funereal look he himself was sporting this early morning.

Heart-wrenching.

He sighed and sat down. Chew chew chew. The egg omelet was fragrant, glutinous, and delicious. The milk had honey added, exceptionally tasty. The heart-wrenching feeling was healed.

Leaning lazily back in his chair, his gaze drifted idly out the window.

The glass greenhouse in the yard was his personal perfumer’s workstation, recently occupied by Han Fu.

The Little Wolfdog was currently wearing rubber gloves and a white lab coat, bending over in absolute concentration, bustling about among beakers and flasks. Long legs, and from a distance, the curve of his waist was incredibly alluring.

How nice.

A gentle breeze blowing, sunlight spilling down, a delicious breakfast, and a handsome Little Wolfdog to admire.

Indeed, money can buy happiness.

…

After breakfast, he strolled into the greenhouse and found Han Fu staring at a beaker with fierce, single-minded intensity, a look identical to their cat Little Orange eyeballing an electronic mouse toy.

Drawing nearer, Pei Zhen couldn’t help but let out a “pfft.”

The bottom of the beaker looked like a raw egg had been dropped into it—a gooey, thick, pale yellow mess mixed with a wave of cheap, cloying fragrance.

Such a failed fragrance-blending product was truly an eyesore. No wonder he had that expression.

“So early in the morning, making egg custard?”

The Sugar Daddy’s daily venomous tongue was something Han Fu had long grown accustomed to. He pointed to the book “Fundamentals of Fragrance Blending” on the workstation. “I followed every step written in here exactly. Where did I go wrong? Why does it always settle into sediment by this point…”

Under the clear sunlight of the glass greenhouse, four eyes met.

Han Fu froze. Within his deep, dark eyes, a radiant light slowly, slowly bloomed, the look of someone utterly “bedazzled.”

Pei Zhen shuddered, silently thinking this act… wasn’t this a bit overdone?

He had just looked in the mirror and knew perfectly well what a ghost he looked like now. Even dressed in well-tailored, expensive clothes, he couldn’t compare to how he was years ago.

Yet, he couldn’t resist the fact that the Little Wolfdog’s performance was genuinely heartfelt, nor could he resist the fact that, at his older age, he was genuinely easy to fool.

Being gazed at by such a young, beautiful person with eyes full of appreciation and gentleness, even knowing full well that person was just doing their job for money, his heart still quickly melted, melted into a puddle of softened warmth.

With great effort to overcome his stiff expression, he managed a grimace that resembled either a muscle spasm or a sinister grin.

At this, Han Fu couldn’t even hold the glass beaker steady.

He desperately tried to strip off the disposable gloves, pulling at them several times before finally getting them off. Yet when he reached out his hand, he hesitated slightly, as if standing before him wasn’t his Sugar Daddy, but some kind of exhibition treasure he dared not casually touch.

“…” Pei Zhen was utterly convinced.

This was probably the most well-spent sum of money in his entire life.

Little Wolfdog Han Fu—the industry conscience of the sugar-baby business!

A few glances, a few gestures. That was all it took to inject the self-loathing Sugar Daddy with a powerful cardiac stimulant.

It almost made him believe he was actually devastatingly handsome, unmatched by anyone.

As for the displeasure he felt looking in the mirror earlier, that was entirely due to strict self-discipline and excessively high personal standards. Mm!