Chapter 3: Jasmine

When Pei Zhen was a child, there was a fortune-teller renowned far and wide in his hometown.

The man had once declared with absolute certainty that Pei Zhen was one in a million, a life destined for wealth and honor, someone who would grow up to achieve great career success and smooth sailing.

What he didn’t mention was the high-intensity tragedy that followed “wealth and honor”—falling from grace, breaking his legs, going blind, hitting rock bottom, and nearly dying. Whether the fortune-teller failed to foresee it, or simply forgot to mention it, no one can say.

In any case, from that point on, Pei Zhen stopped believing in fate.

Unfortunately, one day on the street, an old rogue pestered him, insisting that his fate spelled great calamity. The man swore he wouldn’t survive until his next zodiac year unless he paid fifty bucks to defy the heavens and change his destiny. It infuriated Pei Zhen…

In hindsight, he figured it was a blessing in disguise.

If that old scoundrel’s unprofessional ramblings hadn’t triggered a staggering philosophical reflection on life, the whole “keeping a little wolfdog” thing would probably have remained just a thought, never a reality.

Going home that day, Pei Zhen mulled it over. So many things in this world are uncertain anyway.

What if—just what if—he really only had a few years left? If he lived his whole life without anyone loving or caring for him, wouldn’t that be a total waste?

With that thought, he decisively added “make myself feel good” to his agenda as a serious project, akin to hospice care.

Soon enough, the handsome and obedient Han Fu was led into the house. And thus began a blissful life of daily cuddles and fur-stroking, working with full spirit to earn money and support his adorable little wolf (duck) dog.

Finding a good-looking, obedient man to share meals, chat with him, and engage in… indescribable activities—that was Pei Zhen’s simple, original intention.

He never dared hope for anything impractical—like turning a money-for-companionship deal into true love.

Or like personally mentoring another legend in the perfumery world, whose sheer skill would trample a certain ungrateful “Gold-Medal Perfumer” from years past. Then, with his head held high and a new, young, beautiful favorite by his side, he could infuriate that former “little ingrate” until smoke poured from his ears.

…

Han Fu’s talent for fragrance blending was a complete surprise to Pei Zhen.

One day, Pei Zhen was at his workstation in the greenhouse, formulating a new fragrance. Han Fu was at his side as usual, helping organize the various essential oil bottles.

The little wolfdog had a slight organizational compulsion.

Whenever he saw bottles and jars, he’d automatically categorize them by their labels, lining them up facing outward like soldiers in formation. For someone like Pei Zhen, who hated tidying up, this was actually a huge help.

“Han Fu.”

“Mm?”

“Hand me the fixative. The rockrose that just arrived last month.”

“Ooh, is it almost done?”

Pei Zhen nodded. Inside the test tube in his hand, several milliliters of a transparent, pale amber liquid swirled. The little wolfdog leaned in close in an instant, a twinkle flashing in his eyes. “It’s really beautiful.”

…It is beautiful.

Your smile is even more beautiful.

Pei Zhen froze, realizing he’d zoned out staring at him. He collected himself instantly. “What’s the big fuss? It’s not like you haven’t seen one before.”

“I have seen one, but this is the most beautiful. The perfumes you make, Zhenzhen, the colors are always so uniquely dreamy. And the scent is the richest, most special one—it totally blows away any of those big international brands.”

The little wolfdog, true to his daily ritual of praising his sugar daddy a hundred times, closed his eyes and leaned in for another sniff. The thoughtful, enraptured look on his profile carried a hint of sexiness.

“The top notes are neroli, basil, and bergamot. The heart notes are rosewood and jasmine. The base note is primarily frankincense. Hmm, what’s that slightly mysterious note? It’s so familiar—ah, it’s the myrrh you steeped in osmanthus water that day, isn’t it!”

“…”

“Zhenzhen, I’m really not just saying this because I like you. This sweet, fruity fragrance isn’t cloying, it’s not flashy but not too low-key either, and the myrrh in the base note even adds a little extra presence. It can suit anyone from a schoolgirl to an older working lady! It’s seriously excellent! Are you planning to launch it as a product? It’ll definitely be a bestseller!”

“…”

“What’s wrong? Why are you staring at me like that? Are you tired from working so long? Want a kiss?”

Pei Zhen: “How do you know.”

The next second, the test tube was back in its rack, and a hand pulled him tightly around the waist.

Pei Zhen’s face flushed hot. He retaliated with an elbow jab. “What are you doing! What I meant was—how did you know which aromatic ingredients I used?”

“I could smell them,” Han Fu said, his earlier enthusiasm deflating into a wronged pout. “Any normal person can smell them. You mean… they can’t?”

Of course they can’t!

…

In this world, an average person can identify around four thousand different scents. For a professional chef or a perfumer, that number can exceed ten thousand.

The “Fragrance Recognition Rate” has a strict grading system. The industry considers nine thousand the critical threshold.

Below that threshold, even the gap between one thousand and eight thousand is considered lacking in special talent. Only those with a Recognition Rate above nine thousand officially enter the “Scent Level” ranking for olfactory ability. By international convention, for every additional thousand fragrances one can identify, the Scent Level advances by one rank.

Pei Zhen’s Scent Level was Stage Four, Mid-Stage. He could identify over 12,600 distinct scents.

That was already a one-in-a-million, top-tier level of talent.

Many world-renowned master perfumers, like Alessandro Alege, the current Chief Perfumer for the Italian luxury brand Cici, and Vincent Campbell, the old man from the British perfume house Cranberry, had official Scent Level data only at the early stage of Stage Four. Their Fragrance Recognition Rates were several hundred less than Pei Zhen’s.

Of course, that didn’t mean no one had a higher rank than Pei Zhen.

For example, Belle’s new “Gold Medal Chief Perfumer”—that little ingrate, Yi Changqing. He had become famous for his 12,900 Recognition Rate, placing him at the late stage of Stage Four, bordering on Stage Five.

…

However, “Fragrance Recognition Rate” was one concept. What Han Fu just did, “deconstructing raw ingredients precisely” from a blended fragrance, was a problem on an entirely different level of difficulty.

It was like throwing out a dazzling array of ingredients. Professional chefs could recognize many of them, but if asked to close their eyes and identify every single raw ingredient in a dish cooked by another master chef, it would likely give them a splitting headache.

Pei Zhen admitted he couldn’t do it. Most perfumers and fragrance evaluators in the industry couldn’t either.

So, if Han Fu’s accurate identification wasn’t just a coincidence…

…

Han Fu’s test result came back at over 14,200. Stage Six, Early-Stage.

Pei Zhen strongly suspected the machine was broken, so they tested again. The second result shot straight past 14,300.

“…” Impossible.

Legend had it that only a hundred years ago, Belle’s founder, the French Grand Maître Merovech Grasse, and his lifelong rival, the Russian aristocrat Eugene Aldoga, possessed the caliber of a Stage Six Scent Level.

And after that gilded, fragrant golden age passed, the industry had no successors.

Today’s market still boasted countless perfumes and brands, but most relied on capital, brand recognition, and years of experience. Perfumers with natural talent reaching the level of Pei Zhen or Yi Changqing were pitifully few.

Stage Five had remained vacant for a long time.

Stage Six had been completely unheard of in recent decades.

…

From that day on, in Pei Zhen’s eyes, Han Fu was no longer just a sweet, adorable little wolfdog comfort companion who could cook and orbit him constantly. He was a rare, uncut gem.

With just a little polishing, he would shine brilliantly.

The “sugar baby” contract stated that, within legal bounds, the little wolfdog should “grant any request” of the sugar daddy. Of course, what “grant any request” meant in a transactional arrangement… most people would probably just offer a knowing smile.

Pei Zhen had originally meant “that,” too. He just hadn’t gotten around to acting on it yet.

Now, he thought—thank goodness he hadn’t!

Such an incredibly rare gift would be far too wasted and pitiful if merely used to warm a bed.

He resolved to train Han Fu properly.

He would personally cultivate the industry’s future legend, send Han Fu to the pinnacle to create better, more classic perfumes than Yi Changqing’s, ones that the global fragrance rating organization, Library, would recommend and archive.

…

Library’s “Hall of Fame” was one of the industry’s most important yearly awards—the widely recognized “Oscars of Perfumery.”

Once upon a time, it had been Pei Zhen’s dream destination, too.

But his luck had been terrible. His painstakingly built independent brand was ruined. He himself was wrongly accused and “exiled” from the mainstream industry. Even after he rebuilt his career, he could only manufacture for minor, no-name brands, never again allowed to enter the mainstream market under an independent label.

He thought he’d be stuck there for life.

But fate’s wheel always turns. And now, it led him to find his little wolfdog, Han Fu.

…

Pei Zhen couldn’t help but think: if Yi Changqing managed to enter the “Hall of Fame” in just four short years, then with Han Fu’s superlative talent, perhaps he could achieve it even faster and go even further.

The ideal was meaty and plump.

The bony reality was, no matter how talented, Han Fu was a total novice who’d only been exposed to perfumery for less than a month. He urgently needed to systematically learn all the fundamentals from the ground up.

Without a second thought, Pei Zhen decided to enroll him in a specialized Perfumery Academy.

“…I don’t want to go.”

Pei Zhen’s face flipped instantly to that of a homicidal maniac. “What did you promise me yesterday?!”

Han Fu: “If… if you were teaching me, then of course I’d be willing to learn. But this… academy, it’s out in the suburbs, an hour’s drive away! In the suburbs! If I go to classes there, how will I get back in time to cook you a nutritious dinner?”

“…” The homicidal sugar daddy’s expression softened slightly.

“From now on, you don’t need to do my laundry or cook for me anymore. We can hire a housekeeper for that. Starting today, your main focus should be on—”

“A housekeeper?” Han Fu looked stricken. “Zhenzhen, how could a housekeeper be okay? Would a housekeeper know, like I do, which laundry detergent brands you’re allergic to? Would they consider nutritional balance and a balanced diet like I do? Would they research books to brew Chinese herbal tonic soups for you?”

Pei Zhen: “…”

The difference between people was truly staggering.

They were both poor, hard-up youths. Both had struggled to survive, working odd jobs deep into the night before meeting him.

He still remembered the eager, burning light in Yi Changqing’s eyes back when he suggested sending him to school—the barely concealed excitement of someone who had been terrified of poverty and worn to the bone, finally grasping a life-saving straw that could change his fate.

Now, look at his own Han Fu…

A golden opportunity was handed right to him, and his head was still fully occupied with “doing his primary job well” and “serving his sugar daddy diligently”?!

It tugged at his heart.

So honest. At this rate… wouldn’t others bully him senseless?

He sighed. His hand, adorned with the black jade ring, gently stroked the young man’s hair. With the gravity of an elder, he spoke from the heart: “You, you’ve never been to university, and you have no other marketable skills. Do you plan to be kept by someone your whole life? You’re young now, so your looks can be your livelihood. What will you live on when you’re older?”

“Forget everything else, just tell me this: what if one day I get tired of this and don’t want to keep you anymore? What will you do? Be good. While you have the means, think about your own future. Save money, learn a skill. Don’t just aim for idleness and drift along day by day.”

“…” Han Fu didn’t absorb a single drop of his heartfelt advice.

Instead, like a puppy kicked by its owner, his eyes dimmed, and he put on an expression of utter grievance. Paired with his beauty mark, the heartbroken, tearful effect was immediately cranked to Max.

“If you get tired of me later, you just won’t keep me? If I stop being good-looking, you’ll just throw me away?!”

Pei Zhen: “…”

“How can you be like that! Even with a pet, you can’t just throw it away because it got big and isn’t as cute anymore, right?”

“That’s not…” Pei Zhen was utterly unable to argue with that logic. He could only try to reframe it in simpler terms. “Perfumery is at least a vocational skill. Plus, with your talent, you might get a chance to shoot straight to the top and completely change your life. You wouldn’t ever have to bow to anyone again.”

But Han Fu just shook his head, shaking it with righteous indignation: “Zhenzhen, there’s nothing in my life I need to change. I’m willing to stay by your side for a lifetime, taking care of you and… reading your expressions.”

“…” Pei Zhen’s heart was stuffed.

Of course, even that stuffed-up heart carried a faint trace of sweetness… A truly bizarre and wonderful life experience.

He had a powerful urge to stroke the sincere face of the little wolfdog before him and ask what on earth was inside his head.

Seducing his keeper with such professional dedication… what if, eventually, the sugar daddy actually fell for it and couldn’t bear to let you go?