Chapter 46

Mu Yicong’s single remark left Qi Yang speechless.

Your subconscious can’t fool anyone—otherwise, last night he wouldn’t have thought of all that nonsense, and before stepping inside, he wouldn’t have come up with the phrase “Mu Yicong’s territory,” a thought that felt fraught with danger the moment he examined it.

But having a concept and actually letting something happen were two different things.

“I agreed to come for dinner.” He pushed Mu Yicong away, ran his tongue along his upper palate, then bent down to pick up the grocery bags from the floor. “Where’s the kitchen?”

Mu Yicong leaned against the wall, watching him with an easy air, and pointed.

Drawing on ten years of cooking experience, Qi Yang took one look at the counter and knew Mu Yicong’s home had basically never seen a flame.

The cookware and seasonings were all there, neatly categorized in fancy high-end bottles, but every single one was exactly seventy percent full on the measurement lines.

The label on the pan was still fresh and unstuck.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Qi Yang’s mouth was still numb. The sensation of that kiss just now echoed vividly in his mouth, and suddenly he wasn’t so tense anymore, so he asked Mu Yicong directly.

It felt like a person terrified of dogs who’d agreed to visit someone with a giant canine. Before arriving, he’d tossed and turned, worrying about all the things that might happen. But once he actually got there and got bitten, he found himself surprisingly fearless.

“Did what on purpose?” Mu Yicong followed him into the kitchen, picked up the pan, then opened a cabinet and pulled out a shiny big pot.

“You don’t cook at home, yet you insisted I come eat at your place.” Qi Yang couldn’t help feeling a little amused. He turned around and leaned back against the counter, arms resting behind him. “Just for that kiss at the door?”

Mu Yicong tossed the new pot into the sink, ran water over it along with the meat and veggies Qi Yang had brought, then calmly washed his hands. He stepped forward and boxed Qi Yang in against the counter again.

Qi Yang looked at the mess in the sink and felt a pang of pity.

“Cui Wu asked you out for a drink. Why didn’t you go?” Mu Yicong grabbed his chin and turned his face back so he’d look at him.

His freshly washed hands were still damp. Qi Yang shook him off and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Because I already said yes to you first.” He stared back at Mu Yicong, reasoning it out. “If I’d agreed to Cui Wu first, I would’ve turned you down just the same.”

“Who are you kidding?” Mu Yicong put his hands on the counter too, leaned forward slightly, and kissed the corner of Qi Yang’s mouth again. “I gave you the chance. You chose to come here.”

Outside, the sky had already darkened. Inside, the house was bright and safe, just the two of them alone. The atmosphere hovered between tension and ease, a push-and-pull. Mu Yicong’s soft pecks, coming naturally between sentences, felt completely different from the fierce, rough kiss at the door.

A person’s limits really do keep getting lower.

Qi Yang’s mouth was still numb, and that thought returned.

After being kissed a few times, and considering his current “trial dating” status with Mu Yicong, he found he could almost tolerate this level of contact—at least he didn’t flinch away like he’d touched an electric wire.

“Fine.” He nodded and tried to sidestep Mu Yicong to leave. “I’ll go over there now, then.”

Mu Yicong grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

“Hotpot.” He kept his expression indifferent, but without argument he helped Qi Yang take off his jacket and hung it in the living room wardrobe. “I’m hungry.”

Qi Yang stood in front of the sink, pressed his lips together, and bit down on a cigarette to suppress the small thrill of finally getting one over on Mu Yicong.

Hotpot wasn’t much trouble. With a pot, meat, and vegetables, all they had to do was wash everything and lay it out on the table, toss the broth base in, turn up the heat, and wait for it to boil.

When Qi Yang had everything ready, he poured himself a cup of water and wandered around the house.

He didn’t go into any particular room. He paused at the door to the master bedroom and saw the clothes he’d given Mu Yicong yesterday still in their bag on the bedroom sofa. He suddenly remembered the jacket and shirt he’d lent Mu Yicong before, and reminded himself to ask for them back before he left.

Mu Yicong had mixed two bowls of dipping sauce in the kitchen. When he came out and saw Qi Yang standing by the bedroom door, he asked, “What are you looking at?”

“Waiting for the pot to boil,” Qi Yang said.

“Almost there.” Mu Yicong lifted the lid and turned the heat down a little. “Come on over.”

The rich aroma of the broth spread through the dining room. Qi Yang walked over, stirred it, and was about to drop in the ingredients when his phone gave a dull ring.

His phone was still in his jacket. Qi Yang went to the wardrobe to get it. The caller was Liu Dameng.

“Yangzi, whatcha up to?” Liu Dameng’s voice boomed as usual. “Cui’er said he couldn’t drag you out?”

“Already drinking?” Qi Yang could hear he sounded tipsy.

“Nah, we came to eat bullfrog pot. Too noisy.” Liu Dameng chuckled. “He couldn’t get you alone, so I figured I’d call. Who’re you hanging out with?”

For some reason, facing that question from Liu Dameng gave Qi Yang a strange, sneaky feeling of guilt.

As if, by saying “Mu Yicong,” Liu Dameng would be able to see the whole kissing scene through the phone.

Mu Yicong must have heard the question too, since the guy on the other end was yelling like a cracked gong.

Qi Yang turned to look. Mu Yicong didn’t meet his eyes; he was setting the prepared dipping dish in front of Qi Yang’s seat, placing chopsticks on it.

Qi Yang paused. “Mu Yicong,” he answered Liu Dameng.

“Holy shit?” Liu Dameng’s voice even dropped. Then he quickly caught on. “For helping Xing’er get in touch with the hospital, right?”

“Yeah.” Qi Yang mumbled a response. “Something like that.”

“Okay, then, you two eat.” Liu Dameng didn’t mess around when it came to serious matters. “Last time at the parking lot I was drinking, so explain things for me, will you?”

Qi Yang hung up, went back to the table, sat down, and relayed casually, “Liu Dameng said he’d had a few that day and didn’t talk right. Hope you can let it slide.”

“I don’t care about them,” Mu Yicong said. “Eat.”

Who he did care about was obvious. Qi Yang took another sip of water to cool his still-aching tongue and didn’t pick up that thread.

Hotpot had been Mu Yicong’s idea. He’d thrown in a whole pot of meat and vegetables, but he barely ate any himself—just tried a couple of bites, then poured himself a glass of wine and leaned back in his chair to watch Qi Yang eat.

If he’d been eating with someone else, Qi Yang would have stopped when the other person put down their chopsticks.

But with Mu Yicong, maybe because they’d been eating together more often lately, he felt more and more at ease. He ignored him and ate on his own.

“Does your tongue still hurt?” Mu Yicong’s sudden question made Qi Yang choke.

He turned aside and coughed twice, then picked up his water cup and took a sip.

Mu Yicong got up, opened the fridge, took out a can of yellow peach syrup that Qi Yang had bought, unscrewed it, and handed it over.

The cool, sweet syrup was usually too cloying, but now it was perfect for washing away the spicy sting in his mouth.

“I told you, your technique’s pretty average,” Qi Yang said, slowly chewing a slice of peach. He was back to his pointless competitiveness.

Mu Yicong was clearly just messing with him, so he didn’t argue. Instead, he smiled faintly and took a sip of his wine.

It had been like this since school.

Qi Yang chewed his peach and watched him. Either he didn’t talk at all, or the moment he opened his mouth, he was annoying.

“So, the thing with you liking guys… have you ever thought about how you’ll handle it with your family?” Qi Yang was genuinely curious now about Mu Yicong’s sexuality.

“They know,” Mu Yicong said calmly, and that made Qi Yang blink.

“You already told them?” he confirmed. “They didn’t object?”

“Of course they did.” Mu Yicong seemed amused by Qi Yang’s reaction. He explained unhurriedly, “They even said they’d send me to conversion therapy.”

Qi Yang couldn’t help frowning.

“Then what?” He remembered the strawberries Mu Yicong had given him yesterday. Since his family had brought those, their relationship couldn’t be that bad.

“I didn’t go, obviously,” Mu Yicong said. “I was abroad at the time, so they had no way to make me. Then I didn’t come home for a few years, and it just fizzled out.”

Qi Yang knew that “fizzled out” feeling.

When Qi Dahai disappeared, Qi Yang’s mindset had gone from confusion and helplessness to just… letting it fizzle out.

“No way around it, huh,” he said. “You’re their kid, after all.”

“That’s not really the reason.” Mu Yicong looked down and tapped his wine glass. “They just couldn’t bear the shame.”

Qi Yang fell completely silent.

Yeah.

A family that had only ever told their bullied son not to cause trouble, that they’d swallowed every insult—they weren’t the type to actually make a public scene and send someone to conversion therapy.

“That’s… not bad,” Qi Yang said, not sure how to console him and feeling like Mu Yicong didn’t need it anyway. “At least you can live the life you want.”

Speaking of which, Qi Yang remembered what Zou Meizhu had said yesterday and couldn’t help laughing. “My mom said yesterday she wanted to set you up with a girlfriend.”

Mu Yicong looked surprised, then smiled too. “How did Auntie think of that?”

“She thinks you’re a good person,” Qi Yang said.

“And you?” Mu Yicong asked.

Turning any conversation toward his desired topic in just a few words—that was Mu Yicong’s skill.

Qi Yang slowed down his peach-eating, leaned back in his chair, tilted his head, and studied Mu Yicong.

“You should know, when I agreed to try this, I meant just try it,” he reminded Mu Yicong. “It doesn’t mean I actually like you.”

Yellow peach syrup—one mouthful was sweet; two was cloying.

Qi Yang took another sip of water to wash away the sugary flavor and watched for Mu Yicong’s reaction.

Mu Yicong didn’t seem bothered at all. He just looked at the corner of Qi Yang’s mouth and said, “Of course.”

The calmer he accepted it, the more uneasy Qi Yang felt.

“Although,” Mu Yicong continued before Qi Yang could think, “a straight guy probably wouldn’t have a reaction to kissing me.”

Qi Yang froze, and then a tidal wave of humiliation crashed over him, catching him completely off guard.

Mu Yicong’s gaze slid downward, past the table, and fixed on a certain part of Qi Yang.

“When I kissed you, my knee felt it.” He looked back up slowly, like a predator studying its prey. “You’re interesting, Qi Yang.”