The slow-boiled hot pot had already thickened into a sticky broth, letting out a soft pop as a piece of rice cake swelled up and burst open.
Over the years, Qi Yang had sharpened one particular skill: he’d always had a short fuse—that was in his bones, unchangeable. But he no longer wore his emotions on his sleeve like he did as a kid. The bigger the situation, the steadier he became, pulling off that poker face pretty convincingly.
Take the class reunion that day, when Mu Yicong had told him to get lost in front of everyone. Back in the day, Qi Yang would’ve flipped the table right then and there. But now? He could deadpan take a drag of his cigarette and then lock horns with Mu Yicong, all while looking perfectly calm.
That composure of his had nearly crumbled multiple times during his recent interactions with Mu Yicong.
But bringing up this topic now? To him, it meant his pride was genuinely being shredded, mixed with waves of rising blood and temper. Qi Yang was already dying of embarrassment inside, yet he still managed to hold himself together.
He reached over for the cigarette pack first, bent his head to light one, and frantically replayed his own reaction from a moment ago in his mind—he might fool Mu Yicong, but he couldn’t fool himself. He’d definitely been getting a bit worked up.
And he sure as hell couldn’t fool Mu Yicong either.
Even though Qi Yang had jerked away from Mu Yicong’s touch the instant it happened, he was still getting called out now.
That sneaky bastard sure knew how to act, waiting all this time before opening his mouth.
“What’s the problem?” Qi Yang took a few seconds to transition out of that overwhelming awkwardness and put on a casual, don’t-give-a-damn attitude. “That thing doesn’t have a brain. Get worked up during a fight and it’s easy to get a reaction.”
He blew smoke across the table at Mu Yicong, deliberately saying, “I’m not broken, so no need to see an andrologist.”
The first half was him covering his own ass; the second half was pure provocation.
Honestly, this kind of counterattack—baring fangs after getting your tail stepped on—was pretty low. There’s no man who doesn’t care about that kind of thing. If Mu Yicong actually had a problem, those words would be a direct jab at his sore spot.
Qi Yang watched Mu Yicong, waiting for him to be embarrassed or pissed off. But Mu Yicong still wore that unbothered expression, half-smiling.
“Makes sense.” His tone was relaxed, even reminiscing. “Back in high school when I pinned you to the ground, I had a reaction too.”
Seriously, you’ve got no shame.
Qi Yang couldn’t figure it out—whether Mu Yicong was talking about himself or someone else, the one who ended up embarrassed was always Qi Yang.
“So do you actually have a problem or not?” Since the conversation had already gone there, Qi Yang decided not to hold back and asked again.
“Not anymore, probably,” Mu Yicong said.
Not anymore.
Last time he’d asked, Mu Yicong’s answer was: It doesn’t work with anyone else.
Qi Yang wasn’t stupid. Putting two and two together, Mu Yicong’s meaning was so clear it might as well have been written out in black and white.
—Doesn’t work with anyone else, but no problem with you, Qi Yang.
No matter how many times he’d heard “I want to sleep with you,” being on the receiving end of such a blatant expression of desire from another man still gave Qi Yang that weird, offended feeling.
“…Guess the meat you haven’t eaten always smells the best.” He dropped his gaze, took another drag of his cigarette, and gave a mocking smile.
“Then before, when you couldn’t,” he mused after a moment, still curious, raising an eyebrow at Mu Yicong, “did you have a boyfriend?”
Mu Yicong didn’t answer that directly.
He held Qi Yang’s gaze for a moment, didn’t deny it either, and simply gave a small nod. “I did.”
That makes sense.
Qi Yang ignored the subtle unease stirring in his gut, batting away the image that crept into his mind—Mu Yicong tangled up with another male body—like brushing aside smoke.
That makes sense, he told himself again. A guy pushing thirty who knows his own sexual orientation? Not having dated before would be like telling fairytales to kids.
“So when you came out to your family, was it because of that ex?” he pressed.
“No.” Mu Yicong answered that one bluntly. “We’d already broken up by then. My family set me up with a girl. I wasn’t interested, so I just told them straight.”
Qi Yang let out an “ah.” “And the andrology hospital?”
“They didn’t believe I had no interest in women. Thought I was lying with the family doctor.” Mu Yicong’s tone was flat, like he was discussing someone else’s business. “They wanted me to get a certificate as proof.”
The reason sounded kind of ridiculous, so Qi Yang couldn’t help but laugh.
And, as luck would have it, Mu Yicong caught him right in the middle of it.
“So they made you go to the hospital to get a medical certificate?” Qi Yang thought about how Mu Yicong must have felt going for that checkup, then looked down, licking his lips to hide his smile. “Was it awkward?”
“What do you think?” A hint of helplessness flickered in Mu Yicong’s eyes.
Having successfully redirected the awkwardness back onto Mu Yicong, Qi Yang relaxed again.
Still staring at each other across the hot pot, he thought to himself: Mu Yicong’s life isn’t all smooth sailing either.
People alive always have their own troubles.
Once the andrology topic was done, Mu Yicong turned the question back on Qi Yang. “What about you?”
“Huh?” Qi Yang skewered another piece of yellow peach and looked up.
“Girlfriend.”
“Dated.” Qi Yang didn’t avoid it, even a little deliberately. “Dated a few. You like hearing that?”
“I like hearing you talk,” Mu Yicong said.
One sentence, five words, and it snuffed out Qi Yang’s rising fighting spirit all over again.
He sank back into silence, watching Mu Yicong as he chewed the last bit of peach in his mouth, leaving only a vague taste that was neither sweet nor bitter.
“I should get going.” Qi Yang picked up his phone to check the time and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Give me the clothes I lent you last time.”
Mu Yicong didn’t try to keep him. He drained the last of the wine from his glass, stood up, and headed toward the bedroom.
Qi Yang washed his hands and followed.
Stepping through the inner door of Mu Yicong’s bedroom, he discovered a massive walk-in closet inside.
Two whole walls of cabinets—shirts, pants, ties, jewelry—all carrying that distinct smell of high-end fabrics. There was even a cabinet specifically for watches.
Qi Yang leaned against the doorway of the walk-in closet and fiddled with a perfume bottle on the counter, realizing it was the one he’d given to Mu Yicong.
“Is this scent okay?” he asked.
“It’s fine.” Mu Yicong took out the clothes and casually sprayed a bit on his wrist, then pressed it behind Qi Yang’s ear.
The perfume’s mist couldn’t block out the sensation of skin touching skin. The base note of the men’s fragrance was slightly heavier than the perfumes he’d caught on ex-girlfriends, spreading between their close proximity, making the whole atmosphere feel intimate.
Qi Yang’s Adam’s apple rolled slowly. He stood frozen in place, following the movement of Mu Yicong’s wrist as it traced from behind his ear, lightly grazing down his neck. At some point, it seemed to overlap with his own pulse.
“Do you mind?” Mu Yicong’s gaze moved opposite to his hand—starting from Qi Yang’s Adam’s apple, sweeping across his chin, the corner of his mouth, his nose bridge, finally settling on his eyes. He asked, voice low.
“Huh?” Sensing what was coming, Qi Yang glanced at his mouth too.
Mu Yicong didn’t answer directly. His palm loosely cupped the side of Qi Yang’s neck, and his thumb rubbed over Qi Yang’s Adam’s apple.
They were trying this out—trying to date.
He’d agreed to it himself.
Qi Yang’s throat tightened. He silently reminded himself in his head, and didn’t move.
The time he had to object was very short. No clear refusal meant mutual unspoken consent.
Mu Yicong’s thumb slid across the Adam’s apple, gently tilting his chin upward. He lowered his head and kissed Qi Yang’s neck.
The heat of lips and the coolness of perfume created a sharp contrast on either side of his neck. Qi Yang’s breath sank, his back stiffening. He wanted to warn Mu Yicong not to leave a mark, opened his mouth, but the words turned into an uncontrollable exhale as the Adam’s apple was lightly bitten.
Mu Yicong seemed to understand what Qi Yang wanted to say. This kiss wasn’t fierce. Warm breath mingled with the scent of perfume, even a little lingering.
From the Adam’s apple to the neck, then behind the ear—the pressure suddenly intensified. At the same time, the fingers pressed against Qi Yang’s chin rubbed down to his lower lip, the pad of the thumb pressing hard.
Qi Yang tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes shut.
This isn’t right.
The thought of kissing back surfaced, and his dazed consciousness reminded him just in time.
He reached out to push Mu Yicong away, his fingers pressing against Mu Yicong’s shoulder, but Mu Yicong instead locked his hand on the back of Qi Yang’s neck and kissed him on the mouth again. The kiss turned fierce once more.
A numbing electricity spread through Qi Yang’s chest. He silently cursed fuck in his mind, and couldn’t help but part his lips.
When the kiss ended, both of them were breathing hard—especially Qi Yang, whose entire tongue was numb.
He lowered his head for a few seconds to recover, then shoved an arm against Mu Yicong, turned, and walked out.
Mu Yicong grabbed his arm, pressed a hand to the back of Qi Yang’s head and rubbed it gently—like he would rub Qi Xing’s head—his voice slightly hoarse. “I’ll walk you out.”
The ride back was peaceful. Qi Yang kept his neck twisted, staring out the window, feeling like his neck was still burning.
Just before getting out of the car, he couldn’t help it any longer. He pulled down the visor mirror, pressed down his collar to check. “You really are a fucking dog.”
“No marks.” Mu Yicong glanced at him with a slight smile. “You can bite me back.”
Qi Yang shot a look at his neck, grabbed the paper bag of clothes from the back seat, and pushed the door open.
It was a bit late. If Qi Xing waited much longer without seeing him, she’d start getting annoyed.
But Qi Yang still crouched down in his usual spot by the flower bed and lit a cigarette.
His head was a mess.
His heart was still jumping all over the place like it had taken the wrong pill.
Winter had passed, spring had come. The snow had already melted. Even the crooked streetlamp seemed brighter than in winter. The breath of early spring was hidden in the grass and flowers just breaking through the soil, carrying a faint earthy scent in the night air.
It’s just because spring has started.
He flicked a little sprout growing in front of him and found himself an excuse.
No matter how much you talk, people are still animals at the end of the day. So when spring hits, hormones act up, and it’s hard to say no to kissing.
Once he’d finished his mental pep talk over that cigarette, Qi Yang finally felt a bit steadier. He let out a breath and headed home.
Zou Meizhu wasn’t playing Fight the Landlord on her phone tonight. Instead, she was lying bored on the sofa, watching TV.
The moment Qi Yang walked in, she immediately started complaining—said she’d run out of chips for Fight the Landlord and wanted her son to recharge some for her.
“You can run out of chips playing that?” Qi Yang found it funny. He walked over and tousled Qi Xing’s hair in the corner.
Zou Meizhu had enough living expenses, she just didn’t want to spend her own money on that kind of stuff. So he only transferred fifty yuan and told her to top it up herself.
“You got the clothes back?” Zou Meizhu was happy with the small red envelope. She took the bag of clothes from Qi Yang and sniffed it. “So fragrant. Yicong is such a particular kid, even wears perfume.”
Guiltily, Qi Yang was terrified she might suddenly lean in and sniff him. He brushed her off with a random reply and shut the door to his room.
Standing in his bedroom, he tilted his head, sniffed his own shoulder, then grabbed his jacket and smelled it. The scent of Mu Yicong was still there.
Definitely a dog.
Qi Yang rubbed his own earlobe. His neck pulse, shameless as ever, was still thumping insistently.
