Chapter 29: · Freesia Part 1

In that very instant his ear was kissed… his heart exploded like a firework.

It was like a tiny boat that had been calmly drifting across a vast, boundless ocean. It had originally estimated months, perhaps years more of drifting before reaching the distant shore. Tempests and towering waves were met with unwavering composure. Then, suddenly, someone stood at the ship’s prow, high on the mast, and shouted: “Land ho!”

“…!” And then, all hope and every wild fantasy that had lain dormant suddenly surged into a frenzy.

Stay calm! Han Fu, the skin behind his ear burning hot, told himself. Yet his hand still involuntarily moved to secretly cover the spot.

As if by shielding it like this, that instantaneous scorching heat would remain forever branded on the tip of his ear, and wouldn’t flutter away a moment later, transformed into a butterfly.

… Total composure was impossible.

After all, the young are impulsive. His free hand, acting entirely on its own, reached out and wrapped around Pei Zhen’s waist again.

Han Fu had realized lately that he really loved this pose.

It was so ambiguous—areas that should be touching were touching, and areas that shouldn’t be touching… were touching, too. Pei Zhen would want to get mad but couldn’t, want to struggle free but couldn’t, forced to stand there stiffly, letting him blatantly cop a feel.

He just loved this ambiguity.

“Don’t go blundering around, watch out, you’ll knock over the bottles.”

Today, as ever, Pei Zhen was diligently striving to maintain his seriousness and composure. Even with a hand wrapped around his waist, he persisted in changing the subject: “Hurry up and seriously consider what theme you’re going to pursue. Time is short.”

He wore the responsible expression of a mature, seasoned older brother “looking out for your best interests, talking serious business”—if only his posture wasn’t so rigid, and his gaze didn’t keep darting elsewhere.

Han Fu secretly basked in joy, while also keeping his arrogance in check and his impatience at bay.

After all, he was here for a long-term siege. He’d already packed his provisions, rolled up his bedding, and made ample mental preparations.

He mustn’t let the brief trumpet call of victory go to his head—this “land” he saw now might very well not be the true shore, but a mere mirage floating on mist.

Or perhaps, it was like the timid mollusk within its shell, stretching out for a tentative probe before instantly retreating back inside.

As he’d said before: he was young. He had time. He could afford to wait.

Of course, while patiently biding his time, he could occasionally enjoy the fruits of a phased victory.

“Alright, got it. I’ll go home and think hard about it.”

The moment he released the man, he suddenly leaned forward at lightning speed, faster than one could cover one’s ears during a thunderclap, bringing them nose-to-nose.

Reality proved that any sudden, tiny intimate contact—no matter how inconspicuous it seemed—was actually nuclear.

Even without a direct kiss, Pei Zhen completely detonated, utterly losing his usual poise.

“What are you doing?! You—it’s getting late, get home right now—”

Hm, a shared explosion was better than exploding alone.

…

Back home, standing before his perfumer’s workstation and putting on his work coat, Han Fu felt as if he’d been injected with chicken blood.

Work hard! Strive!

Since he couldn’t compete on experience, technique, or years of accumulated skill, this time he would stake it all on sheer passion.

Just as some singers might not have the most polished vocal technique, yet win through by imbuing every single line with such emotion that listeners are moved to tears.

Just as some painters’ brushstrokes aren’t exquisitely refined, yet triumph through the light ink and watercolor washes, evoking an elegant realm with just a few sparse strokes.

Perfumery was the same.

As this metaphysical art—an inexact science—surely, having already been infused with so much love, if it still didn’t produce a miracle, wouldn’t he be no better than a salted fish?

…

Light glided over his fingertips. The pale red frosted glass emitted a hard-to-describe, dazzling radiance. Peering closely, pressed right up against it, the color deepened layer upon layer from the surface inward, a magnificent hue like an endlessly deep forest of red maple leaves.

The bottle was named “Glass Heart.”

Back at the warehouse, Han Fu had asked Pei Zhen what the meaning behind this name was. Pei Zhen paused for a moment, then explained that the name came from a fairy tale.

Long ago, there was a king whose queen gave birth to a beautiful princess—but her heart was made of glass.

The princess was exceedingly delicate and fragile. Any subtle pain would cause her glass heart to develop cracks. The king was forced to find a kind-hearted, ordinary glass artisan who understood how to carefully tend to glass, and commanded him to repair the princess’s heart on a daily basis.

And so, the princess and the meticulous glass artisan fell in love.

Yet the king still wished to marry his daughter to a prince of suitable standing. The only condition was that this prince must be able to unconditionally, conscientiously, and meticulously cherish the princess, and guarantee that he would never, ever cause her heart sorrow. Princes from every kingdom flocked to present themselves. The king carefully considered and selected among them, but no matter what, he simply couldn’t find a suitable candidate.

[And then?]

Growing up, Han Fu had heard of Little White Rabbit, Rapunzel, and the Little Mermaid, but never of a Glass Heart Princess.

At that moment, however, he had broken out in a cold sweat.

So afraid the ending would be a tragedy, that the princess’s heart would shatter in the end.

Thankfully, Pei Zhen had given him a look like he was an idiot: [And then? In the end, the princess married the glass artisan, of course. What else could have happened?]

Thus, Han Fu was relieved.

…

It wasn’t to say he was casting himself in the role of the glass artisan, and Pei Zhen as that fragile, glass-hearted princess who needed daily, painstaking care.

Because Pei Zhen was strong. Even when he’d shattered, with no one by his side, he’d still picked himself up and stood again. He’d relied on his own skills to earn money, his own skills to decorate a beautiful home and build a fine workstation, his own skills to enjoy the company of cute little sugar babies.

He didn’t need anyone to piece him back together. In fact, he even maintained a slight air of dismissing others, keeping them at a distance.

Yet Han Fu still deeply hoped he could become Pei Zhen’s one and only little glass artisan. Ideally, bit by bit, he would mend him, eventually making him completely whole again.

Although, he also liked Pei Zhen’s current self—so mature, yet so full of prickly contradictions.

Yet he hoped even more that Pei Zhen could become who he had been long ago: someone who, faced with a rich second-generation kid he couldn’t afford to provoke, still dared to throw a punch without a second thought, consequences be damned. A person who was completely ruled by emotion—daring to love, daring to hate.

…

The main theme for this perfume blending became much clearer, thanks to the story of the Glass Heart Princess.

Han Fu gathered his concentration. Standing from the perspective of a glass artisan, he meticulously envisioned the appearance of the princess in his mind—

With so much gold leaf, she should have a golden, glittering glass gown.

Her hair would be adorned with pomegranate flowers from the garden. Her wrists would carry a fresh floral-fruity scent, with a hint of berry, citrus, and pineapple sweetness.

Being a princess, she should also possess some of the elegant fragrance of water lilies. Using distilled water to replace non-fragrant alcohol as much as possible, to depict the sweet purity of the spring beside her palace; a faint breath of fresh grass, striving to replicate the freesias swaying in a meadow.

Vanilla, amber, freesia, tuberose—these were the princess’s purity and gentleness, her nobility and warmth.

Finally, it circled back to a light fruity fragrance: guava, sweet plum, transforming the princess from a lofty, elegant figure back into the delicate charm of a lively, willful young girl.

Because, in the end, she had successfully married the person she wanted to marry… a princess like this was bound to be a little headstrong, it was inevitable.

There should be something more.

Think harder. Try harder to think…

…

On the evening of the sixth day, Han Fu, having worked day and night to finally complete the finished perfume, collapsed onto the bed and slept like the dead.

Little Orange, as heavy as he was—over a dozen catties in weight—sprawled across him this way and that, and Han Fu still didn’t wake up.

Pei Zhen scooped the cat up, thinking not to disturb the Little Wolfdog’s rest. He hadn’t expected that the sleeping man would suddenly become possessive. He’d completely ignored the cat’s harassment earlier, but now he grabbed Pei Zhen’s hand in a tight grip, nearly pulling the man down on top of him. Still dreaming, he grinned sleepily and even rubbed his drool onto him.

Pei Zhen: “…”

The contract factory’s product manager would be arriving shortly to collect the perfume sample. The pre-arranged manufacturer would rush to produce the stock by early tomorrow morning. He’d also booked two booths—one at each end of S City’s busiest pedestrian street—for the entire upcoming week, from tomorrow through the next, and assigned the company’s most adorable female employees to man the stalls, with extra pay.

Good or not good enough, it was all settled now.

Exquisite packaging, a dazzling, gorgeous bottle encasing a sweet floral-fruity fragrance perfectly aligned with young people’s tastes… this was Han Fu’s very first creation.

Pei Zhen would do everything in his power to help him sell it, leveraging every resource at his disposal.

He had even secretly contacted Lei Yao in advance.

According to the big star Lei Yao’s customary phrasing, he owed a great debt to “President Pei” for recognizing his potential early on.

Though he was now red-hot and at the peak of his fame, about six or seven years ago, he’d been virtually broke and nearly unable to survive in S City.

At the time, Pei Zhen’s then-luxury perfume brand, Pei, a powerful and highly popular independent label, had been contacting ad models. Many male models at the second-tier or even quasi-first-tier level had been very interested.