The next day, S City’s western suburbs, Grasse Perfume Academy.
The name “Grasse” was taken from the small town of Grasse nestled at the foot of the Alps in southern France. The academy boasts a long history, founded in Paris in the mid-20th century by Merovech, the original patriarch of the French perfume giant Belle.
This branch campus on the outskirts of S City in China, however, was renovated and established in the early 90s on the abandoned school buildings from the Republic of China era. It is now the most renowned perfumery institution in all of Asia.
As a first-class perfume academy, Grasse places an extraordinary emphasis on its teaching faculty.
The number of instructors is nearly one-to-one with the students, almost all of them being renowned industry masters and senior licensed perfumers.
Of course, it stands to reason that inviting so many world-class perfume masters to fly halfway across the globe to impart their invaluable experience naturally comes with a hefty price tag.
“…This is a total rip-off.”
Han Fu finished counting the zeroes on the fee statement and grabbed Pei Zhen. “Zhenzhen, let’s go. This is insane.”
The female teacher in charge of fees: “…”
Pei Zhen: “Act normal.”
Han Fu continued his theatrics: “Where would we get this much money? Living at home, I’ve been relying entirely on stealing electric scooters to support you. How many more scooters am I going to have to steal? Sob—sob sob!”
Pei Zhen pushed down the throbbing veins on his temple and dragged him aside, gritting his teeth. “What are you so worked up about? A rip-off? Is this tuition more expensive than you are?”
“?”
The young man tilted his head, his face full of existential doubt. It… act…ually… was… NOT… more expensive than his allowance!
“Zhenzhen, so… I am expensive, right?”
Pei Zhen: “…”
Actually, the current market price for keeping a gigolo was just generally high.
A young guy who’s fit, knows how to be charming, and has strong stamina—even if he’s just average looking—can easily pull in twenty or thirty thousand a month. And for someone like Han Fu, with his peak-tier looks and professional skill level, if he weren’t so inexperienced and easy to fool, his price tag could easily be two or three times higher.
However, Han Fu clearly had no awareness that he was underselling himself. Instead, he wore a look of serious anxiety. “If I’m too expensive, you have to tell me! Or… otherwise, why don’t you just deduct these three months of tuition from my wages first?”
“…” The professional conduct of a male escort.
While interpreting that last sentiment as “sincere flattery” might seem strange, in Pei Zhen’s eyes, that was precisely the reality—
As a little ducky whose profession was to take money and keep his sugar daddy happy, Han Fu knew a little too well what to say and what to do at any given moment to send his patron straight to cloud nine.
“Since you’re offering so generously, should I actually deduct it?”
“Mm!” For a full ten-plus seconds, those bright black eyes radiated absolute sincerity, not once giving Pei Zhen the chance to find any hesitation or crack in the facade.
It was as if, being with him… really wasn’t about the money, but for some more secret, romantic little purpose.
Pei Zhen sighed, feeling the bitter and repressed emotions of years had been fed until they were full and sweet, bringing him total relief.
…
Of course, at times like this, a sugar daddy also had to know when to quit while he was ahead.
His Black Jade Ring flashed. He reached out and ruffled the little wolfdog’s soft hair. “Just teasing you. Didn’t we agree from the start? At least where money is concerned, I absolutely won’t let you feel wronged. Oh, right, when we head back to the city later, we’ll stop by and buy those sunglasses you were eyeing the other day.”
Being served so comfortably should be rewarded immediately. That’s the way to be a good, conscientious sugar daddy.
Inside the payment window, the printer’s screeching stopped. The female teacher coughed. “Sir… I still need a copy of the applicant’s ID.”
Han Fu immediately tensed up. “It’s just for registration, no need for an ID, right?!”
Pei Zhen: “?”
Reluctantly handing it over with a twisted face was one thing, but presenting it face-down, all sneaky-like—what was that about?
Something was fishy.
…
Han Fu: “Zhenzhen, stop laughing!”
“Mm,” Pei Zhen struggled to maintain his elite male aloof persona. “So, your parents… really wanted a girl, didn’t they?”
In the whole month they’d been together, he had never once checked Han Fu’s ID.
Thinking about it now, he really had been careless. Bringing a total stranger home, keeping him without asking a single question, never once considering the risks of a homicidal maniac, a robber, or a fugitive on the run.
It just went to show the degree to which a lonely, empty old man could lose his mind in the face of tender beauty.
Now, he was finally looking at the little wolfdog’s ID card. The pronunciation wasn’t an issue, but—Han “Fu”?!
“…”
“…”
The character “fragrance (Fu)” originally means a rich fragrance.
There’s also the poem, “Autumn frost heavy, pearls fall from sleeves, dew soaks the ‘fu'”, where the character “fu” refers to “little flowers and grasses.” No matter the interpretation, both dictionaries and encyclopedias unashamedly tag it with a little footnote—”Often used in female names.”
Pei Zhen could practically imagine the sheer chagrin of a certain couple, filled with grief and indignation as they held their wailing baby boy, gazing forlornly at the pink crib, the puff-sleeve princess dresses, and a room full of dolls they’d prepared in advance.
Han Fu: “It wasn’t like that!”
“The person at the household registry was drunk and wrote it down wrong! I always meant to change it later, but I got busy and forgot… Zhenzhen, it’s really not what you think! Think about it—what normal parents would randomly name their son like that!”
Pei Zhen: “Mm.”
Han Fu: “…”
Pei Zhen: “Fine! Fine, I’ll stop laughing! What are you doing? Put me down, right now! Everyone’s watching—what do you think you’re doing in broad daylight?!”
…
After they left the academy’s main clock tower, they were met with a sprawling lawn. It was late spring, and peach trees lined both sides, having shed blossoms like a carpet of pink clouds.
Pei Zhen straightened his now-crumpled tie, bent down to pick up a fallen blossom from the ground, and held it up next to Han Fu’s head—
In the sunlight, the sweet, naive young man had little peach blossoms growing out of his head.
It couldn’t have been a more perfect match.
He’d always thought the character “restore (Fu)” was too solemn. Colored by the images of characters like the relentless-yet-gloomy-to-the-point-of-paranoia handsome bastards who share its name, it really didn’t suit his sunny, innocent, silly little wolfdog.
And, conveniently… the ‘Fu’ in his name was the one that meant little flowers and grasses.
“Han Xiaohua.” (Editor’s Note: A nickname meaning ‘Little Flower Han’).
The little wolfdog’s fur instantly bristled.
Pei Zhen was beside himself with glee. Han Fu called him “Zhenzhen” this and “Zhenzhen” that all day long and wouldn’t change it even if money was docked. Fine. From now on, I’m “Zhenzhen” and you’re “Xiaohua.” This is what they call paying someone back in their own coin!
…
This should have been an ordinary, slow, and pleasant afternoon of outdoor dog-walking.
Pei Zhen had recently grown accustomed to this sort of purchased, idle, low-stakes sweetness.
He was just thinking about taking advantage and maybe holding hands when his peripheral vision froze on a figure in the distance, down the long gravel path behind his little wolfdog.
In the May breeze, the man wore a khaki trench coat.
He wasn’t particularly tall, but his proportions were excellent. His skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, and his chestnut hair shimmered with a golden, silky luster in the sunlight. You could tell from a distance he was a great beauty.
Han Fu saw Pei Zhen’s eyes fixate and followed his gaze—youth being the enemy of composure, he snapped instantly.
“Zhenzhen, who is he?!”
It wasn’t Yi Changqing.
Though their hair was a similar chestnut color, Han Fu had met Yi Changqing before. He almost wished it were Yi Changqing—because this man Pei Zhen was staring down was clearly a few degrees more handsome!
High-bridged nose, sapphire-blue eyes, a quintessential mixed-race look. The closer he got, the clearer his handsome features became. Mixed-race genes were terrifying; they were just too gifted in the looks department.
He was not happy.
…
Truthfully, Pei Zhen staring at the mixed-race young man wasn’t because he was stunned by his looks.
They’d known each other for a long time, and not only did they know each other, they threw shade at each other constantly. You could say they had grievances and mutual dislike.
But seeing Han Fu so on edge sparked a little bit of mischievousness in him.
“…That’s Lister. Don’t you know him?”
“Never heard of him. Who is he?” Under the bright sun, the little wolfdog turned straight-up unhappy octopus, draping his entire self over Pei Zhen’s shoulder. “Zhenzhen, just how many more tall, talented, and handsome friends like this do you have that I haven’t heard of?”
How many more? How many days have you even known me…
“Lister Campbell,” he continued explaining. “The young master of Cranberry.”
Han Fu was finally starting to react.
Cranberry? That luxury brand from the UK?
…
When tracing the origins of perfume, though it can date back thousands of years to ancient civilizations like Egypt, India, China, and Greece, in the modern world, France is undeniably the center of the global perfume industry.
The French town of Grasse, as the perfume capital of the world, exerts global influence. This means that out of the world’s top ten perfume brands, a full half are French companies.
Of the remaining five, three are currently in Italy, one in the United States, and one in the United Kingdom—Cranberry is that long-standing family-run perfume enterprise hailed as the “Jewel of England.”
Cranberry’s current head is the seventy-something-year-old fashion patriarch, Vincent Campbell.
The old man has only one treasured daughter, who in her twenties married a young and promising Chinese-British barrister and gave birth to a mixed-race baby boy. His Chinese name is Lister (his father’s surname is Li), and his English name is Lestat.
“Lister, the young master of Cranberry, is universally acknowledged as the most talented and outstanding perfumer of the younger generation.”
Pei Zhen, against his conscience, continued to gild his own enemy’s reputation: “At 15, he was nominated for Library’s Top Ten Fragrances of the Year and nearly reached the Hall of Fame, placing fourth. Last year, he was admitted to Cambridge with top honors.”
“Just look at him—his conditions and family background are top-notch, and yet he’s still working hard. Now look at yourself. Have you found a direction to aspire to?”
…
“…And here I thought all I had to get rid of was that guy Yi.”
In the sound of the wind, Han Fu muttered something under his breath that Pei Zhen didn’t catch.
Turning around, he saw the little wolfdog’s eyes were lowered, his usually striking black pupils dimmed a great deal.
The person he liked telling him someone else was excellent and talented, and that excellence being an indisputable fact—Han Fu played out that hurt and grievance vividly.
“…” This left a certain someone caught off guard.
It’s all an act! All of it!
He convinced himself of this, yet couldn’t stop the slow creep of guilt rising in his heart.
A warm fingertip brushed his cheek, making it itch. His vision was suddenly filled with nothing but Han Fu’s slightly parted, colorless lips, curved in a somewhat sexy arc: “Zhenzhen, I’ll work really hard. Will you wait for me?”
“Don’t look at him. Just wait for me, okay? I promise, I’ll be better than him one day.”
“…”
Real or fake, Pei Zhen regretted it.
Why had he been so malicious when his little wolfdog was so cute? Why had he compared him to a pampered rich kid like that? Han Fu never had Lister’s elite education from childhood, nor access to the top-tier resources Lister enjoyed. It was an unfair comparison to begin with…
However, asking the esteemed President Pei to put aside his pride and comfort someone was impossible. It would remain impossible for the rest of his life.
What to do? Send him a big red envelope later to make up for it?
Just as he was pondering, a strange, stilted voice sounded out from behind them.
“Pei?”
