Fu Yanzong’s gaze was unhurried and serene, as if steeped in the sea breeze, drifting along with gentle ripples of laughter. Song Linyu’s eyelashes fluttered slightly, and suddenly, his heart felt as if sprinkled with a fine drizzle, swelling softly with a moist tenderness.
“No need to hold hands?”
Song Linyu stared at him in a daze for a moment longer than usual, so Fu Yanzong smiled and repeated his question.
“Yes, we should hold hands.” Song Linyu parted his lips quickly to answer, pulling his thoughts away from Fu Yanzong’s face. He lowered his eyes, his voice carrying a hint of indescribable delight as he murmured softly, “Thank you… Teacher Fu.”
His fingertips tentatively brushed against Fu Yanzong’s palm, hesitating for an instant before Song Linyu slowly interlaced their fingers, holding on ever so lightly.
His movements carried an unconscious caution and restraint, his knuckles tensing slightly. Even his breathing slowed as their palms pressed together.
Fu Yanzong didn’t give him a chance to pull away. Instead, he smoothly clasped Song Linyu’s wrist in return.
Their fingertips touched, then their ten fingers gently intertwined.
Fu Yanzong’s hand was long and strong, with the refined bone structure polished meticulously for the camera. The director obligingly cut to a close-up, perfectly capturing the way Song Linyu’s knuckles tightened just a bit.
In truth, Fu Yanzong was holding on lightly—it was Song Linyu whose fingertips unconsciously pressed against his palm, pulling tighter like inseparable trees until they couldn’t be separated.
It wasn’t until they had taken a couple of steps that Song Linyu realized he’d been gripping too hard. He loosened his hold a little, taking a while to find a natural grip.
Fu Yanzong glanced down at their clasped hands, a faint flicker of amusement passing through his eyes.
The mountain path wound upward, its uneven stone steps forcing them to stay close with every step.
The wind tousled the hair at their ears, a thin sheen of sweat rising on their backs, but the warm, solid touch in Song Linyu’s palm felt clear and unwavering, making him wish he could stretch this moment out forever.
Song Linyu fell quiet for a while. A moment later, he lifted his gaze to the damp strands of hair at Fu Yanzong’s neck, unable to hold back as he spoke up.
“Teacher Fu.”
He called the polite title with feigned composure, but the words that followed somehow came out intimate. “Isn’t it a bit hot? Let me hold your jacket for you.”
They were both tall with long legs, walking briskly and nearly leaving the trailing cameraman behind. Fortunately, the camera faithfully caught the words.
Strangely, Fu Yanzong had clearly heard Song Linyu, yet he didn’t respond, simply continuing forward on his own.
Song Linyu was always attuned to Fu Yanzong’s expressions, so he knew for certain that Fu Yanzong had heard him. He’d even caught the slight quirk of his lips. But for some reason, there was no reply.
Did I say something wrong?
Song Linyu’s throat bobbed nervously. When he asked again, his voice weakened. He repeated softly, “Do you want me to hold your jacket?”
Fu Yanzong turned his head to look at him, feigning ignorance. “What?”
Song Linyu immediately fell silent and shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
He denied it outright, assuming Fu Yanzong didn’t like being asked that on camera, so he skipped the topic without another word.
Song Linyu’s quick change caught Fu Yanzong off guard, a muffled chuckle rumbling in his throat. He nodded thoughtfully, then deliberately teased, “Really? But I heard it.”
Song Linyu went quiet, fixing him with a sticky, clingy gaze—like an accusation, or perhaps a resigned “fine, whatever.”
Fu Yanzong turned away with a smug air, strolling onward lazily. But as he walked, he mischievously shook Song Linyu’s hand, just like a kid on a school trip rebelling against the teacher’s order to hold hands and line up.
Song Linyu trailed behind him, a little flustered, until he heard the question: “Whose clothes are you going to hold?”
“You…?” Song Linyu blinked lightly. A polite “Teacher Fu” reached the tip of his tongue, but inspiration struck, and he switched it out.
“Who am I?”
Fu Yanzong pressed.
The mountain path stretched on. After walking a bit while holding his hand, Song Linyu finally murmured the name he’d said countless times before, soft and quiet from his lips.
“Fu Yanzong.”
As the words left his mouth, Song Linyu’s grip tightened unconsciously. He leaned closer to Fu Yanzong’s arm and repeated earnestly, “Fu Yanzong.”
The distant roar of sea waves carried through the air, sweeping those soft murmurs away with the white foam, only for them to drift back to Fu Yanzong’s ears.
He stopped in his tracks.
The gray jacket, warm from another body’s heat, was softly draped into Song Linyu’s arms.
Underneath, Fu Yanzong wore only a simple black work vest—crisp lines hugging his shoulders and arms, outlining smooth muscle contours. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, every inch clean and upright.
Song Linyu stared, entranced for a second.
The next moment, a gust of sea wind bent the treetops lining the path, their dense foliage briefly blocking his view. Song Linyu snapped back to reality amid the rustle of leaves, hearing Fu Yanzong’s voice brim with laughter. “Alright then, Little Yu. Here’s your chance.”
In that instant, Song Linyu’s breath hitched, the world falling utterly silent around him.
It was as if the heavens themselves had hushed, distant starlit lights buried deep in the earth, even the sea breeze holding its breath.
All so he could hear Fu Yanzong’s words clearly.
Song Linyu heard the faint rush of blood in his veins, felt heat spreading inch by inch. He couldn’t help lowering his lashes, his heart softening into helplessness.
It had been… so long since Fu Yanzong had called him that.
A faint ache bloomed in his chest, yet he couldn’t help wanting to smile. He abruptly looked away, as if to force the surging emotions back down.
After a long pause, he licked his lips and replied in a small, cherished whisper:
“I’ll do my best.”
Answering that question.
…And more than just that.
/
In the end, Fu Yanzong and Song Linyu naturally arrived at the villa first.
It was Song Linyu’s property, after all. Though the winding mountain roads were easy to get lost on, they had no such trouble.
Pushing open the door, they saw that the production team had redecorated the interior.
The high-ceilinged living room was floored in pale gold marble with fine sand-like veins. A rattan pendant lamp cast gentle warm light, and the white grand piano in the corner gleamed with a fresh coat of paint. In the open kitchen, stainless steel cookware and champagne flutes stood neatly arranged, with five baskets of ingredients in the center.
The central AC was cranked a bit cool. Song Linyu released Fu Yanzong’s hand, draped the jacket back over his shoulders, then headed to the kitchen. Following the rules, he checked the ingredients.
On camera, though, he didn’t even glance back to ask Fu Yanzong’s opinion. He simply picked out his tools and food and got to work.
Fu Yanzong seemed fine with that. He surveyed the living room, found nothing amusing, and calmly wedged himself into a corner of the sofa, lazily playing Match-3 Game on his phone.
With no one else bursting in on camera for the moment, a brief quiet settled in, rousing the live chat barrage that had been watching intently.
“I can’t take it anymore with Song Linyu. Did your secretary send the wrong hype script? Tell me—are you reading the neighboring feudal romance where the pampered wife gets doted on, or KouKou Literature City’s domineering CEO red-eyed possessive lit?”
“For now, I’m voting for the former. By the way, can Song Linyu actually cook? He seems like the type who’s never lifted a finger in the kitchen, but why does he look so domestic… Am I seeing things?”
“He probably can— the one who’s truly never cooked is right there playing Match-3. Fu Yanzong looks like he’s about to turn into a cocoon from boredom. Kinda cute, though.”
“Wasn’t Brother Fu full of energy on the hike? Asking if they should hold hands, then ‘who am I?'”
“Tsk tsk tsk.”
“Is Fu Yanzong’s acting really that good? He pulls off those deep gazes so effortlessly on a variety show. I feel like they could naturally kiss any second now.”
“Not acting.”
“Not fanservice.”
“Girls, listen—this time it’s really different. I don’t think it’s fake.”
“Kiss already, kiss already. Dumb fans have no other hobbies; we just love watching hot guys make out.”
“At least they’re easy on the eyes. The CP dynamic is just… not what I expected. I thought it’d be the CEO ruthlessly claiming his goldfinch: ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ You know?”
“No clue. All I see is a fish with eyes only for his boyfriend.”
“Do you fish for others like this too, Song Linyu? Look me in the eyes and explain!”
“Uh, just two marketing pushes and people are hooked again? No way, right? Song Linyu was just pretending with that ‘what do you want to eat’ bit earlier, and now he’s grabbing stuff without asking. And isn’t Fu Yanzong putting on deep affection? Why’s he just sitting there like a lump?”
“I’m guessing the person above is a Su Tang stan who got wrecked in the fan event, scoring 0 seconds out of 99% nationwide. Wanna try?”
“Alright, Quick-Lie Sister, no need to meltdown. The real lump is your Tang Tang—trips on flat ground during a hike, then sits there reaching out to passing Cheng Yan for a hug and refusing to budge when ignored.”
“Someone team up for a group buy slash price? I’m too busy to deal with Su Tang drama. Can we just price him out of the show?”
“Go home, kid, just go home already. Daddy Su isn’t even as reliable as the female guest next to Cheng Yan. That beautiful big sis is wearing high heels with her heels bleeding, and she’s still saying it’s no big deal—she can keep walking.”
“Daddy Su, stop lying down on this mountain road, okay? Go hang out on the highway and chat with the big rigs about how we’re all busting our asses to stay alive, alright?”
“Even if your female guest lost an uninjured ankle, what Su Tang lost was a chance to act all cute and spoiled with Cheng Yan!”
“Did this break Quick-Lie Sister’s defense? How are you even twisting this? Come on, Fu Yanzong’s a total picky eater—the show barely gave any ingredients he can stomach. Just watch the live stream; Song Linyu already picked out everything edible for him…”
“Honestly, Song Linyu didn’t hesitate at all when grabbing those ingredients. He seems to remember Fu Yanzong’s preferences better than we fans do…”
“This does look pretty genuine. Whether he’s riding my bro’s coattails for hype or not, he clearly did his homework. At least way better than that loser Su Tang, right?”
“Really, Fuyan Sis? This sugar means a lot to us.”
“That’s true. And Yanzong really can’t handle the kitchen—cut him some slack.”
“Okay, okay, repeat after me: Song Linyu loves only Fu Yanzong. Only!”
“We can spam Yanfish 99 times now.”
“I’m straight-up shipping this pair hard. Nothing else—just hoping in my next life, the moment I’m born, my nostrils fill with Daddy’s custom top-shelf cedar cologne, my ears catch the deep timbre of Movie Emperor Daddy reciting his script lines. Tycoon Grandpa’s medal-studded palm gently strokes my swaddling clothes. I open my eyes to see suited-up Chairman Uncle barking orders at his secretary to renovate Serenity Moon Misty Court Villa. Grandma ties Daddy’s string of luxury car keys around my wrist like a rattle to make me giggle. Then hunger hits and I wail; the elite nanny squad flips on the full-house smart system. Elegant Grandma scoops me up with a smile and carries me to the front of Dongyu Building. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows reflect my inherited killer looks from Daddy Fu Yanzong. And then I hear my other dad, Song Linyu, calmly say: ‘Dear little angel, money doesn’t talk, but wealth whispers.'”
“Looks like the final fantasy before keeling over from food poisoning after too much of that assembled rice—but I’m here for it.”
“This one? I’m taking it on my knees.”
“Full Yanfish 99 spam—taking it all.”
“Yanfish 999999!!”
