“You’re saying you’re going to take responsibility for him?” Lin Se shook his head at those words. He rose and retrieved a prepared medicine bottle from the drawer, his expression showing no surprise whatsoever.
“How many times did you hit him?”
Bo Chengyan sat frowning in the chair across from him, his face calm and composed. “Once,” he replied evenly.
The air grew still for a moment.
Lin Se crossed his arms and paced a few laps around the studio. He glanced back at his friend and, out of reverence for a higher power and basic social ethics, finally asked, “So, what are you thinking?”
“Baby isn’t some doll. He’s a person.”
Bo Chengyan’s face remained impassive. “I know.”
“You like him?”
“I’m not that twisted.”
Lin Se knew a bit of the inside story. Ever since Bo Chengyan had taken over the family business ahead of schedule, all sorts of “little playthings” had started appearing at his side.
It began with young girls, then shifted to boys.
Some even speculated that he had a thing for shemales.
The upper crust was filthy beyond belief. Society formed an olive-shaped hierarchy—people said those at the bottom veered toward the fringes due to a lack of money, but the elite did the same. Wealth became nothing but numb, fluctuating digits.
With enough cash, you could buy people… even souls.
The top echelons rotted away, just as the bottom did.
The middle class, by contrast, lived under the rule of law with ample assets and stable families—their mental health scores were the highest.
Lin Se mulled it over. “Then why not get married? I’m curious too.”
The man across from him replied calmly, “One of those rumors is true.”
“I really don’t like women.”
Bo Chengyan’s expression stayed utterly serene as he met Lin Se’s gaze. “I’m a businessman. I don’t make bad deals.”
“For me, Qi Jing was probably just a way to kill time at first.”
“He’s good-looking and well-behaved.”
“But I could’ve dumped him at a city orphanage. No need to drag more filth onto myself.”
He paused for a beat.
“Maybe I’m not a good person.”
Lin Se fell silent for a moment before saying, “You know, this kind of self-analysis is actually a sign of poor mental health?”
“All dressed up in noble words.”
The young man let out a soft tsk and continued, “Yeah, yeah, the big bad villain smacks a kid’s palm once and can’t get over it. Shows up bright and early for therapy.”
Bo Chengyan’s brow furrowed ever so slightly.
“Fine, your Baby’s vitamins are ready. Take them and go.” Lin Se slid the box forward, propping his hands on the table as he eyed the man with utter exasperation.
“You don’t need to overthink it.”
He’d heard the rumors about the Bo Family’s dealings in Macau.
Tangled webs of relationships—first wives, second wives, third wives… it was enough to make your head spin.
“You just want to skip the tedium of marriage and romance, have something like a puppy or kitten for company. The first couple years were easy, but now you’ve realized, haven’t you?”
“He’s a real live person. He cries, he throws tantrums. He could mess with your emotions, cloud your judgment. Oh wait—already has.”
Lin Se had zeroed in on the issue with surgical precision. Bo Chengyan had climbed to the top of the pyramid far too soon, surrounded by emptiness. Outsiders might see the glamour, but in truth…
Ah, life was short. Who didn’t feel lonely sometimes?
“Yes.”
Bo Chengyan’s brow creased again as he glanced at the vitamins. “What about the ointment?”
Lin Se let out an “oh” and turned to grab a bottle. Truth be told, he couldn’t fathom it—one smack on the palm, how bad could it be?
Unless he’d raised the kid too delicately.
It was 8:45 a.m.
Bo Chengyan stood to leave, but just then, Lin Se reminded him without looking up, “He’s turning eighteen, right? The kid’s household registration is still at the Old Estate. You’re heading back there this year—perfect time to sort it out.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Once the man had fully departed, the young man in the white coat sank into his swivel chair and idly twirled a pen.
Just as expected.
~~~
Qi Jing’s days had been a whirlwind lately. Friday night camping trip, dragged back in the wee hours of Saturday, feverish all day, and then that smack on the palm.
He’d only gotten one spoonful of cake.
It was impossible not to feel a little hard done by.
It was the morning of the third day. The bedroom remained dim, the figure on the bed a faint outline. Only a slender white wrist peeked out, palm facing up with a red mark across it.
9:30 a.m.
Still not awake.
The bedroom door creaked open. Qi Jing had no habit of locking it—back in his original world, he’d never even had his own room.
Bo Chengyan approached with a frown and settled into the chair beside the bed. He lowered his gaze and gently lifted that wrist.
It was so thin.
No different from when he’d brought Qi Jing home two years ago.
Bo Chengyan parted the fingers carefully. The red mark on the palm had swollen up. He lightened his touch as much as possible.
With a cotton swab, he applied the ointment little by little.
The person on the bed let out a soft “mm,” the quilt rustling. Qi Jing’s fingers curled slightly.
“Don’t lick.”
The words came out muffled.
Bo Chengyan froze for a second, still processing the sleepy mumble, when the teenager stirred groggily awake. His head poked out from under the covers.
Strands of hair clung messily to his face. In the dim light, his eyes gleamed brightly—they were still red from crying.
He was looking right at Bo Chengyan.
“What’s wrong?” Bo Chengyan asked, brow furrowed.
That simple question seemed to jolt the teenager fully awake. He yanked his hand back on instinct.
Bo Chengyan kept his grip on the wrist, patient as ever. “Don’t pull away, Little Jing.”
[It’s not a dream…]
Something tugged at Bo Chengyan’s heartstrings.
But the next instant:
[No wonder the yellow ox turned into a person…]
Bo Chengyan frowned. “Bad sleep?”
The teenager sat up slowly, letting his wrist be held without resistance, and nodded obediently.
Qi Jing kept staring. His gaze could be unabashed at times—perhaps no one had ever taught him otherwise.
Once the ointment was applied, Bo Chengyan glanced up and cupped a hand over those eyes.
“Ah?”
He held it there for two or three seconds before letting go.
Before Qi Jing could ask anything, Bo Chengyan stood. The teenager had to tilt his head back again, exposing the elegant line of his slender neck—like a little swan.
“Get cleaned up and come down for breakfast.”
The man turned to leave.
For some reason, Qi Jing blurted out, “No temperature check?”
He always took it before.
Bo Chengyan had never thought kids could be clingy, but in that moment of turning back, he saw the boy on the bed with his mouth open.
Fifteen minutes or so later.
Qi Jing got his temperature taken, just as he’d hoped. He sat on the edge of the bed watching as Bo Chengyan checked the thermometer—though he suspected the time wasn’t quite enough.
Bo Chengyan wiped his forehead with a finger, avoiding his eyes as he said, “No fever.”
Before leaving the room, he added one more thing.
—Don’t stare at someone for too long.
Qi Jing dawdled around upstairs getting ready. When he clenched his fist, it still stung a little, wrinkling his small face.
But he knew he’d been in the wrong.
He bit his lip.
“In any situation, prioritize your own safety first, then think about helping others.”
“If the two conflict, choose the former.”
Qi Jing remembered yesterday’s words. He glanced down at his wrist—no smart wristband anymore. It must really be broken.
The ointment on his palm felt cool and soothing.
It was around 10 a.m.
Bo Chengyan kept him company for a late breakfast-slash-early lunch. The schedule wasn’t healthy, but he didn’t comment.
“I’ll get you two days off school.”
Qi Jing’s spoon handling was already clumsy; it clattered back into the bowl with a crisp ting.
“Is that okay?”
The two statements were a bit disjointed—the first his usual unilateral decision, the second like an afterthought.
He’d added a question.
Qi Jing couldn’t tell the difference. “Why?” he asked.
His eyes were pure and innocent.
They’d spent a lot of close time together lately. The teenager wasn’t unreasonable; he was like a lamb, instinctively sensing who treated him well.
That grip in the karst cave had been firm and unyielding, the shoulder under the umbrella dry and warm. He didn’t yet know the term “sense of security,” but he’d already felt it.
“Your birthday didn’t go well. I’ll take you on a little vacation.”
Qi Jing hesitated. He was in his senior year of high school—couldn’t keep skipping classes. He was scared of not getting into a good university.
His scores would only land him in some run-of-the-mill undergrad program.
But… what if the exam questions were too hard?
Bo Chengyan frowned. “If you don’t want to, then we won’t.”
Qi Jing let out a breath of relief.
“Little Jing, the Gaokao isn’t that big a deal.”
The villa’s constant air conditioning hummed softly. The teenager sat in a cushioned chair, his porcelain skin glowing faintly as bewilderment crossed his face. “But everyone else says…”
“There are plenty of hardships and setbacks in society. The Gaokao is the fairest path to class mobility right now—no denying that.”
Qi Jing’s fingers tightened on his clothes.
“But you don’t need to push so hard. You’re already at the top. I don’t need you straining like that.”
Bo Chengyan gazed down at him, trying to shift his mindset.
It wasn’t going smoothly.
Qi Jing looked up at him, stammering, “N-no, Mr. Bo. I… I’m not from your class. You are.”
It was an unexpectedly clear-headed response. The teenager cherished this paradise-like environment, but he’d seen the 996 workaholic character profile set for him.
A goldfinch held no real status. Anyone could replace it at any time. He enjoyed all of this only because of Bo Chengyan.
Who was Qi Jing? He was just an ordinary man from a remote mountain village.
But it went even deeper than that.
To live as a person, one needed awareness.
Qi Jing harbored no stray thoughts. He simply refuted the other man’s words.
His heart pounded wildly.
“I’m relying on you,” he said.
Bo Chengyan struggled to put a name to the tangle of emotions stirring inside him. It felt as if the little pet he had raised and sheltered refused to stay in the house he had built for it…
His thoughts came to an abrupt halt.
It clicked.
The chaotic knot that had plagued him unraveled in an instant. Lin Se had spelled out the answer time and again: Qi Jing was no pet. He was a person.
And people had their pride.
Why should he allow the outside world to brand him with the label of “goldfinch”?
Bo Chengyan had overlooked something fundamental—even the smallest child would seek out their own place in the world. Otherwise, why had Qi Jing confessed those unnatural feelings so prematurely? Why had he run off to the clubhouse to mimic what he saw there…
The truth was, it had been his fault all along.
Adults carried an unshirkable responsibility.
Qi Jing sat in the chair, his sleepwear clinging damply to his skin, his bangs falling over his forehead. The other man fell silent, and a thread of tension crept into him.
“Fir—”
A soft breeze swept through, carrying with it a faint sigh. Qi Jing felt gentle fingers smooth back the tips of his hair.
He started to turn his gaze.
“Little Jing, I’m sorry.”
After fumbling back and forth for so long, he had finally grasped the knot.
