Qi Jing drank every last drop of juice and, not wanting to waste any, had the waiter pack up some small cakes. Bag in hand, he left.
His stomach felt like it was full of nothing but water.
It was an odd sensation.
Outside, the sun had come out. The teenager approached the car, and the doors unlocked automatically.
After sliding into the seat, Qi Jing spotted his coconut-shell cup still sitting on the fold-down table. He froze for a moment.
He carefully set the small cakes down beside it. “I was going to give this to you, but you weren’t in the car, so I drank it.”
The implication was clear: you eat the cake instead.
Bo Chengyan reached out and caught Qi Jing’s wrist. He slid his hand down along the boy’s palm before locking their fingers together, his tone gentle. “That was my mistake.”
“I should have come to pick you up.”
The car pulled away smoothly. The partition between them and the driver rose automatically, and the air conditioning wrapped them in cool comfort. The teenager tugged off his cap.
His cheeks were still a bit flushed from the sun.
“Who opened the coconut for you?” Bo Chengyan asked casually.
Qi Jing was staring down at their joined hands, idly curling his fingertip around Bo Chengyan’s. “The old security guard at the gate,” he said offhandedly.
“Mm.”
~~~
Jiang Xiuyuan threw on a black short-sleeved shirt and padded out to the balcony barefoot. He glanced down at the city far below—twenty-five stories straight down.
He took a step back.
His hair was a little long, bangs nearly covering his eyes. Beneath the loose clothes, his frame was on the slender side, his skin dotted with a constellation of marks.
Click.
He flicked open the lighter, and the flame danced prettily.
Jiang Xiuyuan lit a cigarette for himself, but the moment he tried to play it cool by taking a drag, he dissolved into coughs.
“Cough, cough.”
He tried to stifle it on instinct, but he still woke the person in the room. The cigarette was snatched from between his fingers.
Jiang Xiuyuan’s neck was gripped, his chin tilted upward, forcing him to meet that gaze.
“Can’t smoke and you still light one up?”
The tone was oddly nuanced, like scolding a kid for playing with fire.
Chen Zhuo never put much strength into his grip. When he let go, he noticed the other man breathing hard, an obvious handprint blooming on his neck.
“Tch. Say something next time.”
The man crouched down in front of him, pinching Jiang Xiuyuan’s neck to inspect it closely.
“Don’t make me snap it.”
Jiang Xiuyuan just said flatly, “As long as Young Master Chen transfers some funeral money to my card, that’ll do.”
Chen Zhuo paused, looking up at him with a mocking laugh. “You still sending money to that trash heap of a family? Even after you’re dead?”
“Never seen someone so eager to throw themselves away.”
Jiang Xiuyuan’s face paled, but he said nothing.
Chen Zhuo lost all interest in an instant. He stood to leave, but his clothes caught on something.
He arched a brow slightly. “What—”
Jiang Xiuyuan looked up. “Do you want this Cartier lighter back?”
“…”
Sometimes you had to face facts: different classes meant different worldviews. Even the skin and bones they grew were worlds apart.
Jiang Xiuyuan hadn’t gone far in school. Beneath that pretty face lay a cheap, worthless skeleton.
Scraping by.
It turned the stomach.
Chen Zhuo’s eyes grew icy. “Keep it.”
He walked out.
Jiang Xiuyuan had been holed up in the hotel for a while now, high up on the twenty-sixth floor. He couldn’t just wander down; he had to call Chen Zhuo first.
The place felt like a birdcage.
Not holding a goldfinch, though. Just a sparrow.
The young man curled up in the corner of the balcony, staring down at the ground so far below…
He didn’t really have any friends.
In that moment, Jiang Xiuyuan remembered Qi Jing.
111: You there?
Qi Jing had already made it back to his bedroom, carrying the small cakes inside. Bo Chengyan didn’t like sweets, so they were all his anyway.
His phone buzzed with a message.
Qi Jing checked it just in time to see the other side withdraw the whole thing.
Hates Broccoli: I saw it. I’m here.
A couple of minutes later.
111: Oh… I’m fine.
Jiang Xiuyuan felt utterly at a loss. He hadn’t talked to anyone in ages, and he had no idea what had come over him today.
He wasn’t even close to Qi Jing.
Hates Broccoli: How have you been lately?
The young man blinked, forcing a smile.
111: Doing okay.
For some reason, Jiang Xiuyuan’s hands shook so badly he dropped the phone. His mind went blank for a long stretch.
Until it buzzed again.
He snatched it up, wiped the screen clean with his shirt, and hurriedly opened the chat app.
His breathing quickened.
But it was just a news alert.
Not a reply.
Jiang Xiuyuan sat on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, lost in his thoughts.
The phone screen dimmed, reflecting the dazed young man—his features sharp and clear.
He touched his lips absently. No lip piercing…
Qi Jing had said it looked good.
The emotions settled into a quiet hush.
What was he even doing?
Hates Broccoli: Sorry, Auntie just knocked. Didn’t reply in time.
Hates Broccoli: You still working at the clubhouse?
The question was blunt to the point of rudeness.
An outsider might think it was a jab.
Jiang Xiuyuan knew better. Qi Jing was just a kid who’d been sheltered his whole life.
111: Sort of.
111: Got kept by a new sugar daddy. Long-term gig.
His fingers trembled as he typed, but he sent it all anyway.
It felt better knowing someone knew.
Hates Broccoli: That’s no good. Being a kept man is bad. Quit that job and find something else.
Jiang Xiuyuan thought, he finally gets it. Someone taught him.
111: But I don’t want to work anymore. I’m so tired.
Hates Broccoli: Then don’t.
Jiang Xiuyuan laughed at that message. Such innocent thinking.
111: But I need money.
111: A ton of it. My family’s got cancer. Medical bills are sky-high, and this job pays the fastest.
Qi Jing frowned, pondering seriously.
Hates Broccoli: Don’t you have other family? They could work too. Can’t put it all on you.
Jiang Xiuyuan went quiet for a bit, as if in utter despair.
111: They don’t work. Say they need to care for the elders.
Hates Broccoli: That’s a lot of pressure on you.
111: No choice.
Hates Broccoli: But I hear cancer’s hard to beat…
Jiang Xiuyuan’s heart stuttered. He knew… but what could he do?
Grandma had been perfectly healthy just a few years ago. How…
Time dragged on.
The weight on his chest crushed the air from his lungs.
At sixteen, his classmates found out he was gay—mocked, bullied… parents called in, total chaos.
The other kids’ parents raged in the group chat, saying a queer would corrupt their precious children.
His own parents were ashamed of him.
He dropped out, stayed home a while, but couldn’t stand his barely-there folks.
A left-behind kid like him could never measure up to the city brats they’d raised personally.
Jiang Xiuyuan came to the Capital City alone. No job wanted him without a diploma. He drifted aimlessly for years.
Fell into selling himself.
Gays didn’t need love, he told himself, numbing out over and over.
Finally sent the cash home. That way, his parents thought he was a success, tossed him a scrap of praise.
Even if every video call ended with demands for more.
He kept begging for love from people who could never give it, ignoring the grandma who’d raised him.
Jiang Xiuyuan wanted to go back, but they said the travel money could cover days in the hospital.
He couldn’t.
Lives were just… different.
Jiang Xiuyuan couldn’t help the jealousy, the resentment… toward Qi Jing.
Why was he so damn lucky?
Tears slid down slowly… his bones felt ice-cold.
Just then, the phone buzzed.
Hates Broccoli: I don’t know much about cancer treatment costs, so I asked Bo Chengyan. He says it varies by condition, but generally, under a million should cover it.
Hates Broccoli: You should go see your family. Sick people need company. Don’t worry about money.
Hates Broccoli: I’ve got money. I can give you some. Go home quick. And no more being kept. It’s bad.
Jiang Xiuyuan’s eyes burned red. He stared, stunned—the screen filling with transfer notifications.
Up to the twenty-grand limit.
His throat closed up, vision blurring.
111: Does he know you’re sending me money?
He’d just hit send when another came through.
Hates Broccoli: Or give me your card number?
Hates Broccoli: You mean Bo Chengyan? He’s right here. He says it’s my money to spend. Don’t worry—he thinks it’s better used saving a life. Hopes your family pulls through.
The young man lost it completely. Tears rained onto the screen. His hands shook as he typed and deleted, over and over.
In the end, a thousand words boiled down to two.
—Thanks.
Jiang Xiuyuan slumped against the wall, sobbing like a child, scrubbing at his face. His body curled into a tiny ball.
Some people were like that—born into privilege, handed every lucky break.
And still so kind.
All the dark feelings had nowhere to hide, dissolving into nothing under the sunlight.
“I hope they stay happy forever.”
~~~
Qi Jing sat on the desk, propping himself up on his arms as he tilted his head back to look at Bo Chengyan. Bo Chengyan was gazing down at his phone, but he raised his eyes with a gentle look.
“What’s up?”
Someone lightly touched the back of Qi Jing’s neck, then trailed around to the tip of his chin. Just as that warmth began to pull away, the young man caught hold of the other’s fingers.
Their gazes brushed against each other.
“I thought you wouldn’t let me give them that much money.”
Bo Chengyan set his phone down. A quiet atmosphere flowed between them. Qi Jing kept his head tilted back, the curve of his neck flowing gracefully like that of a little swan.
Bo Chengyan reached out, scooped him up by the waist, and set him down on the desk. In a mild tone, he said, “Why would you think that? It’s your freedom.”
Qi Jing looked down as Bo Chengyan straightened his sleeve, his mind wandering. “Good thing I didn’t crank the AC too low. It’s set to twenty degrees.”
“I’m not cold.”
At this perfect height, Qi Jing no longer had to strain his neck to look up. Instead, he could meet Bo Chengyan’s eyes naturally, on the same level.
“But I’ve never earned any money. I’m just spending yours.”
The conversation had circled back around.
Qi Jing’s sense of money was a bit contradictory.
He truly had no idea what cancer treatment cost. He’d been surprised to learn that a million would cover most of it—after all, he had that much in pocket money alone.
He’d vaguely realized his clothes were expensive…
His ornaments were even more so.
The price of a single brooch might… cover someone else’s treatment.
“Don’t get trapped in that loop.”
A low, resonant voice sounded by Qi Jing’s ear.
A finger lightly pressed against his cheek, their eyes locking.
“You have to accept that society has all sorts of classes. The wealth didn’t spring out of thin air in my hands. My ancestors, my parents… they’ve been rich for generations.”
“This is nothing.”
Bo Chengyan keenly picked up on it. “Did I make you uneasy?”
He gently parted the young man’s knees. Qi Jing remained oblivious, his arms still looped around Bo Chengyan’s neck.
“Yeah, you’re loaded.”
Brutally honest.
“Accept me.”
Qi Jing blinked in a daze and looked up, suddenly meeting a deep, intense gaze.
“Your background is something you can’t choose. Because of my family, I carry some cold traits. I’ve lost a bit of that human warmth.”
“Maybe in the future, you’ll feel that slight discomfort again. But you’ll forgive me for it, won’t you?”
Qi Jing was a little bewildered, but he nodded on instinct. “I accept you.”
His lips parted and closed, revealing the pink inside his mouth.
“You’re great. Not cold at all…”
The young man repeated it over and over, his eyes shining brightly.
He knew nothing.
