Chapter 49

The sobs were uncontrollable.

They bubbled up from his slender throat like steam from a kettle just coming to a boil, forcing the lid upward.

Terrified, Qi Jing shrank into the man’s embrace. Bo Chengyan held his calves firmly, preventing any escape. The man simply lowered his gaze a fraction.

One hand encircled that slim waist.

Desire was often a tangled thing, not always purely carnal.

But a kiss was indeed the mildest form of punishment.

“You’re going to hit me…”

Tears spilled from the boy’s eyes. His fingers clutched at the man’s sleeve, his chest heaving with sobs.

Bo Chengyan regarded him impassively. “Who told you that?”

The lighting was dim.

A hazy mist filled the bathroom.

As if guided by some unseen force, Qi Jing hesitantly reached out and pointed at the object.

It was the Discipline Ruler.

“Oh.”

His chin was pinched and drawn into another kiss. As his body temperature rose, something cool pressed against the crease of his thigh.

Qi Jing’s eyes were still closed when he felt himself lifted. His body clung to the other man like a koala.

There was an intimacy to the attachment.

One you had raised yourself was different.

It blurred the lines between good and bad. Arms outstretched, it reached for you instinctively.

The cool object slid higher along his inner thigh until it brushed the warmest, softest spot. Panic seized Qi Jing entirely.

He flopped like a fish on a cutting board.

Even a smack to the palm hurt terribly.

“Woo woo…”

Qi Jing even opened his mouth and bit down on Bo Chengyan’s shoulder. Saliva soaked into the shirt fabric, lending it an erotic, ambiguous sheen.

There was a muffled smack.

The boy in his arms burst into tears at the sound alone. He bit down heedless of consequences, his calves kicking desperately to break free.

“So delicate.”

Bo Chengyan lifted him onto the vanity. Seeing the aggrieved way Qi Jing bit his lower lip, he paused for a split second.

Qi Jing’s mind was foggy. In a casual glance, he noticed the man’s hand.

A red mark marred the back.

Before he could react, his nape was pressed forward.

He couldn’t even swallow.

Qi Jing had never been kissed for so long. He felt like he was dying.

Even his tongue tip was tugged out.

“Will you behave now?”

The refined, gentle voice rang out.

Qi Jing’s legs were guided around the man’s waist. Oblivious, he assumed the anger had passed.

His lashes were damp and clumped.

They met a pair of deep, dark eyes.

The boy, naive and innocent, even tilted his head up to meet that gaze.

[Is there such a good thing?]

The forbidden fruit always brimmed with tantalizing fantasies before the first bite.

Like honey drawing ants.

No special tricks required—it slipped naturally into the trap.

~~~

It was a quarter past ten.

Auntie had finished preparing dinner, her face etched with worry.

Only when steady footsteps echoed from the staircase did she relax slightly.

“Mr. Bo.”

Bo Chengyan glanced down at the items on the table. He casually straightened his cuffs and said flatly, “You should rest. We’ll clean up tomorrow.”

“No, no, it’s no trouble. I’ll handle it in a bit…”

But her words trailed off into silence.

The atmosphere turned icy.

“Then I’ll retire for the night. You should get some rest too, sir.”

“Thanks for your trouble.”

Auntie finally left, though a faint oppressive weight lingered. Her heart was heavy with worry.

Where on earth was that child?

Upstairs on the second floor.

The master bedroom was all dark tones. A pale arm lay tangled in the sheets, accompanied by intermittent gasps.

It continued until the door opened.

Qi Jing’s arches tensed instantly. He held his breath entirely.

The footsteps drew nearer.

The covers were pulled back. His smooth arm was yanked upright. His unfinished sob caught in his throat as his mouth was invaded.

A spoonful of porridge was fed inside—warm, neither scalding nor cold.

“Mm…”

That wasn’t enough. A blanket was draped over him.

His lower body was slightly elevated. The man’s hand had blocked some of the smack, but tender flesh had still been grazed.

A red mark bloomed.

“Out all day and you skip meals?”

The voice was slightly hoarse.

But the actions were insistent. Qi Jing struggled to swallow in time and pushed weakly at the man’s arm.

His lips were meticulously wiped clean.

Bo Chengyan seemed endlessly patient. He carried Qi Jing into the bathroom and spread the blanket across the vanity. The boy’s calves dangled, marked with clear imprints from firm grips.

His mouth was probed with meticulous care.

Clean mint flavor.

“Mm…”

It was impossible not to react. When the root of his tongue was pressed, his palms went numb.

A sense of overwhelming fullness.

Stammering, Qi Jing said, “S-Sleep… fingers will do…”

He had no experience with this strange bloated sensation.

It only stopped when his face paled as if from stomach pain.

Bo Chengyan leisurely removed the cleaning glove. Under the bright overhead light, his features stood out in sharp relief—long fingers, prominent knuckles.

Qi Jing’s knees were parted without resistance allowed.

He repeated the process.

Children always changed their minds.

Worried it hurt too much, yet afraid he wouldn’t learn his lesson.

No good way to handle it.

So narrow…

Wet sounds slurped softly.

Tears streamed down Qi Jing’s face again. He was like a child bawling under parental discipline—emotions unstable, yet pitifully seeking comfort from the adult.

Bo Chengyan allowed the embrace. His hands didn’t pause. His lips brushed the boy’s ear lightly, as if to soothe.

…

The large age gap had its advantages. Midway through, Qi Jing even fainted. When he came to in a daze, he was still pinned down, though glucose was now being passed mouth-to-mouth from his lips.

It was from a single-dose vial of intravenous solution.

Left over from high school.

Now put to use.

There was care, yes—but the fucking was undeniably real.

Once was pleasurable, twice even more so. But three or four times tested one’s endurance.

A fledgling’s feathers weren’t fully grown yet.

Naturally, it couldn’t hold out.

Qi Jing slept straight through until the evening of the next day. His days and nights were completely inverted.

Bo Chengyan’s silence didn’t mean he ignored the matter.

He kept vigil by the bed. On the screen were records from handling that couple in Z Province—the infant had a birthmark on its collarbone.

The boy clutched his hand. Faint red lingered at the corners of his eyes, but he slept soundly.

The collar was peeled back effortlessly.

Clean.

Bo Chengyan’s expression remained impassive. He swiped again. It was the Paternity Test Report.

The so-called biological parents.

—Based on this DNA test result and relevant genetic principles, the possibility of a biological relationship between the tested party 1 and tested party 2 is excluded.

Not biological.

Bo Chengyan leaned slightly toward the figure on the bed. The boy’s lips were split from kisses, still swollen despite the ointment.

“Are you a gift from heaven to me?”

No one answered.

~~~

Lin Se was the first to visit. It was the morning of the third day. Qi Jing sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in long-sleeved pajamas despite the summer heat.

He looked over in a daze.

The red at his eye corners hadn’t fully faded. A Band-Aid covered the back of his hand—he’d had an IV drip the night before.

He looked utterly pitiful.

“Eat up.”

The boy turned his head obediently and opened his mouth to sip.

So compliant.

Bo Chengyan calmly cleared the bowl and chopsticks. He rose and faced the visitor with steady eyes.

Completely aboveboard.

Lin Se was floored.

But he didn’t press. He simply stepped closer and asked, “Got a fever?”

It was meant as an accusation toward Bo Chengyan.

But the boy on the bed shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“I’m perfectly healthy.”

His face was pale, his bangs falling obediently across his forehead, but his expression was gravely serious.

“Mm.”

Qi Jing glanced at Bo Chengyan, then obediently averted his gaze.

As if faintly uncomfortable.

Lin Se was genuinely surprised. He kept his presence as low-key as possible, thinking to himself that the technique must be impressive.

The aftercare was thorough, too.

It was only when he took hold of that slender wrist that he froze.

The motion tugged at the clothes, exposing a patch of skin.

Kiss marks everywhere.

Dense and thick.

“…”

God forgive me, God forgive me.

Lin Se even released the hand and crossed himself over his chest before finally taking the pulse.

Nothing serious, really. It boiled down to eight simple words:

Qi and blood depleted, excessive indulgence.

In the end, the two stepped outside.

Inside the room, the boy was playing on a phone—Bo Chengyan’s.

Lin Se could see the signs himself. This went far beyond ordinary affection. This… this…

“That’s your work phone?”

“Yes.”

“You two…”

Lin Se went numb in the end. Hands in his pockets, he stared at Bo Chengyan and said firmly, “You’ve pushed back Macau for days. You’re out of control.”

“No.”

“It just felt too constraining.”

The man before him was remarkably agreeable—a picture of satisfaction.

Lin Se kept a straight face, thinking it truly lived up to the rumors. He’d become a little “calamity” after all.

Bo Zhonglin was on his last legs, and the eldest son had barely touched down before rushing back. News from the Capital City was airtight, but rumors inevitably twisted toward bedroom scandals.

And there was only one kind.

“By the way, where’d you find him? Where was the kid?”

As an insider, Lin Se knew bits and pieces. He frowned and probed.

…

Meanwhile—

Qi Jing was poring over Bo Chengyan’s phone with utmost seriousness. He scrolled through WeChat and discovered it was filled with contacts he didn’t recognize—mostly titles or names prefixed before them.

Either job positions or other people.

Nothing seemed particularly noteworthy.

Qi Jing was just about to set the phone aside when something occurred to him. He decided to search for his own contact.

But there were far too many people in the list. Even those starting with Q numbered in the dozens.

In the end, he opted to type out a search.

The youth typed two characters with careful deliberation.

—Qi Jing

Nothing.

He tried again.

—Little Jing.

Still nothing.

Qi Jing felt a wave of gloom. Could it possibly be “Hates Broccoli”?

That would be going too far.

The room’s air conditioning hummed at a perfectly comfortable temperature. The youth bit his lip and typed in his nickname to search.

Nothing.

Qi Jing was truly upset now. He was determined to find his own contact. Perhaps because he had slept for so long, his reactions were sluggish; he didn’t think to message from his own phone or check the chat records.

Instead, he flipped through the directories one by one.

So absorbed was he that he didn’t even hear the door close. Before long, the youth noticed something unusual: a nickname starting with M, apparently in English letters.

The profile picture showed an artistic landscape.

Qi Jing bit his lip sharply, a sour ache blooming in his chest. He tilted his head back, about to go look for Bo Chengyan—only to find him standing right beside him.

He was just about to voice his complaint.

But in the next instant…

“Found yourself?”

Qi Jing froze. “Ah?” Dazed, he looked down at the screen. “N-No, that’s not it. My profile picture is…”

A warm, soft finger brushed the frame, and the image automatically updated to the current one: a vibrant green broccoli floret.

A beat of silence followed.

It had been a WeChat cache issue. Qi Jing’s ear tips flushed red as he tried to pretend nothing had happened.

He bit his lip again without thinking, then caught himself and released it.

The youth mumbled glumly, “Mm, yeah, f-found it.”

Without thinking, he tapped into the chat—and discovered messages from that day, looping back and forth.

—Little Jing, where are you?

—Little Jing, reply to me.

—Mad at me?

—Little Jing…

Qi Jing flung the phone away in an instant. He clutched the blanket with both hands and gazed up at Bo Chengyan with a pitiful expression.

He wanted to explain. “I-I didn’t mean to…”

Perhaps he had realized it then: a sudden departure could wound those close to you, tugging painfully at their hearts.

This wasn’t right.

Bo Chengyan remained utterly calm. “No need to apologize. I simply failed to take precautions in advance.”

The phrasing was a bit obscure and hard to grasp. Qi Jing had no idea what “take precautions” meant. He just wanted to change the subject, and his gaze fell on the screen’s label.

Meu amor.

What did that mean?

The youth tilted his head back to ask, his voice soft and sticky.

Bo Chengyan lowered his eyes to regard him, speaking as if in gentle explanation—or perhaps stating it plainly:

“Meu amor.”

His voice resembled the timbre of some instrument, deep and magnetic.

For a fleeting moment, Qi Jing lost himself in it. He was just about to ask for the Chinese meaning when a familiar voice sounded in his ear.

“Darling.”