Click—
The bottle cap twisted open effortlessly, accompanied by the snap of the security ring breaking.
Bo Chengyan’s expression remained unchanged as he lowered his gaze to the young man before him. In an indifferent tone, he said into the phone, “Hang up.”
Some bottles were indeed tricky to open. Qi Jing examined the bottle mouth with utmost seriousness; it was almost deformed.
What crappy juice.
The young man hugged the bottle of beverage and prepared to leave, but his collar was gently tugged. He involuntarily stumbled back a few steps, a pair of bright eyes turning toward the man.
His brows were furrowed, a touch of unhappiness in his expression.
“Hmm?”
The way he was being tugged felt too much like handling a child.
Qi Jing considered himself an adult. He turned around earnestly, tilted his head, and gestured for the man to let go.
“No thanks?”
Bo Chengyan asked in his usual refined and courteous manner. He reached out and lifted the juice bottle from the young man’s arms, casually pressing it down onto a stack of photos on the desk.
The photos had already been gathered together the moment the door had opened; now they lay face down on the redwood desk.
Qi Jing’s balance shifted unstably, and Bo Chengyan easily drew him into his line of sight’s blind spot.
The speakerphone had been turned off earlier, and the information would be automatically recorded.
Bo Chengyan needed to maintain a polished image.
He had no need to know about the eavesdropping.
“Fine then. Thank you.”
Qi Jing said it with perfect sincerity. He reached for the bottle of orange juice again and turned to take a few steps away, only for his waist to be firmly grasped.
He was truly baffled.
Looking back in confusion, he said, “I still need to deliver this.”
The implication was clear: let me go.
It was as if he were reminding an adult.
Bo Chengyan idly held onto Qi Jing’s fidgeting wrist and pulled him closer. In a mild tone, he said, “Stay a little longer?”
Qi Jing tilted his head up. “Haven’t we been together this whole time?”
“You haven’t gone out these past few days.”
It was as if he had found an argument.
More often than not, the young man’s confusion was pure and innocent. Nearly everything in his life revolved around Bo Chengyan. He had gained enough security from that, so he voiced his thoughts without a trace of ulterior motive.
“But you were downstairs, and I was in the study. We weren’t together.”
The young man was stunned. He felt something was off about that. Did normal partners need to stick together every moment of every day?
Qi Jing’s wrists were spotlessly clean. He hadn’t worn the smart wristband since returning that day, though he had forgotten to mention the monitoring.
He did remember, however, that love meant tolerance.
Qi Jing furrowed his brows, wondering if this was a sign of insecurity in a relationship.
He looked up at the man in bewilderment.
“Hmm?”
Bo Chengyan’s gaze was lowered, his brows soft. He occasionally found himself entranced by such expressions, as if the person in his arms… was seeking his help.
His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly.
But just then, the young man took the initiative to hug him, wrapping his arms around Bo Chengyan’s waist and pressing his cheek against the man’s shirt.
“Is this okay?”
His voice came out muffled through the fabric.
Yet it carried an enticing quality.
~~~
Less than half a day passed before impatience stirred on the other side.
The Macau news media began building momentum, though not targeting Bo Chengyan’s personal affairs directly. Instead, it focused on tax issues at Ling Yue’s subsidiary company.
Perhaps the plan had changed at the last minute. The person under tight watch was likely his most cherished one.
When things truly escalated, the matter lost its leverage.
In an old subordinate’s office, Bo Chengyan reviewed the files neatly organized by his Chief Assistant. They were nothing more than financial data, and there were indeed irregularities.
But all of it was anticipated.
Ling Yue had shifted his core industries to Capital City in the early 2000s, riding the wave of favorable policies and gradually taking root inland.
The Macau operations had scaled down significantly as a result.
Even so, it was more than enough to keep those side-branch families living in luxury.
In the end, people were simply greedy.
Shen Nanzhi frowned and asked, “Ah Yan, is it easy to handle?”
The woman’s mood was fairly good at the moment. She believed she held real value here.
Perhaps… she could help more than that young man?
People always hoped to be “special.”
Bo Chengyan replied calmly, “It’s not a big deal.”
Only then did Shen Nanzhi relax with a sigh. In a delicate tone, she said, “That’s what I thought. They won’t stir up any waves.”
But right at that moment—
“My father is dead.”
Bo Chengyan’s tone was utterly indifferent as he looked over at her calmly.
“Ah… I know. He—he should have died long ago.” Shen Nanzhi was at a loss, her gaze dropping awkwardly.
The man furrowed his brow. “So you can leave the Bo Family.”
It had been a transaction from the start.
Bo Chengyan had been only nineteen when he stumbled upon that scene at the hotel, but his mind was already hardened. There were many concubines, and every one of them resented him deeply.
His father indulged so heavily in wine and women that it was better for his son to make the selection himself.
It counted as one of his misdeeds.
Bo Chengyan glanced at his wristwatch and rose to leave. Pausing at the door, he said, “Think it over carefully.”
Shen Nanzhi’s face drained of color.
She had always known he carried some guilt, even though she had been the one to climb the social ladder back then.
Perhaps because they had been so young; perhaps he felt he had wasted her youth.
In the years that followed, he had offered to let her leave.
Shen Nanzhi had refused. She couldn’t very well choose money as her reason—she had entered the household after liberation, with no legal protections. She was merely a mistress.
The nominal Fifth Madam, nothing more.
He had promised her a substantial asset in exchange, a sum large enough to sustain her for several lifetimes without worry.
But people harbored delusions.
She still wanted to stay in the Bo Family, even fabricating a lofty excuse.
“If I leave, people will mock me. Your father is so old, and I’d be cast out—what would they say?”
“I’ll wait until he dies, then go.”
Of course, as a mistress who had risen through seduction, how could she truly mind the gossip?
It was merely that now, her words had come true as prophecy.
And it left her unable to remain.
~~~
Old Estate.
Qi Jing had spent the past few days in idle leisure. Fortunately, military training lasted a good while, so he could play a bit longer.
The young man had been lying supine, fiddling with his phone, but then something occurred to him. He flipped over, propped himself up on his elbows, and earnestly searched:
—What are the job prospects for paleontology?
Several responses popped up below.
The top-voted one read:
[If you’ve chosen paleontology, don’t even talk about jobs?]
Qi Jing bit his lip and scrolled downward frantically until he found a somewhat positive comment.
[Your professors will treat you like a hot commodity since there are so few students in the field.]
“…”
Undeterred, Qi Jing consulted an AI, only to receive similar information, categorizing it as a “super niche” major.
He felt utterly dejected.
The young man buried his face in the pillow, wilting completely. Changing majors sounded difficult too—could he even manage it?
Qi Jing was young, after all. His anxieties hadn’t yet extended beyond campus life; he still thought like a student.
Just then, the door opened.
Footsteps approached.
Qi Jing remained buried in the pillow, drifting into a drowsy haze.
Until his nape was lifted. His cheeks were flushed pink, and it took his eyes a moment to focus before he saw Bo Chengyan furrow his brow.
“How do you sleep like this?”
His waist was soft; with one easy pull, Qi Jing was drawn over, and they embraced as naturally as ever.
Qi Jing was profoundly depressed, his voice hoarse. “My major has no job prospects at all…”
“And changing majors looks really hard.”
He shared his worries bit by bit, his sharp chin nestling into the man’s shoulder.
A flower raised in a greenhouse, complaining about the harsh weather outside.
“Many people end up in majors they don’t like. It’s quite common.”
Bo Chengyan’s gaze was lowered. He was many years older and often had to restrain the dictatorial tendencies he employed in business.
“Study it for a while and see if you like it or not.”
“You don’t need to worry about employment.”
Qi Jing’s head snapped up, his brows twisting. “Why wouldn’t I worry? I need a job. I want to buy you gifts. If I can’t find work, I won’t make any money.”
His thinking was utterly straightforward.
He wanted a job to earn money—money he had gained through his own efforts.
It had nothing to do with the system or the Bo Family.
It would be Little Jing’s own job.
Bo Chengyan furrowed his brow and said warmly, “Is it a burden? I don’t need gifts. Don’t study with such worldly utilitarianism in mind.”
Qi Jing grew unhappy upon hearing that. It was nothing like what he’d read online—jobs were extremely difficult to find, weren’t they?
He turned his head away.
It was like a sulk.
Until his neck was pinched and his chin gently nudged back by the man’s thumb.
“Don’t ignore me.”
His tone even carried a hint of sternness.
“Hmm, but finding work is really hard. I…”
“I’ll handle it. Do you think I’m dead?”
Qi Jing froze. The man’s gaze was dark, almost scorching.
“I don’t want to rely on you.”
His voice was soft and low.
Bo Chengyan occasionally lost his reason. He was so many years older precisely so that Qi Jing could rely on him.
No matter how much the young man grew, he would never catch up in age. He would always be a fledgling bird, its feathers not yet full.
Let him brave the storms of the outside world?
“Give me a reason.”
Qi Jing lifted his gaze to meet Bo Chengyan’s, inexplicably sensing a fierceness in him. The hands braced on the man’s shoulders unconsciously began to withdraw.
Qi Jing tried to pull his hand away, but Bo Chengyan cupped it firmly in his palm, refusing to let go.
“Then… if I rely on you like that, won’t the money I earn still come from you?”
“Like the time I made that donation.”
His words stumbled out awkwardly.
He was talking about their trip to Z Province, when he’d planned to sell a piece of jewelry—only for Bo Chengyan to whisk it away, donate it in Qi Jing’s name, and hand him credit for two million out of thin air.
Qi Jing was young, after all. He hadn’t entered society yet and had no grasp of its brutal realities. All he had were idealistic dreams and pure ambitions.
He wanted to make it on his own. He wanted a career that was truly his.
“Is that why?”
Bo Chengyan’s tone softened. He gave the young man’s fingers a gentle pinch and looked down at him.
“Mm-hmm.”
Qi Jing leaned in like a petulant child, resting his cheek on Bo Chengyan’s shoulder. He tugged his wrist free.
No more touching.
But Bo Chengyan’s grip held fast.
“The drop in graduate employment rates is a real societal problem right now,” Bo Chengyan said. “But we can’t just pin it blindly on their choice of major. The real issue is the economic slowdown—companies can’t afford to hire more people.”
“Plenty of those new majors aren’t even designed to get students jobs. They’re just a way to park more young workers, delaying the day they have to face the real world.”
Bo Chengyan lowered his gaze, turning his head to study Qi Jing’s soft, jet-black hair. In the warmth of his palm, he could trace the boy’s slender knuckles, one delicate segment at a time.
“If you want to be independent, that’s fine,” he continued. “I’m not opposed to it.”
Qi Jing toyed with the cufflink on Bo Chengyan’s sleeve, his soft fingertips occasionally grazing the sensitive web between his thumb and forefinger.
“But you can’t say it like you won’t rely on me.”
