To Yan Bozong, Qi Liangqin was like a poppy flower carefully nurtured in the neighbor's greenhouse. One warm day, when the neighbor lifted a corner of the plastic cover to let in some air, he happened to catch a glimpse of it—a delicate blossom just beginning to bloom. It had the same vivid petals as a wild poppy but with a fragile, tender core.

He didn't dare to touch it—because it didn't belong to him. Yet, it swayed and shimmered before him, spilling its striking yet timid red.

He chose to look away, but the scent of the poppy was inescapable. The fragrance slipped through his breath, seeped into his nerves, and pulsed in his brain. The scent itself was harmless, yet when inhaled too much, it numbed the senses, sent uncontrollable pleasure surging through the mind, and left one addicted.

Qi Liangqin was toxic.

Qi Liangqin loved Yan Bozong—or rather, he was obsessed with him. It was the kind of obsession an addict had for opium, the way a man lost in the desert trembled as he opened his mouth, thirsting for a single drop of water. As if that one drop, that one taste, was the only thing keeping him alive.

Yan Bozong was the embodiment of every fantasy he had about men. Those long legs, that firm backside, the slender waist, the broad and towering back—even the way his Adam's apple moved, the refined curve of his silhouette, the shallow lines that appeared at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Even the flick of his fingers when he smoked, the rough warmth of his fingertips, the distinct scent of him that made Qi Liangqin tremble with longing.

He wanted to be devoured by him, day and night, to offer up his flesh and blood for him to consume. Just the thought of it made his heart so full it was overflowing—made him want to cry, to laugh, to shiver and scream.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he hid in the depths of the intoxicating night. His body was poisoned, his heart ensnared by demons. He had fallen into a filthy yet pure sickness, one that could only be cured by a filthy yet pure remedy.

"A wise bird chooses the right tree to nest in." And this pine tree stood tall, piercing the clouds—perhaps it could offer him the best home.

But even the beauty of spring breezes stretching ten miles, even a path lined with endless blossoms, even a world filled with boundless love and devotion—none of it could compare to a single sentence from Yan Bozong's lips:

"Qi Liangqin, I love you."

——

As Qi Liang walked out of Yonghui Supermarket, he was carrying two heavy shopping bags filled to the brim. He stopped and started as he walked, regretting—yet again—that he hadn't been able to control himself. He had bought far more than he originally intended.

The bags were so heavy that he could barely carry them any longer. Finally, he set them down on the ground, gasping for breath.

The pedestrian street was still bustling under the night sky. The restaurants were packed, glasses clinking amid lively chatter, their neon lights casting a hazy glow. The rich, smoky scent of grilled lamb wafted through the air, lingering around him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his shopping list—something he had written down before entering the supermarket:

Tomatoes, cucumbers, cabbage, green beans, and a bottle of body wash.

That's it. ONLY THESE!!!!!!

Four exclamation marks.

He lowered his head and glanced at the two overstuffed bags by his feet. Defeated, he crumpled the paper and tossed it onto the ground.

But just as he did, he suddenly remembered something. Panicking, he hurriedly bent down to pick it up, sneaking an embarrassed glance around to see if anyone had noticed. Then, with a guilty conscience, he clenched the note tightly in his palm.

He realized that no one was even looking at him.

From a nearby barbershop, one of his favorite songs was playing. A high-pitched, resonant voice sang:

"I long for a heart pure as glass, and eyes that know how to cry."

But right now, Qi Liang didn't long for anything—except a good man to help him carry his bags. If he had one, he would go home and make soup for him to drink.

By the time he got back to his apartment, he was drenched in sweat. Summers in Nanjing were unbearably hot.

He put everything into the fridge, then suddenly noticed the pork trotters he had bought.

He didn't even like pork trotters. The only reason he had gotten them was because the supermarket lady had smiled at him and said,

"Young man, buy some pork trotters and make a soup—it's great for brightening your skin!"

That had been his weakness.

He was already this age, yet someone had still called him "young man." The moment he heard it, his heart bloomed with joy, and before he knew it, he had bought a whole jin of pork trotters.

It was an unnecessary purchase, but if it really did help beautify the skin, then it was worth it. After all, he had to take care of himself—only then would a man be willing to love him.

So, he started stewing the pork trotters, then collapsed into a chair and resumed reading his novel.

Lately, he had been obsessed with a book called "The Male Version of Pan Jinlian."

This was not a serious book. Its author, Huangling Xiaoxiaosheng, was clearly not writing it to be taken seriously.

The protagonist, Qi Liangqin, was much like Pan Jinlian—who, before becoming infamous, had also been a pitiful soul. Qi Liangqin wasn't born a seductress. He came from a poor family; his father had passed away early, and his mother was just a small-time street vendor.

But Qi Liangqin had ambition, and he was handsome. One thing led to another, and he ended up entangled with Yan Songwei, the second son of the Yan family.

The Yan family was filthy rich. He suspected the author had watched too many Thai romance dramas, because this family was the ultimate blend of an old-money aristocracy and modern-day billionaires. They had farms, horse ranches, and private islands, status and prestige beyond imagination—a true dynasty among dynasties.

And, like in most cliché setups, the Yan family had two sons—the older one mature and steady, the younger one a reckless playboy. So naturally, Qi Liangqin got involved with the second son.

But Qi Liangqin was born insatiable. Being a male wife wasn't enough for him—he refused to be faithful. He wanted to seduce his own brother-in-law, and in order to do so, he even poisoned his own husband.

Of course, he met a tragic end, dying at the hands of his brother-in-law, becoming a modern-day Pan Jinlian.

Pitiful people always have their own detestable side.

This story was ridiculously dramatic—but Qi Liang absolutely loved it.

Why?

Simple. He was an old virgin.

Once you reached a certain level of loneliness, emptiness, and coldness, your tastes started aligning with middle-aged aunties.

So here he was, stewing pork trotters while reading, completely entranced.

The novel's bottom was so deliciously sinful—especially the seduction scene with the brother-in-law.

He had read that part at least ten times, yet every time, he still found himself blushing, heart pounding, utterly captivated.

As a true gem of the BL genre, Huangling Xiaoxiaosheng had created a top-tier seme—the kind that could conquer heaven and earth, a man among men, with brains, looks, size, and skills beyond human comprehension.

Qi Liang was absolutely convinced that this author had to be a woman.

Why?

Because, from his vast experience in reading BL novels, he knew that male authors and female authors wrote them differently.

And Huangling Xiaoxiaosheng just knew too damn well what kind of seme was truly irresistible!

Yan Bozong's name suited him perfectly.

Every character in it—Yan (strict), Bai (upright like a cypress tree), and Zong (leader, authority)—radiated discipline and righteousness.

He had the cold, chiseled features of a true elite bachelor.

Most importantly, despite being drop-dead gorgeous, filthy rich, and insanely talented, he was rigidly self-disciplined—a man of absolute restraint, the kind who exuded the aura of an old-school bureaucrat with a monk-like asceticism.

And what kind of man was the most irresistible?

Not the arrogant, cocky bad boys who acted like they ruled the world.

Not the gentle, doting puppy lovers who pampered you to death.

No—the real killer was the one who looked completely abstinent yet you just knew, with one glance at those long, powerful legs, that he could ruin you in bed.

As the eldest son of the Yan family, Yan Bozong had been a star since childhood—a straight-A student with brains sharper than a scalpel and a physique sculpted like a soldier's.

He was cold, distant, and untouchable—exactly Qi Liang's type.

There were plenty of so-called "abstinent tops" in the world, but most were just stiff gentlemen from head to toe.

That wasn't real abstinence. That was just being cold.

True abstinence was when your insides were burning up, your entire body screaming with restrained desire—yet you still managed to keep your expression utterly calm, standing tall and untouchable like a snow-capped mountain.

Qi Liang was completely engrossed in the novel, his heart twisting into knots as he eagerly anticipated Qi Liangqin and Yan Bozong finally getting together. The novel was marked as having a total of 100 chapters, yet by chapter 80, it had been entirely about Qi Liangqin seducing the other man. The author had employed every possible alluring detail— never vulgar, never excessive, but undeniably tantalizing and restrained. Every glance, every accidental touch between the younger brother's wife and the elder brother-in-law was written with such finesse that it set the reader's heart ablaze, one spark after another, until it felt like all that remained was the final, explosive moment.

Despite all of Qi Liangqin's flirtations, they never seemed to work. So, he found an excuse to talk to Yan Bozong and lured him into the room. Hiding behind the door, he stripped off his clothes, waiting. The moment Yan Bozong stepped inside, Qi Liangqin seized him in a tight embrace, rubbing against him, determined to take what he wanted by force.

Then…

Then the author actually abandoned the story here!

Leaving only one sentence:

"The ending is no different from Pan Jinlian's."

Qi Liang nearly spat out a mouthful of blood!

He barely managed to fall asleep as dawn approached, leaving the pig's trotters stew untouched. Even in his drowsy state, he was still cursing—

That damn author! How could they cruelly trample on the readers' delicate hearts like this?!

If he were writing this, there's no way he'd stop without at least three hundred rounds of intense battle!

But after thinking about it carefully…

Qi Liang had to admit that Qi Liangqin was indeed too flirtatious, too ruthless.

And he never liked such a character.

To him, love should be simple—

"If you don't commit, then let go completely. But once you do, it should be for a lifetime, without ever looking back."

——

Qi Liang slept lightly.

In a hazy state, he felt like he was trapped in a nightmare, his whole body sinking downward. He struggled to break free, but he had no strength—just kept falling, deeper and deeper.

Qi Liang suddenly snapped awake.

He sat up straight in bed, breathing heavily.

It was broad daylight.

But this… was not his room.

He glanced around, disoriented. Then his gaze landed on the wedding photo hanging on the wall above the headboard.

Two men.

His eyes drifted to the bedsheets and duvet—bright red, embroidered with a pair of mandarin ducks.

Familiar. Too familiar.

In The Male Pan Jinlian, wasn't this exactly Qi Liangqin's taste?

Wait…

Could it be…?

Qi Liang sat there, utterly dumbfounded, as a terrifying realization dawned upon him.

He had… entered the novel.

It took him a long time to accept this reality. Sometimes, he couldn't tell if he was dreaming or awake. He fell sick, bedridden for several days, drifting in and out of consciousness, his mind even more muddled.

And just like every quick transmigration, book transmigration, time travel, or rebirth novel—

He went through denial, disbelief, confusion, and panic before he was finally forced to accept the truth.

He was no longer Qi Liang.

He was now… Qi Liangqin.

——

The first thing Qi Liang did after transmigrating into the novel was grab a pen and paper to map out his survival plan.

First and foremost—stay alive.

Nothing mattered more than survival. A bad life was still better than a good death, and considering how miserably he died in the book, he had to take this seriously.

To survive, he had to drop the promiscuous act. His downfall in The Male Pan Jinlian wasn't just bad luck—it was public reputation. Once Qi Liangqin became known as a loose and unfaithful man, he lost all trust and protection. His tragic fate stemmed from that single point:

His name was tainted.

So, Qi Liang made a decision—he was going full Little Dragon Girl mode.

Cold. Distant. Untouchable.

A high-cold, ethereal beauty.

With that in mind, he turned to the mirror.

And the moment he saw himself, he almost gasped.

Damn.

No wonder this character was called the male Pan Jinlian—he was drop-dead gorgeous.

His skin was flawless, his lips red, his teeth white, and his features so stunning he put even the most popular young idols to shame.

But what really struck him were his eyes.

At first glance—pure. Elegant. Untouched.

But Qi Liang knew better. Because he knew Qi Liangqin's story, he could see the hidden seductiveness beneath that seemingly innocent gaze. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but once you knew to look for it—it was there.

A certain charm. A trace of temptation. A whisper of desire.

Damn.

Even he, looking at himself through the mirror, could tell—this face was trouble.

He had imagined Qi Liangqin to be more mature and glamorous, but the person before him was clearly a fresh and delicate version of Pan Jinlian. With a slender neck and long, thin brows and eyes, he exuded the aura of spring's first budding shoots— full of growth yet restrained, holding back, ready to unfurl into tender green leaves.

If Qi Liang had looked like this— so young and fresh— how could he have been unwanted?

With that thought, he took off his pajamas and stood naked in front of the mirror.

A slim waist, round hips— the perfect submissive!

Only in novels could such a perfect man exist. Even he couldn't help but run his hands over himself. His skin was smooth, his perky butt jiggled with a slap— perfection, absolute perfection.

Unable to resist, he stuck out his rear and gave it a few more smacks, watching the pale, smooth flesh ripple. Then, he heard footsteps. Startled, he quickly turned around.

A high, straight nose, sharp features, a tall and lean physique, an air of cold elegance—every word used to describe a dominant, powerful man would not be an exaggeration. There was no need to guess—such a paragon of masculinity could only be Yan Bozong!

Yan Bozong stared at him expressionlessly, the only sign of his shock being the subtle movement of his throat as he swallowed.

Qi Liang felt he should say something, but before he could even open his mouth, he realized—he was still stark naked, with his hand still gripping his own butt.

Yan Bozong parted his lips slightly, but in the end, he said nothing. He simply turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

That left Qi Liang standing frozen in front of the mirror, utterly petrified. It took him a long moment to react before he scrambled onto the bed, hurriedly pulling on his clothes. As he caught his disheveled reflection in the mirror, he looked as if he had just emerged from the tides of a river in full spring bloom.

I'm doomed, he thought. Looks like he's never shaking off this Pan Jinlian persona.