The ride to the twentieth floor, with all the stops along the way, couldn't have taken more than a minute—perhaps even less. But to Qi Liangqin, it felt unbearably long. By the time he stepped out of the elevator, his face was flushed, as if something unspeakable had just happened inside.
Yan Songwei snatched the bags from Qi Liangqin's hands and immediately started berating him. "It was just a few steps, and you still managed to get lost? You really are hopeless when it comes to directions."
Qi Liangqin gave an awkward smile. "I was lucky Mr. Yan was there to help…"
Unexpectedly, Yan Songwei turned around and frowned. "Where are your manners? What do you mean Mr. Yan? Call him brother."
Qi Liangqin hesitated, looking at Yan Bozong. His lips parted, but somehow, the word just wouldn't come out.
Yan Songwei grew impatient. "Say it! If he's my brother, that makes him your brother too."
"…Brother." Qi Liangqin mumbled the word so softly it was almost inaudible.
Yan Bozong gave a simple "Mm" in response, showing no particular emotion. Yan Songwei, satisfied, didn't press the matter further and carried the bags inside.
Qi Liangqin stood frozen for a moment, his heart still pounding. Sharing that elevator ride with Yan Bozong had left him covered in a nervous sweat. Even now, his legs felt weak.
Why was he so flustered? Was it anxiety? Excitement? He couldn't tell. Was it simply his own reaction, or was it the novel's setting steering him toward some inevitable infatuation?
Yan Bozong was just too alluring.
"To die beneath Bozong's body, even as a ghost, would be a pleasure beyond compare."
The infamous line from The Male Pan Jinlian suddenly flashed through his mind, sending heat surging through his veins.
Yan Bozong, unaware of Qi Liangqin's wild thoughts, turned back and asked, "Not going in?"
Qi Liangqin suddenly lifted his gaze to him.
His dark pupils glistened with a misty sheen, carrying the damp glow of desire.
A man's desire is truly a strange thing. When left unsatisfied, it can bring out a darkness and brutality in him that far surpasses his own expectations—rendering logic meaningless and blurring the lines between right and wrong.
As a man himself, Qi Liangqin had witnessed firsthand just how fierce desire could be. Just like those who commit sexual crimes—people who seemed harmless in their daily lives yet, in a moment of weakness, were driven by lust to become nothing more than beasts.
It always seemed that men, even more so than women, were creatures governed by their lower halves. Because he understood this weakness so profoundly, Qi Liangqin had always found it difficult to trust men.
And perhaps, for that very reason, he was so deeply drawn to Yan Bozong—the embodiment of restraint and self-control.
Are there truly men in this world who can control their desires? Men who can love only one person for a lifetime, never betraying them?
It seemed that in this era, even heterosexuals struggled to find such unwavering love—let alone those in same-sex relationships. Because of this, Qi Liangqin had spent countless years hesitating, letting fear dictate his life, until he had unknowingly become an aging virgin.
But now, he had become someone else. His once-restrained desires surged uncontrollably, a tidal wave of longing spilling from his eyes.
Yet, Yan Bozong ignored that gaze. After the briefest pause, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Just as Qi Liangqin was about to follow, Yan Songwei suddenly walked out, holding his phone. He shoved it into Qi Liangqin's hand. "It's Qingqing. Tell her I'm with my mom."
Qi Liangqin quickly took the phone. The voice on the other end was so saccharine that it sent a shiver down his spine.
"With your mom again? You must be lying to me."
"Uh… Qingqing, it's me. I'm here with Songwei at the hospital."
"Really at the hospital?"
The voice on the other end abruptly changed, losing its coquettish tone and turning much rougher.
"Why are you at the hospital again? Hasn't his mom been discharged yet? Alright then, tell Songwei to call me when he's free. I'm hanging up."
"Checking up on me every day," Yan Songwei laughed as he took the phone back, a mix of exasperation and fondness in his voice. "Women are just too suspicious, always on guard."
The woman in question was Tan Qingqing—full name Tan Qingqing. Qi Liangqin owed his current situation entirely to her.
As someone from a humble background, he would never have had the chance to meet someone like Yan Songwei. All his friends were ordinary people, neither rich nor powerful. But Tan Qingqing, his childhood friend, had met the Yan family's second son while working as a hostess at a nightclub—where the wealthy and reckless gathered.
The two hit it off immediately, clinging to each other like characters in a Republican-era romance drama—the kind where a destitute dance girl falls in love with a wealthy young master.
Tan Qingqing was a smart woman. She knew how rare this opportunity was, so she held on tight, keeping Yan Songwei firmly in her grasp. A woman who had always been ordinary—perhaps even looked down upon—had suddenly found a treasure. Naturally, she couldn't resist flaunting it. At every gathering with her friends, Yan Songwei was always present.
Yan Songwei didn't mind either. He enjoyed doting on beautiful women, picking them up and dropping them off, paying for their bills. One loved money, the other loved beauty. Between them, there was probably some real affection mixed with desire.
Qi Liangqin witnessed this so-called love story, and it sparked a dangerous idea in him.
He didn't want to be just an observer—he wanted to be like Tan Qingqing, to latch onto a rich man and change his fate.
Yan Songwei wouldn't have come up with this plan on his own. Qi Liangqin had been the one fanning the flames. Tan Qingqing was all for it, too. That silly girl had been fooled by her childhood friend's innocent face, never realizing that the purer he seemed on the outside, the more scheming he was on the inside.
Besides, she was desperate. She wasn't the kind of woman who could easily meet another wealthy, devoted man like Yan Songwei. But Yan Songwei? He could easily find women more beautiful, sexier, and younger than her.
She was already twenty-two. Madam Yan disapproved of their relationship, and though Tan Qingqing was willing to wait, she couldn't afford to wait too long. She needed to marry Yan Songwei as soon as possible to secure her future. The chance to "sleep with him once and earn more than she could in a year of exhausting work"—that was an opportunity she would never let slip away.
Once the three of them had reached an agreement, Qi Liangqin and Yan Songwei got married.
Qi Liangqin had finally gotten what he wanted—the kind of money he could never earn in a lifetime of hard work. He had also secured a place between them, acting as a mediator. He had to speak on Yan Songwei's behalf, smooth things over, sometimes even lie for him. At the same time, he had to monitor Yan Songwei for Tan Qingqing.
So, the moment he stepped inside, his phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen—just as expected, it was a message from Tan Qingqing:
"Are you really at the hospital with Songwei?"
He chuckled and replied, "Yes, really."
Madam Yan's sharp voice suddenly interrupted him. "Do you think your phone can feed you?" She shot him a displeased look. "All you do is play with that thing all day."
Then, she turned to Yan Songwei, her tone full of irritation. "And you—look at the kind of person you brought home."
Qi Liangqin hurriedly stuffed his phone into his pocket and began setting the table. Meanwhile, Yan Bozong was already helping Madam Yan out of bed. In reality, the old lady wasn't actually ill—she claimed she was dizzy with anger, but it was clearly just a way to assert dominance over the newlywed couple.
Madam Yan sat on one side, Yan Bozong on the other, while Qi Liangqin naturally sat next to Yan Songwei—they were, after all, husband and husband.
Qi Liangqin's heart pounded wildly.
This was a pivotal scene in The Male Version of Pan Jinlian—the first time Qi Liangqin openly flirted with Yan Bozong. According to the novel, under the table, he was supposed to subtly brush his leg against Yan Bozong's.
When he had read this part before, he had loved it. But now that he was Qi Liangqin himself, it felt somewhat unreasonable—too fast. Clearly, the author had written Qi Liangqin as nothing more than a shameless flirt. To think he was already making a move on his brother-in-law the first time they sat together—his spring fever truly spread like a relentless flood.
Although it felt unreasonable, he had no choice but to follow through.
He recalled how, before leaving the house, he had tried to deviate from the plot, only to experience an almost unbearable, tearing pain in his body. It seemed that adhering to the predetermined storyline and not altering the existing plot was an ironclad rule he had to follow.
Since he had transmigrated into a novel, he was now part of a fixed world—one with established settings and predetermined character arcs. If a transmigrated protagonist could act however they pleased, it would mean that the protagonist had changed, deviating from the original storyline. But if the protagonist no longer followed the novel's intended trajectory, wouldn't that create an entirely new story? And if the original novel ceased to exist, where would these characters even come from?
Thus, failing to adhere to the established plot would lead to the collapse of the story. If the novel ceased to exist, so would its characters, and their disappearance would ultimately mean the protagonist's death.
It seemed he had no choice but to follow the storyline for at least eighty chapters before he could regain his freedom.
In the novel, this was the moment when Qi
Liangqin was supposed to get aroused from his own teasing.
He thought to himself-following the script and flirting was one thing, but whether his body actually reacted... well, that wasn't something he could force. Besides, he was way too nervous to feel anything like that.
Just as he was lost in thought, Yan Songwei suddenly scooted closer and asked,"Your face looks a little red."
Qi Liangqin froze for a second, and before he could react, Yan Songwei leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek with a soft smack.
Startled, Qi Liangqin instinctively shoved him away.
Caught off guard, Yan Songwei lost his balance and, to everyone's shock, toppled over along with his chair, crashing onto the floor.
Madam Yan and Yan Bozong both stared at him in surprise.
Yan Songwei climbed back up, fuming. "What the hell was that for?"
"I…" Qi Liangqin knew it was his fault. Yan Songwei kissing him wasn't anything unusual—it wasn't because he had feelings for him. This was just one of the common tropes in a contract marriage. Since they were pretending to be married, they had to put on a convincing show in front of the family. In the novel, Yan Songwei and Qi Liangqin often acted affectionate on purpose—for Madam Yan to see.
"I'm sorry, are you okay? I spaced out for a second and got startled." Qi Liangqin quickly righted the fallen chair.
Yan Songwei, feeling a bit guilty, glanced nervously at his brother and mother. Madam Yan turned to Yan Bozong with an exaggerated smirk, as if to say, Look at your useless little brother.
Yan Bozong gave a faint smile—perhaps to avoid displeasing his mother—and said, "Second Brother, behave yourself at the dinner table."
Yan Songwei had hit his side against the edge of the chair when he fell. It hurt like hell, but he didn't dare complain. He could only grit his teeth and shoot Qi Liangqin a glare.
Qi Liangqin stood up to ladle some soup, but before he could, Yan Songwei suddenly snatched the spoon from him. "I'll do it!"
This was different from the original plot. According to the novel, Qi Liangqin was supposed to serve the soup and, while handing the bowl to Yan Bozong, their hands would accidentally touch. The novel had described that moment in vivid detail, portraying it as a spark of electric attraction.
A wave of dizziness and discomfort hit Qi Liangqin again. This wasn't his fault, but his earlier push had caused a deviation from the script. This little punishment was probably something he had to endure.
"This is for you." Yan Songwei handed him a bowl of soup.
"Thanks." Qi Liangqin looked at the thin layer of oil floating on top, wondering whether he should still go through with brushing Yan Bozong's leg under the table.
According to the plot, Qi Liangqin brushing
against Yan Bozong's leg was supposed to carry a subtle ambiguity-it wasn't outright flirting. After all, just a moment ago, he had been acting affectionate with Yan Songwei. Even if he did touch Yan Bozong's leg, the man probably wouldn't read too much into it.
But now?
His own husband had just kissed him, and he had shoved him to the ground in response. And the very next second, he was supposed to bat his eyes bashfully and rub his brother-in-law's leg under the table?
Was this reasonable?
This wasn't just Pan Jinlian-this was Pan Jinlian on steroids.
But the gut-wrenching pain he had experienced before leaving the house still lingered in his mind, filling him with fear. He reassured
himself, I am Pan Jinlian, I am Pan Jinlian. Eighty chapters-just survive eighty chapters, and I'll be free. Shamelessness isn't my fault...
With that thought, he picked up his spoon and scooped up some soup.
The broth was hot, slightly scalding, yet rich and fragrant. It coated his tongue smoothly,
comforting him. He lowered his head, seemingly savoring the taste.
Across the table, Yan Bozong caught sight of his pale earlobes flushing red again. He thought to himself, This guy's ears sure flush easily. Just a bowl of hot soup, and they're already turning red.
And just as the blush spread from his ears to his cheeks, Yan Bozong suddenly felt something brush against his calf-trembling, hesitant, as if shivering.