Yan Bozong immediately glanced at Qi Liangqin. The difference between an accidental touch and a deliberate caress was too obvious to ignore.
He saw Qi Liangqin with his head lowered, his ears flushed a delicate shade of pink. His slender, pale fingers gripped the spoon, stirring the rich broth in slow, absentminded circles. Then, that foot—ever so lightly—retreated.
Qi Liangqin turned to Yan Songwei and said, "This soup is really good."
His voice was husky, like the lingering echoes after a moment of passion.
"That's why the owner of this place is so arrogant—no takeout, and there's always a line. Mom, this is really nourishing; you should drink more."
Madam Yan let out a cold laugh. "If it's so nourishing, you should have more. Seems to me you need it more than I do. Look at those dark circles under your eyes. You two should pace yourselves—when you're young, all you think about is wearing yourselves out. It's only when you're older that you realize the benefits of restraint."
Qi Liangqin felt his face burn with embarrassment, while Yan Songwei simply chuckled.
Madam Yan turned to Yan Bozong and asked, "What about your wife? Why didn't she come back with you?"
"She's busy, couldn't get away."
Madam Yan let out a cold laugh. "Busy, busy, busy. It's as if she's the busiest person in the world. Isn't she just a university lecturer? I see plenty of university teachers who have plenty of free time, so what exactly is she so busy with? She's been 'busy' for years, and yet she hasn't even managed to have a child. She doesn't call on holidays, and when her mother-in-law was hospitalized, she didn't even come back for a visit."
"Mom, my sister-in-law doesn't come back because you're always giving her a hard time. If she did, she'd have to listen to your nagging. You keep calling her a hen that won't lay eggs—who wouldn't be upset by that?"
"Second." Yan Bozong's voice was deep with warning. "Watch your words."
Yan Songwei smacked his lips. "Fine, pretend I said nothing."
"You." Qi Liangqin nudged him with his elbow. "We're eating. Can you not bring up that kind of talk?"
Yan Songwei wanted to laugh but held it in.
Madam Yan sighed in a rather aggrieved tone. "None of you ever let me have peace of mind."
In truth, Qi Liangqin was quite curious about Yan Bozong's marriage.
Yan Bozong was already thirty, so of course, he wasn't inexperienced. He had married at twenty-two, and his wife, Shen He, was his childhood sweetheart, though she had spent most of their marriage abroad. Maybe Huangling Xiaoxiaosheng wasn't skilled enough to flesh out too many characters, or maybe he found Yan Bozong's wife too much of an obstacle, making it inconvenient for Qi Liangqin and Yan Bozong to have any interactions. Or perhaps he was saving her for some dramatic plot twist later.
Whatever the reason, Shen He was barely mentioned in the book.
Qi Liangqin only knew two things about her: First, Shen He wasn't particularly beautiful, but she was highly educated. Second, despite being married to Yan Bozong for eight years, they had never had a child.
Not because they couldn't—but because they didn't dare.
Shen He had a severe heart condition. Forget about having children, even their sex life was heavily restrained. From their very first time, they had used protection religiously. But Madam Yan didn't know about this.
That's why Huangling Xiaoxiaosheng was so ruthless. He wrote Yan Bozong as an unstoppable alpha—a man who could take on the world—but refused to grant him even a proper sex life. That was Huangling Xiaoxiaosheng's brilliance.
Why is that?
There are certainly advantages to "double purity" novels, as many pure-hearted fujoshi feel disappointed when they find out that either the gong or the shou isn't "clean."
However, to be honest, the idea of a virgin gong being able to skillfully bring the shou to the brink of ecstasy on his first try is quite exaggerated. Most men's first experiences are filled with nervousness, awkwardness, and hesitation. If even straight men struggle with their first time, how much more difficult would it be between two men? Engaging in a part of the body that wasn't naturally meant for such acts only makes things even more challenging.
But as a dominant and experienced gong, how could readers possibly accept a character who finishes in seconds and fumbles awkwardly on his first try?
So, Huangling Xiaoxiaosheng made a compromise.
He created Yan Bozong as someone with experience, ensuring that even if he and Qi Liangqin ended up sleeping together, their first time could still be enjoyable. After all, for a shou, having a pleasurable first experience is incredibly important—it reduces both pain and anxiety.
However, Yan Bozong and Shen He had no love between them. Their marriage was purely the result of an arranged match, something that happened naturally. To maintain the image of a married man who was still both restrained and starved for intimacy, Shen He was written as a throwaway female character. She was essentially indifferent to sex, completely absorbed in her work, making her and Yan Bozong a couple in name only.
Yet, throughout his life, Shen He was the only woman Yan Bozong had ever been with. Even though their marital life became increasingly distant, he remained loyal, never straying, always disciplined and reserved.
A man like that was exactly what Qi Liangqin wanted.
When he was younger, he might have been drawn to those indulgent, reckless types—men with chaotic personal lives who, upon meeting their destined lover, would suddenly become unwaveringly loyal. He loved reading novels where domineering CEOs fell head over heels in love.
But as he grew older, especially after turning twenty-eight, he came to realize that habits are hard to change. A man's nature isn't so easily rewritten.
Now, he found himself admiring those who were disciplined from the start—men who were responsible and trustworthy.
After all, wasn't it far more satisfying when a man who had always followed the rules lost control for you?
So, he loved reading The Male Pan Jinlian because Yan Bozong was exactly his type.
And deep down—shamefully, with a twisted sense of anticipation—he had always looked forward to Yan Bozong's first time without protection being with Qi Liangqin. It was, after all, a significant first in his life.
More importantly, it was one of the recurring hooks that the author, Huangling Xiaoxiaosheng, kept teasing to keep readers hooked.
It had him on edge, waiting, craving—
And then the author abandoned the novel!!
Seduction was always more thrilling when the target was a married man.
It emphasized the essence of Pan Jinlian in Qi Liangqin, making his role all the more tantalizing. And yet, Yan Bozong's unwavering self-control only added to his restrained allure. He was a man of responsibility, one who wouldn't be swayed by beauty or desire—a rare breed in today's world.
But perhaps, it was precisely because Yan Bozong was this kind of man that Qi Liangqin was destined to gain nothing in the end.
A doomed entanglement.
As he ate, his mind wandered, conjuring up all sorts of thoughts. His gaze drifted to the floor-to-ceiling window outside. He blinked, then murmured, "It's raining again."
This time, it wasn't just a light drizzle—the rain poured heavily, carried by the wind and splattering loudly against the glass. Within moments, the window was blurred with water, a distorted view beyond.
After finishing their meal, the Yan brothers prepared to leave. Yan Songwei turned to Qi Liangqin and suggested, "You might as well stay and keep Mom company. Not like you have anything else to do at home."
Madam Yan scoffed, "I don't have the blessing for that. I'd like to live a few more years—just seeing him annoys me."
Qi Liangqin felt a little awkward. Yan Songwei shrugged, "Alright then."
As the three of them stepped out of the hospital, the downpour outside showed no signs of stopping. Just then, Yan Songwei's phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen, then looked up at Qi Liangqin, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
There was no need to ask. It had to be a message from Tan Qingqing—she was probably getting impatient.
"I was just about to suggest you both head home," Yan Songwei said, feigning concern. "Why don't you take my brother's car back? With rain like this, getting a cab will be a hassle."
Qi Liangqin wasn't the type to trouble others. If it were up to him, he would've waved his hands frantically and said, No, no, it's fine! But what could he do?
In the novel's plot, Qi Liangqin was supposed to take Yan Bozong's car home, and along the way, a series of moments unfolded that would make any reader clutch their handkerchief in anticipation.
So, he lifted his gaze, letting his eyes shimmer like rain-soaked glass, and deliberately raised his brows in a pitiful arc. He was well aware that he probably looked a little dramatic—like a full-on delicate little flower.
Yan Bozong had no choice but to agree. He merely turned to Yan Songwei and asked, "What about you?"
"I already called a car."
Their own car was parked outside, meaning they had to dash through the rain to get to it. By the time they slipped into the vehicle, both of them were damp.
Yan Bozong grabbed a napkin and handed it to him.
Qi Liangqin took it with a polite, "Thanks." He wiped his face first.
But he didn't stop there. He had to wipe his neck, too.
In the novel, this scene was dripping with seduction. Qi Liangqin had unbuttoned his collar, tilted his head back, and dragged the napkin from his chin to his Adam's apple before trailing it down to his collarbone.
But unlike the novel's Qi Liangqin, he still had some sense of shame.
He wiped like a man—quickly, brusquely. The napkin was already half-soaked when he clenched it in his hand, his foot starting to bounce.
He had a bad habit of jiggling his leg when he got excited. His mother had scolded him for it countless times, saying it was rude. He'd tried his best to suppress it over the years, but now, of all moments, it had returned.
He snuck a glance at Yan Bozong in the driver's seat.
Yan Bozong had taken off his damp outer coat, leaving only a crisp white shirt underneath.
That white shirt was damp in places, clinging to his shoulders and back, faintly revealing the wheat-colored skin beneath.
Yan Bozong had the kind of build that looked lean in clothes but solid underneath. And when he was down to just a white dress shirt, his shoulders seemed even broader, more powerful.
Raindrops had left his face glistening, tiny beads of water still clinging to his chin and lips.
Then, Qi Liangqin caught a scent.
It was his scent—gentlemanly, masculine, subtly sweet, yet restrained.
It seeped into the air, tempting him.
It felt like the heat of Yan Bozong's body had warmed the damp fabric, causing that scent to spread—thick, pervasive, filling the cramped space of the car.
Every breath Qi Liangqin took was saturated with Yan Bozong.
According to the novel's plot, this was the moment when Qi Liangqin, overcome with restless longing, would eagerly reach out—offering to wipe the droplets from Yan Bozong's skin.