Qi Liangqin took a deep breath, flashed a smile at Yan Bozong, and before Yan Bozong could react, he had already reached out with a tissue to wipe him.
"Look, you're wet too... it's all water," he said.
His hand touched Yan Bozong's face, meeting smooth, warm skin. Yan Bozong seemed momentarily startled, frozen in place. Then, he reached out to take the tissue from Qi Liangqin's hand.
"I'll do it myself," he said.
Qi Liangqin stammered, "N-no… let me help you."
"I said, I'll do it myself."
Qi Liangqin's face flushed red. Because he was too nervous, he wiped too hard, causing Yan Bozong to frown. In the next moment, Yan Bozong grabbed his wrist with surprising strength, his grip tight enough to make Qi Liangqin wince and instantly behave.
"I'll do it myself," Yan Bozong repeated, his voice carrying a hint of irritation.
"I... I didn't mean for it to be like this..." Qi Liangqin stared at him, his face burning.
What he really wanted to say was that he was being forced to flirt with the gong! He was actually a reserved and modest person! This… this was all for the sake of completing his mission—he had no choice but to act coquettish!
But in Yan Bozong's ears, those words sounded completely different.
"You don't want this? Then why are you doing it?"
"If you're already married to my brother, it's best if you keep some distance from me."
If this were a traditional retelling of Pan Jinlian, his words would be: Sister-in-law, please have some self-respect.
Qi Liangqin's face burned with embarrassment. He quickly sat back down, breathing heavily. After a moment, he suddenly reached for the car door—only to have Yan Bozong grab his arm.
"What are you doing?"
He was trying to escape. This was too humiliating. Nothing made him more uncomfortable than awkward situations—especially when he was the one who had made things awkward with his shameless behavior.
But he… he couldn't escape. Because according to the plot, the two of them were supposed to "sit in silence the entire way, saying nothing to each other."
He had to stay in Yan Bozong's car and go home.
So, he sat back down. Yan Bozong let go of him, but then his gaze fell on Qi Liangqin's wrist, where a red mark had formed from his grip.
Qi Liangqin followed his line of sight, quickly lifted his arm, and rubbed his wrist.
"Does it hurt?"
"No."
"Just now…" Yan Bozong hesitated before saying, "I overreacted. I apologize if I was too harsh. It's just that… I didn't expect my brother to like men, let alone marry one. Subconsciously, I still see you as my sister-in-law, so it feels a little strange. I might be overthinking things…"
"Hm." Qi Liangqin lowered his head, his ears turning bright red again.
You're not overthinking at all, he thought. I really am the shameless Pan Jinlian trying to seduce you.
What now?
Even though Yan Bozong had gripped his wrist so hard it hurt, for a split second, Qi Liangqin still thought—Ah, what a good man. Ah, so strong.
…Was he actually a masochist? He hadn't even realized it himself!
Just like in the novel, they remained silent the whole way. Qi Liangqin turned to look out the window, but the glass was blurred with rain, leaving his view obscured. With no other choice, he faced forward instead, but the heat in his body refused to dissipate. Even his breathing felt stifled.
Why does this road feel so long?
As they were nearing his home, Yan Bozong suddenly spoke. "How old are you?"
"Twenty."
Yan Bozong nodded, pulling into the garage. "So young," he murmured.
It wasn't just Yan Bozong who felt this way—Qi Liangqin did too.
Twenty years old. So young. Brimming with youth, a time so full and ripe that a mere squeeze might make it burst with vitality.
When he was twenty, he had only just realized he liked men. He had lived the most ordinary college life, letting his youth slip away bit by bit. To him, the most precious thing in life wasn't love or money—it was youth itself.
It was only after becoming an "old man" that he truly understood this.
Perhaps the heavens had pitied his wasted youth and given him a chance to live it all over again.
After arriving home, he and Yan Bozong changed their shoes at the entrance.
As Yan Bozong lifted his foot, Qi Liangqin caught a glimpse of his exposed calf above the black sock-a stretch of skin covered in fine, soft hair.
He thought everything about Yan Bozong was attractive, even his legs and feet. He didn't have a foot fetish, but if he had to kneel down and lick Yan Bozong's feet, he felt like... he might actually be willing.
The thought was filthy, shameful, and deeply private.
Flustered, he quickly lowered his head and focused on changing his shoes.
He wasn't even sure if this desire belonged to him or to Qi Liangqin.
After all, in the novel, Qi Liangqin had once had an erotic dream-one where he clung to Yan Bozong's leg, begging him, with no dignity left, to take him just once.
Aunt Chun came out of the kitchen, and Yan Bozong greeted her, "Making soup?"
Aunt Chun smiled and said, "I'm making it for your mother, to help her recover. I'll bring it over to her later."
"She already had lunch, and she also bought soup. She probably won't be able to drink any more."
Madam Yan was very particular about her diet, always stopping at eighty percent full and never overeating. Because of this, despite her age, she had maintained a slim and slender figure.
Aunt Chun paused in surprise. "Why did she eat so early today?"
"I went to see her with my brother. He skipped breakfast, so we ended up having lunch together early. What kind of soup did you make?"
"Sea cucumber, flower mushroom, and black-bone chicken soup. It's been simmering all morning."
"Then serve me a bowl," Yan Bozong said, then turned to Qi Liangqin. "Do you want some?"
"Yes," Qi Liangqin answered without hesitation.
"Alright, alright." Aunt Chun was delighted. Madam Yan never drank leftover soup, and she herself couldn't finish much, so it would be a shame to throw it away. "I'll go serve it for you right now."
The soup contained fish bones and honey dates, giving it a slightly sweet yet fishy taste. Qi Liangqin didn't particularly like it, but he still finished the entire bowl. Wiping his mouth, he said, "I can't drink any more. I need to lose weight—I'm already over 120 pounds."
Aunt Chun chuckled. "Mr. Qi, you don't need to lose weight at all."
It was only then that Qi Liangqin realized he had forgotten his role again. Right now, he was Qi Liangqin—178 cm tall, probably only around 110 pounds, definitely not fat, but rather lean and well-proportioned. He was no longer the older man he used to be, short in height yet not light in weight.
He couldn't tell if he felt joy or sadness, so he simply told Aunt Chun, "You don't have to be so formal. Just call me Xiao Qi."
The moment he said it, his face flushed with embarrassment—but he really loved hearing others call him "Xiao Qi." Xiao Qi, Xiao Qi—it made him feel like he had truly become younger. He once had a colleague who, after lunch one day, for whatever reason—whether trying to get close to him or something else—actually called out, "Lao Qi, want to go see a movie?"
He had been so upset that he gave the guy the cold shoulder for a whole week. He had never been in a relationship and couldn't accept the fact that he was aging. It was a sorrowful reality he refused to face. Instead, he immersed himself in novels every day, longing for the day a heroic figure would come and save him, give him love. He had sworn countless times that if he ever met such a person, he would give his all—his heart, his soul—repaying him a hundredfold, a thousandfold. The man who rescued him from his lonely life would be someone he would cherish and revere for a lifetime.
Hearing his words, Aunt Chun smiled, looking truly pleased. "Alright, I'll call you Xiao Qi from now on. Calling you 'Mr. Qi' does feel a bit strange—we're all family here."
Aunt Chun was the Yan family's housekeeper, but she had a close relationship with them. Both Yan brothers called her "Aunt Chun," and she addressed them by their first names. However, she was also a smart woman—she never overstepped her boundaries. Without the family's approval, she would never address them too intimately. Even calling him "Mr. Qi" had been a carefully measured decision based on Madam Yan and Yan Songwei's attitudes.
Qi Liangqin smiled and stood up to take his bowl to the kitchen, but Aunt Chun quickly stepped forward to take it from him. "Just leave it to me. Go rest."
"Thank you." He figured Aunt Chun must have been a little taken aback. In the novel, even though she had few scenes, it was clear that Qi Liangqin treated her merely as a servant. Sure enough, Aunt Chun hesitated for a moment before saying, "If you like it, I'll make it for you again next time… Xiao Qi."
She called him that, then covered her mouth with a laugh as she headed into the kitchen, leaving Qi Liangqin feeling a bit shy.
On the other side, Yan Bozong also finished his soup and stood up. "Maybe I should call you that too."
Qi Liangqin turned around and saw Yan Bozong, as if talking to himself, murmur, "Xiao Qi…"
For the first time, Qi Liangqin found "Xiao Qi" to be such a beautiful name. In nearly thirty years of life, countless people—relatives, friends, classmates, colleagues—had called him "Xiao Qi." He had heard these two words countless times, yet none of them could compare to how it sounded when Yan Bozong said it.
He and Qi Liangqin were so different—different names, different appearances, different bodies, different personalities, and different backgrounds. The only thing they shared was this surname.
Only when others called him Xiao Qi did he still feel like himself, not Qi Liangqin. It was as if they were calling him, not someone else.
It felt like there were two worlds between them. And now, the man he loved most in the novel had crossed those two worlds—calling his name.