The mahjong tile fell to the ground with a soft sound, rolling a few times before coming to a stop under the table. As Qi Liangqin bent down to pick it up, his hand "steadied" Yan Bozong's lower leg.
This was an even bolder move than the accidental touch at the hospital—Qi Liangqin's intentions were clearer, his actions more daring. And in front of everyone, the thrill of secrecy only heightened the excitement. He was betting that, in a public setting, Yan Bozong would be mindful of appearances and wouldn't push him away.
Yet, despite his calculated move, Qi Liangqin's heart was still racing. This pace was too fast for him—too much for a man who had never been in a relationship. He was struggling to keep up.
Back when he was just a reader of this novel, he had found this scene exhilarating. But now that he was living it, he realized the ride was rough, and if he didn't hold on tight, he might just get thrown off.
"How do you usually take care of your hands?" Yan Yuan suddenly asked.
Qi Liangqin froze for a moment and looked up at Yan Yuan, who nodded toward his hands. "Your hands are so pale and delicate, even prettier than my big brother's."
Qi Liangqin had a pair of elegant hands—more slender than the average man's, yet longer than most women's. Maybe it was due to his natural constitution, but even his fingernails were smooth and glossy, as if meticulously cared for.
He spread his hands out, about to say that he never actually did anything special. But then he realized how irritating that would sound—just like those top students in school who claimed they didn't study, yet still scored 99%.
"They're not as nice as Big Brother's," he finally said, swallowing hard.
Yan Bozong had a pair of captivating hands—well-proportioned, slender, and exuding a healthy masculine glow. The novel had described them more than once. Qi Liangqin had even dreamed about them before—dreams where flushed lips wrapped around Yan Bozong's long, enchanting fingers, leaving him burning with desire.
"My hands aren't bad either." Yan Songwei stretched out his hands for comparison.
Madam Yan scoffed, "Are we playing mahjong or competing in a hand contest?"
Yan Songwei had no choice but to pull his hands back. Yan Yuan chuckled, "Maybe Big Brother was just born lucky. That's why he wins at everything."
Trying to cool his heated thoughts, Qi Liangqin joined the conversation. "I heard from Aunt Chun that Big Brother also plays basketball."
"Big Brother is amazing at basketball! Back in high school, he was on the school team. Whenever he played, a crowd of girls would gather around to watch. He looked super cool on the court. He's also great at badminton and tennis. Back when he got engaged to Shen He, they would often play badminton together. Then, after he enlisted in the army, Shen He started playing with me instead. I thought she'd be good after practicing with Big Brother for so long, but she was surprisingly weak—she couldn't even beat me, and I barely play! At the time, I couldn't help but think how exhausting it must have been for Big Brother to play with her. Holding back is way more tiring than playing at full strength, and it's not even fun."
"That just shows how much Big Brother cared for her," Yan Songwei said, sneaking a glance at Madam Yan. He noticed her expression had soured—she never liked Shen He, nor did she enjoy hearing about her. Quickly, he shook the dice and tossed them onto the table. "Alright, alright, let's play!"
Just as the dice landed, Yan Songwei's phone vibrated on the side table. He reached over to check it.
"No running off to fool around tonight," Madam Yan warned.
Yan Songwei put down his phone and grinned. "I was just checking. What if it's something important?"
He barely played two hands before his phone buzzed again. This time, he ignored it. But after another two minutes, the message notifications started coming in rapid succession.
Qi Liangqin didn't even need to guess—it was definitely Tan Qingqing. He felt that Tan Qingqing was holding on to Yan Songwei a little too tightly. Right now, Yan Songwei was still infatuated and enjoying it, but if things continued like this, Qi Liangqin doubted their future together.
Sure enough, Madam Yan was growing impatient. "Go, go, make your call. Who's so annoying that they won't even let us play in peace?"
Yan Songwei chuckled awkwardly. "I'll just make a quick call. Probably Secretary Xiao Yang with something urgent."
As he spoke, Yan Songwei got up and walked out with his phone. Through the glass door, they could see him bowing slightly, smiling ingratiatingly. Madam Yan's face darkened even more.
A phone call could bridge thousands of miles, making conversations feel as if they were face-to-face. Yet, for that very reason, many people still instinctively acted as if the other party were right in front of them—bowing obsequiously when trying to please, gesturing imperiously when losing their temper.
Yan Yuan said, "That's definitely not Xiao Yang."
Qi Liangqin sat there, absentmindedly playing with the mahjong tile in his hand, rolling it back and forth in his palm.
Madam Yan said, "You should keep a closer eye on him. Why do you look so relaxed?"
Qi Liangqin could only grin foolishly, feeling a bit awkward.
Just then, Yan Songwei pushed the door open and came back inside. "Company business—just handled it."
"Second Brother, lying doesn't work in front of Mom."
Yan Songwei chuckled sheepishly and sat down to continue playing mahjong. His gaze met Qi Liangqin's, and he raised an eyebrow at him.
Qi Liangqin still envied him and Tan Qingqing—that kind of sweet romance was something he had never experienced. To be loved by Yan Songwei must be a blessing. To be loved by anyone in this world was something to cherish. After all, what was more valuable than wealth or fame was always the human heart.
But then, what about Yan Bozong? If Qi Liangqin loved him, how did Yan Bozong feel about it? Yan Bozong seemed like an upright man, not one to trample on someone's feelings carelessly.
His thin lips were pressed together, his head slightly bowed, revealing the elegant curve of his neck. The soft strands of his hair curled slightly at the ends, and his ears always seemed a little redder than the skin of his neck.
He accidentally knocked over a tile.
The mahjong tile landed on his toe, rolled a few times, and came to a stop. He held his breath and bent down.
Shame burned through him. But because of that very shame, he decided to act swiftly—no hesitation, no dragging it out. If he was going to lose all dignity anyway, he might as well go all in.
So, he reached out and grasped Yan Bozong's calf. With his other hand, he stretched under the table to retrieve the fallen mahjong tile.
As he grabbed the tile, the hand that had been holding Yan Bozong's calf slid naturally down to his ankle before he finally let go.
He straightened up, his face flushed red, but he didn't dare look at Yan Bozong even once.
He lacked the courage to meet Yan Bozong's gaze, so he forced himself to appear calm, using a blank expression to mask his inner turmoil. His lips were pressed tightly together, his back was unnaturally straight, and his fingers absently rubbed the mahjong tile before placing it back on the table.