Qin Sizheng instinctively tossed the cat aside. It leapt nimbly onto a cabinet, then gracefully onto Lu Xianqing’s arm.
“Meow~”
The voice behind him was low, cold, with a trace of anger: “Get down.”
Qin Sizheng reflexively lowered his hands, standing straight. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to!”
“Meow~” a tiny, aggrieved sound, and then the cat obediently jumped off Lu Xianqing’s arm, curling up on the cabinet. Pitiful from any angle.
Qin Sizheng stared at the poised, ready-to-pounce cat, sensing the tense silence behind him. The atmosphere turned oddly awkward.
Yan Yan… get down.
Where is he supposed to go?
He cautiously looked at Lu Xianqing, following his gaze to the cat. “Fourth Brother, the Yan Yan you just called… is… this cat?” His finger hovered over the feline.
Lu Xianqing met his eyes, momentarily at a loss for words.
He had forgotten about this.
“….”
Qin Sizheng couldn’t wrap his head around it. Yan Yan wasn’t a nickname for the original owner. It was this cat. So… Lu Xianqing had been calling him a cat? He had actually treated him as a cat?
“Fourth Brother, can you explain something to me?”
Lu Xianqing looked at him, puzzled. “Explain what?”
“…Why I have the same name as your cat.”
Lu Xianqing tilted his head back, silent for a moment as if thinking. Qin Sizheng waited quietly, and after a few seconds, Lu Xianqing turned and said, “What a coincidence—same name.”
Just that?
He walked into the kitchen, casually opening the fridge. “I don’t cook, and there’s probably nothing much in here. Take a look, and if anything’s missing, I’ll have An Ning bring it over.”
Qin Sizheng ground his teeth silently, forcing himself to stay calm: don’t get angry, don’t get angry. It’s his birthday today; endure it. Hitting him would be illegal anyway.
No.
He drew a deep breath. “Fourth Brother!”
Lu Xianqing turned around, looking innocently at him. “Why yell so loud? You’ll make me deaf. Can’t hear a thing—what did you say?”
Qin Sizheng was so frustrated he could barely speak. He stepped forward, intending to lightly punch him—but the man dodged effortlessly and tapped his forehead with a finger. Both froze.
“F-Fourth Brother…” Their faces were only half an inch apart. The cold, lonely scent of his perfume reached Qin Sizheng’s nose, and his ears flushed red.
Lu Xianqing lowered his gaze. “You’re as good as Yan Yan. If you don’t like it, I won’t call you that. Sorry.”
Hearing this apology, Qin Sizheng couldn’t find the words to respond. The line he had on the tip of his tongue—“Would you be happy if I called you Lu Ergou?”—he swallowed hard.
“Well… not that mad. Just a little. But why would you give me the same name as your cat?”
Lu Xianqing’s finger remained on his forehead, then slid down to brush against his eyelid as he blinked. His low voice asked, “So… can I still call you that?”
“Yan Yan.”
The name sent a jolt through Qin Sizheng’s heart. Before, he’d thought it was just a nickname and had felt shy using it in front of others. Now, knowing the hidden meaning, it carried a new, intimate weight.
He felt warmth spreading through him, words failing, leaving him flustered.
“Yan Yan, is that okay?” Lu Xianqing pressed gently.
Qin Sizheng hesitated, then slowly nodded, as if hypnotized by Lu Xianqing’s gaze. “Mm.”
Lu Xianqing released his hand, a faint, unreadable smile curling his lips. He turned back to the fridge, letting him pick ingredients. “There might not be much, cook whatever you want.”
Qin Sizheng opened the fridge to find it stuffed with chicken, fish, meat, eggs, and an abundance of vegetables and fruits—hardly “nothing.” Maybe he should just install a two-hundred-square-meter cold storage at home.
“This is more than enough for a few dishes, way better than on the variety show,” Qin Sizheng muttered, rifling through the fridge. He pulled out two tomatoes, a piece of beef, and a bundle of noodles.
“Fourth Brother, do you have an apron?”
Lu Xianqing, never in the kitchen, scanned the room and spotted one hanging on the wall. Qin Sizheng reached for it, and Lu Xianqing was a step ahead, slipping it around his neck. “Turn around, I’ll tie it for you. You can’t reach the back.”
“Thanks, Fourth Brother.” Qin Sizheng’s heart raced. Back to him, he felt Lu Xianqing’s arms wrap around his waist from behind, holding the apron straps like a warm embrace. His breath brushed against the back of Qin Sizheng’s neck, heat radiating, making his pores tingle.
Every time he was alone with Lu Xianqing, it felt strange. Before, it had been fear; now it was more than fear, an inexplicable emotion he couldn’t name—he just wanted to escape.
He twisted his neck awkwardly, brushing against the man behind him, instinctively pushing him away. “I-I’ll do it myself. It’s fine.”
Lu Xianqing looked momentarily stunned but then nodded.
Qin Sizheng forced his breathing steady, thinking that just one bowl of longevity noodles for a birthday was too sparse. He decided to cook a few more dishes. “My cooking isn’t great, but these are simple home dishes—you can eat whatever you like, okay?”
“As long as it’s made by you, it’ll taste good.”
Qin Sizheng turned back to the fridge, grabbing a bunch of crown daisy and a cleaned, frozen fish. On the show, Lu Xianqing hadn’t eaten much meat, only a little fish or shrimp, avoiding onion, ginger, garlic—he was extremely picky.
No wonder he was always sick. Qin Sizheng then added a yam, a handful of okra, and a carrot. Before he could figure out how to coax Lu Xianqing into eating, a cold voice drifted from behind.
“This carrot is bad. Throw it out.”
Qin Sizheng thought: you’re already so picky. Clutching it tightly, he refused to let Lu Xianqing touch it. “It’s fine! I’ll make a sweet pepper and carrot salad—really tasty!”
Seeing the carrot nearly suffocating, and hearing about the sweet pepper, Lu Xianqing reached to grab it. Qin Sizheng stepped back, raising his hands—and collided with the counter, losing balance. Lu Xianqing caught him in his arms; the carrot rolled to the floor.
He chuckled, “Ah, dirty, can’t eat now.”
Qin Sizheng knelt, picking it up and putting it in the sink. “I’ll wash it, it’ll be fine.” He immediately turned on the tap.
Lu Xianqing watched the boy’s slender waist and long legs in the apron, flexible and graceful, and his mind flashed back to the brief touch at his waist earlier—fleeting, impossible to recapture.
Qin Sizheng bent over, diligently washing the vegetables. With modern produce often laced with pesticides and fertilizers, he was thorough, scrubbing every nook, unaware that every movement had fallen under the watchful eyes of the man behind him.
His hands gripped the carrot, kneading and rolling it over and over, up and down, back and forth.
Lu Xianqing’s gaze darkened, and the once-orange carrot gradually turned a deep purple-black, veins bulging like twisted ropes along its surface. The cold vegetable became almost too hot to hold, burning in his grip.
His thoughts ran wild, his vision unrestrained, clawing and gnawing at him, wanting to tear him apart, devour him entirely.
Lu Xianqing glanced at the door. It was locked; only his fingerprint could open it. If he kept this boy here, no one would know…
He wanted so badly to lock him up, shackling him to the head of the bed, to a cage, to soil him, keeping him trapped forever in a dark cage with no escape.
The light in the boy’s eyes vanished completely, leaving only the same filthy yearning he saw in himself.
“Fourth Brother.”
The boy called him with that clear, bright voice, climbing obediently into his arms when he opened the cage door. The shackles jingled with a crisp, almost musical tone.
He might be afraid—but every exit was locked. He could go nowhere. Eventually, he might break down completely, crying, falling into the very thing he feared most.
“Fourth Brother?” Qin Sizheng called twice with no response. He waved a hand in front of him. “Fourth Brother?”
Lu Xianqing’s senses finally snapped back, his gaze still hot and lingering. For the first time, he stammered: “Wh-what is it?”
“Seems we’re out of vinegar.”
“I’ll have An Ning bring some,” Lu Xianqing said, reaching for his phone. Qin Sizheng stopped him. “No, no, too much trouble. I can just stir-fry the carrot instead of making it a salad, okay?”
“…No.”
Qin Sizheng, holding the vinegar bottle, tried a softer approach: “The cherry tomatoes weren’t picky; you wouldn’t be picky either, right?”
Normally, anyone would feel embarrassed admitting it—but Lu Xianqing was no ordinary person. He admitted it.
“I am picky. I won’t eat it.”
“…!” Qin Sizheng was speechless. How could anyone be like this?
Lu Xianqing continued, “Crown daisy tastes weird, carrots are too sweet, okra is slimy, onions are too strong—I don’t like a single thing here. If you ask me, throw it all away.”
Qin Sizheng immediately spread his arms to protect the food. “No way!”
Lu Xianqing snorted. “It’s my birthday?”
Qin Sizheng thought fast, and a sudden idea struck: “Then, um… you go take a shower. I’ll finish everything, and you can eat after.”
In his ears, Lu Xianqing’s words transformed naturally: “You go shower, come eat me after.” He shivered at the thought, murmuring, “Mm… take your time, I’ll eat when I come back.”
Once Qin Sizheng saw him head upstairs, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. Turning back, he was startled: the real “Yan Yan” crouched on the windowsill, glaring at him as if he had stolen his master.
Yan Yan.
Thinking of the name made Qin Sizheng’s ears burn. Lu Xianqing must really like this cat—so if he called him “Yan Yan,” did that mean he liked him too?
“No, no, impossible!” he shook his head, forcing himself not to think too much.
He bent his head, focused on chopping the vegetables, arranging the seasonings neatly, and quickly stir-frying two dishes. He cleaned the pot, filled it with cold water, and dropped the noodles in once it boiled.
Suddenly, his phone rang. Qin Sizheng wiped his hands on the apron and picked it up. The caller ID read: Brother Xian.
Who was that?
Ever since the incident with You Si, he’d felt a little wary, expecting the original owner of the body to leave him some trap. Could this be another one?
“Hello, Brother Xian.”
The man’s voice was loud, slightly displeased. “Why aren’t you here yet? You’ve missed several appointments. If you don’t come this time, I won’t handle your documents. How many clients have I pushed back for you? Are you messing with me?”
Documents?
Qin Sizheng didn’t know the context, so he spoke cautiously. “Brother Xian, I’ve been busy recently. Sorry. I just got back from the variety show and haven’t had a chance yet. Sorry for the trouble.”
Brother Xian snorted, seemingly appeased by his tone. Not as furious as at first, though still loud.
“What do you mean, ‘haven’t had a chance’? I guess your agent won’t let you come, huh? I’ve warned you many times—the tattoos you put on are permanent. You need to be careful. If you really tattoo Lu Xianqing’s name on your… crotch area, it won’t be easy to remove. Painful as hell. Don’t mess around, put it somewhere else.”
Qin Sizheng froze. Tattoo? In… that place?
He instinctively glanced down at his crotch, legs pressed together, barely able to breathe. A piercing pain seemed to have already started.
“Why aren’t you speaking? I’m not scolding you. You’re young—being obsessed with someone is normal. But tattoos need to be done cautiously. If you insist, come over quickly. Stop messing around with me.”
“I won’t get a tattoo. I’m sorry for the trouble before. I’ll make up for any losses,” Qin Sizheng said.
Brother Xian got angry. “You little brat! You call this making up? I left you so many days thinking you had guts, daring to tattoo there!”
Qin Sizheng almost wished he could run up and refuse in person. “No, no, I really won’t! Nowhere, nothing. I plan to be virtuous, a model citizen, a socialist successor, a good youth for the new era. Really won’t do it.”
“What tattoo?” Suddenly, a low, cold voice came from behind, startling Qin Sizheng into slamming the phone down. Guilt-ridden, he turned around. “F-Fourth Brother…”
The man had just finished showering, hair still damp, a lock dripping down his temple onto his white shirt, soaking a small patch. A certain area made Qin Sizheng blush violently, turning his head away.
“Who were you talking to?” Lu Xianqing asked.
Guiltily, Qin Sizheng stammered, “N-no one… I didn’t answer any calls.”
Lu Xianqing stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His white shirt made him look even more refined, softening the usual distance and pressure he exuded, adding a hint of alluring gentleness—more like a… polished rogue.
“Think I’m blind?” Lu Xianqing glanced at the phone.
“Just a salesperson. I said I didn’t need it, but he kept insisting. So annoying—really annoying,” Qin Sizheng replied carefully, not daring to let him know he had actually planned to tattoo Lu Xianqing’s name at his upper thigh. If Lu Xianqing found out… he’d be torn apart.
“Next time, just hang up. Don’t waste words on people who aren’t relevant,” Lu Xianqing said.
Qin Sizheng relaxed slightly, inwardly scolding the original self for being so reckless—why play with something so extreme? Luckily, he had arrived early in this body; the piercing could be removed, and even with a hole it wouldn’t be obvious. A tattoo, though? That would be impossible to hide.
“Ready to eat? Hungry?” Lu Xianqing asked.
“Yes!” Qin Sizheng reached for the pot lid, only to reflexively drop it because it was too hot, and instinctively put his fingers in his mouth—before Lu Xianqing grabbed his wrist.
“Fourth Brother?”
Lu Xianqing guided his hand under the faucet. The icy water washed over his fingers, immediately reminding him of that time on the variety show, when he had used his saliva to stop his bleeding.
Looking down, Lu Xianqing’s long, dark eyelashes cast a slight shadow across his face, his scent a subtle, lonely fragrance—like snow-covered bamboo, clean and cold.
Even after years in the entertainment industry, he remained spotless: no social obligations, no assistants, no scandals, not even gossip. Even Jiang Xi said he was a true gentleman.
If he ever found out about the original self’s thoughts… would he be disgusted? Would he never want to deal with him again?
“Fourth Brother, if one day you know…” Qin Sizheng began.
“Does it still hurt?” Lu Xianqing interrupted, breaking his train of thought. He paused, then asked, “One day what?” Qin Sizheng’s words trailed off, and he smiled faintly, hiding his embarrassment: “Nothing, I didn’t ask anything.”
“What did I tell you last time?”
“Last time?” Qin Sizheng thought quickly, “Not to get hurt?”
Lu Xianqing gripped his hand, voice low and cold: “I said, if you don’t take care of these hands, I’ll cut them off for you.”
“…!” Qin Sizheng blinked. Before he could react, Lu Xianqing had already cleaned up the scraps, thrown them in the trash, and served the noodles. “Come on.”
They walked to the dining room. Somehow, two bottles of alcohol sat on the table.
“Want some?”
“If you don’t want, it’s fine. Let’s eat,” Lu Xianqing said, pouring himself a glass. He drank heavily, often needing alcohol to sleep. The liquid in the glass reflected the light. He drank over half in one gulp and poured more, face unchanged, as if drinking water.
Shen Qing had suggested he take sleeping pills, but he refused—they had side effects and could lead to dependency. Alcohol, however, he drank more and more until half a bottle barely helped him sleep.
“Fourth Brother, won’t you try the noodles?” Qin Sizheng asked, not wanting him to drink too much, but careful not to overstep.
“I’ll eat.” Lu Xianqing didn’t really feel like it, but the bait was set. He had to reach for the prey, so he picked up some noodles. The soup was perfectly seasoned; the tomato and beef were tangy and sweet.
“Delicious?”
“Not bad. An improvement from last time.”
Qin Sizheng, easily pleased, was thrilled by the praise. Seeing him reach for more alcohol, he quickly grabbed it, poured a small half-glass, and raised it. “Fourth Brother, happy birthday! I hope every day is joyful and everything goes smoothly.”
Lu Xianqing, without more alcohol, tapped his tea cup against Qin Sizheng’s: “Good. Thank you.”
Qin Sizheng didn’t know Lu Xianqing only drank strong liquor—every bottle extremely potent, especially this one. The first sip burned his throat. Used to only beer in his previous life, he grimaced, gulped down a large cup of water to chase it, still feeling the burn.
“What kind of alcohol is this? So awful.”
“If it’s bad, don’t drink,” Lu Xianqing said, grabbing the bottle, pouring another half-glass, sipping it like juice. Soon, Qin Sizheng’s sticky voice slurred in confusion: “Mmm… Fourth Brother… there are two… two Fourth Brothers.”
Lu Xianqing lifted his head. The boy’s cheeks flushed, eyes dreamy, smiling foolishly, pointing at himself. “Don’t… move! You’re making me dizzy.”
Shaking his head, he leaned back, frowning, closing his eyes to recover.
Lu Xianqing didn’t rush. He sat across from him, slowly finishing the half-bottle, then walked over, crouched beside him, and called softly: “Yan Yan.”
“Mm~” The boy’s voice was thick and nasal, eyelashes trembling, eyes still half-closed—truly intoxicated.
“Drunk? Open your eyes and see who I am. Do you know me?” Lu Xianqing crouched, the boy struggled to open his eyes. Water-rimmed irises, slightly red, glistened enticingly.
“You are… a good person.”
Satisfied he was thoroughly drunk, Lu Xianqing lifted him onto his lap, poured a glass of wine, coaxing him to drink. Qin Sizheng, in a daze, obediently opened his mouth, letting the man feed him sip by sip, frowning but swallowing everything.
“Good boy. Drink a little more… it’ll feel better,” Lu Xianqing whispered, a devil coaxing an angel into hell, intoxicating him completely.
“Drink a bit more… then it’ll feel better.”
The boy held his hand, obediently finishing the remaining wine. Still uncomfortable, his throat itchy and numb, he tried to turn away—but Lu Xianqing cupped his chin, gently but firmly forcing him to drink, voice soft: “Be obedient. Drink a little more.”
The liquor went down in one gulp, and the youth instinctively burped. The alcohol that had just entered his mouth hadn’t been swallowed yet before it spilled out, wetting his chin and dripping onto Lu Xianqing’s wrist.
Qin Sizheng was unconscious from drunkenness, utterly unaware he needed wiping. His mouth, held open, couldn’t close, and liquor kept pouring in, trickling down the corners of his lips.
Lu Xianqing reached out to wipe him clean, murmuring softly, “Good boy, you’re messy. Don’t be afraid, I’ll wipe it off for you.”
The man’s fingertips bore thin calluses, causing slight discomfort as they rubbed against his chin. The alcohol seemed to spread more with each wipe, soaking everything from the corners of his mouth to his neck. His lips were rubbed red and slightly swollen, like a peach tossed into a vat of wine until it swelled and split.
His nostrils flared as he gasped for breath, his lips parting and closing. Lu Xianqing’s gaze grew hazy, as if it might ignite into flames. The fiery liquor he’d swallowed seemed to catch fire at that moment, burning with a sudden, intense heat.
His fingers tightened, finally pinching his chin upward. He greedily reclaimed the wine wasted moments before, his long fingers hooking around Qin Sizheng’s wrist. His voice, hot against his lips, murmured: “You know, I prepared medicine especially for you. But you were so good—you got yourself drunk before I could give it to you. Yan Yan. “
Yanyan.
Yanyan.
My Yanyan.