Bang bang bang.
Antique vases and blue-and-white porcelain pieces were swept to the floor by a walking cane, shattering one after another. Old Master Yu glared in the direction where Yu Qinzhou had left, his eyes nearly spitting fire, the cane striking the ground with a deafening thud.
He roared in fury, “Live to a hundred? I think he just wants me dead sooner! I arranged for him to marry someone of equal status, someone outstanding in appearance—how is that harming him? How dare he do this? Has all his upbringing been eaten by dogs?!”
Butler Zou stood quietly to the side and sighed inwardly. In his mind, he thought—how could he not dare?
Yu Qinzhou was nothing like those illegitimate sons who couldn’t be put on display. Those people spent their days lingering in clubs, relying on their family background to act however they pleased, indulging in pleasure from dawn to dusk. Those kinds of spoiled young masters, soaked in wine, wealth, and indulgence, were all superficial and hollow—one sharp reprimand from the old master would be enough to make them tremble.
But was Yu Qinzhou like that?
The moment he returned to the country, he sent his own father to prison and took control of the entire Yu Corporation with thunderous, decisive methods. In other words, he had both capability and means—and now, he also had the power to resist.
A man who had already stood at the peak of authority from early on—how could he tolerate anyone dictating his life?
Moreover, the old master kept talking about “upbringing”… but Yu Qinzhou had been living abroad since the age of six. His father didn’t care for him, his mother didn’t raise him—who exactly was supposed to have taught him?
A man who grew up wild would have a heart harder than anyone else.
Butler Zou wanted to persuade him, yet he knew the old master’s temperament would not allow him to hear such words. In the end, he could only keep his head lowered and pretend nothing was happening.
By his estimation, days like these—full of chaos and turmoil—had only just begun.
…
The Nanyang Private Club was located in the northern suburbs of the capital. Unlike other lavish, gold-drenched establishments, Nanyang Club, known for its tea culture, was understated and refined. A long, quiet path came into view, where wintergreen and Chinese ixora intertwined along the sides of the stone pavement, and wintersweet blossoms released a faint, lingering fragrance.
Pushing open the door into the private room, two or three exquisitely carved screens separated the resting area from the tea room. A red clay stove flickered with a calm blue flame; the water kettle bubbled softly, and a faint, distant aroma of tea gradually filled every corner of the space.
Cheng Yuan Shi lifted a purple clay teapot between his long fingers. As he raised his eyes, he noticed the tall, slender figure walking in. With graceful ease, he poured a cup and said, “You’re finally here.”
“From the look on Yu-ge’s face, your mood seems pretty good.” The man with short grayish-white dyed hair and a lazy smile said, “But I heard the old master Yu went to have tea with the Fang family yesterday.”
Yu Qinzhou glanced at the young man who was clearly teasing him. Without a word, he loosened his suit buttons, bent down and sat, rolled up his cuffs, and said casually, “Then you must not have heard that the Fang family left with dark faces, and their car was stuck on the mountain road for three hours.”
“So it’s true.” Min Zhengyue grinned, interest piqued. He immediately pulled his legs in and leaned closer to Yu Qinzhou. “Tell me what happened. Yu-ge, you know my mom is basically half-pretending to be friends with Madam Fang. On New Year’s Eve morning, she even stopped by my house looking proud and said the Fang family was going to form an engagement alliance with the Yu family. And then that same night, my mom went to play mahjong at their place and saw their house had basically been smashed to pieces.”
“If you’re this into gossip, why don’t you switch careers and become a reporter?” Yu Qinzhou raised a brow, saying nothing more.
Min Zhengyue didn’t care. Resting his cheek on one hand, he nodded thoughtfully. “That actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”
“Don’t give him ideas. He’ll take them seriously.”
Cheng Yuan Shi pushed a white jade teacup in front of Yu Qinzhou. “New tea I just bought a couple of days ago. Try it.”
“Every time I see Yu-ge drinking tea with you, I get this strong sense of incompatibility,” Min Zhengyue suggested. “Next time, we should just drink alcohol instead.”
“You just want to drink. Say it directly,” Cheng Yuan Shi replied.
Min Zhengyue chuckled twice. He had indeed set his eyes on a few bottles of expensive liquor in Yu Qinzhou’s wine cabinet—they were strong, and exciting.
Although Yu Qinzhou preferred strong liquor, he was not incapable of drinking tea; he simply found it too light and lacking in depth. Out of courtesy, he took a sip and gave a brief evaluation: “Not bad.”
After that, as if remembering something, he asked Cheng Yuan Shi, “Is there any extra tea left?”
Cheng Yuan Shi paused slightly. “You like it? I’ll pack the rest for you when you leave.”
“I’ll transfer you the money later.”
“Talking money makes it sound distant,” Cheng Yuan Shi said with a smile, turning to fetch the remaining tea leaves.
Yu Qinzhou picked up his phone. While listening to Min Zhengyue ramble on about various recent rumors in their social circle, he opened Ming Qing’s Moments.
Ming Qing did not post often. Occasionally there were set photos from filming, but more frequently, reposts of videos meant to improve acting skills. Yu Qinzhou scrolled through them one by one, just as he had before, stopping again at a particular lifestyle photo.
Within the three-month display period, that single photo stood out especially—distinct and unusual.
The young man was wearing a loose black hoodie, sitting cross-legged on a soft cushion. Just like Cheng Yuanshi earlier that day, his slender, pale fingers were wrapped around the round handle of a black clay pot. With his eyes lowered, revealing only a small portion of his delicate, fair face, he slowly poured steaming milk tea into a small cup.
The joy that the photo could not fully capture was vividly expressed in the caption: jar milk tea, delicious/cute.
Coincidentally, not long ago Yu Qinzhou had seen another angle of Ming Qi in someone else’s social media feed. And in that version, the person sitting across from Ming Qi was someone Yu Qinzhou was quite familiar with.
The second young master of the Wen family, Wen Yulan.
It was clearly not only Yu Qinzhou who recognized Wen Yulan. At a gathering, others joked with a smile, “Isn’t the Wen family’s second young master just engaged to the Song family’s young master? Why is he still entangled with a lover on the side?”
“You make it sound like you don’t have a fiancée or lovers yourself. The Wen second young master is just like you,” someone else teased.
The topic then shifted from Wen Yulan to the speaker’s own romantic history, and Yu Qinzhou stood up and left after listening for only a few sentences.
Vulgar words. Unbearable to hear.
Coming back to himself, Yu Qinzhou returned to his chat with Ming Qi.
Y: Are you free tonight?
When Ming Qi received the message from Yu Qinzhou, he was standing in front of his wardrobe picking out a thick enough down jacket. Five minutes earlier, he had already agreed to dinner with his friend Wen Yulan.
Holding the hanger, Ming Qi paused for a moment, then leaned back onto the bed, muttering to himself that Yu Qinzhou seemed a bit unexpectedly “clingy,” while replying honestly.
77.: I already made plans for dinner with a friend just now. Does Mr. Yu need something?
Yu Qinzhou’s eyes darkened.
Y: No.
After a pause, he added: Enjoy your meal.
77.: [Cat nodding.jpg]
Ming Qi didn’t think much of it and went back to choosing a thick down jacket. The night temperature was dropping sharply, and after just recovering from a bout of “thorough” fever, he really did not want a second round. If Wen Yulan hadn’t insisted several times, he would have preferred staying curled up in a warm blanket watching movies.
He put on a windproof mask, pulled a wool hat down to cover his ears, carefully wrapped a scarf around his neck, and only then did he dare to step out the door.
When he arrived at the entrance, Wen Yulan was already there.
Wen Yulan was an art teacher, trained under the nationally renowned oil painter Cheng Wan. He and Ming Qi had been high school classmates, in the same class for one year and then desk mates for another. They were fairly good friends. Wen Yulan spent most of his time in the studio, while Ming Qi was busy auditioning for various minor roles, so they rarely had the chance to meet.
“I heard from Meng She that you had a fever?” Wen Yulan asked.
Wen Yulan had Meng She’s WeChat. A few days before New Year’s Eve, he saw Meng She post a photo in his Moments—Ming Qi lying weakly on a hospital bed. The young man’s face was flushed from fever, like a camellia pressed down by snow, looking painfully fragile.
“It’s already gone,” Ming Qi said, taking off his mask with a smile. “Where are we going to eat?”
“Chunqiu Manor has two new dishes. They taste pretty good—you’ll like them,” Wen Yulan said, his gaze drifting to the rearview mirror. Only half of Ming Qi’s face was visible, yet he could still clearly see those beautiful, affectionate eyes.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly.
A few dozen minutes later, Ming Qi and Wen Yulan walked into the restaurant together. Although there were only two people, Wen Yulan still booked a private room.
“Isn’t that a bit wasteful? We could just find any corner to eat,” Ming Qi asked.
Wen Yulan shook his head. “Your identity isn’t suitable for eating outside.”
Ming Qi touched his nose, thinking to himself—what identity did he even have? He was just an ordinary, completely unknown extra in the industry. Although Meng She always told him to stay away from Weibo and forums, Ming Qi knew very well that—because he was too obscure—he barely even had any haters, and posts criticizing him were rare.
Seeing that Ming Qi still wanted to speak, Wen Yulan cut him off again. “The private room is already booked. Not using it would be a waste.”
Ming Qi thought that made sense.
The two followed the waiter into the private room and sat down. The door closed with a soft thud.
Not far away, Min Zhengyue leaned over the railing on the third floor, his body slightly tilted forward. The circular layout of the building allowed him to see everything on the first and second floors clearly. He was quite surprised and immediately turned back into the private room marked “Spring Color” to share the news.
Guess who I just saw?” he said eagerly as soon as he entered.
Cheng Yuanshi gave him face. “Who?”
Min Zhengyue dragged out his tone mysteriously. “The Wen family’s second young master—the art teacher Wen Yulan!”
Cheng Yuanshi nodded. “Isn’t that normal? It’s not strange that Wen Yulan likes Chunqiu Manor’s food.”
“But Wen Yulan wasn’t alone. There was someone else with him, wearing a black wool hat and a mask, looking mysterious. Doesn’t seem like his fiancée,” Min Zhengyue said, sitting down between Cheng Yuanshi and Yu Qinzhou and pouring himself a glass of water. “I’ve always heard Wen Yulan and Song Yin are deeply in love—they even flew abroad together to see an exhibition just a few days before New Year’s Eve. So why is there someone else with him on the first day of the new year?”
“Maybe just a friend,” Cheng Yuanshi reminded him. “Even if you want to be a paparazzo, you can’t assume everything is scandalous.”
“…You’re right. If I’m going to be a paparazzo, I should at least be an objective one,” Min Zhengyue said.
Cheng Yuanshi laughed, his eyes full of amusement. Then his gaze unintentionally drifted to the man on his right and he noticed Yu Qinzhou idly turning a silver ring on his finger, his eyelids lowered as if deep in thought.
After a moment, the chair behind him was pushed back. He threw out a sentence—“I’m going to the restroom”—and left Spring Color.
Min Zhengyue froze for a second. “What does that mean? Does Brother Yu not know there’s a private restroom in the room?”
Cheng Yuanshi smiled meaningfully. “Who knows. Maybe the outside restroom is more interesting.”
Min Zhengyue frowned. “You talk like a reading comprehension question.”
Unfortunately, Min Zhengyue hated anything that required thinking the most.
He didn’t bother analyzing it further.
Brother Yu could go to whatever restroom he liked—even if he suddenly wanted to go all the way back to Wanghe Mountain’s restroom, Min Zhengyue would still happily send him there.
When Yu Qinchou reached the second floor, the staff happened to be delivering dishes to Private Room 203. The moment the door opened, Ming Qi’s face flashed into view. The young man seemed to be in a good mood, his affectionate eyes slightly curved, the corners of his eyes and brows full of a rare, bright smile. For once, Yu Qinchou felt that it was somewhat blinding.
He leaned against the stair railing, his figure swallowed by the shadows. A chill seeped through his thin shirt, pressing against his skin. Yu Qinchou lowered his gaze. It was only when the door, which had been still for a while, opened again that Wen Yulan stepped out with his phone in hand. He seemed to be looking for a suitable place to talk, and soon moved to a corner not far from Yu Qinchou.
He opened his phone, his voice gentle. “A Yin.”
“Mm, I’m out eating with friends. What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll bring it back for you.”
“Alright, I’ll come home early.”
Hearing the “I love you” from the other end of the line, Wen Yulan smiled and said softly, “I love you too,” before hanging up.
Just as he was about to walk back toward the lighted area, an ambiguous laugh suddenly came from behind him.