Ming Qi’s upper back was pressed against the man’s chest. The arm around his waist carried warmth, making the exposed skin feel like it was burning. The heat spread all the way up to the back of his neck and earlobes. He shifted slightly, uncomfortable, and lowered his voice in protest:
“Who likes being undressed like that?!”
As soon as they met, he teased him.
Yu Qinzhuo was still the same Yu Qinzhuo.
Ming Qi suppressed the rising embarrassment in his heart and made up an excuse: “I’m sleepy. I’ll go to bed early after I finish washing.”
Since he had said so, Yu Qinzhuo naturally couldn’t do anything further. The man resumed pulling up the hem of his clothes. The slightly cool air clung sticky to his skin, raising small goosebumps. He endured this strange feeling, like an egg being peeled from its shell, and the more he endured, the more he felt Yu Qinzhuo’s movements were slow—
It was just taking off a piece of clothing, yet it felt like a long time had passed.
He was about to urge him when Yu Qinzhuo seemed to anticipate his thoughts and sped up. However, in the next moment, Ming Qi stared at the clothes piled above his right hand and fell into deep confusion and blankness.
The fitted sleeve cuffs were snug, but before the layers wrapped around his right hand, they became an obstacle.
Blocked. It couldn’t be taken off.
Ming Qi looked blankly at Yu Qinzhuo and asked, “What do we do?”
“Want me to tear it off?” Yu Qinzhuo raised his brows.
Can that even be torn off?
Confusion lingered in his mind. Ming Qi hesitated for a second. “Use scis—”
Before he could finish, he first heard a rip sound. The cashmere sweater split from the collar, the tear spreading all the way down the sleeve. After a few more casual tugs, Yu Qinzhuo casually tossed it into the laundry basket. Glancing at the ruined clothes, his tone was extremely indifferent: “Looks like the quality of your production team’s costumes isn’t very good.”
Ming Qi: “……”
But it had actually been quite comfortable to wear.
And if nothing unexpected happened, he would probably have to compensate the production team tomorrow.
Ming Qi was still focused on the clothes when he suddenly felt his waistband loosen.
Snapped back to awareness, he looked down at his lower body. The man’s long, pale fingers were pressing on his black suit pants. The button had been undone, hanging loosely on his hips, as if it might fall off at any moment.
Ming Qi’s pupils slowly widened. His hands reacted faster than his brain—he quickly grabbed his waistband.
“You…” He hadn’t been mentally prepared for this sudden undressing. “I can take these off myself.”
He turned away in panic, leaving only his pale, slender back facing Yu Qinzhuo. In a small voice, he said, “You go out first.”
“Really don’t need my help anymore?”
“No!”
Yu Qinzhuo’s gaze fell on that pale skin, sweeping unrestrainedly from the young man’s beautiful shoulder blades down to his lower back. Ming Qi seemed a little nervous; his back was slightly tense, the butterfly bones more prominent, while his waistline disappeared under the pants, the hollow curve of his lower back creating an inexplicable itch in Yu Qinzhuo’s fingertips.
Perhaps because his gaze was too focused, the skin under it gradually flushed faint pink. Yu Qinzhuo’s eyes moved to Ming Qi’s nape, where the redness looked like a blooming rose, vivid and ready to drip.
He smiled silently and, as he left, reminded him: “Hurry and wash. Be careful not to catch a cold. If you run into any problems while showering, call me anytime. Don’t be shy, understood?”
Ming Qi obediently nodded.
Only after the door to the bathroom closed with a click did his tense body finally relax. He didn’t dare delay any longer, quickly removed his pants and turned on the shower.
Washing with one hand was indeed inconvenient, but only inconvenient—not impossible. After struggling for a while, a voice suddenly came from outside, faint through the water: “Are you okay?”
Ming Qi quickly responded, muttering as he washed away the foam:
Yu Qinzhuo wouldn’t still be standing outside guarding the door, would he?
His thoughts wandered wildly. Ming Qi sped up, hastily rinsed himself clean, and went to get dressed. When he picked up his pants, he suddenly realized he should have put a small stool in the bathroom; otherwise, with his single-leg balance ability… he would most likely fall.
Just as the thought arose, Ming Qi tilted and thud-thud-thud bumped into the door.
Ming Qi: “……”
“What happened?”
“…Lost my balance.” Ming Qi awkwardly rubbed his nose. Leaning against the door, he quickly put on his clothes, casually threw on his fluffy pajamas, brushed his teeth in a hurry, and walked out with damp hair.
As soon as he looked up, he saw the man standing by the door.
He held out his hand toward Yu Qinzhuo: “I’m done washing. I shouldn’t have gotten the bandage wet.”
Yu Qinzhuo lowered his eyes and removed the cling film on his right hand. The white gauze was still properly wrapped, with no sign of wetness. Seeing Ming Qi looking at him, Yu Qinzhuo felt as if he were seeing a small Eight staring up at him waiting for praise. He smiled and gently ruffled Ming Qi’s hair with a towel.
“Very impressive.”
“It wasn’t really anything difficult to begin with.”
Though it was a quiet mutter, the subtle joy in his tone was still clearly felt.
After drying Ming Qi’s hair, he sent him to bed. Standing by the bed, Yu Qinzhuo bent slightly and asked, “Did the doctor say when to change the dressing?”
“Every two days is fine.”
“Mm. Then go to sleep first.”
Ming Qi held the blanket with one hand and, through Yu Qinzhuo’s shoulder, caught sight of the bouquet of roses still on the coffee table. He reminded him: “Remember to put the flowers away.”
“Alright.”
…
When Yu Qinzhuo came out of the bathroom and returned to the bedroom in his sleepwear, Ming Qi had already fallen asleep. After a full day of filming and the late hour, he was already showing signs of exhaustion. Yu Qinzhuo sat by the bed and looked at the furrowed brows even in sleep, immediately understanding that his hand was still hurting.
Ming Qi was the type who didn’t like showing his vulnerable side to others.
Just like until now, he had never once said “it hurts” in front of Yu Qinzhuo.
The man glanced at Ming Qi’s position. Just like when he visited the set, Ming Qi slept on the side near the window, leaving most of the bed space for him. Yu Qinzhuo leaned down and carefully lifted him, placing him onto the other side. The slight sensation of being suspended startled the sleeping Ming Qi awake.
He opened his eyes in confusion, and when he saw Yu Qinzhuo’s face, the man’s low, gentle voice sounded: “It’s fine. Go back to sleep.”
Having shared a bed for a period of time, Ming Qi was very familiar with Yu Qinzhuo’s presence and had no defenses at all. Soon, as his body touched the soft mattress again, he drifted back into sleep.
The moment Ming Qi was moved to the other side, Yu Qinzhuo carefully lifted his right hand and placed it into his own palm, lowering his gaze without speaking.
Around three in the morning, Ming Qi woke for a brief moment. Half-dazed, he struggled to turn onto his side and tried to press his right hand under his face. It was a habit he always had when sleeping, but tonight that habit was doomed to fail. His wrist felt like it was being held in place by something, unable to break free.
He was a little irritated, but something soft and warm had already been placed under his cheek.
Ming Qi instinctively rubbed against it and closed his eyes again.
Yu Qinzhuo looked at him and let out a soft laugh. “Just like a child.”
Time slowly moved toward dawn.
Inside a brightly lit, indulgent nightlife venue, Min Zhengyue felt a dull headache from the heavy metal noise ringing in his ears. Nearby, wealthy young masters from the same social circle who had grown tired of drinking games were now holding their companions, chatting about all sorts of chaotic topics.
As they talked, the subject eventually turned to Yu Qinzhuo.
“My old man said President Yu just secured a multi-billion overseas project a couple days ago. Min-shao, is that true?”
Before Min Zhengyue could respond, someone laughed. “What’s fake about it? Didn’t reporters already capture photos of President Yu dining with the head of Bernar Pharmaceuticals?”
“Tsk tsk, some people are making tens of billions with a single move, while others are still drowning in nightlife at bars.”
“Are you insulting yourself?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” the speaker laughed. “But I like this kind of drowning in nightlife. No ambition.”
Listening to their conversation, Min Zhengyue raised a brow. In the eyes of these rich second-generation heirs, the very ambitious President Yu Qinzhuo had posted a WeChat Moments update five minutes ago.
Just one photo—blurry on purpose. Not because of bad photography, but clearly intentional.
Only two figures could be vaguely seen, shoulders pressed together.
As far as he knew, Ming Qi was still on set.
His brother was really something—he’d just returned from overseas, probably hadn’t even made it home before rushing straight to the film city.
Thinking this, he commented under the post. When he looked up again, he found a group of people staring at him expectantly. Min Zhengyue, who hadn’t been listening at all, glanced at them.
“What are you looking at me for?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to ask if Min-shao knows whether the online rumor is true—that President Yu bought Qiancheng for a little lover in the entertainment industry.”
These people had finished gossiping about Yu Qinzhuo’s business achievements and were now even more interested in his private life.
Compared to business, scandalous rumors carried more allure—the best proof of a god falling into humanity.
Min Zhengyue smiled ambiguously and shrugged. “You guess.”
“…How would I dare guess that casually.”
Before he finished speaking, his sleeve was suddenly yanked repeatedly. He turned to see the woman beside him staring wide-eyed, her phone screen glowing brightly.
“Look at Weibo. Someone photographed President Yu.”
“Isn’t it normal to photograph him?”
Min Zhengyue thought so too, but he was still curious. He opened Weibo—and froze at the trending topic.
#Yu Qinzhuo Film City#
“Holy—!” the earlier rich heir’s eyes lit up. “Min-shao, it’s real?!”
He immediately clicked in.
The top post came from a casual fan account.
SugarBrownTeaTodayUnlocked: Guys, look who I saw at the film city? [photo]
It was a candid shot of Yu Qinzhuo walking toward a hotel. The hotel lights fell across him, casting a long shadow behind. Half his striking face was hidden in darkness, yet the nobility around him was still unmistakable.
Behind him, a black luxury car loomed like a silent beast.
Min Zhengyue zoomed in carefully, then noticed something at the edge of the photo—a bouquet of orange-pink roses.
His brother was actually kind of romantic.
He muttered and refreshed the page. Within a minute or two, comments exploded.
[I knew staying up late would pay off.]
[I deserve this gossip for not sleeping.]
[Holy crap, stay up all night guys, I want morning photos of Yu Qinzhuo leaving the hotel with a mysterious man/woman.]
[Who! Who is it! Who took down Yu Qinzhuo?!]
[He even brought flowers?! So the rumors weren’t baseless after all—he really has a little lover in the entertainment industry 😭]
[Guessing the identity of the little lover, place your bets.]
[He’s too handsome… rich CEO × superstar drama come to life, any fic recommendations?]
[@EntertainmentBug, bro, I need the list of artists staying at this hotel by tomorrow morning.]