Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Three sleek black luxury cars made their way to the western suburbs, stopping at the side gate of Yongning Temple.

Outside the temple stood two monks dressed in grayish-blue monastic robes.

A bodyguard opened the rear door of the middle vehicle.

Bao Tingyuan, wearing a black face mask, unfolded his tall frame from the car.

After exiting, he adjusted the lapel of his suit, composed himself, and brought his palms together. He gave a slight nod to the approaching monks.

One of the monks was the temple's abbot.

Standing on the steps, he looked at the man’s striking features—thick brows and green eyes—and returned the greeting, rosary beads in hand.

"Mr. Bo, welcome. This way, please."

Bao Tingyuan and the abbot entered the temple first, followed by several bodyguards.

Yongning Temple, with its centuries-old history, was modest in size but featured unique wooden architecture.

The temple had yellow-tiled roofs and crimson walls, its layout exquisite, with ornately carved beams and lacquered pillars inside, along with numerous solemn Buddha statues.

At the main entrance stood an osmanthus tree planted during the Southern Song Dynasty.

In the center of the courtyard was a quadripod incense burner, where local worshippers stood praying with smoking incense sticks.

Under the shade of pine and cypress trees, the abbot led Bao Tingyuan into a side hall, leaving two bodyguards waiting quietly outside the wooden door.

Among the devotees across the corridor, an observant young man noticed this and couldn’t help but ask the middle-aged woman beside him, “Ma’am, who is that? How come he gets private access? Do you know?”

The middle-aged woman, a longtime devotee, wasn’t surprised.

“Oh, he’s a benefactor. He visits regularly, very devout.”

The young man was surprised. “Huh? A rich man? How much did he donate to get special treatment like that?”

The aunt explained the past events.

Yongning Temple had once been nothing more than a dilapidated little shrine hidden in the bustling city, with restoration costs amounting to a bottomless pit. The government had even considered merging it with another temple for management.

A decade ago, the Bo family suddenly donated several hundred million, allowing the temple to remain intact.

Later, an additional hundred million was spent on restoring Buddhist sutras and statues.

Without the Bo family, there would be no Yongning Temple as it exists today.

The young man recalled his earlier glimpse—the unfamiliar bespectacled man’s angular profile and imposing stature.

He frowned. “But that guy looked like a foreigner. Are you sure?”

“What foreigner? His father’s Chinese,” the aunt said. “Though his mother was foreign.”

“A mixed-race guy, that superstitious?”

The young man couldn’t believe it. “I thought all Westerners were Christians.”

"Hey, watch your mouth!"

The aunt shot him a glare. "Yongning Temple is sacred ground. If Buddha hears you—you'll wet the bed tonight."

The young man was already in his twenties; he wasn't buying any of that.

He pressed on. "Auntie, why's a half-foreigner so into this?"

The aunt lowered her voice. "I only heard about it through the grapevine. There’s someone in their family who’s been sick for years, and ten years ago something really bad went down, if you know what I mean?"

The young man nodded. "Ah, got it. Guess money can't buy everything after all."

The aunt gave his arm a smack. "You talk too much. Go wait outside."

She had come to make good on a promise with a bag of offerings, and hurried off toward the Guanyin Hall.

-

In the side hall, one incense stick burned before the Buddha, its smoke curling upward like silk.

The abbot sat chanting sutras, fingers moving steadily along his prayer beads.

On the gold-trimmed red kneeling pad, Bo Tingyuan knelt motionless, his back ramrod straight.

His hands were clasped in prayer, fingertips touching his chin.

His glasses hid closed eyes, his face the picture of devotion.

On the altar rested a tray of golden nanmu wood, black velvet cradling a mutton-fat white jade bamboo bracelet.

Each tiny bamboo segment was flawless—no cracks, no clouding—smooth as polished ice.

The incense burned to the end.

The abbot bowed, hands pressed together. "Mr. Bo, please rise."

Bo Tingyuan slowly opened his eyes. His ice-cool emerald gaze held no emotion, yet radiated quiet authority and solemnity.

The abbot lifted the tray and offered the consecrated jade bracelet.

Bo Tingyuan pressed his palms together. "Thank you, Master."

He accepted the box containing the jade bracelet and lifted his gaze.

Upon the lotus pedestal above, the Bodhisattva gazed down, her face the picture of compassion.

-

Outskirts Riding Club.

Wen Cishu turned his face to the sun, his eyebrows lifting slightly, almond-shaped eyes catching the light, his expression calm and gentle.

He watched with a faint smile as Bao Yiming rode in the distance.

A bodyguard shaded him with a black umbrella.

As the young rider changed course, the guard carefully adjusted the umbrella’s edge, making sure not to block Mr. Wen’s line of sight.

Today was the shoot for the *Zai Zai the Superman* promo.

Before arriving, the small crew had been excited to meet Wen Cishu and his son.

When they finally met the pair in person, the staff couldn’t help noticing how truly otherworldly Wen Cishu looked—like someone born above earthly worries.

On top of that, the father and son arrived escorted by several cars.

Among their entourage were both assistants and bodyguards, making it obvious they were either wealthy or influential.

When this news reached the production team, everyone got even more curious about who they were.

At that moment, the photographer was filming Bao Yiming.

An assistant discreetly glanced at the man radiating refined grace and a gentle air.

Wen Cishu wasn’t riding a horse but stood patiently outside the fence, watching his son perform.

He wore a loose mint-green button-up with a mandarin collar and wide sleeves, paired with beige linen trousers.

Under a white Panama hat, silky waist-length black hair flowed down like silk.

Bathed in the mild sunlight, Wen Cishu looked unbelievably elegant and at ease, yet every detail of his appearance was meticulously polished.

The assistant was surprised to notice that Wen Cishu wasn’t even wearing a watch, yet he still oozed an unmistakable air of sophistication.

Being handsome was just surface-level—how could someone naturally exude such an otherworldly vibe?

She felt an unusual sense of reverence, as if even looking too long would be a form of sacrilege.

Snapping back to reality, she noticed her male colleague turning toward her.

Noticing her odd expression, he asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

Staring at his face that Nüwa clearly didn’t bless, she closed her eyes in despair.

-

Initially, the recording team had assumed that non-celebrity guests might be harder to work with, but the shoot went surprisingly smoothly.

After reviewing the recorded footage, Bao Yiming thought every frame looked great.

He asked smugly, “Dad, don’t I look good on camera?”

The photographer couldn’t help but chuckle in agreement. “Yes, Yi Ming, your features are very well-defined and camera-ready—you look great from every angle.”

He glanced at the unbelievably good-looking Mr. Wen, hesitating to say more.

Instead, the assistant spoke up first, offering politely, “Yi Ming’s dad, your part is relatively short. Want to shoot a few more takes? If you’d prefer not to move, we can just film you sitting.”

“Yes, yes,” the photographer jumped in, appreciating her diplomacy.

Wen Cishu politely declined, watching his energetic kid as he explained, “I’m just here to accompany Yi Ming—he’s the main attraction. Please give him more screen time when editing the promotional material.”

Everyone nodded. “Of course, we definitely will!”

Wen Cishu smiled faintly. “Thank you.”

No one realized that when speaking to him, they instinctively lowered their voices, treating him with an unusual softness.

It wasn’t out of fear or caution, but rather an instinctive sense of respect and care.

As the shoot wrapped up near evening, Wen Cishu had Albert arrange a restaurant to treat the production team to dinner.

Once in their own cars, everyone couldn’t help but buzz with excitement.

They simply couldn’t believe that the show had landed such an astonishing father-son duo.

"The kid already had an amazing mixed heritage look, but the moment Mr. Wen showed up, he completely stole the spotlight."

The assistant giggled and pulled out her phone, waving it around. "I managed to get a shot of him standing under an umbrella, looking into the distance—it looks like a classic movie star poster from way back in the day."

She showed the others, and the photographer nodded approvingly. "Great candid shot. We're commandeering this—post it on Weibo as promotional material."

"Got it!" The assistant was super excited, lowering her head again to admire Mr. Wen's striking profile.

-

*Zai Zai the Superman* invited four parent-child pairs total, with three being celebrity parents bringing their famous offspring. Only Wen Cishu and Bao Yiming were total unknowns.

When the show officially released its promotional trailers, they split the content into separate segments for kids and parents.

Under the children’s trailer on Weibo, fans mostly debated about which celebrity matched which child.

Bao Yiming, with his mixed-race appearance, set the internet ablaze first.

In the footage, the nine-year-old boy rode like the wind on horseback.

The young boy looked agile and full of energy, as if he belonged on the open plains, oozing natural confidence.

As the camera zoomed in, focusing on his face—

His youthful features already showed jaw-dropping bone structure, especially his high cheekbones and deep-set eyes that really stood out.

His amber-colored eyes crinkled slightly in the sunlight—picture-perfect puppy-dog eyes.

During the interview, he clearly introduced himself with easy confidence.

"This kid named Yi Ming is insanely good-looking! Is he really nine?"

"OMG! He could totally be a child model!"

"Chinese-French mix! That face is everything!"

"He's 5 feet tall now—will he hit 6 feet later?"

"Holy cow, this kid has such a bright future! He needs to be famous—he's too hot not to be!"

"Wait, whose kid is this anyway?"

"Excuse me, that's *my* son, mine!"

"The show hasn't even aired yet, and people are already fighting over him?"

When the parents' teaser dropped, netizens quickly noticed that the regular parent wasn’t shown clearly—only a very blurry distant shot.

"Huh? What's going on with the non-celebrity parent? Why no clear face shot?"

"Whoa, seems like a total bombshell long-haired mom—maybe the most adorable little one’s mom?"

"Wait, no—the height looks at least six foot? A mom that tall?"

"What's with all the secrecy from the production team?"

"They’re not celebrities anyway, so who cares? Doesn't seem worth it..."

When the assistant brought up the fan reactions, the producer scoffed. "Pfft! A face like that isn't just for free viewing!"

He slammed the table hard. "Payment first, got it!"

The assistant nodded frantically. "By the way, Mr. Wen isn’t in the best health. His assistant said he’d bring his own doctor and bedding like sheets and stuff. That shouldn’t be a problem, right?"

The producer grinned, flashing veneers. "You think that’s a problem?"

The assistant thought: Judging by the boss’s reaction, even if Mr. Wen’s assistant demanded to bring an entire bed to the set, he probably wouldn’t refuse.

-

The night before departure.

Bao Yiming’s "kid-before-a-field-trip energy" kicked in. After helping the housekeeper pack his suitcase, he dashed into his little dad’s bedroom.

Wen Cishu had already showered and was lying on a plush pillow, a book lying open on the blanket.

Apart from his school days when he left early and returned late, he’d mostly stayed home his whole life.

The Wen family was a family of scholars. Though Wen Cishu couldn’t match the achievements of his parents or elder brother, growing up in such an environment had at least made him someone who could sit still long enough to read.

Bao Yiming propped his chin in his hands. "Little Dad, you excited?" He quickly backtracked, "Oh wait, your heart’s not great, so you probably can’t get too excited."

The last time Wen Cishu might have been "excited" was probably when Yiming vaulted onto the coffee table.

Bao Yiming fell silent.

Wen Cishu rubbed the back of his neck and was about to speak when the boy suddenly looked up.

"Ah! I forgot something! I need to find Grandpa Xu!"

Bao Yiming slid off the bed and scrambled into his slippers.

Wen Cishu couldn’t help asking, "What do you need to bring?"

"Not telling you, Little Dad." Bao Yiming grinned, raising his brows. "Get to bed early. No worries—I’ll be up on time tomorrow."

Wen Cishu watched fondly as the boy spun out like a whirlwind, then sighed with a helpless smile.

Too tired to keep reading, he dimmed the lights and adjusted the covers, preparing to lie down.

The silk-screen sliding door whispered open, making a faint sound.

Wen Cishu turned his head and saw Bao Tingyuan step through.

The two shared a huge suite on the second floor but had slept separately for years.

Each bedroom had its own entrance, connected by a traditional sliding partition for convenience.

By now, Wen Cishu knew—Bao Tingyuan had insisted on separate beds out of concern for his health issues.

"Finished with work?"

Bao Tingyuan had already washed up and changed into a long blue robe, hands in his pockets.

With his broad shoulders and long legs, the tied belt made his legs look even longer.

In the dim evening light, Bao Tingyuan’s heavy brows furrowed slightly as he approached, looking like some austere priest from a movie, making Wen Cishu’s pulse jump.

When the tall man stopped silently by the bedside, Wen Cishu instinctively pressed his lips together.

He lifted his gaze and asked carefully, "Do you... not want Yi Ming and me to go on the show?"

Bao Tingyuan didn’t answer right away, his lowered gaze fixed quietly on Wen Cishu’s upturned eyes—exceptionally alluring in that moment.

Wen Cishu thought to himself: He always looks at me like he's above me somehow. What exactly is he seeing?

He leaned back petulantly; the plush pillow shifted with his movement, his black hair gleaming like silk.

Suddenly, Bao Tingyuan spoke, “What if I said yes?”

That low, velvety voice sent a shiver through Wen Cishu’s ears, as though they had been brushed by warm fingers.

Trying to shake off the sudden, strange sensation, Wen Cishu deliberately lifted his chin and put on a teasing grin. “Well then, it’s too late now.”

But the moment their eyes met, Wen Cishu noticed the piercing, unflinching intensity in those deep green irises beneath thick brows.

Under Bao Tingyuan’s focused stare, Wen Cishu felt a phantom shame—as though stripped bare.

The smile on his lips unconsciously faded.

*One lying down, one standing; one gazing up, one looking down.*

In the dim light, the air between them thickened with unspoken tension.

Wen Cishu could almost see his own reflection in Bao Tingyuan’s eyes. Remembering how the original novel described this scene, he softly asked, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Bao Tingyuan stayed silent for a moment, and Wen Cishu suddenly felt dry-mouthed.

His heart lurched—a wild surge of anticipation coiled in his gut.

After a few seconds, Bao Tingyuan pulled his right hand from the pocket of his sleep robe.

Wen Cishu thought he was about to speak—only to see a flat, square box in his palm.

His racing heart plummeted. He couldn’t help but lower his head, frowning slightly, grumbling under his breath, “If you won’t use that mouth, might as well give it away.”

“Hmm?”

Bao Tingyuan sat on the edge of the bed, opening the box while watching his face closely.

Wen Cishu sensed something weighing on him—something not yet ready to be shared—so he decided not to press. “Never mind.”

He straightened slightly.

Bao Tingyuan reached out, tucking back the strands of fallen hair.

Silky locks threaded through his fingers like silk.

Wen Cishu looked down at the soft jade bracelet inside the box—tiny bamboo-shaped beads strung in a loop, the jade of rare quality.

Knowing full well that getting answers from Bao Tingyuan was like pulling teeth, Wen Cishu raised his left hand. “Help me put it on.”

Bao Tingyuan took his hand.

His skin was warmer, softer than the jade, the thin flesh tracing faint blue veins.

The bracelet slid slowly over his slender, pale fingers, coming to rest at his slender wrist.

“Hiss—”

Wen Cishu flinched, knitting his brows together. “God, that’s cold.”

With his slight intake of breath, his neck lifted slightly, the slender collarbones pulling up to form an alluring dip.

His pajamas shifted faintly, the smooth, snow-white skin beneath glistening with a soft glow, like smooth, warm jade.

Bao Tingyuan's eyes darkened, like a dark, icy undercurrent passing through.

Wen Cishu, focused on the bracelet, didn’t notice his expression.

"Where did this come from?"

Bao Tingyuan didn’t hear him at all—his gaze transformed into a serpentine emerald glance, helplessly sliding into the soft folds of the fabric, winding around the warm, yielding skin…

He abruptly stood. "You have to wake up early tomorrow. Rest now."

Wen Cishu froze, sensing his strange behavior.

Ears perked, he faintly heard Bao Tingyuan heading toward the bathroom.

Huh? Did he really need the bathroom that badly?