Chapter 21

Chapter 21

That evening, when Bao Tingyuan returned home, Uncle Xu greeted him.

He headed straight for the staircase, his long fingers automatically moving to undo his suit buttons. "Is Wen Cishu upstairs?" he asked.

Uncle Xu hesitated and shook his head. "He's in the kitchen."

Bao Tingyuan stopped mid-step, letting his hand drop from his buttons as a frown formed.

Uncle Xu explained, "He said he wanted to make you some treats."

Following Bao Tingyuan as he turned, he added, "You know how it is, Master Bao. When Wen Cishu sets his mind to something, I can't very well stop him."

"Mm." Bao Tingyuan didn't say more, instead heading toward the kitchen with his long strides.

The mansion's Western-style kitchen smelled of warm bread baking in the oven. The built-in silver oven glowed red.

Leaning casually against the white marble island veined with gray was a tall, slender figure in white shirt and trousers, his black hair pulled back in a loose knot, revealing his pale neck.

Wen Cishu held a cup of hot water, his gaze fixed intently on the small pastries inside the oven.

At the entrance, Bao Tingyuan’s green eyes gave a quick look to the pastry chef and housekeepers.

Everyone quietly slipped out.

Bao Tingyuan instructed Uncle Xu briefly.

Uncle Xu listened while glancing toward the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the courtyard, then nodded and went to carry out the instructions.

Wen Cishu, completely focused on watching the pastries bake, suddenly heard distinct footsteps approaching.

-

He turned his head, surprised to see the arrival. "You're back."

A gentle smile accompanied his words, slowly spreading from his eyes like light reaching those who had just endured darkness.

Bao Tingyuan walked toward him, undoing his suit buttons as he went. He took off his jacket and draped it over the island before looking into the oven—

at the pastries baking inside, prepared just for him.

Wen Cishu glanced at the gray waistcoat over Bao Tingyuan’s black shirt.

It fit snugly, showing off his broad shoulders and narrow waist.

Slowly turning his cup, Wen Cishu thought to himself: Bao Tingyuan is an exception—even with two layers of clothing, you can still make out his shape.

Realizing where his thoughts had wandered, Wen Cishu took a quiet sip of water. Seeing Bao Tingyuan’s gaze fixed on the oven, he explained, "Don’t be upset with Uncle Xu. I’m just baking something—it’s perfectly safe, right?"

"Mm."

Bao Tingyuan looked away, instead studying Wen Cishu’s face.

A few loose strands fell near his hairline and temples, resting softly against his fair skin.

"What kind of pastry is it?" Bao Tingyuan stepped forward, standing beside him at the island.

The warm, sweet scent filling the air mixed with Wen Cishu’s subtle scent, making him unconsciously relax.

"Hmm?" Wen Cishu glanced at the oven. "Is that what you were watching?"

"You'll find out soon."

He recalled Zhu Wei's matter and shared it with him before adding, "Really, it was all you. I wanted to thank you."

As he spoke, Wen Cishu took another sip of warm water.

The water glistened on his lower lip, making his lips look even pinker and fuller.

Upon hearing the origin of the pastry, Bao Tingyuan’s eyebrow twitched almost unnoticeably.

His forest-dark eyes fixed on those lips as he lifted a hand to cup Wen Cishu’s chin, his thumb gently wiping away a trace of moisture. His voice low, he said, "There’s no need for such formalities between us."

The sudden closeness made Wen Cishu hold his breath, the words barely registering.

His lips seemed to fully register the slightly rough texture of Bao Tingyuan’s fingertips—whether in gentle wiping or... deliberate caressing.

Under that gaze, Wen Cishu burned to tell him what pastry he was baking.

Setting down the cup, he carefully wrote on his broad, warm palm, murmuring, "I’m baking this."

Bao Tingyuan opened his palm, letting those delicate fingers brush over.

But beneath his thick brows, his eyes remained intently fixed on the lowered face before him.

Unaware that the arch of his brows and slant of his phoenix eyes were perfectly framed, Wen Cishu finished writing and withdrew his fingers. Lifting his gaze, he blinked and smiled, "Should I write it again?"

Before the words even faded, the man before him leaned even closer, capturing his uplifted hand in the process.

Wen Cishu’s smile stiffened.

His palm was pushed aside as Bao Tingyuan’s fingers slotted between his, his long legs pressing tightly forward.

Face to face, their lower bodies were nearly flush against each other.

The back of Wen Cishu’s thighs pressed against the hard edge of the island, his eyes darting away briefly at the sudden proximity before he had no choice but to meet Bao Tingyuan’s eyes.

Bao Tingyuan watched him quietly, ignoring the question. Instead, he asked in French, "You remember?"

Meeting those sharp, intense green eyes, Wen Cishu replied slowly, "We had it together at the wedding. Of course I remember."

As the words left his lips, he saw Bao Tingyuan lean in, their noses nearly touching, breaths mingling in an instant.

Bao Tingyuan’s wild, heavy brows, the lush green of his eyes—everything about him felt suddenly, overwhelmingly invasive.

At that moment, Wen Cishu felt parched, desperate for three gulps of water.

Bao Tingyuan cradled his face, his thumb resting perfectly on the soft, plump earlobe—as if made to fit there.

"What else do you remember?"

Amidst their breaths mingling, surrounded by Bao Tingyuan’s overpowering presence, Wen Cishu recalled many inappropriate memories—

—Not from the wedding day, but from their honeymoon suite.

Common sense told him he shouldn’t be thinking about such things at this moment.

He could only restrain himself by tightly closing his eyes, the faint trembling of his lashes revealing a flicker of panic.

A *ding* rang out.

Wen Cishu startled and pushed him away.

“They’re done.”

He maneuvered around the man’s overbearing figure, muttering, “First time making these—no clue if they’re any good.”

Grabbing the oven mitts nearby, he went to retrieve the baking tray.

Meanwhile, in the corner of Bao Tingyuan’s vision, a big “lizard” was pressed flat against the outside of the floor-to-ceiling window.

On the glass pane facing the kitchen island, Bao Yiming was flailing his limbs wildly.

When he saw his elder father turn around, he jumped up excitedly, shouting, “Papa! Open the door for me!”

Every door and window in the house had excellent soundproofing.

Bao Yiming’s voice didn’t reach inside—at least Wen Cishu, focused on the baking tray, heard nothing at all.

Bao Tingyuan swiftly moved the rack from the island to the opposite counter. “Put it here.”

Wen Cishu simply set the tray down.

As a result, both of them now had their backs to the window.

Bao Yiming, seeing only his fathers’ backs: ?

Wait, what?

Didn’t Big Papa see him?

On the baking tray,

plump, golden Madeleines filled the air with the rich scent of butter, mingled with a hint of zesty lemon tang.

Wen Cishu carefully flipped one over with a small fork.

The pattern underneath was crisp and defined, the edges slightly caramelized—like a perfect little seashell.

As the one who made them himself, he expressed disbelief: “They turned out this well?”

Bao Tingyuan reached over and took the first Madeleine from the fork.

Wen Cishu hurriedly grabbed his wrist, whining playfully, “I made these myself—of course I should eat the first one.”

Bao Tingyuan then held the Madeleine to Wen’s lips instead.

Wen Cishu sniffed cautiously first, then nibbled a tiny edge, letting the taste settle before taking another small bite.

As he savored it, he watched Bao Tingyuan place half a Madeleine into his own mouth.

Looking at him, scenes buried deep in Wen’s memory—like black-and-white images—slowly grew vivid.

That day—their wedding day.

Wen Cishu pointed at the various flavored Madeleines and whispered to Bao Tingyuan, asking which one tasted best.

Bao Tingyuan took a piece and held it up to his mouth at that moment.

Just as he did today, Wen Cishu took a small bite, and Bao Tingyuan ate the rest.

From that moment on, the "best-tasting" flavor was etched deeply in Wen Cishu's heart.

—Lemon Madeleine.

So, he remembered, and Bao Tingyuan remembered too.

Wen Cishu kept his hand resting on Bao Tingyuan's wrist, tilting his head to gaze into his always cold yet profound green eyes. Rarely using French, he asked gently, “Do you still like this flavor now?”

He rarely spoke French under normal circumstances.

Just as Bao Tingyuan’s Chinese carried a slightly stiff cadence, his own French wasn’t perfect either.

Especially in front of this French-Chinese man, it felt as if Bao Tingyuan could see right through him, evoking an inexplicable awkward, flustered feeling.

As he waited for an answer, Wen Cishu’s heart hammered wildly, yet he refused to look away.

He saw so clearly the subtle ripple surge in Bao Tingyuan’s eyes, but the man didn’t answer immediately.

Just as Wen Cishu felt the tension choking him, the man before him suddenly closed the distance, wrapping his arms tightly around him and hoisting him up by the thighs in one swift motion.

“Uh…”

Wen Cishu let out an involuntary sound of surprise, automatically looping his arms around Bao Tingyuan’s broad shoulders as his legs dangled before hooking them around his narrow waist.

Though he was quite accustomed to Bao Tingyuan’s sudden embraces, they had always been with him swept off his feet—never like this, chest-to-chest.

Under his scorching gaze, Wen Cishu kicked his feet a little in embarrassment.

“You… you still haven’t answered me.”

Bao Tingyuan stared into his gentle eyes: “I’ve never changed.”

Wen Cishu’s eyes widened slightly; his breath caught.

Biting his lip, he thought of Bao Tingyuan’s health and asked softly, “Then, if you ever feel unhappy or… or face anything bad, can you tell me?”

Mm.” Bao Tingyuan freed one hand to press him against his chest, stroking his back.

Wen Cishu, hearing nothing more, seethed:

After all this heartfelt moment, just a “mm”?!

But before he could react, he suddenly realized Bao Tingyuan was carrying him toward the front door.

“Papa?!”

Outside, their energetic son called urgently.

The next second, Bao Tingyuan reached for the doorknob.

Wen Cishu simply tilted his head and slumped against his shoulder, playing dead.

Bao Tingyuan opened the door, looking at their son with hair standing on end, and drawled to Uncle Xu, “Uncle Xu, find a suitable box for the pastries Sir made and have them brought to my room.”

Wen Cishu: ?

Bao Yiming leapt up in protest, ready to yell his defiance.

"Shh," Bao Tingyuan warned him.

Thinking his Papa had really dozed off suddenly, Bao Yiming didn’t dare cause trouble. He lowered his voice and whined, "I haven’t even had one yet! I saw them—they’re adorable little seashells!"

Bao Tingyuan freed up a hand to ruffle his son’s hair. "Tomorrow we’ll have the house pastry chef bake some. You can have as many as you want." He glanced at Uncle Xu. "Make it happen."

Uncle Xu: "..."

Bao Yiming darted inside lightning-fast, grabbed one, and shoved it into his mouth, whining like a kid, "I don’t care! I’m eating it now!"

Wen Cishu, worried Bao Tingyuan might stop him, gave the nape of his neck a gentle squeeze. His breath was warm against his ear as he whispered, "Let Yi Ming have it. At most, I’ll make another batch tomorrow for your office afternoon tea."

He hadn’t expected that over something so small, father and son would squabble.

Bao Tingyuan tilted his head slightly—his cheek almost brushed Wen Cishu’s lips.

"Mm."

Realizing how intimate this was, Wen Cishu flinched but immediately found himself held tighter by Bao Tingyuan.

Just then, came Bao Yiming’s dramatic wail from behind them.

In the kitchen, while munching on his second Madeleine, Bao Yiming suddenly realized something and threw a mini tantrum.

Uncle Xu asked, "Little master, what’s wrong now? Didn’t you get to eat one?"

Bao Yiming pointed a trembling finger at the empty baking tray.

Those were gone before they arrived, Uncle Xu knew—but still tried to reassure him. "Though you couldn’t have the first Madeleine made by sir, you can take as many of the rest as you like."

Bao Yiming whined dramatically, "It’s not just the first one! It was the one Dad and Papa shared together!"

Uncle Xu: "..."

Bao Yiming’s handsome mixed-race face was the picture of misery as he held up a tiny shell-shaped pastry.

"And me, their adorable little son, had to eat these Madeleines all alone."

Suddenly, his smartwatch lit up.

Bao Yiming’s eyes sparkled like the screen. "Brother Xingxing!"

Uncle Xu: ...Salvation!

Bao Yiming spilled his woes to Brother Xingxing, complaining about tonight’s "great betrayal" by both dads.

Uncle Xu hurried off to find a dessert box—he was dead worried the boy might finish them all.

Bao Yiming took the chance to pop another in his mouth, speaking around the crumbs. "My Papa’s are so delicious—pillowy little shells."

There were only sixteen total. In the end, Uncle Xu managed to save twelve for the box.

After thinking it over, he decided to leave three for the young master.

Uncle Xu finished packing the dessert box just as the housekeepers came into the kitchen to clean up. He stepped away to brief them.

Bao Yiming, who was on the phone in a corner, said softly, "Brother Xingxing, wait a sec."

He slipped forward quietly and quickly filled a plate with Madeleines, then hid it in the cabinet under the island counter before throwing in a few other items.

When Uncle Xu returned and picked up the tray with the dessert box, he didn’t notice anything unusual.

“Young master, maybe you should continue your call in your room?”

“Mm-hmm~” Bao Yiming moved closer and kept chattering excitedly to Xingxing about going on the show the next day.

Uncle Xu thought: It’s so nice that the young master has such a good new friend to talk to every day.

When they reached the second floor, Uncle Xu knocked and entered the eldest young master's room.

Meanwhile, Bao Yiming went into his little dad’s room.

He saw his little dad leaning back on the sofa, spacing out, and hurried to the edge of the couch, looking up to ask, “Little Dad? Are you awake? Are you okay?”

Wen Cishu pinched his soft cheek. “Thank you for worrying, sweetheart. Daddy’s perfectly fine.”

—The one who’s not fine is your big dad, who might as well be from French intelligence with how tight-lipped he is.

Bao Yiming perked up one ear to listen for any movement next door but heard nothing.

“Little Dad, I’m going to the bathroom real quick.”

He pushed himself up from the sofa and crouched low as he moved behind the screen.

“What’s wrong?” Wen Cishu hurried after him.

His son tugged his arm, pulling him to stand outside the screen, where they both leaned sideways, listening, confused.

In Bao Tingyuan’s room, Uncle Xu placed the dessert box down. As the eldest young master approached, he naturally opened the lid.

Then, two pairs of eyes simultaneously landed on the sliced lemons inside the box.

The air instantly filled with a sharp, lemony scent.