Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Only a single wall lamp illuminated Bao Tingyuan's room.

At the desk, he removed his frameless glasses and habitually massaged the bridge of his nose. As he lowered his gaze, his eyes fell on the drawer below.

The dim yellow light cast behind him, and beneath his well-defined brow bones, his green eyes were dull like stagnant pond water.

After thirty seconds, Bao Tingyuan still chose to pull open the drawer.

With the faint sound of the drawer’s rolling wheels, a ghostly-white prescription box emerged from the heavy shadows.

He hadn’t opened it since getting it two days prior.

Bao Tingyuan opened the box. Aside from a bottle of medicine, there was also a handwritten card inside—a note in English from Dr. Xu:

"Mr. Bo, we discussed the side effects of these inhibitors very clearly during our first consultation. As someone who’s been on this medication long-term, I believe you must have a mature understanding of them by now. Once again, I hope you’ll use them with caution. (Wishing you all the best.)"

Dr. Xu’s words had been meant as a reminder, but she wouldn’t have expected them to instantly drag Bao Tingyuan back to that moment—last Saturday night.

He’d been outside the screen, unable to reach him.

And this same scenario would play out once more tomorrow night.

In an instant, the card was tossed back into the box.

Bao Tingyuan popped open the medicine bottle, took out a pill, and swallowed it with a glass of water on the table.

His shadowy figure in the low light shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it onto the sofa, while unbuttoning his black shirt as he strode toward the bathroom.

About fifteen minutes later, the screen door was pushed open with a soft sound.

-

Wen Cishu feigned nonchalance as he leaned against the pillows, turning his head to speak—only to pause momentarily when he saw Bao Tingyuan walking toward him step by step in a robe.

The black-and-gold long robe hung from his statuesque frame like a medieval European monk’s.

Though his expression was indifferent, even cold, it radiated an undeniable, wordless sensuality.

As Bao Tingyuan reached the bedside and picked up the fairy tale book, Wen Cishu found himself clutching the blanket’s edge, suddenly too nervous to speak.

Bao Tingyuan sat by the bed, tracing his fingers along Wen Cishu’s cheek, his thumb grazing his temple as he asked softly, “Already sleepy?”

Wen Cishu felt the warmth of his fingertips—likely from his recent shower.

He shook his head slightly, his hair whispering against the silk.

Feeling the heat radiating from Bao Tingyuan’s body as he drew closer, Wen Cishu awkwardly deflected, changing the subject. “Did you make some kind of deal with Yi Ming? Did you promise to take him horseback riding?”

“No.”

Bao Tingyuan drew up their son’s discarded blanket and leaned against the pillows. “My mother said she missed him and called him tonight.”

Wen Cishu nodded in understanding.

Bao Tingyuan added, “Yi Ming mentioned wanting to visit France sometime soon.”

Wen Cishu: "Is this child actually planning to throw himself into the lion's den of boarding school?"

"Yi Ming's grandmother—surely she must be hoping he goes to study in France?"

"She's unaware of this matter. I haven't mentioned it."

Bao Tingyuan reached over and picked up the fairy tale book, flipping through its pages at a leisurely pace.

Wen Cishu exhaled in relief and instinctively observed his every move.

Bao Tingyuan turned the pages with his right hand while holding the book with his left.

On his slender ring finger, the wedding band cast a muted, gentle glow.

Quite different from Wen Cishu’s, Bao Tingyuan’s ring bore a decade's worth of accumulated wear and tear.

Especially on the two bands made of different materials—while the hard-wearing platinum remained pristine, the gold band was softer.

No matter how attentive or careful the owner might be, daily wear would inevitably gather fine scratches.

Bao Tingyuan glanced at the seemingly absent-minded man: "Where did Yi Ming leave off with you? Do you remember?"

Drawn by his deep voice, Wen Cishu instinctively rolled onto his side to look at him, only to be gently pressed back by his palm.

"On your back."

"Oh."

Wen Cishu rested his hand on the edge of the blanket, lifting a finger to tap the fairy tale book before tilting his head to gaze into eyes brimming with tender green warmth.

"Yesterday we just finished the chapter where the Moon Goddess bestows magic upon the unicorn. Next, the unicorn, armed with its newfound powers, will go searching for and rescuing its little friend. There's a table of contents."

This fairy tale book had been a gift from Wen Cishu’s mother, who herself had translated it into Chinese.

Bao Tingyuan flipped to the corresponding page using the table of contents and began reading the story in French.

"The forest shrouded in mist was far more than the little unicorn had imagined..."

His typically cool voice had softened to a deep warmth.

In his unique cadence, between each syllable seemed to pulse a special rhythm, like the frothy white crests of waves, gently rolling layer by layer into Wen Cishu’s ears.

"Wait a second," Wen Cishu hurriedly interrupted.

Why's he jumping right in like this?

He hadn’t even had time to prepare!

"Hmm?" Bao Tingyuan watched as he shifted upward, then naturally wrapped an arm around his waist, drawing him closer. "Did I start at the wrong part?"

"No." Wen Cishu surreptitiously shifted his long legs beneath the blanket, pressing them against Bao Tingyuan’s. As Bao Tingyuan brushed the stray hairs from his face, he blinked at him. "Alright, go ahead."

But Bao Tingyuan seemed not to hear, gazing down at his tender, captivating expression for half a minute before resuming the story.

Wen Cishu inhaled the familiar scent of agarwood; his eyelids grew heavy.

The monkey’s spirited voice would make Wen Cishu feel as if he had become the little unicorn in the story, reacting with wide-eyed wonder, fully immersed in every twist and turn.

Yet Bao Tingyuan’s measured storytelling cadence was deceptive—it made one feel as though he were the tale’s creator, subtly conveying the creator’s affectionate care for the beloved unicorn, filling the listener with warmth and hope.

French itself is inherently romantic, but when spoken by Bao Tingyuan, it becomes even more mesmerizing.

Wen Cishu's slightly upturned lips flattened again.

—He really ought to fetch Little Monkey and make him listen to Daddy telling French fairy tales!

For over ten minutes, the room was filled only with Bao Tingyuan's voice and the soft rustling of turning pages.

Wen Cishu listened with his eyes closed, yet a faint agitation stirred in his heart.

Forget sleeping—he felt like a pond stirred by a tornado, completely unsettled.

Because resting against his cheek was a finger.

Following the unicorn's adventures in the fairy tale, it kept playfully caressing back and forth.

From his chin to his cheek to his earlobe—even pinching the soft, plump earlobe between two fingers and gently kneading it repeatedly.

Wen Cishu abruptly opened his eyes, thought irritably:

The point was for you to tell me a story to help me sleep, not keep me awake, okay?!

Bao Tingyuan put down the book and turned to look at him: "Hmm?"

Feeling the warmth drawing closer, Wen Cishu curved his elegantly slanted eyes and whispered, "A few days ago, I was flipping through a book of French poetry, and some of the grammar was beyond me. Since you're here, why don't you read it to me? I can learn a little."

Bao Tingyuan tugged his blanket up and suggested, "It's a bit late today. How about the day after tomorrow?"

Wen Cishu quickly extended a finger, his pearly pink fingertip poking at Bao Tingyuan's index finger resting on the blanket's edge, pleaded in a mumble, "It's barely nine o'clock, isn't it?"

From this angle, Bao Tingyuan's emerald eyes carried a commanding presence, making him seem nearly impossible to persuade.

Wen Cishu's dark eyes darted away, shifting his gaze—but his finger hooked lightly around Bao Tingyuan's slender index finger, his voice barely louder than a mosquito's buzz: "Just read it today, okay? Daddy~"

His anticipation mixed with nervousness made his heart flutter anxiously, holding his breath.

Bao Tingyuan gazed at his lowered lashes—the thick lashes interlaced like tiny hooks, one by one tugging at his heart.

Those jet-black eyes shimmered with glimmering lights, making it impossible for him to coldly refuse.

Half a minute later, he finally said, "Where's the book? I'll get it."

Suppressing his delight, Wen Cishu lifted himself a little, "On the bookshelf, René Char's poetry collection."

"Stay still and don't move." Bao Tingyuan didn't turn back, responding to the lifted voice.

"Okay." Wen Cishu obediently lay back down, imagining how in just a few minutes, Bao Tingyuan would use that deep, sensual voice to recite René Char's poetry—even the lamplight in his eyes turned into twinkling stars.

However, by the time Bao Tingyuan returned with the book, he had already forced himself to stay calm.

Bao Tingyuan leaned back, opening to the bookmarked page: "This one?"

"Mhm."

An intense anticipation, like whipped cream, filled Wen Cishu's heart. Even before tasting anything, he already felt giddy with sweetness, as if floating on clouds.

This time, he took the initiative: "I'm ready. Go ahead."

"Je n'entrerai pas dans votre coeur..." ① ① Translation footnote: "I will not enter your heart..."

Wen Cishu was acutely aware that his ears were gradually burning under the deep, sensual cadence of Bao Tingyuan's voice.

It was even more intense than when Bao Tingyuan had massaged them earlier—almost as if he were breathing hotly against his ear.

Seized by an unnameable tension, Wen Cishu clutched the blanket tightly.

He pulled it up little by little until it covered his head.

To his mortification, at this moment, his entire body was feverish, and he desperately wanted to scream.

Just as the poem reached the line, *"Before the night leaves no trace,"* Bao Tingyuan's voice abruptly stopped.

The air grew hushed and tender.

Wen Cishu thought to himself: *Does he think I’ve fallen asleep?*

He was about to speak when suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around him, lifting both him and the blanket onto Bao Tingyuan’s waist.

"Hmm?" Caught off guard by the sudden movement, his arms instinctively wound around Bao Tingyuan’s shoulders.

Leaning against the headboard, Bao Tingyuan slowly bent his long legs, drawing Wen Cishu nearer.

His fingers rested against Wen Cishu’s cheek, his thumb sweeping back the hair clinging to Wen Cishu’s lips. "Does your waist still hurt?"

At this moment, Wen Cishu was straddling Bao Tingyuan’s hips, knees parted slightly, his pupils flaring faintly.

Even though Bao Tingyuan had been massaging his waist like this on the sofa earlier, still…

"...It’s much better."

Wen Cishu pressed his knees down slightly, trying to lift himself up a little.

"Mm, then I’ll keep reading."

Bao Tingyuan’s green eyes returned to the poetry book as his right hand slid from Wen Cishu’s shoulder down to his waist, kneading slowly.

The touch melted the strength from Wen Cishu’s waist, and the slight lift he had managed collapsed back down. Bao Tingyuan’s voice betrayed no change, so he didn’t dare overthink it.

But Bao Tingyuan’s voice grew closer and closer, until, without realizing it, his left arm holding the book had fully embraced him, and his lips were already pressed against Wen Cishu’s ear.

Wen Cishu’s face flushed cherry-blossom pink, and he just let himself slump against Bao Tingyuan’s shoulder, hiding his burning cheeks in shame.

The pajamas were far thinner, far softer than his earlier clothes, making Bao Tingyuan’s palm feel as if it were directly against the soft curve of his waist.

As he recited the poem, his nose lightly brushed against Wen Cishu’s temple.

The silken skin carried a sweet, heady scent.

Wen Cishu’s mouth went dry, his breath coming faster.

By now, Bao Tingyuan’s lips were fully pressed against his ear, whispering slow and deliberate, *"Je t’aime et tu vis en moi."* (I love you, and you live in me.)

The warm, damp breath from those lips poured into Wen Cishu’s ear, making him squeeze his eyes shut as if overwhelmed. Like a willow branch, he slumped against Bao Tingyuan’s shoulder, his raven hair spilling over his arm like liquid moonlight.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his heart hammering like a drum.

Hearing the accelerated rhythm, his brow furrowed. He quickly set the book aside, cupping his palm over Wen Cishu’s back, soothing him in slow strokes. "Breathe deeply."

Wen Cishu fought to steady his pulse, awash in sudden, scalding shame.

He was the one who’d asked him to read, yet now he couldn’t stand hearing it.

“No,” he murmured. “I’m fine.”

Bao Tingyuan’s palm stayed pressed to Wen Cishu’s back, feeling the rise and fall of his chest until his breathing steadied.

He drew him down to lie beside him, then tucked the blanket around them. “Sleep.”

Wen Cishu thought he meant to return to his own side. His lips, dry, pressed into a line. “Mm.” He slowly closed his eyes.

But Bao Tingyuan’s presence lingered—he didn’t leave immediately, instead gazing deeply at that achingly beautiful face.

A long moment passed.

Wen Cishu heard his low voice murmur, “I won’t leave tonight.”

Then, he felt Bao Tingyuan press a whisper-soft kiss to his temple.