Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Before Song Yuan could push away, he naturally tumbled into Gu Jingchi’s embrace, closing the distance between them as their body warmth mingled.

Song Yuan’s breath fanned against Gu Jingchi’s neck like a potent hallucinogen—a single dose, and all reason vanished, utterly dismantling the defenses Gu Jingchi had meticulously built over the past fortnight.

They embraced, lips meeting, nearly dissolving into each other.

Song Yuan’s heart had never pounded so furiously.

He swiftly averted his head, struggling to pull away.

But his strength had deserted him; his lower limbs were utterly useless.

He tried to rise but failed, and in shifting his posture, he lost his balance, sinking even deeper into Gu Jingchi’s arms.

Something hard pressed against his lumbar spine. Unsettled, Song Yuan stirred slightly, only to hear a heavy breath by his ear.

“Song Yuan.” Gu Jingchi’s cold voice suddenly cut through the air. “Don’t move.”

Song Yuan’s face burned, and he bolted upright like a startled rabbit whose tail had been stepped on.

The sudden movement caused his sweater to ride up, revealing a slender, graceful curve of his lower back—and a well-hidden mole.

It was perfectly situated near his tailbone, nestled right in the hollow of his back.

Like a deliberate mark pressed into his skin.

Gu Jingchi recoiled as if shocked, averting his gaze and pressing his lips together.

Once he had regained his footing, Song Yuan lightly touched his own face.

It was scorching hot, as if steaming.

Just then, the hallway lights flickered on.

Under the sudden illumination, Song Yuan’s expression was laid bare—shock, bashfulness, his clear eyes darting nervously like an overripe peach.

Gu Jingchi glanced toward the end of the corridor and saw Song Shenyu dragging a stunned Song Qiao toward another exit, their steps hurried.

Song Qiao seemed reluctant to leave, but Song Shenyu’s grip was too strong, forcing him away.

Even as he walked, Song Qiao kept looking back—not at Gu Jingchi, but at Song Yuan.

Gu Jingchi adjusted his glasses. The lenses reflected a pale light, obscuring his eyes and concealing his emotions.

He looked as if he had reverted to that cold, distant Gu Jingchi once more, the one who kept everyone at arm’s length.

As if what had just transpired was nothing but a dream.

An awkward silence descended. Song Yuan stood frozen, taking a long moment before finally speaking. “I—I should go back.”

“You should rest early. Don’t stay up late.”

Gu Jingchi glanced at him.

“No, no—I mean, you get some rest early. Don’t stay up late.”

Afraid of making it worse or blurting out something even more inappropriate, Song Yuan quickly shut his mouth.

Jiangcheng’s night breeze was warm, mellowing Song Yuan’s voice like fine wine.

A restless warmth stirred in Gu Jingchi’s chest, his remaining willpower forcing him not to dwell on what had just happened.

“It’s time to go back,” Gu Jingchi said.

“Y-yeah… it is,” Song Yuan stammered.

Song Yuan felt like overheated syrup, the sticky sweetness seeping into his brain, tangling his thoughts until he couldn’t think straight.

“I’ll walk you back,” Gu Jingchi said, lowering his gaze.

“Mm, okay…” As the syrup melted away, Song Yuan regained a sliver of rationality. “But I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Have someone deliver it,” Gu Jingchi told him. “You need rest now.”

Song Yuan hummed in agreement. “I’ll… listen to you.”

“You’ll listen to anything I say?” Gu Jingchi suddenly asked.

Song Yuan nodded.

“Go get your bag.”

Obediently, Song Yuan went into the classroom and returned with a backpack slung over his shoulders, looking every bit like a well-behaved high schooler.

For some reason, Song Yuan reminded Gu Jingchi of a cat—the kind that would bury its head in your hand and nuzzle against you at the slightest invitation.

So docile.

“Look up,” Gu Jingchi said, his tone devoid of emotion.

Song Yuan obeyed, tilting his head back.

“Open your mouth.”

This request was baffling, but Song Yuan’s syrup-soaked brain complied without question.

Song Yuan’s features were sharply defined; his pronounced brow bones framed deep, misty eyes that always seemed on the verge of tears when he looked at someone.

“No cuts,” Gu Jingchi observed, examining Song Yuan’s tongue. “What about inside?”

It took Song Yuan a few seconds to realize what Gu Jingchi meant.

He had just begun to calm down slightly, but Gu Jingchi’s words sent the syrup in his brain swirling again, his face heating up until he felt like steam was rising from his skin.

He shook his head instinctively. “N-no, nothing’s hurt inside either!”

Gu Jingchi: “…”

Who knew what he was thinking.

Song Yuan flushed harder. “I meant my tongue!”

The moment he said it, he realized how unnecessary the clarification was. He wanted to explain further but feared making it worse, so he simply shut his mouth.

Watching Song Yuan, Gu Jingchi felt a strange sensation rise in his chest—something like delight, but not quite.

The satisfaction of a desire fulfilled.

Gu Jingchi felt something was wrong with him.

This wasn’t normal.

Song Yuan was a contractual partner he had no intention of developing feelings for. He shouldn’t be feeling this way.

The black sedan drove in silence the entire way.

Song Yuan stared awkwardly at his knees.

Gu Jingchi sat beside him, and in the enclosed space, his scent drifted over, creeping up Song Yuan’s neck and making his ears burn as if on fire, crackling and sizzling.

He hadn’t been deliberately recalling what happened, but the memory invaded his mind with overwhelming force, leaving no room for protest.

Gu Jingchi’s lips looked cold, but they were actually quite nice—soft and kissable.

No!

Song Yuan shook his head violently, snapping back to reality.

What was he thinking?

“What’s wrong?” Gu Jingchi asked.

Like a child caught misbehaving, Song Yuan shook his head in a panic. “N-nothing! I’ll head back first. You should go home early too!”

Gu Jingchi watched Song Yuan walk away, then climb the stairs—quiet, well-behaved, like a child sent abroad for boarding, obediently disappearing step by step into the corridor’s end.

After showering, Song Yuan stood in front of the mirror, feeling inexplicably gloomy.

*

Logically, as a straight man, Gu Jingchi should’ve demanded to terminate their contract the moment they kissed.

But Gu Jingchi had said nothing, acting as if nothing had happened.

He regretted it so much.

He should’ve asked Gu Jingchi downstairs, tested the waters.

But if he could turn back time, he wasn’t sure he’d have the courage to speak up.

He pulled out his phone, wanting to message Gu Jingchi and gauge his reaction, but Gu Jingchi beat him to it.

“Gu Jingchi: Bring the contract tomorrow. Come see me.”

Song Yuan: !

Was it happening? Was the contract ending tomorrow?

Song Yuan sent a “Bunny Serious.jpg” sticker, then burrowed under the covers to calm his racing heart.

It pounded so hard it was unbearable.

He peeked out from under the blanket, just his head visible.

Truthfully, Gu Jingchi was a good person—handsome, capable, the epitome of a business mogul in Song Yuan’s mind. But Gu Jingchi was unlike any man he’d ever met.

Even among Jiangcheng’s elite, who wielded immense power and controlled vast empires, most exuded arrogance and an aggressive, domineering aura that was downright off-putting.

But Gu Jingchi wasn’t like that.

He was cold, guarded, always keeping others at arm’s length. Nothing seemed to move him except work. Even in lively places like the arts festival, he carried an invisible barrier, as if existing on a different plane altogether.

Though he was thrilled the contract was ending, beneath that joy, Song Yuan felt an inexplicable pang of sorrow.

He might never meet someone like Gu Jingchi again.

It was a strange feeling, one he attributed to an artist’s reluctance to part with their muse.

Yes, Gu Jingchi was his creative inspiration. Every piece he’d created since coming into this world bore traces of Gu Jingchi.

It was only natural to feel sad.

Lost in thought, he tossed and turned until well past midnight before finally falling asleep.

When he woke the next day, the sun was already high.

He checked his phone—noon.

Six more hours, and he’d say goodbye to Gu Jingchi.

Song Yuan got up, washed up, and grabbed yogurt, fruit, and nuts to throw together a quick lunch.

As he stirred, he scrolled through his phone.

The first notification was from his social media—his follower count had skyrocketed.

Most had come from the earring post’s comments, flooding into his doll thread and leaving messages.

The fans’ enthusiasm had pushed the doll post’s likes past ten thousand.

Song Yuan checked the trending page—sure enough, his post was there.

…Incredible.

Such an old post, revived.

Even the convention’s official account had taken notice.

“cplvu: Hi, creator! We’re cplvu official. Our second annual offline convention is coming up~ Would you be interested in collaborating? We love your costume designs and would love for our mascot to wear outfits designed by you~”

“cplvu: We’ll provide the best spot for your OC (original character) to showcase your work~”

“OMG, our creator’s blowing up!”

“Which booth? Preview please! I’m buying tickets now! Aaaah!”

Song Yuan clicked into the account—it really was the official one.

Delighted, he replied, “Sure! But this isn’t my OC, and I won’t be exhibiting.”

“Not an OC? Then is it a real-life model?!”

“Wow, creator must really like them to make a doll version—can’t bear to be apart, huh?”

“Shipping it.”

Shipping what?!

Don’t just say things!

The post going viral meant his identity might be exposed, but thankfully, Gu Jingchi probably didn’t use this app. Even if he was doxxed, it wouldn’t reach Gu Jingchi.

Song Yuan ignored the comments, added the convention’s work contact, and quickly logged off.

After discussing, he realized the event was just a week away.

“cplvu: Sob, we know it’s rude to ask last-minute, but we couldn’t find anyone we liked until we found you! You’re a divine artist, a god’s brushstroke…”

Song Yuan was flustered by the praise.

No wonder it was a youth-oriented event—even the staff were adorable.

“Sanshui Yuanyuan: No problem, I can do it!”

Costume design? His specialty.

The convention was in the south, a warm, sunny city famous for its food. Song Yuan had long wanted to try the local rice noodle rolls and eagerly bought his ticket.

He screenshotted the ticket from the organizers and posted it on his feed.

“Next stop! [Image]”

“Jiang Ming: You’re going to the con too? Why didn’t you tell me? I’m coming with you!”

“Senior Brother: [adjusts philosophical glasses] Learning avant-garde things from Xiaosong Tongxue.”

“Song Qiao: Second Brother, are you coming to see me? [Hopeful][Sparkle eyes]”

“Song Qiao: I don’t live on campus—I have my own place. Stay with me! I’ll clean up right now!”

?

What was this?

Song Yuan stared at Song Qiao’s comments, baffled.

How was it that the place he was going happened to be where Song Qiao studied?

He chose to ignore the message and booked a hotel instead.

Just as he switched apps, a new message popped up.

Song Yuan frowned and opened it.

“Song Shenyu: Home?”

“Song Shenyu: Or at Gu’s place?”

Song Yuan: …

He hated siblings with no sense of boundaries.

Song Shenyu and Song Qiao were like undercover stalkers in his life, constantly monitoring his whereabouts and his relationship with Gu Jingchi, as if terrified he’d divorce.

Well, in less than six hours, he’d be saying goodbye to Gu Jingchi. No premature celebrations.

Song Yuan replied with confidence.

“Song Yuan: No.”

“Song Yuan: Not today, and not ever.”

His ties with Gu Jingchi ended today.

He expected Song Shenyu to call and yell at him through the phone.

But surprisingly, Song Shenyu didn’t.

“Song Shenyu: Headpat.JPG”

Song Yuan: ?

“Song Shenyu: Saw your post. You’re traveling?”

“Song Shenyu: Ignore your brother. Don’t stay with him.”

“Song Shenyu: I have property there too. You can stay with me.”

“Song Shenyu: I’m actually heading there next week for work. I won’t be too busy—I can keep you company.”

Song Yuan: ???

What was wrong with these two?

This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected.

Stranger still, before evening even arrived, Gu Jingchi called him.

“Hello?” Song Yuan’s voice was soft.

“Come down.”

Song Yuan rushed to the window—sure enough, Gu Jingchi was downstairs.

Last night.

*

Gu Jingchi had returned home expressionlessly, as if it were just another workday.

But his scattered focus betrayed him. On his third attempt to reread an email, the restlessness in his chest surged uncontrollably.

He had failed.

The [Distance] plan had failed again, making Gu Jingchi question his own resolve.

Unconsciously, he thought of Song Yuan—the way he’d looked at him so carefully after their kiss.

So beautiful.

But there couldn’t be a next time.

If Song Yuan ever asked, “Gu Jingchi, can I kiss you?”

Gu Jingchi ran the scenario in his mind and realized he might not be able to refuse.

He had always been calm, detached, never overly invested in anything.

But with Song Yuan, that composure shattered again and again.

Reason told him this couldn’t continue, or it would spiral out of control.

Too sudden. Song Yuan hadn’t even changed, still in his penguin pajamas.

He dashed toward the elevator, only to remember he’d forgotten the contract and raced back.

Once he had it, he rushed to Gu Jingchi’s side.

“Slow down,” Gu Jingchi said.

“Can’t!” Song Yuan’s heart pounded wildly.

Gu Jingchi looked at him, as if momentarily stunned.

Song Yuan’s cheeks were flushed, excited—as if he’d really wanted to see him.

This farewell should have been more formal. Song Yuan was too worked up, regretting his casual attire.

They were about to end the contract—how could he show up like this? Thankfully, it wasn’t crowded, so few noticed.

To show his seriousness, he went to wash his hands before signing.

He shoved the contract at Gu Jingchi and ran to the communal sink.

Gu Jingchi held the papers, an inexplicable irritation rising in him.

He couldn’t pinpoint why.

His phone buzzed.

A work email. Gu Jingchi replied briefly, about to exit when he noticed Song Yuan’s new post—he was traveling to another city.

Gu Jingchi’s gaze lingered on the location.

Nancheng. A familiar name—it had just come up in the email.

“Jiangcheng is unstable lately. The Southern Trade Association’s council reshuffle is next week. Forces from Jiangcheng, the capital, and Nancheng are all stirring…”

None of that mattered. What did matter was that Song Yuan’s adoptive brother seemed to have entered the council race.

His unstable adoptive younger brother appeared to be studying in Nancheng.

Gu Jingchi remembered how they looked last night—Song Shenyu and Song Qiao...

It was painfully obvious—those weren’t disgusted looks.

They were more like an animalistic instinct, a desire for prey.

They desired Song Yuan.

For Song Yuan to leave Jiangcheng, which was under Gu Jingchi’s protection, at this time would be like a lamb to slaughter.

When Song Yuan returned to him, he was carefully drying off his hands.

Noticing Gu Jingchi’s watch strap was crooked, his professional instincts took over. After making sure his hands were completely dry, he reached out and straightened it.

There—perfectly aligned!

It had to be said, Gu Jingchi had an exceptionally beautiful pair of hands—with prominent knuckles yet clearly strong.

Pity he’d never hold them again.

Song Yuan regretted not taking more photos, if only as study material.

Gu Jingchi stared at the straightened watch strap, momentarily stunned.

Song Yuan knew he was a germaphobe, so he’d deliberately washed his hands before adjusting the strap.

Gu Jingchi was deeply moved.

Song Yuan was genuinely good—who wouldn’t love him?

That was exactly why he couldn’t let Song Yuan walk into danger alone. He was so naive; he’d be eaten alive by the Song brothers or others. Gu Jingchi couldn’t just stand by.

"Gu Jingchi, what do you want my agreement for?"

Obviously, for the divorce.

He was pushing things forward—someone as perceptive as Gu Jingchi should know how to take the out he was offering, right?

Gu Jingchi took the agreement and said flatly,

"Nothing." He tucked the contract away. "I’ll keep it safe."

Song Yuan had already been reaching for the pen in his pocket when he heard that.

What?

"Why?" Since when did divorces need such high-level confidentiality?

"Just because." He smoothed out Song Yuan’s sleepwear, messed up from running, and pulled up the penguin hood over his head.

"Yuan Yuan, do you like Nancheng?"

Song Yuan blinked.

"I... suppose?"

Where was this coming from?

"I remember we still haven’t had our engagement party," Gu Jingchi suddenly said. "We should decide where to have it."