Chapter 54

Chapter 54

Couples in an intimate relationship are always keenly attuned to the slightest changes in their partner.

Bo Chengyan approached, his shadow nearly enveloping the person seated in the chair, yet the young man merely tilted his head to look up at him.

His eyes were utterly clear, devoid of any fear.

If anything, there was a hint of annoyance.

Before Qi Jing could utter a word, he was swept into an embrace, managing only a soft "Hm" before he found himself seated on the desk. He turned his head, exposing his pale neck, and pushed against Bo Chengyan’s shoulders, a displeased expression on his face.

But the situation was subtly intriguing; while his slender arms created distance above, Qi Jing’s waist remained encircled.

"I don't believe you."

"Who told you to pick me up?"

His tone was muffled, clearly indicating his temper.

Teenagers’ moods were quick to shift.

Bo Chengyan lowered his gaze slightly, wishing to avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings, and spoke gently, "I didn't lie to you."

"My father passed away this morning. I stopped by a hotel to freshen up."

"And pomelo leaves—can you smell them?"

His voice was calm, as if discussing something trivial.

The young man froze, his eyelids fluttering nervously as he glanced up at Bo Chengyan before lowering his head again.

He seemed to be pondering how to react in such a situation.

Qi Jing’s hands instinctively relaxed, instantly closing the distance between them. A fresh, elegant scent wafted over—pomelo leaves, used for purification.

"Xiao Jing."

He called out softly once more.

As if waking from a dream, the young man looked up and leaned in to lightly kiss Bo Chengyan’s chin.

It was a gentle touch.

Bo Chengyan’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as the person in his arms spoke earnestly, "You… you mustn't be sad. Birth, aging, sickness, and death are just part of life."

"Everyone must… look forward."

Qi Jing stammered out the platitudes. Though he knew from 996 that this was a predetermined plot point, hearing it so calmly from the man before him still left him feeling a bit lost.

He raised his hands to embrace Bo Chengyan’s shoulders, gazing at him for a few moments.

Then he leaned up to kiss the other man’s chin again.

But this time, he missed.

Qi Jing frowned, looking aggrieved, but his chin was suddenly gripped, forcing his head back as cool lips pressed against his.

It wasn't a deep kiss.

Just a simple peck.

Like a morning kiss.

When they parted, their breaths still intertwined, his light-colored pupils gazing into those dark, profound eyes.

Quiet and peaceful.

As if looking into each other’s souls.

*

It was in the afternoon when Bo Chengyan recounted his past.

His mother, Fu Shuang, was a young lady from a prominent family of the time. Back then, there were few expectations for women’s education; even after attending a Western university, she was still subject to her parents’ will.

An arranged marriage bound the two together. The Bo family was then at its zenith in Macau, and Bo Zhonglin, thirty-five and still unmarried, had inherited his father’s business acumen, earning him great renown.

Fu Shuang had heard rumors of her fiancé’s dissolute lifestyle, but upon seeing his photograph, she felt strangely compelled, believing she could save him.

But that was not to be. They married in 1990 when she was twenty, full of beautiful expectations for her married life.

Her happiness was short-lived. From 1990 to 1999, Bo Zhonglin successively brought in three concubines, shattering her dreams of love and leaving her deeply melancholic, even as she became pregnant.

In 1995, she gave birth to the Bo family’s eldest son.

Life offered some solace, but the pain remained immense.

Even after the liberation, many women without official status continued to frequent the Bo household.

"My mother died in 2014—she fell from the fourth floor and broke her neck. The forensic pathologist ruled it a suicide, citing her past hospital diagnosis."

"She suffered from anxiety."

Qi Jing sat by the bed while Bo Chengyan massaged a bruise on his leg—an accidental bump from the previous night.

"I investigated after returning to the country. A maid had been constantly giving her death suggestions, spreading negative information."

"She was the confidante of one of the concubines."

Bo Chengyan’s expression remained calm as he slipped an arm around Qi Jing’s waist, lifting him and settling him onto his lap. The master bedroom’s bed was vast, and Qi Jing’s pale calves stood out sharply against the dark sheets.

"So you hate your father."

The young man’s voice was muffled.

The word "hate" felt too mild; it was closer to loathing.

Bo Chengyan gently massaged the wrist of the person in his arms, his eyes tender as he said, "Perhaps."

"He’s already dead."

The young man pursed his lips, feeling a strange heaviness in his chest after hearing it all. He didn’t know what to say until one thought came to mind:

"What about those concubines?"

*

Much of the past had, in fact, been concealed.

The Bo family’s back residence was in disarray, with servants quietly moving various belongings.

Chen Xiuwen’s face had turned slightly pale with anger, her facial muscles trembling. Just as she was about to launch into a tirade, the bodyguard beside her took a step forward.

"Do you wish to leave with dignity, or without it?"

The words were starkly direct.

The right to reside in the old mansion was itself a signal to the outside world; to live there meant, at the very least, some recognition from the Bo family.

But once forced to move out… the news media would have a field day!

Chen Xiuwen had been the third concubine, having clawed her way up from a brothel. Uneducated, she often misjudged situations.

She had told her son that he had a rightful share in the Bo family’s assets, always gloating about her position.

After all, she was the second wife, the second concubine—which sounded like a top-three position.

But the reality was far from it.

From packing her belongings to being escorted into the car for departure, it took less than three hours.

All in silence.

When passing the main residence, the car deliberately slowed down because the master of the house was taking his afternoon nap.

No noise allowed.

The rules had changed.

Or rather, they had changed long ago, merely maintaining a nominal existence.

The first wife had never permanently resided in the old mansion. Upon hearing the news, she remained unhurried, returning only to collect her jewelry and other valuables, discarding everything else.

The third and fourth concubines, on the other hand, seemed more compliant. They had automatically moved to external properties when Bo Chengyan returned. Now, seeing that he had no intention of leaving and had even expelled the second wife, they gradually grew anxious.

With Bo Zhonglin dead, there was no one left to appease. Their only option was to curry favor with the first wife, arranging a meeting.

They sought to plot something.

*

Qi Jing was asleep under a blanket, clutching the man’s arm the entire time, perhaps out of a need for physical closeness.

In any case, sleeping like this made him feel more secure.

As the sun set, the person on the bed seemed to stir, making faint waking sounds. Before his eyelids could even lift, he was scooped up, his chin resting securely on the man’s shoulder.

The other man appeared to be on the phone.

"When will you finish handling things in Macau?"

"The little one still has school. You can’t keep pulling him out. Who was it that claimed to be open-minded?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Bo Chengyan’s voice was deep, its vibrations faintly felt against Qi Jing’s shoulder. The young man pressed his lips together, still half-asleep.

"Very soon."

"It won’t interfere with his schooling."

The person on the other end of the line seemed somewhat satisfied.

But then, in a serious tone, added:

"I heard about your father. You… you’d better control yourself."

"He’s an adult, but still very young."

Scattered admonitions.

Qi Jing softly hummed, hugging Bo Chengyan’s shoulders tighter and burying himself deeper.

"You’re disturbing him."

The line went silent for a long moment before abruptly hanging up.

The room was very quiet.

The person in his arms breathed evenly, warm exhales brushing against Bo Chengyan’s neck, eliciting a subtle reaction.

Qi Jing likely "lazed in bed" for a while longer before drowsily asking, "Who was that?"

His voice was hoarse.

"Lin Se."

After a few days in Macau, matters in Beijing seemed to have receded far into the background.

The young man suddenly lifted his head, staring intently at Bo Chengyan.

One second. Two seconds.

"Hm?"

The superior’s voice always carried a hint of guidance.

Qi Jing immediately hugged him again, naturally affectionate. His voice was always a bit hoarse when he first woke up, his words unconsciously lilting.

"I want to go home."

The young man’s interests flared quickly and faded just as fast. Coming to Macau had been his idea, but wanting to return to Beijing was also genuine.

In short, he always made his demands known.

As if he knew he was favored.

"Mm, I’ll be as quick as I can."

*

By about the fourth day, rumors had begun to circulate: Bo Zhonglin’s death was suspicious. After all these years, the cause of death had never been disclosed. Could it have been murder?

There were always different theories about death. Some died peacefully in old age, others met violent ends in the streets.

Different causes, different outcomes.

Bo Zhonglin died of prostate cancer, a very undignified illness. He had been a notorious womanizer throughout his life, never abandoning his vile habits even in old age.

Over time, various sexually transmitted diseases ravaged him, his body gradually decaying into a lifeless, rotting husk.

Yet he always seemed to believe he was still the young man of his prime. He couldn’t even have female servants, or else his trembling hands would still try to grope them.

Such a person, it seemed, could not be changed.

His death was equally repulsive.

Chen Yun arranged a meeting at a countryside courtyard, ostensibly for unity, but in reality, to gauge the situation.

"Has anyone seen the old man’s will?"

After all, they were merely concubines. Although current legal procedures did not pursue historical issues, from the perspective of property division, they had no right to inherit as "spouses."

Thus, power struggles were inevitable.

A son was one means, as illegitimate children did have inheritance rights to their father’s estate.

Chen Yun had entered the household early, and her son, Bo Linye, was already twenty-five, only five years younger than the legitimate wife’s son.

But whether intentionally or not, the old man had never given his son a name following the "Cheng" generation, as if he didn’t acknowledge him as his son.

It was often said that dead men had a stronger presence than the living.

"The old master is gone, and Lingyue’s core operations have long shifted to the mainland. What remains in Macau is just an empty shell."

"Can’t you understand his intentions?"

Ultimately, people tended to band together, as they always had. Chen Yun crossed her arms, her expression gentle. "It’s true he’s been in charge for many years, but we must stir up some trouble to keep him busy, so he doesn’t… just kick us out so easily."

Her meaning was clear.

Shen Nanzhi listened absently. She had not entered the household before the liberation and was nominally the fifth wife, but in reality, she was merely a mistress.

Eleven years had passed in the blink of an eye.

That wretched old man was finally dead, but she was already thirty-three—what new life could she possibly have?

The romantic sentiments of her youth had, after all, slowly faded with time.

"Everyone has experienced the person in the main residence, haven’t they?"

For a moment, the surroundings fell silent.

*

Perhaps their stay had indeed been prolonged, or perhaps Bo Zhonglin’s death had garnered some notoriety, for it had caused a stir back in Beijing.

Chen Zhuo even found time to inquire.

"Have you handled it yet? Those concubines shouldn’t be able to cause much trouble, right? None of them are well-read, and the sons they raised are all useless. Why has it taken you so long?"

Bo Chengyan merely gazed at the photos with a gentle demeanor—intercepted candid shots taken at the international airport and a traffic light intersection the day before.

Only one person was in every shot: Qi Jing.

"It won’t take much longer."

The voice on the other end of the phone was puzzled: "Wait? Could that ragtag bunch still plot something? They wouldn’t hire tabloids to slander you, would they?"

Perhaps it was a coincidence.

The listening device on the desk transmitted the conversation within, and coincidentally, a voice said, "At the very least, we should use public opinion to pressure him. I’ll contact the media…"

The phone line went silent.

In the midst of this casual exchange, the study door suddenly opened. Qi Jing stood there in his loungewear, his hand still on the doorknob, holding a heavy bottle—what looked like a large bottle of orange juice.

Their gazes met briefly.

The study desk was covered with files, some of which were photos of Qi Jing himself, and the listening device was still transmitting voices.

Bo Chengyan subtly raised an eyebrow.

The young man paused, wondering if he had interrupted Bo Chengyan’s work, but this thought lasted only a few seconds.

Qi Jing walked over anyway, his expression utterly serious.

Bo Chengyan even maintained his phone-holding posture.

"The maid downstairs said she couldn’t open this bottle."

"I couldn’t either."

"Your turn."