Chapter 14 How Do You Kiss

Chapter 14: How Do You Kiss?

At first, the two refused to say what they’d been up to that afternoon. But Shi Zai was sharp—he simply tapped the TV remote and instantly knew. When he turned around, both of them looked ashen, like children caught watching TV while their parents were away. *Hahaha!*

Yet a few days later, he realized it had actually been quite useful—both of them had learned to cross the street on their own. *Hehe.*

Once the laughter faded, Shi Zai began memorizing his lines. The sheer volume of text made his head spin. If only he possessed the innate talent to recognize characters as effortlessly as men—or even little birds—did from birth! Fortunately, he wasn’t alone. The two of them sat together in the living room, Shi Zai leaning against Shu Yangkuo’s bicep, heart fluttering with excitement.

It was such a lovely spring evening, moonlight spilling softly into the room. Though the magnolia tree outside the window had shed most of its blossoms, the air inside remained fragrant with spring. Every day and night since that moment had felt especially warm and wonderful. Beside him, Shu Yangkuo’s low, magnetic voice continued steadily; as Shi Zai listened, he found himself studying his features intently. Why did such a tall man have such long eyelashes? They fluttered gently with each shift of his gaze, sending tingles through Shi Zai’s chest.

And those lips—two perfectly shaped lips parting and closing, occasionally revealing a flash of tongue within. So vividly red. Shi Zai desperately wanted to take a bite.

Lower still, the prominent Adam’s apple rose and fell with every word spoken. Shi Zai had already tasted its flavor… But before he could lean in, he was seized by the nape of his neck and yanked back. It felt like waking from a sweet dream—and he wasn’t pleased at all.

“Can’t you focus, bro?”

“……”

Shu Yangkuo had no choice. To avoid becoming the puppy’s chew toy again, he lifted Shi Zai onto his lap and held him securely from behind. He placed the script in front of Shi Zai and pointed carefully at each word, trying to keep his attention fixed.

Yet even the most soothing voice eventually began to sound like a dull, monotonous chant. Shi Zai kept yawning, growing more convinced that Shu Yangkuo must have been a crown prince who practiced asceticism in a past life. Some lines were supposed to be fun—but how had he managed to make them so boring?

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Shi Zai interrupted Shu Yangkuo’s flat recitation:

“Bro, stop going word by word. At this rate, it’ll take forever. Why don’t you say a line, and I’ll memorize it?”

“…Okay.”

“But put some feeling into it, okay?”

He’d heard from Tan Xun that the third male lead excelled at acting cute, adorable, energetic, and sincere. Aside from the “cute” part, Shi Zai felt he matched the description perfectly. Yet when Shu Yangkuo delivered those lines, he sounded like an ancient scholar.

Asking for adjustments didn’t help—it still sounded exactly the same.

To stay awake, Shi Zai rubbed his drowsy eyes:

“Bro, say ‘okay, okay’ again.”

“…You already know that one.”

“I just want to hear you say it… Hey, I can act cute too, hehe.”

Shu Yangkuo swallowed the words *“You already are”* and stared silently at the phrase “Okay, okay” for a moment before uttering:

“O-kay, o-kay.”

“…??? What’s the difference?!”

“Xiao Zai, cut me some slack. I’m doing my best.”

“Hahahaha!”

The laughter banished his sleepiness, and Shi Zai resumed memorizing. His memory was excellent. Back when he’d helped Jiang Ziqing rehearse, he’d ended up memorizing *all* of Jiang Ziqing’s lines… Hey! That thought suddenly lit up Shi Zai’s eyes.

He turned to Shu Yangkuo and said:

“Bro, record these lines on my phone. I’ll listen while working during the day—it’ll help me memorize faster.”

“That’s too much trouble.”

“Hehe, it’s fine. This way, I won’t get tired. Who wants to study at night anyway? I’d rather watch you.”

“……”

What could Shu Yangkuo possibly say? He simply carried the sleepy, tearful Shi Zai to the bedroom. Then he began recording the lines on his phone, marveling at how advanced and convenient the world had become a thousand years later.

And because it *was* so advanced and convenient, perhaps everyone truly was equal now.

But could the past be completely erased? Probably not. History needed to exist.

As he recorded, Shu Yangkuo grew increasingly frustrated. Why were there so many “ne,” “ya,” and “a” particles scattered throughout the script? He simply couldn’t grasp the tonal nuance behind them. Annoying. Still, the boy in the story reminded him faintly of Shi Zai… No—the little puppy was far cuter.

No wonder Shi Zai had called them “wonderful nights”—nights like these *were*, in fact, incredibly dull.

He recorded half the script—enough for Shi Zai to practice for several days. Time to sleep.

Over the next few days, Shi Zai felt deeply fulfilled. Even though he was busy working outside, he never felt exhausted. The thought of the two waiting for him at home brought him joy. His bro and little brother had even learned to use the gas stove and clean the house. What more could he possibly ask for?

He wasn’t worried about them getting bored during the day either. They seemed genuinely fascinated by the historical DVDs he’d bought. Both watched attentively and kept themselves occupied. Yang Yun used clay to sculpt lifelike figures—emperors and princes alike. Shu Yangkuo asked for paper and brushes, spending his days writing and sketching. Shi Zai didn’t fully understand what he was creating, but he was deeply impressed—these two were clearly extraordinary.

Because of this, Shi Zai decided not to settle permanently in Fengwai Town. That day, Yang Yun had said, “We won’t fly away.” So how *had* they soared so high in the past? No matter how much Shi Zai longed to keep them close, he knew they needed to find their own place in this new world.

Right now, whether it was Shu Yangkuo, Yang Yun, or himself—their futures remained uncertain. Yet eventually—the sky would stretch endlessly wide, and the clouds would drift infinitely far.

That evening, Shi Zai dragged both of them into helping him rehearse. He already understood the story well. The second male lead’s background was surprisingly similar to his own—wealthier, yet equally invisible at home… Thinking of this, Shi Zai suddenly turned to Yang Yun:

“Xiao Yunbao, if you were me, what would you do?”

“You mean when you were little, little bro?”

“…Yeah.”

“Throw a tantrum! The squeaky wheel gets the grease, hehe.”

Shi Zai froze. Right—he’d never done that. Even when forced to go barefoot in the dead of winter, he’d never complained to his family, terrified they’d see him as a burden or nuisance…

Back then, he’d felt like a rat scurrying through gutters, sneaking scraps when no one was looking.

Why had he been so timid then? As he grew older, he’d grown bolder. Without boldness, he couldn’t earn money. Gradually, he’d developed a brave, optimistic personality—but deep down, he hadn’t changed much. That’s why he seemed more mature than Jiang Ziqing, who was a year younger.

Yang Yun glanced at his uncle, then placed his small hand over Shi Zai’s, lightly scratching his palm like a playful cat:

“Little bro!”

“…Huh?”

“Hehe, you spaced out… Don’t think about those bad things. You’re different now.”

“…Yeah, you’re right. Luckily, I have you two.”

“…Know what?”

“The squeaky wheel gets the grease! Hahahaha!”

For the first time, Shi Zai blushed deeply, speechless. He playfully pinned the cheeky little bird down and gave him a couple of light smacks. Little rascal.

Sometimes he seemed so young—but other times… he simply loved teasing Shi Zai.

But why… every time they teased him and Brother, did he feel a secret delight mingled with embarrassment? Glancing at Shu Yangkuo, the bastard looked thoroughly pleased, putting on airs while reading the script—hadn’t he memorized it long ago?

The squeaky wheel gets the grease.

True enough. In the end, it was because he’d never felt secure within his own family—but here, with Brother, he found security, so the realization came naturally.

But—what Shi Zai really wanted to say wasn’t that. He wrapped an arm around Yang Yun and stood up:

“Yun Bao, do you ever feel like I’m biased sometimes?”

“…Like what?”

“Not sleeping in the same bed with you.”

“…Hahahaha, Little Zai, you’re too adorable!!”

Why was he being laughed at again? Even Shu Yangkuo offered a faint smile. Just as Shi Zai was about to speak, Yang Yun added:

“Little Zai, do you really want to be an emperor with a rear palace of three halls and six courts? Hahahaha…”

“No!”

“Then that’s it. You and Second Uncle… well, he can give you a warm embrace, but I can’t. However, I can laugh like this with you, while Second Uncle is more reserved… So, the three of us are different. Don’t overthink it, Little Zai.”

“Oh, I’m just afraid Yun Bao might become like me when I was little.”

That sentence made Yang Yun’s eyes well up. Though only sixteen in actual age, he’d grown up observing court affairs alongside Second Uncle and had become worldly-wise about human nature. Second Uncle was reserved and discreet—so he spoke for Second Uncle. He hugged Shi Zai:

“It won’t happen, Little Zai. At home, you weren’t treated as a son, a brother, or an elder brother—but with me and Second Uncle, you’re everything. You’ve already given me all the best as an elder brother; how could I possibly think you’re biased?”

“…That’s good. If I’m not doing enough, Yun Bao, tell me.”

“Don’t worry—I’m really good at crying and making a fuss. It’s just a pity Little Zai doesn’t have any milk, hahahaha…”

“Brat…”

Shi Zai and Yang Yun started roughhousing again. Amid the laughter, he secretly resolved to do better—it still wasn’t enough.

So far, his “favoritism” toward Shu Yangkuo stemmed from curiosity and affection for his embrace, while his “kindness” toward Yang Yun arose from the joy of sharing laughter with him… In the end, Shi Zai hadn’t truly done anything; it was *he* who needed such a brother and younger brother.

So, it was far from enough.

Another day passed. Shi Zai sold three cartloads of scrap that day and returned home early—partly out of longing, partly because the story was nearing its end, and there was one part he didn’t understand. He wanted to practice it with Shu Yangkuo that night.

Kissing—how do you kiss?

You have to make a sound—a “smack” or a “mwah”—but neither seemed quite right.

In the recording Shu Yangkuo gave him, it was simply “[kissing sound]”—seriously, come on.

Late at night, quiet and still, magnolia shadows faint, moonlight slanting in—the two nestled close. Shi Zai sat astride Shu Yangkuo’s legs, arms looped around his neck, yet even like this, he was still shorter than Shu Yangkuo. Tilting his head up, he pestered persistently:

“Brother, teach me.”

“…I’ve never kissed.”

“We can try and figure it out, hehe.”

“…Can’t we cut this risqué scene?”

After a pause, Shi Zai burst into quiet, hearty laughter, pressing his forehead against Shu Yangkuo’s chin:

“Brother, let me say it again—the Qing dynasty’s been dead for ages! Don’t even mention kissing scenes—even bed—”

“No!”

“Hahaha, Brother, don’t panic. It’s my first time dubbing, and I won’t record those kinds of things in the future, okay?”

“…Mhm.”

Seeing that the man refused to cooperate no matter what, Shi Zai had an idea and brought up the script:

“Those two confessed they liked each other, so they kissed. It’s the same with us. I like you, and you like me—so we can kiss too. If we don’t kiss, it means Brother doesn’t like me enough.”

“…”

The logic was sound, but Shu Yangkuo tilted his head slightly, then looked back down at the person closing the distance:

“Xiao Zai is still too young.”

“I’m nineteen! What ‘too young’! I’m a man!”

“…”

“Don’t laugh! I’m almost twenty—a full-grown man! If you won’t kiss me, I’ll kiss you…”

With that, Shi Zai suddenly surged upward, tightly hooking his arms around Shu Yangkuo’s neck and pinning him. He lifted his head and pressed his lips against the mouth he’d longed for day and night. He didn’t know how to kiss—but just pressing against it felt blissfully comfortable—those well-defined lips were as warm and lovely as the person himself.

Noticing that the man holding him remained stunned, his long, thick lashes frozen, unblinking as he stared intently—his eyes deep as the sea yet warm like an embrace—Shi Zai pressed closer again. Not enough. Still not enough. Instinctively, he extended the tip of his tongue, lightly tracing the line of the lips.

Then, he began to suck sweetly, as if savoring candy—turns out these well-defined lips were like his chest: appearing tough but incredibly soft.

Making soft, smacking sounds.

He’d got the hang of it.

Even though Shu Yangkuo’s lips didn’t part for him, Shi Zai kissed and sucked with gusto—nuzzling, grinding, teasing with his teeth, his rosy tongue meticulously tracing… As he did, the embrace grew hotter, and he was held even more firmly.

Suddenly noticing something different—Shi Zai released the wet, kissed lips, glistening under the moonlight. The man holding him was no longer proper and restrained; he turned his face away to take a few deep breaths. Shi Zai blinked innocently:

“Brother, why are you suddenly pressing against me? Isn’t it only supposed to happen in the morning?”