Chapter 40: Teaching Him Calligraphy

Chapter 40: Teaching Him Calligraphy

In the morning, the gas stove in the kitchen clicked a few times before igniting. Diced preserved eggs, lean meat, greens, and chopped shiitake mushrooms were added to a pot of plain congee. Once cooked, it was topped with chopped scallions. Tea eggs were fished out, peeled, halved, and drizzled with braising liquid. Finally, soy milk from peanuts and soybeans ground the night before was mixed with a bit of milk, poured into a glass, and sprinkled with a little sugar.

Gu Hansheng walked down the stairs, his shirt collar unbuttoned by two buttons, sleeves loose, looking very relaxed. He held a black suit jacket and hung it on the standing coat rack on the first floor, then looked at Zhao Yu, who was walking out of the kitchen with a plate: "Why are you cooking? Where's the housekeeper?"

Zhao Yu set out the bowls and chopsticks, saying, "The housekeeper took time off to go back to her hometown. Didn't she tell you?"

Gu Hansheng thought for a moment—he recalled something like that; the housekeeper had asked him for leave a few days ago.

He sat down at the table, raised his arm to button his cuff, and a red mark circling the side of his palm was particularly eye-catching.

Zhao Yu noticed and asked, "You're injured?"

"You bit me."

"Me?" Zhao Yu was stunned. "I didn't, did I?"

Gu Hansheng looked at him with a wry smile. "Open your mouth."

"What for?"

"I told you to open your mouth, so open it."

Zhao Yu cautiously opened his mouth, and the man extended his hand, pressing the side of his palm against Zhao Yu's teeth as a comparison, then said, "Evidence is conclusive. Want to bite again to compare?"

The scent of lemon hand soap lingered on his hand, and as his palm brushed against Zhao Yu's lips, his ears turned red.

The bite mark was indeed from Zhao Yu, but he couldn't remember when he'd bitten him. For it to still be this clear, it must have been from last night.

Zhao Yu thought that if the man hadn't offered his hand, he'd never have bitten anyone on his own.

He was absolutely right. Gu Hansheng deserved the bite—not only did he refuse to let him sleep, but he took advantage of the situation and pushed it further. In his drowsy state, Zhao Yu didn't care whether he was a sugar daddy or not. When his sleep-deprived irritation flared up, he caught the scent and bit down.

Zhao Yu only vaguely remembered his own actions. Seeing the irrefutable evidence, he awkwardly cleared his throat and deflected: "Let me get you some congee."

He ladled out a bowl of shiitake mushroom, preserved egg, and lean meat congee for Gu Hansheng, while he made himself a bowl of oatmeal.

Gu Hansheng stirred the congee a couple of times—it looked and smelled perfect, and presumably tasted great, yet Zhao Yu had made it but wasn't eating it. He suddenly remembered seeing Zhao Yu dump out mushroom soup before, and asked, "You don't like mushrooms?"

"No."

"Then why'd you put them in the congee?"

"Mushrooms are really nutritious."

"Don't put them in tomorrow."

"Does it taste bad? I can't really tell."

"It tastes great. Next time, make something you like."

Zhao Yu added mushrooms because Gu Hansheng ate irregularly, and getting more nutrients in the morning was better for his health. He never expected Gu Hansheng to consider his feelings like that.

That really surprised him.

After eating, Gu Hansheng was about to head out. With a document bag in one hand and his suit jacket over the other arm, he received a call from a subordinate before it was even time for work, about an important meeting at noon.

Just as he stepped out the door, Zhao Yu spotted the tie left behind on the coat rack and ran after him: "Mr. Gu, you forgot your tie."

Gu Hansheng turned around. Since his hands were full, he couldn't tie it himself, so he lowered his head slightly while still on the phone.

Zhao Yu froze for a moment, then hesitantly raised his hand to loop the tie around his neck, tucking it under the shirt collar, and fumbled to tie it for him.

When Gu Hansheng responded to his subordinate with a simple "Mm," Zhao Yu could see his Adam's apple move slightly, the deep voice resonating in his ears.

At this distance, where tilting his head up would mean a kiss, their body heat and breath intertwined. Gu Hansheng looked down at his lips, and the scene from last night suddenly surfaced in his mind—if Zhao Yu hadn't bitten his own lip, he wouldn't have forced his mouth open and gotten bitten himself.

Zhao Yu's lips were naturally thin, but he'd bitten them swollen, flushed with a vivid red. Gu Hansheng somehow found it alluring—more vibrant than any lipstick.

Gu Hansheng didn't hear a single word from the phone. When Zhao Yu finished tying the tie and was about to step back, he suddenly pressed his hand against the back of Zhao Yu's neck and leaned down to kiss him.

Even not in bed, Gu Hansheng's kiss was full of desire. They were at the front door, with cars occasionally passing by on the road outside, which made Zhao Yu a bit flustered.

He loved the scent of Gu Hansheng and the feeling of kissing him. Even if someone saw them, he still didn't want to refuse Gu Hansheng because of that.

The subordinate on the phone got no response and called out "Hello" several times before Gu Hansheng finally ended the kiss, his gaze sweeping darkly over Zhao Yu's lips before he turned and walked toward the garage.

Once the Maybach drove away, Zhao Yu closed the door and went inside, leaning against the wall by the entryway as he touched his lips, his face burning hot.

What the hell's the difference between this and dating?

He took a moment to calm down and went to clear the table. Realizing the housekeeper was away and no one would make dinner, and unsure if Gu Hansheng would come home early, he made dinner in advance, put it in the fridge, and stuck a few sticky notes on it.

He tidied up until nearly ten and was about to head out for work when one of Gu Hansheng's assistants suddenly showed up at the door. He said, "Mr. Zhao, hi. My name is Wu. Starting today, I'll be driving you to and from work."

This was definitely arranged by Gu Hansheng. Zhao Yu used to spend nearly an hour commuting by public transit; Assistant Wu got him to Yatai in just twenty minutes.

From that day on, Zhao Yu woke up early every morning to make breakfast. He bought a nutrition cookbook, combining Chinese and Western ingredients and styles, never repeating a single day's menu.

So the night before, he'd plan the next morning's breakfast and buy all the ingredients to bring home. He also prepared dinner in advance and put it in the fridge in the morning, even though Gu Hansheng only came home for dinner once or twice—he still made it every day.

On the third evening, when Zhao Yu came home, he saw that a few extra characters had been added to his sticky note. The handwriting was beautiful—truly bold and elegant, a pleasure to behold. The content, however, was less pleasant.

—Ugly handwriting.

Short and to the point. Writing "ugly handwriting" in beautiful calligraphy—wasn't that a kind of absurd art in itself?

"Tsk." Zhao Yu wanted to argue but had no comeback. His handwriting looked like a grade-schooler's next to Gu Hansheng's; it really wasn't up to par.

He crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it in the trash, acting like nothing had happened. On the fourth day, he made dinner but left no sticky note.

That evening, he dragged his exhausted body home. It had been an especially busy day—not a single minute of rest from morning to night, so tired he could hardly lift his arms.

He set down his bag and headed to the bathroom, wanting nothing more than a quick shower and some rest.

The shower sprayed steadily on the floor. He tilted his head back, letting the cool water run from his hair down to his feet. The weather was getting hotter, and if Assistant Wu weren't driving him to and from work, the commute would be unbearably hot.

The cool water washed away the heat from his body when someone suddenly knocked on the bathroom door. Gu Hansheng's blurry figure showed through the frosted glass.

"Mr. Gu, what's up?" Zhao Yu turned the water down.

Gu Hansheng's voice came from outside: "Why didn't you leave a sticky note today?"

"You said my handwriting was ugly, so I was too embarrassed to leave another."

"If it's ugly, then practice."

"I can't. It's been ugly since I was a kid. Nobody could fix it."

The door was suddenly yanked open, and Zhao Yu flinched, instinctively stepping back—right under the showerhead, getting blasted in the face with water.

By the time he wiped the water from his eyes, Gu Hansheng was already looming over him.

"So nobody's teaching's gonna work?" Gu Hansheng looked down at him, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"..." Zhao Yu took two more steps back until his back hit the tiled wall, a sudden wave of nervousness washing over him. "I'll practice, okay? Starting tomorrow."

"Didn't you just say nobody could teach you?" Gu Hansheng pressed forward again, cornering him against the wall.

"My—my teacher has nice handwriting. I'll ask him to teach me."

"And he'd actually be able to teach you?"

"It definitely would. Next time I'll write you a sticky note in neat, standard handwriting."

"How does he teach?"

Zhao Yu was stumped. In truth, Cao Xu never wrote in standard script—his handwriting was so messy it was practically abstract art, and Zhao Yu sometimes had to guess what it said. But instinctively, he wanted to drag someone else in to deflect the blame.

He couldn't answer, and Gu Hansheng pressed on: "Why not ask me?"

The man's clothes were also splashed with water, clinging to every line of his body and showing off his build. His deep gaze swept over Zhao Yu's face inch by inch, showing a hint of annoyance about the missing sticky note.

Zhao Yu's sticky notes were actually quite amusing. He'd write down how many minutes each dish needed to be reheated, whether to use the steamer or the oven, and sometimes, as if his professional habits kicked in mid-writing, he'd add a long trailing note: "Do NOT heat for more than five minutes, or it'll taste awful!! Don't heat the sauce! The plating arrangement is for even heating, not some LEGO project..."

Every word was basically begging Gu Hansheng not to waste his cooking. The more he wrote, the messier his handwriting got, until the final words were squeezed onto the edge of the note, so tiny that Gu Hansheng had to squint to read them.

Gu Hansheng could easily have hired a temp cook, but ever since Zhao Yu started cooking voluntarily, he'd never hired anyone—and had completely abandoned the idea.

Zhao Yu was completely naked, his back growing cold against the tiles. He swallowed hard and said, "You teaching me... isn't that a little inappropriate?"

"Inappropriate?" Gu Hansheng said. "If you don't leave sticky notes, how am I supposed to know how many minutes to reheat the dishes?"

"Honestly, it doesn't matter how long you heat it..."

When Gu Hansheng's kiss landed, Zhao Yu's words were swallowed by the sound of the shower. The bathroom light was blindingly bright—bright enough for him to see every single eyelash on Gu Hansheng.

Zhao Yu's body was already exhausted, too tired to stand, and he desperately wanted to say that whatever they were going to do, couldn't they just do it in bed. His feeble resistance was like a flea trying to stop a freight train, instantly overpowered.

Gu Hansheng showed no intention of letting him out. Instead, he took Zhao Yu's hand and, on the wall and the mirror, walked him through writing out yesterday's note, stroke by stroke. Every stroke—horizontal, vertical, curved, hooked, dotted—was executed with flawless precision.

Each character was immediately washed away by the flowing water marks, and the next one would fall again, until all the strokes became crooked and messy, smeared into a blur by the palm pressed helplessly against the mirror.