Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Shen Ling had just broken his fever, his face still somewhat pale, hair mussed from sleep. As he shuffled over unsteadily, Huo Yanshen's brow twitched almost imperceptibly.

"No need," Huo Yanshen said. "Go back and lie down."

Shen Ling had already reached him, tilting his face up to look at him. Still weak, his voice came out softer than usual. "I said I'd behave."

Huo Yanshen's eyes darkened, settling on Shen Ling's face.

Shen Ling felt a twinge of guilt under that stare and was about to chicken out when Huo Yanshen stopped mid-motion with his tie.

"Come here."

Shen Ling obediently shuffled up two steps, rose onto his tiptoes, and took the tie from Huo Yanshen's hand.

He was a good half a head shorter than Huo Yanshen. The distance was too close—Shen Ling's nose was nearly brushing against Huo Yanshen's prominent Adam's apple, the crisp scent of pine curling around him in wisps.

He kept his head down, measuring the length of the tie, but his heartbeat gradually began to sync with the memory of a certain night...

It was in his past life—the one and only time he'd ever tied a tie for Huo Yanshen.

That night, Shen Ling didn't know what had come over him. He'd been scrolling through his phone and stumbled on a post titled "How to Be a Good Wife," and the first tip was to tie your husband's tie.

He immediately sprang up from the bed, dug out the priciest tie from the closet, and rushed over to the couch all excited.

"Huo Yanshen, I'm tying your tie for you!"

Huo Yanshen glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's ten at night. You should be showering and getting to bed."

"There you go again," Shen Ling said, instantly annoyed. He flung the tie onto the couch, those pretty cat eyes glaring at the other man. "You control what time I sleep, what time I wake up, what I eat—Huo Yanshen, I'm your wife, not your son!"

Huo Yanshen just looked at him, saying nothing.

Shen Ling got even angrier. What he hated most was Huo Yanshen's attitude—like he was the calm, sensible one, making Shen Ling look like a brat.

He plopped down on the couch, snatched the tie back up, and huffed. "Anyway, there's no way I'm going to bed early tonight. Tie it or don't, I don't care."

Huo Yanshen closed the file in his hand, set it on the coffee table, and tilted his chin up slightly.

That was his silent way of saying yes.

Shen Ling took the tie eagerly.

But he fumbled with it for ages—the more anxious he got, the worse he did, until even his pale fingertips turned red.

"I'm done learning this!"

Shen Ling, flustered and annoyed, chucked the tie at Huo Yanshen's chest. His pink lips pouted as he glared at him. "It's all your fault. What kind of tie did you buy? Can't even get it tied."

"You can just go to work with a bare neck from now on. I'm done caring."

Huo Yanshen suddenly grabbed the finger Shen Ling was poking into his chest.

"Done caring?"

He repeated Shen Ling's words, his voice low.

His dark eyes narrowed, fathomless and deep.

The defiance on Shen Ling's face froze.

Because he realized his fingertip was trapped in Huo Yanshen's palm, and he couldn't pull it free.

That feeling was back again.

Like a cat grabbed by the scruff of its neck, with nowhere to run.

Every time Huo Yanshen used that calm tone, it meant someone was about to be in deep trouble.

And that unlucky someone was usually him.

Shen Ling stammered, "Th-then... not totally not caring."

He tried to pull his trapped finger back, tugging, but it wouldn't budge. "I mean... it's okay to go bare-necked occasionally, just, just once or twice..."

Before he could finish, a hand pressed the back of his head.

Huo Yanshen lowered his head and kissed him.

The kiss came out of nowhere. Shen Ling was kissed breathless, a startled gasp slipping out.

His lips were naturally pale, and after a few sucks, they turned red beyond belief. His lower lip swelled, slick with a thin sheen of moisture.

The tie had slipped from Shen Ling's hand at some point.

By the time he realized what was happening, Huo Yanshen already had his wrist, the dark gray silk tie winding around it. The silk made a faint rustle as it tightened.

Shen Ling's wrist was delicate, thin skin stretched over the bone. As the tie pulled taut, it left clear red marks.

No matter how he struggled, he couldn't get free.

What happened after became a blur, only the prickling itch of silk against his skin remaining.

"Don't tie me up..." Shen Ling's voice came brokenly from the darkness. "Please, let me go, Huo Yanshen..."

Flushed heat seeped beneath Shen Ling's skin, tears rolling down the tip of his nose, soaking a small dark patch on the tie. His lashes were stuck together in clumps from the tears, like rain-soaked petals, smearing into a damp, rosy hue.

Huo Yanshen's breath drew close to his ear, warm air brushing past his earlobe, sending a shiver through him.

"Baby, be good."

The voice was low and heavy, landing on his ear like a command that brooked no disobedience.

Shen Ling went limp in Huo Yanshen's arms, trembling finely.

...

That tie was never untied.

Maybe Shen Ling's pleas had some effect—later, the binding moved from his wrists to elsewhere.

The next morning, when Shen Ling woke up groggily in Huo Yanshen's arms, the first thing he did was stuff the crumpled tie into the trash can.

He swore to himself he would never touch Huo Yanshen's tie again.

"Do you know how to tie it?" Huo Yanshen's voice yanked Shen Ling back from his chaotic memories.

Shen Ling snapped back to reality. His heart was racing, the fingertips holding the tie burning hot, and he didn't dare look up.

He looked down at the tie in his hands, flustered.

He realized the two ends were off by at least twenty centimeters, and the knot he'd managed to create was crooked and lopsided, like a rope tied into a knot that wouldn't come undone.

"I can..." Shen Ling said, his voice tinged with guilt.

He tried again, weakly looping it around.

It only got messier.

"It's fine," Shen Ling said, staring at the disaster in front of him, his mouth running ahead of his brain. "Leave it to me, just trust me—"

Before he could finish, the tie in his hands had become a complete tangled mess.

Shen Ling: "…"

…Or maybe not.

Shen Ling kept wrestling with the tie for a few more seconds.

He could feel Huo Yanshen's gaze on him. Under that gaze, Shen Ling's ears burned, and the more nervous he got, the clumsier his hands became, until he nearly choked Huo Yanshen with the tie.

"I… let me try again…"

Just then, Huo Yanshen's hand came to rest over his.

He took Shen Ling's hand, gently pulling it away from the tangled knot and guiding it back down to his side.

"Forget it."

Huo Yanshen undid the tie in a few quick moves, then re-wrapped it, threaded it through, and cinched it tight.

It was a perfect Windsor knot.

Shen Ling stared at his empty palm, a wave of dejection washing over him.

He'd promised to behave, and yet he couldn't even tie a simple tie.

Huo Yanshen took his suit jacket from the coat rack and asked, "What's your schedule for today?"

Shen Ling snapped back to reality. "I have a lecture this morning, and I'm free this afternoon."

Huo Yanshen nodded. "Good."

He glanced sideways at Shen Ling, his gaze landing on the thin cream-colored cardigan, lingering there for a moment.

"I'll take you to get fitted this afternoon."

Shen Ling blinked, confused. "But I already have clothes to wear."

"There's a private dinner party in a month. I need you to dress more formally and come with me." Huo Yanshen paused, his dark eyes resting calmly on Shen Ling. "Is that okay?"

Shen Ling suddenly realized.

So that's what it was about.

In his past life, Huo Yanshen hadn't brought him. He couldn't quite remember why—something about Huo Yanshen being out of town on business and not making it back in time.

He hadn't given it much thought back then. After all, given his status, even if he'd gone, he would've just stood in a corner eating little cakes. It didn't make much difference whether he went or not.

But this time around, things were different.

Shen Ling didn't overthink it. His eyes crinkled into a smile. "Okay, I'll go with you."

Huo Yanshen didn't say anything more. He reached out and gently gathered the lapels of Shen Ling's cardigan, his fingertips brushing his collarbone almost carelessly.

"Eat breakfast before you go."

Shen Ling nodded, watching Huo Yanshen turn and walk toward the dining room before following after him.

On the long marble dining table, breakfast had already been laid out.

It seemed the chef hadn't quite gotten Shen Ling's tastes down yet.

Today's breakfast was especially elaborate—French toast, bacon fried in butter, and even two fried eggs glistening with oil.

Shen Ling pulled out a chair and sat down. His body was still a bit weak from the fever, and the moment the rich, greasy aroma of butter and fried food hit him, his stomach churned with a wave of nausea.

He pressed his lips together, deciding to pick up his knife and fork and cut the fried egg into small, careful bites.

But the oily edges were too greasy. Shen Ling managed to swallow two bites, but then his throat felt like it was closing up, and he couldn't force down a third.

He set down his cutlery, and through the cream-colored cardigan, his slender fingers gently rubbed his stomach, his brows slightly furrowed.

"Not to your liking?"

Huo Yanshen set down the financial report he'd been reading, his voice cutting through the quiet dining room.

Shen Ling's fingers twitched. Instinctively, he snatched his hand away from his stomach and sat up straight.

"No, it's pretty good…" Shen Ling said. "I'm eating."

Huo Yanshen said nothing, but those deep, dark eyes simply gazed at him in silence, as if they could see right through every bit of pretense and stubbornness.

"Tell me the truth." Huo Yanshen spoke again, his tone tinged with helplessness.

Shen Ling looked up timidly. "…It's a little oily." He even gestured with his fingers. "But it's fine… give me some time, I'll digest it."

Huo Yanshen looked away and raised a hand, summoning the butler waiting nearby.

"Mr. Huo." The butler quickly bowed.

Huo Yanshen: "Tell the kitchen to prepare his meals separately from now on."

"And make a bowl of plain oatmeal porridge now."

"Yes, I'll have the chef take care of it right away." The butler hurriedly withdrew.

About half an hour later, the butler personally brought over a bowl of warm, soft oatmeal-lily porridge.

The faint, clean scent of rice instantly dispelled the greasiness from before.

Shen Ling's eyes lit up. This time, he didn't need Huo Yanshen to urge him—he picked up his porcelain spoon and began eating it, spoonful after spoonful.

As the warm porridge went down, his stomach, which had been cramping and aching, gradually warmed.

But as he neared the end, with about a quarter of the bowl still left, Shen Ling set down his spoon out of habit.

It was a bad habit he'd brought with him from his past life.

Back then, Huo Yanshen was no longer around, and Shen Ling, sitting on an untold fortune, would buy plenty of food when he had nothing else to spend it on, yet often had no appetite. So he'd always leave a few bites at the bottom of his bowl, sometimes without even noticing.

Shen Ling was lost in thought when he suddenly heard Huo Yanshen's voice, in a tone that left no room for argument: "Finish the porridge."

Shen Ling snapped out of it, only to find he'd left some again.

He noticed that Huo Yanshen was always particular about "finishing your food." It was the same in his previous life—no matter how busy he was, if Huo Yanshen was home, he'd make sure Shen Ling ate.

The Huo family's wealth was immense; a month of meals might not cost as much as a single cufflink on his suit. Whether he left more or less, you'd think it wouldn't matter to a man like him at all.

But Huo Yanshen simply disliked seeing him waste food.

Shen Ling sometimes thought it must be some indescribable obsessive-compulsive trait deeply ingrained in Huo Yanshen's bones.

Then again... it really was his own fault for wasting food.

Shen Ling went "oh" and finished the last few mouthfuls of the warm porridge.

Seeing the bowl was clean, a flicker of satisfaction passed through Huo Yanshen's eyes.

"Time for class; the driver's waiting outside," Huo Yanshen said, bending down to remind him. "I'll come pick you up from school this afternoon."

*

That afternoon at two, Maison Montagne.

Awen flipped through today's appointment ledger, his gaze sweeping to the three o'clock slot, and his expression suddenly stiffened.

This was a tailor shop set in an old heritage building—even the doorknob was a handcrafted brass piece from a 19th-century Parisian workshop.

The client list here was never made public; anyone whose name appeared in the ledger wasn't just rich—they were powerful.

Yet even so, the name Huo Yanshen made Awen break out in a cold sweat.

He hurried through the corridor lined with silk swatches and found his master at the back of a studio covered in Persian rugs.

"Monsieur Bernard."

The silver-haired Frenchman, his hair swept back immaculately, stood before a dress form, fiddling with a pearl-tipped pin.

He had wielded his scissors for over thirty years on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, and the Huo family had spent two years trying to recruit him.

"What is it, all flustered?" Bernard said, pin in hand.

"Mr. Huo is coming," Awen said, holding the ledger out. "Today, at three."

Bernard's silver-gray brow twitched slightly. Finally, he looked up from the dress form and slowly wiped his spectacles with the suede cloth on his chest: "Huo Yanshen?"

"Yes."

Awen swallowed hard. Most of what he knew about this Mr. Huo came from a mix of truth and rumor.

They said back when he boxed, he never lost a match. After taking over the Huo Group, he'd replaced seven executives in a single night—one of whom had been carried out of the conference room.

In that grainy, blurred photo that got out, Huo Yanshen wore a black suit, his face utterly expressionless, like a deadly Roman statue.

Every time Awen recalled that image, he figured the executive who got carried out had probably gotten off easy.

"Master," Awen said, a bit unnerved, "with that presence of his... when we take his measurements, who'd dare get close enough to measure him?"

Bernard put his glasses back on, the gray-blue eyes behind the lenses showing little emotion: "Relax, he's a civilized man."

Awen was doubtful: "Are you sure?"

Bernard didn't answer that. Instead, he picked up the ledger and glanced at it again, then suddenly stopped flipping through the pages: "Wait... who did he say he's bringing?"

Awen leaned in to look. Beside Huo Yanshen's name, a note in elegant handwriting read: For His Wife.

"His wife." Awen lowered his voice, unable to help gossiping. "Mr. Huo actually got married?"

Bernard set the ledger aside and concluded reservedly: "She must be someone ethereally beautiful."

Awen's eyes lit up with anticipation: "If I get to see a goddess today, it'll be worth it."

The words had barely left his mouth when—

The antique brass bell at the door gave a crisp, clear ring.

The door swung open, and a tall figure stepped in, backlit by the afternoon sun, his presence cold and commanding, as if he could cast the whole room into shadow.

Awen automatically glanced behind Huo Yanshen.

"Where's the goddess?"

The words were out before he could stop them.

There was a moment of dead silence.

Huo Yanshen's gaze fell on him, face blank.

One look, and Awen felt he might end up worse than that executive who got carried out.

"Ah... I mean—"

Awen quickly forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. "May I ask, Mr. Huo, who... who is it that needs tailoring?"

A slender, fair hand shot up from Huo Yanshen's side, the wrist swaying gently in the air like a limp noodle.

"That would be me."

Shen Ling popped out from behind Huo Yanshen.

Huo Yanshen glanced at him, then moved aside to let him stand next to him.

"Yes, my wife."

Awen: !!

Huo Yanshen—the head of the Huo Group, rumored to have no interest in women, with no romantic entanglements at all.

So that's why... his wife was actually a man?!