🌸 chapter 14: At Home – Small Everyday Moments
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Qi Ye was still straddling Cheng Shubai.
The blindfolded tie had slipped crooked over the bridge of his nose, revealing a sliver of his eye still burning with heat. He could clearly feel the tension in Cheng Shubai’s thigh muscles beneath him. Zhou Wen’s tearful plea still echoed through the speaker on loud mode, chaotic and grating like crows in the background.
Qi Ye let out a short, mocking laugh. The violent frustration of being interrupted found a new outlet in an instant. He didn’t get off. Instead, he deliberately ground his knee down slightly, leaning closer to Cheng Shubai’s tight jawline. His breath was hot, laced with sarcasm.
“Did you hear that, President Cheng?” he sneered. “Your Li someone-or-other is waiting for you to go save the world.”
Cheng Shubai didn’t respond.
He simply raised a hand and pressed the call off with firm, irritated control. Zhou Wen’s crying was cut off abruptly, and the studio fell into an even more suffocating silence.
That hand didn’t withdraw. Instead, it caught Qi Ye’s wrist, the one still pressing against his throat. Not too hard, not too soft, but with undeniable authority. He slowly peeled Qi Ye’s hand away from his neck.
Qi Ye’s wrist was restrained. Blindfolded, he couldn’t see anything, but that only made the sensation of being controlled more intense, sharpening his instinct to resist.
“Get down,” Cheng Shubai said.
His voice was low, steady, and calm, but it landed like a needle of ice precisely into Qi Ye’s tightly coiled nerves. An unmistakable command.
Qi Ye froze.
A dissatisfied curve pulled at his lips under the blindfold, but he could feel the cold, oppressive aura around Cheng Shubai. It wasn’t frustration from desire being interrupted. It was something deeper, heavier, more dangerous.
After a moment of tension, he finally clicked his tongue in annoyance, pulled away sharply, and jumped off the worktable with a dull thud.
He yanked off the blindfold. Cool moonlight flooded back into his vision.
Cheng Shubai had already stood up. His back was turned, calmly adjusting his rumpled shirt cuffs and collar. The exposed collarbone was already neatly hidden again under crisp fabric. He looked composed, restrained, as if nothing messy had ever happened.
Qi Ye stared at that back, the fire in his chest burning hotter.
He scrubbed a hand over his face irritably. The hangover throbbed belatedly in his skull, and the exhaustion from everything that had just happened finally caught up. His throat felt dry as sand.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
Without another look at Cheng Shubai, he turned and walked toward the small tea area attached to the studio, his steps rough with irritation.
The tea area smelled faintly of stale coffee grounds. Qi Ye headed straight for the small double-door fridge in the corner. He pulled it open. Cold air rushed out.
Inside were cans of iced beer, bottled water, and a few sealed food containers stuffed into the corner. Probably leftovers Zhou Wen had shoved in earlier.
He ignored everything else and reached straight for the beer at the back.
Just as his fingers touched the cold can, a long, pale, well-defined hand reached in faster and took it first.
Qi Ye snapped his head around.
Cheng Shubai was standing right there at the fridge door, he didn’t know when he had followed in. In one hand he held the beer Qi Ye had been about to grab, and in the other, a small white box of tablets.
The label read: Hangover and stomach protection.
Expression unchanged, he held both out toward Qi Ye.
“Take it,” he said evenly, as if stating a fact.
Qi Ye’s gaze flicked between the medicine box and Cheng Shubai’s calm face. A wave of irritation surged up his spine.
“Do I look like I can’t take care of myself?” he snapped.
He reached out to snatch the beer from Cheng Shubai’s other hand instead.
Cheng Shubai turned his wrist easily, dodging him without effort. Then he lifted the beer and placed it on the top shelf of the fridge.
High enough that Qi Ye would need to tiptoe to reach it.
“Either take the medicine and drink water,” Cheng Shubai said calmly, “or go get it yourself.”
Qi Ye stared at the beer on the top shelf, then at the ridiculous medicine box. His temple twitched.
Instead of reaching for either, he suddenly grabbed a lone apple sitting on the counter nearby. He bit into it hard without hesitation.
The sour juice exploded in his mouth, making him grimace.
“Fuck,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Who the hell knows I drank? There’s a spy in the crowd.”
Cheng Shubai ignored him.
“Zhou Wen,” he said instead, speaking into the air. “Tell Zhang Team to stabilize the situation. I’ll be at the detention center in half an hour.”
Zhou Wen’s voice immediately came through the earpiece, relieved and careful.
“Got it, Cheng-ge. I’ll notify him right away. Also… Qi-ge, is he okay?”
Qi Ye, still chewing the sour apple, rolled his eyes dramatically toward the ceiling.
“Tell her I’m doing great,” he said, muffled. “And if she keeps talking nonsense I’ll shove that junk drone collection down her boss’s throat.”
Cheng Shubai didn’t respond to that. He simply added into the call, “Order him breakfast. Old Zhang’s seafood congee. Extra ingredients. Send it to the studio.”
Then he cut the call.
Qi Ye paused mid-bite.
Old Zhang’s seafood congee.
Hot, rich, fragrant. The thought alone made his empty stomach tighten unpleasantly.
He glanced at Cheng Shubai. The man had already turned away, as if leaving the tea area.
“Hey!” Qi Ye called out suddenly.
Cheng Shubai stopped at the door and turned slightly.
Qi Ye tossed the half-eaten, mangled apple into the trash with a sharp motion and wiped his hands.
“I’m telling you,” he said, chin lifting in defiance, “keep that beer for yourself. Don’t drink yourself to death.”
Cheng Shubai’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, then briefly on the beer on the fridge shelf.
He said nothing.
Just raised a faint eyebrow.
Then he turned and left.
Qi Ye stared at the empty doorway long after he was gone, then at the ruined apple in the trash. His irritation flared again.
He unscrewed a bottle of water, drank half of it in one go, then slapped the hangover medicine box onto the counter.
His stomach was still burning empty.
Old Zhang’s congee… he thought unwillingly.
Before he knew it, he was already walking toward the microwave.
Self-reliance, then.
He dug out a box of frozen dumplings, shoved them into the microwave still in the plastic container, and turned the knob straight to maximum power.
Five minutes. Whatever.
The microwave hummed to life.
Qi Ye leaned against the counter, arms crossed, staring blankly at it while his thoughts drifted back to Li the Second Young Master’s disgusting face and Zhou Wen’s crying voice, getting more annoyed by the second.
Cheng Shubai reappeared soon after, already changed into a perfectly tailored dark suit, hair and cuffs immaculate, as if nothing messy had ever happened.
He paused when he saw Qi Ye glaring at the microwave.
A faint smell began leaking out.
Something burning. Something plastic.
Qi Ye frowned but didn’t move.
Cheng Shubai’s brow subtly tightened.
He turned, walked back into the kitchen, and pressed the stop button without hesitation.
The humming died instantly.
He opened the microwave door.
A thick wave of burnt plastic and overcooked dough hit the air.
Inside, the dumplings were a disaster. The plastic container had warped and melted at the edges. The dumplings were split open, blackened, stuck together in a sad, burnt mass.
Qi Ye clicked his tongue. “Too hot, that’s all.”
Cheng Shubai didn’t respond.
He put on gloves, picked up the melted container like trash, and dropped it into the bin.
Then he rolled up his sleeves.
Qi Ye raised an eyebrow. Watching.
Cheng Shubai took out a new non-stick pan, poured a thin layer of olive oil, and turned on the stove. Blue flame flickered beneath the pan.
He cracked two eggs directly into the oil.
The sound of sizzling filled the kitchen.
The egg whites spread and turned golden at the edges. The yolk stayed perfectly round and soft in the center.
The smell shifted immediately. Burnt plastic disappeared, replaced by warm, appetizing fragrance.
Qi Ye’s stomach betrayed him with a loud growl.
Silence followed.
Cheng Shubai’s hand paused slightly.
Without turning around, he sprinkled a few grains of salt onto the egg.
Then he turned off the heat.
He plated the egg neatly onto a white porcelain dish.
And walked toward Qi Ye.
Qi Ye straightened slightly without realizing it.
Cheng Shubai stopped in front of him and held out the plate.
“Eat this,” he said calmly. “Until the congee arrives.”
Qi Ye stared at the perfectly cooked egg, then at Cheng Shubai’s expressionless face.
The refusal on the tip of his tongue never came out.
Instead, he took the plate.
Their fingers brushed briefly. Cold against warm.
Cheng Shubai let go immediately, as if it were nothing.
He turned and left without another word.
Qi Ye stood there for a moment, holding the warm plate.
Then he lowered his gaze to the egg.
He picked up a fork.
And ate.
“…not bad,” he muttered into the empty room, chewing slowly.
Outside, daylight had fully broken through the glass walls, washing over the studio and softening everything that had been sharp, chaotic, and burning just hours before.
I will be posting two chapters every Sunday and Wednesday.
(My translation is far from perfect, so if you see any mistakes please let me know in the comments)
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