🌸 Chapter 18: The Morning Tea Tastes a Little Sour (Part 1)
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Qi Ye cradled the still-warm lunchbox in his arms.
Inside was a simple bowl of white rice porridge, lovingly simmered by Cheng Shubai himself and generously topped with fluffy golden pork floss.
On the coffee table, meanwhile, sat a paper bag from an upscale dim sum restaurant. The sweet aroma of shrimp dumplings mingled with the rich scent of barbecue pork buns, the two fragrances silently colliding and intertwining in the air.
Qi Ye lowered his gaze to the porridge that had just been dismissed as “cold,” then looked back at the elegant paper bag that practically radiated luxury.
A ridiculous sense of being forcibly “upgraded,” mixed with an inexplicable flicker of guilt, welled up inside him.
Almost instinctively, he hugged the lunchbox a little tighter, as though defending his own territory.
Standing nearby, Qi Lang’s unusually bright eyes darted back and forth between Cheng Shubai and Qi Ye, immediately catching the silent undercurrent flowing between them.
His grin widened.
The chaos-loving gleam in his eyes practically sparkled as he rubbed his hands together and leaned toward the table.
“President Cheng, you’re way too generous! How can we accept this?” he exclaimed. “Guang Ji’s morning tea! People queue forever just to get in!”
Even as he protested, his hands moved with remarkable efficiency. He opened the paper bag and carefully laid out one exquisite bamboo steamer after another.
Crystal-clear crystal shrimp dumplings.
Glossy honey barbecue pork buns.
Thin-skinned crab roe soup dumplings.
Golden, crispy spring rolls…
Steam curled upward as rich aromas filled the room, effortlessly overshadowing Cheng Shubai’s humble bowl of pork floss porridge.
“Qi Ye, hurry and eat while it’s hot.”
Qi Lang stuffed a pair of bamboo chopsticks into Qi Ye’s still-frozen hand before eagerly popping an entire shrimp dumpling into his own mouth. The filling was so hot he hissed through clenched teeth, yet he still mumbled around the food,
“Mmm… so good…”
Cheng Shubai paid no attention to Qi Lang’s enthusiastic praise.
He slipped off his suit jacket and casually draped it over the back of a barstool before rolling up the neatly pressed sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing a pair of lean, well-defined forearms.
Walking over to the coffee table, he sat down in the empty seat beside Qi Ye.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Just enough to separate Qi Ye from the overly enthusiastic Qi Lang, who looked ready to glue himself to his side.
Rather than reaching for the dim sum, Cheng Shubai’s gaze settled on the lunchbox Qi Ye was still clutching.
His expression remained calm and unreadable.
Being watched so intently made Qi Ye increasingly uncomfortable—especially when Cheng Shubai’s eyes flicked toward the corner of his mouth.
A few stray strands of pork floss from the porridge still clung there.
Embarrassed, Qi Ye instinctively lifted a hand to wipe them away.
“Don’t.”
Cheng Shubai’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a quiet authority that left no room for argument.
Qi Ye’s hand froze in midair.
Instead of handing him a tissue, Cheng Shubai simply pulled one out himself and leaned closer.
The distance between them vanished in an instant.
Qi Ye could even catch the familiar scent lingering on him—a cool, woody fragrance tinged with the crisp air of early morning.
Through the soft tissue, Cheng Shubai’s fingers gently pressed against the corner of Qi Ye’s lips, carefully wiping away the tiny crumbs.
The movement lasted only a heartbeat.
The warmth of his fingertips, even separated by the tissue, brushed fleetingly across Qi Ye’s skin like the faintest spark of electricity.
Half of his face went numb.
His entire body stiffened.
Shock flashed across his eyes, followed by unmistakable embarrassment.
Finished, Cheng Shubai casually crumpled the tissue and tossed it into the nearby trash bin.
The motion was smooth and effortless, as though that intimate gesture—one that had clearly crossed the line of ordinary familiarity—had been the most natural thing in the world.
He leaned back against the sofa, his gaze returning to the spread of dim sum as if nothing had happened.
“…”
Qi Ye parted his lips, but not a single word came out.
The heat that had crept into the tips of his ears spread like wildfire, racing all the way down to the base of his neck.
“Pfft—cough, cough, cough!”
Across from them, Qi Lang nearly choked to death on his barbecue pork bun after witnessing the entire exchange.
He coughed so violently tears sprang to his eyes.
Looking at Qi Ye’s blazing red face, then at Cheng Shubai—who remained perfectly composed, as though he’d merely brushed away a speck of dust—Qi Lang wore the expression of someone whose entire worldview had just been shattered.
“Holy… damn…” he wheezed after finally catching his breath. “…Nice. Very nice.”
Mortified, Qi Ye snatched up a nearby throw pillow and hurled it at him.
“Nice my ass. Eat your damn breakfast.”
Grinning from ear to ear, Qi Lang caught the pillow with ease. Not only was he completely unbothered, but his eyes sparkled even brighter, like he’d just stumbled upon a whole new world.
He finally stopped teasing Qi Ye and shifted all his attention to Cheng Shubai instead. Picking up a crab roe soup dumpling, he slipped effortlessly into chatterbox mode.
“President Cheng, I binged your variety show last night. It was incredible! Client Slayer versus Public Restroom Terminator—the live comments were killing me. Oh, and that hashtag…” Qi Lang deliberately drew out his words, glancing meaningfully at Qi Ye’s ears, which had instantly turned scarlet again. “#ChengShubaiBattleDamagedCollarbone… those high-definition screenshots.” His grin grew positively wicked. “Engineer Qi… you’ve got quite the bite, huh?”
Qi Ye had just lifted a shrimp dumpling toward his mouth. At those words, he nearly snapped his chopsticks in half.
He shot Qi Lang a murderous glare and ground out through clenched teeth,
“Langlang. Talk less—or get out.”
Cheng Shubai, however, acted as though he hadn’t heard the latter half of Qi Lang’s teasing at all.
Unhurriedly, he picked up a clean pair of bamboo chopsticks.
His chopsticks reached with perfect precision toward the most unassuming bamboo steamer—a basket of plump, snowy custard buns filled with molten salted egg yolk.
Using the tip of his chopsticks, he carefully poked the tiniest hole into the top of one bun, just enough to let the trapped steam escape and prevent the scorching filling from bursting out and burning whoever ate it.
Only then did he lift the bun and place it neatly onto the clean, empty saucer in front of Qi Ye.
The gesture was effortless.
As natural as serving someone another dish at the dinner table.
Qi Ye stared at the steaming custard bun sitting on his plate, the tiny vent in its top releasing wisps of fragrant steam. Then he looked at Cheng Shubai’s impassive face.
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“…”
Stubbornly swallowing down the strange feeling rising in his chest, he deliberately ignored the bun that had received such “special treatment.”
Instead, his chopsticks veered toward a spring roll.
Crunch.
He bit into it with far more force than necessary, the loud crack sounding as though he were gnawing on someone’s bones.
Qi Lang witnessed the entire exchange.
He immediately shoved another shrimp dumpling into his mouth to calm himself, chewing as he continued talking through a full mouth.
“President Cheng, jokes aside—I didn’t come back just to visit this time. I’ve got a huge project. An urban heritage exhibition centered around the rebirth of industrial landmarks.”
He gestured enthusiastically as he spoke.
“Those old factories and docks under Huanyu Group? And studios like Jingwei, with their incredible container architecture? They’re perfect source material. So… interested in teaming up for something big? I guarantee it’ll become the talk of the town.”
As he spoke, he nudged the still-grumpily-chewing Qi Ye with his elbow.
“Qi Ye, you should seriously consider it. This project fits Jingwei perfectly. It’ll keep riding the wave of publicity from your variety show.”
The unexpected jab nearly made Qi Ye choke.
He grabbed the glass of lemonade Cheng Shubai had poured for him earlier and gulped down a large mouthful before finally catching his breath. Frowning, he looked toward Cheng Shubai.
At that moment, Cheng Shubai was calmly dismantling a crab roe soup dumpling with his chopsticks.
Not a single drop of broth escaped.
Hearing Qi Lang’s proposal, he merely lifted his eyes.
His gaze brushed briefly over Qi Ye before settling on Qi Lang’s eager face.
“An exhibition proposal?”
His voice remained as even as ever.
“Of course!” Qi Lang immediately set down his chopsticks and began rummaging frantically through his oversized canvas bag. After a flurry of rustling, he triumphantly produced a tablet, tapped through several screens, and eagerly handed it over.
“This is just the first draft. The entire concept revolves around Jingwei—not just Qi Ye’s studio, but also the city’s developmental grid and history. I’ve already planned the highlights. We’ll open with that viral children’s library from your show, combine it with Huanyu’s industrial redevelopment projects, then tie everything together through Jingwei’s design philosophy…”
Cheng Shubai accepted the tablet but didn’t look at it immediately.
Instead, he placed it casually on the coffee table before returning his full attention to the soup dumpling on his own plate.
With the tip of his chopsticks, he gently peeled back the paper-thin wrapper, revealing the rich golden crab roe filling beneath. A wave of fresh crab aroma instantly drifted into the air.
He worked slowly.
Meticulously.
Every movement carried the quiet focus of someone completely absorbed in the task.
When he was finished, he didn’t eat it himself.
As naturally as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, he lifted the perfectly opened soup dumpling—its wrapper intact, its broth still brimming inside—and placed it onto Qi Ye’s plate, right beside the half-eaten spring roll.
Qi Ye: “…”
He stared at the flawlessly “dissected” soup dumpling that had suddenly appeared on his plate.
Then he looked at Cheng Shubai’s calm, unreadable eyes, as though this had merely been another absent-minded gesture.
An inexplicable surge of irritation shot straight to his head—
Along with a strangely comforting warmth he refused to acknowledge.
…Has he gotten addicted to feeding me or what?
Even Qi Lang’s endless stream of chatter came to an abrupt halt at Cheng Shubai’s seamless, utterly unselfconscious act of feeding him.
His mouth hung open.
His gaze shifted from the flawlessly prepared soup dumpling sitting on Qi Ye’s plate, to Cheng Shubai’s impassive face, and finally to Qi Ye—who looked like he was about to explode, yet somehow… didn’t seem to dislike the attention all that much.
After a long pause, Qi Lang leaned toward him with an exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows and murmured dreamily,
“…Engineer Qi… President Cheng’s idea of doing something ‘while he’s at it’ is on a whole different level.”
The perfectly opened soup dumpling, still brimming with rich broth, rested quietly beside the half-eaten spring roll on Qi Ye’s plate like a silent bomb.
For a heartbeat, the room fell still.
Qi Ye’s chopsticks hovered in midair.
He stared at the crystal-thin wrapper, the golden crab roe gleaming beneath it, before lifting his eyes to meet Cheng Shubai’s steady gaze—the same calm eyes that suggested he’d done nothing more than the most ordinary thing imaginable.
Irritation surged through him again, tangled with a strange, indescribable awkwardness.
The heat climbed all the way to the tips of his ears.
He did that on purpose.
Once was one thing. Twice? Right in front of Qi Lang?
Does he seriously think I’m a child? This is humiliating…
“Cheng Shubai, you—”
Grinding his molars together, Qi Ye was just about to lose his temper—
“Whoa, whoa! President Cheng is seriously attentive!”
Qi Lang’s perfectly timed exclamation shattered the delicate tension.
Scooting even closer, he practically leaned over Qi Ye’s plate to admire the soup dumpling.
“Just look at this craftsmanship! This technique! Not a single drop of soup spilled! The crab roe’s completely intact! This is five-star service! Don’t you agree, Engineer Qi?”
As he spoke, he jabbed Qi Ye repeatedly with his elbow, waggling his eyebrows so hard the implication couldn’t have been more obvious.
Already on edge, Qi Ye’s patience finally snapped.
Qi Lang’s gleeful enthusiasm only fanned the flames.
Whirling around, Qi Ye shot him a vicious glare.
“Eat your food. One more word, and you don’t get breakfast.”
Qi Lang instantly clutched his barbecue pork bun to his chest and mimed zipping his lips shut.
But the gossip-loving gleam in his eyes only burned brighter, darting shamelessly back and forth between Qi Ye and Cheng Shubai.
Cheng Shubai, meanwhile, seemed utterly oblivious to both Qi Ye’s simmering anger and Qi Lang’s relentless teasing.
He picked up the untouched glass of lemonade in front of him and took a small sip.
His Adam’s apple rolled distinctly against the pale line of his throat.
Setting the glass back down, he turned his attention once more to the tablet resting on the coffee table.
Displayed on the screen was the preliminary proposal for Qi Lang’s urban heritage exhibition.
“The proposal.”
Cheng Shubai’s voice wasn’t loud, yet it effortlessly cut through the silent battle of glares between the other two, calmly steering the conversation back on course.
His fingertip tapped the project’s title.
Jingwei.
“The concept is solid.”
The moment Qi Lang realized Cheng Shubai was genuinely interested, he immediately forgot all about keeping quiet.
“I knew it, President Cheng!” he exclaimed, practically lighting up. “I told you this theme was a winner! It ties together Jingwei Studio’s hardcore adaptive reuse projects with Huanyu Group’s entire urban redevelopment strategy.”
He became more animated with every sentence.
“Especially that viral community library from your variety show! The solar-panel roof, the interactive light-and-shadow reading area—it’s the perfect showcase of industrial aesthetics meeting human-centered design. If we make that the centerpiece of the exhibition, it’ll absolutely steal the show!”
His enthusiasm only grew.
“And that’s not even the best part! The exhibition itself becomes one giant interactive installation! We can take advantage of the old factory’s architecture and incorporate AR, immersive projection mapping—even synchronized drone formations! Visitors won’t just look at the city—they’ll experience the pulse of its Jingwei firsthand!”
He slapped the table excitedly.
“I’ve even got the title figured out already—Jingwei Reborn: Folding the City.”
He looked from Cheng Shubai to Qi Ye, his eyes practically shining.
“So? Tell me that doesn’t sound incredible.”
Listening to Qi Lang enthusiastically paint the picture, Qi Ye kept his face carefully blank.
But the irritation simmering in his eyes had begun to give way to genuine curiosity.
…That actually sounds pretty interesting.
Almost unconsciously, he picked up his chopsticks.
This time, instead of reaching for another spring roll, they drifted toward the crab roe soup dumpling sitting on his plate.
Carefully, he lifted it, taking care not to tear the paper-thin wrapper.
The moment he bit into it, warm broth burst across his tongue.
The rich sweetness of the crab mingled perfectly with the faint zing of ginger-infused vinegar, enveloping the delicate crab roe filling in layers of flavor.
…It’s good.
Way better than gnawing on a spring roll.
As Qi Ye chewed, the simple satisfaction of good food quietly smoothed away the awkward knot in his chest.
Without realizing it, the crease between his brows relaxed.
Across from him, Cheng Shubai happened to glance up from the tablet.
His gaze landed squarely on Qi Ye.
He caught the almost imperceptible way Qi Ye’s eyes narrowed in contentment as he chewed, the tiny expression of satisfaction that flickered across his face before disappearing just as quickly.
Something faint stirred in Cheng Shubai’s eyes.
“Budget?”
His attention shifted back to Qi Lang as he lightly tapped the edge of the tablet with one finger, steering the discussion toward the question any businessman would care about first.
“The budget’s negotiable!” Qi Lang declared, thumping a hand against his chest. “The real key is creating buzz! As long as Huanyu and Jingwei are fully involved—especially with Engineer Qi, the Client Slayer, and President Cheng, the Public Restroom Terminator, front and center—the publicity practically writes itself! Raising investment will be a piece of cake!”
He grew more excited by the second.
“And the venue’s already decided! Huanyu’s old cotton mill—the one that was just renovated but hasn’t officially opened yet. The ceiling height, the open space, the preserved industrial character… it’s practically tailor-made for this exhibition!”
Cheng Shubai didn’t respond immediately.
He merely gave a slight nod, scrolling through the proposal on the tablet, seemingly reviewing the finer details.
His posture remained composed, every movement conveying quiet deliberation.
While the two of them discussed business, Qi Ye helped himself to another shrimp dumpling.
This time, he no longer resisted.
His gaze even drifted, almost unconsciously, toward the molten custard bun sitting beside it—
The one Cheng Shubai had thoughtfully vented beforehand so the hot filling wouldn’t burst out.
He hesitated.
Then, after a brief pause, reached over with his chopsticks and picked it up.
Seeing that Cheng Shubai appeared genuinely interested in the proposal, Qi Lang immediately decided to press his advantage.
He picked up his glass of lemonade, intending to take a sip and wet his throat.
Unfortunately…
His enthusiasm got the better of him.
His elbow clipped the edge of the coffee table.
Clink!
The glass slipped straight from his hand.
The remaining half-glass of lemonade arced gracefully through the air—
On a perfect collision course with the tablet Cheng Shubai had just set on the coffee table.
“Holy shit!”
Qi Lang and Qi Ye shouted in unison.
Qi Ye reacted almost instinctively, throwing out a hand to block it.
Too far.
He couldn’t possibly make it in time.
Splash!
The lemonade missed the tablet.
Most of it splashed across the sleek glass tabletop, while the rest sprayed onto the sofa’s armrest and the carpet, leaving dark, damp stains in its wake.
The fresh, citrusy scent of lemon instantly filled the room.
Cheng Shubai, meanwhile, had already lifted the tablet into one hand.
The screen remained brightly lit.
Not a single drop of water had touched it.
Lowering his eyes, he calmly surveyed the puddle spreading across the coffee table and the damp sofa arm.
Behind his glasses, his expression barely changed.
Only the slightest crease appeared between his brows.
“Sorry, sorry! My hand slipped!”
Qi Lang practically panicked, yanking a thick wad of napkins from the dispenser and frantically blotting up the lemonade on the coffee table.
“Is the tablet okay? The files are still there, right? I’ll pay for it! I swear, I’ll pay for it!”
Qi Ye finally let out the breath he’d been holding.
For that split second, his heart had practically leapt into his throat.
His gaze flicked from the perfectly unharmed tablet in Cheng Shubai’s hand to the mess spread across the coffee table and sofa. His brows knit together as he shot Qi Lang an exasperated look.
“Qi Lang! Can you be a little more careful…?”
Cheng Shubai ignored both Qi Lang’s frantic apologies and Qi Ye’s scolding.
He casually set the tablet down on the dry armrest of the sofa, making sure it was safely out of harm’s way.
Then he pulled out several napkins.
Instead of wiping the coffee table first, he bent down and carefully blotted the droplets scattered across the sofa armrest.
Only after drying it thoroughly did he straighten up.
His gaze settled on Qi Ye.
Qi Ye was still frowning at the puddle on the table, half a molten custard bun clutched in his hand.
The warm, pale-gold salted egg custard inside had oozed from the bite he’d taken during the commotion.
A few thick drops had splattered onto the cuff of his dark work jacket.
It was a mess.
Qi Ye looked down at the stain on his sleeve.
His face darkened instantly.
What the hell kind of cursed day am I having?
“Don’t move.”
Cheng Shubai spoke again in that same calm, unquestionable tone.
Qi Ye froze.
Almost instinctively, he looked up.
Cheng Shubai had already pulled out a fresh wet wipe and was reaching toward him.
Qi Ye reflexively tried to pull his hand back.
Why’s he coming over again…?
My clothes are filthy… this is embarrassing enough already…
But Cheng Shubai was faster.
Through the wet wipe, his hand closed gently yet firmly around Qi Ye’s wrist, leaving no room for retreat.
His grip wasn’t strong.
Yet there was something strangely reassuring about it, quietly stopping Qi Ye from shrinking away.
Lowering his gaze, Cheng Shubai took another clean tissue with his free hand.
His expression remained focused.
His movements, however, were remarkably gentle.
With the wet wipe, he carefully cleaned the sticky custard from Qi Ye’s fingers.
Once most of it was gone, he switched to the dry tissue, patiently wiping away the remaining moisture.
He was astonishingly meticulous.
Qi Ye had to admit—
Cheng Shubai had become… incredibly patient.
Separated only by the thin tissue, Cheng Shubai’s fingertips brushed over his palm, across each knuckle, down to the tips of his fingers.
The warmth of the contact, so careful and painstakingly thorough, tickled ever so slightly.
Qi Ye’s entire body stiffened.
He let Cheng Shubai do as he pleased, unable to move.
Every place those fingers passed over felt as though a faint electric current had run through it, leaving behind a tingling numbness.
The heat he’d only just managed to suppress crept up his spine again, spreading all the way to the nape of his neck until even his ears were burning.
Even he couldn’t quite understand it.
They’d already done everything there was to do.
So why…
Why did something this trivial still leave him with such an inexplicable sense of embarrassment?
Of course—
He would never admit he was blushing.
Only after cleaning Qi Ye’s hand did Cheng Shubai’s gaze shift to the pale yellow stains marring the cuff of his work jacket.
His brows drew together almost imperceptibly.
He released Qi Ye’s wrist without a word, stood up, and headed toward the bedroom.
Qi Lang had already finished wiping down the coffee table and was now working on the damp corner of the sofa armrest.
When he looked up and saw what was happening, his jaw dropped wide enough to fit an entire barbecue pork bun.
His eyes were as round as saucers.
He forgot what he was doing altogether.
Qi Ye remained rooted to the spot.
He stared at his right hand—now spotless, as though nothing had happened at all.
Then he looked at the stain on his sleeve.
Then at Cheng Shubai’s retreating figure disappearing into the bedroom.
His brain simply… stopped working.
A few seconds later, Cheng Shubai returned.
In his hand was a brand-new dark gray cashmere cardigan.
It looked impossibly soft.
Walking straight over to Qi Ye, he held it out to him.
His tone remained as calm and matter-of-fact as ever, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Change into this.”
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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