Chapter 12

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Qiu Baozhu swallowed a large gulp of saliva, as if he had swallowed the boy’s fingers along with it. He gasped like a fish, desperately trying to breathe yet unable to do so. The alcohol had raised the temperature in Qiu Baozhu’s mouth higher than usual; his tongue wrapped around the other’s fingers, sharing the same heat, causing him to momentarily hallucinate that the fingers were inside his body rather than his mouth.

Wei Shu did not press hard, his touch was gentle, almost tender. His tongue slid continuously along the boy’s tongue surface, while his fingertip pressed neither too lightly nor too heavily on the soft, warm root of the boy’s tongue. Throughout the process, Wei Shu’s gaze never left Qiu Baozhu’s eyes, watching as those once defiant green eyes slowly filled with moisture and became reluctant.

A wave of nausea rose; Qiu Baozhu’s throat emitted a few low, hollow sounds. He arched his back and leaned on Wei Shu’s shoulder. Wei Shu withdrew his fingers, wet with saliva, from Qiu Baozhu’s mouth and gently tilted his chin to the side.

“It’s enough.”

No sooner had the words fallen than the warm, fiery liquor surged back up from Qiu Baozhu’s mouth in a large flow. Qiu Baozhu pushed Wei Shu away, bracing his palms on the ground, spitting out the remainder. The sting of the spilled alcohol burned his nasal passages.

Wei Shu stood and said, “Let’s go to my place first to clean up, or you’ll have trouble when you get home.”

Qiu Baozhu’s face was smeared with tears and mucus, his words slurred but resolute. “Qiu Fei wouldn’t cause me trouble anyway.”

“I’m talking about your mother.”

“She wouldn’t either.”

Qiu Baozhu got up from the floor, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and staggered out unsteadily. Wei Shu remained standing. After a long while passed, Wei Shu bent down to pick up a jacket from the ground. Without shaking off the dust or smoothing out the wrinkles, he simply unfolded it and put it on.

Qiu Baozhu took a taxi, the remaining alcohol in his system still exerting its effects. The facial recognition at the door repeatedly failed to identify him due to his unsteady movements. Instead, it was Qiu Fei inside who heard the unusual sounds and opened the door from within.

He Yingjie and Qiu Jinyan happened to be home as well. The former was on the phone with an assistant discussing themes for autumn and winter clothing and jewelry, while the latter was watching a ball game. The warmth in the living room lifted some of the haze from Qiu Baozhu’s drunkenness.

Hiding behind Qiu Fei, Qiu Baozhu cautiously edged upstairs.

“Hey, Baozhu!” Upon seeing him, He Yingjie ended her call with the assistant. “Why are you just getting back? Have you eaten? Wanwan, the meat you marinated—Baozhu’s back, you can cook for him now.”

He Yingjie rose, her silk nightgown cascading from her knees to the tops of her feet, flowing onto the carpet. She bypassed Qiu Fei directly.

“Baozhu, you...” He Yingjie’s face suddenly froze with concern. “Did you drink alcohol?”

After speaking, she sniffed, confirming, “You really did drink.” Her expression turned serious, her back straightening.

Qiu Baozhu lowered his eyes. His fingers tingled sparsely, and his throat felt as if it had been slashed right before he could speak—he was speechless. The He Yingjie before him partially overlapped with the He Yingjie of his previous life.

Similar posture, similar expression, similar tone.

“How could you drink? How old are you? Don’t you know how much alcohol harms your body? How have I taught you all this time?”

He Yingjie grabbed his wrist, spinning him around. His clothes, now untidy and dirty, were immediately noticed by her sharp eyes.

“Where did you go after school?” Her tone was far from gentle, eyes fixed on Qiu Baozhu.

He looked at her. “A bar.”

“A bar?!” He Yingjie’s voice involuntarily rose.

Qiu Baozhu reflexively shrugged his shoulders.

Qiu Jinyan, across the living room, told He Yingjie to lower her voice, saying it wasn’t such a big deal.

“Mother, there’s a reason why he drank,” Qiu Fei interjected softly, interrupting He Yingjie’s rising anger.

At the mention of Huang Huazhu’s name, Qiu Jinyan turned his head, surprised. “Why would he go to see that guy?”

After hearing Qiu Baozhu’s explanation, He Yingjie’s furrowed brow finally eased.

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The stern atmosphere evaporated instantly. She reached out to touch Qiu Baozhu’s tousled bangs. “Baby.”

Qiu Baozhu instinctively turned his head away.

“Baby, I’m sorry. Mom shouldn’t have scolded you without hearing you out. Mom apologizes, okay?” He Yingjie’s voice nearly broke in tears.

Qiu Baozhu’s eyelids shielded his emotions as he shook his head. “It’s okay.”

He Yingjie’s brow knit faintly, sensing the boy’s reaction was different from before. In the past, he would have been so upset he’d cry in streams of tears, and once the truth was revealed, even if he didn’t cling and complain, he would act spoiled, saying, “Mom doesn’t love me anymore.”

Having passed He Yingjie’s test, Qiu Baozhu returned to his room to wash up. Taking off his clothes, he couldn’t help but smell them.

They stank.

Full of smoke and alcohol odor, Qiu Baozhu groaned drowsily.

Auntie Wan had already prepared the water.

He sank into the bathtub, blowing bubbles. Among the floating bubbles, he saw the many faces from his past life.

He recalled He Yingjie’s expression and tone earlier when facing him.

Though she looked magnificent and elegant under the grand imported lighting fixtures, like a queen wielding a scepter, she held no trace of anxiety or unrest from financial ruin.

She looked down at him from above, making him feel small—so small he was below her knees.

The present He Yingjie was not exactly the same as the one in his later life, but the feelings he experienced facing her were much the same.

“Knock.”

“Knock.”

“Knock.”

With a splash, Qiu Baozhu lifted his head from the water. “Come in.”

Qiu Fei pushed the door open.

Qiu Baozhu knew it was him because only Qiu Fei knocked so feebly.

The boy crouched beside the tub expressionless. “Are you okay? Mother might come looking for Huang Huazhu trouble tomorrow.”

Qiu Baozhu’s eyes, washed by the water, glistened. “I’m fine.” He had mostly sobered up.

“I mean, Mother scolding you...” Qiu Fei’s eyes behind his glasses seemed hesitant.

“That’s fine too,” Qiu Baozhu said casually. “Doesn’t she scold you often?”

“I’m used to it,” Qiu Fei leaned against the tub.

Qiu Baozhu pinched bubbles on the water surface, popping them one by one, leaving slippery water stains on his fingers.

“Qiu Fei, Mother doesn’t love me as much as you think,” the boy said in an unusually flat tone.

Qiu Fei pushed up his glasses, not showing any comforted expression, but turned his head to look at Qiu Baozhu. “I know.”

“...” Qiu Baozhu scooped water with his palm and splashed it at Qiu Fei.

—

His art studies were put on hold because of this small accident. Qiu Baozhu no longer felt certain that He Yingjie would agree to him studying art. Without parental consent, Jiang Saiqiu would not accept him auditing classes.

Qiu Baozhu officially began self-study.

In his previous life, he started studying art in his freshman year. Wei Shu had just been formally recognized by the Wei family then and immediately arranged for Qiu Baozhu to have a teacher.

At the first class, Qiu Baozhu didn’t know the teacher, only feeling the name sounded familiar. After class, he searched the teacher’s name online and discovered that he was a world-renowned abstract art master.

Wei Shu had arranged more than twenty different teachers for him, each with a unique style and international reputation.

By the time he ventured into jewelry design, Qiu Baozhu had gradually developed his own painting and design style.

But later, having failed to enter the university he wanted, and growing distant from Wei Shu... he hadn’t held a brush for too long.

“Qiu Baozhu?”

“You’re drawing?”

Pan Sheng’an approached with a bag of small cakes, placing them on Qiu Baozhu’s desk. “I made these myself. Thanks for helping me that day.”

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Qiu Baozhu put down his brush, tore open a small cake, and took a bite. “Delicious.”

“You can make cakes?”

“A little. My family’s cakes always have tea leaves, but I don’t like tea leaves—they’re a bit bitter.”

Qiu Baozhu nodded. “I don’t like bitter things either.”

Several days had passed, yet he still felt the bitter taste clinging to Wei Shu’s presence, overpowering even the sharpness of the alcohol.

Not wanting any further entanglement with Wei Shu, he stuffed several overly sweet cakes into his mouth.

“Aren’t you tired of them?” Even Pan Sheng’an frowned.

Qiu Baozhu gave him a thumbs-up.

That afternoon, having eaten too many cakes, Qiu Baozhu skipped the cafeteria. Outside the corridor came a buzzing whisper, more like murmurs of a swarm of bees than loud chatter.

Qiu Baozhu leaned on his desk and saw a tall, striking girl enter cradling a book. She walked straight to the empty seat in the far corner, crossed her legs, put on headphones, and ignored all the gazes inside and outside the classroom.

How did Zeng Mingmei end up in their class?

Coincidentally, Wei Shu returned to the classroom from the cafeteria at this moment.

Seeing his shadow, Qiu Baozhu immediately withdrew his gaze, burying his face in his arm, and quickly stowed a stack of drawings into his desk.

He could feel Wei Shu walk past him.

Not long after, just as Qiu Baozhu relaxed, a pair of tattered sneakers, more worn than Qiu Fei’s canvas shoes, appeared in his field of vision.

“Qiu Baozhu.”

He stayed motionless, lying prone.

The boy stood silently beside him.

After a while, Wei Shu pulled out the chair in front of Qiu Baozhu, spun it around, sat facing him, and said nothing, simply watching the swirl at the crown of the boy’s head.

A breeze blew through the window, carrying the fresh, slightly astringent scent of green leaves.

Qiu Baozhu’s palms sweated, even the exposed skin of his neck broke out in a thin sheen of sweat.

Better to face Wei Shu directly—there was nothing to fear.

Qiu Baozhu slowly straightened up, yawned, and asked, “What?”

His cheeks flushed slightly, eyes averted, but there were no bruises or exhaustion on his face or neck.

It seemed He Yingjie had not laid a hand on him.

Wei Shu sat where a wall pillar blocked the light; his dark brown eyes were cold and black.

Qiu Baozhu knew this expression well—this was Wei Shu’s look when he was deep in thought, about to make a decisive move.

At first, he didn’t understand, but later whenever he saw this expression, it sent chills down his spine.

Qiu Baozhu could hardly fathom it anymore.

In his previous life, what kind of reckless courage had he had to dare fall in love with Wei Shu?

“Nothing.”

The chair creaked softly as Wei Shu stood.

Qiu Baozhu clenched his fingers tightly on his knee.

After standing, Wei Shu took his hand out from his coat pocket and placed something on Qiu Baozhu’s desk.

It was a greenish-blue candy.

“Thanks for helping me report the incident the other day,” Wei Shu said, then brushed his coat sleeve against the edge of the desk and returned to his seat.

Under the sunlight, the candy wrapper reflected a cold, blocky gleam, hazy like a tangled chain.

A chill surged from Qiu Baozhu’s feet.

He clearly remembered that in his previous life, after he helped Wei Shu, Wei Shu had given him the exact same candy.