On his way back to the dorm from the gym, Shi Yuan walked while reflecting.
He had been far too idle lately, corrupted by the evils of capitalism, to the point where he had completely lost the fighting spirit he once prided himself on in front of Hawthorne.
This couldn’t go on any longer.
Shi Yuan made a decisive move: he would return to China early.
With a grand gesture, he opened the ticket-booking app, planning to leave without a word, catching Hawthorne off guard while salvaging what little dignity he had left.
But after seeing the ticket prices, he promptly retracted his decision.
Better to travel during off-peak times, Shi Yuan convinced himself.
However, this brought up a new problem.
Once the holiday arrived, Hawthorne probably wouldn’t stay on campus. And although his nausea had improved compared to the past few days, there was no guarantee it wouldn’t flare up again. He couldn’t very well follow Hawthorne around during the holiday.
Holding onto a sliver of hope, Shi Yuan tugged at Hawthorne’s sleeve. “Senior, are you spending the holiday with your family?”
Hawthorne took in Shi Yuan’s little gesture, his heart itching with desire, wishing he could pull him close and kiss him right then and there. On the surface, however, he remained composed and shook his head. “No, why?”
Although Hawthorne came from a vast and intricate family lineage, with countless relatives among the aristocracy and court officials, those he truly considered family could be counted on one hand.
The old widower liked to visit his wife’s grave alone during holidays to talk, and Hawthorne had always been tactful enough not to disturb him at such times.
That left only the royal family, but during festive seasons, official duties were at their busiest, leaving little room for personal time.
So holidays, for Hawthorne, had always been spent alone.
“Not with family?” Shi Yuan feigned surprise, though inwardly he was cheering, and asked innocently, “Then how will you spend it?” “You’d better spend it with me on campus.”
Hawthorne’s lips curved into a smile. “So eager to stick with me even during the holiday.”
He stared at Shi Yuan’s slightly upturned lips and deliberately paused. “I’m participating in a sailing competition. I won’t be staying on campus.”
Shi Yuan felt as if the sky had fallen.
He couldn’t exactly sneak onto Hawthorne’s boat and sail out to sea with him!
Taking a deep breath inwardly, Shi Yuan closed his eyes and blurted out, “Will there be many spectators at the competition? Will anyone be there to cheer for you?”
The subtext was: if the spectator stands were empty, he could consider filling in. He watched the Spring Festival Gala every year and was quite familiar with the art of being a “planted” audience member.
But coming from his mouth, the words carried a hint of sarcasm.
Hawthorne, seeing his beloved through rose-tinted glasses, was overjoyed. He conveniently suppressed the fact that he was actually the star competitor of the sailing race and shook his head pitifully at Shi Yuan. “Not many. Do you want to come and cheer for me?”
Shi Yuan immediately nodded. “Yes.”
So easily and naturally achieving his goal- truly, heaven was on his side.
Hawthorne watched Shi Yuan’s delighted expression and smiled faintly.
Was watching him compete really that exciting?
In the future, there would be plenty of competitions—equestrian, hunting, rowing, big and small. It seemed he’d have to bring Shi Yuan along to all of them.
The sailing competition was held on the Isle of Wight.
Shi Yuan arrived early with Hawthorne, having traveled all the way from Cambridge by car, transferred to Hawthorne’s private ferry midway, and after just one night’s rest on the island, woke up early this morning. He was still a bit groggy, standing on the pier, and it was only after being blown by the sea breeze that he managed to rouse himself slightly.
The seawater here was a grayish-blue, and the sea mist had yet to disperse. The pier was already lined with spectator boats and racing yachts, their white masts densely clustered beneath the skyline like a silent forest.
In the distance, the yacht club’s bell chimed.
The sound cut through the salty, damp sea breeze, drifting toward the pier. The pier was packed with spectators, while on the yacht club’s terrace, elegantly dressed old aristocrats had long prepared their telescopes, conversing in hushed tones in small groups.
This was one of the most important social seasons at sea of the year.
And today, everyone was waiting for Hawthorne, the maritime monarch of the sailing world, to achieve yet another glorious victory.
Hawthorne was dressed minimally today.
A black windbreaker, a dark gray wool turtleneck, gloves tucked in his palm. The sea breeze tousled the black hair on his forehead, making Shi Yuan squint slightly.
His rival was putting on airs again.
The other side of the pier fell silent.
The deep navy-blue spectator boat docked at the central berth had already lowered its gangway. The crew quickly lined up before Hawthorne’s arrival, and the boat manager strode forward, bowing gracefully: “Good morning, Your Grace.”
This vessel was the Hawthorne family’s private spectator boat. Unlike the spectators on the pier or the yacht club’s terrace, the spectator boat could anchor a few hundred meters away from the racing yachts in calmer waters, offering the best view of the competition.
But Hawthorne never brought outsiders to watch the races. This was the first time the boat manager had formally received His Grace, and the most formal address slipped out instinctively.
Shi Yuan was still a bit dazed, his brain conveniently filtering out the boat manager’s “Your Grace.”
The boat manager said respectfully, “Your esteemed Grace, I extend to you the most sincere morning greetings. If you require breakfast or a doctor, please—”
Halfway through his sentence, Hawthorne didn’t look at him.
He turned around, stepped past the boat manager, and reached out a hand behind him.
Only then did everyone on the boat realize that there was a Chinese man standing behind Hawthorne.
Shi Yuan was also wearing a dark gray wool coat today, with a sea-blue scarf wrapped around his neck, revealing half of his face, pale from the sea breeze. He held a wool blanket in his arms, clearly tired and looking somewhat delicate and unwell.
Hawthorne firmly took Shi Yuan’s hand, supporting him as he boarded the boat, even instinctively shielding his lower back.
Shi Yuan, accustomed to being cared for, squinted contentedly. The frustration accumulated from the long journey dissipated significantly at this moment, and he gathered his energy, preparing to watch the race attentively later.
At nine in the morning, the race officially began.
The wind on the sea had noticeably strengthened.
Dozens of racing yachts set sail from the harbor simultaneously, their white sails unfurling one after another across the gray-blue sea like a vast expanse of spread wings—a truly magnificent sight.
Hawthorne was the last to leave the harbor. As the deep navy-blue hull cut through the water, the entire spectator area fell silent for a moment.
Shi Yuan sat inside the glass observation cabin, his fingers lightly clutching the wool blanket.
His stomach began to stir restlessly again.
The spectator boat rocked gently with the waves, the motion slight but enough to make him retch a few more times in his current state. His face gradually paled as he turned his head aside, instinctively gagging.
Someone nearby immediately grew concerned. “Sir, you seem seasick. Should we return to shore?”
Shi Yuan steadied his breathing and shook his head. “No need.”
He raised the binoculars again, aiming them at the deep navy-blue sailboat.
Most of the race had passed when the wind at sea suddenly shifted.
Without warning, the wind pressure surged violently, raising the waves noticeably higher. The spectator boat lurched sharply a couple of times, forcing Shi Yuan to grip the railing.
He saw the white sail suddenly tilt to one side.
The angle was extreme, the sail nearly skimming the water. Shi Yuan’s heart plummeted.
The next second, he saw Hawthorne’s figure lean sharply out from the side of the boat.
Hawthorne hung entirely outside the hull, his feet firmly braced against the deck’s edge, his body almost parallel to the water. Using his weight to counter the wind pressure, he hauled the nearly capsized boat back upright.
Spray brushed past his cheek as he tightened the rope with one hand, his core taut like a black blade driven into the storm, unwavering.
The sail trembled violently in the gale, then abruptly filled again. The boat stabilized, and instead of slowing, it surged forward, propelled by the wind.
A collective gasp erupted around him.
It was a flawless, extreme heel maneuver!
The finish-line bell rang—Hawthorne’s boat crossed first.
Shi Yuan lowered the binoculars, his ears ringing faintly, unsure exactly what he was feeling.
He watched Hawthorne’s boat gradually slow, turn, and head toward the awards area, as if the entire sea had become his domain.
Event staff and spectators swarmed around, encircling Hawthorne.
Yet Hawthorne looked up.
Across the gray-blue expanse of water, his first glance wasn’t at the victory flag or the crowd.
It was toward where Shi Yuan stood.
Something in Shi Yuan’s chest trembled lightly.
—He’s taunting me.
So what if he won first place! Hmph!
Shi Yuan thought fiercely, his face flushed.
Hawthorne, having successfully defended his championship, accepted the gleaming gold trophy. Camera shutters clicked incessantly around him; everyone watched, waiting for him to raise the cup in salute, capturing the champion’s moment.
Instead, Hawthorne pushed through the crowd and, under everyone’s gaze, walked up to Shi Yuan, offering him the trophy.
Caught off guard, Shi Yuan took it. He looked down at it, then up, meeting Hawthorne’s gaze directly.
Shutters rattled like firecrackers.
Hawthorne took the opportunity to wrap an arm around Shi Yuan’s shoulder, drawing him close to his side, like a triumphant sea king welcoming his treasure.
Something feels off here!
The post-race banquet was held at a historic manor hotel onshore.
Shi Yuan was forced to attend in formal attire alongside Hawthorne.
Hawthorne’s reasoning was that his victory deserved to be witnessed by Shi Yuan, a fellow Cambridge alumnus.
As the only guest present representing Hawthorne’s Cambridge circle, Shi Yuan felt the weight of responsibility and gladly agreed to attend.
But after two days of following Hawthorne around, dealing with motion sickness on both car and boat, Shi Yuan was utterly exhausted and constantly drowsy.
As expected, halfway through the banquet, Shi Yuan began to struggle to stay awake.
Having spent too much energy watching the boat races during the day, the warmth of the hall, the flickering candlelight, and the mingled scents of perfume and alcohol now felt thick and heavy, seeping into his nostrils. Leaning on the edge of the table, he stood up and quietly found a corner, intending to close his eyes and rest for a while.
And then he fell asleep.
The first to notice were several guests at the neighboring table, who exchanged glances and looked over, whispering in hushed tones.
Although everyone present knew that Shi Yuan was the champion’s male companion, this was, after all, a formal banquet. Such behavior in such a setting was truly… improper.
Hawthorne realized Shi Yuan was not by his side while exchanging pleasantries with a lady.
He scanned the room and spotted Shi Yuan in the corner at once, immediately setting down his glass. “My apologies, Lady Constance, I must excuse myself for a moment.”
“What did you say? Is it time to begin the meal?” Lady Constance, advanced in years, was hard of hearing.
But Hawthorne was already walking toward Shi Yuan.
Shi Yuan slept peacefully, curled on his side with his cheek resting against the back of the chair, his eyelashes lying still. The surrounding chatter and noise failed to wake him.
Hawthorne instinctively softened his footsteps.
Lady Constance slowly followed, her silver hair meticulously styled, a satin corsage pinned near her ear. She had likely attended more formal occasions than everyone else in the room combined.
Standing beside Hawthorne, she studied Shi Yuan for a long while. With her aged, dim eyesight, she mistook him for a lady and remarked with a smile, “When I was young, I once saw a lady who also fell asleep at an important banquet. At the time, some criticized her for being rude and lacking manners. Later, everyone learned that the lady was newly pregnant, suffering from severe morning sickness, which left her in poor condition.”
She turned her head and teased Hawthorne in a low voice, “Sir, is your wife in a similar situation?”