Half a month later, Shi Yuan’s vacation came to an end.
He Jingchuan personally accompanied him all the way back to his Cambridge dormitory, still uneasy: “Keep your phone on, eat on time, and call me immediately if you feel unwell.”
At the end, he paused, his tone unusually tinged with a worry he rarely showed: “Be smart. Don’t let just anyone win you over with a few sweet words.”
Like some naive fool, tricked body and soul by some penniless punk.
Shi Yuan patted his chest in assurance: “That’s hard. I was first in the whole school for the 1,000-meter run in high school.”
The air fell silent for a full three seconds. He Jingchuan raised a hand to press his temples.
Forget it. What’s the point of lecturing this little fool? Better to keep an eye on him myself.
After seeing Shi Yuan back to school, He Jingchuan didn’t linger. A pile of matters awaited him at the hospital, and he had to rush back to the country without delay to continue working.
Watching He Jingchuan leave, Shi Yuan felt particularly guilty. He secretly vowed to treat Uncle He as well as his own father from now on, not a bit less.
The first few days after the semester started, Shi Yuan adjusted quickly, taking exams and attending classes as usual. No one noticed he was still carrying a baby in his belly.
Every morning while looking in the mirror, Shi Yuan would casually examine his stomach. So far, it was fine—a loose sweater could hide everything.
But in a few more months, as the weather warmed and clothes became lighter, the belly would become very noticeable.
By then, whether Huo Sang had graduated or not, he would have to take a leave of absence and return home.
Shi Yuan still remembered his promise to treat Huo Sang to a meal. He decided to cook a feast himself, right in the dorm.
Last semester, Huo Sang’s Chinese cooking had been so delicious it had stuck in his mind.
As someone with an extremely strong competitive streak, Shi Yuan absolutely refused to lose in culinary skills.
For this, he steeled himself and splurged on the most expensive, highest-quality ingredients from the Chinese supermarket.
With such sincerity, even if Huo Sang later discovered he’d secretly had a baby, he’d be too embarrassed to turn hostile.
Upon learning Shi Yuan intended to cook, Huo Sang immediately elevated the matter to the highest priority of life events.
He changed into a low-key, custom-tailored suit, set out his treasured vintage red wine on the table, lit this year’s limited-edition scented candles, and had someone specially retrieve the most expensive bone China tableware from his private estate’s storage.
Half an hour later, Shi Yuan finally emerged with the last dish.
He plopped down opposite Huo Sang, his stunningly beautiful eyes—almost too dazzling to look at—fixed intently on Huo Sang in the candlelight. Propping his chin, he smiled: “Try it.”
Huo Sang solemnly picked up his utensils, took a bite of the egg-fried rice, closed his eyes, and put it in his mouth.
Shi Yuan watched with eager anticipation: “How is it?”
Huo Sang took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself.
It’s fine! Consider it early practice for getting used to my wife’s cooking!
With the resolve of a martyr, he bit down…
Sure enough.
The rice wasn’t fully cooked; it was underdone.
The moment he bit down, sweet, sour, bitter, spicy, and salty flavors exploded simultaneously on his tongue.
A single tiny grain of rice, a culmination of Chinese culinary flavors—truly reaching the pinnacle, the supreme master among grains, genuinely eclectic and all-encompassing. It could be called the kind of five-flavor extravaganza most likely to satisfy a demanding client!
Shi Yuan sat across from him, bowl in hand, eyes sparkling as he watched.
“Is it good?”
Huo Sang forced himself to swallow, his voice steady: “Delicious.”
Shi Yuan didn’t believe him: “Really?”
He didn’t even dare to eat it himself.
“It’s delicious,” Hawthorne forced himself to take two more bites against his conscience. “I love it.”
Shi Yuan felt a twinge of sympathy.
So his senior brother had taste issues—how pitiful.
He pushed all the dishes toward Hawthorne. “If you love it, eat more.”
Hawthorne felt his stomach burning.
Shi Yuan stared at Hawthorne’s expression, his tail drooping with a whoosh, his voice growing softer. “You’re lying to me. My cooking isn’t as good as yours.”
How could Hawthorne let Shi Yuan feel sad? “It’s already very good, far better than most Chinese restaurants out there.”
Shi Yuan was half-convinced, half-doubtful.
Hawthorne kept a straight face. “Your knife skills are excellent. You just need to practice controlling the heat a bit more.”
Truthfully, only the knife skills were passable.
Shi Yuan processed this and regained his confidence. “Then if I ever lose my job in the future, I’ll become a chef.”
Oh no, I accidentally praised a potential menace into society.
He tried to salvage the situation. “Then remember to tell me. I know some restaurant owners and can help introduce you if there’s an opportunity.”
But he wouldn’t give Shi Yuan that chance.
In the future, Shi Yuan would be the Duchess—there was no way he’d ever lack money.
Shi Yuan nodded in satisfaction, feeling this was one of the most pleasant things Hawthorne had said since they’d met.
Hawthorne looked at Shi Yuan.
Suddenly, he realized that Shi Yuan seemed different lately.
The candlelight illuminated Shi Yuan’s face. His complexion was more radiant, his eyes brighter, with an indescribable liveliness—like a pink lily on the verge of blooming in spring, making one want to lean in for a closer look.
Shi Yuan remained oblivious to Hawthorne’s gaze. He turned slightly and secretly rubbed his calf.
Since becoming pregnant, his ankles had often felt sore and swollen. Today, he’d stood too long in the kitchen while cooking, and now the swelling was even more noticeable.
Instinctively, he lifted his leg, his gaze settling on the nearest resting spot—Hawthorne’s leg.
Shi Yuan slowly narrowed his eyes.
Hawthorne was his baby’s father, and he was currently suffering because of the baby. So, wasn’t it perfectly reasonable and justified for him to make the baby’s father suffer too?
Thus, he confidently placed his foot on Hawthorne’s leg.
Hawthorne had been lost in admiration of this pure pink lily, never expecting the lily to secretly tease him!
Suppressing his inner urges, he looked at Shi Yuan with a dazed expression.
Shi Yuan explained softly, “I stood too long, senior brother. My feet hurt.”
“Let me massage them.” Hawthorne pretended to remain calm, taking a deep breath. He set down his chopsticks and gently grasped Shi Yuan’s ankle through the soft, fluffy socks, his thumb subtly pressing along the bone seam with just the right amount of pressure.
Shi Yuan closed his eyes in comfort.
Seeing Shi Yuan like this, Hawthorne felt a surge of heat rushing through his body. He forcefully suppressed a certain thought, forcing himself to lower his head again.
Suddenly, Shi Yuan wrinkled his nose and looked at Hawthorne. “Senior brother, are you wearing perfume?”
Hawthorne froze, instinctively sniffing his collar before shaking his head. “No.”
Shi Yuan didn’t let his guard down. Instead, he grew more alert.
He knew this scheming man all too well—Hawthorne always secretly preened like a peacock without telling anyone.
Shi Yuan immediately withdrew his foot, stood up, and walked over to Hawthorne. His legs were too sore to stand properly, so he leaned against the edge of the table, resting his hands on the surface as he leaned in and took a gentle sniff of Hawthorne’s scent.
There was indeed a fragrance, but it didn’t smell like perfume.
“Senior brother,” Shi Yuan said with a puzzled expression, “you smell so good.”
Hawthorne’s mind went blank, his heart pounding wildly.
This might be the scent of hormones, damn it.
He took a deep breath, afraid he might lose control, and excused himself to go to the bathroom. He stood up and left, turning on the faucet to let the trickling sound of water drown out all other noises.
After a long while, Hawthorne finally finished venting his pent-up emotions. He washed up briefly, took a shower, and casually sprayed some perfume into the air to mask the lingering scent before pushing the door open.
Shi Yuan was standing right outside the door.
The two nearly collided. Shi Yuan took half a step back, his gaze lingering for two seconds on Hawthorne’s muscular figure, wrapped only in a towel. His eyes slowly lit up, and a mischievous smile curled at the corner of his lips. “Still saying you didn’t spray perfume?”
Hawthorne stared at him, momentarily speechless.
He was already struggling to hold back, and now the little cake was practically serving itself up on a platter…
“Caught red-handed, huh? Nothing to say now?” Shi Yuan gloated, thinking to himself how fortunate he was to have stayed vigilant, lying in wait here like a hunter. His legs had even gone numb from crouching. “Liar, next time you—”
Hawthorne reached out, hooked his hand around the back of Shi Yuan’s neck, pulled him into an embrace, lowered his head, and kissed him.
The rest of Shi Yuan’s words vanished in his throat as he froze in place.
His eyes slowly widened as he finally realized what was happening. He struggled to push Hawthorne away with his tongue, but it inadvertently felt like an invitation, only allowing Hawthorne to deepen the kiss further.
Hawthorne turned and pressed him against the wall, fitting perfectly against Shi Yuan’s increasingly pliant body as he continued to deepen their first kiss.
Shi Yuan’s mind slowly ground to a halt, and a tightly wound string within him gradually loosened. He even forgot to push Hawthorne away—until Hawthorne’s hand accidentally landed on his waist, slid downward, and pressed against his abdomen.
Shi Yuan shuddered violently and shoved him away.
He took two steps back, his back pressed against the wall, covering his mouth. His face burned hot, and his heart raced chaotically.
That was close—he almost got found out.
A faint, sweet taste of red wine lingered in his mouth. Hawthorne must have had a drink while showering.
Shi Yuan paused for a moment, then understood.
Senior must be drunk.
He quietly placed his hands over his stomach.
Remember this, little one: alcohol is a troublemaker. Whoever drinks it is an idiot.