Prenuptial Agreement
The two of them entered the small study together.
Once inside this semi-enclosed space—away from their parents’ and brother’s watchful eyes—Jiang Zhuoye’s expression darkened tenfold compared to before.
He folded his arms and leaned back in a high-backed chair, his entire posture screaming rejection toward the person beside him.
He was originally quite handsome, but with his sharp brows drawn together and his recently dyed dark red hair, he now looked distinctly dangerous.
Bo Yun was checking the agreement. When he looked up and saw that expression, he froze for a second, then curled his lips slightly, mockery flickering in his eyes.
He glanced sideways at Jiang Zhuoye, sounding casual, but his words carried a bite.
“I really can’t believe you agreed to this marriage.”
He flipped a page of the agreement.
“I thought you’d cry, make a scene, threaten to hang yourself, then storm into my house and tell me to stop dreaming.”
He knew how much Jiang Zhuoye hated him.
Though they were engaged, the age gap was too large. He had never had the patience to coddle children, and his attitude toward Jiang Zhuoye had always been downright harsh.
After Jiang Zhuoye entered puberty, he’d likely developed a sense of shame, feeling that being engaged to a man since childhood was humiliating—like a feudal relic. So whenever Bo Yun was around, he spared no effort in expressing his disgust, provoking him at every opportunity.
Bo Yun had even heard Jiang Zhuoye tell his friends that he would never marry him—he’d rather spend his whole life with Beibei than have anything to do with Bo Yun.
Beibei was Jiang Zhuoye’s dog—a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.
Unfortunately, Beibei had passed away peacefully last year, unable to serve as his little owner’s final refuge.
And so, no matter how unwilling Jiang Zhuoye was, he would still have to stand in a church and recite false vows with him.
Fate really did love its jokes.
Bo Yun thought.
Hearing this, Jiang Zhuoye’s expression worsened.
Because he really had cried, made a scene, and threatened to hang himself—but what good did that do? His brother was even better at that routine than he was.
Jiang Zhuoye shot Bo Yun a cold look.
“What’s there to make a fuss about?” he said. “It’s not like I don’t know. Besides our cursed matching birth charts, it’s also because your family wants to work with mine to develop the port project in Country C. This marriage alliance just happens to be perfectly timed—beneficial to both you and my family. What reason do I have to refuse?”
All of this had been said to him by Jiang Xu—spoken earnestly, with heartfelt persuasion and even tears.
How could the Jiang family possibly be soft-hearted bodhisattvas, agreeing to this marriage alliance just because the Bo family begged?
Jiang Zhuoye was also the treasured darling of his family. Agreeing to an engagement back then was one thing; actually getting married was another matter entirely.
So for the sake of this alliance, the Bo family truly showed full sincerity. In this round of cooperation, they were not only willing to give priority access to certain resource channels, but also to concede an additional five percent of future operating profits.
Among the gifts they sent was even a parcel of land near a port, enormously valuable.
It made Jiang Xu—the money-grubber older brother—practically light up with dollar signs in his eyes.
Jiang Xu had said bluntly, “If my birth chart weren’t incompatible, I’d marry over there myself. I’m more reliable than you, you know. I’d never screw up the cooperation between our families, and you wouldn’t have to suffer through this. Too bad they don’t want me—they only want you. I’m worried sick.”
Jiang Zhuoye had no way out.
This brother of his, who loved money more than his own sibling, went all in—appealing to emotion and reason alike. From taking the blame for Jiang Zhuoye as a child and getting beaten by their parents in his stead, to Jiang Zhuoye smashing a pair of antique blue-and-white porcelains last month, to wrecking a limited-edition collector’s car the year before—incident after incident, mixing threats, inducements, and moral blackmail.
Jiang Zhuoye’s head even started pounding. In the end, he had no choice but to raise his hands and surrender.
Fine. Fine.
Isn’t it just getting married? Just going through the motions. It’s not like they can’t get divorced.
Thinking this, Jiang Zhuoye let out a cold laugh.
He raised his brows and looked at Bo Yun, scanning him from head to toe with a trace of frivolity, as if placing him on a scale to weigh exactly how much he was worth.
He said to Bo Yun, “You know, you’re actually pretty valuable. My brother said that if I agreed to marry you, he’d give me an extra one hundred million a year in allowance—and buy me a new yacht.”
“Thanks to you,” he curled his lips, “I made a small fortune.”
More than that, his brother had clenched his teeth and agreed that after graduation, Jiang Zhuoye wouldn’t have to enter the company right away—he could slack off for another two years.
That was the condition that tempted him the most.
Bo Yun wasn’t particularly surprised.
He’d known that to get this young master—who always glared at him with hostility—to agree to marriage, Jiang Xu would have to bleed a little. That it could be settled so simply was better than he’d expected.
“Is that so? Then that’s good,” he didn’t even twitch an eyebrow, clearly unconcerned by Jiang Zhuoye’s provocative posture. “Looks like Jiang Xu has already done enough psychological prep for you. No need for me to waste words.”
He tilted his chin toward the lawyer. “Then let’s not waste time. Read the agreement.”
…..
The prenuptial agreement provided by the Bo family was extremely detailed—clauses upon clauses, item after item.
They might as well have specified how many hours Jiang Zhuoye and Bo Yun were required to sleep in bed together.
The more Jiang Zhuoye listened, the worse his expression became. His molars clenched tight, one hand pressing down on the pen in his grip, veins faintly standing out on the back of his hand.
What kind of nonsense were these rules?
No wonder his brother had been so agreeable.
“Clause Seven: Within the first year of marriage, neither party may live separately. They must reside under the same roof and may not deliberately occupy rooms at opposite ends of the house.”
“Clause Twelve: Within the first year of marriage, Mr. Jiang and Mr. Bo must dine together at least three times a week.”
“Clause Thirteen: Within the first year of marriage, the two must sleep in the same bedroom at least three days per week.”
“Clause Twenty-One: After marriage, the Bo family will provide monitoring wristbands. If the total time the two are in close proximity each week is less than thirty hours, the wristbands will issue a warning. If warnings exceed three times, it will be deemed a breach of contract, requiring compensation of ten million yuan to the other party.”
“Clause Twenty-Seven: During the marriage, there must be no extramarital misconduct, including but not limited to inappropriate closeness with persons of either sex or any substantive infidelity. Once discovered, the commercial agreements previously signed between the two families will be renegotiated.”
….
“Clause Thirty-Six: At important social occasions, both parties must attend together and fulfill their duties as partners.”
“Clause Thirty-Seven: On birthdays, wedding anniversaries, and other significant commemorative days, the parties must spend them together. Within the first year of marriage, there must be one date per month; within the first three years, there must be one vacation per year.”
“Final Clause: It is hoped that the two of you will truly fall in love and continue the marriage. If this clause is fulfilled, Mr. Jiang Zhuoye will receive an additional 5% of Bo Yue Group shares.”
Hearing the final clause, Jiang Zhuoye couldn’t help but snort. Young and hot-blooded, he’d already grown restless halfway through. He hadn’t planned to give Bo Yun any face in the first place and deliberately sat in a loose, casual posture. Irritated, he’d undone two buttons of his otherwise meticulous shirt, revealing a pale neck and smooth skin—
—and that fragile, beautiful stretch of throat.
“Who wrote this clause? That’s some wild fantasy,” he mocked, looking at Bo Yun. “Don’t tell me it was you. That’d be ridiculous. You know—I feel sick just looking at you.”
The two lawyers across from them had finished reading the clauses. Hearing such an explosive remark, they nonetheless maintained professional composure, their gazes not shifting at all.
Bo Yun didn’t even look at Jiang Zhuoye. In truth, it was hard for anything Jiang Zhuoye said to provoke his anger.
He had always ignored Jiang Zhuoye like this over the years, which was precisely why Jiang Zhuoye got so angry so often.
“You’re overthinking it.” He held an unlit cigarette between his fingers. The reading had been unbearably long. He’d wanted to smoke several times to kill the boredom, but with a “kid” sitting beside him, he let it go.
He said coolly, “Obviously, my grandfather wrote it. If there’s anyone who actually takes our marriage seriously, it’s him.”
Mentioning his grandfather, a hint of helplessness surfaced on Bo Yun’s usually cold face.
After a brief pause, he finally looked Jiang Zhuoye in the eye. “Speaking of which, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
Jiang Zhuoye eyed him warily and raised a brow. “Go on.”
Bo Yun said, “You and I both know that this engagement—aside from our ridiculous birth charts and that feudal superstition—is really about cooperation between our families. It’s just a three-year transaction. When the time’s up, we part ways.”
“But my grandfather doesn’t see it that way.”
“Call him old, or not clear-headed anymore—he genuinely believes you and I are a perfect match, destined for each other. That we’re only missing an opportunity to get along, so he wants to create that opportunity.”
“He doesn’t care whether I should marry a socially appropriate woman, or whether I’ll leave descendants behind. He just wants me to live well—safe, healthy, and to grow old in peace.”
Jiang Zhuoye couldn’t help but freeze.
That sharp, arrogant face of Bo Yun’s showed a fleeting softness when he spoke of the only family member closest to him.
Only at moments like this would Jiang Zhuoye briefly forget Bo Yun’s nastiness and notice his striking eyes—pitch-black and clear, heavily inked, lashes fluttering, long narrow corners that were almost seductive, both affectionate and heartless.
But Jiang Zhuoye didn’t fall for it.
“So?” he crossed his arms, sneering slightly. “You’re not going to tell me that to fulfill your grandfather’s wish, you’re really willing to follow his lead and cultivate feelings with me. Don’t kid yourself.”
“That’s not it,” Bo Yun laughed softly, never one to take a loss. He immediately shot back, scrutinizing Jiang Zhuoye with an even sharper gaze. “I’m not ready to make that big a sacrifice. I’m not about to bury the rest of my life in your hands.”
“You—” Jiang Zhuoye flared up.
But before he could erupt, Bo Yun withdrew his smile. Even his voice grew restrained, almost sincere.
“I just hope that in front of my grandfather, you can be a little more polite. At the very least, don’t let him see how bad our relationship is. Mutual respect—those two words aren’t hard to understand, right?”
Bo Yun tilted his head slightly, looking at Jiang Zhuoye. The unlit cigarette turned slowly between his fingers.
“You won’t have many chances to see my grandfather anyway. His health is poor. He spends most of his time recuperating over in Luoshan. Earlier this year, he had to be resuscitated once—doctors even told me to prepare myself mentally. So you won’t be put in much of a bind. You just need to go see him with me, humor him a little, tell him you and I get along fine. That’s all.”
As he said this, his eyelashes trembled faintly.
Jiang Zhuoye had looked indifferent before, but now he fell silent. His crossed arms loosened slightly.
His impression of Bo Yun’s grandfather wasn’t bad.
Maybe because of that strange birth chart of his, Bo Yun’s grandfather had always treated him kindly and warmly.
Whatever the reason, at least the old man had always been good to him.
Jiang Zhuoye pressed his lips together almost imperceptibly and asked quietly, “Your grandfather… is it really that bad?”
No wonder Bo Yun had relented and come to his family to propose.
Bo Yun’s attitude toward this marriage had once been even more disdainful than Jiang Zhuoye’s. He’d openly declared he would annul the absurd engagement and reclaim his freedom.
Yet at the beginning of this year, Bo Yun had suddenly changed. Standing on the long steps of Jiang’s home, he’d politely greeted him.
“Mm.”
Bo Yun didn’t want to dwell on the subject. Even someone like him avoided confronting the aging, illness, and death of loved ones.
The room fell into a brief silence.
Bo Yun didn’t urge Jiang Zhuoye. He knew he would agree.
This person’s heart had never been hard enough, not since childhood.
Sure enough, a few seconds later came the response: “Fine. I can do that. But don’t expect anything else.”
The corner of Bo Yun’s mouth relaxed almost imperceptibly.
“What else do you think there is?” he asked with a trace of teasing.
He didn’t know why, but every time he faced this young “fiancé” of his, he felt an inexplicable irritation.
He knew Jiang Zhuoye disliked him.
Just as he found Jiang Zhuoye troublesome.
Who would want to be bound to a stranger because of some so-called master’s cryptic advice?
If they were closer in age, maybe it would be easier to communicate.
Instead, there was an eight-year gap. Jiang Zhuoye was too young, immature, prickly—rolling his eyes at him at the slightest disagreement.
Their personalities couldn’t be more opposite. Forget lovers—being friends would be difficult enough. And yet, they were actually going to get married.
Even Bo Yun felt the irony of fate.
He tossed the cigarette he’d never lit into the marble ashtray beside him, stared at the agreement for a few seconds, then pushed one copy toward Jiang Zhuoye.
“If you have no objections, then sign.”
As he spoke, he signed his own copy first. The name “Bo Yun” flowed boldly across the page—arrogant and unrestrained, just like the man himself.
Jiang Zhuoye still wore a stiff expression. He objected to every single clause.
Sleeping in the same bed.
Dating. Honeymoons. Attending social events together.
But before Bo Yun brought it to him, Jiang Xu had already gone through each clause with him. He knew they were all proposed by that so-called master, supposedly beneficial to Bo Yun’s health.
Thinking of that made him want to drag that fraud out and beat him up.
He slowly pulled off the pen cap, leaving the first dot on the pristine white paper—then stopped.
He glanced at Bo Yun, hesitated, clearly finding it hard to say, yet forced himself to speak. “My brother should’ve told you my conditions already. This is just a marriage in name only. You and I…”
The words grew harder to get out. His face soured, brows nearly knotting together. Saying those few words felt like killing him.
But he still said it anyway. “There can’t be any real intimacy.”
This time, Bo Yun truly couldn’t hold it back. He let out a soft laugh, capped the steel fountain pen inlaid with a green gemstone, and placed it back on the table.
“I’m not interested in kids,” he said quietly. The corners of his lips curved faintly, his chin lifting as he looked at Jiang Zhuoye—so arrogant it was practically arrogance squared. “You can rest easy. We’ll only lie on the same bed in a friendly and harmonious way—purer than roommates. You heard it yourself just now: Clause Nineteen of the agreement states that there must be no contact that goes against the other party’s will. That clause is there to protect you.”
“When the three years are up, we’ll go our separate ways—bridge to bridge, road to road. In fact, I’ll do my best to get you released sooner. That so-called master changes his tune every day; who knows, maybe one day he’ll talk my grandfather into changing his mind.”
This should have been good news.
But Jiang Zhuoye’s expression only darkened further. He scribbled his signature onto the paper, then roughly tossed the pen aside.
“Who are you calling a kid?”
He stared coldly at Bo Yun. “Sure, compared to you I am younger. So I hope you’ll exercise a bit more before the wedding—don’t end up collapsing from lack of stamina during the ceremony and embarrassing me.”
With that, he didn’t spare Bo Yun another glance. He pushed back his chair, stood up, and walked straight out of the study, showing not the slightest interest in cultivating any so-called friendly, harmonious atmosphere with Bo Yun.
The moment Jiang Zhuoye stepped out, Jiang Xu immediately came over, eyes fixed on his precious younger brother.
He still didn’t feel reassured and nervously glanced into the room. “You talked things out properly, right? You didn’t hit Bo Yun, did you?”
Violence really wouldn’t do.
If word got out that the Jiang family’s youngest son was abusive before the wedding even happened, the stock price would take a hit.
Jiang Zhuoye couldn’t stand it and rolled his eyes at Jiang Xu.
Amazing.
They should’ve just married off Jiang Xu instead. As long as the money was right, Jiang Xu might even put on sexy sleepwear and seduce Bo Yun in bed.
The thought made Jiang Zhuoye snort with a cold laugh.
And in the space of those few lines, Bo Yun also emerged from the study.
Completely unharmed, and looking rather calm.
“Mr. Jiang,” Bo Yun said to Jiang Xu, “Zhuoye and I have already discussed everything. He’s reviewed all the clauses one by one. Since there are no objections from your side, let’s set the wedding for four months from now. I’ll have my butler and the designer contact you to go over the details. I still have some matters to attend to, so I’ll be taking my leave.”
He nodded to Jiang Xu.
Jiang Xu nodded back. “Alright.”
Hearing the words “communicated everything,” he finally felt relieved. His composed, magnanimous demeanor returned, and he smiled at Bo Yun.
When Bo Yun left, Jiang Zhuoye was forced—under the banner of “proper manners”—to personally see him off.
There was no helping it.
Even if this marriage existed in name only, they would inevitably have to play the part of a respectful couple in front of outsiders and the media. His brother said it was better to start getting used to it now.
Jiang Zhuoye stood at the front gate of his home. The March breeze was gentle, stirring his hair—yet his face was colder than winter snow.
He had no intention of saying a single word to his “fiancé.” Judging by his expression, he practically wished the car door would slam on Bo Yun’s hand.
The driver had already opened the back door for Bo Yun. Bo Yun sat in the back seat but kept his body turned sideways, not closing the door.
He studied Jiang Zhuoye.
He rarely viewed Jiang Zhuoye from this angle, and even more rarely took the time to really look at him.
Jiang Zhuoye still looked thoroughly annoyed. This young man had always been the textbook example of someone who tried Bo Yun’s patience—there wasn’t a single trait about him that Bo Yun liked.
Jiang Zhuoye wore his deliberately dyed dark red hair. On others, the color might have been too harsh, but on him it was just right, setting off his pale complexion and handsome features, flamboyant in exactly the right measure.
He stood there casually, dressed in a simple white T-shirt, yet radiated a natural charisma—the kind of young man who could make hearts flutter with a single glance.
His temper, though, was atrocious.
Bo Yun thought.
Arrogant, defiant—like a hedgehog permanently bristling with spikes, always ready to jab someone.
A full-blown little bastard.
And he was supposed to marry someone like this. What a family tragedy.
Bo Yun calmly drew his leg back into the car and sat properly.
He looked straight ahead, no longer letting his gaze fall on Jiang Zhuoye, and reminded him, “Next Thursday, I’ll come pick you up to have your wedding suit tailored. And your red hair needs to be dyed back to black before the wedding—don’t forget. And don’t be late.”
With that, he signaled the driver to close the door, without waiting for a reply from Jiang Zhuoye.
The car drove straight out through the Jiang family gates.
It took Jiang Zhuoye a few seconds to react, but by then Bo Yun was already gone, along with his chance to curse him out.
“Ha,” Jiang Zhuoye laughed out of sheer irritation. “What a lunatic.”
Who did Bo Yun think he was, ordering him to dye his hair? He’d dye it however he pleased.
He could dye it devil green if he wanted—no one could stop him.