As she pieced together the hidden implications, Lang Youyuan looked at her son with deeply conflicted eyes.
“Qianyu…” Could it be that her son still hadn’t forgotten that person?
To the point that he had actually found a boy whose aura and facial features bore a striking resemblance to that person to keep by his side.
Fu Qianyu had no idea what kind of wild theories were flashing through Lang Youyuan’s mind in that split second. His fingers were currently tracing the photograph inside his pocket.
The photo had been warmed by the friction of his touch, and a strange, inexplicable desire began to smolder within his chest.
His peripheral vision swept across the scattered photographs on the table, his gaze shifting slightly.
Lang Youyuan let out another heavy sigh. “Son, your mother understands everything you’re thinking.”
Fu Qianyu abruptly snapped back to reality. He looked at her, the seriousness in his eyes mixed with a trace of confusion.
Lang Youyuan began to persuade him: “As you said, so many years have already passed. Why keep brooding over it? Fine, since you like him, just keep him around to play with. But hear me loud and clear on one point! You are absolutely not allowed to make it public! And you are strictly forbidden from marrying this kind of person!”
It was perfectly normal for a wealthy heir to have countless lovers before marriage. But marriage was a completely different story—the marriage partner had to be someone approved by the parents!
“I know.”
The boy hadn’t even reached legal marriage age anyway; even if they were to wed, it would have to wait until three years later.
Furthermore, who knew what was going on inside Jing Jiaxi’s head—the boy was actually still hesitating on whether they should even get married.
Fu Qianyu retracted his gaze, casually gathered the photographs and dossiers from the table, and tucked them securely inside a manila file folder.
He naturally picked up the folder and bid his mother goodbye.
Lang Youyuan watched her son leave with a heart full of anxiety, gently dabbing away the tears welling at the corners of her eyes.
Fu Qianyu kept all his burdens buried deep inside his heart. She could only imagine the complex web of emotions her son must be experiencing when facing a boy who looked so similar.
According to Jing Jiaxi’s description, Qianyu had coldly rejected him three months ago, yet he couldn’t withstand the boy’s relentless, bittersweet pursuit. The boy’s appearance caused Qianyu to recall his love-hate relationship with his former lover over and over again. Facing the boy’s bright, sunny smile, the beautiful memories of his past romance constantly reminded Qianyu of the person he had lost. Ultimately, it was the young boy’s stubborn persistence that touched him. Qianyu was repeating the exact same path he took years ago. Just how profound must the heartbreak be to make him so utterly unforgettable?
The mere thought of it made Lang Youyuan want to weep, let alone the fact that Qianyu was living through it firsthand.
Fu Qianyu was completely oblivious to his mother’s elaborate internal script.
He simply returned to his residence, pulled out the photographs, and examined them meticulously under the lamplight.
There was the plainly dressed boy serving food in the school cafeteria; the boy weaving through a restaurant clad in a waiter’s uniform; the boy clutching his fists in sheer nervousness while delivering a presentation on stage; the boy running with all his might at a sports meet while wearing baggy athletic shorts; the boy mixing drinks with an incredibly earnest expression under the dim, ambiguous lighting of a bar…
As the photographs were lined up one by one, the boy’s brief eighteen years of life unfolded vividly before him.
His previous investigation into Jing Jiaxi had merely yielded a basic outline of his life experiences. Naturally, it hadn’t bared his entire existence as ruthlessly and thoroughly as these voyeuristic, covertly captured photographs.
Fu Qianyu’s breathing gradually grew heavy. He yanked off his tie and threw it onto the sofa.
A few of the photoshopped pictures were brazen and audacious. The real boy could never strike such provocative poses or actions, yet they caused the darkness in the man’s eyes to deepen significantly.
He couldn’t help but fantasize in his mind about the real boy donning those exact garments, biting his lip with an ambiguous expression as he looked back at him.
He would undoubtedly be infinitely more alluring than the photographs…
With his mind entirely consumed by Jing Jiaxi’s various facial expressions, Fu Qianyu stood up and took a freezing cold shower.
He gathered the photographs and locked them inside the study drawer.
For the first time in his life, Fu Qianyu found it difficult to fall asleep, tossing and turning for a long time before finally drifting off…
In the middle of the night, Fu Qianyu woke up feeling parched, his throat burning with heat. He stood up and flicked on the light, only to discover a pristine, innocent boy wrapped tightly around his body.
The boy blinked his eyes, draping his sleek, bare arms around the man’s neck. As he spoke, his breath was as delicate as orchids, spilling hot air directly across Fu Qianyu’s chest.
Fu Qianyu forcefully gripped the boy’s wrist. The boy lifted one shoulder slightly, narrowing one eye like a delicate little fox as he cooed in a tender, spoiled voice: “It hurts…”
His mind went entirely blank. Clamping his hands around the boy’s slender, milky-white waist, the boy’s tears began to patter down uncontrollably, while he engaged in a hundred-meter sprint, drenched in wild sweat…
The morning sunlight jarred Fu Qianyu awake from his slumber.
Fu Qianyu woke up with heavy, ragged breathing. He abruptly whipped back the duvet—and beneath the covers, there was naturally no snow-white boy.
He stared at the bedsheets with a deeply complex gaze: “Tsk.”
Why am I acting like an hormonal teenager?
He hadn’t had this kind of dream since his adolescence.
Fu Qianyu stripped off his sweat-drenched pajamas and bedsheets, stuffing them straight into the washing machine before turning around to take yet another cold shower.
As the chauffeur drove him to work, Fu Qianyu, in a rare turn of events, did not open his files during the commute.
Instead, his fingers subconsciously clicked into his WeChat chat log with Jing Jiaxi.
“Are you awake?”
“! Awake!” (Followed by a shocked cartoon cat with wide, round eyes expression).
Waking up early in the morning to see a message from Fu Qianyu, Jing Jiaxi bolted upright in shock.
Why did Mr. Fu suddenly think to text him out of the blue?
“Mr. Fu, is there something I can help you with?”
Jing Jiaxi sat primly on his comfortable, massive bed, holding his phone in both hands as he anxiously awaited Fu Qianyu’s response.
Seeing the formal honorific “You” (Nín), Fu Qianyu’s brow furrowed, a trace of discomfort flashing through his heart.
“Just checking to see if you’ve gotten out of bed to eat.”
Jing Jiaxi understood; Mr. Fu was checking in on the baby’s health: “Reporting! The breakfast mission has been successfully completed! Please rest assured, sir!”
(Followed by an expression of a cat saluting earnestly).
Jing Jiaxi was usually a bit lazy and sluggish when he first woke up, so he exerted every effort to use a lively tone to force his brain awake.
But in Fu Qianyu’s eyes, this felt entirely like an official, business-like report.
Fu Qianyu’s brow remained knit as he typed: “No need to be so formal.” It felt as though the boy was deliberately drawing a clear line between them.
“What did you say?” Jing Jiaxi was bewildered.
He watched the “The other party is typing…” indicator hover at the top of the chat box for a very long time.
Finally, a few words popped up from the other side: “No need to use honorifics like ‘You’. It’s unnecessary.”
“Oh, okay.” Once Jing Jiaxi sent his reply, the other side stopped messaging altogether.
He clutched his phone blankly for a moment, a stray lock of hair standing straight up on the crown of his head.
It took Jing Jiaxi a good few moments to register that he needed to get out of bed and head to class.
Apologies, Mr. Fu, but I lied.
In reality, at 7:30 AM, he had only just opened his eyes and hadn’t eaten breakfast at all.
He spent ten minutes hurriedly scarfing down the nutritional meal tailored specifically for him by the chef and nutritionist, managing to dash into the academic building just before the morning bell rang.
Fortunately, the distance was very short.
Jing Jiaxi was sincerely grateful for the affluent, luxurious lifestyle Fu Qianyu had provided him.
Sleeping in on a plush, massive bed and eating breakfast on time at a dining table were luxuries he couldn’t even dare to fantasize about in the past.
Yet within a brief window of time, all of this had transformed into reality.
Jing Jiaxi couldn’t help but marvel at the immense power of wealth. It could grant a person luxurious leisure and comfort, but it could also distort people into absolute slaves to money—just like his gambling addict brother and his parents who willingly bled themselves dry to fund him.
Precisely because he understood how powerful and vital money was, he had refused that ten million yuan.
If he accepted Fu Qianyu’s money, then they would never be equal.
As the child’s father, Jing Jiaxi felt he needed to set a stellar example—at the very least, he wanted to present the image of an independent and courageous father.
Jing Jiaxi patted his round, full belly: “Hurry up and be born, little baby.”