“You’re using a fake love-bite quite smartly.”
“It’s called resource management,” Qing replied, cracking a small, genuine smirk as he reached past the Commander’s broad shoulder and flipped the brass latch of the door.
He pushed it open, letting the bright morning sunlight pour back into the room.
“Now move your hand, Long-ge.
We have actual work to finish before your grandfather shows up tonight to audit our lives, and your wounded pride is wasting my schedule.”
The heavy silence inside the bedroom suite was broken by a sharp, hurried knock.
Before Canglong could snap another response, the door was knocked again—more insistent this time.
Canglong and Qing both froze.
Then immediately, Canglong removed his hands from Qing’s sleeves like they’d caught fire.
“Well, that was subtle,” Qing muttered.
“Shut up,” Canglong hissed.
Both of them attempted to look casual—which meant Canglong stood rigidly with his arms at his sides like a soldier at attention, and Qing smoothed down his robe with the concentration of someone defusing a bomb.
Canglong demanded to know who was on the other side.
“It’s me,” Xiaolan’s voice carried through the wood.
“And I’m coming in whether you answer or not, so whatever you two are doing in there, wrap it up.”
Canglong signed for Qing to open the latch before his sister could witness them standing three feet apart looking guilty.
Immediately after the door opened, Xiaolan stepped onto the threshold, her face holding a mix of lingering stress and urgent relief.
She looked between the two men—taking in Canglong’s perfectly aligned collar, Qing’s aggressively neutral expression, and the general air of two people who’d just been doing absolutely nothing—and decided she didn’t have the energy to interrogate whatever this was.
“You two need to come down to the west gallery right now,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder.
“The household staff brought in the tailoring trunks.
The family’s head designer is waiting in the drawing room, and Aunt Mingzhu wants your formal evening outfits settled before the first reception guests arrive.”
Canglong let out a harsh breath through his teeth like a man being sent to his execution.
Qing calmly pocketed his phone, smoothed down his robe again, and followed as Canglong strode past without another word—because acknowledging Qing in front of Xiaolan would apparently cause an interdimensional paradox.
When they stepped into the vast, sunlit gallery, the space had been completely transformed into what looked like a luxury department store had exploded.
Massive black-lacquered clothing racks lined the mahogany pillars, draped in heavy silks, structured military wools, and fine charcoal linens.
Standing near the central mirror was Ares—the country’s most renowned luxury designer and, more importantly, the man who’d been FaceTiming with Chenwei throughout the “chaotic first night” at the mansion.
Which meant he already knew something scandalous had happened, even if he didn’t know what.
Chenwei was lounging against the window panel, a cup of tea in hand, looking like a man who’d spent the last hour preventing an interior design disaster.
“Finally,” Chenwei muttered, setting his teacup down as they entered.
“He was about to start cutting up the curtains for fabric samples.
We’re one five-minute delay away from this entire wing being redecorated in what he calls ‘deconstructed minimalism’ and what I call ‘property destruction.'”
Ares turned around, a measuring tape draped over his shoulders like an accessory.
The moment his eyes landed on Qing, he froze mid-breath.
His artistic composure didn’t just slip—it completely shattered.
His gaze traced the perfect alignment of the Beta’s jawline, then locked onto something else: the tiny, mesmerizing ink-drop mole beneath Qing’s right eye.
“Oh, heavens,” Ares breathed, taking two fascinated strides forward with the intensity of a man who’d just discovered a masterpiece.
He completely ignored the massive, intimidating shadow that was Canglong, moving as though the Commander were invisible.
His fingers hovered inches from Qing’s face like he was about to touch the Mona Lisa.
“Chenwei, you absolute fraud.
You told me you were managing a standard political arrangement, but you completely omitted the fact that your brother’s spouse possesses the most breathtaking architectural symmetry I’ve seen all season.
That mole alone defines the entire line of the throat.
Canglong’s eyes narrowed to lethal slits.
His jaw clenched.
A small muscle began twitching near his temple.
“Is he always like this?” Qing asked conversationally, as though an unmedicated Enigma’s territorial instincts weren’t currently activating behind him like a bomb counting down.
“Only when he sees something beautiful,” Chenwei said cheerfully, completely unbothered by the radiating aura of murder behind them.
“You should take it as a compliment.”
“I’ll take it as a warning to stand farther away,” Qing muttered.
Before Canglong could step forward and physically remove Ares, the designer reached out to adjust the collar of Qing’s cream morning robe.
His fingers parted the silk fabric slightly.
Ares gasped.
His hand froze mid-air.
Right there, gleaming vividly under the bright gallery lights, was the fresh, deep plum-colored mark sitting right beside Qing’s chin.
Combined with the original bruise over his pulse point, it looked less like a love bite and more like the aftermath of an industrial accident.
Ares stared at the deep, vicious coloration like he’d just discovered a priceless artifact.
“Good gods,” his internal monologue practically screamed, the media logs paint the Commander as a stoic, disciplined wall of military coldness, but the man is an absolute, unbridled beast behind closed doors.
To leave a mark that raw and possessive right beside the jawline before breakfast?
He is completely, relentlessly feral.
Ares slowly looked up from the throat, his eyes meeting Canglong’s icy glare.
Instead of backing away, Canglong slowly shifted his weight.
His massive frame square-shouldered against the light, his chest expanding as he deliberately leaned an inch closer into Qing’s personal space.
He tilted his chin down, his unmedicated Enigma eyes flashing with a cold, smug satisfaction that bordered on pure primal dominance.
It was a silent, lethal declaration: Look all you want.
This territory is claimed.
This man belongs to my household.
I have already marked him, and I will do it again.
He didn’t say a single word, but his body language screamed murder.
Ares swallowed hard, slowly stepping back with the expression of someone who’d just realized they’d accidentally walked between a tiger and its meal.
“I…
see,” Ares stammered, his voice climbing half an octave.
“The domestic atmosphere here is clearly…
much more intense than the media logs suggest.
Significantly more intense.
Aggressively more intense.”
From the window, Chenwei’s breath caught sharply.
His jaw dropped as his eyes darted from the purple mark straight to Canglong’s expression—which could only be described as “homicidal contentment.”
Holy hell, Chenwei thought, his heart hammering against his ribs.
They were gone for less than an hour, and Canglong physically claimed the man’s throat in front of the kitchen staff?
The Commander has completely lost his mind.
Realizing his friend was about to get vaporized by unmedicated Enigma territorial fury, Chenwei quickly stepped forward and cleared his throat loudly enough to startle birds three buildings over.
He dropped a hand on Ares’ shoulder to physically drag him back.
“Alright, let’s skip the anatomy lesson, Ares.
They need clothes for a state-level introduction gala tonight, not a personal portrait session.
Put the tape measure away before someone gets hurt—and I mean that literally.”
“Right, yes, business,” Ares stammered, practically leaping away from Qing like the Beta had suddenly caught fire. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
He scrambled to pull a heavy, structured charcoal-grey silk coat from the nearest rack, desperately trying to break the suffocating tension in the room.
“This cut is minimalist, elegant, and perfect for a formal reception.”
Qing reached out to take the fabric, his fingers completely steady.
“I agree.
It is clean and efficient for a long evening.”
“Put it back,” Canglong snapped, his voice a low, gravelly rumble as he aggressively stepped in and snatched the exact same charcoal coat in his own massive military size from the opposite side of the rack.
“I chose this specific color first, Ah-Qing.
Pick something else.”
Qing didn’t let go of his side of the hanger.
He looked the towering Commander straight in the eye, his tone completely flat and humanly annoyed.
“Then I suggest you expand your wardrobe originality, Long-ge.
I am not altering my presentation schedule just because you have the emotional maturity of a toddler who won’t share toys.”
“It’s a ceremonial uniform line, not a toy,” Canglong hissed, leaning down until his shadow completely enveloped the Beta.
A vein throbbed near his temple.
“Change.
The.
Coat.”
“No,” Qing replied smoothly, pulling the hanger out with a sharp, defiant tug.
“If the family wants a unified front, they can deal with matching coats.
I am keeping the grey.
You can wear…
that hideous emerald thing over there.”
“That’s a curtain,” Canglong growled.
“Then you’ll match the decor,” Qing snapped back.
Chenwei’s initial shock completely melted away into absolute, pure amusement.
He leaned his shoulder back against the mahogany pillar, crossing his arms as he watched the two massive egos bicker over a clothing rack like a pair of feuding monarchs arguing over territory.
“Are they always like this?” Ares whispered, still clutching the charcoal coat like a security blanket.
“Only when they’re angry, which is apparently always,” Chenwei whispered back, his eyes sparkling with delight.
“And they have the same terrible taste, which makes it worse.”
“How are they so…
synchronized while arguing?” Ares asked, genuinely fascinated.
Chenwei watched as Canglong snatched another coat from Ares, Qing immediately pulled it away, and the two of them began a tug-of-war over a piece of silk that probably cost more than a small car.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Chenwei admitted, “but it’s the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all year.
Don’t stop them.
Let this play out.”
“They’re going to destroy the gallery,” Ares observed.
“Probably,” Chenwei agreed cheerfully.
“But look how magnificent they are when they’re furious.”
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