These Werebeast Gongs Are Rogues CH 123 The Days Of Waiting

Lei Jin never expected to see Pei Ning again under such circumstances. The werebeast had clearly been dead for many days. His entire body was wrapped in vines and leafy branches, his clothes tattered, flesh mangled and blurred beyond recognition. If Le Yang hadn’t said they’d dug him out from beneath the rubble in a valley, Lei Jin would have refused to believe this was the earnest young werebeast he remembered meeting at Chunji’s home. Pei Ning seemed even younger than Chunji, but he knew how to take care of others and was often run ragged by Chunji’s demands. Yet, Chunji did treat him with a subtle difference; he was the only one Chunji ever took along when gathering herbs.

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“Looks like you knew him. Are there any family members left? Could you notify them? We brought him back from afar.” Feuds were feuds, but the custom across tribes was that the dead must return to their birthplace to find peace.

Lei Jin covered Grapes’s eyes, not wanting the baby to see this scene. He said to Le Yang, “He has no family left. We’ll notify the chief. Thank you for your trouble.”

An Bu was a responsible chief. Upon hearing the news, he found a few men to bring Pei Ning’s body back to his own home. He personally cleaned Pei Ning and changed him into clean clothes.

Only when Pei Ning looked less horrific did Lei Jin dare notify Chunji. He feared Chunji wouldn’t be able to bear seeing Pei Ning’s initial state. During this era, the practice of sky burial—abandoning the body deep in the grasslands—was becoming rare. Earth burial was just beginning. A small valley behind the tribe served as a dedicated burial ground. However, no one expected Chunji to request cremation—a clean sweep with fire. Everyone knew of his relationship with Pei Ning, and since Pei Ning had no close kin, no one objected. On the day of the cremation, Chunji refused all help, carrying Pei Ning out of the tribe himself. 

Lei Jin waited at the path entrance that evening with a homemade bark lantern. He waited a long time until darkness fully descended before he saw Chunji return, his steps unsteady, his solitary shadow trailing long behind him.

Seeing Lei Jin, Chunji seemed to habitually try to curl his lips into a smile, but tears suddenly fell. The two sat on the grasslands outside the tribe for a long time. Chunji only said, “When I first arrived at the Leopard Tribe, An Bu was the new chief. He took care of me. I liked him, you know that, Lei Jin. But his heart was always only on Roger. Back then, Pei Ning was still young. He followed me silently every day.”

Lei Jin gave a faint hum of acknowledgment. After that, they were silent. Pei Ning was gone. Nothing said now would change that.

Lei Jin saw Chunji home first. When he reached his own home, Moya opened the door before he could push it. Inside, Xiya was coaxing Grapes to eat soft rice porridge cooked with egg yolk. Mingya, seeing him return, immediately ducked into the kitchen to heat up food.

Having just gone through these events, Lei Jin had little appetite. But feeling his own stomach subtly, he still picked at some wild greens and ate a little. Finally, under everyone’s expectant gaze, he drank a bowl of porridge to settle the matter.

Later, at the fair, he met Tian Qi. Hearing that Chunji had been secluded at home lately, busy making medicine, Lei Jin didn’t visit. He knew Chunji never needed sympathy or empty comfort. While helping Tian Qi pick herbs at the Feather Tribe’s stall, a crowd gathered, their faces filled with respect and admiration for Tian Qi. The Feather Tribe was skilled in gathering herbs and had produced many renowned physicians on the continent. They revered those with exceptional medical skills—something Lei Jin had recently learned from Roger. Judging by this, Tian Qi wasn’t just boasting; he likely had genuine skill.

“Master Tian Qi, do you take disciples?” When Lei Jin snapped back to attention, the conversation had already turned here.

“Yes, yes.” Tian Qi laughed twice. Perhaps Lei Jin was getting used to it; the voice didn’t sound quite so unpleasant anymore.

Tian Qi turned towards Lei Jin.

Lei Jin’s heart thumped twice. He’s not eyeing me, is he? I have no interest in those delicate things.

Tian Qi gave him two disdainful snorts. He took Grapes into his arms and declared, “This is my newly accepted little disciple. I will pass all my medical knowledge on to him.”

The Feather tribespeople stared at the tiny baby in his arms, momentarily stunned.

Lei Jin breathed a sigh of relief, feeling comforted. Grapes’s constitution was destined to be weaker than other females. He sometimes worried about what the child could do when he grew up. Now, this was perfect. Being a physician was highly respected in the tribe.

Grapes, however, showed no such appreciation. He struggled in Tian Qi’s arms, wailing loudly. Though young, Grapes had a good memory. Tian Qi always poked him with needles whenever they met—of course he’d cry! Lei Jin quickly took him back. Seeing the little face scrunched up like a giant steamed bun, he laughed outright, without a shred of fatherly concern.

Mura, carrying a large package of dried fruit, walked over with a few other females. Spotting Lei Jin and little Grapes, they crowded around, chatting and laughing. As they walked along, Mura asked in surprise, “Lei Jin, how do you know people in every tribe?” At the Tiger Tribe, a female named Jing Ping had pulled them into a tent for food. At the Wolf Tribe, someone named Qinghe had given them a jar of oil. The Merfolks were also very friendly towards Lei Jin. Even the Bear Tribe’s chief, whose tribe was at odds with the Leopards, had approached him for a chat with a kindly expression.

Lei Jin chuckled modestly, but inwardly, he was quite pleased. This way, he had a place to stay in any tribe he visited. He truly thrived wherever he went. Though he genuinely didn’t know why the Merfolks were inexplicably so nice to him, giving him things proactively. He suspected Lan Qi might have instructed it. It was much later that he learned that each merfolk possessed a life-core pearl meant to be given to their mate. Back then, Lan Qi, seeing that Berg’s pearl was with Moya, had angrily given his own pearl to Lei Jin—of course it was also because he saw Lei Jin truly couldn’t withstand the sea’s turbulence. One function of the life-core pearl was to allow other races to move freely in the sea like merfolks. Sensing the aura of their king on Lei Jin, the merfolks’ friendly attitude was natural.

The weather during the fair remained changeable, overcast and sunny by turns. Now, a light drizzle began to fall. Lei Jin quickly shielded Grapes in his arms and ran back with Mura and the others to the fried pork stall. Thanks to the cool weather, the piping hot, crispy meat sold exceptionally well. Marinated to perfection, crispy on the outside and tender inside, the little thatched shed was packed daily. One pot couldn’t keep up. Eventually, they borrowed Qi Luo’s family pot just to manage.

Lei Jin jingled a large jar filled with assorted gemstones, a greedy grin on his face. He wasn’t like many girls who adored shiny things, but in this world, this meant money! Being wealthy again felt wonderful.

At noon, Tian Qi passed by carrying a large bundle of herbs. Lei Jin skewered a few pieces of fried meat for him to take back and share with Chunji. As Tian Qi took the meat, he grabbed Lei Jin’s wrist, felt his pulse, smacked his lips, and said in a tone that could only be described as excited, “Over two months along now, huh? How peculiar. Twins! Haven’t seen twins in many years.”

Lei Jin raised an eyebrow slightly. He’d mentally prepared himself, so the confirmation wasn’t a shock. But twins? Did the heavens have it out for him? Or was it that his belly had extra space? To cram in two at once! Last time, little Grapes alone nearly exhausted him. This time, two—did the heavens want him dead?

For others, it might be double the joy. For Lei Jin, it was double the torment.

He turned and glared fiercely at the three still busy working. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t be pregnant again! Not rejecting it didn’t mean he was thrilled. Few normal men liked giving birth themselves. Jing Yue was about to hold his bonding ceremony soon, and Jing Ping had invited him to visit the Tiger Tribe. This was the perfect chance to get away for a while. Let the three brothers stay home and love each other. He could also go see Berg and Bubbles.

So, on the last day of the fair, as Xiya and the others were busy moving everything back home, they discovered a serious problem. Lei Jin had taken Grapes to the Tiger Tribe. He’d left a viciously threatening note forbidding them to follow: Come one, kill one. Come two, chop the pair!

The journey took over half a month. By the time they reached the Tiger Tribe, Lei Jin’s belly wasn’t showing much, but his morning sickness was vicious. He vomited everything he ate; nothing stayed down. Even fresh, fine milk fruit couldn’t stop it. Consequently, the news of his pregnancy became common knowledge; there was no hiding it. Fortunately, Hao Chen was an experienced and devoted papa, caring for Lei Jin with genuine, motherly affection as if he were his own child. He inquired everywhere for remedies. It was late spring, turning to summer, and tribal food was plentiful. Hao Chen cooked meals with diverse flavors daily, secretly delighted whenever Lei Jin ate a little more of a particular dish. He attended to every detail with meticulous care. Lei Jin was looked after perfectly in every way.

After staying at the Tiger Tribe for about a month, Grapes was crawling quite adeptly. Lei Jin, entering his fourth month of pregnancy, finally stopped vomiting. His appetite, however, began to surge. Perhaps due to carrying twins, his belly was already very noticeable. None of the clothes he’d brought fit anymore. Hao Chen had to bring out his own clothes from his time being pregnant, wash them thoroughly, and sun them repeatedly for Lei Jin to wear. 

Jing Yue had completed his bonding ceremony and taken his new mate to the Tiger Tribe’s so-called Sacred Spring—probably similar to the Leopard tribe’s Sacred Lake, essentially a place for undisturbed mating. Speaking of Jing Yue’s mate, it was an acquaintance: Mu Yue, the Tiger Tribe physician who had treated Lei Jin’s injuries. According to Jing Ping, they’d initially been at odds, arguing whenever they met, but somehow ended up fancying each other through the quarrels.

“Told them not to come, and they actually listened! How obedient!” Lei Jin grew angrier the more he thought about it. Over a month, and not one of them had shown up! Although he already had Grapes, he was still largely clueless about pregnancy and childbirth. Thankfully, Hao Chen was often there to guide him. But as his belly swelled day by day, struggling to turn over at night, let alone sleep properly, his frustration mounted. Yet, there was no one to vent it on; he could only stew in his own resentment.

Today, Berg brought Bubbles to visit Lei Jin again. Bubbles could now walk on land and say simple words. He remained as affectionate towards Lei Jin as ever. When Lei Jin returned from the forbidden land, Roger had mentioned that Bubbles cried hard when taken away by Berg because he couldn’t see Lei Jin.

Bubbles seemed to adore Grapes. It was no wonder. Grapes, with his soft black hair and clear green eyes, was gradually revealing the handsome features inherited from both his fathers. He looked every bit the picture of an innocent, adorable little baby. The moment Bubbles spotted Grapes scuttling sideways like a crab around the yard, he wobbled over eagerly. He’d just opened his mouth to call “little brother” when Grapes, blinking his big eyes, pounced with both little hands, scratching off a large patch of tender scales from Bubbles’s tail fin. The pain sent Bubbles tumbling to the ground, tears welling in his large, dark blue eyes. To make matters worse, Grapes, playing the victim, started wailing loudly—far louder than Bubbles—without shedding a single tear. Lei Jin’s guilt surged. Any thought of jokingly suggesting a childhood betrothal died in his throat. After all, Bubbles was like half a son to him. He couldn’t doom the boy’s life like that. Where Grapes got such ferocious bad temper was a mystery; both he and Moya had decent dispositions.

Talk about lack of self-awareness—look no further than this one.

Lei Jin, hampered by his condition, couldn’t move quickly. Berg hurried over, picking Grapes up first and coaxing, “Be good, Grapes. Did Brother Bubbles scare you?”

Lei Jin facepalmed, torn between laughter and tears. “Never mind him! Check if Bubbles is hurt!” How could Grapes strike so fast? He hadn’t even had a chance to stop it!

“Bubbles is the older brother. He’s fine. Right, Bubbles?” Berg held Grapes while helping Bubbles up.

“Bubbles, come here.” Lei Jin sat up on the recliner and opened his arms.

“Dada!” Bubbles called out in his baby voice, throwing himself forward. This was the result of Lei Jin’s recent coaching—Bubbles could now call him “Dada”. Of course, he called Berg “Dad”.

As for Lan Qi, Lei Jin had asked once. Berg just looked impatient and retorted, “Why bring him up?” But the tone lacked its former harshness. So, perhaps, maybe, Lan Qi still had a sliver of hope.

“Lei Jin, chicken soup.” Jing Ping emerged from the kitchen right on schedule, carrying a steaming bowl. During this visit, Lei Jin discovered Jing Ping had indeed invented a foot-operated rice-pounding tool, much more convenient than the old method. The only issue was instability while pounding. Lei Jin shared some ideas, and Jing Ping had been busy in the west wing room these days improving it.

Lei Jin frowned imperceptibly. Drinking a bowl of chicken soup every day—even the tastiest food grew tiresome after over half a month. But Uncle Hao Chen insisted relentlessly, especially after learning he was carrying twins. He seemed even more nervous than Lei Jin, practically wanting him to drink two bowls daily.

“You must drink it. Papa got up early to stew this. He skimmed the oil off layer by layer with a spoon, worried you’d find it greasy. He specifically told me to watch you finish it before he left.” Jing Ping grinned, a bit gleeful at Lei Jin’s predicament. It was understandable; Jing Ping himself was sick of the smell just from being around it, let alone drinking it.

Berg stood nearby holding Grapes, smiling silently, clearly enjoying the show with no intention of intervening.

This little thing can’t stump me. It’s just a bowl of soup. Lei Jin raised his hand, then lowered it helplessly. He really couldn’t stomach it. But under so many watchful eyes, he closed his eyes and gulped it down.

As he swallowed, holding his breath, his gaze inadvertently fell on someone entering the gate.

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The resentment bottled up for weeks finally found a target. Lei Jin flung the bowl at him and snapped furiously, “What are you doing here?” Roger had said the children were his alone. He could raise them himself if need be.

The moods of the pregnant are always unpredictable.

The newcomer’s eyes widened in shock upon seeing Lei Jin’s pronounced belly.

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These Werebeast Gongs Are Rogues CH 122 The Tribal Fair

It was just occasional nausea, no other symptoms. It didn’t necessarily mean he was pregnant. Lei Jin shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought of being pregnant from his mind. Last time, he could at least be certain the child in his belly was Xiya’s or Moya’s. But if he really was pregnant this time, he genuinely wasn’t sure whose it was.

The whole family was busy in the yard, cutting meat into uniform chunks and marinating them, preparing crispy fried meat to sell at the fair. Lei Jin sat inside holding Grapes, with no intention of helping. The smell of the meat churned his stomach uncomfortably. Getting too close, he was afraid he might vomit on the spot. Of course, no one expected him to help anyway. In this household, he and Roger always received preferential treatment. Hard, tiring, or dirty work seemed to have nothing to do with them. Even before they could think of doing it, the werebeasts in the family had everything prepared.

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After the rain, the green bean sprouts under the eaves had grown splendidly. Rows of lush, tender green shoots promised a good harvest. Lei Jin plucked one and put it in Grapes’s hand. The baby could play with it happily for half the day.

Grapes was now six months old. Just a little while ago, he still needed cotton cloth support to sit up. But starting this month, he could sit steadily on his own.

Seeing his son’s innocent, curious expression as he happily played with the bean sprout, Lei Jin unconsciously wore a doting smile. It wasn’t until he became a father himself that he understood there was a softest place in his heart. As for the past, he didn’t dwell on it much anymore. Everyone had their own path to walk. Maybe staying here with those three was the path meant for him. As for the woman who abandoned him… he’d just accept he had no parental affinity. One couldn’t be too greedy, expecting everything to be perfect.

Moya lifted him and pressed him onto the bed. One hand undid his trousers, the other cradled the back of his neck as he kissed Lei Jin’s lips. His lower body slid between Lei Jin’s legs, rubbing suggestively and heatedly against him twice. His lips, still glistening faintly with moisture, brushed Lei Jin’s ear as he whispered, “He says he misses you.”

Lei Jin pinched his cheeks and tugged twice, feigning surprise. “Are you sure you’re Moya, not Xiya?” He thought such flirtatious, roguish talk only came from Xiya.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Moya kissed his eyelashes and asked with a smile.

Lei Jin looked back at him for a moment, then nodded with a smile. But he quickly added, “I’m a bit tired. Tonight, just sleeping, nothing else.” He didn’t know if there really was a child in his belly. It was better to be cautious for a while.

Moya paused slightly, but readily agreed. He settled beside him, leaning close. He could tell Lei Jin was genuinely refusing this time. Though they were often forceful in bed, they also knew Lei Jin enjoyed the pleasure they gave him then. This was different.

“Moya? Are you asleep?” Lei Jin shifted in Moya’s embrace.

“Not yet. Did you have something to say today?” Moya asked softly, lowering his head. He’d sensed Lei Jin seemed a bit off tonight.

“If… I mean if… if the next child is Xiya’s or Mingya’s…” He couldn’t finish the sentence because he didn’t even understand what he wanted to say. Grapes had come too suddenly, leaving him no time to think. Back then, his mind was solely focused on how to return to his original world. This time, he could finally think about the child, but he didn’t know why he felt compelled to ask Moya’s opinion.

“Are you pregnant?” Moya’s hand slid under the blanket towards Lei Jin’s still-flat stomach.

“I said if.” He wasn’t even sure himself.

“Either is fine. I’d love them anyway. If that’s what you’re asking me. Besides, I already have Grapes.” Moya tightened his arm around Lei Jin’s waist. After a moment of silence, he continued in a low voice, “Papa and my fathers have always been very loving towards me. But I couldn’t help wondering before… if I was the superfluous one in the family. Because my existence always reminded Papa of those… unpleasant past events, and it worried my fathers too.” These thoughts had always been buried deep inside; he’d never spoken of them to anyone. But he wanted to tell Lei Jin. This would be the first and last time.

“They wouldn’t think that way,” Lei Jin offered awkwardly, not very skilled at comfort.

“Mm. I have you now. And Grapes. I’ve let go of all those thoughts.” Lei Jin couldn’t see Moya’s expression in the dark, but he sensed his mood wasn’t heavy. That eased his mind a little. “Now, my only focus is making sure you and Grapes live comfortably, and our whole family is happy.”

“Have I ever told you… thank you for giving birth to Grapes?”

“No,” Lei Jin stated very firmly.

“Really, I haven’t?” Though Lei Jin couldn’t see, Moya still felt a bit embarrassed. “I always meant to say it, but never found the right chance. Then I’ll say it now. Thank you, Lei Jin. Thank you for giving me little Grapes.”

“He’s my son. What’s it to you?” Lei Jin retorted uncomfortably, wrinkling his nose. Maybe it was his age, but such mushy words practically killed him.

“I love you, Lei Jin. That won’t change.” Moya chuckled softly. Seeing Lei Jin like this, he actually felt more at ease. Sensing a trace of unease in him, Moya repeated it. “It won’t change.”

“Sleep.” Lei Jin adopted an ‘end of discussion’ expression and buried his head in Moya’s chest, closing his eyes. He felt Moya’s gaze linger on his face for a while before it finally withdrew.

Listening to Moya’s steady heartbeat, his own heart settled into peace. He knew Moya meant it. But from the moment he decided to accept Xiya and Mingya, he could no longer say those words back.

Life had no ‘what ifs’ and no turning back. Since he’d made his choice, whatever the outcome, he would keep walking forward.

The rainy season arrived, triggering the great migration of animals northward. Mingya carried Lei Jin to the grasslands several times to watch. The vast, surging spectacle was truly magnificent, leaving Lei Jin at a loss for words to describe its grandeur. Since they were out there anyway, they caught a small antelope – the meat was quite tasty. But after witnessing firsthand the speed of the antelope, Lei Jin quickly changed his mind. He planned to train it as a mount. He’d even considered catching a baby elephant, thinking its strength could be useful for plowing fields. However, the mother elephants were far too formidable, chasing him and Mingya back with their tails figuratively between their legs.

Back home, An Sen saw their disheveled state and heard of their “glorious” exploit. He laughed until he nearly choked, saying, “Thank goodness you didn’t catch one! Otherwise, the tribe would have been attacked by the herd. They are fiercely protective of their young.”

After talking with Moya and with no sign of a swelling belly, Lei Jin remained cautious but didn’t alter his plans drastically. He went about his original schedule: learned some carpentry skills from Jia He to craft a tumbler toy and a rattle drum for Grapes; joined groups of females and werebeasts foraging deep in the mountains for seasonal wild greens. After several trips, the harvest was quite substantial. At the very least, he found common vegetables like leeks, celery, cilantro, and spinach. He carefully transplanted them into his vegetable garden. 

Every day, carrying Grapes, he would stroll around his plot, admiring the fruits of his labor. The seedlings had looked a bit droopy when first planted, but after a few rains, they perked up, gradually standing tall and turning vibrant green.

The tribe’s annual fair arrived on schedule. It was held on the vast grasslands not far from the Leopard Tribe. The site was spacious. Tribes that had arrived early were busy setting up animal skin tents. Jing Ping, Jing Yue, and their father Kun Ge arrived. Their papa, Hao Chen, was said to be ill and couldn’t make it. However, he sent Jing Ping with a set of newly made clothes and two jars of honey-brewed fruit wine. The crow had returned with Jing Ping’s group. 

As soon as it entered, it flapped around Lei Jin seeking praise for its efforts, only to be shooed away with a piece of meat. Even after eating its fill, it flew over to Mingya to complain tearfully, “I worked so hard to deliver the message! And I get shunned! Shunned!”

Mingya patiently coaxed it for most of the evening to no avail. Lei Jin, unable to sleep due to the noise and feeling irritable, grabbed it by the wings and tossed it far out the window. The next day, it was back, as spinelessly affectionate with Lei Jin as ever, earning everyone’s profound disdain.

These fairs lasted a month each time: spring in Leopard territory, summer in Bear territory, autumn in Wolf territory, and winter in Tiger territory. The Merfolk and Feather tribes weren’t particularly enthusiastic, but they never missed one. Each tribe occupied a corner of the fairground. Lei Jin’s group had the home advantage. They’d already set up a simple thatched shed, quite conspicuous among the sea of tents. A large wok for frying oil sat in the center, surrounded by shelves holding basins of marinated meat. Tables and stools were borrowed and scattered casually within the shed.

On the morning the fair opened, Xiya and the others managed the stall. Lei Jin, carrying Grapes, pulled Roger along to wander around. When he encountered unfamiliar things, Roger could explain. Though the weather wasn’t great, the crowds were large. The vast space prevented it from feeling crowded. Walking through, they saw that animal skins, various foods, and clothing were common offerings from every tribe. The distinctive items were: Leopard Tribe’s coarse pottery; Tiger Tribe’s various bone implements – tools and ornaments, all finely polished; Feather Tribe’s medicinal herbs (their location in the far north also meant their hunted pelts were exceptionally fine and warm); Merfolk Tribe’s goods were all novel and surprising to the land-dwelling werebeasts. Comparatively, the Wolf Tribe’s products seemed weaker, but they had mysteriously brought a new type of oil this year. Much fresher than animal fat, it was immensely popular. Others might not know, but Lei Jin recognized it instantly – peanut oil! They’d actually managed to produce it after he mentioned it once back in Wolf territory. And Qinghe was among those selling the oil. This was the opportunity Lei Jin had been waiting for.

Everything else was understandable, but what truly astonished Lei Jin was the Bear Tribe. Their prized offerings were bronze and iron implements! Though the variety was small – bronze items were limited to knives of various lengths, and iron items were just a few simple hoes and iron plates – the fact that they could smelt bronze and iron was impressive enough.

However, not only were the prices exorbitant, but upon hearing they were from the Leopard Tribe, the Bear tribespeople made no secret of their refusal: they wouldn’t sell anything to anyone from the Wolf or Leopard tribes. The feud from fighting ran deep. Just then, a black-haired, brown-eyed werebeast emerged from the largest tent in the Wolf Tribe area. He walked straight up to Lei Jin and called out, “Papa!”

A vein pulsed visibly on Lei Jin’s forehead. Being called ‘papa’ by a middle-aged werebeast made him want to commit murder.

The people nearby respectfully addressed the man: “Chief.”

The man seemed to realize his mistake. He scrutinized Lei Jin again, then murmured with disappointment, “Actually, upon closer inspection, the resemblance isn’t really there. It’s just these dark eyes… they’re too similar.”

Lei Jin really wanted to roar, ‘Go to our place! Dark eyes are everywhere! Are you going to grab everyone and call them mom?!’ But he quickly guessed the likely reason. Back when Tian Qi met him outside the forbidden land, he’d mentioned a black-haired, dark-eyed female who left this world forty years ago. If he guessed correctly, this man was probably the child left behind.

Lei Jin kissed Grapes in his arms. The little rascal, now sporting four milk teeth, was gnawing vigorously on the softwood tumbler in his grasp.

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Lei Jin and Roger were invited inside the tent for a conversation. The man introduced himself as Le Yang. Before they left, Le Yang sold them two small bronze knives and a small iron hoe at an extremely low price. He also invited them to visit the Bear Tribe sometime, seeming sincere, not just making polite conversation.

However, just a few steps outside the tent, Le Yang chased after them and asked, “A werebeast from the Leopard tribe died during the spring hunt this year. Did you know him?”

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These Werebeast Gongs Are Rogues CH 121 Unexpectedly Hitting The Jackpot

Lei Jin wasn’t the type to dwell on things. Though this particular matter troubled him deeply, he set it aside after a couple of days. What was meant to come would come. Wracking his brain now wouldn’t magically undo what he’d already eaten. However, Mingya, the instigator of the whole affair, wasn’t having such an easy time. Lei Jin still allowed him close, even permitted his touch. But every time things got heated, Lei Jin would kick him off the bed. After a few rounds of this, Mingya was thoroughly miserable, his mouth lined with painful blisters that forced him to eat slowly and carefully.

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Roger, seeing this, felt sorry for him. At first, he thought Mingya might be suffering from spring dryness and pondered what cooling foods could help. Later, he vaguely learned the real reason from Xiya and was both amused and exasperated. He decided to let them sort it out themselves. Watching their lively daily interactions made ordinary days feel much more vibrant.

Roger sat by the window. Opposite him under the eaves, two newly returned swallows were busily gathering grass to build their nest, chirping happily away. Though Mingya was his own flesh and blood, Roger couldn’t understand their language. Seeing Lei Jin bustling about, living life with such relish, Roger felt he should be doing something too. He smiled, shook his head, spread a piece of bark paper on the table, and began sketching with a charcoal stick.

Lei Jin was constantly harping in his ear: since land had been allocated to everyone, shouldn’t they build some basic irrigation systems? It would make watering much easier. The implication was clear: help me with this. Lei Jin seemed more driven by the day, not even sparing Roger himself. But honestly, the feeling wasn’t bad.

The weather was turning warm. Lei Jin rolled up his sleeves and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The crude farming tools and lack of animal labor made the work especially exhausting. The plot of land allocated outside the tribe had already been plowed and sown with wheat by An Sen, Xiya, and the others.

Lei Jin wanted to cultivate the plot near the house himself. The area close to the stream was reserved for rice; corn and beans would be planted after the wheat harvest. For now, he’d only scattered some experimental corn kernels in a corner. The rest he planted with vegetables – though the variety was pitifully small: just potatoes, scallions, and peppers. The onions he’d found last year had been dug up and eaten. Roger had later gone back a few times and collected some seeds, but even adding those, they only had four types, far from his goal. Perhaps he could venture deeper into the forest; surely there were more edible greens to be found.

Grapes slept soundly on his little bed in the shade of the wall corner, his little face flushed, even drooling a bit. To Lei Jin, his son looked utterly adorable just like that.

“Lei Jin, water.” Mingya came running out from the house carrying a large jar. Water splashed out as he ran, leaving a sparkling trail in the sunlight.

The water was lukewarm, perfect for drinking. Lei Jin tilted his head back and gulped down nearly half the jar. Wiping his mouth, he looked down at Mingya crouched at his feet, gazing up at him like a forlorn puppy. Amused, Lei Jin lifted Mingya’s chin. “Open up, let me see. Still hurts?”

“Hurts,” Mingya mumbled obediently, mouth wide open. The crucial point was Lei Jin wouldn’t let him touch him, yet he saw Lei Jin being intimate with his elder brothers right in front of him. At night, that part ached so much he couldn’t sleep.

“Pain will make you remember the lesson. Try any tricks next time, see how I deal with you.” Lei Jin pulled Mingya up, using the trees for cover. He ruffled Mingya’s hair and pressed a light, comforting kiss to his lips.

“Mingya will be obedient,” Mingya mumbled his pledge of loyalty, then wrapped his arms tightly around Lei Jin, pulling him flush against his body. He captured Lei Jin’s lips, taking charge with a fervent, unskilled, yet intensely direct kiss. As for Lei Jin’s earlier bullying, it all vanished like smoke in the wind, leaving no trace.

Just as Mingya, losing control, was about to go further, Grapes let out a little “wah” sound and woke up. Lei Jin glanced over Mingya’s shoulder and met his son’s bright, wide eyes. Grapes was wriggling his arms and legs excitedly, looking utterly fascinated. Lei Jin’s face immediately darkened. Instinctively, he shoved Mingya, who had just pulled his collar aside and was nibbling on his neck, away from him. “Go watch the baby,” he ordered sharply, conveniently ignoring who had initiated the whole thing.

Caught off guard, Mingya stumbled back a step, momentarily dazed. Only when Lei Jin’s fist seemed poised to swing did he snap back to reality. He hurriedly went to pick up Grapes. As he turned his back to Lei Jin, a flicker of grievance crossed his face. He whispered to the baby, “Baby, your timing is just awful. Your poor youngest Dad is so pitiful.”

Lei Jin shot him a glare, thinking he was the truly pitiful one here. He stretched his limbs. Sure, being on the bottom was more pleasurable and less tiring, but handling three of them simultaneously was exhausting! No one sympathized; they just told him to relax, which only made things easier for them. Maybe next time he’d make them try being on the bottom. Hmm… starting with the little guy seemed like an excellent idea.

Standing under the blazing sun, Mingya suddenly shivered. Why did Lei Jin’s gaze on his back feel so chilling? Had he accidentally done something wrong again? Was he going to be relegated to just watching once more?

“Such heavy rain! Came down without warning!” Lei Jin rushed into the house, clutching a small leather bundle – little clothes for Grapes that he’d asked Su Rui to make. The weather was warming, Grapes was learning to roll over, and couldn’t stay swaddled forever. Outside, the rain poured down in sheets, turning midday almost as dark as night. He’d heard the rainy season was coming for days, but hadn’t expected such a dramatic entrance.

“It’s been overcast for days. You went out without even a rain cape, let alone a bamboo hat,” Moya chided gently, pulling him to sit down. He took a cloth and began drying Lei Jin’s dripping hair. This man always claimed to be older than them, yet he couldn’t take care of himself at all.

“Who carries a heavy rain cape around town for no reason?” Lei Jin retorted. It was thick and cumbersome, totally ruining his usual cool image. The bamboo hat was rejected for the same reason. It was just rain, not bullets. What man was afraid of a little water? Image came first, obviously.

A flicker of amusement crossed Moya’s eyes. He was speechless. Lei Jin’s logic was always so forcefully illogical that it left no room for rebuttal.

“The work in the fields is finally done for now,” Lei Jin said, looking out at the rain-lashed courtyard. Raindrops splashed like blossoms on the bluestone slabs outside the door. Beneath the corner of the wall, the branches of the plants Roger had cultivated were dark, dotted with tender green buds.

After nearly a month of hard work, everything that needed planting was finally in the ground. They’d made it in time for the season, so he could relax. This rain had come at just the right moment.

The large coarse pottery jar they used to store rice and flour had developed a big crack in the bottom. An Luo had gone to the tribe’s pottery kiln to get a new one today and was about to throw the old one out. Lei Jin quickly stopped him. He thought it would be perfect for growing bean sprouts. They hadn’t had fresh greens all winter. Wild vegetables on the mountains were just barely peeking through; it would be a while before they could be properly harvested. Besides the beans used for tofu, they still had some left, but during the lean spring season, who dared use precious beans for mere side dishes? They had to be saved for emergencies.

Now, with bean sprouts, he wouldn’t have to worry! They could be tossed in salads, stir-fried with meat, or quick-blanched. Lei Jin happily soaked the beans, marveling at how much he’d missed even simple bean sprouts.

Plump beans were naturally saved for seeds. Since it was raining and there was nothing else to do, he decided to make a large batch. He made some tofu too. The cracked pottery jar was perfect for growing bean sprouts; just water them diligently for a few days – not much trouble. He also found some unused pots, jars, and broken basins lying around the house. Filling them with sandy soil, he buried beans in them and placed them under the eaves, waiting for the green bean sprouts to grow.

Despite the rain, their house was rarely empty. Roger worked on his sketches at home, revising them repeatedly. He’d also braved the rain to make numerous trips to the fields. Finally, he finished the irrigation canal plans. An Bu and the tribe’s elders were sensible; they knew they couldn’t rely solely on the heavens. Though rainfall was plentiful, it didn’t fall according to people’s wishes. Building canals to divert river water was an excellent solution. Sometimes, discussions got so lively they ended up staying for meals. It wasn’t a time of food shortage anymore, so hosts were happy to feed guests. Sometimes, young females would drop by to visit. Seeing the chief and elders, they showed respect but still chatted and laughed without much reserve. Consequently, mealtimes sometimes gathered a whole houseful of people, almost as if they were there specifically for a free meal.

Though Lei Jin’s cooking was delicious, he had no intention of cooking every single meal. So, as long as Xiya and Moya were home, they handled most of the three daily meals. But with so many people now, he couldn’t leave it all to them. Lei Jin pitched in frequently. For the first few days, he served generous platters of meat and large bowls of vegetables. The meat didn’t garner much attention, but the sight of fresh greens made everyone’s eyes gleam – they’d been starved for them all winter. Hearing Lei Jin’s methods were simple, many said they’d try them come autumn. Right now, it wasn’t possible; their beans were nearly gone. However, this only fueled more curiosity. People came in waves, one group after another. Lei Jin felt like charging admission at the door. It wasn’t that he begrudged the food; it was just the sheer hassle of cooking for so many.

Finally, Lei Jin hit upon a brilliant idea. He cut large chunks of meat, marinated them overnight with oil, salt, scallions, and soy sauce. The next day, he filled half a wok with oil in the kitchen. Whoever wanted to eat, and however much they wanted, had to fry it themselves. They merely provided a pot of tofu soup and a few plates of bean sprouts. Everyone found it amusing and enjoyed themselves thoroughly.

The first heavy spring rain came and went intermittently. Amidst the communal eating and drinking, over half a month slipped by.

Afterwards, the tribespeople seemed to feel a bit embarrassed. Many brought their own meat as gifts, more than they had consumed. Consequently, their own cellar became overflowing with meat. It wasn’t winter anymore; the meat would spoil if kept too long. Just as they were fretting over the surplus, the tribe’s annual grand fair was fast approaching. Xiya suggested they simply salt and cure it to sell at the fair. After all, people from every tribe needed to eat.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Lei Jin, naturally fond of excitement, didn’t want to miss such a rare tribal gathering. Besides, Jing Ping and Hao Chen were also coming. By all accounts, he should be happy. But one thing prevented him from feeling truly joyful: lately, the mere sight of greasy food made him nauseous.

Could he really be this unlucky? A one-time shot and he’d hit the jackpot? Lei Jin conveniently forgot that it hadn’t been just once, but three times in a row.

If you would like to show some ♡  then please consider supporting this translator! ლ(⌒εー)ლ

The Sickly Bigshot’s Favorite Salted Fish [Showbiz] CH 35 The Stolen Kiss

Fans were absolutely losing it over Qin Yancheng’s ears turning red—this was a groundbreaking discovery!  

[This man, who should have eyes filled with 30% indifference, 30% mockery, and 40% aloofness in a pie chart, actually BLUSHED?!]  

[HAHAHAHAHA, this is gold! The old-school vibes are strong with this one!]  

[President Qin, since when did you get so shy?! The contrast is killing me! Zhouzhou, kiss him again and make his ears even redder!]  

[So even domineering CEOs have their bashful moments?! This morning he was driving the wildest car, and now he’s this innocent?!]  

[ChengZhou forever! I can’t take it—I need a blood transfusion! My heart can’t handle this!]  

The usually cold and intimidating Mr. Qin was now sporting bright red ears, his head adorned with the heart-shaped clips Shi Zhou had playfully pinned on him earlier. Every slight movement made the little hearts wobble on their springs, sending fans into a screenshot frenzy.  

Xin Jing, standing behind the camera, was laughing his ass off. How could screenshots be enough—he had to personally take the most perfect pictures with his phone for the highest-quality and angle.  

Unfortunately, Shi Zhou didn’t have his phone on him, so he remained blissfully unaware of Qin Yancheng’s rare “adorable” moment. All he knew was that Qin Yancheng was still inexplicably giving him the cold shoulder.  

And Qin Yancheng himself had no idea these little details had been exposed.  

—His original purpose for coming was just to accompany Shi Zhou and play along. He didn’t pay much attention to the cameras or filming, so he often forgot his every move was being recorded. As a result, he remained completely oblivious to how thoroughly he’d been betrayed by the footage every time.  

Shi Zhou, clueless, patted Qin Yancheng’s shoulder and whispered quiet enough that the mics wouldn’t pick it up, “Damn, Mr. Qin, you’re amazing! Who knew you had moves like that?”  

Qin Yancheng stiffened slightly before replying with a faint “Mnn.”  

The burning heat in his ears, cheeks, and neck finally began to fade. He had no idea what had come over him earlier—Shi Zhou’s voice, his warm breath against his skin, his scent, the feel of his heartbeat against his back…  

Thankfully, Shi Zhou was too dense to notice.  

After a short break, the second round of the game began.  

The three teams formed a large circle, facing a narrow wooden bridge and rolling obstacles. In the center stood a microphone and it also didn’t seem to be an easy thing to reach. Looks like this was some kind of quick-response challenge this time.  

Shi Zhou sighed in relief. Answering questions wouldn’t be a problem for Qin Yancheng.  

As the so-called “pinnacle of adult male excellence,” Qin Yancheng had skipped grades in school and graduated from one of the world’s top universities. 

Though he never boasted about it, Shi Zhou knew his knowledge was vast—a true academic prodigy in his youth.  

Just as Shi Zhou was ready to ride the coattails of this genius, Xin Jing announced:  

“Round two—Name That Tune! Get ready to buzz in—”  

Shi Zhou froze. Before he could even process it, the first song started playing:  

“Ah~ ah~ ah ah ah~ ah~ ah~…”  

The scene fell silent for three seconds before Tan Zhi suddenly gasped in realization and dashed forward like lightning. He nimbly leaped across the bridge, ducked under the rolling obstacles, and lunged for the microphone!  

Shi Zhou turned to Qin Yancheng in utter confusion. Qin Yancheng also looked back at him. Both had entered a realm of complete ignorance, left with no choice but to stand there in silence.  

“Uh, I… don’t really listen to pop music,” Shi Zhou admitted, shaking his long hair helplessly.  

Truthfully, he did listen to pop music—but in his original world, where he’d lived for 23 years. He had zero familiarity with this world’s pop songs.  

“I don’t listen to music,” Qin Yancheng stated simply.  

Thus, this round was an absolute disaster. Ten songs played, and they couldn’t answer a single one. The match ended swiftly and anticlimactically.  

The two stood rooted in place like silent monoliths from Stonehenge, perfectly aligned in their shared silence.  

[OMG save me, you two are so adorable! Even though you lost, it’s just too cute!]  

[I knew President Qin was too ethereal to listen to pop, but I didn’t expect the trendy Zhouzhou to be just as clueless. A perfect match!]  

[Ahem, is no one gonna mention President Qin still has those heart clips in his hair? His whole image has become cold and cutesy, a cutesy coldness!]  

[LMAO, Zhouzhou didn’t even remind him! I saw the director sneaking a laugh earlier!]  

[I saw him taking pictures too!]  

[HAHAHAHAHA, dying from laughter here!]  

The comments section erupted in laughter. Qin Yancheng, finally sensing something amiss, slowly raised a hand to touch his hair—  

Then, expressionless, he turned to Shi Zhou, who immediately feigned innocence, shaking his head vigorously. “Don’t blame me! How was I supposed to know you forgot to take them off? I thought you were just being cute… HAHAHAHA, this is hilarious HAHAHAHA!” He couldn’t even finish before bursting into laughter.  

Qin Yancheng: “………”  

He had no idea what was wrong with him today. His mind was a chaotic mess, emotions surging uncontrollably and he couldn’t even make any sense of it at all.

This was extremely rare for someone as emotionally detached as him. Qin Yancheng even wondered if his mental state was deteriorating again, losing grip on his rationality like before.  

But this was different. In his darkest days, his emotions had been simple—just the struggle between wanting to die and the stubborn will to survive. Any other feelings were just basic negativity.  

Now, though, he felt that his mind was a chaotic whirlwind with vivid, happy emotions mixed in—  

Every time he got closer to Shi Zhou, he became abnormal. His heart raced uncomfortably, flooded with joy, warmth, bitterness, jealousy, fear… even a desperate urge to possess and claim.  

Thankfully, over these years he had become really good at using rigid self-control to suppress these emotions and appear like a normal person. So now he could at least maintain a facade of normalcy.

After tallying the scores, the two were forced to take second place just because of a simple music round.

Shi Zhou was a little bummed. Though second wasn’t terrible and they’d still get meat, it looks like he had to bid farewell to his beloved corn ribs.  

He hid his disappointment, consoling himself: It’s just ribs. I can ask Qin Yancheng to make them another time…  

No! I want them NOW!

It may not matter normally, but humans were contrary creatures with a rebellious mentality. The more you can’t eat something, the more you crave it.  

Just how in the past, Shi Zhou would walk by a fragrant fried chicken shop without much interest. But when one day his brother forbade him from eating unhygienic street food and he lost the right to eat fried chicken, he suddenly developed an insatiable craving.  

After three days of agony, he finally sneaked out to buy a huge bag of fried chicken while Shi Li was working late. Just as he took his first glorious bite, Shi Li—whose meeting had been canceled—walked in and caught him red-handed. A lecture ensued, but Shi Zhou, while pretending to repent, kept sneakily taking bites, infuriating Shi Li to no end.  

What’s more, Qin Yancheng’s corn ribs were leagues above any street food. Normally, Shi Zhou would hover around the kitchen, salivating over the simmering pot, even when Qin Yancheng told him to be patient.  

Especially now when Tan Zhi and Li You had started discussing, “Do you think the ribs should be stewed or stir-fried? Can you make braised ones?”

—It was over. He broke instantly. He wanted nothing more than to sit on the ground and wail.

But then he remembered that at least there would be meat. Unlike Yang Yuxin’s team, who would be eating full vegetarian. After frantically comforting himself for a while, he perked up again, grinning as he asked, “Qin sir, what are we eating first for lunch?”

Qin Yancheng paused, recalling Shi Zhou’s earlier mutterings about ribs while being carried on his back. Calmly, he replied, “Corn ribs.”  

“We can’t. We’re in second place—no ribs, no corn.”  

Qin Yancheng thought for a moment, then glanced at Tan Zhi and stated coolly, “We can have them. Tan Zhi does.”  

[Tan Zhi: The ribs are in danger.]  

[That’s my President Qin—so domineering, so ruthless. HAHAHAHA!]  

[Hey! Don’t bully my husband! Are you two planning a couple heist?! Hubby, run!]  

[A billionaire CEO resorting to meat theft to feed his wife?! Is this a bandit x glutton love story?! I NEED MORE!]  

Shi Zhou assumed he was joking. Qin Yancheng’s really something—still cracking deadpan jokes even during a cold war. What’s going on in that head of his?

After collecting their ingredients, everyone dispersed. Yang Yuxin was still throwing a tantrum, begging the crew to swap his greens for something else—claiming he wouldn’t touch a single leaf.  

Shi Zhou sighed. Poor Guo Chenming—stuck with such a teammate. 

And poor Xin Jing, resisting the urge to strangle Yang Yuxin while enduring his nonsense and having his sanity tested.

Qin Yancheng stored their groceries in their new lodging, then turned and said, “Let’s go get some ribs from Tan Zhi.”  

Curious about Qin Yancheng’s heist plan, Shi Zhou followed him to knock on Tan Zhi and Li You’s door.  

Li You, who opened the door, was surprised to see the two of them suddenly show up. Then, as if realizing something, she wore a sorrowful, helpless expression and asked, “Don’t tell me… you guys can’t cook either?”

“Either? Neither of you? Not even a little?” Shi Zhou asked in astonishment as Li You welcomed them inside.

“Tan Zhi said he can cook a tiny bit, but it seems like—”

Before she could finish, a desperate shout came from the kitchen. “Ah! Why is it burnt again?! It’s smoking!”

Shi Zhou burst into laughter at the smoky disaster scene—as expected, kitchen disasters were a universal curse, and misery truly loved company.

Thankful that he at least wouldn’t go hungry—and judging by the look of things, Qin Yancheng wouldn’t let the other two starve either—Shi Zhou puffed out his chest proudly. “We’ve got a top chef right here! The type that it’d be a crime if he didn’t work at a Michelin restaurant!”

Hearing that, Tan Zhi peeked his head out and asked excitedly, “Shi Zhou, you can cook? That’s amazing, Chef Shi, please save us! We’re just wasting food at this point!”

Qin Yancheng said calmly, “We can help you, but we’ll take half of your food in exchange.”

“No problem!” Tan Zhi and Li You responded almost in unison. That deal sounded perfect. After all, they were just burning through ingredients anyway. They immediately looked at Shi Zhou with hopeful eyes.

Seeing they all assumed he was the chef—probably never imagining that Qin Yancheng, the man who signed nine-figure contracts, could also cook—Shi Zhou flashed a mysterious smile, took the little brown bear apron Tan Zhi handed over, and slowly walked toward Qin Yancheng.

The room fell silent.

After a long pause, Tan Zhi finally let out a stunned, “Ahhh…” and asked in shock, “Wait—President Qin is the one cooking?!”

Shi Zhou tilted his head slightly. “Who else? You didn’t know? If I were cooking, we’d be eating either boiled eggs or instant noodles.”

[WTF, Qin Yancheng can cook?!]

[He sure can! He made dinner the night they arrived—I was already shocked back then. You must have terrible internet to still not know.]

[That apron looks kinda short on someone who’s 190 cm tall, LOL]

[To let baby Shi Zhou eat ribs, President Qin is actually offering up his precious labor to cook?!]

[Too sweet I’m gonna die ahhhh! I’ll be the first to feast on this dog food—time to kick my cow out and plow the field myself again!]

[Quick, screenshot this! President Qin in a little bear apron is unexpectedly adorable! Total gap moe!]

Shi Zhou rolled up his sleeves, ready to help in the kitchen, but Qin Yancheng didn’t even look up as he chopped vegetables and said flatly, “Go wait outside.”

That instantly triggered another chorus of groundhog-style shrieks from the sugar-hunting crowd: “President Qin is so doting!”

Qin Yancheng cooked quickly, pulling out ingredients that Shi Zhou liked but ingredients that they themselves didn’t have. He whipped up five dishes in a row, unapologetically claiming more than half of each one. The corn and pork rib stew in particular was basically gone; he left Tan Zhi and Li You three or four pieces each—just enough to taste.

To eat food personally cooked by the mercurial Mr. Qin was like suddenly being served a state banquet. Tan Zhi and Li You were in a dreamlike daze as they nervously took the plates from Qin Yancheng and placed them on the table, not even slightly bothered by the small portions.

Tan Zhi, already a little hungry and drooling at the aroma, joked, “President Qin, do you want to take some ingredients back to cook at your leisure?”

Li You gave Tan Zhi a look that clearly said, No way! If Qin Yancheng took ingredients home, he might not come back tonight to cook—and then what? Would they gnaw on raw rice?

Qin Yancheng seemed to catch her meaning. “Tomato and egg stir-fry—look it up online. It’s simple. Anyone not completely hopeless can manage it.”

Just as Shi Zhou was reaching to sneak a bite of ribs, he heard that and immediately felt personally attacked. “Hey! Who are you calling hopeless?”

Truth was, he had racked his brains but still couldn’t master that supposedly simple dish. It always ended up burnt or drowning in oil. Once, in a flash of inspiration, he’d tried stir-frying garlic for aroma, only to coat it in raw egg. Qin Yancheng had taken one bite and nearly spit it out, face green like he’d just been poisoned.

Clutching their hard-won treasure, Shi Zhou finally got to eat the corn and rib stew he’d been craving, and after eating to his heart’s content, his mood instantly brightened.

Filming wouldn’t start until 3 p.m., so with time to spare, Shi Zhou lounged on the couch, his injured fingers in the air, and got ready to scroll on his phone.

But before he could even open Weibo, a large, cool hand suddenly grabbed his wrist.

Shi Zhou startled and looked up to see Qin Yancheng squatting in front of him, expressionlessly holding his wrist and examining the burn wound on his fingertips.

“Didn’t I tell Bian Shuai to remind you to apply your medicine? Why didn’t you today?”

Shi Zhou froze, then quickly yanked his hand back and mumbled in a voice too soft for the cameras to catch, “What, your precious mouth can’t be used to talk to me directly? Had to pass a message through someone else? And besides, what’s it got to do with you anyway?”

Qin Yancheng handed him the ointment. “Put it on. Now.”

Shi Zhou turned away, ignoring him.

Although he was annoyed by Qin Yancheng’s strange, hot-and-cold behavior lately, he wasn’t refusing the medicine to be spiteful. It was just that this stuff really stung. Every time he applied it, it felt like fire, and he barely held back from howling in pain to save the bit of dignity he had left.

The original owner’s body had seriously sensitive tear ducts, and Shi Zhou was terrified that if he teared up even a little, he’d end up in tomorrow’s tabloids: “Shocking! Male celebrity cries over minor finger wound! When will sissified idols stop?!”

Qin Yancheng saw him resisting and, voice steely and unyielding, commanded coldly, “Hand. Hold still.”

Then he squatted down and firmly grabbed Shi Zhou’s hand to apply the medicine himself.

As they say, the fingers are connected to the heart—it hurt so bad Shi Zhou sucked in a breath, biting his lip and trying not to make a sound. Sure enough, his eyes were starting to sting.

Shit, don’t cry now, I swear I don’t wanna cry!

Frantically, he tried to think of a joke to distract himself and see if he could make himself laugh.

But when Qin Yancheng looked up, he saw Shi Zhou’s trembling lips, the red rims of his eyes, and that glossy shimmer threatening to spill from his lashes. Their eyes met, and Qin Yancheng paused, visibly startled, a string seemingly connected to his heart suddenly thrumming inside him.

He had been incredibly gentle, but now—seeing Shi Zhou on the verge of tears—he actually couldn’t bring himself to continue.

After a beat of silence, he forced himself to finish the task, and Shi Zhou finally let out a tiny, pained “ah!”

Qin Yancheng slowly stood up, silently packed up the supplies, and distanced himself again.

Shi Zhou huffed. The pain made his young master temper flare, and all the old grudges came flooding back. He didn’t want to speak to this erratic, moody, maybe-taken-the-wrong-medicine Qin Yancheng.

Because on one hand, Shi Zhou knew Qin Yancheng was doing it for his own good—everything he did was kind and attentive.

But on the other hand, Qin Yancheng had been acting so mentally impaired lately—barely speaking, deliberately distancing himself from Shi Zhou… it was infuriating!

Due to changing to a new place, as usual, Qin Yancheng was the one organizing everything. Shi Zhou flopped on the couch and used his alt account, “Runaway Airship at the Flower Market,” to post a few blurry sneak shots of Qin Yancheng.

He hadn’t posted in days, so his sudden reappearance sparked a flood of excited comments asking him about updates:

[Author-sama!! Did you see what happened this morning?! I got screenshots, hehe slurp slurp]

[I got some too! Come on, inspire yourself with these spicy pics!]

[Just from that shot I could write 50k words of smut—if I can, you definitely can!!]

Shi Zhou’s face burned. He thought back to the weird feeling of Qin Yancheng brushing against the inside of his thigh this morning and suddenly felt hot and weak-kneed. Before he could even shout “Don’t send it! I’m not looking!”, his inbox was flooded with photos from those smut-loving pervs.

He groaned helplessly—he really didn’t want to “enjoy” them!

Just as he quit Weibo to clear his head, he saw a stream of nine unread messages from his cheap manager, Li Cheng, all basically begging for Qin Yancheng’s mercy.

They were sent four hours ago but when Shi Zhou typed a simple question mark, within seconds, Li Cheng was “typing…”

Li Cheng: Shi Zhou, for the sake of our years of working together… if you’re gonna jump ship, can you take me with you?

Shi Zhou: Why? Did you sleep with Zheng Qi’s wife, so now he wants to kill you?

Scrolling up through the messages, Shi Zhou pieced it together: Qixing was finished. A major project had suddenly collapsed, their Series E funding failed, the cash flow dried up, the banks sued, and now the authorities were investigating…

Basically, the board was scrambling to cut losses and dump shares, while employees below were all looking for escape routes.

Shi Zhou glanced away from his phone to the figure in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and washing dishes. Since they were still in a cold war, Shi Zhou decided to match Qin Yancheng’s silent treatment with some of his own—no one talks to anyone. So he didn’t ask about it.

He had never heard Qin Yancheng mention anything about this. Shi Zhou had thought Qin Yancheng, being the bigger person, had already let Zheng Qi off the hook. He had been feeling it was too cheap a price for a scumbag like that. But now it seemed otherwise—clearly, Qin Yancheng hadn’t let it go. And what a beautiful move.

The downfall of Qixing Entertainment had to be Qin Yancheng’s doing. No one else could destroy a company worth over a billion so easily.

Just then, a message from Zheng Qi came in too. Also filled with vague, twisted pleas and declarations of innocence—swearing he had never had improper thoughts about Mr. Qin.

Shi Zhou found it absurd. Something happened, and you’re begging me? Go beg Qin Yancheng! You’re barking up the wrong tree, both of you.

He quickly typed out three words: “Fend for yourself.”

After a moment’s thought, he added: “Deepest sympathies.”

Still felt too insincere. So he tacked on: “Condolences. I hereby express my deep regret. May you soon find a bridge with cool shade in summer and warmth in winter under which to sleep!”

He could practically picture Zheng Qi’s furious face on the other end of the screen.

Sure enough, Zheng Qi paused for a moment, then sent four consecutive voice messages. But since the cameras were still rolling, and Shi Zhou also didn’t want to hear a dog barking, he didn’t open them. He just converted them to text:

—Shi Zhou! Don’t get cocky, you bitch!
—Look at your smug face! You think Qin Yancheng will like you for long? He only thinks you’re interesting because you kinda resemble him!
—You think anyone who stays close to him ends well? He’s a lunatic! You don’t even know what kind of person he really is! Do you even know what kind of person he was like before?
—Just wait. I won’t let you have it easy!

Clearly, Zheng Qi had realized begging Shi Zhou was useless and just tore off the mask.

Shi Zhou found his rage amusing. If you play with fire, you should expect to get burned eventually.

If Qin Yancheng hadn’t died so early in the original novel, would scum like Zheng Qi really have gotten a happy ending? Shi Zhou was dying to see just how brutal an ending Qin Yancheng had in store for Zheng Qi.

In the kitchen, Qin Yancheng was calmly washing dishes. Shi Zhou secretly gave him a sideways glare, struggling not to talk to him.

He had planned to match Qin Yancheng’s hot-and-cold attitude with silence, but clearly, it only gave this quiet man more peace and cost him nothing. Meanwhile, someone like Shi Zhou, who loved to talk, was on the verge of imploding. He had to admit this was a battle where he’d harmed himself more than the enemy.

Frustrated, Shi Zhou sulked and went back to browsing Weibo. He hadn’t looked properly in days. He especially wanted to see what had happened after he fell into the water—and whether he’d embarrassed himself too much.

The video clip started from the moment Qin Yancheng brought him back to the boat. Only now Shi Zhou realized that his hands had been clinging tightly to Qin Yancheng the whole time, refusing to let go.

The more he watched, the more his eyes widened. He hadn’t realized just how mortifying the whole scene had been—not only did he cling to Qin Yancheng like a koala, nuzzling into his arms, but he even… cried on his shoulder. Full-on weeping, tear-streaked, pitiful sobbing.

He looked at the number of shares, likes, and comments beneath the video—and immediately jolted up from the couch in a panicked sit-up, face burning red with embarrassment!

And yet, the more ashamed he was, the more he had to watch—to see what else he had done, and whether that was why Qin Yancheng had been acting so weird lately.

The video continued. The people around them were busy and panicked, rushing to help—complete chaos.

Shi Zhou had resigned himself to the reality that he had been bawling into Qin Yancheng’s arms for an absurdly long time. Now, despairing, he just wanted to see how long it had lasted—

Then, in the video, Qin Yancheng gently lifted Shi Zhou’s head and kissed his forehead.

Shi Zhou: !!!!!!!!!!

He was so shocked he nearly dropped his phone. In disbelief, he rewound the video and watched it again.

This time, he saw it even more clearly: not only had Qin Yancheng sneakily kissed his forehead during the chaos, he’d even guiltily glanced around to see if anyone had noticed!

Shi Zhou was stunned. He touched his innocent, now-defiled forehead in horror, unsure what emotion to even process first. In a shaky voice, he called out:

“Qin Yancheng…”

Qin Yancheng had just finished scrubbing the last dish and was about to put it into the cupboard when he heard Shi Zhou call him. Out of instinct he responded coldly and distantly, “Mnn?”

“You—You kissed me secretly?!” Shi Zhou shouted in shocked outrage.

The drawn-out words cracked like thunder—and Qin Yancheng froze on the spot!

His brain went blank like he’d been struck by lightning!

The dish in his hand slipped and shattered on the floor. He stood stiffly for a long moment, then slowly turned to look at Shi Zhou—

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The Sickly Bigshot’s Favorite Salted Fish [Showbiz] CH 34 Hugging Each Other

Looking at the so-called “double” tent—which was ridiculously narrow—Shi Zhou wanted to scream, “Help me, oh my god!” They had just been in a cold war, not speaking or touching each other.

Earlier, Shi Zhou had been trying to figure out how to light the barbecue grill. No matter what angle or method he tried, the damn charcoal just wouldn’t catch fire. He felt like an idiot holding a lighter to a rock, attempting the impossible.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

After multiple failed attempts, Li You, who was skewering meat nearby, suggested, “It’s not easy to light barbecue charcoal directly with a lighter. Maybe try adding something flammable first?”

Shi Zhou smacked his forehead—that made sense. He grabbed some scrap newspaper, planning to light it first and then add the charcoal.

Having never played with fire much in his life—aside from smoking—he didn’t realize how quickly newspaper burned. In just two seconds, before he could even toss the lit paper into the grill, flames shot up wildly!

Shi Zhou yelped and let go, but not fast enough—the flames licked at his right fingertips.

“Ah—!” He sucked in a sharp breath. Luckily, it was just a small burn on his thumb and index finger.

He had always been sensitive to pain. A few years ago, he would’ve made a big deal out of it, showing off even the tiniest scratch to his doting older brother.

Shi Li would sigh helplessly, applying a band-aid while teasing, “Good thing I got off work early today, or this would’ve healed before I even saw it.”

Their mother had passed away early, leaving only their cold, distant father. To Shi Zhou, Shi Li—seven years his senior—had been both father and mother, his only family and support.

Now, though, Shi Zhou was used to being alone. He didn’t make a fuss, just quietly blew on his stinging fingertips, muttering to himself, blow on it and it won’t hurt, won’t hurt…

As he did, his wrist was suddenly grabbed—

Qin Yancheng, who had been moving things nearby, was now standing right in front of him, frowning at his burned fingers with an unreadable expression.

Still in the middle of their cold war, Shi Zhou, irritated by the silent treatment, yanked his hand back and snapped, “What are you staring at?!”

Qin Yancheng’s frown deepened. “I’ll light the charcoal. Go do something else.”

Shi Zhou, now wary of fire after getting burned, didn’t argue and went to help Tan Zhi hang up star-shaped string lights instead. Qin Yancheng shook his head, speechless.

While arranging the lights, Shi Zhou was interrupted by Assistant Bian. “Brother Shi, here’s some burn ointment.”

Shi Zhou blinked. Are the cameras catching everything? How does even my assistant know I got burned?

“Put it aside. I’ll deal with it after hanging these.” He stretched to reach the highest spot.

“President Qin said you need to apply it now. If you can’t, I’ll help.”

Shi Zhou was baffled. “He told you to buy this?”

What the hell? Wasn’t he just glaring at me like I owed him eight million?

And why couldn’t he just come over and say it himself? Too good to open his precious mouth?

Thus, the awkward tension between them persisted.

Back to the present—

Shi Zhou stared at the tiny tent, struggling to imagine sharing such a cramped space with Qin Yancheng, forced into zero-distance contact.

The cameras were still rolling. Shi Zhou had already spent over an hour playing in the sand to stall, building a miniature castle. If he kept this up, he’d recreate Disneyland.

Despite their silent standoff, Shi Zhou noticed Qin Yancheng had barely eaten at dinner—just a couple of skewers—likely because his delicate stomach couldn’t handle greasy food.

The area was remote, with no delivery options. Shi Zhou considered asking Assistant Bian to fetch something light for Qin Yancheng, but Qin Yancheng had already wordlessly retreated into the cursed tent, seemingly done for the night.

As everyone else retired to their tents, only Tan Zhi remained on the beach, chatting with fans and watching the sea and starry night sky with them via livestream.

Shi Zhou couldn’t pretend to admire the view any longer. Steeling himself, he thought, if I’m gonna die, I’ll die boldly. As long as I’m not embarrassed, Qin Yancheng will be!

Once inside, Shi Zhou was still shocked. “Damn, this tent is tiny! If this is a double, it must be for ‘double stick figures’! What was Director Xin thinking?!”

Qin Yancheng lowered his eyes, silently scooting aside, but it barely made a difference. Shi Zhou had no choice but to lie down stiffly.

They were practically pressed up against each other, sharing a single blanket. The moment Shi Zhou stretched his legs, his ankle brushed Qin Yancheng’s. When he tried to shift, his hand accidentally landed on Qin Yancheng’s waist.

Shi Zhou: …..

I swear I’m not trying to cop a feel!

After much adjusting, they settled back-to-back, squeezed together.

The night was chilly. Despite the thick tent and blanket, the cold seeped in.

Shi Zhou longed to inch closer to the warmth beside him, but their cold war made it awkward. So he subtly scooted backward… little by little…

Unbeknownst to him, Qin Yancheng had turned around. His stealthy movements were fully observed as he unknowingly nestled into Qin Yancheng’s arms.

Qin Yancheng stared at Shi Zhou’s head of long, thick black hair, conflicted. After a long silence, he finally asked coldly, “Who was that ex-boyfriend you mentioned? Zheng Qi?”

Shi Zhou, who could fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, mumbled drowsily, “Him? As if he deserves me. I don’t even know him… trash.”

Someone intimate enough to call “brother” so affectionately—their relationship must’ve been deep.

So why were they exes? Had they broken up, yet Shi Zhou still held onto him, even calling for him in moments of danger? Had Shi Zhou been dumped—

In Qin Yancheng’s eyes, Shi Zhou had always possessed a kind of magical charm—just thinking about him could clear away stormy moods and even spark an involuntary sense of joy.

Qin Yancheng took a sharp breath. An inexplicable irritation surged. Who would ever break up with Shi Zhou?

—No. This is Shi Zhou’s personal life. None of my business. Why does it bother me? It shouldn’t.

But despite his thoughts, Qin Yancheng—usually composed and detached—found himself unable to resist asking in a low voice, “Why did you break up?”

Shi Zhou, half-asleep, was startled by the question. His sluggish brain struggled: Break up? What break up? I’d need a boyfriend first to break up! Can the government issue me one?

After a full minute, he remembered his earlier lie about his “ex” to cover his slip-up. Why is Qin Yancheng obsessing over this in the middle of the night?

A good lie mixes truth with fiction. Though half-asleep, Shi Zhou managed to remember this fact, so he said honestly, “He’s dead.”

The minute-long delay seemed like deliberate, grief-laden silence to Qin Yancheng—uncharacteristic of Shi Zhou’s usual cheerfulness.

Qin Yancheng’s heart sank.

Shi Zhou rolled onto his back, murmuring, eyes still closed, “He was only twenty-seven. So young. His annual physical never showed any heart problems…”

The air grew heavy, filled only by the sound of crashing waves and the wind.

Qin Yancheng’s heart plummeted. A bitter, unreasonable anger swelled inside him.

Now he understood why Shi Zhou had cried while making milk that drunken night—Who had Qin Yancheng reminded him of?

Shi Zhou drifted off after that. Qin Yancheng lay rigid, letting Shi Zhou cling to him in sleep.

Why am I angry? Why does this bother me? It’s Shi Zhou’s private matter, his feelings. I—

Qin Yancheng closed his eyes. A vague, unwelcome realization hovered at the edge of his consciousness, one his subconscious refused to acknowledge.

The next morning, for once, Shi Zhou woke first—finally witnessing his own sleeping habits firsthand.

He knew he was a restless sleeper, hence the giant pillow he usually hugged to avoid rolling off the bed.

But this was his first time sharing a bed. To his horror, he realized he hugged his bed partner too!

Blame the cold or the cramped space—he’d latched onto Qin Yancheng like an octopus, legs tangled with his. His first sight upon waking? Qin Yancheng’s blue pajamas.

Because his face was buried in Qin Yancheng’s chest!

Shi Zhou tried to extricate himself carefully, but as he shifted his legs—which had been wrapped around Qin Yancheng’s waist—he felt something very inappropriate pressing against his inner thigh.

The memory of that sight—the one that had made his nose bleed—flashed before his eyes.

Shi Zhou froze as if struck by lightning, terrified of triggering another nosebleed in front of Qin Yancheng. If that happened again he might as well bury himself in front of Qin Yancheng.

Blushing, he attempted to adjust his legs slowly, inch by inch—

Just then, the tent flap was yanked open!

Xin Jing’s energetic and infectious voice called out, “Hey! Why aren’t you two up ye—uh… sorry, my bad! So sorry!”

Not only did he walk in to find the two of them clinging to each other like magnets—in a rather suggestive position, no less—but the real kicker was that the camera crew had followed right behind him!

First thing in the morning and fans were hit with a visual shockwave, instantly overwhelmed as they erupted into frenzied screams:

[AHHHHH! Is this really free content?! Wait, is this really paid content?!]

[SOS! The early bird gets the worm! Mama, I’m eating real food today! So delicious!!]

[The sight has me kicking my cow out and plowing 50 acres myself!]

[I SCREENSHOTTED! I SCREENSHOTTED! QIN YANCHENG’S HAND WAS ON SHI ZHOU’S WAIST!]

[I MISSED IT! SIS, DM ME!]

Qin Yancheng, who’d barely slept last night, was still groggy when he opened his eyes—only to meet Shi Zhou’s flushed face.

Shi Zhou hastily untangled himself, scooting to the side. “Uh… y-you groped my butt too, so we’re even.”

Qin Yancheng immediately withdrew his hand, his ears faintly red. He said expressionlessly, “Be reasonable. That was your waist.”

After Shi Zhou’s near-drowning, rumors spread that “President Qin banned dangerous outdoor activities in a rage over his beloved.”

Xin Jing could only choke down a mouthful of metaphorical blood—this was his idea, after all! He, the director who’d given his all for this show! And sure enough, these fans were all sugar factories in disguise, completely ignoring the objective fact that the two had only been snuggled up because it was still raining outside.

Seeing that everyone had gathered, Xin Jing cleared his throat and announced, “Alright viewers in front of the screen, today on Real: Zero Distance, we’re interrupting the usual schedule for a special foodie episode!”

“Today’s lunch ingredients will be distributed based on your performance in a game. You’ll be cooking as a team, and whether or not you get to eat lunch—it’s all up to you!”

Yang Yuxin was the first to chime in, “Wait, we have to cook? But I can’t cook! Brother Guo, can you cook?”

Over the past couple of days, Guo Chenming had gained a deep and painful understanding of just how clueless, dramatic, and capable Yang Yuxin was of driving his teammates insane. Yet, because the cameras were always rolling, he had to maintain his gentlemanly image and keep from exploding.

Today the rooms had changed—each pair would be sharing a space. Though only Qin Yancheng and Shi Zhou were assigned to the same room, the other two groups were at least housed in the same unit. Still, sharing meals and living space brought its own kind of dread. Guo Chenming was now forced to dwell in the horror of coexisting with Yang Yuxin.

Of course, Guo Chenming wasn’t the only one suffering—Xin Jing, the show’s main director, was hanging on by a thread too.

He seriously started wondering if Yang Yuxin had been planted there to sabotage the show. Every time he opened his mouth, it was a social disaster. If it weren’t for the fact that his greasy, overweight, bald sugar daddy of a sponsor had business ties with Xin Jing’s dad, making it impossible to object… Xin Jing wouldn’t have let Yang Yuxin within a hundred miles of the show.

Shi Zhou twirled his ponytail thoughtfully. “Can we gift or trade ingredients? Like, help someone cook in exchange for a fee?”

“Of course,” Xin Jing replied. “How you handle your ingredients is entirely up to you.”

Three large baskets were displayed nearby. The first basket was overflowing with everything—meat, fish, vegetables, carbs—you name it.

The second basket had noticeably less, maybe about two-thirds full. No big meats or premium items.

The third? One step away from eating bark and dirt. It was filled with nothing but leafy greens—all of which Shi Zhou hated. Not a single substantial dish in sight.

Once the food was shown, it was packed away into the fridge, and Xin Jing moved on to the first challenge:

“Here’s the rule for round one: each team of two will have one person blindfolded, carrying the other on their back. The one on top will guide them through an obstacle course to collect as many peach-heart clips as possible and return safely.”

Shi Zhou grinned and teased, “Qin sir, how about I carry you?”

Qin Yancheng replied expressionlessly, “You’re welcome to try.”

As expected, it ended in total failure. Shi Zhou barely made it two steps before wobbling all over the place. Unsurprisingly, the “who gets blindfolded and who gives commands” decision was obvious across all teams—given their height and build disparities, the results were inevitable.

As the game was about to begin, Shi Zhou rested his chin on Qin Yancheng’s shoulder and turned his head—

Yang Yuxin, with a look of grievous resentment on his face, was struggling pitifully to lift Guo Chenming, a broad-shouldered man, onto his back.

Shi Zhou: ???

The comment section exploded with a unified barrage of

[Hahahahahahahaha].

[No way! What happens if the panda starves to death!]

[Help! My mom asked why I’m laughing like a 300-pound child]

[What were they thinking? Who came up with this terrible idea?]

Behind the scenes, Xin Jing was doing his best not to burst out laughing. Guo Chenming was just too upright—he’d do anything to avoid scandalous rumors or odd pairings. He flat-out refused to carry Yang Yuxin.

Being a senior with a higher status, Guo had the upper hand. Yang Yuxin didn’t have solid backing; even his ties with his sugar daddy were shaky. Left without support, he could only clench his teeth and accept Guo Chenming’s extreme dedication to image management.

Shi Zhou tilted his head, cheek brushing against Qin Yancheng’s shoulder. His thick ponytail swiped gently across Qin’s neck. After a good night’s sleep, his grudges were gone—the cold war already forgotten.

He sounded cheerful. “Qin Yancheng, you smell really good. I’ve been meaning to say that.”

He even took a deep sniff, then rubbed his face against him.

Qin Yancheng instantly felt heat rise to his cheeks and up his neck. His tone was stiff and unnatural when he said, “Move your hair, it tickles.”

He couldn’t smell himself, but the moment Shi Zhou leaned in, there was a faint sweet fruity scent that lingered in the air. It made his arms tense up suddenly, not knowing where to put his hands while carrying Shi Zhou.

Xin Jing cleared his throat. “Ready—go!”

“There’s nothing in front, go straight,” Shi Zhou said in in Qin Yancheng’s ear.

Warm breath tickled his skin. Blindfolded, Qin Yancheng’s other senses felt especially sharp—his scalp tingled and every touch, scent, and sound became magnified several times.

His steps wobbled. He had barely entered the course before he knocked over two bottle-shaped obstacles.

Nearby, Tan Zhi moved swiftly, his dance background showing in his light, agile steps. Paired with the petite and slender Li You, barely over 160 cm tall, he had a clear physical advantage. Shi Zhou, slim as he was, was still a 180 cm tall adult man. His frame alone outweighed any dainty girl.

“Ah! Tan Zhi’s team is ahead—come on, Qin sir, let’s aim for first place!”

First place meant spare ribs—and Qin Yancheng’s corn ribs were especially delicious.

Qin Yancheng took a deep breath to clear his head.

He lifted his feet and stepped smoothly through the tight, unevenly shaped path between obstacles. Even before Shi Zhou could give directions, he nimbly navigated the jumbled course, moving quickly and cleanly. It was as if he’d memorized every obstacle’s position the moment he entered.

“Qin Yancheng, can you see through the blindfold?” Shi Zhou asked, puzzled.

As soon as he spoke, another breath of warm air hit Qin Yancheng’s ear. A wave of tingling sensation washed over him. His steps faltered again, and he knocked into another obstacle.

Shi Zhou wasn’t sure what was going on exactly, but it was obvious: every time he opened his mouth, Qin Yancheng messed up. So he shut up quickly.

Once they entered the clip-collecting phase, though, Shi Zhou had to give directions. He craned his neck, planting his chin atop Qin Yancheng’s head. “A little left… yes…”

“Lower. Crouch down a bit.”

To be fair, Qin Yancheng had some serious strength—he managed to bend into a squat while carrying Shi Zhou. Definitely not the frail, delicate, easily pushed down “sickly beauty” type that Shi Zhou had imagined.

Shi Zhou didn’t have a free hand to hold the clips, so he clipped them directly onto Qin Yancheng’s hair. By the fifth one, just as he was about to turn Qin Yancheng’s head into a sea of red, the director’s voice cut in briskly. “Time’s up!”

Qin Yancheng set Shi Zhou down and took off his blindfold. He rubbed the back of his neck—the spot Shi Zhou had breathed on constantly—still tingling in a weirdly pleasant way.

Shi Zhou had collected one more clip than Li You. Tan Zhi, while fast, had knocked down more obstacles than Qin Yancheng.

As for Yang Yuxin and Guo Chenming… they were in an entirely different genre from everyone else. While the others raced seriously, these two looked like full-time comedy actors.

Yang Yuxin was too thin to carry Guo Chenming to begin with. Blindfolded, he stumbled around, bowling over obstacles like a human pinball. The sounds of bottles and jars crashing echoed nonstop. Eventually, he stepped on something slippery, lost his footing, and the two of them collapsed dramatically.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“First place: Qin Yancheng & Shi Zhou — 5 points. Second place: Tan Zhi & Li You — 3 points. Third place: Yang Yuxin & Guo Chenming — 1 point.”

Shi Zhou jumped up happily—one step closer to corn ribs and braised pork. If they could win the next round too, it’d be a guaranteed feast.

While he was thinking of food, the comment section had already turned into a rooster coop of shrieks. The moment Shi Zhou looked into the camera and said “you smell really good,” fans lost their minds. Because Qin Yancheng had actually blushed—his ears were completely red, the flush spreading all the way down his pale neck.

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The Sickly Bigshot’s Favorite Salted Fish [Showbiz] CH 33 Impulsive

The moment Shi Zhou was swallowed by the icy seawater, his mind was flooded not only with the bone-deep terror ingrained in him but also with the instinctive unwillingness and pain of an unexpected death—something his usually carefree nature had always overlooked.

Countless emotions erupted violently, weaving into a cocoon of despair that trapped Shi Zhou, rendering him unable to break free. Even as the saltwater burned his eyes, he forced them open, uncaring of the pain.

—I don’t want to die.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

A flash of white flickered before his eyes, and then Shi Zhou crashed into someone’s embrace. Instinctively, he clung to them like a lifeline, refusing to let go.

Shi Zhou remained rigid, holding onto Qin Yancheng for dear life, not thrashing like most drowning people would.

Seeing Shi Zhou’s abnormal state, Qin Yancheng’s heart sank. He lifted him to the surface.

The sunlight stung Shi Zhou’s seawater-soaked eyes, forcing them shut. In the darkness of his panic, he only tightened his grip on the only warmth and solid presence he could find.

His mind was in chaos, as if his soul had been shattered, leaving only the memory of his death:

The icy river water flooding the car, filling his nose and mouth, the seatbelt jammed, the door crushed shut by the pressure—dying in suffocating agony—

Rescuers brought them back to the boat. Seeing Shi Zhou trembling violently, his breathing ragged, his face twisted in fear, Qin Yancheng acted decisively. One arm wrapped around Shi Zhou’s shoulders while the other patted his back firmly.

Shi Zhou coughed violently, expelling seawater, then finally gasped out, his voice trembling and incoherent. “I don’t wanna die… Brother, it’s so cold… I don’t wanna die… I can’t see… Brother…”

Qin Yancheng’s heart clenched. He held Shi Zhou close, one hand rubbing his back soothingly, the other gently wiping his seawater-stung eyes, murmuring low in his ear. “Shi Zhou, it’s okay now. It’s okay.”

Xin Jing hurriedly handed over a bottle of water. Qin Yancheng silently took it, dampened a tissue, and carefully wiped Shi Zhou’s red, swollen eyes.

But the dampness seemed endless. Qin Yancheng realized—those weren’t seawater, those were Shi Zhou’s silent tears.

His eyes were tightly shut, not a sound escaping him, yet tears soaked his lashes, dripping down with the seawater from his hair. The only sign was the occasional shuddering breath.

Qin Yancheng was momentarily stunned. He had never seen Shi Zhou like this. Even the discomfort of being mistaken for someone else and called “brother” earlier was forgotten. His heart twisted with an inexplicable panic.

The speedboat quickly docked. Medical staff onshore rushed forward, but Shi Zhou refused to let go of his lifeline, his body stiff and trembling, eyes still unopened.

The more they tried to pry him loose, the tighter he clung, wrapping himself around Qin Yancheng like a koala.

Seeing this, Qin Yancheng simply patted his head and said firmly, “Wait a little longer.”

Qin Yancheng’s mood was clearly foul from worry, and no one dared approach further. But with Shi Zhou, he remained patient, murmuring soothingly, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. You won’t die.”

Shi Zhou buried his face in Qin Yancheng’s shoulder, unmoving.

In that moment, Qin Yancheng didn’t know what came over him. Without thinking, he lowered his head—

And pressed a light kiss to Shi Zhou’s forehead.

It was meant as comfort, but something deeper, something he hadn’t even considered before, lingered in the gesture.

The action startled even himself. Fortunately, Shi Zhou was still out of it and didn’t notice. Neither did anyone else.

Except—he’d completely forgotten the cameras were still rolling, broadcasting everything live.

The netizens, faced with such a shocking development, were dazed:

[Oh my god, this is a thalassophobia nightmare. I nearly drowned as a kid—this is terrifying.]

[This challenge is way too dangerous!]

[Why were the safety measures so lax? If something happened to Zhouzhou, could you even take responsibility?!]

[President Qin is so gentle… I thought they were fighting today, but they’re clearly still sweet.]

[The way he jumped into the water was so damn handsome. Even the lifeguards weren’t that fast.]

Of course, there were always haters:

[So fake. Even if he can’t swim, wouldn’t he struggle at all? Clearly acting!]

Fans immediately clapped back:

[First you say he can’t act, now you say he’s acting too well? Pick a struggle.]

[You think he’d risk his life for a show? Or that President Qin would play along with something this dangerous?]

[Ever heard of PTSD? Looks like Zhouzhou might’ve had a bad experience with water before.]

[Agreed.]

It took a long time before Shi Zhou’s consciousness fully returned. He forced his stinging eyes open, his vision blurry. The first thing he saw was the sharp line of Qin Yancheng’s jaw, tense and strained.

Qin Yancheng’s hair and clothes were soaked, but his body was warm, his arms around Shi Zhou firm and secure.

“Qin Yancheng?” Shi Zhou’s mind was still a mess, only one thought clear. He murmured, “Qin Yancheng, I don’t wanna die.”

His throat was raw from the seawater, his voice hoarse. Qin Yancheng hummed in response. “Don’t talk. Not wanting to die is good. You won’t die… Don’t be afraid.”

Then he carried Shi Zhou to the show’s RV.

Apart from the primal fear and the words “I don’t wanna die,” Shi Zhou had no idea how he’d gone from flying in the sky to being drenched in Qin Yancheng’s arms.

Most baffling of all—why was Qin Yancheng holding him so tightly? So tight he could barely breathe. Almost as if… Qin Yancheng was nervous?

Assistant Bian rushed over with towels and dry clothes. “President Qin, Brother Shi, I brought clothes and towels. I also bought some ginger. Should I make ginger tea? You both just got soaked—it’ll help warm you up.”

Shi Zhou, placed on the bed, was still disoriented, his eyes burning. He’d been listless until the words “ginger tea” sent him bolting upright in protest. “No! I won’t drink it!”

Qin Yancheng ignored him. “Go make it.”

“Qin Yancheng, I absolutely refuse!”

Shi Zhou’s voice was still hoarse. No matter how hard he tried to sound firm, it came out pitifully weak, almost whiny. Compared to Qin Yancheng’s dominance, he stood no chance.

Qin Yancheng remained unmoved. Soon, the pungent smell of ginger filled the RV.

Shi Zhou, eyes still shut, despaired—My assistant doesn’t even listen to me. This life is unbearable.

Qin Yancheng didn’t bother changing out of his wet clothes first, instead helping the half-blind Shi Zhou undress and get cleaned up.

In the warmth of the RV, Shi Zhou’s fear quickly dissipated, just like when he’d first transmigrated—leaving only faint traces, as if nothing had happened.

It was one of his greatest strengths—his resilience, his ability to bounce back.

As Qin Yancheng unbuttoned Shi Zhou’s shirt, he said, “The doctor will check your eyes later. Anywhere else uncomfortable?”

Shi Zhou, eyes closed, felt a sudden chill—he’d been stripped bare.

He huffed. “Qin Yancheng, weren’t you ignoring me? Weren’t you still mad? Why so chatty now?”

Qin Yancheng’s hands paused briefly before he replied flatly, “Different matters.”

Shi Zhou pouted, eyes still shut as he teased, “You just saw me naked!”

Qin Yancheng sighed. “I’ve seen it all before.”

Once Shi Zhou was cleaned up and the doctor confirmed his eyes and body were fine—just needing eye drops—Qin Yancheng finally relaxed. He turned away to change out of his own soaked clothes.

Hearing the rustle of fabric, Shi Zhou couldn’t resist peeking through his sore eyes—

Qin Yancheng’s smooth back and toned waistline came into view, his broad shoulders and narrow waist a perfect ratio. Not looking would’ve been a waste.

Qin Yancheng sensed the gaze. “Eyes don’t hurt anymore? Close them!”

“Ah,” Shi Zhou opened and closed his mouth, obediently shutting his eyes again. “You’re… pretty open and magnanimous, huh.”

Given how easily Qin Yancheng had held him last night, Shi Zhou wondered if he’d misjudged him. Maybe Qin Yancheng wasn’t homophobic at all.

—Shi Zhou had met some ridiculous people before: guys who wouldn’t change in front of him, acting like a single glance in the restroom was some violation.

Every time, he’d wanted to roll his eyes. Look in the mirror, dude. I have standards.

“You’ve seen me before,” Qin Yancheng stated coolly. “More than once.”

Shi Zhou flushed. “Th-that was doctor’s orders! If I hadn’t watched you, you might’ve—”

Never mind. That’d just lead to those memories.

Qin Yancheng finished changing and poured a cup of ginger tea. “Drink.”

Shi Zhou, leaning against the headboard, shook his head like a rattle, as if testing whether seawater had seeped into his brain. “This stuff’s disgusting. You drink first. Set an example.”

Qin Yancheng steadied Shi Zhou’s head with one hand—lest he shake it right off—then downed the cup in one go. He poured another and handed it to Shi Zhou.

The ginger tea was strong and even held a trace of something that smelled inexplicable. Assistant Bian must’ve added some dubious herbal concoction. One sip nearly sent Shi Zhou to the afterlife.

He barely managed to choke it down before collapsing onto the bed. “I never want to hear the word ‘ginger’ again this year. Seriously.”

Just then, Xin Jing poked his head in. “My assistant bought some brown sugar ginger tea, fried ginger slices, and fresh ginger juice. Want some to warm up?”

Shi Zhou: “…………”

“Feeling better, Shi Zhou?” Xin Jing opened the door wider. “Ah, my bad. Didn’t check the safety measures properly. Thank goodness you’re okay—otherwise, I’d never forgive myself. Well, Qin Yancheng would kill me first.”

Shi Zhou gave a thumbs-up from the bed, signaling he was fine.

This incident wasn’t entirely Xin Jing’s fault. Without the accidental fall, Shi Zhou wouldn’t have realized how deep his fear of water ran. He’d never thought someone as thick-skinned as him could have trauma.

He was worried Qin Yancheng would ask about his reaction. Lying on the spot about death and transmigration wouldn’t be easy—he usually needed to draft his fibs in advance. And right now his head was still foggy and he very likely would mess it up.

Qin Yancheng cleared his throat, about to speak. Shi Zhou braced himself—this is it—

But instead, Qin Yancheng asked, “You don’t have an older brother. Who were you calling ‘brother’ earlier?” Shi Zhou’s file was sparse—no older brothers of any kind. So who had Shi Zhou been clinging to so intimately?

Qin Yancheng hadn’t originally intended to pry into Shi Zhou’s private matters, but now that he’d snapped out of it, he couldn’t understand why he cared so much about something that seemed like such a minor detail. Still, those two words stuck in his throat—neither coming out nor going down—leaving behind a strange, awkward, and sour feeling. In the end, he decided to speak up.

Shi Zhou was taken aback. Had he really called him “brother”? Maybe it was just instinct—every time he ran into trouble, he subconsciously reached out to Shi Li for help, deeply relying on him without realizing it.

Oh god! Wouldn’t that give him away? The original Shi Zhou didn’t have a biological, adoptive, or any kind of older brother in any sense!

Shi Zhou couldn’t understand why someone like Qin Yancheng would care about what kind of relatives he had or not. The only possible explanation was—had Qin Yancheng figured out he wasn’t from this world? Was he trying to use this slip-up to expose him?!

Shi Zhou instantly tensed, his mind racing for an answer. “It’s just… my, my ex-boyfriend! Yeah! Calling your boyfriend ‘brother’ is totally normal, isn’t it?”

Qin Yancheng’s heart sank, like being struck by muffled thunder. A wave of unexplainable frustration and jealousy surged up inside him. He didn’t know what he was angry about, or why he felt so restless, but he simply responded with a calm and expressionless, “Mnn.”

With his eyes closed, Shi Zhou couldn’t see Qin Yancheng’s face and assumed he’d successfully brushed the matter off. He let out a long sigh of relief.

Qin Yancheng stayed with Shi Zhou as he rested for half the day. With cooling eye masks on, Shi Zhou couldn’t see a thing.

For someone as fidgety as him, being unable to see was torture. He was dying of boredom. And to make things worse, Qin Yancheng had inexplicably gone cold again.

Since Shi Zhou couldn’t see and Qin Yancheng responded to everything with a flat “Mnn,” he finally kicked his legs and complained dramatically. “Ugh! It’s just a kiss—your lips didn’t fall off, did they? You’ve been mad long enough! I really said I was sorry, Qin sir!”

Qin Yancheng closed the book in his hand and looked at Shi Zhou, who was half-blind but still flailing like an angry kitten. He frowned helplessly.

He hadn’t been particularly angry, but keeping his distance that morning was intentional.

—Because he couldn’t quite make sense of what had come over him. The moment Shi Zhou had unexpectedly kissed him the night before, a rush of heat had surged straight to his head, blowing away all his reason.

He’d had an absurd, uncontrollable urge to respond even more passionately—to grab Shi Zhou’s head, force his mouth open…

Qin Yancheng took a deep breath. It was clearly irrational and entirely inappropriate.

Last night, he’d stared at the ceiling in the dark while Shi Zhou nestled into his chest, thinking: If I keep my distance, maybe all these strange, chaotic feelings will settle down.

After resting most of the day, Shi Zhou was finally back to his lively self. By the time the sun began to set, he was thrilled to hear they’d be having a beach barbecue and eagerly joined the others in prepping the ingredients.

Tan Zhi came over. “Shi Zhou, feeling better? You scared the hell out of me today.”

Shi Zhou flipped his high ponytail. “Totally fine.”

After a moment, he also gave a quick shout-out to the fans on camera, reassuring them he was safe so they wouldn’t keep worrying.

He had no idea why, but lately he seemed magnetically drawn to trending searches—once again, that thrilling video of his near-drowning had gone viral.

He hadn’t had time to watch it yet, but fans were already screaming excitedly, gushing that Qin Yancheng was just too handsome, too sweet—practically sugar incarnate. Shi Zhou thought: I don’t even remember what happened, but with how cold and disengaged Qin Yancheng’s been today, people still think it was sweet? That’s gotta be one hell of a rose-colored, heart-bubble filter.

He made a mental note to watch the clip later and see just how “sweet” it supposedly was.

Meanwhile, Qin Yancheng, fiddling with the grill nearby, had zero interest in “shipping his own OTP” and watch a video of himself. So he remained completely unaware: that impulsive kiss he’d thought had gone unnoticed had, in fact, been caught crystal-clear on camera—every movement recorded in high definition, setting fans everywhere into a frenzy of screaming.

Xin Jing had watched the two of them cold-shoulder each other all day, and though he didn’t know exactly what had happened during their time alone in the RV—what was said, what went down—he could clearly feel that the atmosphere between them had only gotten worse.

While Qin Yancheng might’ve looked the same on the surface, if you looked closely, he didn’t seem like he was avoiding things anymore—he genuinely looked pissed off.

Xin Jing thought, No way, the ship I’m rooting for can’t fall apart like this! What’s going on in Qin Yancheng’s head? Fine, guess I’ll have to give him a little push.

The reality show schedule had to go on as usual. Speaking into the mic, Xin Jing said, “Tonight, everyone’s responsible for setting up their own sleeping spot! Come on over and pick up your tents!”

Shi Zhou had never slept in a tent before, so the idea delighted him—like a kid building a fort and playing house inside. Who doesn’t have a bit of childlike wonder in their heart?

He eagerly trotted over, waiting for the props team to hand him his tent so he could build it himself.

Just as he waited with excitement, he suddenly saw Xin Jing standing behind the equipment with a strange smile on his baby face… it was that dreaded “fujoshi smile” again.

Shi Zhou’s internal alarm bells rang at full volume—he instantly realized his childlike joy was about to be crushed, and things were probably going to veer straight back into NSFW territory.

They were still in the middle of a cold war, after all, and right now Shi Zhou really didn’t want to deal with Qin Yancheng—much less sleep next to that jerk.

Still clinging to a shred of hope, he asked, “Director Xin, where’s my tent?”

Qin Yancheng had also sensed something was off and looked up. Xin Jing, under the searing gaze of Qin Yancheng (who looked ready to chew him alive), could only steel himself and clap his hands. “Hello, everyone watching at home! Tonight we’ll be showing off a couple’s tent! That’s right—double occupancy!”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Shi Zhou unfolded the tent as the corner of his lips twitched, practically ready to shake Xin Jing by the shoulders: Director Xin, what are you doing?! Get a grip! You know we’re a fake couple!

—Even a couple’s tent was way too small. Two fully grown men with broad builds? Was he supposed to sleep in Qin Yancheng’s arms or something?!

AN: Qin sir, are you completely blind to the cameras? You thought sneak-kissing wouldn’t be noticed, but the entire internet—

Qin Yancheng: Shut up!

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