Chapter 32#

Doctor Tan slept long and wonderfully after his successful graduation. He had a beautiful dream in which he transformed into a luminescent fish that could fly. He drifted freely through clouds and across seas, soaring through the vibrant world. He saw colorful flowers, heard prismatic rain, kissed coral at Fiji’s Rainbow Reef, and brushed his fins against the peak of the Eiffel Tower.

So when he woke the next morning to find himself lying in his own bed, he felt a profound sense of disappointment at being transformed back from this miraculous, spectacular flying fish into an ordinary human male.

Very quickly, he discovered there was a naked male human lying next to him, which startled him quite a bit.

But… that familiar broad shoulder, narrow waist, and long legs—wasn’t that his own husband?

!!! Tan Xiao remembered.

He’d forgotten how he got home yesterday and how he got to bed, but he did remember some foolish sweet talk during the scrambling, and he’d cried several times for no apparent reason. He was utterly mortified.

Worse still, he’d exposed the ugly face of a capitalist young master while drunk. To Zhang Xingchuan, the diligent and dedicated working-class president, he’d said:

You’re really poor… so poor… poor… huh?!

Zhang Xingchuan woke up, opening his eyes and getting startled too. “What are you doing?”

Tan Xiao said shamefully, “Great, glorious laborer, I, this shameless parasite of society, spoke out of turn. I apologize.”

He knelt on the mattress and performed a deep bow of reverence, his head nearly bumping into Zhang Xingchuan’s thigh. The angle was off, and he almost headbutted somewhere he shouldn’t have.

“…” Zhang Xingchuan dodged quickly, escaping a disaster. He said in alarm, “How would my being injured benefit you? Attacking me with such vicious intent first thing in the morning.”

Tan Xiao saw he was fine. The president had just woken up, his hair slightly messy, eyes still drowsy, with a kind of rare clarity that was utterly foolish and extremely cute.

Doctor Tan stopped the fake kneeling act and pounced on Zhang Xingchuan, acting coy and playful.

The two ordinary human males tangled together like octopuses fighting.

Tan Xiao kept sniffing around Zhang Xingchuan’s neck, always feeling there was a masculine scent on him that he didn’t possess.

Zhang Xingchuan felt like a puppy was sniffing him, found it a bit ticklish, but didn’t object. He patted the puppy’s rear end.

“Actually, I didn’t drink that much yesterday,” Tan Xiao finally settled on his shoulder. “Graduation did make me sad though, and grief truly makes alcohol hit fast. If I said anything that upset you, just forget about it, okay?”

Zhang Xingchuan suddenly exerted force, pinning him to the pillow. Looking down at him from above, he said in a threatening tone, “Don’t talk nonsense. Give me money right now.”

Tan Xiao forgot about the money part and asked confusedly, “What money?”

The male model who had worked hard all night certainly couldn’t tolerate unpaid wages. He needed to protect his rights immediately.

So Zhang Xingchuan started making things up: “You said you’d marry me, give me yourself and your money too. Don’t you remember?”

“Impossible,” Tan Xiao said with certainty, knowing himself well. “When I’m drunk, I won’t just make things up randomly. I’d only say things I’ve actually thought about.”

He absolutely hadn’t thought about using the word “marry” to describe his relationship with Zhang Xingchuan. Since he hadn’t thought it, he wouldn’t have said it.

But this logic meant one thing: he regularly thought the president was poor, which is why he’d blurted out that comment.

Tan Xiao thought nervously—not good, I need to say something to cover this up.

He could casually mention being willing to marry Zhang Xingchuan without any problem. Most straight guys loved hearing this kind of thing. It’s just… letting the poor husband have this, right?

But he hadn’t come up with it yet.

“What,” Zhang Xingchuan laughed instead, playing along. He said disappointedly, “So I’m losing both person and money.”

Tan Xiao laughed and played along. “That’s right. Unless you agree to marry into my family. Then you’d have both me and the money.”

Zhang Xingchuan said happily, “Deal.”

The two of them shook hands on it right there on the bed.

Their hands hadn’t even let go when party B started kissing party A intensely, making A dizzy and disoriented. The contract hadn’t even been signed, but the project was already in full swing.

By just past nine o’clock, the two were so hungry they could die if they kept working on the project. They went out and grabbed an early breakfast nearby.

Tan Xiao’s luxury apartment was just for show—it couldn’t even provide basic necessities. The refrigerator only had some ancient chicken breast that had accumulated so much frost you could use it in an exhibit of artifacts from the Han Dynasty.

They casually entered a small breakfast place. Tan Xiao had plenty of student energy about him. Sitting down in a plain T-shirt and jeans with no logo, he blended well with the surroundings.

Zhang Xingchuan was different. His valuable business shirt and business pants marked him clearly, and even his appearance looked expensive. He first brought over baozi and congee for both of them, then realized he’d forgotten utensils. He got up again to get two pairs of sterilized chopsticks.

Though he was handsome and attentive, he also looked unusually meticulous.

Two female students sitting at the next table kept looking at this strange couple.

After they left, Tan Xiao quietly reported to Zhang Xingchuan what he’d overheard them gossiping about. “They were saying you might be a tutor I’d hired. They think you probably cost a lot. They’re guessing your hourly rate isn’t less than three hundred.”

The young girls really couldn’t understand why such an expensive-looking man would appear at a baozi shop where the average bill was eighteen yuan, showering attention on a plain college student.

Their imaginations ran wild with theories. They thought Zhang Xingchuan was some kind of cosplayer in an elite business suit that Tan Xiao had hired, though they couldn’t identify what franchise he was from. Their final guess was that he was an original character (OC) created by Tan Xiao.

“What does that mean?” Zhang Xingchuan took it to mean some kind of representative, and asked, “Do I look like a lawyer?”

“…” Tan Xiao had already exposed the face of a capitalist young master yesterday, so he decided not to hold back. He attacked his husband. “You’re really uncultured.”

Zhang Xingchuan was genuinely confused and asked his AI.

But the CEO’s AI had already been trained to have an entrepreneur’s speech pattern. It told him that a commissioned teacher should be an agent commissioned to handle business affairs on behalf of someone else.

The AI even thoughtfully asked the CEO: Do you need to draft an authorization letter? Please tell me the specific use case.

Zhang Xingchuan: “…”

Tan Xiao watched his conversation with the AI from the side.

Zhang Xingchuan replied to his AI with: You’re really uncultured.

AI: Haha, you got me. I really am uncultured…

Before it could finish, the uncultured CEO turned it off. Unlucky AI.

Tan Xiao laughed so hard he almost choked on a baozi.

His husband was poor and uncultured, that was true. But he was also sexy and interesting—that was true too. Tan Xiao’s satisfaction with the president was fully restored to a complete, three-dimensional, one hundred and twenty thousand percent satisfaction.

During this period while Tan Xiao was busy with graduation, he could feel that Zhang Xingchuan’s treatment of him was different from before. He understood it must have something to do with the “mask falling off,” but he also knew this kind of psychological change needed time to overcome. He wasn’t anxious about it happening all at once.

Then, just a few days ago, he happened to chat with a classmate about that affectionate term of endearment in their dialect. He used to think it was just a senior lover’s playful way of speaking, but apparently it had other meanings. Since he and Zhang Xingchuan started dating, each time Zhang Xingchuan called him that way, it must have been filled with love.

And when he realized Zhang Xingchuan had stopped calling him that recently, his heart suddenly felt very lost.

He could accept that Zhang Xingchuan was temporarily unable to let go due to the sudden change in wealth and status. That was fine—they were all ordinary people, and money was frightening. He’d been through it too.

But he couldn’t accept Zhang Xingchuan expressing this gap in the details of their daily life.

Why wouldn’t he call him “zai zai” anymore? What if his right to be “zai zai” was revoked now, only to have other things revoked later? What if one day he wasn’t allowed to bury his face in his chest anymore? How could that work? He had to be the “zai zai.”

Zhang Xingchuan, after yesterday, also realized he’d made some mistakes in the details. For instance, Tan Xiao didn’t like being serviced in bed—this was something he should have clarified long ago. The way to make Tan Xiao enjoy himself was for him to enjoy himself first. They were after all 100% compatible destined soulmates. There shouldn’t be any reservations. Just following instinct would be perfect.

The issue of how he addressed him was the same. He’d noticed that Tan Xiao had been calling him “big brother” far less frequently recently. But he hadn’t realized this was Tan Xiao’s cute form of retaliation.

Tan Xiao valued details, needed emotional feedback, and was a child who loved direct communication. The fact that he could wait until he was drunk to say something showed he was waiting for Zhang Xingchuan to discover it himself.

On this point, Zhang Xingchuan felt a bit self-reproachful. He hadn’t understood immediately.

Usually, Zhang Xingchuan also liked using direct communication to deepen their relationship.

Given the dramatic recent changes, he’d developed some hidden concerns about Tan Xiao that he didn’t speak of.

The chain of emotions produced by being too “poor”—he could only adjust that himself. He believed the clever Tan Xiao could also understand.

There was one more thing he’d never brought up to Tan Xiao. And he had no intention of mentioning it at all.

Twenty-some days ago, the day before Zhou Ruofei left Beijing, Zhou Ruofei had asked to meet with Zhang Xingchuan once.

As Zhang Xingchuan had predicted, Zhou Ruofei looked down on him. This son of a semiconductor foundry giant was willing to spare time to meet him just to confirm whether he was as “pure” as Tan Xiao claimed. Putting it bluntly, he was very worried Tan Xiao might be deceived.

“I don’t believe poor people can truly love us,” Zhou Ruofei said. But he had one good quality—he didn’t waste time beating around the bush. He stated his core concern directly.

This was his true feelings. He didn’t believe ordinary people could overlook their boundless wealth and love merely the person.

Zhang Xingchuan basically agreed with this viewpoint. Wealth itself formed part of attractiveness, and for many people, a very important part.

Just like how Tan Xiao, back when he was a “poor student,” had fallen in love with him. Zhang Xingchuan wouldn’t be arrogant enough to think he’d captivated Tan Xiao purely with his carbon-based charm. Having some money was still very necessary as icing on the cake.

Zhang Xingchuan said, “I fell in love with him before knowing he was a young master.”

Zhou Ruofei said, “But you know now.”

“I do,” Zhang Xingchuan said. “I’m already in love. What can I do about it?”

The place they met was near Wenjing—a teahouse. Zhang Xingchuan had chosen it, a place where he often brought people to discuss business. The environment was nice and very private.

Zhou Ruofei said, “I don’t like tea.”

Zhang Xingchuan said, “I can order you a coffee for delivery.”

Zhou Ruofei laughed twice and said, “Never mind. This place you chose is fine. Don’t bring Tan Xiao here. He’s never liked tea.”

“That was a long time ago,” Zhang Xingchuan said. “He actually likes it now. Dancong, pu-erh, he likes all kinds. He especially likes aged tea. He’s not very fond of green tea.”

Zhou Ruofei said, “Is that so? People’s tastes really do change.”

He looked at Zhang Xingchuan without much politeness and said, “I never expected him to end up choosing you of all people… though I’ll say you do look good. Since childhood he’s been a total face-ist. He’d insist on picking the prettiest flower. I teased him too much more than once, and he later told me he really wanted to punch me, but he forgave me because my face is pretty.”

Zhang Xingchuan: “…”

Zhang Xingchuan suddenly felt alarm bells ringing.

“Weren’t you interested in his sister?” Zhang Xingchuan asked. “Saying this to me makes it hard not to assume you’re actually interested in him.”

Zhou Ruofei frowned and said, “I’m not gay.”

Zhang Xingchuan neither confirmed nor denied this, just smiled.

“What are you smiling about?” Zhou Ruofei narrowed his eyes, looking at Zhang Xingchuan provocatively. “You should be grateful I’m not gay. If I were, would there be any chance for you?”

Zhang Xingchuan said coldly, “He’s already mine. Don’t make pointless hypotheses.”

After ending his meeting with Zhou Ruofei, Zhang Xingchuan went to campus. Tan Xiao, the social butterfly, made it easy—you could stop any random person in the Business School and ask where he was.

The day was partly cloudy and not very sunny. Tan Xiao was playing tennis on Qingda’s east athletic field with classmates.

Zhang Xingchuan saw him, watching from a distance without alerting anyone.

Tan Xiao’s tennis technique was excellent. When playing, he was focused and happy, always smiling. Even when he missed a shot, he’d just smile and shake his head.

He was an optimistic player, applying that to everything. Lacking competitive spirit, he enjoyed the experience. That’s why he could lose without regret, with no strong sense of winning or losing. Failure was just an opportunity to start again.

Zhang Xingchuan would probably never have this kind of personality in this lifetime. He’d never encountered an obstacle he couldn’t overcome, because he was careful in his actions and meticulous in planning. But fundamentally, it was because he couldn’t afford to lose—he always had to make perfect preparations.

Dating Tan Xiao had originally been just one unexpected and unconventional act in his life. Then Tan Xiao transformed into the young master of the Doria family, and this romance became a complete adventure.

If Zhang Xingchuan followed his usual patterns, the most correct move now would be to avoid risk. He should leave Tan Xiao. He couldn’t handle the enormous wealth that came with him, and Tan Xiao’s future might also be constrained by him.

But there in the teahouse not long ago…

Zhou Ruofei really disliked Zhang Xingchuan. Zhang Xingchuan didn’t particularly like Zhou Ruofei either.

For a moment, Zhang Xingchuan’s heart raced with panic. He regretted saying that line. If Zhou Ruofei really had designs on Tan Xiao, maybe it would be better for someone else to pierce that veil first.

Fortunately, though Zhou Ruofei did cherish Tan Xiao, he only thought of him as a younger brother, with no other intentions.

Both men resisted their disgust and communicated with each other purely out of love for Tan Xiao, believing they should give him face.

Zhou Ruofei was very exasperated by Tan Xiao’s romantic brain, reluctantly drinking the tea Zhang Xingchuan offered, and reluctantly discussing Tan Xiao with him.

He’d watched Tan Xiao grow up, seen him transform from a quiet, defensive child into a caustic teenager.

During adolescence, Tan Xiao would unmercifully mock Zhou Ruofei’s friends.

He’d say that among these young masters and mistresses, some had inherited the glory of comprador merchants from a century ago, some were pure insect larvae of the great worms produced by modern maritime ventures that had evolved into human form, and some were the new money of the modern era who’d gotten rich through labor. Since getting rich through labor has become rather shameful in China, an entire family had brought their enormous wealth to the other side of the ocean and resolved never to return to the country, just to avoid being discriminated against by the lazy Chinese people.

Tan Xiao spoke both Chinese and English politely and kindly, but when gossiping, he’d switch to German and go live, gossip with a very sarcastic tone, occasionally peppered with profanity.

In a way, he didn’t cherish the German language at all, even though he learned it remarkably quickly, as if he had some genetic talent for it. Or quite possibly, he hated this talent.

He didn’t just mock those young masters and mistresses. He frequently went on rants with wild sweeping attacks, especially loving to attack his own family. Did the old empire’s maritime nobility’s rise to prominence really need detailed explanation? If language had the shape of bullets, every named “helmsman” of the Doria family would have been shot into a sieve.

Even Zhou Ruofei wasn’t spared. His family was in semiconductor foundry work, and even though he was still a non-productive student at the time, he couldn’t escape—couldn’t escape at all.

“He called me the cybernetic petty foreman of a sweatshop,” Zhou Ruofei told Zhang Xingchuan, then couldn’t help but laugh out loud himself.

Zhang Xingchuan laughed too.

Tan Xiao had already revealed his occasional caustic nature before. Apparently, now that he’d grown and matured, he’d just kept the more excessive “malice” in check.

Especially because he no longer had such a group around him worth gossiping about.

His love for China, and his love for Qingda as an ivory tower, was really quite reasonable.

Zhou Ruofei said, “His ranking on the Doria family inheritance list is pretty far back. Those old white guys never liked the blood of Tan Minhong’s branch anyway. Though to be fair, over a hundred years ago, there was a great-great-grandmother who was Banner royalty, so there’s no shame in mentioning it. Tan Xiao’s mother doesn’t have a noteworthy family background, and Tan Xiao himself has completely grown into the appearance of a Chinese person.”

Zhang Xingchuan nodded. He’d already suspected as much.

“But there’s something you probably don’t know,” Zhou Ruofei said. “The next generation most likely to take over is actually his sister. The other branches of their family aren’t capable enough.”

Zhang Xingchuan said, “I know. He mentioned it.”

Zhou Ruofei said, “He did? Then you know his sister plans to formally appoint him as the next primary heir once she takes office?”

This, Zhang Xingchuan had no way of knowing. And probably Tan Xiao himself didn’t know either.

…

On the tennis court, Tan Xiao returned a beautiful forehand. His opponent let out a sound of admiration. The ball landed right on the line for a winning point.

Zhang Xingchuan watched, becoming somewhat absorbed.

Tan Xiao, having scored, leaped up happily. The hem of his tennis shorts fluttered with his movement, revealing the firm middle of his thigh, then settled back as he landed. He swung his racket in the air, quickly retreating, separating his feet, getting into position to receive the opponent’s attack.

Zhang Xingchuan didn’t want to miss a single detail. He looked at Tan Xiao over and over, from his hair to his toes. He was lovely and light, sexy and sunny, perfect in every way.

Zhang Xingchuan’s mind churned with various thoughts—sad scenarios, happy memories, arrogant determination, and surging desire.

What risk would be worth letting go of such a perfect wife? Did such a risk truly exist in this world?

That evening, he acted as though he’d just arrived at campus and casually walked over to the tennis court to pick Tan Xiao up.

Tan Xiao had just finished playing and was gathering his things, planning to go back and shower and change. When he saw him suddenly arrive, he was very delighted. He even introduced his tennis partner to him—it happened the tennis friend was a direct junior of Zhang Xingchuan’s from the computer science program.

Zhang Xingchuan now completely forgot what this junior looked like, his name, what grade he was in, or what polite words they’d exchanged. At the time, his whole mind was focused on getting Tan Xiao, still in his tennis clothes, away from there immediately.

Driving back home, parking in the garage, pulling down the shutter, he and Tan Xiao became intimate right there in the car.

Tan Xiao found it a bit strange at first, but he loved him and didn’t want to express refusal about such things. Fortunately, the unusual venue unexpectedly triggered a hidden pleasure in Tan Xiao.

Zhang Xingchuan sank into the desire Tan Xiao gave him. He confirmed to himself that he was madly, completely in love with everything about Tan Xiao.

He also didn’t know what kind of future he would face.

But he was very clear about one thing right now: once he chose to separate from Tan Xiao, Zhang Xingchuan as a person would truly be finished.

Having already obtained the best and most compatible lover, if he could let go just based on risk assessment, being a man this fragile, he wouldn’t deserve to speak of love ever again.