POTINS 10

Meng Chuan hadn’t expected such a big reaction. He froze for a second, then blinked and said, “I just saw there was a bump on your neck—it looks a lot like the one on mine.”

Wen Zhongyi stood up with the milk in hand, glaring at him with a cold expression that looked like he wanted to tear Meng Chuan apart.

Lately, due to the lack of alpha pheromone comfort, his gland had already been hypersensitive. Meng Chuan’s touch triggered an uncontrollable surge of pheromones, and an odd, subtle heat stirred within him.

Instinct pulled him toward Meng Chuan, but reason made him suppress and endure it.

Meng Chuan thought he didn’t believe him. He lowered his collar, revealing the bump on the back of his own neck. “See? I’ve got one too. Just popped up out of nowhere. When I press it, it feels like getting shocked. Is it the same for you?”

Wen Zhongyi glanced over, his breath catching slightly before he turned his head away stiffly. “I don’t know.”

Meng Chuan caught the look on his face and realized his action had crossed a line. He pressed his lips together and said, “Sorry.”

Wen Zhongyi gave a cold snort, tilted his head back, and downed the rest of the milk in one go. He slammed the glass down hard on the table and walked back to the bedroom without a word.

Meng Chuan was left standing in the living room. The lingering rose scent in the air made him swallow uncomfortably, and his lower abdomen tightened.

What the hell is this? he wondered. Does that cologne have some kind of aphrodisiac effect?

Before he could think it through, the bedroom door clicked open again. Wen Zhongyi came out to fill a glass with hot water. He didn’t even glance at Meng Chuan. Once the glass was full, he went straight back into the room.

It was just a touch on the neck. Was it really worth getting this angry over?

Meng Chuan wanted to ask, but the words caught in his throat.

Wen Zhongyi’s cold temperament made him tough to deal with, but for some reason, Meng Chuan couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed.

He wasn’t the most patient person by nature, but with Wen Zhongyi, he found himself exhibiting a strange, unexpected tolerance—even he didn’t understand why.

Since Wen Zhongyi clearly didn’t want to engage, Meng Chuan didn’t keep pushing. He stood, straightened his clothes, and called toward the bedroom, “I’m leaving. Get some rest.”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t reply.

Meng Chuan hadn’t expected him to come out and see him off. He left alone.

A long while later, the bedroom door opened again.

The scent of pheromones still lingered faintly in the air—rose mixed with bitter coffee, more bitter than a rose latte.

That was how Meng Chuan had once described it.

The first time he marked Wen Zhongyi in the command center, the bitter coffee pheromones slowly infused into him, blending with the rose. Meng Chuan had leaned in close to Wen Zhongyi’s neck and sniffed, saying, “Like a rose latte, only more bitter.”

Wen Zhongyi had never had a rose latte. He never did find out where Meng Chuan got rose jam and coffee beans from, but somehow, in the military base, Meng Chuan had managed to grind coffee with surprising flair.

“Want to try it?” Meng Chuan had offered him a cup, garnished with rose petals on top.

Wen Zhongyi wasn’t much of a coffee drinker—he preferred sweets. “Does it taste good?” he asked.

“It does,” Meng Chuan replied.

Wen Zhongyi had taken a cautious sip. To his surprise, it tasted better than expected. His eyes squinted slightly, a subtle expression of enjoyment. Just as he was about to take another sip, his chin was caught.

Meng Chuan had pinched his chin and kissed the petal from the corner of his lips.

Later, Wen Zhongyi had tried making it himself a few times, but it never quite measured up.

Now, he was starting to forget what a rose latte even tasted like.

He walked over to the sofa and picked up the coat draped over the armrest. The bitter coffee pheromone had almost completely faded.

He hugged the coat and sat in the spot Meng Chuan had just vacated. His usually straight back slowly slumped.

The halo of the floor lamp wrapped around him. The large room was quiet as a tomb.

Wen Zhongyi hunched over, resting the side of his face against Meng Chuan’s coat. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh.

—

The next day, Wen Zhongyi followed Meng Chuan’s instructions and found the subway station near the complex.

Although the commute to the bookstore was a bit longer, the direct subway ride was even more convenient than taking the bus.

The downside was the crowds. Wen Zhongyi had to be extra cautious, making sure no one bumped into his abdomen.

On the way, he messaged Yang Jiaran to say he wasn’t staying at the motel anymore and gave a brief explanation of what had happened.

Yang Jiaran replied quickly: So where are you staying now?

Wen Zhongyi: In a residential complex.

Yang Jiaran asked how he found the place. Wen Zhongyi didn’t mention Meng Chuan—he just said someone had offered it to him rent-free.

This kind of too-good-to-be-true situation sounded downright suspicious. Yang Jiaran, clearly worried, called him on voice chat. “You better not be getting scammed. Who the hell just gives away a place to live for free? He’s definitely after something.”

Wen Zhongyi chuckled. “What could he want? I don’t have any money.”

“Your body, duh!” Yang Jiaran said matter-of-factly. “You’re so good-looking, and there are so many creeps in the world. What if you just happened to run into one?”

Wen Zhongyi couldn’t help but laugh for a moment before reassuring him, “Relax. I’m sure he’s not a creep.”

“But still…”

Yang Jiaran was still uneasy, rambling on and on. Wen Zhongyi found it both heartwarming and amusing, and it took quite a bit of coaxing before Yang Jiaran reluctantly dropped the issue.

The bookstore was running a promotional event these days, which brought in a lot of customers.

Wen Zhongyi barely had any time to rest. After two full days of work, he felt completely drained.

That evening after work, he picked up some groceries on the way home—ingredients recommended in books for early pregnancy nutrition, along with some green apples he personally liked.

The previously empty fridge was now stocked with quite a bit. Wen Zhongyi picked a few things and headed into the kitchen.

He wasn’t as good a cook as Meng Chuan, but he was decent enough. He prepped everything step by step, but ran into trouble when it came time to light the stove.

—The gas burner wouldn’t ignite.

Wen Zhongyi tried a few times, but nothing happened. He looked up some troubleshooting online but still couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

He set down the lighter he’d found in the cabinet and decided not to mess with it anymore.

He had learned this lesson before.

Wen Zhongyi had blown up the kitchen twice in the past—both times were accidents, but ever since then, Meng Chuan had forbidden him from cooking. He had said, deadly serious, “Colonel Wen, a kitchen is not a training ground. No explosions allowed.”

Wen Zhongyi hadn’t been able to argue.

One of those times had been just like this—couldn’t get the fire to start.

But now they weren’t in Sanka, or some isolated villa. If something really exploded here, it’d be a serious problem.

Wen Zhongyi stared down the gas stove for a long moment before finally giving in and picking up his phone to make a call.

In a high-end Western restaurant, the lighting was soft and warm, and the piano music was graceful and refined.

“So what do you usually do in your free time?” A pretty young woman, gracefully wielding a silver knife and fork, cut off a piece of fish as she asked.

When she didn’t get a response, she looked up with a smile. “Mr. Meng, you seem a little obsessed with that chestnut pastry.”

“Hm?” Meng Chuan snapped out of it, realizing he’d zoned out staring at the pastry. “Sleep, work out, or hang out with friends.”

“Oh.” The woman noticed him still sneaking glances at the chestnut pastry, so she pushed the plate toward him. “If you want it, eat it. No one’s stopping you.”

She had ordered it herself but stopped after one bite, saying it didn’t suit her taste.

This blind date had been forced on both of them by their parents, so the atmosphere was a bit awkward. Still, the woman had high emotional intelligence and tried to keep the conversation going to make the dinner a little more bearable.

Meng Chuan didn’t touch the chestnut pastry and said, “I don’t really like it. Just looking.”

“What’s there to look at in a chestnut pastry?” the woman said, laughing. “Honestly, before I came, I thought the legendary President Meng would be all cool and aloof. You’re nothing like I imagined.”

Meng Chuan raised an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”

“It’s fine. We’re only having this one meal. I hope you find someone soon.” She waved it off and then asked, “So, President Meng, what kind of girls do you like?”

Meng Chuan thought about it but couldn’t answer. He honestly didn’t know what type he liked—he’d never really met a girl who made his heart race.

Seeing his long pause, the woman suddenly seemed to catch on and asked quietly, “Don’t tell me… you’re gay?”

“No way,” Meng Chuan denied immediately, chuckling. “I’m very straight, thank you.” Then he politely returned the question, “What about you? What kind of guy do you like?”

She shrugged. “I like girls.”

“……”

The corner of Meng Chuan’s mouth twitched. Just as he was about to say something, his phone rang.

Caller ID: Wen Zhongyi.

Meng Chuan picked up, his lips curling into a faint smile. “What is it now?”

Wen Zhongyi explained the issue with the gas stove and asked, “Do you have a repairman’s number?”

“You need a repairman for that?” Meng Chuan said dismissively. “Hold on. I’ll come take a look.”

“Then hurry up. I need to cook.”

Beep—

Call ended.

Meng Chuan: “……”

He exhaled calmly, then looked at the woman across from him with an apologetic smile that didn’t hide his glee. “Sorry, I…”

“No need to apologize.” She smiled generously. “If something came up, go take care of it. Just don’t forget to pay the bill.”

“Of course.” Meng Chuan got up, shrugged on his coat, called over the server to settle the check, and cheerfully wrapped up the blind date.

Twenty minutes later, Meng Chuan arrived upstairs with a bag in hand.

He didn’t use his fingerprint to enter right away. Instead, he knocked. Only when he heard Wen Zhongyi’s voice from inside did he push the door open.

Wen Zhongyi was in the kitchen washing apples. He still had his apron on, and his hands were wet. When he saw Meng Chuan, he froze for a second.

Meng Chuan wasn’t in his usual shirt and slacks tonight. Dressed in a loose, casual outfit, he didn’t look like a CEO at all—more like a laid-back, good-looking college student.

Meng Chuan paused too when he saw him and said, “That apron looks good on you.”

Wen Zhongyi glanced down at his own light blue apron.

Meng Chuan changed into slippers, walked in, and set the bag on the table. “Picked it up on the way. Don’t mention it.”

With that, he headed into the kitchen.

Wen Zhongyi glanced at the bag on the table, hesitated for a moment, then opened it.

The next second, the rich aroma of chestnut pastries filled his nose.