WP 11

On the second day of staying at Jiang Yibai’s place, Si Shaorong hadn’t written a single word of his outline.

At 9:30 in the morning, Jiang Yibai got up to wash up. His slippers made a soft dragging sound across the floor. He hummed a tune under his breath. Though he kept his voice low on purpose, Si Shaorong still heard it from the guest room.

Surprisingly, Jiang Yibai’s humming was very pleasant to the ear. It had a warm, magnetic depth to it, very different from the bright, clear tone he usually used when speaking. There was something in it like a tiny hook, tugging at you, making it hard not to listen.

Jiang Yibai turned on the TV and lowered the volume, then went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Once his voice disappeared, Si Shaorong let out a quiet breath under the covers, then reached out for a tissue and ducked under the blanket to clean himself up.

The gray curtains were drawn, blocking out the dazzling light of the summer morning.

Jiang Yibai had probably soundproofed the room on purpose, because barely any outside noise could be heard. The apartment was unusually quiet. And in that silence, the rustling sounds of pants and the movement below became piercingly loud, or at least, that’s how it felt to Si Shaorong. It was awkward and a little embarrassing.

He must’ve gotten too into Jiang Yibai’s writing yesterday, because last night he’d had a dream that was utterly soaked in heat and desire. The person in the dream had a blurry face and indistinct figure, but the pleasure was unmistakable, so intense it made him lose control.

Just remembering that feeling made Si Shaorong swallow involuntarily. He felt like he was getting hard again.

He changed into a fresh set of pajamas, tossed the tissue into the trash, and ran a hand through his hair.

Stubble had already started showing along his jaw, rough to the touch. Even though he’d slept soundly, there were still faint dark circles under his eyes. He was used to staying up late, and the one night of decent rest had done little to help.

Si Shaorong sat at the edge of the bed, zoning out for a while. It was the height of summer, and even this early in the morning, the heat was already creeping in. In just a short while, he’d started sweating, so he figured he might as well go take a shower.

As he grabbed a towel, his mind was still spinning with thoughts of how unexpectedly arousing Jiang Yibai’s story had been.

Zhen Zhen had warned him it was 18+ smut, full of scandalous content and with a plot that made no real sense. But from a reader’s perspective, it wasn’t just another brainless porn fic. Sure, there were moments that felt like pure filler just for the sex, but the character work had a raw edge to it, burning hot beneath the skin, leaving you wanting more.

Plot-wise? Yeah, it was weak. Lots of logical gaps. Some scenes were obviously written just to serve the characters rather than the story. If you were nitpicky about it, you could probably argue forever.

But there was no denying that the emotional arcs were incredibly gripping. At times finely observed, at others completely unexpected.

Si Shaorong didn’t think there was anything strange about reading danmei. His reading habits had always been all over the place, and with his strong curiosity, it was rare for him to feel put off by a book.

Still lost in thought, he walked into the bathroom with the towel in hand, his peripheral vision catching sight of the man busy in the kitchen.

That mop of curls refused to be tamed, flaring out however it pleased. Dressed in nothing but a T-shirt and beach shorts, he looked completely at ease. His back was straight, his hips had a slight curve to them, and the apron tied around his waist made him look… inexplicably cute.

His legs were really pale. Long and straight.

Si Shaorong blinked. That random thought had just popped into his head, but he didn’t linger on it. He opened the door and stepped into the bathroom, still quietly thinking how Jiang Yibai managed to write something that damn seductive.

The sound of running water came from the bathroom.

Jiang Yibai, still humming, paused for a moment, spatula in hand, glancing over in that direction.

He’d had a strange feeling earlier, like someone was watching him. Thought he was imagining it. So it really had been the Great Master.

He turned the burner down a little, wiped his hand on the apron, then walked over to the bathroom door and knocked. “Great Master…”

The door swung open at once. The man behind it had just stripped but hadn’t started the shower yet. His lower half was wrapped in a towel, and his upper body was bare, revealing a lean but solid frame. No six-pack, but the definition in his arms and chest showed real strength.

was only now that Jiang Yibai realized. Si Shaorong might look slender with clothes on, but once they came off, he actually had some solid muscle on him.

The two slightly darker points on Si Shaorong’s chest had perked up slightly in the chill air. Jiang Yibai’s eyes were glued to them, his mind going blank. He stammered, “Egg, egg, egg…”

“Hm?”

“I mean… what kind of eggs do you like?” Jiang Yibai’s ears turned red. He quickly looked down at his own feet, not daring another glance. “Soft-boiled? Or…”

“Anything’s fine,” Si Shaorong replied calmly. “I really like eggs. Any kind of egg is fine.”

Really liked eggs. Really liked eggs. Really liked eggs.

Any kind of egg was fine. Any kind of egg was fine. Any kind of egg was fine.

Jiang Yibai swallowed hard, practically choking on his own breath. With a stiff “Oh,” he spun around and fled back into the kitchen.

He was afraid that if his brain short-circuited any further, he’d pull down his pants right in front of the Great Master and ask, do you like these eggs too? And then he’d probably… get reported, right?

Breakfast was awkward as hell, at least for Jiang Yibai. Si Shaorong didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. He ate slowly, eyes on the morning news.

The beige placemats and refined tableware made it clear their host had a real passion for life. Every detail had been handled with care and an eye for perfection.

The gradient-blue glass was filled with warm milk. A small bamboo basket held crisp toast. Beside it sat a black dish of peanut butter and blueberry jam, letting the guest choose. A clear bowl held neatly cut Hami melon and cherry tomatoes. On the white porcelain plate with black trim were a fried egg, grilled sausage, and vegetable salad.

“Do you like coffee?” Near the end of the meal, Jiang Yibai finally broke the silence.

“It’s alright,” Si Shaorong said. “I prefer tea.”

“Oh, okay.” Jiang Yibai mentally noted it down. “Are there any foods you don’t like? Any allergies?”

“Not really…” Si Shaorong thought for a moment. “None that I know of.”

“I’m not picky either, but I really hate kiwi, persimmons, and grapes,” Jiang Yibai said. “What fruits do you like?”

“I don’t have any particular favorites.” Si Shaorong shook his head and finished the last bite of egg.

“You said you like all kinds of eggs…” Jiang Yibai could tell he was about to go back to his room, and once he did, he’d probably disappear for the rest of the day again. He rushed to squeeze in more small talk. “Did you mean the way eggs are cooked? Or something else?”

“Any kind of egg is fine. Type, method, whatever.” Si Shaorong wiped his mouth, stood up, and started clearing the dishes. He added politely, “Your cooking is very good.”

“Ah, thanks.” Jiang Yibai looked a little flattered, caught off guard.

He thought Si Shaorong was about to head back to his room and felt a small pang of disappointment. Having someone so close didn’t make it any easier to get close. Even though they had already been living together for two days, the time they had actually spent in the same space barely added up to a few hours. Si Shaorong hardly stepped out of the bedroom. Total shut-in.

And yet, his skin was decent, his figure hadn’t gone soft, and he wasn’t balding either. That was honestly impressive.

“By the way, Zhen Zhen’s coming over this afternoon,” Si Shaorong said, still standing where he was. “She was supposed to come yesterday, but something came up. This afternoon we’ll go bring the rest of my things over.”

“I can help,” Jiang Yibai offered. “I’m free this afternoon.”

“Your classes…” Si Shaorong was actually quite curious about how Jiang Yibai’s lessons worked. It seemed like a good potential source of material. But the two of them weren’t that close yet, and it didn’t feel right to ask.

Even living together, they each still had their own privacy and personal space. He wasn’t good at prying into other people’s business and didn’t know how to bring it up naturally.

Jiang Yibai had no idea what he was hesitating over. He waved a hand and said casually, “I don’t have classes every day. Some days are packed, and others are completely free. It mostly depends on the students’ schedules.”

He smiled. “Some students ditch class all the time too. When they skip, my whole day opens up.”

Si Shaorong nodded in understanding. He hesitated for a moment, then sat down on the couch instead of heading back to his room.

“Um, I read your book yesterday.”

Jiang Yibai froze.

He hadn’t expected Si Shaorong to just throw that out there so bluntly. Sure, he’d written it, and written it to be read, but he really hadn’t thought Si Shaorong would actually go and read it. He figured someone like him wouldn’t be interested in that kind of thing at all.

Si Shaorong sat upright on the sofa, looking a little prim and serious. His knees were pressed together. “I have a question I want to ask you…”

Jiang Yibai felt like his entire brain short-circuited. Ask him? Ask what? Could it be…

His brain immediately filled with a full-blown, censored fantasy scene.

The background music was Kenny G’s Forever in Love. Si Shaorong sat obediently on the sofa, eyes glimmering with shy light, lips parting softly. “I want to ask… how intense can feelings between two men really get? The things you wrote… are they true?”

Jiang Yibai pulled out a single rose, one hand braced on the back of the sofa, trapping Si Shaorong in his arms. In a low voice, he said, “Passion like that has to be felt with your heart. Come, touch it…”

He took Si Shaorong’s hand and pressed it to his chest. Their faces were so close they were practically about to kiss. “Can you feel how fast my heart is beating?”

“Mm…”

“This is the driving force behind passion. Love. Baby, as long as there’s love, gender doesn’t matter.”

The rose slipped from Jiang Yibai’s hand. Petals fluttered. The sofa rocked violently.

The background music swelled, drowning out the faint moans drifting through the air.

“…bai?”

“Jiang Yibai?” Si Shaorong’s tone was helpless. What was this man daydreaming about now?

Jiang Yibai had been grinning like an idiot for a good while. He nearly snapped the spoon in his hand. When he finally snapped out of it, he found Si Shaorong watching him with a furrowed brow.

“…Ah. Go ahead and ask.” Jiang Yibai cleared his throat.

“When you write emotional scenes, do you project your own experiences into them?” Si Shaorong hesitated a little. “Do you draw from your personal feelings? Like those… um…”

He trailed off, looking a little embarrassed himself.

Jiang Yibai felt a bit let down. This wasn’t what he had imagined at all. Obviously not. But still….

He leaned back in his chair and looked toward the man on the couch. He lightly tapped his spoon against the side of his glass. “It’s about half and half. Some of it comes from my own experiences. Some of it’s from things I’ve seen or heard.”

“Seen?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea.” Jiang Yibai immediately burst into laughter. “I don’t have some creepy voyeurism kink. I mean reading manga, watching TV, movies.”

“Oh.” Si Shaorong visibly relaxed. After thinking for a second, he added, “Then why don’t you focus on story? Why put so much emphasis on this aspect instead?”

Jiang Yibai blinked. “Because I like it.”

Truth be told, Jiang Yibai had very pretty eyes. Big, with a clear contrast between black and white, and especially captivating when he smiled. His lashes were long too.

Just looking at his face, you’d never expect him to be so open when it came to sex talk. There wasn’t the slightest hint of restraint. And after saying it, he even looked at Si Shaorong with genuine interest. “Great Master, I’ve always been curious—why are you so bad at writing emotional scenes?”

Si Shaorong looked at him, a little troubled. “Because it’s hard for me to understand.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t convince myself,” Si Shaorong said after a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know why they would fall in love with each other. From my perspective, it doesn’t feel necessary.”

“What?” Jiang Yibai was a little stunned. “What do you mean, not necessary?”

Si Shaorong didn’t seem to know how to explain it either. He fell silent for a bit, then asked, “So why do you like writing those kinds of plots?”

“I just… like them.” Jiang Yibai scratched his head. “When I’m writing, I’ll think this guy is so hot, they’re such a great match, I like him, I wanna fuck him. That’s it.”

Si Shaorong: “…”

Something seemed to click in his mind, but at the same time, he looked more confused than ever. He sat there on the sofa, brow furrowed, not saying a word.

Seeing that he was still deep in thought, Jiang Yibai got up and went to the kitchen to clear the dishes. When he came back, he was drying his hands as he dropped onto the lazy sofa by the coffee table, his whole body sinking into the seat, arms draped over the sides. Si Shaorong was still staring off into space, so Jiang Yibai asked, “Still thinking?”

“I think I have some idea,” Si Shaorong said. “Your kind of liking is very straightforward. It doesn’t need a bunch of reasons. What matters is the passion and heat of being together. The point isn’t the outcome, but the process.”

Jiang Yibai had never thought about it that deeply. He paused for a moment, then decided it sounded reasonable enough, and nodded.

“I always try to find a reason,” Si Shaorong said. “Why does it have to be this person? Why not someone else? Why would something so simple lead to love? Where does attraction even come from? If you set a condition and only give the two leads that condition, like… magnets, and no one else fits it, then is that attraction predetermined from the start? And if they’re only ever meant for each other, wouldn’t that setup be too boring? I mean…”

Si Shaorong seemed to be getting caught up in his own logic. He murmured, “What’s the point of it, then? Isn’t the whole point of a story to be unexpected? And it’s not like the protagonists grew up together or have some long history. In the course of a lifetime, they’ll meet so many people. Are you telling me not a single one of them fits that condition? Why does it have to be that specific person?”

Jiang Yibai: “…”

A Great Master really was a Great Master. Did he have to make everything this complicated?