Chapter 12 – Pink Tongue

Qin Bei’s grip was perfectly measured.

Not too light, not too heavy—just enough to hold those porcelain-like hands without damaging them. Those hands fulfilled his fantasies, feeling exactly as he’d imagined. Instead of restraining himself, Qin Bei’s fingers boldly intertwined with the other’s, locking them together.

“I quite like you,” Qin Bei murmured, stroking Yu Zhen’s nails. The healthy, pale pink nails had a faint silver sheen, trimmed to just the right length. His thumb brushed over the fingertips as he added appreciatively, “What about you?”

Yu Zhen stared at their joined hands for a long moment, acutely aware of every movement. The harmonious atmosphere was tinged with restless unease. “With looks as good as yours, Coach Qin, few could refuse. But whether our personalities are compatible… that remains to be seen.”

He lifted his gaze to their interlaced fingers.

Qin Bei squeezed his palm, the gesture deceptively sweet and affectionate. “I don’t know about your personality yet, but I’m willing to learn. As for me—well, you’ve seen it. My job is what it is. Serving others. I wouldn’t call myself perfect, but I’m certainly not terrible.”

“That’s debatable,” Yu Zhen said, skillfully withdrawing his hand and leaning back against the safety net behind him—a move that visibly displeased the other man. “I’ve only known you for a few days, Coach Qin. I can’t afford to be careless. I’ve barely glimpsed the tip of the iceberg. Relationships are serious business. Caution prevents mistakes.”

“What mistakes could there be?” Qin Bei’s eyes lingered on Yu Zhen’s waist—so slender he could imagine it twisting like a pretzel.

Yu Zhen swung his legs up onto the long stone bench they were seated on, which offered ample space for any posture. “Plenty. For instance, someone as popular as you settling down with me too soon… I’d worry you might regret it.”

Qin Bei didn’t quite follow at first, but after a moment’s thought, he realized Yu Zhen was still bothered by his earlier closeness with a client. He chuckled. “No way. They can’t compare to you.”

Yu Zhen met his gaze. Qin Bei’s eyes burned hot enough to ignite dry tinder. Clutching his water bottle, Yu Zhen responded with a meaningful smile.

“Still, I can’t go public with you. I need to be upfront about that,” Qin Bei said. “My profession is… unique. Clients don’t like coaches who are taken. You understand, right?”

Yu Zhen glanced at the people milling about the venue. “So everyone here is single?”

“Not exactly,” Qin Bei admitted. “But even those with families pretend they don’t. Insist on playing the devoted partner, and you’ll see your performance report fall short by month’s end.”

So even this place had its unspoken rules.

Qin Bei’s meaning wasn’t hard to grasp. In flattering terms, they were coaches. In cruder terms, they were selling themselves—just to varying degrees. If a client took a liking to you, they’d request you more often. Occasionally, they’d push boundaries, creating “accidental” contact. Resistance or compliance led to starkly different outcomes. The customer was king, and how you reacted to being groped determined whether that king smiled or scowled.

A vicious cycle no one could escape.

Noticing Yu Zhen’s silence, Qin Bei assumed he was upset and tried to reassure him. “You don’t like it? I know it’s hard to accept, but homosexuality isn’t mainstream anyway. Better to keep it hidden than invite gossip.”

Yu Zhen still didn’t speak.

Qin Bei held his hand again, comforting him, “If you really can’t accept it, then I can make some appropriate public gestures.”

Yu Zhen’s palm was warmed by Qin Bei’s touch—people who exercise regularly run hot. Softening his tone, he asked, “Like what?”

Qin Bei replied with utmost seriousness, “On platforms other than WeChat.”

His gaze seemed to imply this was some kind of concession to Yu Zhen.

Yu Zhen had seen that look of superiority in too many men’s eyes. Staring at Qin Bei’s seasoned demeanor, he saw a reflection of his past self. Had he been this arrogant back then? Had he worn that same punchable expression? Superiority really was a curse—no wonder he’d been put in his place.

“Let’s talk about it later,” Yu Zhen said, cupping Qin Bei’s face as if stroking a mighty lion. The gesture caught the other man off guard, but he quickly played along. “Since Coach Qin is willing to compromise, I can’t be too unreasonable. Let me think it over and give you an answer later, alright?”

He teased Qin Bei like a big cat, running his fingertips over the man’s skin before standing up.

Qin Bei looked up at him, scanning him from head to toe. Yu Zhen picked up his water bottle and glanced at the sky. The sun was blazing, its warmth deceptive—making one believe the night would be just as mild.

Chen Qinghuai must have left by now.

Qin Bei stood and asked, “Really not joining me for dinner tonight?”

Was he asking for a meal, or was he asking for Yu Zhen himself?

Yu Zhen glanced down—still hard. Impressive size. Riding him would definitely feel amazing.

“No, Coach Qin needs to work out, and I need to watch my figure. Though you’re building muscle, so your cardio burns more than mine,” Yu Zhen murmured, trailing a hand over Qin Bei’s chest. “Don’t shortchange yourself—eat extra for me tonight.”

Passersby cast them odd looks.

Not wanting to cause professional trouble for Qin Bei, Yu Zhen didn’t linger. He withdrew his hand quickly and, under Qin Bei’s eager gaze, said, “That’s enough for today. I won’t disturb Coach Qin’s work any longer. See you.”

Qin Bei opened his mouth to call after him, but just then, a trainee shouted for him. By the time Qin Bei turned back, Yu Zhen was already out of reach.

His car was parked in its usual spot—fewer vehicles when he’d arrived. Yu Zhen clicked the key fob, located his car, and slid inside. Instead of driving off immediately, he pulled out a cigarette and sat in the driver’s seat, savoring it quietly.

The slim, mint-flavored cigarette masked the nicotine, tasting more like chewing gum—fresh yet pungent.

Yu Zhen’s nails were long, beautiful, and polished with clear coat. Every inch of him was misleading; no single feature would betray his masculinity. That was the effect he wanted. Whether in his social media videos or client deliverables, there were no slip-ups.

Fully armed, meticulous in every detail, he sometimes even fooled himself. What if he were really a woman? Would the male clients who took interest in him keep their hands to themselves? Would he no longer be a target? Would he have never thrown that drink, never gotten tangled in all this drama?

But clarity always returned. He knew that back then, regardless of gender, as long as he was beautiful enough, he’d never have been safe.

The moment he stepped into that scene, he’d already become someone else’s prey.

A puff of smoke filled the car as Yu Zhen stared blankly at his hands resting on the steering wheel.

So beautiful, yet so lonely.

Buzz—

Wang Baoshu was checking in on progress again.

Yu Zhen answered on speakerphone as Wang Baoshu asked how things were going.

“Probably falling through,” Yu Zhen said lightly.

Wang Baoshu sounded surprised. “Huh? How come? Weren’t you saying just the other day that it was going well?”

Yu Zhen replied cautiously, “It’s not quite what I expected.” His grip tightened slightly on the wheel.

Wang Baoshu wasn’t easily brushed off and pressed for details, asking if the other party had been inappropriate with him. The choice of the word “inappropriate” amused Yu Zhen, who praised Wang Baoshu’s literary flair for finding such a tactful term.

“Don’t tease me,” Wang Baoshu said. “What really happened? What about him didn’t meet your expectations?”

Yu Zhen wasn’t sure how to explain.

Hearing his hesitant sigh, Wang Baoshu ventured a guess: “Don’t tell me it’s what I thought—did he lay hands on you?”

That was his only assumption. After all, Yu Zhen wasn’t just anyone—his looks were extraordinary, and the gay community could be blunt and impulsive.

Yu Zhen was more sensitive than most men, with his past experiences shaping him. Wang Baoshu could only speculate in that direction.

“He did touch me, but a little groping isn’t a big deal,” Yu Zhen said, resting his elbow on the car window, his reflection in the rearview mirror gazing back at his striking features. “It’s my problem.”

Wang Baoshu didn’t understand. “Yu, what’s there to hide between us?”

Yu Zhen chuckled. “Nothing, really. It’s just me. Maybe he didn’t meet some unspoken standard. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Even back in school, Yu Zhen had always been perceptive. Wang Baoshu had learned to tread carefully around him—while others might overlook subtleties, Yu Zhen noticed every detail.

Still confused, Wang Baoshu recognized the feeling Yu Zhen described. Something must have rubbed him the wrong way. He figured Yu Zhen wasn’t being direct out of respect for his role as the matchmaker, sparing him embarrassment. With a sigh, Wang Baoshu relented.

“Up to you, then. I don’t really know what he’s like—just thought he had great presence. But you’re the one interacting with him, so I won’t push it.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“Enough of that,” Wang Baoshu said. “Are you home now?”

“About to head back.”

“Got time? Let’s talk about Fang Suyi coming to Chaohai.”

Yu Zhen finished his cigarette, started the car, and tossed out a reply: “Go ahead.”

·

The conflict with Chen Qinghuai didn’t fade away as Yu Zhen had expected.

After returning home that day, he tidied up the place. Chen Qinghuai had already left, and Yu Zhen didn’t dwell on it, showering and turning in for the night.

But there was no message that evening, nor the next day. By the third, then the fourth day… still no word from Chen Qinghuai.

On the scheduled shoot day, Chen Qinghuai didn’t show up. Yu Zhen knew—he was waiting for an apology.

Not only had his privacy been exposed, but Chen Qinghuai had already held some interest in him. This was likely his way of forcing Yu Zhen to yield. Sitting indoors, Yu Zhen opened Chen Qinghuai’s WeChat, typed a few words, then hesitated, irritation simmering. The message remained unsent.

He hated apologizing.

Even more, he hated having to apologize when he was the one in the right.

Just like back then, when he was the one who got groped, yet he was the one dragged around to apologize.

Yu Zhen deleted the text in the chat box and suddenly stood up.

He walked to the door of Room 408 and, in the dead of night, knocked without hesitation.

The hallway had surveillance—a red dot fixed on Yu Zhen, as if warning him of something.

Yu Zhen met the camera’s gaze for a moment before the door opened. The man inside wasn’t asleep, dressed neatly as he eyed the unexpected visitor at his doorstep.

It was midnight.

Yu Zhen’s decision wasn’t just deliberate—it was bold.

Zhou Daosen looked down at the beautiful face before him. Things delivered to your door in the dead of night were like food livestreams when you were starving, like those little cards hung on doors when you were lonely and craving—either luring you to spend or tempting you to fall, to make a mistake.

Being cautious, staying vigilant—that was all you could do when temptation marked you as its target.

“Help me with something,” the pretty neighbor said carefully, as if aware he wasn’t welcome, his tone pitiful and pleading. “Okay?”

The Mary figurine in the glass display case stuck out its tongue—pink, soft, unbearably playful.