Chapter 19

Madam Yan was true to her word. After a round of mahjong, she had the matter settled. However, there was still time before the fall semester started in September, so he would enroll alongside the new students.

"In the meantime, you should study some general subjects. If you find it difficult to keep up, ask Songwei to hire a private tutor for you. You must take this seriously. There's nothing shameful about using connections to get in, but getting in through connections and then performing poorly—that is shameful. When school starts, don't end up at the bottom of every exam. The principal is my friend's husband—don't embarrass me."

Qi Liangqin simply nodded in agreement.

Madam Yan frowned. "What are you still standing here for? Go check what books you need."

"Um… You haven't told me what major I'll be studying…"

"It's not art," Madam Yan emphasized first. "You need to learn more academic subjects and build up your knowledge. I've chosen Chinese literature for you."

Seeing his expression, she added, "What's that look for? Learning more about our ancestors' culture is always beneficial. Our family is full of science and engineering graduates—you should strengthen your literary skills. Won't it also help when you have children in the future? Has Songwei told you that you two will need to have a child someday?"

Qi Liangqin nodded. "Then… I'll look up what books I need to buy."

Studying Chinese literature wasn't a bad idea. He had studied science before, but he had never truly loved it. He had chosen the science track back in high school because his school prioritized it. His goal back then had been to get into a good university and secure a stable job. At the time, the Chinese literature major was looked down upon—people believed it only led to secretarial jobs. Of course, he later realized that wasn't entirely true, but it was still harder for literature graduates to find jobs compared to those in science and engineering, unless they graduated from a top-tier university.

Madam Yan didn't expect him to earn money with his degree; she simply wanted to improve his cultural literacy, which was why she had chosen Chinese literature. That was fine by him—it should be easier than science. He had always loved reading novels anyway. More importantly, he was relieved that she hadn't forced him to continue studying art… He had absolutely no talent for drawing.

He went back to his room, searched online for some information, and then headed out to buy books. When he returned and reached the front gate, he saw Aunt Chun carrying a cardboard box outside and placing it near a trash bin. The villa community where the Yan family lived was exceptionally well-maintained, with strict garbage sorting rules. Aunt Chun was carefully separating the trash when she noticed him approaching and greeted him.

Qi Liangqin saw her about to throw away an exquisitely designed vase and quickly asked, "Why are you throwing this away?"

"Madam bought a few new ones and didn't like this one anymore, so she told me to toss it. It's not worth much—she bought it a long time ago."

"Why don't you give it to me instead? I can use it."

"You already have two in your room, don't you? They were gifts from your friends when you got married. I think they're quite pretty, though I've never seen you use them."

Back in his room, Qi Liangqin took a look and, sure enough, there were two vases sitting on the shelf—crystal-clear, white European-style frosted glass. He took them down, wiped them clean, and wondered what kind of flowers would suit them best. Glancing out the window at the small garden outside, he asked Aunt Chun for a pair of scissors, then went out to clip a few branches of flowers and arranged them in the vase.

White flowers and green leaves complemented the smooth, white vase, creating an elegant and refined look. Pleased with the result, he carried it into the living room—just in time to see Madam Yan and Yan Yuan about to head out. Excited, he presented his arrangement like a treasure for them to see.

As Yan Yuan put on her earrings, she asked, "You did this?"

"Does it look good? If you like it, I can give it to you to put in your room."

She smiled and shook her head. Madam Yan's expression darkened, though that was nothing unusual—she always looked stern, and her naturally sharp features made her appear even more severe when she wasn't smiling.

Qi Liangqin asked, "Are you heading out?"

"Mm, going to the spa with Mom."

As he carried the vase to see them off, he heard Madam Yan mutter, "What a waste of such a good vase."

Yan Yuan chuckled, looping her arm through her mother's, her voice so light it was almost inaudible. "Then I'll invite him along when I take my flower arrangement class in a few days."

That was when Qi Liangqin realized—Madam Yan simply thought his flower arrangement skills were terrible.

He didn't really understand the art of flower arrangement. Wasn't it enough to just cut some flowers and put them in a vase? He looked at the vase in his hands from different angles—he thought it looked quite pleasing to the eye.

Aunt Chun chuckled and said, "This ice-glass vase would look even better with lilies."

"I like lilies too, but there aren't any in the garden."

"You can buy them from a flower shop. Just make a call, and they'll deliver."

"Forget it. I've already arranged these. Maybe next time."

That evening, when Yan Songwei came home, Qi Liangqin asked him what he thought of the flower arrangement.

"It looks nice," Yan Songwei said, "but the flowers are a bit small."

"Your mom didn't seem to like it," Qi Liangqin said. "I was hoping to appear a little refined and get on her good side, but she said it was a waste of a good vase. Is this vase expensive?"

"It's from Rosendahl, a Danish brand. Not expensive, but it looks good."

Qi Liangqin had never heard of it, but since it was a foreign brand, it was probably high-end. He said, "Then I'd better not use it again. I don't want your mom thinking I'm ruining things."

Yan Songwei unbuttoned his cuffs and smiled. "The flowers you arranged don't really suit this kind of vase. Go to my brother's place—he has two Jingdezhen 'Bugu' ceramic mini vases. They're short and round with small openings, perfect for flowers like these."

Qi Liangqin then realized that vases had their own aesthetic rules—some suited a European style, while others fit a more traditional Chinese look. His arrangement had ended up being neither here nor there, which was why Madam Yan had mocked him. He wondered if Yan Yuan would actually invite him along when she went for her flower arrangement class in a few days.

He really wanted to go.

Flower arranging—wasn't that exactly the kind of thing a modern Pan Jinlian should do? He could arrange flowers beautifully, and he could also be beautifully… arranged.

Once he mastered the skill, he could help Yan Bozong arrange flowers. He could make Yan Bozong's vase look exquisite, and in turn, Yan Bozong could make him look exquisite.

The thought was a little indecent. Qi Liangqin lowered his head, lost in his own musings.

Yan Yuan's flower arrangement class was on Thursday. Staying at home, Qi Liangqin felt a little listless, so he went back to an old habit—curling up with his phone to read novels.

But after searching online for a long time, he still couldn't find the right story. These days, finding a novel he truly loved was as difficult as discovering a great song or an engrossing TV drama. In the end, he settled on a dramatic and wildly entertaining inner-court intrigue novel and spent the entire day finishing it.

Despite its over-the-top plot, the story was undeniably gripping. Even though he hadn't read romance novels in years, he found himself thoroughly enjoying it. There was a reason why gratifying novels had their appeal, just as plot-driven stories had their own unique charm. Feeling grateful to have finally come across a book he truly liked, he went out of his way to find the novel's original publishing site, registered an account, and purchased the full text.

It cost money, and registering was a bit of a hassle, but in an era where good novels were so rare, supporting the stories he loved felt like the right thing to do. If readers only consumed pirated copies, it would hurt the authors, and ultimately, that harm would circle back to the readers themselves. In the past, he might have made excuses because he had no money, but now, a few bucks meant nothing to him—especially for a book he enjoyed. It was a small matter.

Readers and authors were two sides of the same coin, two people who relied on each other to create and complete a story.

Then, on a whim, he searched for Male Pan Jinlian, but unfortunately, he found nothing. Everyone had their own personal preferences, and he particularly loved stories like Male Pan Jinlian—slow-paced, drawn-out, and teasingly tantalizing.

Such stories might lack grand twists and turns or any connection to greater themes like loyalty or national affairs. From beginning to end, they were nothing more than meandering explorations of hesitant, unspoken love—desires wrapped in sentiment, just enough to soothe his heart.

A danmei novel like this, entirely centered on romance—wasn't that, in essence, a romance novel?

He genuinely loved this kind of story. Following an ongoing novel could be exhausting, but he could never bear to stop reading.

Male Pan Jinlian was a protagonist-bottom novel—so delicately written that it was almost excessive. The narrative delved into Qi Liangqin's emotions with excruciating detail, yet barely touched upon Yan Bozong's inner thoughts. He remembered that when he had been following the story, the comment section had been flooded with readers clamoring for explicit scenes, urging the "eldest brother-in-law" to hurry up and set off fireworks with lightning and fire. In the end, the author, unable to withstand the pressure and demands, reluctantly sprinkled in a few lines about Yan Bozong's thoughts.

He actually found it a pity. As a reader, of course, he also wanted to see those electrifying, passionate scenes—it was thrilling, setting one's heart ablaze. But he was a rational, seasoned man, and he understood that what made Yan Bozong so captivating was precisely his detachment.

Both Qi Liangqin and Yan Bozong were married men—at least at the start of the novel, before the truth was revealed, they each had their own marriages. More importantly, Qi Liangqin was Yan Bozong's "younger brother's wife." If Qi Liangqin made a move and Yan Bozong immediately responded with flirtation or secret longing, then what kind of man was he?

Even if one managed to obtain such a man, how much security could there truly be in that?Yan Bozong was Yan Bozong precisely because he was righteous, restrained—a trustworthy gentleman and a dependable man. His indifference toward Qi Liangqin now was exactly what would make his eventual affection so precious. Only when he truly fell for Qi Liangqin, acknowledging his feelings, could he become Qi Liangqin's lifelong pillar of support.

Therefore, Yan Bozong's initial indifference was inevitable.

But modern readers had grown too accustomed to sweet, indulgent romances and had little tolerance for angst. If the novel fully depicted Yan Bozong's emotional detachment, readers would likely be up in arms. Huangling Xiaoxiaosheng clearly understood this, which was why he chose to avoid writing it altogether.

Many readers had asked: With Qi Liangqin flirting so openly, what could be going through Yan Bozong's mind? Why is it always just Xiao Qi making a move? We really want to see Eldest Brother-in-law's wavering emotions, his hidden longing.

Unfortunately, there was nothing of the sort.

Even without a response, Qi Liangqin's passion burned just as fiercely—that was who he was.

A man like Liu Xiahui, who could sit with a woman in his arms and remain unmoved—that was the Yan Bozong he adored.

Now, having become Qi Liangqin himself, he was facing that same Yan Bozong, experiencing firsthand the maddening allure of the man.

Male Pan Jinlian was a slow-burn story, and in an era where readers had grown used to fast-paced gratification, it was destined to remain obscure. Few took notice of it, and in the end, it was abandoned.

Authors who leave their stories unfinished are the worst, he thought. If you dig a pit, you should fill it—it's the only way to do right by the readers who invested their days and nights into chasing your work. That author had shamelessly seduced readers, only to leave them hanging!

Still, perhaps he should be grateful. After all, the story had brought Yan Bozong to him.

Yan Bozong. Yan Bozong.

He murmured the name softly, tossing his phone aside and staring blankly ahead, lost in thought.

Just speaking those three syllables aloud filled him with a strange, inexplicable feeling.

Everything related to Yan Bozong felt different now.

Was there a god in this world? Could they hear his heart's desire?

Would they grant him what he longed for most?