In a Relationship With the Rugged Guy Next Door - Chapter 21

Chapter 21: “Your brother is dead straight; loving a straight man is a death sentence…”

Chu Feng picked up the soap and continued washing Chen Jingming.

His movements were heavy; when he scrubbed Jingming’s back, the boy swayed back and forth under the force.

“Baby, hold onto the wall,” Chu Feng said, slipping on a scrubbing mitt. “Almost done.”

Jingming knew that, in this moment, he was no different from a duck being plucked in Chu Feng’s eyes. But standing there with his back to his brother, hands pressed against the cold tile wall, everything felt fundamentally wrong.

His body was telling him: This isn’t right.

An intense wave of shame washed over him.

“Done.” Chu Feng used the showerhead to rinse him clean, then gave a satisfied pat to Jingming’s backside. “Go on. Dry off and wait for me in the dorm.”

Chen Jingming: “…”

Jingming dried himself, put on Chu Feng’s oversized shirt and pants, and scurried out like a defeated dog. Once outside, the fresh air replaced the smell of the cattle sheds with the clean scent of soap. He walked back to the dorm on numb legs, hair dripping, and sat on the bed to cool down.

After all, he wasn’t like Chu Feng—he wouldn’t just say “I’ll take care of it” so casually.

…

The day had been incredibly full, and Jingming’s stomach was growling. They had fish for dinner—the big one grilled and the small one simmered into a soup with tofu. Jingming ate heartily.

After dinner, he brought his laptop out to the bedroom.

“Huh?” He pressed the power button several times, but there was no response. He checked the power cord; it was fine.

Chu Feng was reviewing contract materials—he was set to sign with the Crescent Hotel in a couple of days. “What’s wrong?”

“The computer won’t start.”

Chu Feng walked over. “Let me see.” He found another power cord with the same interface and plugged it in. Still nothing.

“Take it to get repaired tomorrow,” Chu Feng suggested. “Is there important data inside?”

“My old drafts are in there, though most are backed up on a USB drive.”

Chu Feng turned on his own desktop computer. “Use mine for now. Are you starting to write something, Baby?”

Jingming hummed in affirmation. “One more thing. I need to take the video and audio files out. Brother, do you know anyone who speaks Miao, Bouyei, or Shui?”

“I do. Auntie Xiang and her husband are Shui. For Bouyei, just go to Xiao Lang—he’s Bouyei.”

“Really? I’ve never heard him mention it.”

“…” Chu Feng froze for a second. “My dear Baby, is it possible he doesn’t speak it to us because we don’t understand it?”

Jingming realized how silly he sounded and scratched his head. “Oh, right.”

The computer booted up. The desktop was cluttered with files covering half the screen. He turned to Chu Feng. “Brother, your desktop is a mess.”

“I’ll fix it.” Chu Feng leaned in naturally from behind, his left hand bracing against the edge of the desk while his right hand operated the mouse to drag files into folders.

This move effectively caged Jingming in. He couldn’t dodge. Chu Feng’s hot breath brushed against the right side of Jingming’s neck, making his entire body feel like it was catching fire.

“Brother… I’ll get up so you can do it.” Jingming tucked his head, trying to duck under Chu Feng’s arm, but Chu Feng pressed him back down.

“No need, I’ll be quick.”

From his peripheral vision, Jingming saw Chu Feng’s prominent Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he spoke. There was a faint shadow of stubble on his jaw. His hair even brushed against Jingming’s ear—it was itchy and maddening.

Jingming felt he was truly doomed. Brothers shouldn’t feel this way. In literature, such flights of fancy were dangerous.

This is too dangerous.

A brother is a brother. A younger brother shouldn’t have these thoughts, and an older brother shouldn’t act like this.

Jingming’s heart raced. He clenched his fists, determined to escape this proximity.

“Alright, done—OW!” “Ah!”

Jingming had been so busy with his internal monologue that he didn’t notice Chu Feng was finished and backing away. When Jingming suddenly stood up, his head slammed right into Chu Feng’s chin.

“Baby,” Chu Feng said, rubbing his chin with a pained laugh. “What are you trying to do?”

Jingming’s head throbbed. “I…”

“Are you trying to assassinate your brother?”

Seeing that Chu Feng wasn’t angry made Jingming’s heart beat even faster. It was because of the pain!

“Does it hurt?” Chu Feng touched Jingming’s head gently. “Should be fine; my chin isn’t that hard.”

Jingming muttered under his breath, “What part of you isn’t hard…”

Just then, Chu Feng’s phone rang. It sounded like a client from the ranch. Jingming sat back down, opened a document, and began to brainstorm.

…

Since becoming a professional screenwriter, Jingming hadn’t written for pleasure in a long time. In recent years, the industry favored adaptations. Jingming had original scripts, but aside from one he sold in his senior year, none had gone anywhere. Even the sold one had no news of production. Living alone with high expectations from his adoptive parents, he needed money, so he took whatever work came his way and wrote exactly what the clients demanded.

His technical skills had improved, but he felt something was missing.

“What are you thinking about?” Chu Feng asked. He brought over a small plate of nuts and sat down with his laptop. “Thinking about how to start?”

Jingming gave a muffled “Mm.”

Chu Feng remembered something and stood up to rummage through the bookshelf.

“What are you looking for, Brother?”

“Good stuff.”

The shelf mostly held animal husbandry textbooks and folders. Chu Feng pulled out a blue notebook.

Jingming recognized it instantly. “My diary?”

“Yep.” Chu Feng flipped to the first page. “Second semester of fourth grade.”

He sat down and flipped to a random page. “Ahem. ‘August 3rd: My mother is a person who loves cooking. According to her, she has mastered all Chinese and foreign cuisines. Different dishes always appear on our table. One that appears frequently is Spaghetti Bolognese. She told me it was her exclusive secret recipe and called it “Gulping Sauce” because you can’t help but make gulping sounds of satisfaction while eating it…'”

“Stop it—” Jingming, embarrassed, tried to snatch the diary.

Chu Feng dodged nimbly and continued in a mock-childish voice: “‘But today Brother took me to the big supermarket in the city. I saw the exact same thing on the shelf. I knew Mom was making up stories to lie to me again. The label clearly said “Heinz” Pasta Sauce…'”

Jingming, initially shy, couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“So cute,” Chu Feng said.

“That’s just stuff a kid wrote.”

“But even as an adult, I love reading it. It’s adorable.” Chu Feng handed the diary back. “Keep writing like this, Baby.”

…

The night in the countryside was so quiet it forced the brain to empty. The tangled thoughts vanished, replaced by the ghost of ten-year-old Jingming scratching words under a desk lamp.

Jingming closed the diary and placed his hands on the keyboard.

[The Cow]

If you ask me what’s in a ranch, it’s hard for me to tell you anything professional with my current knowledge. The only thing I’m sure of is that an adult cow can produce 30kg to 50kg of manure every day. You might exclaim, “That much?” Well, Xishan Ranch has over four hundred cows, dealing with about 15 tons of manure daily. The moment you pick up a shovel and enter the shed…

He didn’t know how long he wrote. When he finally typed the last period and stretched, he realized Chu Feng had fallen asleep on the sofa. He checked the word count—a staggering 8,000 words.

No one writes a diary this long, he thought, rubbing his chin. I sure have a lot to say.

He turned off the computer and crouched by the sofa to look at Chu Feng. His brother was lying flat with his arms crossed, breathing steadily. His hair had grown long enough to block his eyes. Jingming reached out a finger to brush away a stray lock.

Chu Feng’s hair was unexpectedly soft.

Sleeping Brother is the best brother; he doesn’t do anything scary.

Jingming’s finger hovered over Chu Feng’s forehead. Intentionally or not, his gaze drifted down, tracing the air above the high bridge of the nose, the well-defined lips, the stubbled chin, the Adam’s apple, the collarbone…

Jingming found himself breathing through parted lips. This body he had seen so many times suddenly felt foreign. And curiosity toward the foreign is rarely a good thing.

If I were to write about my brother, how would I describe him?

“Baby?” “Ah!”

Startled, Jingming fell backward. Chu Feng’s quick reflexes caught him, but the momentum pulled Jingming right on top of him.

Chu Feng froze for a moment, then laughed. “What is wrong with Baby today?”

Something pressed against Jingming’s lower abdomen; the sensation was unmistakable. It was nothing to Chu Feng—at twenty, he had been much more “hot-blooded” than Jingming.

“Why are you breathing so hard? It’s fine. Go back to your room; call me when you’re… settled.”

Jingming’s entire head turned crimson. He couldn’t say a word as he scrambled and crawled his way upstairs.

…

Jingming didn’t dare “settle” anything. He lay ramrod straight in the bed that smelled of Chu Feng.

It can’t go on like this.

Chu Feng stayed downstairs for half an hour before coming up. Jingming lay on his side facing the wall, faking sleep. Chu Feng checked on him, then stripped and got into bed. His soft chuckle reached Jingming’s ears.

It was terrible. Jingming curled into a ball, but Chu Feng still pressed up against his back, wrapping an arm around him.

The next morning, Jingming woke up early. Even though Chu Feng had nothing to do that morning, Jingming firmly refused to let him drive him to work.

Chu Feng was a bit annoyed, starting his usual lecture, but Jingming ignored him and walked out.

The bus to the company started at the entrance of the Old Street. Jingming thought it wouldn’t be crowded, but early morning was full of elderly locals carrying baskets of produce. He clutched his laptop bag, planning to find a repair shop in the city.

He chatted with Xue Dongni on his phone. She said filming would wrap in a month and she’d come visit.

“Jingming.”

A familiar motorcycle pulled up. Chen Lang propped himself up with one long leg. “Going to work? Why isn’t Old Cow driving you?” He flipped up his visor. “Whoa, what’s with those dark circles under your eyes?”

Jingming said listlessly, “Brother Lang, my brother has lost his mind.”

Chen Lang gave an awkward laugh. “Just because he didn’t drive you? It’s not that serious. Come on, hop on.”

Jingming told Chen Lang about his troubles. Chen Lang knew Chu Feng had a “younger brother complex,” but he didn’t realize it had reached “pervert” levels.

“That’s terrifying,” Chen Lang said, riding slowly to hear the gossip.

Jingming: “What should I do? I feel like I’m becoming weird too.”

“Poor Baby.” Chen Lang completely understood, yet found it a bit funny. “I get you. Falling for your brother… it’s entirely his fault.”

Jingming: “Sigh.”

Chen Lang: “So what’s the plan? Your brother is dead straight. Loving a straight man is a death sentence for your heart.”

“Mm…” Jingming rested his head against Chen Lang’s back. “If I can’t win, can’t I at least hide? I’m sleeping on the sofa tonight!”