Little Sweet O Transmigrates Into the Body of the Villainous Fake Young Master - Chapter 9

As Teng Yingzhi was still spacing out, he was about to dig in when Teng Song suddenly pinched his chin with two fingers, tilting it up slightly.

This gesture, which felt borderline flirtatious, left Yingzhi slightly dazed. His large eyes blinked as he looked at the approaching Teng Song, his ears flushing red before he even realized it.

Without waiting for a reaction, Teng Song spoke up: “It’s a bit swollen. Remember to apply the ointment again later.”

Yingzhi let out a soft “oh.” He could feel it too; his cheek had throbbed the moment he woke up.

Teng Song added: “Apply it yourself.”

“I know!” Yingzhi pinched his own burning ear and muttered under his breath, “It’s not like I insisted you help me anyway…”

With that, they both turned back to their late-night snack. Both of them ate very elegantly, barely making a sound.

Amidst the silence, Yingzhi suddenly remembered something and turned his head. “Brother, I forgot to make dessert today because of what happened. I’ll make it tomorrow and bring it to your study.”

Teng Song responded: “Okay.”

“Why did you return a day late this time?” Yingzhi chatted casually.

Normally, his brother returned on the fourteenth of every month, almost like clockwork. He would stay home for a week and then leave, not returning until the fourteenth of the next month. This pattern had held true for two whole years.

Teng Song spaced out for a brief fraction of a second, then said flatly: “Business. Couldn’t push it off.”

In reality, given his position, there was no such thing as business he couldn’t push off. He had indeed been tied down by work yesterday, but it wasn’t that he couldn’t postpone it. He simply hadn’t wanted to. Yet even Teng Song hadn’t anticipated that the restless irritability would escalate to such a severe degree. In the past, he had always been able to endure it without his willpower being disrupted. He wondered if spending the last two years relying so heavily on the wine fragrance from Yingzhi had caused such a massive withdrawal response from a single day’s delay.

Catching sight of Yingzhi’s obedient nod out of the corner of his eye, seeing that the boy didn’t press further, Teng Song couldn’t help but reach out and tap him lightly on the head.

Yingzhi nearly choked, shooting him a thoroughly annoyed glare.

After finishing their food and exchanging goodnights, Yingzhi returned the bowls and utensils to the kitchen before heading back to his bedroom.

When he showered and looked in the mirror, he was instantly startled by the purple-and-blue handprint. He hadn’t expected it to be so glaringly obvious. Fortunately, he had iced it for a long time right after getting hit and applied the medicine promptly, so the swelling wasn’t severe and should go down by tomorrow morning.

He Ji really hated the original host to death to strike this brutally.

Forget the birthday; he didn’t have a birthday this year, as the celebration belonged to He Ji. But Chinese New Year followed shortly after the birthday, and Yingzhi worried the bruise wouldn’t completely fade by then. He really didn’t want to greet his grandfather for the New Year sporting a handprint on his face. If Grandfather saw it, he definitely wouldn’t let He Ji off easy, and He Ji would just count that grievance against him all over again.

As he gloomily smoothed the ointment over his face, he cursed He Ji repeatedly in his mind.

—

Early the next morning, Yingzhi felt as though he had slept entirely too much. His head throbbed with a dull ache as he dazedly brushed his teeth in the bathroom, taking the opportunity to examine his cheek. The swelling had indeed gone down, but with the passage of time, the bruising had settled into a vivid, deep purple.

Uncle Lu knocked and stepped into the room. “Young Master, the main residence sent someone over to ask where you would like to have breakfast.”

“Dad told you to ask?” Yingzhi asked. Usually, all three meals were taken at the main house; since when did it require an explicit inquiry?

Uncle Lu paused before answering: “It was the Mistress who asked.”

Yingzhi understood instantly.

This wasn’t an inquiry; it was his mother hinting that he shouldn’t show his face in front of He Ji and should stay put in his own villa. In fact, his mother’s original words probably weren’t a simple question about where he wanted to eat, but a direct order for him not to come over. Uncle Lu had likely polished the phrasing out of fear of hurting his feelings.

“I’ll eat over here. I want shrimp dumplings and egg pancakes.” Yingzhi accepted it completely. After everything that had happened last night, what was there left to be upset about? It was already an unalterable reality.

His mother would grow to dislike him more and more, and his father would gradually distance himself in aversion. If he fell into a bout of depression every single time it happened, he wouldn’t be able to get anything else done.

Perhaps the only time he would truly have a massive breakdown would be when his brother also shifted to He Ji’s side, looking at him with the same utter disdain as if he were an ant, just like in the comic book.

“By the way, where is Brother?” Yingzhi asked.

Uncle Lu answered immediately: “Mr. Teng went over to the main residence early this morning.”

Yingzhi felt a sudden wave of disappointment. Had his brother gone over to have breakfast with them?

“Understood, I’ll be down in a bit,” Yingzhi mumbled, sticking his electric toothbrush into his mouth.

Uncle Lu looked at Yingzhi with eyes full of elder affection and pity, but knowing that any words right now were empty comfort, he simply nodded and withdrew.

After washing up with a low mood, Yingzhi changed his clothes, grabbed his phone, and headed downstairs for breakfast. Spotting a new message on the way, he tapped into it to find a notification from Teng Song.

Blank Nickname: [Call me when you’re having breakfast.]

Yingzhi’s footsteps stalled. His heart leaped into his throat as he rapidly tapped out a reply: [Brother, you haven’t eaten breakfast yet?]

The response came quickly: [Are you calling me now?]

Yingzhi’s gloom instantly vanished into thin air. Only then did he remember that his brother’s living quarters and study were over at the main house; heading over early in the morning meant he was likely handling work in the study. His eyes immediately curved into bright crescents: [Calling you right now! The food is about to be served, hurry back!]

Blank Nickname: [Understood.]

Yingzhi tucked his phone away, his steps light and joyful as he practically skipped into the kitchen to tell the chef to add more dishes.

He waited in the dining room for a while. Calculating that the time it took to walk over from the main villa was about up, he ran all the way out to the main hall, arriving just in time to see Teng Song push the door open. Even though he was just at home, he was dressed quite formally, a knee-length black overcoat over a narrow-collared, slim-waist, double-breasted suit that accentuated his tall, lean, and noble stature.

His hair and shoulders were dusted with snow as he took off his overcoat and handed it to a nearby servant.

Yingzhi ran over, catching the crisp, biting cold of the outdoors radiating from his body. He asked with a smile, “Is it snowing again outside?”

Teng Song brushed the snow from his hair, looking down at Yingzhi’s bright, smiling face. Sensing that the boy’s mood seemed quite good, his face remained expressionless, but his gaze softened significantly. “You’ve been awake for so long, and you didn’t even look out the window once?”

The two walked toward the dining room together. Outside the window, large goose-feather snowflakes fell with a soft rustle, while the interior was as warm as spring. Both of their steps were incredibly light.

By the time they sat down in the dining room, the table was already laden with a wide, lavish spread of breakfast options.

Yingzhi took a gulp of sweet soy milk and noticed Teng Song pick up a hot towel from the tray to wipe his left hand, leaving his right hand completely untouched. He couldn’t help but ask, “Brother, what exactly is on your right hand? You won’t even wipe it to eat?”

As if punishing him for being nosy, Teng Song reached out and dragged the bamboo steamer of shrimp dumplings directly from front of Yingzhi over to himself, completely refusing to indulge him. “Ask fewer questions about things you shouldn’t know.”

Yingzhi stared piteously at the shrimp dumplings. *He could have at least left me one!*

Looking at his regretful little face, Teng Song sneered inwardly.  Regretting a blind question over a single basket of shrimp dumplings? If he truly wiped his hand clean right now, that would be the real reason for the boy to regret it, because Teng Song would very likely choose to make him cry just to coat his hand all over again.

However, the wine fragrance on his hand was growing fainter; it would have to be washed off by noon at the latest.

“Eat properly.”

“Oh…”

In the end, Teng Song truly didn’t leave him a single shrimp dumpling from that steamer. Under his oppressive gaze, the servants didn’t even dare to bring Yingzhi a fresh order.

After the meal, Yingzhi strolled around the main hall to digest, looking out through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the snow. With the snow falling this heavily, the winter scenery at Grandfather’s estate must be beautiful. While he watched the snow, Teng Song sat on a nearby sofa using his phone to process OA information. Neither disturbed the other, yet they remained close. At this very moment, neither could entirely leave the other’s presence.

After a short while, Yingzhi headed to the kitchen to prepare the dessert he had promised. Teng Song tucked his phone away and followed him inside.

The scent on his hand was growing weaker, almost fading to nothing, and even the fragrance emitting from Yingzhi himself was incredibly faint, likely tied to his emotions. Over the past two years, Teng Song had figured out the pattern: when Yingzhi didn’t experience major emotional fluctuations, the wine scent on him remained very subtle.

Teng Song felt a bit irritable, but it was within his threshold of endurance, causing no major discomfort.

He watched Yingzhi pour whiskey into a deep dish. To distract himself, he asked, “Why are you pouring liquor?”

“To soak the biscuits later, of course.” Yingzhi’s movements were well-practiced for every step.

Before transmigrating, the first eighteen years of Yingzhi’s life had been crammed to the brim with piano, chess, calligraphy, painting, and multiple foreign languages until he could barely breathe. He had been a luxury ornament for his family to display, required to master everything to absolute perfection, and Eastern and Western desserts were no exception.

It was only because his father felt cooking was a servant’s chore, and that oily smoke shouldn’t pollute Yingzhi’s hair, that he hadn’t been required to master general culinary arts.

In the past, because his father would personally inspect the results, Yingzhi’s mood had always been heavy when making desserts. Every single day was filled with tasks he disliked but was forced to perform.

Now, things were entirely different. Making desserts for his brother made his brother happy, which made him happy.

Because his brother would be indebted to his cooking, when He Ji eventually swayed him in the future, Teng Song would remember the desserts he had eaten for two years and might deal with him a little more leniently.

“Passing it through liquor adds a lot of flavor, you’ll like it.” Yingzhi worked around the central island wearing an oversized, egg-yolk-yellow sweater. Watching him, Teng Song felt he looked like a disoriented little duckling that had recently cracked out of its shell.

“Don’t use whiskey. Use peach wine,” Teng Song said suddenly, his gaze quietly locked onto Yingzhi as if observing him.

Yingzhi froze. “Fruit wine has a very low alcohol percentage; you might not be able to taste the liquor flavor at all.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Teng Song’s gaze remained unchanged.

Yingzhi rummaged around nearby, then had Uncle Lu check the wine cellar. However, there shouldn’t be any fruit wine in the house because no one drank it, nor would they use it to entertain guests. Sure enough, Uncle Lu reported back that the cellar didn’t have any; if it was strictly necessary, they would have to order someone to deliver it fresh.

Yingzhi shrugged at Teng Song, while secretly breathing a sigh of relief in his heart.

Because his pheromone scent was exactly peach wine, and pheromones were a rather private scent. If someone drank peach wine right in front of him, he felt he might find it a bit awkward.

Teng Song didn’t reply immediately, seemingly lost in thought. He had tested it several times; judging by Yingzhi’s reaction, the boy didn’t seem to smell the unique wine fragrance on his own body either.

After so many years, Teng Song had stopped trying to figure out why this was the case.

“Then have someone deliver it.” Teng Song instinctively massaged the space between his brows again. Though he knew it was useless, he did it as a form of psychological comfort.

Uncle Lu turned to head down, but Yingzhi, unable to understand why his brother insisted on peach wine, couldn’t help but reach out to stop him. “No need. I’ll go out and buy it myself. It’s a good excuse to get some fresh air.”

Otherwise, his father and mother would be bringing He Ji over in a little while. That wasn’t a critical plot point, so slipping away wouldn’t trigger a narrative glitch-back.

If he could avoid them, he absolutely wanted to avoid them. Otherwise, crossing paths with He Ji would only bring bad luck.

Teng Song immediately responded: “I’ll accompany you.”

“Great, let’s go together!” Yingzhi was overjoyed, but as he untied his apron, the realization slowly dawned on him.

Why did it feel like his brother was shadowing him?

Starting from breakfast, everywhere he went, his brother followed.

The thought quickly vanished from his mind. Yingzhi went upstairs to change into a fresh outfit, wearing a face mask to obscure the bruise on his cheek. When he came down, he saw Teng Song already waiting by the door in his overcoat, holding a black umbrella, a layer of faint irritability flickering in his eyes.

Teng Song hid it exceptionally well, so Yingzhi failed to notice anything unusual, stepping lightly alongside him into the heavy, biting winter snow.

Teng Song raised the umbrella, sweeping the peach-wine scented Omega right into his arms.

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