The Transmigration Guide to Seducing Men - Chapter 3

His “Little Dragon Maiden” cold and ethereal route would probably have to wait until all the established plots were finished. But none of that mattered; with his current face and body, finding a suitable partner shouldn’t be hard. His obsession with Yan Baizong was purely physiological—he would treat it as acting and never allow himself to fall for real.

In the novel, this meal was eaten in the hospital.

The Yan matriarch was ill and had been hospitalized lately, which was why Yan Baizong, who was far away on business, had rushed back. Her illness was neither major nor minor, but she believed it was caused by the stress of Qi Liangqin and Yan Songwei’s marriage.

Having been widowed young, the old lady had not only raised two sons but nearly built this massive family business from scratch. As a strong-willed woman, she was no different from any ordinary old lady in her old age. She longed for grandchildren, yet neither of her sons brought her peace. One had been married for years without an heir, and the other had actually brought home a “slut who sticks his butt out.”

In the novel, her descriptions of Qi Liangqin were always pungent and direct, making him incredibly embarrassed. As a “strong woman” type, her hatred for Qi Liangqin was straightforward and her words fierce. Every time she mentioned the second son marrying Qi Liangqin, her two standard lines were: “Look at what kind of person you’ve found,” and “I don’t know what kind of slutty appearance bewitched him.”

Qi Liangqin only realized after leaving the house that he didn’t know where the Provincial Hospital was. He stood under a plane tree and used a map to search, determining the route. It was quite far and required a transfer. He waited for about five minutes before seeing the No. 52 bus arrive and hopped on. Surprisingly, there were only two or three people on the bus. Such low ridership at this hour was rare. He dropped his coin and picked a random seat.

He enjoyed riding the bus more than the subway because he could see the scenery. This city, somewhat strange to him, had beautiful views; it resembled the streets of Nanjing, with French plane trees blocking out the sun.

Then he saw the bus stop—ahead was a small passenger transport station. He had actually taken the bus in the wrong direction. He hurriedly got off, feeling incredibly embarrassed, waited in the sun for a few minutes, and hopped on another bus. This time he didn’t get the direction wrong; he listened carefully to every stop and got off at the right place.

Walking 800 meters led to the Provincial Hospital. Following the map, he actually got lost. Just as he was about to ask a passerby, Yan Songwei called: “Have you arrived yet?”

“Uh…” Qi Liangqin said anxiously, “I should be arriving soon. I’m lost; wait while I ask for directions.”

“Where are you?”

Qi Liangqin looked up: “There’s a Wanda Cinema; I’m right opposite it.”

“I see you.”

Qi Liangqin froze for a moment. Shortly after, a Land Rover stopped in front of him. A pale young man with slicked-back hair leaned out: “Get in already, you can’t park here.”

Qi Liangqin was a bit confused. Through the reflective glass, he saw Yan Baizong in the driver’s seat, and only then did he realize what was happening. Yan Songwei was already impatient: “Qi Liangqin!”

With that confirmed, Qi Liangqin ran over, opened the back door, and sat inside. The man calling him was Yan Songwei. Although billed as a “Male Version of Pan Jinlian,” Qi Liangqin’s husband wasn’t a “Wu Dalang.” While he wasn’t as good as Yan Baizong, he was still a handsome guy.

“How could you get lost? Didn’t you take a taxi?”

“Taxis are expensive; I always take the bus when I go out…”

Yan Songwei gave him a strange look, but Yan Baizong asked: “Aren’t there several cars sitting idle at home?”

“He can’t drive,” Yan Songwei said dismissively, then suddenly thought of something: “Right, Brother, let me introduce you; this is Liangqin.”

Qi Liangqin nervously grinned at Yan Baizong, who didn’t even look at him. He uttered an “mhm” and said: “We’ve met.”

Qi Liangqin’s face instantly heated up, feeling a bit embarrassed. He looked at the rearview mirror, which reflected Yan Baizong’s eyes. He felt Yan Baizong’s features were very sexy—an ascetic kind of sexy, as if every eyebrow hair grew exactly to his liking.

Qi Liangqin had a quirk: he would get excited when seeing a handsome guy and felt like everyone was looking at him. Every time he went out and met a handsome man on the street, he would lower his head with a racing heart as they passed—wanting to be seen, yet afraid of being seen, walking past with conflict and excitement, then looking back with a sense of loss.

His social circle had no handsome guys; the closest he ever came to “handsome” was passing a stranger on the street. Now, he was sitting in the same car as one.

“Met?” Yan Songwei was surprised.

“Met at home,” Yan Baizong said as he started the car. Yan Songwei looked back at Qi Liangqin, who said: “We ran into each other last night… I was exercising then…” He explained with a flushed face: “Bouncing and patting and such…”

The last half of the sentence was quiet; the people in front likely didn’t hear clearly. Yan Songwei didn’t ask further, instead pointing at a building ahead to talk to Yan Baizong.

Qi Liangqin sat in the back, calming his emotions and breathing. He peeked at the rearview mirror to look at Yan Baizong’s face, purely out of curiosity to see what the man from the novel looked like. Last night’s brief glimpse only gave him a general idea. During his tossing and turning at night, the face had already blurred.

Yan Baizong didn’t have a meticulously combed “boss” hairstyle; he had shiny black short hair. His skin wasn’t dark but wasn’t very pale either—at least Yan Songwei beside him was several shades whiter. He had a handsome, rugged face, a full forehead, thick eyebrows, and deep, authoritative eyes. Like all handsome men, he had a straight, tall nose. His lips were the main part that gave him an ascetic aura, flickering in the changing light as the car moved, possessing a cold sexiness. He wore a casual suit with the top button of his shirt undone. His fingers were slender, resting on the steering wheel. In the novel, Qi Liangqin was a hand fetishist who loved Yan Baizong’s long, charming hands and had many erotic fantasies about them.

Just staring at those hands for a while made his heart warm. Qi Liangqin rolled down the window and looked outside. The wind surged in, blowing against his heated cheeks and messing up his hair. He thought a bit narcissistically: Does my appearance right now, with my hair blown by the wind, look good? Like a protagonist in a movie?

With such a face and such devotion, why doesn’t Yan Baizong like him?

It seemed love itself has no reason—why someone likes you, or why someone just doesn’t love you—it all seems destined. Like why a male lead in an idol drama doesn’t love a “rich, beautiful, and noble” girl but chooses an “ordinary Cinderella.” Perhaps Qi Liangqin’s flirtatious and shrewd personality made Yan Baizong dislike him, or perhaps it was just a simple truth: straight men are poisonous.

It suddenly began to rain outside, but not heavily—a pitter-patter against the window, suddenly sliding down and leaving water trails. Qi Liangqin closed the window as the car arrived at the hospital.

The Yan matriarch wasn’t even sixty yet. The reason she was called that in the novel was likely because the author needed to create the image of a domineering and autocratic feudal matriarch common in rich family dramas. She was very pale; despite being hospitalized, she wore heavy makeup. Her hair was in an unfashionable perm, looking somewhat old-fashioned.

This old lady treated him like air, only caring to talk to Yan Baizong who had just returned from abroad. Yan Songwei sat nearby playing with his phone. Qi Liangqin stood alone by the window, grinning like a fool. All three were strangers to him, and he feared nothing more than interacting with strangers. He didn’t even know where to put his hands; he had just tucked them into his pockets when he saw the matriarch look over. Scared, he pulled them out and let them hang at his sides obediently and foolishly.

“Is it time to eat?” Yan Songwei said. “It’s already eleven; I didn’t eat breakfast.”

“Didn’t eat breakfast again? I was counting on you to have someone look after you once you married, eating three meals a day on time,” the old lady said, then cast a displeased look at Qi Liangqin, clearly blaming him as the “wife” for not doing his duty. Qi Liangqin just smiled foolishly, but the old lady grew even angrier seeing that: “What did you bring him here for? To come to the hospital and irritate me?”

Yan Songwei gave a sheepish smile: “I’m busy; I brought him to serve you. He has nothing to do at home anyway.” He then looked at Qi Liangqin: “Liangqin, go buy food. We’ll eat lunch here. Remember that Ronghua Zhai I told you about? A century-old shop; you have to queue to eat, and they don’t deliver. Go queue up quickly; the rain has just stopped.”

“Oh.” Qi Liangqin hurried out, relieved. After a few steps, he realized he didn’t know where Ronghua Zhai was. He wanted to go back and ask Yan Songwei but restrained himself, pulling out his phone to search.

In the ward, the old lady drank a cup of water. After they had finished talking, the atmosphere became a bit awkward—the common awkwardness when a mother is alone with her adult children. She looked at the time: “Didn’t he go buy food? Why isn’t he back?”

“You have to queue there; maybe there are a lot of people,” Yan Songwei said, making a call: “I say, have you reached the front of the queue?”

On the phone, Qi Liangqin’s voice was urgent: “Uh… I haven’t found it. It seems to be inside a residential area. I’ve circled around a few times; wait while I ask someone.”

Qi Liangqin was a “road idiot” with social anxiety; he wouldn’t ask for directions unless absolutely forced.

Yan Baizong turned to Yan Songwei: “What’s wrong?”

Yan Songwei stood up in annoyance: “He’s fucking lost again.”

Yan Baizong seemed to want to smile, his lips twitching, but he instantly returned to a calm expression. He only said: “Some people just have no sense of direction; why did you send him?”

“I didn’t realize he was this stupid before,” Yan Songwei said. “Fine, I’ll go find him.”

“I’ll go. I bought a back cushion for Mom and forgot it in the car; I was just about to go get it.”

After waiting another half hour, the old lady’s expression was very ugly: “Look at what kind of person you’ve found—no education, no job, and can’t even do a small task. Besides being ‘slutty’ in bed, what else does he understand?”

Yan Songwei felt a bit sheepish hearing such direct words: “Isn’t looking good enough? Our family isn’t short on that bit of money. He used to deliver plates at a restaurant; should we have let him keep doing that?”

The old lady grew even angrier: “Look at the person you found.”

“I’ll go out and take a look; he should be back.” Yan Songwei fled, went outside for a smoke, and called Qi Liangqin.

“Entering the elevator, I’ll be there in a moment.”

Qi Liangqin tucked his phone into his pocket and smiled at Yan Baizong. He had met Yan Baizong at the hospital entrance.

The Yan matriarch lived on the 20th floor, in a luxury ward with a wide view and quiet surroundings. But the hospital was crowded, and the elevator was especially full on this trip. It stopped at nearly every floor, and more and more people entered. Qi Liangqin felt a bit hot; clutching his bags, he moved bit by bit toward the corner until he bumped into the person behind him and couldn’t move an inch further. His heel stepped on the other person’s foot.

“Sorry…” he hurriedly turned to apologize, only to find the person pressed against his back was none other than Yan Baizong. His apology died in his throat, and he felt inexplicably shy. Yan Baizong said in a low voice: “It’s fine.”

Such a deep voice. Because of the height difference, Yan Baizong’s mouth was right next to his ear. The hot breath surrounded his ear—moist, making the voice sound even more heart-stirring. The people in front moved again, and Qi Liangqin involuntarily leaned back, right into Yan Baizong’s embrace.

The skin on his back felt incredibly sensitive; even through clothes, he could feel the solid outline of the other’s chest. Yan Baizong’s breathing grew hotter. He thought his ears must be very red, and Yan Baizong might have noticed, but he couldn’t help it. He only heard his own heartbeat thumping against his eardrums. He felt embarrassed yet excited, with nowhere to run.

Just then, he keenly noticed that Yan Baizong seemed to intentionally control his breathing.

That hot and rhythmic breath suddenly slowed down. The exhaled breath was no longer forceful, as if it had suddenly dissipated. His bright red ears made the Yan Baizong who caught a glimpse of them realize something. Perhaps he realized the man in front of him was his brother’s lover—a “comrade”—so those bright red ears made him realize he should maintain a certain distance. Qi Liangqin lowered his head, revealing a snow-white neck that made his red ears stand out even more. The earlobes were so clean and soft, red with the scent of desire—looking like very sensitive earlobes. If taken into a mouth, the person in front would surely tremble uncontrollably.