The Transmigration Guide to Seducing Men - Chapter 6

Qi Liang took a deep breath, smiled at Yan Baizong, and before Yan Baizong could react, he had already reached out with a tissue to wipe him. “Look, you’re wet too. It’s… it’s all water.”

His hand touched Yan Baizong’s face; it was smooth to the touch. Yan Baizong seemed a bit startled and didn’t move for a moment. Then he reached out to take the tissue from Qi Liang’s hand. “I’ll do it myself.”

Qi Liang stammered, “N-no, let me help you.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

Qi Liang’s face turned crimson. Because he was in such a hurry, he wiped too hard. Yan Baizong frowned and grabbed his hand—his strength was so immense that the pain immediately made Qi Liang behave.

“I’ll do it myself,” Yan Baizong stated one last time, his tone clearly laced with anger.

“I… I didn’t want it to be like this either…” Qi Liang looked at Yan Baizong with a flushed face.

He actually wanted to say that he was being forced to flirt with the “gong,” and that he was personally a very reserved and conservative person! This… this was all to complete the mission; he had no choice but to act like a flirt…

But in Yan Baizong’s ears, it didn’t sound that way.

If you didn’t want it to be like this, why did you do it?

“Since you’ve already married Old Second, it’s better for you to keep some distance from me.”

In the language of a traditional Pan Jinlian story, this would be: “Sister-in-law, please show some self-respect.”

Qi Liang was mortified. He quickly sat back in his seat and panted for a while. Suddenly, he reached to open the car door, but Yan Baizong grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

He wanted to get out and run away—it was too embarrassing! He feared nothing more than awkwardness, especially when that awkwardness stemmed from his own perceived “shamelessness.”

But he… he couldn’t run. According to the plot, the two of them were to “drive all the way home in silence, with nothing left to say to each other.” He had to stay in Yan Baizong’s car until they reached home.

So he sat back down. Yan Baizong let go, but noticed that Qi Liang’s wrist had a large red patch from where he had squeezed it. Following the man’s gaze, Qi Liang quickly raised his arm and rubbed his wrist.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Just now…” Yan Baizong said, “I overreacted. I apologize. Don’t take it to heart. It’s mainly… I didn’t expect Old Second to like men or marry a man. Subconsciously, I might still be viewing you as a ‘brother’s wife,’ so it’s a bit awkward. I overthought it…”

“Mhm.” Qi Liang lowered his head, his ears turning bright red again. He thought: You didn’t overthink it at all! I’m exactly the shameless Pan Jinlian trying to seduce you!

How strange—even though Yan Baizong’s grip had really hurt, for a split second he thought: Ah, a real man. Ah, such great strength.

He was actually a “closet” masochist and didn’t even know it!

Sure enough, just as described in the novel, they were silent the rest of the way. Qi Liang looked out the window, but it was blurred by the rain. He had to look forward. The heat in his body refused to dissipate, and even his breathing was suppressed. He wondered why the road felt so long.

As they neared home, Yan Baizong suddenly asked, “How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

Yan Baizong nodded, parked the car in the garage, and said: “Truly young.”

Not only did he feel that way, but Qi Liang did too. Twenty years old—so young, full of youth, so vibrant that you could practically squeeze water out of him. When Qi Liang himself was twenty, he had just realized he liked men, living a perfectly ordinary college life and wasting his youth. He felt that the most precious thing in life wasn’t love or money, but youth. It was only after becoming an “old man” that he had this realization. It felt as if Heaven pitied his wasted youth and gave him a chance to start over.

After arriving home, he and Yan Baizong changed shoes at the entrance. When Yan Baizong lifted his foot, Qi Liang saw a section of his calf exposed above his black socks, covered in fine leg hair. He felt that everything about Yan Baizong was handsome; his feet and legs were also sexy. He didn’t have a foot fetish, but if he were asked to kneel on the ground and lick Yan Baizong’s feet, he felt he might be willing. He was ashamed of this sudden, dirty, and secret thought and hurriedly lowered his head to change shoes. He couldn’t tell if this desire belonged to him or the character Qi Liangqin, because in the novel, Qi Liangqin once had an erotic dream where he held Yan Baizong’s legs without any dignity, begging him to take him once.

Auntie Chun came out of the kitchen, and Yan Baizong greeted her. “Stewing soup?”

Auntie Chun smiled and said, “I’m stewing it for your mother to nourish her body. I’ll send it over to her later.”

“She already ate lunch—she bought some soup as well. She probably won’t be able to drink it.”

The Yan matriarch was very careful with her diet, always eating until only eighty percent full and never overeating. Thus, even in her old age, she maintained a very thin and fit figure.

Auntie Chun was stunned. “Why did she eat so early today?”

“Old Second and I went to see her. He hadn’t eaten breakfast, so we had lunch together. What soup is it?”

“Seafood and Mushroom Black Chicken Soup. It’s been stewing all morning.”

“Then serve me a bowl,” Yan Baizong said, turning to look at Qi Liang. “Do you want some?”

“Yes,” Qi Liang replied without thinking.

“Good, good.” Auntie Chun was very happy. The old lady wouldn’t drink leftover soup, and she couldn’t finish it all herself; it would be a shame to throw it away. “I’ll go serve you both right now.”

The soup had fish bones and honey dates, giving it a slightly sweet yet fishy smell. Qi Liang didn’t like it, but he drank the whole bowl anyway. Wiping his mouth, he said: “I can’t drink any more. I need to lose weight. I’m over 120 pounds (60kg).”

Auntie Chun laughed. “Mr. Qi, you don’t need to lose weight at all.”

Qi Liang realized he had forgotten his role again. He was now Qi Liangqin—178 cm (5’10”) tall and probably only 110 pounds (55kg). He wasn’t fat at all; he was very well-proportioned. He was no longer that short, heavy “old man.”

He couldn’t tell if he was happy or sad. He just said to Auntie Chun, “You don’t need to be so formal. Just call me Xiao Qi.”

After saying this, his face turned red. But he truly loved it when others called him “Xiao Qi.” Xiao Qi, Xiao Qi—it made him feel as if he had truly become younger. He once had a colleague who, after a meal one day, called out: “Old Qi, do you want to go to a movie?” He was so angry he didn’t give that person a pleasant look for a week. He hadn’t been in love yet; he couldn’t accept the fact that he was aging. He was tragic—unable to face reality, living only in novels every day, longing for a hero to save him and give him love. He had sworn countless times that if he met such a person, he would give them his whole heart, repaying them a thousand times over. The man who rescued him from a lonely life would be worth a lifetime of gratitude and worship.

Auntie Chun smiled upon hearing his words, looking very happy. “Alright then, I’ll call you Xiao Qi from now on. I felt calling you ‘Mr. Qi’ was a bit strange too, since we’re all family now.”

Auntie Chun was the Yan family’s housekeeper, but she had a very good relationship with them. Both Yan brothers called her Auntie Chun, and she called them by their names. But she was a smart person and didn’t truly consider herself the master of the house. Without the owner’s permission, she wouldn’t call them by nicknames. Even the title “Mr. Qi” was something she chose based on the attitudes of the matriarch and Yan Songwei.

Qi Liang smiled and stood up to take his bowl to the kitchen. Auntie Chun quickly came over to take it. “Just give it to me. Go back and rest.”

“Thank you.” He suspected Auntie Chun was a bit flattered. Although she had few appearances in the novel, Qi Liangqin’s attitude toward her was clear—he treated her like a servant. Sure enough, Auntie Chun froze for a moment and said, “If it’s to your taste, I’ll stew more for you later… Xiao Qi.”

She called his name, then covered her mouth with a smile and went to the kitchen, making Qi Liang a bit embarrassed. On the other side, Yan Baizong finished his soup and stood up.

“In that case, I’ll call you that as well.”

Qi Liang turned his head and saw Yan Baizong say to himself, as if in a trance: “Xiao Qi…”

For the first time, Qi Liang felt that the name “Xiao Qi” sounded so beautiful. In his nearly thirty years of life, countless people had called him that—family, friends, classmates, colleagues—but none could compare to Yan Baizong.

He and Qi Liangqin were so different—different names, appearances, bodies, personalities, and backgrounds. The only thing they shared was this surname. When others called him “Xiao Qi,” he felt like he was still himself, not Qi Liangqin; that they were calling him.

It was as if across two worlds, the man he loved most in the book had crossed over to call his name.