Why Does First Love Feel This Sweet? - Chapter 12

Chapter: 12 The Immortal South Mountain

The relatives and close friends, having toasted the Elder, swarmed the newly married couple. Eager to welcome the mysterious new family member, the aunts and uncles were incredibly enthusiastic, offering massive red envelopes before the formal wedding had even taken place. Sheng Yi was terrified; he politely declined time and again, fearful that he might eventually be jailed for “high-society marriage fraud.”

Halfway through the feast, Rong Junhui led the younger generation to toast the Elder. Tang Yun explained, “Sheng Yi hasn’t fully recovered yet; he can’t drink.”

Rong Junhui didn’t hesitate to sell out his son: “Let Xiao Yu drink for him.”

The General-grandfather was a man of great capacity and wanted to test his grandson. But just as he was about to pour a second glass for Rong Yu, the usually quiet Sheng Yi spoke up firmly. “Mom, Dad, I can drink.”

Deeply moved by how the Rong family had been shielding him, Sheng Yi poured himself a glass of red wine. He raised it with sincerity. “Grandpa, I toast to you. Happy birthday.” He drained the glass like a man.

Rong Yu’s eyes widened as he snatched the empty glass away. “Hang-hang…”

It was too late. The potent red wine hit Sheng Yi’s system instantly. His eyes grew hazy, and a soft pink bloom spread across his pale cheeks.

After the toasts, as the party continued, Sheng Yi remained standing by the Elder. The Elder looked at him with sharp grey eyes. “Do you have something more to say?”

“Grandpa, I’ll take him back first—” Rong Yu’s expression shifted. He immediately wrapped an arm around Sheng Yi’s waist to haul him away before things spiraled.

But Sheng Yi ducked his head and suddenly pushed him away. Everyone froze. Rong Yu closed his eyes, thinking: Here it comes. He reached out again, whispering, “Hang-hang.”

“Grandpa,” Sheng Yi looked up. Aside from his red ears, he seemed normal. He smiled at the Elder. “I came in such a rush that I didn’t prepare a gift. If you don’t mind, I’ll perform a little talent to add to the fun.”

Rong Yu: “…” Rong Qi, sensing chaos, stood up and cheered. “Good man! Let us see your talent!”

Rong Yu glared at Rong Qi while the “drunkard” beside him said solemnly, “Xiao Yu told me you love calligraphy and painting. I’ll perform a splash-ink painting for you.”

…

The guests were stunned. Everyone knew Elder Rong was an obsessive collector. His greatest joy was studying ink wash painting, and he frequently gifted his own amateur works to terrified relatives.

Sheng Yi had hit the bullseye of the Elder’s interests. “Good!” the Elder shouted, ordering supplies to be brought out immediately.

Rong Yu felt a headache coming on. He supported the swaying drunkard, trying to remember if Sheng Yi even knew how to do splash-ink painting. Sheng Yi leaned in, his breath warm and smelling of wine. “Wife, I’m going to make you look good tonight.”

Rong Yu’s gaze darkened as he held the boy steady. “Do you even know who I am?”

“My wife,” Sheng Yi said with conviction, leaning in for a loud, wet peck on Rong Yu’s neck. Rong Yu smiled and said no more.

…

As the painting table was set, the atmosphere shifted. Sheng Yi took off his coat, handing it to Rong Yu. His aura suddenly became quiet and focused as he surveyed the rice paper and ink.

Rong Yu unbuttoned Sheng Yi’s cuffs and rolled up his sleeves.

Sheng Yi diluted the ink, took a large brush, and began. To the untrained eye, his first few strokes looked like random, watery blobs. But the Elder knew better. Splash-ink (Po-mo) is the essence of freehand Chinese painting; it is about following the heart.

Sheng Yi boldly picked up the ink stone and poured the dark ink directly onto the paper. The crowd gasped. He tilted the paper, letting the ink flow into natural lines. Suddenly, the “random” blobs became mountain peaks. A landscape of mist and stone began to emerge.

“So cool!” Yang Yue whispered, filming with her phone. “Xiao Yi looks like a completely different person.”

Rong Yu watched intensely, his pupils dark. Sheng Yi, with his sleeves rolled up to reveal slender, pale wrists, moved with masterful precision. He added dots and lines—trees sprouted, birds took flight, and a mystical fog rose from the mountains.

The chaotic ink had been transformed into a majestic three-foot immortal realm.

The room fell silent, mesmerized by the creation. Even the Elder leaned in with a look of humble study. As Sheng Yi finished, he took a smaller brush and began the calligraphy. His handwriting was powerful and sharp, a stark contrast to his gentle personality.

He recited as he wrote: “Like the moon ever-constant, like the sun ever-rising. Like the longevity of the Southern Mountains, never falling, never crumbling…”

“I give this ‘Longevity of the Southern Mountains’ painting to Grandpa.”

The brush clicked softly as he set it down.

Silence reigned for a few heartbeats before a wave of astonishment broke out. The Elder approached the painting, his fingers trembling with excitement. “Marvelous! Truly marvelous!”

Behind the swarming crowd, Rong Yu stood quietly, holding Sheng Yi’s suit jacket. As if sensing his gaze, Sheng Yi looked up through the halo of light and winked at him.

…

That night, they stayed at the Rong main residence.

Sheng Yi’s artistic inspiration was still flowing. Just as Li Bai wrote poems while drunk, Sheng Yi painted. Rong Yu had to practically drag him away from a wall in the drawing room where Sheng Yi had insisted on “doing a mural.”

After finally getting the “Great Artist” into the shower and then into bed, Sheng Yi passed out the moment his head hit the pillow.

Because they were “newlyweds,” they had to share a room. Rong Yu showered and lay down beside him. Just as he closed his eyes, a leg draped over his thigh. He moved it away. Then an arm hit his stomach. He patiently moved that, too.

Just as sleep finally approached, a weight settled on him. Sheng Yi had rolled over, straddling Rong Yu like a body pillow.

Rong Yu opened his eyes in the dark, feeling the familiar weight. It felt like a return to countless nights from their past. He already knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, the hand on his stomach began to move. With practiced ease, the warm fingers slid under Rong Yu’s pajama top, climbing upward to feel his abdominal muscles. Like a child who needs a familiar texture to sleep, Sheng Yi finally stilled once he found his mark.

Rong Yu held that hand. He closed his eyes and smiled silently in the dark.