Mingzhe didn't stop at the threshold. He drifted into the room with a stride that was neither hurried nor hesitant, his gaze sweeping over the glowing holographic maps of the North District as if they were nothing more than a mild curiosity. The light from the flickering data projections caught the silk of the shirt Muchen had carefully laid out, casting a soft, ethereal glow against the sharp, clinical backdrop of the boardroom.
Muchen's hand, still hovering above the obsidian table, twitched. A sudden, irrational urge to block the view of every executive in the room flared in his chest—a possessive instinct to wrap Mingzhe in his own suit jacket and spirit him back to the penthouse.
As Mingzhe approached, the Vice President's presentation died into a stuttering silence. The directors, men who spent their lives calculating risk, sat frozen as the young man stepped into Muchen's personal space.
Without a word, he reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of Muchen's sleeve before settling on the silk of his tie. With a casual, almost absent-minded grace, he adjusted the knot, his knuckles grazing Muchen's collarbone.
The sound of thirty people simultaneously holding their breath echoed in the sterile air.
Muchen's fingers ghosted near Mingzhe's waist, settling into the heat radiating between them. He stood immovable, his frame shielding Mingzhe from the room's prying eyes, while his own gaze burned with a raw, flaming intensity.
Mingzhe finally glanced around the boardroom slowly, taking in the long table, the projections, the rows of executives trying very hard not to stare.
Then his gaze settled on Muchen. His small face bloomed like the brightest light Muchen had ever seen. "You said you had a meeting" His soft voice drifted to the ears of the people inside the room. "So, I came to see. Will you get angry?" Still smiling, he tug at the corner of Muchen's sleeve.
Muchen tried very hard to hid his heated eyes, staring intensely at the gorgeous man standing close to him. "I won't get angry" He said, a little bewitched. His fingers twitches.
Yan Zhou, watching from his seat, let his orange peel drop to the table. He leaned back, crossing his arms, his eyes dancing as he witnessed the scene. This is a very rare sight. If this was a game, they're at a stage where a SSR item dropped at the beginner's starting point.
"But, you shouldn't be here. I told you to wait for me upstairs" Muchen said, ignoring the peering eyes and Yan's increasingly teasing gaze.
This building is a joint place. Upstairs is a president suite. It was where they slept last night in exhaustion while a bit downstairs, is a full working office. No wonder Mingzhe can wander around and ended up in the office.
A few board members glanced nervously between the two men. The Vice President attempted to salvage some dignity.
"Professor Chen, should we—"
"Continue," Muchen said automatically.
But his eyes never left Mingzhe.
Mingzhe tilted his head slightly.
It was the same expression he had worn in the greenhouse while watching the Duchess stabilize. The same quiet curiosity. Except now the subject of observation was standing in a three-piece suit worth more than the greenhouse wing. "I didn't interrupt anything important, did I?" Mingzhe asked.
His voice doesn't carry any apology whatsoever. He looks like he is very much wanted to interrupt at the moment.
Muchen walked around the head of the table. The executives watched their president approach closer towards the young man who had apparently wandered into the most secure meeting room in the company like a curious tourist.
His sleeve was still in Mingzhe's slender fingers but the distance immediately narrowed down even more, almost glued to each other.
Mingzhe studied him. Not just his face. but also his posture. The way his shoulders squared slightly when he spoke to subordinates. The subtle shift in tone between professor and president.
Then he said thoughtfully. "You look different here." He spoke confidently, still looking at Muchen with the brightest gaze. Several executives froze.
Muchen blinked once.
"…Different?"
"Yeah." Mingzhe gestured toward the table.
"The atmosphere."
Muchen exhaled slowly, helpless. He couldn't do anything to the other man. He couldn't scold, he couldn't raise his voice.
"You walked into a board meeting to study my body language." Such a naughty statement, what should he do with this information?
Muchen almost flex his muscles on instinct but his rationality reminds him of where he is right now.
Mingzhe's eyes bend to a crescent moon. The people in there, all agreed on one thing. This face, this striking visual, they also isn't confident of their own self control. What else their boss that still have his virgin card flashing blue on top of his head.
Muchen sighed. "You should go back upstairs." But Mingzhe didn't move. "Why?"
"Because this meeting will take another hour."
"And?"
"And it will be extremely boring."
Mingzhe considered that. Then he pulled out the empty chair beside Yan and sat down.
"Well," he said calmly, folding his hands on the table,"then I'll observe quietly."
Yan grinned like a man who had just found treasure. "Oh this is going to be fun."
Across the table, Muchen closed his eyes for a moment. Then he turned back toward the executives. "Continue the report."
But several people noticed the faintest shift in his expression. All of them are old guys and most of them are married. What couldn't be understand from the doting tone? It explains quietly what position the young man hold in their president's heart.
...........
The heavy double doors of the boardroom remained sealed for exactly twenty minutes after the meeting's abrupt conclusion. When they finally hissed open, the exodus of executives was less a professional exit and more a frantic retreat.
But as the directors spilled into the sleek, marble-floored lobby of the executive wing, the urgency to leave was quickly replaced by a desperate, lingering curiosity.
Groups formed near the glass-walled elevators and the espresso bar, voices hushed but sharp. The air was thick with the kind of high society friction that occurs when a long standing mystery is solved in the most scandalous way possible.
"Did you see the way he looked?" a senior analyst whispered, clutching her tablet to her chest. She was one of several women in the firm who had spent years carefully curating their professional image in hopes of catching the Director's cold, discerning eye. Her expression was a complicated mask of professional shock and raw, unfiltered envy. "He didn't even look like he tried. White shirt, no tie... and the President acted like he was the only source of light in the room."
"It wasn't just the clothes," a marketing director replied, her voice tinged with a bitter sort of admiration. She adjusted her own designer blazer, which suddenly felt stiff and performative. "It was the touch. He adjusted President's tie like he was handling a commoner. I've seen the boss fire people for less than a misplaced folder, and yet he practically leaned into him."
The women's gazes kept drifting back to the frosted glass of the boardroom doors. There was a collective, stinging realization that the "ice" they had all tried to melt for years hadn't been ice at all, it was just waiting for the right frequency. The envy wasn't just about the wealth or the power. It was about the absolute, terrifying vulnerability Muchen had shown.
Further down the hall, the men were no less agitated, though their envy was wrapped in layers of concern.
"Who is he?" a junior partner asked, his eyes darting toward Yan Zhou, who was leaning against a pillar, casually tossing a segment of orange into his mouth. "He bypassed the Level 9 scanners. Even the Vice President doesn't have that clearance."
The old guys around shake their heads. Juniors are juniors after all. Their eyes are still clouded by ignorance.
Yan Zhou let out a short, sharp bark of laughter, drawing every eye in the lobby. He looked at the circle of stunned, envious faces—the women with their tight smiles and the men with their furrowed brows.
"Don't bother looking for his resume in the HR files," Yan said, his voice carrying with a playful, mocking edge. He pushed off the pillar, dusting a bit of citrus zest from his Hawaiian shirt. "And I'd suggest you all find a very good reason to be somewhere else for the next hour. The Director is currently busy, and I don't think he's in the mood for witnesses."
As Yan strolled toward the elevators, the lobby remained in a state of suspended animation. Necks were craned, and reflections in the polished marble were checked, but the focus always returned to those closed doors.
...........
The moment the heavy doors hissed shut, the soundproofing of the executive wing turned the boardroom into a vacuum. The frantic whispers and the stinging scent of citrus and envy were gone, replaced by the low, electric hum of the cooling fans in the projectors.
Muchen didn't move. He remained hunched over Mingzhe, his hands now firmly anchored on the edge of the obsidian table, trapping Mingzhe between his body and the billion dollar data. His breathing was heavy, the kind of ragged rhythm that followed a long, desperate race.
[HOST!] Yize's voice exploded in Mingzhe's mind, the fluff ball spinning so fast it looked like a gold coin. [System alert! The persona has reached a critical failure point! The world consciousness is trying to reboot, but his soul fragment is literally burning through it! Look at him!]
Mingzhe looked. Up close, the professor's composure was a wreck. Muchen's hair, usually slicked back with lethal precision, had a few strands falling over his forehead.
His eyes were dark, tracking the movement of Mingzhe's throat as he breathed.
"You did that on purpose," Muchen rasped. His voice was no longer the sharp blade, it was a rough, broken thing. "The tie. The talk about observation. You walked in here to show them exactly how little power I have over you." His eyes turned darker. Inside of his mind, he doesn't know how many times he had done censored punishment towards the person currently standing defenseless in front of him.
Mingzhe tilted his head back, his neck exposed to the cool air of the room. "I just wanted to see if you'd prioritize a coastline projection over me, Mr President" He teased, eyes focusing at the veins pulsing on the man's smooth forehead.
Muchen let out a sound that was half laugh, half groan. He finally let go of the table, his hand flying up to cup Mingzhe's jaw, his thumb pressing firmly against the corner of Mingzhe's mouth.
[DING!] Yize let out a very dramatic princess sob. [AFFINITY: 96%! Host, we are at the edge! The 'Sovereign's Choice' has been fully integrated!] Which means Muchen had acknowledge Mingzhe's presence over his obsession. It also noted as a mean that world consciousness can't force Mingzhe out due to the other's protection.
Muchen's other hand found the small of Mingzhe's back again, pulling him forward until there wasn't a breath of space left between the charcoal wool of his suit and Mingzhe's white shirt. The heat coming off Muchen was staggering, a physical manifestation of the years he'd spent in that "glass box" waiting for something real to happen.
Muchen's thumb didn't just press; it dragged across Mingzhe's lower lip, pulling the soft tissue down to reveal the flash of white teeth. The man-the raw, unfiltered soul fragment-simply tightened his grip until Mingzhe was forced to stand on his tiptoes to keep his balance.
[HOST! IT'S HAPPENING!] Yize's voice was a chaotic symphony of trumpets and glitchy static. [The 96% is flickering! It's trying to hit 100%!]
But then, it stopped flickering. The 96% suddenly stood steady on the bar it looks like the beeping hadn't happened at all. Yize blink once. Then twice. [Why isn't it continue?] He paced anxiously on the air.
Mingzhe raised a brow. "It's probably because we haven't go all the way yet. I read somewhere in a novel before that some things happened smoothly after the cherry was popped."
Yize staggered, his fluffy white body tumbling down, almost reaching the floor before he jumped back up. [This...! Does Host mean what this innocent system think?!] Yize now flush red. He can't help it okay, who told Mingzhe to say such shocking thing!
Mingzhe ignored the broken system. He reached up, his fingers lacing behind Muchen's neck, pulling that slicked-back hair loose until Muchen looked as wild as he felt. "Why aren't you kissing me yet?," Mingzhe asked, his misty eyes shimmering with adorable mischief.
Muchen didn't need a second invitation. He swept the remaining tablets and holographic projectors off the table with a violent, clattering crash. A billion dollars in hardware hit the floor, ignored. He hoisted Mingzhe up onto the obsidian surface, the cold stone a sharp contrast to the furnace of Muchen's body.
Outside, the lobby was a hive of frantic whispers, but inside, the world ended and began on that table. Muchen kissed him with a ferocity that tasted of fifteen years of loneliness finally being extinguished.
The obsidian table was ice against Mingzhe's thighs, but the heat radiating from Muchen's body made the chill irrelevant. The kiss was a collision, desperate, uncoordinated at first, then deepening into something predatory. Muchen's tongue swept into Mingzhe's mouth with a possessive rhythm, claiming every inch of space, while his hands scrambled for purchase, one tangling in Mingzhe's hair and the other gripping his waist so hard the white silk of the shirt groaned.
"I've spent every night for five years thinking about this," Muchen growled against his lips, his voice a low, jagged vibration. "Every time you sat in the front row of my lectures... every time you touched a leaf in that greenhouse... I was dying."
He didn't wait for a response. Muchen's hands dropped to the buttons of Mingzhe's shirt, his fingers trembling with a rare, human frailty that the boardroom had never seen. He ripped the middle button in his haste, the small pearl skittering across the obsidian. As the fabric parted, Muchen's palms found the smooth, feverish skin of Mingzhe's chest, his touch searing like a brand.
[H-Host!] Yize squeaked, his glow turning a vivid, frantic scarlet. [I-I'll put on a pixel walls!..I-I'll get out of my little black room after you and Master are done!] He then vanished from the air.
The small system orb pixelated himself into a blur, but Mingzhe was far beyond caring. He arched his back as Muchen's mouth left his lips to trail fire down the column of his throat. Muchen bit a sharp, stinging nip right at his Adam's apple, marking him with the primitive territoriality of a man who had finally found the treasure he was willing to kill for.
Mingzhe's breath hitched, his fingers digging into the expensive charcoal wool of Muchen's blazer. He pulled the jacket off Muchen's shoulders, wanting to feel the man. When Muchen finally shed the coat, he pressed himself back into Mingzhe, his unbuttoned waistcoat and damp shirt thin barriers against the friction they both craved.
Muchen's hands slid down, hooking under Mingzhe's knees and pulling them around his waist, dragging him to the very edge of the table. The position was raw, exposing, and utterly dominant. Muchen looked up, his eyes dark with a hunger that bordered on madness, his thumb tracing the swollen line of Mingzhe's bitten lip.
"I said you were the finish line," Muchen whispered, his forehead pressing against Mingzhe's as his hand moved toward the belt of Mingzhe's black trousers. "Tell me to take it. Tell me you're mine and not the world's."
Mingzhe wrapped his legs tighter around Muchen's hips, leaning forward to whisper into his ear, his voice a honeyed blade. "The world doesn't own me, Muchen. You do. Now stop talking and prove it."
With a low, guttural snarl, Muchen captured his mouth again, his hand working the buckle with a lethal focus.
But then, his movement also paused. His breathing still heavy, hard on the side of Mingzhe's sensitive ear. "Muchen?" His soft, needy voice drifted slowly. His half lidded eyes open slowly as he stare, urgency was evident in them.
Muchen chuckled. "You're gonna be the death of me" He whispered but nonetheless, his palm patted the bulge inside the pants.
" Baby, I'm sorry but this is not a suitable place and time for this" He said, pecking Mingzhe's lips to appease the man. He's also suffering but this really is not suitable.
He wanted to cherish Mingzhe. He wanted to give him the best first experience. He can't, due to lust and needs, ruining the special moment of them like this. Moreover, they're still in the boardroom. There are CCTVs here. It's not convenient and safe.
Mingzhe blink. Then, after a second of processing, he laughed out loud. His shoulders shake as he laugh non stop.
Muchen is still the man he had yearned for. Still has that very gentle side he had fallen for in the past. No matter if the shell has changed, the soul still the same.
Muchen didn't pull away immediately. He buried his face in the crook of Mingzhe's neck, inhaling the scent of his smooth skin, his body still trembling with the effort of holding back. The friction of Mingzhe's laughter against his chest was both a torture and a cure.
"It's not funny," Muchen groaned, though the corners of his mouth were twitching. He adjusted Mingzhe's rumpled shirt, his large hands careful as he tried to bridge the gap of the ruined button. "I have security teams who monitor the corridors. If I don't walk out of here looking like a functioning human being, Yan is going to have a field day with the rumors."
Mingzhe's laughter finally tapered off into soft, breathless huffs. He reached out, framing Muchen's face with his hands, his thumbs stroking over the high cheekbones of the man who was currently acting like a protective guardian.
"You're the one with the highest authority in here," Mingzhe teased, his eyes bright with a warmth that had nothing to do with lust. "And yet, you're worried about prying eyes."
Muchen's gaze softened, the lust in his eyes finally dissipating into a deep, quiet adoration. He leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Mingzhe's forehead. "I'm worried about you. This place is cold, glass, and full of prying eyes. You deserve better than an obsidian desk and a locked door for your first time."
[DING!]
Yize's voice popped back into Mingzhe's head, sounding much more stable now that the thermal levels had dropped. [Host! The bar! Look at the bar!]
Mingzhe looked. The percentage hadn't moved forward, but it had turned a deep, solid gold. It wasn't about the cherry being popped, it was about the choice. Muchen had chosen Mingzhe's comfort and dignity over his own explosive, soul-deep hunger.
[Master is such an admirable existence. How could he resist such a Host?!] Yize chirped. [Master doesn't want to conquer you, Host. He wants to cherish you.]
Muchen sighed, helping Mingzhe slide off the table. He kept his hands on Mingzhe's waist until the younger man's feet were steady on the marble. He then turned, picking up his charcoal blazer from the floor and draping it over Mingzhe's shoulders, effectively hiding the torn button and the disheveled state of his clothes.
"We're going home," Muchen said, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. He reached out, interlacing their fingers, his grip tight and possessive. "Not the university apartment. Not the guest suite. My home. The one I haven't let anyone into since I built it."
Mingzhe squeezed his hand back, a small smirk playing on his lips. "And the board? The North District project?"
Muchen didn't even glance at the flickering holographic maps or the scattered tablets on the floor. He led Mingzhe toward the double doors, his stride regaining the lethal confidence of a man who had already won the only war that mattered.
"Let them wait," Muchen said as the doors hissed open.
As they stepped out into the lobby, the curious gazes and the lingering envy of the staff hit them like a wave. But Muchen didn't let go. He walked through the den of sharks with Mingzhe at his side.
..............
The lobby, usually a place of sterile efficiency, felt as though the oxygen had been sucked out of it. The silence was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic click of Muchen's handmade leather shoes and the softer friction of Mingzhe's steps.
Secretary Lin stood by the main terminal, her tablet mid-air, her professional mask finally failing her. Her eyes dropped to their interlaced fingers, then to the charcoal blazer draped over Mingzhe's shoulders.
Muchen didn't slow down. He didn't offer a nod or a polite "good evening" to the senior partners who were practically vibrating with questions. He simply tightened his grip on Mingzhe's hand, pulling him closer until their shoulders brushed.
"Secretary Lin," Muchen said, his voice echoing with a terrifying, calm authority as they reached the private elevator bank.
"Yes, Sir?" she stammered, stepping forward.
"Clear my schedule for the next 48 hours." He pressed the biometric scanner, and the elevator doors hissed open instantly. "And tell the Board that the North District acquisition is on hold. I've found a more pressing investment."
He stepped into the lift, drawing Mingzhe in with him. As the doors began to close, Mingzhe caught one last glimpse of the lobby; a sea of stunned faces, frozen in a tableau of shock and envy.
The moment the doors sealed, the quiet hum of the high speed lift took over.
Muchen turned in the small space, his back against the mahogany paneled wall. He looked at Mingzhe, his expression stripped of the earlier coldness. The morning light had been sharp, but the elevator's dim, warm lighting made him look softer, more grounded.
"You're very quiet," Muchen murmured, his free hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Mingzhe's ear. "Are you regretting letting me drag you out in front of everyone?"
Mingzhe stepped into the man's space, the oversized blazer sliding slightly off one shoulder. He looked up, his beautiful eyes dancing with a playful light. "I was just thinking that you're very good at playing the overprotective boyfriend."
Muchen let out a short, breathy laugh, his forehead dropping to rest against Mingzhe's. "I'm not playing, Mingzhe. That's the problem. I've spent years building walls, and you just... walked through the front gate."
The elevator chimed, but they weren't at the office level or the penthouse. The doors opened to a private, underground garage where a sleek, black vehicle sat idling. No driver, no security detail, just a silent beast waiting for its master.
"This is the real ride,'" Muchen whispered, guiding Mingzhe toward the car. "Just us."
As Muchen pulled out of the garage and into the rain washed streets of the city, he didn't head toward the upscale districts or the university. He drove toward the outskirts, toward a hidden estate nestled in the hills, where the glass and steel of the city were replaced by the ancient, steady presence of a real forest.
[DING!]
[Location Detected: The Hidden Garden.]
Muchen's hand never left Mingzhe's throughout the drive, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles on the back of Mingzhe's palm.
"We're here," Muchen said as they pulled up to a house made of dark wood and warm stone, surrounded by trees that hadn't been touched by a lab tech in decades. He turned off the engine and looked at Mingzhe, his eyes dark and steady.
"Welcome to the only place where I'm just Muchen."
The car fell into a deep, heavy silence as the engine's purr died away, replaced by the soft pitter-patter of a light drizzle against the roof. Outside the windows, the garden wasn't the manicured, pressurized laboratory Mingzhe had expected. It was wild, overgrown, and smelling of damp earth and pine.
Muchen didn't move to open the door immediately. He stayed in the driver's seat, his hand still anchored to Mingzhe's, staring at the dark wood of the front porch.
"My parents never came here," Muchen said, his voice barely a whisper. "To them, if a plant wasn't under a sensor, it was a waste of space. I bought this land five years ago. I told the board it was for 'biodiversity testing,' but I never installed a single camera."
He turned his head to look at Mingzhe. His handsome and rigid face replaced by a vulnerability that made Mingzhe's heart ache. "I used to come here when the city felt too loud. I'd sit on that porch and wait for... something. I didn't know what."
Mingzhe squeezed Muchen's hand, leaning over the center console until their shoulders touched. "Have you ever thought why you're always so obsessed with reviving the land? You're just a normal person, you can't do lots of impossible things alone" Yet, after all these years, he did it.
Muchen is simply rushing. The greenhouse, the lab and the estates. After he grows up, he found pretty solid excuse for his obsession. Filial piety. Yeah, that was one of the reason. He saw his parent's efforts and their struggles. Their expectations for him. So, in his head he had to be filial to his parents. At least, letting them rest in peace now after they've gone without realizing their dreams.
Muchen let out a shaky breath, a small, genuine smile breaking across his face, the first one that didn't have a trace of bitterness. He climbed out of the car and walked around to Mingzhe's side, opening the door and offering his hand.
As they stepped onto the porch, the air felt different. Muchen unlocked the heavy oak door and led Mingzhe inside. The interior was warm, filled with the scent of cedar and old books. There were no holographic displays, no buzzing servers, and no cold marble. Just a fireplace, a deep leather sofa, and a kitchen that looked like it had actually seen a home cooked meal.
Muchen closed the door behind them, the click of the lock sounding final. He didn't turn on the overhead lights; the dim afternoon sun filtering through the forest canopy was enough. He turned to Mingzhe, reaching out to slide the charcoal blazer off Mingzhe's shoulders.
"You look better without the CEO's clothes," Muchen murmured, his hands lingering on Mingzhe's arms.
He pulled Mingzhe close, his touch possessive but laced with a profound reverence. This wasn't the frantic, pressured hunger of the boardroom. This was the steady, burning heat of a man who had finally come home.
"Mingzhe," Muchen whispered, his nose brushing against Mingzhe's. This action started to feel natural now. "Are you hungry? It's lunchtime now" He murmurs softly.
Too many things happening it's making them hungry. Foods are always medicines for tired souls. Mingzhe kiss Muchen's nose, his warm breath invading Muchen's senses. "I'm hungry" He confessed cutely, his cheeks blushing.
Muchen let out a low, soft chuckle, the sound vibrating against Mingzhe's chest. He didn't step back; instead, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind Mingzhe's ear, his gaze lingering on the flush across the younger man's cheeks.
"Real food it is, then," Muchen murmured.
He led Mingzhe into the kitchen. It was a space that felt lived in—copper pots hanging from hooks and a heavy butcher block island in the center. Muchen shed his waistcoat, tossing it over the back of a chair, and rolled up his sleeves with a practiced ease.
"I have some fresh pasta, garlic, and greens from the back garden," Muchen said, opening the vintage style refrigerator. He pulled out a bundle of vibrant herbs and a bowl of tomatoes that looked imperfect and beautiful, unlike the lab-grown samples in the city. "Help me with the herbs?"
Mingzhe moved to his side, picking up a bunch of basil. The scent was sharp and sweet. It reminds Mingzhe of the talent cards that Yize had unlocked for him before. He now can be regarded as a chef too, in human words. As he started to tear the leaves, Muchen moved behind him to reach for a pot. For a second, Muchen paused, his chest pressing against Mingzhe's back, his chin resting lightly on Mingzhe's shoulder.
"You look like you belong here," Muchen whispered, his breath warm against Mingzhe's skin.
[HOST!] Yize buzzed softly, his golden light dimming into a cozy, sunset orange. [Hehe, do you want to use the card? It's such a waste not to right now hehe~] The glee in his tone went up through the roof.
Mingzhe ignored the stupid system. After Yize changed his profession from a café helper to a system, his brain had short circuited for an indefinite amount of time.
Yize froze mid jump in the air. [I think someone is badmouthing me...Who is it? Is it my sister?] He murmurs doubtfully. [Well, she can't say I'm bit- ahem, single anymore right? Hmph, I've put a clone in that house so technically she ain't talking about the real me being single!] His voice was sulky.
Mingzhe smiles, his ears listening to the system's little babbles. He focuses back on the man still stuck to his back. Mingzhe leaned back into Muchen's embrace, the knife in his hand forgotten for a second. "Maybe I do" He whispered, pecking the other's temple.
Muchen hummed, a deep, satisfied sound, before stepping away to set the water to boil. They worked in a comfortable, rhythmic silence. Muchen chopped garlic with a precision that hinted at his laboratory background, but his movements were fluid, lacking the usual tension.
At one point, Mingzhe reached for the olive oil at the same time Muchen did. Their hands collided, fingers tangling over the glass bottle. Muchen didn't pull away. He turned his hand over, catching Mingzhe's palm and bringing it to his lips for a quick, searing kiss.
"I think," Muchen said, his eyes dark with that newfound softness, "I've spent so much time trying to fix the 'earth' out there that I forgot how it feels to just stand on it with someone. Thank you for walking through that door, Mingzhe."
Mingzhe's first appearance was with the students but the next day, he walk through that greenhouse door, saying nonsensical things that the botany professor can't refuted no matter what.
Mingzhe smiled, his heart performing a slow, steady roll in his chest. "I didn't just walk through it. I'm staying." He said, determination in his tone.
Muchen giggled. Yeah, he is staying indeed. How many students are there staying inside of their professor's life everyday after graduation like a little chewing gum? Only Mingzhe does it. And with enough shamelessness too.
The pasta was tossed with the blistered tomatoes and a generous amount of that fresh basil, the steam carrying a fragrance that felt more like a home than anything in the city ever could. Muchen didn't suggest the formal dining room. Instead, he led Mingzhe to a small, sun drenched breakfast nook that looked out over the wild, unkempt treeline.
Muchen sat there in his white dress shirt, top buttons undone and sleeves pushed past his elbows, looking at the simple plate of food.
"It's simple," Muchen said, almost apologetically, as he handed Mingzhe a fork. "I haven't cooked for anyone else in... well, ever."
Mingzhe took a bite, the flavors exploding with a rustic, honest heat. "It's perfect, Muchen. Thank you for the food" He smiles like a rose blooming.
They ate in a comfortable, domestic hum, the only sound being the distant chime of the wind through the forest and the soft clink of silverware. Muchen kept reaching out between bites, his fingers grazing the back of Mingzhe's hand or adjusting the bangs that kept slipping off the latter's forehead. He seemed to be constantly checking that Mingzhe was still physical, still there, and not a figment of his overworked imagination.
[HOST!] Yize's voice was a low, satisfied purr. [The soul fragment is so stable right now it's practically humming. Look at Master. He isn't even checking his phone. The Vice President could be starting a coup right now and Master would just ask if you wanted more parmesan.]
Yize eyed the mouth watering foods, remembering when the last time he ate such meals and started to sob. [Can I eat a little? It's been so longgg~] He feels his saliva will dripped to the ground. Back then he used to do all sort of cooking. After all, the owner of the café can only do minimal pastries.
Mingzhe didn't answer. He can't show the presence of Yize to anyone else. It'll be a disaster.
Mingzhe smiled, leaning his chin on his hand as he watched Muchen. "You're staring again," he teased.
"I have a lot of lost time to make up for," Muchen replied, his voice dropping into that dark, velvety register. He set his fork down, his gaze intensifying. "I spent years looking at monitors, looking at cells under a microscope, looking at data points. I didn't realize I was starving until you walked into my greenhouse and started talking back."
He reached across the small table, his hand cupping Mingzhe's cheek, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw with a reverence that made Mingzhe's breath hitch.
"I don't want to go back to the city tomorrow," Muchen admitted, his eyes searching Mingzhe's. "I want to stay here. I want to see what happens to the Duchess when I'm not there to watch her pulse. I want to see what happens to me when I'm only watching you."
Mingzhe leaned into the touch, feeling the soul fragment's heat radiating through Muchen's palm. "The world won't stop spinning if you takes a leave of absence, honey. The plants have been growing just fine without us for millions of years. They'll be fine." He said, his words vibrating softly.
After the meal, the domestic gravity of the house seemed to pull them closer. Muchen refused to let Mingzhe touch the dishes, shooing him toward the living area with a soft, lingering squeeze of his waist. By the time the kitchen was tidy, the rain outside had shifted from a drizzle to a steady, rhythmic downpour, sealing the house off from the rest of the world.
Mingzhe was curled up on the oversized leather sofa, wrapped in a thick wool throw. He looked up, his eyes heavy with the kind of lazy contentment that only comes after a long day of emotional upheaval and a warm meal.
Muchen walked over, but instead of sitting on the sofa, he sat on the floor right at Mingzhe's feet. He reached out, his hand instinctively finding Mingzhe's ankle beneath the blanket, his thumb tracing the bone with a slow, rhythmic pressure.
Mingzhe shifted, sliding down until he was sitting on the edge of the cushions, his knees framing Muchen's shoulders. He ran his fingers through Muchen's hair, which was finally free of the stiff, corporate styling gel.
"Wanna shower?" Muchen blurted out. He asked because he started to feel like his shirt smelled of oil and fire. It's not that unpleasant but still a bit uncomfortable.
Mingzhe also considered the option. They can probably take a nap after the shower so he nods his small head, agreeing to the questions. Muchen then led Mingzhe to the master bathroom. He reached into the shower, turning the heavy brass handles until steam began to billow out, curling around the edges of the glass.
"I don't have clothes that will fit you here," Muchen murmured, leaning against the vanity and watching Mingzhe with a heavy, unblinking gaze. "Just my old university sweaters. They're a bit... large."
[HOST!] Yize squeaked, covering his eyes with tiny paws. [Is this the starts of the famous boyfriend shirt? I mean, if some things happened later, it'll be 100% reason for it.] Yize started talking nonsense.
Mingzhe stepped out of his outer wear and began unbuttoning his shirt, the steam making his skin glow. "Your sweaters will be fine, Muchen. Unless you're planning on me wearing nothing at all?"
Muchen's throat jumped as he swallowed. He didn't answer, but the way his pupils dilated told Mingzhe everything he needed to know. Muchen stepped forward, his hands finding the skin of Mingzhe's shoulders, guiding him toward the water.
"I'll bring them to you," Muchen rasped.
The shower was a blur of cedar scented soap and scalding water. When Mingzhe finally emerged, draped in a towel, he found Muchen waiting in the bedroom. The man was dressed in simple grey sweatpants, his hair damp and messy. On the bed lay a thick, charcoal knit sweater that looked incredibly soft.
Mingzhe pulled it on. It swallowed him, the hem reaching mid-thigh and the sleeves hanging past his fingertips. It smelled like the cedar chest it had been stored in—and faintly, beneath that, like Muchen.
When Mingzhe walked out into the main room, Muchen was sitting on the floor by the fireplace, the logs crackling and spitting orange sparks. He looked up, and for a second, the breath left his body.
"You look..." Muchen started, then stopped, shaking his head. "Come here."
Mingzhe sank onto the rug behind him, and Muchen immediately pulled him between his legs, leaning his back against the sofa. He reached for a comb and a dry towel, beginning to methodically dry Mingzhe's hair.
"Muchen," Mingzhe whispered, leaning his head back against Muchen's shoulder. "What are you thinking about?"
Muchen paused, his fingers tangling in the damp strands of Mingzhe's hair. He looked out at the forest through the window, then down at the man in his lap.
"I was thinking that for years, I thought the most beautiful thing I could create was a plant that didn't die," Muchen murmured, his voice thick with a sudden, raw emotion. "I was wrong. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen is you in my sweater, sitting in my house, making me forget that the rest of the world exists."
He dropped the towel, his arms wrapping around Mingzhe's waist, pulling him back against his chest until they were a single tangle of grey wool and heartbeat.
"Stay like this," Muchen commanded softly, his face buried in Mingzhe's neck.
Mingzhe closed his eyes, his heart full. "I'm not going anywhere, unless you're with me." He whispered, caressing Muchen's hair softly.
..........
Muchen woke up at 7:30 AM and realized two things:
• His arm was completely asleep because a certain someone was using it as a pillow.
• He didn't care. At all.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling of his hidden estate, feeling a strange, bubbly sensation in his chest. It took him a full minute to realize it was happiness. He looked down at Mingzhe, who was snoring very quietly and clutching a corner of the duvet.
He eventually slipped out to the gym, but instead of his usual workout, he found himself humming a song he'd heard on the radio. He ran five miles, showered, and felt like he could bench press the entire company building.
Muchen leaned against the doorframe, his chest still heaving slightly from his workout, watching the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Mingzhe's shoulders under the duvet. Usually, Muchen's mind was a chaotic grid of spreadsheets and cellular structures, but today, he was daydreaming.
For the first time in his life, he wasn't looking at a plan for the greenhouse and the beginning of the Northern Region that has now stabilized. He was looking at their fifty years of growing old together.
He imagined a day or maybe a year from now, where he finally free. He saw them in a garden that wasn't a lab, with Mingzhe wearing a ring that Muchen had probably designed himself to be indestructible, just like his possessiveness. He could almost hear the sound of the world's most expensive champagne popping while Secretary Lin cried in the background, half in joy and half because her boss was officially retiring to become a "professional husband."
He imagined dragging Mingzhe to the Amazon just to see Mingzhe complain about the mosquitoes while Muchen fanned him with a giant leaf. He saw them in the Alps, Mingzhe looking like a fluffy marshmallow in a winter coat, laughing as Muchen wiped snow off his nose.
Then, the images slowed down, turning warmer and more golden.
He saw them right here, in this house, but the wood was a little more weathered and their steps a little slower. He imagined Mingzhe still with silver at his temples, still stubborn, still correcting Muchen's scientific way of making tea. He saw himself, an old man who had long since forgotten the taste of corporate power, standing on this very porch and realizing that he hadn't looked at a monitor in decades because his treasure was sitting in a rocking chair next to him.
He imagined their hands, wrinkled and spotted with age, but still laced together so tightly that not even the dusts could find a gap to pry them apart.
He walked over to the bed, affections visible in his eyes. Such softness that only belong to Mingzhe. He pecks and kisses the other's lips and cheeks, nibbling a bit on his throat so the young man who's currently on the dreamland will come back sooner. His tricks worked, as the warm hands instinctively wrapped around his neck and a blind kiss landed on his nose.
Muchen let out a soft, gentle laugh against the crook of Mingzhe's neck, the vibration echoing the sheer contentment thrumming through his chest. He didn't pull away, instead, he let his weight settle slightly, anchoring Mingzhe to the mattress as if he were pinning down his own personal North Star.
"Mmm... Muchen?" Mingzhe's voice was a sleepy, honeyed rasp, his eyes still stubbornly glued shut as he nuzzled into Muchen's damp, sandalwood-scented hair. "Why are you... so energetic so early?" He questioned drowsily.
Muchen shifted, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at the man that has occupied his thoughts and life ever since he barged in to the greenhouse 3 years ago. The sunlight caught the golden flecks in Mingzhe's iris as his lashes finally fluttered open, revealing a gaze that was still soft with the haze of dreams.
"Good morning, my love," Muchen whispered, his thumb tracing the line of Mingzhe's jaw with a reverence that felt like a silent vow. "I was just standing there, thinking about how I'm going to spend the next few decades annoying you. I decided I wanted to start immediately."
Mingzhe blinked, a slow, playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Decades? That's a long-term contract, Professor. Did you bring the paperwork?"
"I've already filed it in my head," Muchen replied, his expression turning uncharacteristically tender.
He leaned down, capturing Mingzhe's lips in a kiss that wasn't about hunger or possession, but about the quiet, terrifyingly beautiful promise of forever. "I want the white hair, Mingzhe. I want the stubborn tea-making lessons on the porch. I want the version of us that has long since forgotten what a stock market is."
Mingzhe reached up, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of Muchen's neck, pulling him down until there wasn't a breath of space left between them. The weight of Muchen's imagined future felt real.
"Well," Mingzhe murmured against Muchen's lips, "if you're planning on being an old man on a porch with me, you'd better start practicing your patience now. Because I'm not getting out of this bed for at least another hour."
Muchen's eyes darkened with a familiar, burning affection as he pulled the duvet over both their heads, sealing them into a warm, private world. "I think," Muchen growled softly, "I can manage that kind of schedule."
........
Two years later, the North was no longer a term used for a global warming and desertification; it had become the lungs of the continent.
Where there had once been cracked earth and the grey, choking dust of encroaching desertification, there was now a sea of emerald. Muchen's "Duchess" orchid hadn't just been a trophy; it had been the genetic blueprint for a new generation of flora that thrived in the harshest conditions.
But the real miracle wasn't the biology. It was the man behind it.
Muchen stood on a glass observation deck overlooking a valley that, 24 months ago, was a graveyard of dead shrubs. Now, it was a lush basin of swaying silver grass and blossoming shrubs. He looked younger, the sharp, jagged edges of his cold self having smoothed out into something more like a deep, ancient forest: powerful, but nurturing.
"You're overworking again," a familiar voice teased.
Muchen didn't have to turn around to know Mingzhe was there. He recognized the soft footsteps. He can even count how many steps he'll take to reach his side.
Mingzhe stepped up beside him, draped in a light linen coat. He looked out at the green expanse and felt a twinge of that old, protective anger toward the world consciousness. It had tried to grind Muchen down into a sacrificial lamb for the planet, milking his genius until there was nothing left but a cold, empty shell.
3 weeks became years but he couldn't bring himself to extract the soul fragment. His tasks were all completed. As Muchen learned to let go of his obsession, now it was Mingzhe's turn to fall in love with this world.
"The sensors are all green, darling," Mingzhe said, stepping into Muchen's space and tucking his hand into the crook of the taller man's arm. "The ecosystem is self sustaining now. Can the world give me my husband back for a vacation now?"
Muchen turned, his gaze softening into that exclusive Mingzhe-only warmth. He reached out, his thumb grazing Mingzhe's cheek. Even if his memories of his past were locked away, his soul recognized this rhythm, the cycle of saving a world only to find his reward in the arms of the same person, over and over.
"The world didn't save itself," Muchen murmured, pulling Mingzhe flush against him. "You were the one who kept the gardener from wilting."
[HOST!] Yize's voice was now a mellow, satisfied chime. [The North District's vitality index is at 100%. Also, I've pre-booked the tickets to that private island. No labs allowed!]
Mingzhe smiled, leaning his head against Muchen's shoulder. He watched the wind ripple through the trees Muchen had planted. He knew that in every world, this soul would try to carry the weight of the heavens. And in every world, Mingzhe would be there to make sure he didn't have to do it alone.
"No more labs for six months," Mingzhe commanded, looking up with a playful but firm glint in his eyes. "That's the shareholder's directive. And since I own your heart, you have to obey."
Muchen let out a low, breathy laugh, the sound of a man who was finally, truly free. He leaned down, capturing Mingzhe's lips in a kiss that tasted of pine.
"I wouldn't dream of disobeying the Boss," Muchen whispered.
As the sun set over the reborn North, the two of them stood at the edge of the world they had saved, ready to finally start living in it.
The end came not with a bang, but with the quiet rustle of autumn leaves in the Hidden Garden.
Muchen was 94, his once black hair a shock of elegant white, his hands still smelling of the earth he had spent a lifetime healing. He sat in his favorite rocking chair on the porch, his fingers interlaced with Mingzhe's. They didn't need words. After seventy years, their silence was a perfectly composed symphony.
"I think... I've finished the garden," Muchen whispered, his voice a soft rasp. He looked at Mingzhe, his eyes still holding that same predatory devotion, now softened by a century of shared sunsets. "It's perfect because you're in it."
Mingzhe squeezed his hand, feeling the pulse beneath the thin skin slow down. "Then let's take a nap, Muchen. You've worked long enough."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the two of them closed their eyes together.
They didn't wake up.
The world mourned. Flags flew at half mast from the high rises of the city to the lush forests of the North. The healer and his partner were gone, leaving behind a planet that breathed because of them. Statues were erected, but none could capture the way Muchen had looked at Mingzhe when the cameras were off.
Yan were a wrecked of a mess. His grandchildren were trying to take the bottle of alcohol from his fingers but the drunken fool at this time had a strength as big as an ox. "Well, you bastard," he hiccupped, back on the tomb ground. His eyes watching the stars in the sky, as if the same friend is waving a goodbye.
"You both are bastards. Why are you leaving me alone with these ungrateful fools? Hic..you know hic...You forgot to give me that 70 years wine" He babbles whatever comes to mind. His hair is also white now.
Over the years, they have been standing side by side. He watched Mingzhe and Muchen, and so does them. If Yan stumbles, they will hold his hands. If they tripped, he'll guide them. Yan's wife was also a person that Muchen have been trusted for years.
Secretary Lin that is currently standing on the side shook her head, "I just know Mingzhe is shaking his head right now at your disgrace self," she snorted. Her daughters caressed her back. Even with a sharp mouth, her red eyes also speak a thousand words.
Yan ignored the nagging matriarch. Hmph, don't think he doesn't know Secretary Lin still love him despite his drunk state.
" Hey bro, I think my time won't be that long here too. Perhaps we'll meet again when you was arguing with Mdm Meng to not drinking the soup" He giggles like a silly old man. He raised the bottle to the sky, then started chugging like crazy.
" My kids will continue our legacies. They won't let it wither" He promised. He has promised a lot to Muchen. And he has never broke any of them.
Secretary Lin, standing closer also look up at the glittering sky.
Rest in peace, boss. Me and Yan will take it from here, don't worry. We'll come back again tomorrow.
.......
The transition was a burst of blinding white light. Mingzhe opened his eyes to find himself standing in the familiar, ethereal void of the System Space.
[HOST! YOU'RE BACK!] Yize tumbled through the air, his fat fluffy body glowing with a frantic, joyous light. [Look! Look at the fragment!]
In the center of the space, a sphere of light floated. It didn't look like a mere piece of a soul, it looked like a celestial star forged from liquid gold and diamond dust. It pulsed with a rhythmic, heavenly hum, smelling of frozen ozone and ancient forests. This was the essence of a God, the fragment of the one who once commanded the heavens and the universes alongside Mingzhe.
As Mingzhe approached, the fragment didn't just sit there. It began to spin rapidly, emitting a soft, musical chime that sounded suspiciously like a guilty pout. It drifted toward Mingzhe, bumping gently against his chest, rubbing against his spirit like a cat seeking warmth. It felt coquettish, vibrating with a sheepish energy as if to say, "I know I forgot you, I know I let the world use me, and I know I'm wrong... please don't be mad."
Mingzhe felt a pang of warmth, his fingers brushing the glowing light. "I'm not mad, you stubborn old fool," he whispered.
The fragment flared brightly, a wave of pure, divine affection washing over Mingzhe, before it settled into the soul-receptacle, its light turning a soft, apologetic rose-gold.
The peace was shattered by a sudden, jagged tear in the space. The world consciousness appeared, no longer a majestic force, but a flickering, snarling entity of red static.
"ANOMALY," it hissed, its voice like grinding metal. "You stole the core! You disrupted the script of suffering! Do not think you have won, interloper."
Mingzhe stood his ground, his eyes cold. "He wasn't your tool to break. He belongs to himself."
"He is a God, and so are you," it spat. "I have signaled. Every spirits of the world now knows your signature. You are no longer a ghost, you are a target. The next world will not be so kind. They will build cages you cannot see and traps you cannot break."
With a final, resentful screech, the entity vanished.
Did you hear that? This damn thing is so full of itself. If not for Muchen's love for the world and not to waste his years of efforts under the force of the world consciousness, Mingzhe had already extracted his soul fragment early and left. Yet, he didn't despite knowing the things it did.
Mingzhe gritted his teeth, his eyes shone with a fierce light. "There are more of them torturing my husband?," his voice not a question though.
[Host...] Yize hovered closer, his ears drooping. [It's true. The difficulty just spiked. The other world consciousness are going to be on high alert. They'll try to suppress Master's soul even harder to stop you from reaching him. Our journey... it's going to be a lot tougher.]
Mingzhe looked at the glowing soul fragment, feeling the divine resonance of his partner humming in his veins. He felt stronger, more complete than he had in eons.
"Let them try," Mingzhe said, a sharp, dangerous smile playing on his lips. "They've forgotten one thing. Muchen might be the one who saves worlds, but I'm the one who saves him. And I'm very good at my job."
[DING!]
[Next World Loading...]
[Does Host want to jump now?]
Mingzhe nods, his bangs moving along.
[Initiating transfer....]
"Yize," Mingzhe commanded as the space began to warp. "Prepare the high-tier talent cards. We're going to go pick up my husband again."