What surprised Han Shao Zhou the most was how naturally Mo Ming called him “husband.”
It was like he could taste something sweet and warm just from that one word, swelling up inside his chest. This little guy was really learning how to please him.
To be calling him “husband” so easily—what was this supposed to mean? Was Mo Ming hinting at wanting a proposal?
Quite bold of him…
Han Shao Zhou put down the grocery bags, bent over, and scooped Mo Ming up from where he was squatting by the wall. After closing the door behind him with a kick, he carried Mo Ming straight to the living room sofa and pressed him down.
“You left the groceries… outside… we haven’t even… mmph…”
Mo Ming was almost dizzy from the overwhelming kisses, but he couldn’t help thinking about the two bags that had been left outside the door. It was getting late, and he really wanted to start dinner soon.
But Han Shao Zhou wasn’t listening to a word Mo Ming was saying. After being away on a business trip for over a week, all he could think about was his beautiful little lover waiting for him at home. The way Mo Ming called him “husband” had lit a fire in him, a burning sensation of both pain and desire.
After three years of being intimate, Han Shao Zhou knew Mo Ming’s body inside and out. He knew exactly how to break down his defenses, and soon enough, Mo Ming was like a piece of cotton candy, melting under his touch, unable to resist Han Shao Zhou’s kisses and nibbles.
Just then, Han Shao Zhou’s phone started ringing. He had one knee on the sofa and was just about to undo his belt when the sound interrupted him.
Annoyed, he grabbed the phone to see who was calling. It was Zhao Cheng, and that only made him more irritated.
Lately, whenever he thought of Zhao Cheng, all he could picture was that guy pretending to care about him while constantly poking at his anger. It couldn’t be anything good, Han Shao Zhou thought, glancing down at Mo Ming.
Mo Ming’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes were misty, and his messy bangs clung to his damp forehead. He was panting softly, his half-closed eyes full of helplessness.
Han Shao Zhou’s breath was practically on fire. He felt like Mo Ming’s face was screaming, “Come and play with me, husband…”
With the bright living room lights shining on him, Mo Ming’s face grew even warmer under Han Shao Zhou’s intense gaze. He picked up a pillow to cover his face and softly reminded, “Answer the phone first, Shao Zhou. It could be something important…”
The phone’s buzzing continued, and with a sigh, Han Shao Zhou answered it.
“What is it?” he asked, clearly agitated.
On the other end, Zhao Cheng was momentarily stunned by Han Shao Zhou’s irritated and slightly breathless voice before chuckling, “Whoa, sounds like you’re in the middle of a workout or something?”
“If it’s nothing important, I’m hanging up.”
“Wait, wait! I was just calling to invite you out for drinks and to tell you something.”
“I’m busy tonight,” Han Shao Zhou said, tilting his head to hold the phone between his shoulder and ear as he continued to undo his belt. “Whatever it is, just tell me now.”
“There’s a gathering on Sunday evening. A few of us are getting together. Can you make it?” Zhao Cheng asked.
“Not sure.” Han Shao Zhou replied. “I’ll see how my schedule looks. Is Lao Qin going?”
“If you come, Qin will probably show up too. Actually, Shao Zhou, you should definitely come—this gathering is special for you.”
“What do you mean?” Han Shao Zhou asked, his hand pausing on his belt.
“It’s for Wen Ci.” Zhao Cheng said with a grin. “It’s supposed to be a friendly dinner, but really, it’s a welcome party for Wen Ci.”
Han Shao Zhou froze for a moment. “Wen… Wen Ci is coming back this week?”
“I knew it—you haven’t been paying attention to the group chat.” Zhao Cheng said. “I added Wen Ci back into the group last night. Everyone’s been welcoming him and planning to meet up on Sunday.”
“I’ve been busy lately.” Han Shao Zhou said, rubbing his temples. “And I muted that group chat ages ago. How was I supposed to know what you guys were talking about?”
“Figured as much. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have stayed so quiet.”
“…”
That group chat had been around for a few years, and Zhao Cheng was always the most active member. Wen Ci used to be in the chat too, but he left three years ago.
Wen Ci had been “forced” out of the group by none other than Han Shao Zhou. Back then, when Han found out that Wen Ci was with Gao Chen, he got so jealous that he kept picking fights with Wen in the group, constantly posting dirt about Gao Chen under the guise of being a concerned friend.
Of course, it wasn’t real dirt—just baseless rumors and speculation that no one knew where Han Shao Zhou had dug up from some obscure corner of the internet. He’d also post photos of Gao Chen that had been intentionally edited to look bad. The chat fell silent during that time, with only a few sycophants chiming in with shocked emojis to support Han Shao Zhou’s antics.
Eventually, Wen Ci left the group without a word. Realizing that Wen was angry, Han Shao Zhou regretted his actions and tried to quietly add Wen back into the group. But not even ten seconds later, Wen left again.
Since then, Han Shao Zhou had mostly stayed silent in that chat.
The group, named “Chuanhai,” had about a dozen members, most of them second-generation rich kids from Chuanhai. While they were all familiar with each other, their connections were mostly superficial. After Wen Ci left, Han Shao Zhou rarely participated in the chat, and he kept the notifications muted. Instead, he stayed active in a smaller chat with Zhao Cheng, Qin You, and a few others. Zhao Cheng mentioned adding Wen Ci back into the larger “Chuanhai” group, not the smaller one.
“So, I’ll take it as a yes for Sunday.” Zhao Cheng continued. “If you show up, more people will probably come. I’ve taken charge of organizing the dinner, but it’s not about getting attention. I just want to get everyone to my place afterward so that all these Chuanhai heirs will recharge their bar cards in one go. I could easily make a hundred grand.”
Money is money, no matter who makes it.
“We’ll see if I’m free on Sunday.” Han Shao Zhou said.
“Shao Zhou, are you nervous? Not ready to see Wen Ci yet?” Zhao Cheng teased. “It’s just a dinner with friends. Honestly, Shao Zhou, I think you’ve really made a name for yourself. You don’t have anything to feel insecure about in front of Wen Ci.”
“You think you know me so well? I’m not insecure about anything.”
“Didn’t you say it yourself? You said Wen Ci was like a fairy, and you were just an ordinary guy, so—”
“Stop.” Han Shao Zhou cut him off sharply. “Zhao Cheng, I’m asking you not to interfere or make assumptions about my relationship with Wen Ci anymore.”
Sensing that Han Shao Zhou was genuinely angry, Zhao Cheng toned down his playful tone and said after a pause, “So you’re not coming on Sunday? It’s just a friendly dinner with friends. But honestly, if you don’t show up, it might seem like you’re avoiding him…”
“I’ll let you know if I can make it.” Han Shao Zhou said. “It’s only Wednesday.”
“Alright, I’ll wait for your message.” Zhao Cheng paused again, lowering his voice meaningfully. “You’ve broken up with little Mo Ming by now, right?”
Han Shao Zhou was nearly amused by how ridiculous that was. “What do you think?”
“Oh, then I’m relieved.”
“…” Han Shao Zhou suspected Zhao Cheng had misunderstood.
“Don’t worry, Shao Zhou. Wen Ci dated Gao Chen, and you’ve been with little Mo Ming. You two are even now. So when you meet, there’s no need to feel—”
Before Zhao Cheng could finish, Han Shao Zhou hung up. From now on, he decided he’d only communicate with Zhao Cheng via text.
By this time, Han Shao Zhou was alone on the sofa.
Mo Ming had gotten up halfway through the call and quietly left the living room. He brought in the two forgotten grocery bags from outside, unloaded the household items, and took the remaining groceries to the kitchen.
Han Shao Zhou got up, buckled his belt, and headed to the kitchen. Mo Ming was standing in front of the fridge, carefully putting away the fresh produce from the grocery bags.
There were two cartons of milk in the fridge that were expiring today. Mo Ming frowned slightly as he checked the expiration dates, debating whether to make Han Shao Zhou drink them tonight or just throw them away. He really didn’t like wasting food.
Han Shao Zhou walked up behind Mo Ming and wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on Mo Ming’s shoulder, rubbing against him playfully. “I wasn’t done kissing you. Why’d you run off?”
Mo Ming put the milk back in the fridge, then turned his face to brush his cheek against Han Shao Zhou’s. “Let me make dinner first. After dinner… Hmm, Shao Zhou, let go for now. I haven’t even washed the vegetables yet.”
“Hmm? What do you mean by ‘after dinner?’” Han Shao Zhou teased, tightening his embrace. “Tell me clearly.”
Mo Ming’s cheeks turned a little red. Han Shao Zhou could practically feel the warmth radiating from Mo Ming’s ears.
“Shao Zhou, don’t tease me like this.”
“Like what?” Han Shao Zhou smirked mischievously. “Wasn’t it you who called me ‘husband’ just now? Now you’re getting shy?”
Mo Ming protested softly, “…You’re the one who made me call you that.”
“Did I ask you to call me husband? I just wanted to hear you call me a good brother.”
“…”
Wouldn’t that be even more embarrassing than calling him ‘husband?’
“Come on, call me again.” Han Shao Zhou coaxed, half-teasing and half-threatening, as he kissed Mo Ming’s soft, warm ear. “Call me, and I’ll let you off for now. Otherwise, I’ll carry you straight to the bed, and you won’t be eating dinner tonight.”
Mo Ming’s stomach growled in response, so he quickly caved. “What do you want to hear, Shao Zhou?”
Han Shao Zhou was practically floating on air. “Anything, just say it. The sweeter, the better. I’ll treat you however you want tonight.”
“Then…” Mo Ming lowered his voice and obediently said, “…Good husband?”
“…”
Han Shao Zhou took a deep breath, his grip around Mo Ming’s waist tightening. His voice was hoarse and filled with suppressed desire. “Where did you learn that? Who taught you? Have you called anyone else that?”
“Huh?” Mo Ming blinked in confusion. “No, I haven’t.”
Mo Ming turned around in Han Shao Zhou’s arms, looking up at the man who was breathing heavily and had a strange look in his eyes. He cautiously asked, “Shao Zhou, are you mad?”
Han Shao Zhou didn’t answer, but his breathing trembled slightly.
Of course, he wasn’t mad. He was just being overwhelmed by the burning heat coursing through his body.
This little guy was just so…
Mo Ming wrapped his arms around Han Shao Zhou’s waist, quietly holding him close. His pale face rested against Han Shao Zhou’s neck, and his eyes shimmered with warmth as he softly apologized, “I’m sorry. If you don’t like it, I can change what I call you. Husband… good brother, husband…”
One after another, the words slipped out of Mo Ming’s mouth, sounding like a kitten trying to please its owner. Mo Ming had no idea how much of an impact those words had on Han Shao Zhou. It was like each one was a gentle nudge, pushing Han closer to the edge of losing control.
One nudge, two nudges, three…
That evening, the rain had slowed to a stop, only for it to pick up again as a thunderstorm later that night. The rain poured down fiercely, hammering against the windows, and didn’t let up for hours.
Around 4 AM, Han Shao Zhou groggily got out of bed to use the bathroom. When he returned, he climbed back under the covers and pulled Mo Ming close. But something didn’t feel right.
Instinctively, Han Shao Zhou pressed his lips to Mo Ming’s forehead, and the intense heat he felt jolted him wide awake.
Like a man struck by lightning, Han Shao Zhou shot up in bed, fumbling to turn on the bedside lamp.
In the soft light, Mo Ming lay there in his sleep, his brows furrowed and his face flushed unnaturally red. His bangs were damp with sweat, but he was shivering as if he were cold.
Han Shao Zhou touched Mo Ming’s skin again, confirming that he was burning up with a high fever. He jumped out of bed, hastily pulling on his clothes.
“Mo Ming.” Han Shao Zhou called urgently as he dressed. “Wake up. Can you hear me?”
Mo Ming barely opened his eyes before they fluttered shut again, mumbling weakly, “Uncomfortable…”
Seeing Mo Ming’s pale, sickly face, Han Shao Zhou’s heart clenched painfully. He hurriedly dressed Mo Ming, wrapping him in his own thick jacket, and carried him to the hospital.
At 4 AM, the city was still asleep. The neon-lit streets had been washed clean by the night’s storm, leaving them damp and eerily quiet.
Han Shao Zhou drove straight to the hospital, carrying Mo Ming on his back as he rushed into the emergency room, frantically calling for help.
“Someone help! Doctor! Quick, quick!”
The nurse on duty, startled by Han Shao Zhou’s panic, almost thought the person he was carrying was on the brink of death. She and her colleagues quickly rushed over to assist.
Thankfully, it was just a fever.
Han Shao Zhou was still in his slippers, wearing nothing but a thin champagne-colored silk pajama set. In the cold, rainy autumn dawn, the pajamas were more for covering up than for warmth, but Han Shao Zhou didn’t seem to feel the chill at all. He sat beside Mo Ming’s hospital bed, his whole demeanor cloaked in a kind of gray, desolate exhaustion.
The nurse, seeing how distressed Han Shao Zhou looked, couldn’t help but try to comfort him. “It’s going to be okay, sir. Once the fever goes down, he’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
She had never seen an adult get so worked up over a fever before.
“…Alright.” Han Shao Zhou replied, still sitting there motionless.
To be more accurate, what he felt at that moment was fear.
He didn’t even know why he had been so terrified. His clothes were soaked with sweat, and even while driving, his legs had been shaking uncontrollably.
For the first time, Han Shao Zhou realized just how much of a jerk he was. Last night, Mo Ming had cried several times, yet Han had been so excited, like some drugged-out idiot.
The little guy had gone along with it the whole time, never getting angry, and Han Shao Zhou had taken advantage of Mo Ming’s affection for him, pushing him so hard that he ended up in the hospital.
He was such a jerk.
By the time the IV drip was finished, Mo Ming’s fever had gone down significantly. He woke up groggily around 8 AM, still looking weak. When he saw Han Shao Zhou sitting by the bed, his voice was hoarse as he said, “Shao Zhou, you’re wearing so little. Aren’t you cold?”
Han Shao Zhou leaned down and kissed Mo Ming’s still-warm cheeks and lips, his heart feeling like it had been hacked to pieces and then doused in lemon juice. His voice was low and raspy as he murmured, “I’m not cold. Your husband isn’t cold.”
Mo Ming’s face flushed even more, and he shyly reminded, “Shao Zhou, this is a hospital…”
Han Shao Zhou chuckled and affectionately pinched Mo Ming’s cheek. “You must be hungry. What do you want to eat? I’ll go get it for you.”
Last night’s dinner had never been made, and after everything, the little guy was probably starving by now.
“My head still hurts. I want to sleep a little longer first.” Mo Ming said softly. “Aren’t you going to work today?”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay here with you.”
“I’m fine. Once I’ve slept a bit more, I can go home on my own.” Mo Ming said with a quiet laugh.
It was just a fever, after all. He didn’t even need to come to the hospital—two fever-reducing pills would’ve been enough. But the way Han Shao Zhou was acting, it was as if Mo Ming’s life was hanging by a thread.
Han Shao Zhou got up and drew the curtains closed. He climbed into the hospital bed next to Mo Ming, carefully pulling him into his arms. The small bed was a tight fit for two grown men, but Han Shao Zhou held Mo Ming close with delicate care.
“I’ll catch some sleep too.” Han Shao Zhou said, his face pressed against Mo Ming’s hair. The tension that had been gripping his heart for hours finally began to ease.
Mo Ming shifted restlessly, inching his way up the bed until he was eye-level with Han Shao Zhou on the pillow.
Staring into Han Shao Zhou’s eyes from so close, Mo Ming’s dark pupils glistened with a soft light, reflecting Han’s face in their depths. It made Han Shao Zhou’s gaze flicker nervously. “W-What’s wrong?”
Mo Ming smiled gently and said, “Shao Zhou, you’re so good to me.”
Han Shao Zhou chuckled. “I pushed you to this point, and you’re still saying I’m good to you?”
“Mm, I want to stay by your side…” Mo Ming lifted a hand, his warm, slender fingers tracing the sharp line of Han Shao Zhou’s brow down to his thin lips. “…Even just for a little longer, even one more day.”
Han Shao Zhou laughed. “Well, that depends on how well you behave. If you don’t, I might kick you out by the end of the week.”
Mo Ming’s eyelashes fluttered, as if he had thought of something. He gazed deeply at Han Shao Zhou’s face, a faint hint of sadness flickering in his tired eyes.
Seeing that Mo Ming seemed to be feeling a bit down, Han Shao Zhou immediately regretted his words. The little guy was still sick, and instead of reassuring him, Han had scared him.
“Anyway…” Mo Ming shifted closer, wrapping his arms around Han Shao Zhou’s waist. He buried his face in Han’s neck and mumbled, “I won’t leave on my own…”
Han Shao Zhou couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, so you’re going to cling to me now?”
Mo Ming didn’t respond. His fever hadn’t fully subsided, and his head was still foggy. But with Han Shao Zhou holding him, he quickly drifted back to sleep.
That afternoon, Mo Ming received another round of IV treatment, and by the evening, his fever had almost completely gone down. However, he still looked weak and listless, his eyelashes drooping with exhaustion.
As a patient recovering from illness, Mo Ming returned to the apartment, took a hot shower, and then curled up in a blanket on the sofa to watch TV. Han Shao Zhou brought him yogurt and snacks from the fridge.
The groceries from the previous night were still sitting on the kitchen counter, untouched. Han Shao Zhou rolled up his sleeves and tied on an apron.
Halfway through cooking, his phone rang.
Han Shao Zhou wiped his hands and pulled his phone out of his pocket.
It was a call from the old man.
“Grandpa.” Han Shao Zhou answered.
“I heard from your driver that you’ve been living in that * district most of the time while in Chuanhai. Is that right?” Han Changzong’s deep, steady voice came through the line.
“Yeah, it’s convenient here, and I’ve gotten used to it.” Han Shao Zhou said, putting his phone on speaker as he continued cracking eggs into a bowl.
“Are you there right now?”
“Mm-hmm, just making dinner.” Han Shao Zhou replied. “Why? What’s up, Grandpa? I’m a bit busy right now.”
“Good, I just got back from * city. I was planning to head home, but the driver said we’d be passing by your area soon.” the old man said slowly. “So I figured I’d stop by for a visit. You’re cooking dinner, right? Come to think of it, I’ve never tried your cooking.”
“What?” Han Shao Zhou froze, mid-whisk.
“What ‘what?’ I’m almost there. Which apartment are you in?”
“Wait, Grandpa, this is so sudden. You could’ve at least given me a heads-up.”
“You’re getting pretty full of yourself, huh? I have to call ahead just to visit you? Are you still my grandson?”
“…”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
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