In the blink of an eye, the Mid-Autumn Festival arrived.

In previous years, Song Yi had always spent the holiday with Zhao Hongyan and Song Jie, having a quiet meal outside. But every time, Zhao Hongyan would stir up trouble, and the gathering would end on a sour note. Because of this, Song Yi never had much anticipation for the festival.

This year was no different—except that Zhao Hongyan was in the hospital. That left just the two siblings to celebrate, along with Song Jie’s newborn daughter, who was constantly demanding attention.

In the kitchen, Song Yi busied himself with the lively little crabs, carefully arranging them in the steamer. As the pot heated up, he could hear laughter from the living room. He rinsed his hands and stepped out.

The baby was fast asleep in her stroller, while Song Jie lounged on the sofa, engrossed in the TV.

“Brother, come here!”

“What is it?” Song Yi sat down beside her, casually wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a reassuring pat.

Song Jie pouted. “Wouldn’t it be better if we just went out for dinner like we used to? Why stay home and cook?”

“Cooking at home is simpler and cleaner,” Song Yi replied, making up an excuse on the spot.

Song Jie wasn’t convinced. She sighed dramatically. “Ever since I had the baby, I haven’t eaten out, haven’t gone shopping… I feel like I’m completely disconnected from the world.”

Song Yi affectionately pinched her cheek and chuckled. “You’re still breastfeeding, so you have to be extra careful about what you eat. Once this phase is over, you’ll be free again.”

Song Jie puffed up her cheeks and rested her head lightly against Song Yi’s arm. She felt much better now. After a moment of thought, she murmured. “To be honest, I’m really scared of becoming a mother. I’m afraid that one day… I’ll turn out like Mom.”

Song Yi gently ran his fingers through her hair, his heart aching for his little sister. The emotional neglect in Zhao Hongyan’s household hadn’t just been directed at him—it had affected her, too. “Don’t overthink it. You won’t become like her.”

“But what if I do?” Song Jie turned to look at him, sniffling. “What if I really end up just like her?”

Song Yi sighed inwardly but kept his smile soft. “That won’t happen. I’ll be here to keep an eye on you.”

Song Jie nodded obediently. As she gazed at Song Yi’s sharp, clean-cut profile, something seemed to cross her mind. She hesitated, then muttered under her breath, “It’d be nice if you weren’t my brother.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Song Yi flicked her forehead. Technically speaking, they weren’t blood-related, but after all these years, they might as well have been.

Song Jie let out an embarrassed laugh, then turned toward the TV as a voice caught her attention. Her eyes widened in excitement, and she gasped dramatically. “Brother, look! It’s Gu Xingchuan!”

The TV was broadcasting the live Mid-Autumn Festival Gala on CCTV. On the massive 90-inch screen, Gu Xingchuan’s face appeared in crystal-clear detail—sharp brows, striking features, lips a perfect shade of red against pearly white teeth. He was flawless, as if sculpted by the hands of a god.

As the stage lights dimmed, a single pure-white spotlight beamed down from above, casting a soft glow around his defined jawline. The harsh angles of his features, usually exuding an air of dominance, were subtly softened by the lighting, making him look almost gentle.

Tonight, he had traded his usual casual wear for something more refined—a crisp pair of tailored dress pants and a plain white button-down shirt, a few buttons undone at the collar. It was the perfect balance between sensuality and restraint.

His shoulders rose and fell gently with each breath, in perfect rhythm with the music. The cello and violin intertwined seamlessly, flowing like a steady stream.

Then, the piano joined in—its notes crisp and melancholic, like a long, empty street bathed in moonlight, cold yet profound.

Gu Xingchuan lowered his gaze slightly, his expression focused. As his thin lips parted, his smooth, rich voice blended effortlessly into the accompaniment.

“You stand on the bridge, watching the scenery,
While those in the scenery watch you.
The bright moon adorns your window,
And you… adorn my dreams…”

Song Yi rarely heard Gu Xingchuan sing seriously, but he had to admit—this performance was excellent. His voice carried genuine emotion, tender yet not melancholic, with a fragile, youthful quality, like a poem written in the summer evening breeze.

“This is a new song, right?” Song Jie’s face lit up with excitement, her eyes practically sparkling. “It’s amazing!”

Song Yi let out a chuckle and turned to look at her. “Are you this excited because the song is good?”

Song Jie playfully shoved his shoulder, feigning annoyance. “Brother, I’m a mother now! Of course, it’s because the song is great, not because he’s handsome!”

“Whatever you say,” Song Yi replied, smiling as he lowered his gaze.

Feeling a little embarrassed, Song Jie rubbed her face. Then, as if remembering something, her expression grew slightly concerned. “I do think he’s good-looking, but people online say he has a bad temper. You worked with him before—did he ever lose his temper with you?”

Song Yi pinched the bridge of his nose, momentarily unsure how to explain it to Song Jie. After a brief pause, he simply said, “No.”

Song Jie let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. If you ever get the chance, take me to see him live. Does he look much different in person compared to on TV?”

Most celebrities looked like entirely different people with and without makeup. Add in post-production touch-ups, and plenty of fans had been shocked into losing interest after seeing their idols barefaced.

But Gu Xingchuan’s face could withstand the test. He looked almost the same on and off camera—the only difference being that on screen, his expression management was flawless, while off screen, he reverted to his usual aloof demeanor. Without the cameras, he carried himself with an air of icy detachment, barely sparing people a glance, as if he were looking down at the world through half-lidded eyes. It was the kind of arrogance that made people grit their teeth in frustration.

Song Yi checked his phone, did a quick calculation, and said, “If you really want to see him, don’t leave tonight.”

“Huh?” Song Jie blinked in confusion, staring at him blankly.

Factoring in traffic, it took about forty minutes. Right on cue, the lock on the front door gave a loud clunk as it turned. The door swung open from the outside, and a gust of cold air swept in along with Gu Xingchuan. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his coat at the entrance, grabbed an apron as if it were second nature, and slipped it over his head in one fluid motion. Then, without so much as a greeting, he strode straight into the kitchen, moving like he was in his own home.

“Song Yi, you didn’t tie up the crabs properly. They’re crawling all over the pot. I told you to wait for me—I was going to steam them myself.”

He was still wearing the same outfit from the stage, but now, away from the dazzling lights, he looked fresh and unassuming—simple, yet effortlessly striking.

Just then, Song Jie stepped out of the bathroom. She stopped dead in her tracks at the kitchen’s sliding door, completely stunned, her eyes widening in disbelief.

Gu Xingchuan glanced over his shoulder at her, his brows knitting slightly. “Why are you here?”

“My sister’s spending the holiday with us today,” Song Yi reminded him, subtly warning him not to go overboard.

Gu Xingchuan turned back, deftly handling the crabs as he spoke in an indifferent tone. “You didn’t buy enough for three people.”

Song Yi knew exactly why he was sulking and simply smiled. “It’s fine. I don’t really like crab anyway. You and Xiao Jie can have more.”

Gu Xingchuan shot him a glare before slamming the lid onto the pot with a loud bang—his own not-so-subtle way of expressing displeasure.

Completely oblivious to the underlying tension, Song Jie tugged excitedly at Song Yi’s sleeve, her voice hushed yet filled with barely contained glee. “I think he looks even better in person than on TV. And he can cook?!”

“He’s actually a pretty good cook,” Song Yi replied. While he himself could handle cooking, his skills were mostly limited to delicate Western dishes—steaks, pasta, meals with a touch of sophistication. When it came to traditional Chinese cooking—stir-frying, deep-frying, steaming—he wasn’t as adept. Gu Xingchuan, on the other hand, was a natural. He only needed to glance at a recipe once to master it, and his dishes always came out perfectly seasoned and aromatic. If he ever found himself out of a job, opening a small restaurant wouldn’t be a bad backup plan.

Song Jie blinked playfully, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Are you sure you’re just friends?”

Song Yi simply smiled without answering. He guided Song Jie to a seat so she could rest before heading into the kitchen to assist the chef—at the very least, he could chop vegetables and wash ingredients.

With two people working together, the cooking went much faster. In no time, the dining table was covered with an array of mouthwatering dishes—succulent, steaming crabs, crisp green bamboo shoots glistening like jade, and plump, pink shrimp stir-fried to perfection. The spread was as visually stunning as it was fragrant, making one’s stomach rumble on sight.

At first, sitting across from Gu Xingchuan made Song Jie a little nervous. But as the meal went on, she gradually relaxed, occasionally sneaking glances at him and Song Yi, curiosity brimming in her eyes.

The same hand that had been holding a microphone just moments ago was now skillfully shelling crabs.

He placed the neatly peeled crab meat onto the plate, his movements smooth and precise. His brows furrowed slightly as he said, “Next week, I’m going to Hokkaido to shoot a commercial.”

Song Yi was in a good mood—this Mid-Autumn Festival, he was surrounded by two people he genuinely liked. “Sounds nice. You should take a few extra days to enjoy yourself before coming back.”

Gu Xingchuan glanced up at him, pulled a few napkins from the stack, and wiped his long fingers with deliberate care. His voice was low and indifferent. “I’ll come back as soon as I’m done. Nothing fun about it.”

“That works too.”

Gu Xingchuan narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘that works too’?”

Song Yi, confused by his sudden shift in tone, exchanged a glance with Song Jie before replying calmly, “It’s up to you when you come back. It’s your personal matter.”

Gu Xingchuan lowered his head, pursed his lips, and let out a soft scoff. “Would you prefer if I just didn’t come back at all?”

Without missing a beat, Song Yi picked up a piece of shrimp with his chopsticks and placed it into Gu Xingchuan’s bowl. His voice was light but firm. “If you don’t come back, I can always go find you. Now, eat.”

The corner of Gu Xingchuan’s mouth twitched upward, but with Song Jie watching, he held back his smile, keeping his expression cool. Instead, he simply nodded in feigned indifference. “Alright. Not bad—you’re getting pretty domestic.”

Song Yi thought to himself: You cooked this entire meal—if anyone’s “domestic,” it’s you. Then again, he mused, if Gu Xingchuan were a Beta or an Omega, with that kind of temper, he probably wouldn’t like him anyway—too much trouble. But as an Alpha? Now that was interesting.

Outside, fireworks lit up the night sky, dazzling bursts of color blooming across the horizon. Song Jie quickly cupped her hands over the baby’s ears, worried the noise might startle her awake.

Meanwhile, Gu Xingchuan pulled out his phone, tapped out a message with practiced ease, and then, in his usual blunt manner, issued an eviction notice. “It’s already eleven. Song Jie’s a young woman with a baby—it’s not safe for her to go home alone. My assistant will drive her.”

Song Jie stiffened in embarrassment and murmured a quiet, “Thank you.”

Song Yi shot Gu Xingchuan a glare, but the man looked completely unbothered, as if his decision was the most natural thing in the world.

Left with no choice, Song Yi wrapped an arm around Song Jie’s shoulders, giving her a reassuring squeeze. He spoke softly, making sure she didn’t take it to heart. “Don’t mind him. Come by with the baby more often.”

After sending Song Jie off, Gu Xingchuan tidied up the table, pulled out a chair, and settled onto the balcony beside Song Yi. They sat shoulder to shoulder, quietly gazing at the moon.

The neighborhood was unusually peaceful at this hour—no honking cars, no chatter, just the stillness of the night. The deep indigo sky stretched overhead like a vast swath of velvet, with the moon hanging in it like a golden confection.

Song Yi removed his glasses and gently massaged his temples. This was the most relaxing Mid-Autumn Festival he had ever spent. A simple meal with family, laughter around the table—nothing extravagant, yet deeply comforting.

Gu Xingchuan turned his head and studied him intently. He had never paid much attention to how people looked before. A nose, two eyes—good-looking or not, it was all the same to him.

But after meeting Song Yi, something shifted. His sense of aesthetics seemed to have awakened. Whenever he saw an attractive Omega, he couldn’t help but compare them to Song Yi. And no matter how many comparisons he made, Song Yi always won. Every single feature of his seemed tailor-made to Gu Xingchuan’s taste—utterly flawless.

The only thing that seemed out of place was the faint red mark on the bridge of Song Yi’s nose, left by his glasses.

Gu Xingchuan reached out and gently pressed his fingertip against the mark. Song Yi, half-lidded, gave him a questioning look. Under the moonlight, his eyelashes appeared impossibly delicate, each strand casting the faintest of shadows. His eyes, naturally elongated, curved slightly at the corners—like a hook designed to ensnare, effortlessly captivating.

Gu Xingchuan’s breath hitched. He licked his lips and murmured, “You should switch to contacts.”

Song Yi actually owned a pair but rarely remembered to wear them. He nodded. “Alright.”

That night, he slept soundly.

The next afternoon, he received a call from Misty Green Teahouse, inviting him to finalize the contract with Master Shen.

Remembering Gu Xingchuan’s words, he opted for contact lenses instead of his usual glasses. Once dressed and ready, he arrived at the teahouse in the late afternoon.

Inside, the same middle-aged man and Master Shen were waiting for him. This time, they had switched to Biluochun tea—light, aromatic, and steeped in tranquility.

Master Shen was nothing if not meticulous. The contract he presented was a thick stack of papers, landing on the table with a weighty thud.

Song Yi carefully flipped through each page, fully absorbed in reviewing the details.

Master Shen, holding a delicate blue-and-white porcelain teacup, lightly tapped the lid and studied Song Yi with thoughtful eyes.

The middle-aged man lowered his head, speaking cautiously. “Doesn’t he look more like him without the glasses?”

Master Shen nodded slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “This boy has the same Phoenix eyes as Xiao Du and his late father.”

The middle-aged man chuckled in agreement. “Master Shen, you also have Phoenix eyes. They’re rare, and it’s obvious the young master inherited them from you.”

Master Shen paused, his hand freezing over the teacup lid. He glanced at the middle-aged man, his tone suddenly sharp. “Inherited?”

“Yes, didn’t you know? His eyes look just like his father’s.”

“This is the first I’m hearing of it,” Master Shen muttered. He placed his cup down and turned his gaze to Song Yi. The more he looked, the more he was convinced. The first time with the glasses, there was a resemblance—about seventy or eighty percent. But now, without them, it was unmistakable. Not only did he look like himself, but he looked exactly like his late son—same eyes, same expression. There was even a trace of resemblance to Shen Du.

It wasn’t just the looks, it was the aura, too. Everything about him felt like the Shen family.

Once such thoughts surfaced, they were like an unstoppable flood, crashing through with a mind of their own.

Master Shen’s fingers drummed lightly on the table as he subtly picked up Song Yi’s ID copy. He glanced at the birthdate. “Has your birthday ever been changed?”

“No.” Song Yi, deeply engrossed in the contract, answered without lifting his head.

Song Yi’s birthday was only a week apart from Shen Li’s.

Master Shen asked indirectly, “Has your family always lived in the capital?”

Song Yi looked up, unsure of the reason behind Master Shen’s question, but he still answered honestly. “My family isn’t from here. We used to live in Su City. Later, my parents came to work in the capital, so I came along with them.”

At the mention of Su City, Master Shen’s expression darkened, like a storm cloud settling over the room. He remained silent for a long while, his mood visibly heavy.

=^_^=