Chapter Three

The tension between Fang Shiqing and Wang Chao was obvious—anyone could see they weren’t people who could be forced to get along.

Because of that, Fang Shiqing stayed only a short while before finding a perfectly valid excuse to leave early. Zheng Qiuyang assumed he just didn’t want to deal with that “relative,” so he simply told him they’d hang out again another time. He even walked him to the door and watched his car drive off before heading back to his guests.

On the road, Fang Shiqing sped all the way home. After a full day of exhaustion, all he wanted was a hot bath and a comfortable bed.

But as soon as he opened the door, he heard the sound of the TV in the living room. On the shoe rack, amid several pairs of men’s shoes, sat a pair of gem-red high heels—their mismatched rhinestones on the toes immediately recognizable.

They were a birthday gift he had given not long ago. The owner of the shoes was his elder sister, Fang Mingyu.

“Jie,” he bent down to change shoes while calling out, “why didn’t you call before coming?”

“I remember your magazine’s release is tomorrow. I knew you’d be busy today.” Her voice floated out from inside.

When Fang Shiqing walked in, he saw four dishes and a soup laid out on the dining table, though they’d already gone cold.

On the TV was some palace intrigue drama, but Fang Mingyu was focused on her tablet, reading emails. Without looking up, she told her brother: “Go heat up the food. Call me when it’s ready.”

While reheating in the kitchen, Fang Shiqing overheard her on the phone in the living room, instructing an assistant to prepare all the necessary files for a business trip tomorrow.

Fang Mingyu was a judge, an elegant professional woman, and also an excellent cook. She and Fang Shiqing resembled each other closely—both the kind of natural beauty blessed by the heavens.

By any standard, Fang Mingyu was an extraordinary woman.

Fang Shiqing had always been close to her, especially when he first left home to study here. In those years, Mingyu played both sister and mother, their bond only deepening. Back then, she hadn’t yet married Wang Qi; as a young couple, they often brought Fang Shiqing along on their dates.

Later, when Fang Shiqing entered high school, he gradually stopped tagging along. Mingyu would half-jokingly complain that he’d grown up into an ungrateful brat.

What she didn’t know was that the distance he kept—especially from her and Wang Qi—came from guilt.

In those first stirrings of adolescence, while other boys debated which girls were prettiest, which had developed fastest, or which teachers wore the raciest skirts, Fang Shiqing realized he was different. He felt no interest in girls at all—instead, his heart stirred for the boys on the basketball court, shirts off and sweating under the sun.

He quickly admitted to himself he liked men. Not just any men, but tall, slightly tanned, broad-palmed men.

Because his brother-in-law, Wang Qi, was 1.9 meters tall, wheat-skinned, trained in sanda, and had especially large hands.

Fang Shiqing’s dream lover was, in truth, modeled directly after Wang Qi.

He felt ashamed—his crush was taboo—but he couldn’t stop it. Every morning, faced with damp underwear, he both wanted to smash his head against a wall in shame and yet couldn’t help savoring the heat of those dreams.

From then on, he began keeping his distance from the couple, unable to be too close, too guilty to even try.

By graduation, when Mingyu asked if he wanted to study at home or abroad, he chose to leave. Soon after, an admission letter arrived, and he fled like an escapee—into fashion design, a major he’d once dismissed as mere tailoring.

Fortunately, years later, when he returned and saw Wang Qi again, he’d already buried the mess of emotions and could face his brother-in-law calmly, laying that doomed crush to rest.

After reheating the food and setting it on the table, Fang Shiqing called: “Judge Fang, dinner’s ready.”

She answered but didn’t move. Only after he called twice more did she set aside her tablet, switch off the TV, and sit down. Glancing at the table, she teased, “I thought my poor brother, always eating out, deserved a treat. I even wanted to braise pig’s trotters for you, but it was too late after work, and I couldn’t find good ones. You’ll have to wait till next time.”

Fang Shiqing grinned: “My sister treats me the best.”

“I just missed cooking,” she laughed. “I’m addicted to it.”

He handed her chopsticks and asked: “Been busy lately? Last time you said things were pretty light.”

She picked up food for him first, then answered casually: “I’m not busy—your brother-in-law is. With him gone all the time, I’ve no mood to cook, so I just eat at the canteen.”

“Oh? What’s he busy with? I ran into Wang Chao today. He said brother-in-law’s being promoted again.”

“That’s exactly why—he’s barely home. Where’d you see Wang Chao?” She sounded surprised. “How’d you two even cross paths?”

“At a friend’s place. He seemed close with them,” Fang Shiqing explained.

Speaking of friends, Fang Mingyu brightened. “That reminds me—Qingqing, when I’m back from this trip, I want to introduce you to someone.”

He instantly caught her meaning. Once, she’d even sprung a blind date on him without warning—a disaster. “Jie, don’t. I’m not in a rush to get married. Why are you so anxious to set me up?”

She playfully tapped his head with her chopsticks: “If I don’t worry, who will? Mom and Dad have already asked me several times. So what if you studied abroad? You still need to marry at the right age. You’re twenty-seven already and have never even had a proper girlfriend. You freeze up around women, don’t know where to put your hands and feet—such a tall guy, wasted! If I don’t introduce someone, when will you ever find a match?”

Chastised, Fang Shiqing could only lower his head and eat, while secretly reconsidering the plan he’d long been weighing—coming out.

In the fashion world, his orientation wasn’t a secret. There were plenty of others like him, so there was no need to hide. He never planned on marrying anyway. As for his parents, he’d figure that out depending on the situation. But since he and his sister lived in the same city, he couldn’t hide forever. Sooner or later, she would know.

Still, the when and how troubled him. And facing a professional judge, lying felt far too dangerous.

After warning him of the “blind date” to come, Fang Mingyu left for her trip the next day, unbothered. But Fang Shiqing was left with a pounding headache.

What he didn’t expect was that before that headache passed, something far worse happened.

Three days later—Halloween.

The fashion industry, always eager for a reason to party, certainly wouldn’t miss it. JOY Impression magazine’s parent company had planned a carnival parade to both promote its brands and give employees a good time. But when the authorities rejected it for safety concerns, they settled for renting two enormous hotel ballrooms instead, inviting both staff and partner companies for a Halloween masquerade.

Fang Shiqing disliked noisy crowds, but it was his first Halloween with the magazine, and skipping would seem antisocial. Reluctantly, he agreed to attend.

It became a decision he would bitterly regret.

Costume assignments were drawn by lot. Fang Shiqing drew last. One look at his slip, and he nearly cried.

That evening at seven, he arrived at the hotel and was instantly mobbed by laughing colleagues at the entrance.

“Can you stop laughing? No photos! Whoever posts to Moments, I’ll fight you. And no Weibo either!” he barked, half amused, half exasperated.

A friendly fellow editor, dressed as Edward Scissorhands, tapped his fake bust and laughed: “You don’t know how lucky you are! You pulled the hottest role. We all wanted Medusa, and you got her! Don’t complain!”

But Medusa was the last thing he wanted.

Inside, the lights were dim for atmosphere, which made things a bit easier. Aside from coworkers and familiar models, few strangers paid him too much attention—everyone was dressed up bizarrely anyway. And in truth, his Medusa—long black gown, wig, and all—was still stunning enough to outshine most other monsters.

After greeting the higher-ups, he escaped with colleagues to a corner bar to drink and chat.

The ballroom filled with shrieks and laughter. Clearly more people had joined than were actually invited, some grabbing pumpkin masks at the door to blend in.

The crowd thickened, heat rising. Someone yelled: “Turn up the AC! Too hot!”

A staff member in butler tails rushed to adjust it.

The vent overhead blasted cold air straight onto Fang Shiqing. Wearing only a black backless dress, he instinctively crossed his arms, shivering.

Then someone draped a suit jacket over his shoulders and sat down beside him.

Tipsy, Fang Shiqing turned sluggishly to see an orange pumpkin mask.

“Thanks for the jacket!” he shouted over the noise. “But—I’m not a lady!”

The pumpkin mask nodded, as if to say he knew.

Fang Shiqing tugged at the jacket again, calling: “Thanks!”

The man handed him a drink, saying something Fang Shiqing couldn’t hear.

“What?!” Fang Shiqing leaned closer.

The pumpkin mask repeated it, still inaudible. Fang Shiqing brought his ear closer for a third try—only to have his earlobe gently pinched.

A jolt shot down his neck to his back. His earlobes were sensitive, and the touch felt unmistakably suggestive.

His colleagues noticed too, all aware of his orientation. They tactfully drifted away, pretending not to see.

Fang Shiqing wasn’t a sex-obsessed person. Before returning home, he’d had two steady relationships and few casual flings. But since coming back, he’d been too busy to date. More than a year had passed without intimacy. Maybe that was why, three months ago, he’d been so drawn to Yuan Rui.

The pumpkin mask was tall, well-built, with broad hands—rougher than the rest of his polished image, but sexy nonetheless. His taste in clothing was refined. If the body was any hint, the face behind the mask wouldn’t be bad either.

Fang Shiqing, satisfied enough, leaned closer and whispered: “I’m only top. Is that okay?”

The pumpkin mask nodded.

But words are cheap, and trust between strangers nonexistent.

Half an hour later, in a hotel room, Fang Shiqing was raped by the pumpkin.