“I like his smile, and I like him too.”

Guan Ciyan almost wanted to look in the mirror to see what he looked like at that moment. “Do I not smile enough?”

“It’s different,” Jian Yang poked the corner of Guan Ciyan’s eye. “When you usually smile, this part doesn’t lift up.”

Guan Ciyan’s smile faded slightly. When a deceitful business partner had jumped off a building in front of him, he had been smiling then too.

“Let’s have breakfast.” Guan Ciyan turned away, the corners of his lips stiff.

Two bowls of tomato and egg noodles sat on the table. The broth was light and simple, far from the refined dishes he usually ate.

Yet, he could smell the warm aroma of the noodles steeping in the broth and the faint smoky scent of eggs frying in oil. There were no intricate layers of flavor—just the natural scent of food itself.

“I haven’t cooked in a while either, sir. Just make do with it,” Jian Yang said, though he didn’t seem nervous at all.

He took a bite of the noodles. They tasted even better than he remembered—probably due to the quality of the ingredients.

“How is it?” he asked Guan Ciyan.

Guan Ciyan stared blankly at the bowl, saliva pooling in his mouth as a wave of hunger surged from his stomach to his throat. Dazed, he murmured, “I’m… hungry?”

Even he wasn’t sure of his own words.

In his past experiences, he had never truly felt hunger. If there was food, he ate; if not, he consumed some kind of meal substitute.

To him, Michelin-starred dishes were nothing more than elaborate protein shakes.

“That means you like it.” Jian Yang urged him, “Come on, try it.”

The bowl of noodles was soon empty. The warm broth settled in his stomach, spreading a comforting sensation throughout his body.

“This is the best cooking I’ve ever had.” Guan Ciyan wanted another bowl but hesitated to ask.

“You must just be really hungry, sir,” Jian Yang said while still eating. He chewed, swallowed, and continued, “Anything tastes great when you’re starving.”

That wasn’t it. Simply consuming food had never brought Guan Ciyan any sense of satisfaction before.

But he didn’t say anything. “Maybe.”

“By the way, sir, next time you cook, make sure to dry the pan before adding oil. That way, it won’t splatter. Also, you don’t need such a high flame—the oil doesn’t need to be that hot.”

Jian Yang wiped his mouth, filling in Guan Ciyan’s knowledge gaps about daily life.

Guan Ciyan touched the burn mark on his hand and fell silent.

Some things, he needed time to process.

With his sharp instincts, he had already realized that “liking” wasn’t just a transactional exchange of benefits, nor was it as fanciful as something out of a romance novel.

The “like” Jian Yang gave him was warm, tangible—something that could be described with words and given shape.

That day, Guan Ciyan didn’t follow Jian Yang to the film set. Whenever he looked at him, his gaze would be drawn involuntarily. Only by not seeing him could he calm down and think clearly.

He sat in his room for a long time, but found no answers. The only thing he was certain of was the intense urge inside him—to claim Jian Yang as his own.

He didn’t know how long that urge would last, nor did he know if, once it faded, he and Jian Yang would end up like his parents—a broken and discarded relationship.

“Mr. Guan,” his assistant’s call interrupted his thoughts. “The chef will arrive at the hotel by 6:30 AM tomorrow to prepare breakfast.”

“Alright.”

He couldn’t cook, but he also didn’t want Jian Yang cooking every day.

“Also, Guan Jingyu’s project has also started filming at the studio. The director of the production wants to meet with you—what do you think?”

Guan Ciyan gazed out the window. “Out of respect for the old man, I’ll meet him.”

His nephew, Guan Jingyu, seemed to have suddenly gained some wisdom. When he failed to get into Wen Ye’s project, he didn’t throw a fit. Instead, he went to their grandfather, playing the victim and begging for an opportunity to lead a project.

It wasn’t an unreasonable request. As a legitimate heir of the Guan family, getting a project off the ground should have been effortless.

Yet, out of all the projects under Fu Entertainment, he specifically chose the TV drama directed by Wei Wei. Jian Yang had arranged for Jiang Ke to handle it, with a contract clearly stating that Fu Entertainment would not interfere in Wei Wei’s execution of the project.

Moreover, out of personal interest, Guan Ciyan didn’t want Guan Jingyu to have too much contact with Jian Yang’s friends.

However, since their grandfather insisted, Guan Jingyu picked another project he liked.

This shift disrupted the original cast and crew of that project, dragging them into unnecessary chaos. But Guan Ciyan wouldn’t take his frustrations out on the director. Since he was already at the studio, meeting once was fine.

The director scheduled their meeting at five. Guan Jingyu’s filming was set to wrap at six. It was a way for the director to show his allegiance—making it clear that while this collaboration was just part of the company’s process, he wouldn’t give Guan Jingyu any future opportunities.

Guan Ciyan acknowledged it lightly. His absolute control over Fu Entertainment was unshakable.

Guan Jingyu, still living under their grandfather’s shadow, believed that his surname alone was enough to command respect.

When Guan Jingyu arrived, he hadn’t even removed his stage makeup, a sign of his urgency. Guan Ciyan sat in the main seat, with the director beside him. Guan Jingyu hesitated at the entrance, glancing at the director several times before finally addressing Guan Ciyan.

“Uncle.”

Guan Ciyan nodded slightly, saying nothing.

Guan Jingyu clenched his teeth in frustration and sat down on the other side. As the lead actor and a member of the Guan family, he would normally take the main seat in meetings like this. But as soon as Guan Ciyan arrived, he was immediately demoted.

“Jingyu,” Guan Ciyan said slowly, his voice calm and indifferent, “you sit at the kids’ table.”

Guan Jingyu: “??? Where’s the kids’ table?”

“Oh, is there none?” Guan Ciyan turned to the director. “So you called me here just to have dinner with the creative team? I wonder which deity you have among them?”

The director was caught off guard. “N-no, of course not. We invited you to give us some guidance. The actors are seated at another table—I hadn’t even told Jingyu yet.”

Inside the private dining room, there was a smaller round table with flowers and drinks, arranged in the hotel’s standard decor with no signs of prior preparation. The director pointed at the table. “Jingyu, as the lead actor and someone a bit older, could you represent me in looking after the other actors?”

“Uncle, I’m also a part of the Guan family, and this is my project. Grandpa said it was entrusted to me, so I’m fully responsible. Why shouldn’t I be involved?”

“It’s not that you can’t—it’s that you don’t deserve to,” Guan Ciyan’s words were merciless. The director tactically sipped his drink. “What gives you the right to sit at this table? Are you planning to beg Grandpa for more money again, or are you using your father’s perpetually unprofitable department store as capital?”

“Uncle!” Guan Jingyu’s face turned red. “Grandpa said that we’re family and shouldn’t create discord in public. By drawing such clear lines, are you defying Grandpa and trying to seize the family assets?”

“Did you not attend the culture classes arranged by FuYu Entertainment?” Guan Ciyan immediately called his assistant. “Arrange those cultural courses for Jingyu as well. Have his manager attend too—teach him the basics of proper speech and wording.”

The director had already called to arrange the dinner, and members of the production team gradually arrived. As the assistant reported on the “cultural courses” tailored for Guan Jingyu, everyone present realized—look, there’s an idiot here.

Producers, nearby investors, and even officials from the film bureau rushed over upon hearing that Guan Ciyan was present. The seating arrangement turned into a spectacle. Those already seated had to make way for the newcomers, creating a domino effect where people kept shifting seats.

Several ended up moving from the main table to Guan Jingyu’s “kids’ table.”

Only Guan Ciyan remained unmoved, seated at the head, watching with cold amusement as others vied for his favor.

Guan Jingyu felt bitter but had to admit—when enough powerful figures entered the room, he wasn’t qualified to sit at the main table.

Years ago, their grandfather had favored his father, placing most of the family’s industries under his father’s name. Guan Jingyu had enjoyed a privileged childhood, but after his father’s business failures, Guan Ciyan had single-handedly turned things around, establishing FuYu Entertainment and gradually absorbing the family’s cultural, tourism, and commercial assets.

All that remained under their father’s control were failing department stores and real estate companies, barely surviving thanks to Guan Ciyan’s financial support.

Their grandfather emphasized “family unity” to prevent external forces from exploiting any divisions, but in reality, he was just using the idea of family honor as a shield to disguise the fact that Guan Ciyan was cleaning up after everyone else’s mess.

He even forbade Guan Ciyan from having an illegitimate child—to prevent more heirs from appearing.

Seated at the main table, Guan Ciyan was leagues ahead of Guan Jingyu, but compared to those at the “kids’ table,” Guan Jingyu still had a certain standing.

Guan Ciyan accepted toasts with a smile, his sharp eyes catching every flicker of resentment on Guan Jingyu’s face.

Ambitious but incapable.
Unwilling to live under someone else’s shadow, yet unwilling to put in the effort.
Always looking to pick up whatever scraps fall from someone else’s hand.

In the past, Guan Ciyan had never cared for either Guan Jingyu or wealth and power.

But now, without money, how could he buy an island for Jian Yang?

He couldn’t take Jian Yang to explore space, but an island—that was within reach.

The warmth of this morning’s tomato and egg noodles left him in a good mood all day, and he welcomed every toast.

For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw Jian Yang standing next to Guan Jingyu.

Guan Ciyan abruptly set his glass down and stood up. “Guan Jingyu, it’s time for you to leave.”

His words were so sudden that the room fell silent. As everyone turned to look, Guan Ciyan finally took a good look at the person beside Guan Jingyu.

Eighty percent similar to Jian Yang.

But even with such resemblance, one glance was enough to tell the difference.

His amber eyes were filled with the arrogance and calculation that Guan Ciyan knew all too well.

Undeniably beautiful, yet instantly repulsive.

Jian Yang’s twin brother, Jian Buqing.

At the WenYe return banquet, Jian Buqing’s stunning dance had caught Guan Ciyan’s eye. His eyes were the very thing Jian Yang had always dreamed of—a pair of normal, unblemished eyes.

Perhaps it was the alcohol clouding his judgment, but he had momentarily mistaken Jian Buqing for Jian Yang.

Even knowing he had the wrong person, even knowing this wasn’t the time or place to lash out at Guan Jingyu, he still couldn’t suppress his thoughts.

Why did Jian Buqing keep someone who looked exactly like Jian Yang by his side?

Couldn’t forget Jian Yang? So he found a substitute?

“Uncle?” Guan Jingyu was frustrated, humiliated by being dismissed in front of everyone. “Are you drunk?”

“Go home,” Guan Ciyan said coldly.

“Why?” Guan Jingyu asked in confusion.

“No reason.” Guan Ciyan’s gaze remained fixed on Jian Buqing.

Jian Buqing looked between the two men before suddenly standing up.

“Director Guan, Jingyu is the soul of this project. We need him to stay.“