Chapter 85: I Just Like Someone Like Tang Yu

The bar was bustling and lively. Bian Yang wore an expression of utter impatience, having been dragged in by Qin Mingyu, who clung to his arm relentlessly.

Qin Mingyu protested loudly, “I’ve been running around for you these past few days, you haven’t even treated me to a meal! I’m leaving tomorrow morning, shouldn’t you at least see me off? Just have a few drinks with me! It’s only ten o’clock—what’s the hurry to go back?”

Unlike the capital, where extravagant clubs flourished on every corner, Liangcheng’s living costs weren’t so high. Even the best booth in the finest bar would set you back no more than a few tens of thousands.

Bian Yang carried a black cloth tote in his hand. He shook off Qin Mingyu’s grip, set the bag on the seat beside him, then draped his jacket over it to shield it from the bar’s haze of alcohol and smoke. His loose white T-shirt, under the bar’s soft lights, took on an orange hue. He leaned back lazily in the booth, exuding a languid, weary nonchalance.

Qin Mingyu ordered the most expensive liquor, only to spit it out after a sip, his face twisted in disgust. “What the hell is this stuff?”

He turned to Bian Yang, but the other paid him no mind, head bowed, long fingers gripping his phone. The faint white glow from the screen highlighted his sharply defined features. Apparently finding one-handed typing too slow, he pulled out his other hand from his pocket, continuing to reply to some message, utterly absorbed.

“Who are you messaging to be smiling like that?” Qin Mingyu craned his neck to peek, but Bian Yang immediately flipped his phone face-down, disdainfully pushing Qin Mingyu’s head away. “Drink your drink.”

“As if I’m desperate to see it,” Qin Mingyu scoffed, crossing his legs and propping his feet on the table. “Yang, you know about that engagement my family arranged for me, right? My parents say as soon as we’re both legally of age, we’ll get our marriage certificate. Isn’t that ridiculous? I’ve never even seen the girl, and they want me to marry her. Just the thought of sharing a bed and doing those things with a stranger makes my skin crawl.”

Bian Yang toyed with his phone, not even bothering to lift his eyelids. “Arranged marriages are routine for your family.”

For four generations, the Qin family had married for political and business alliances. In Qin Mingyu’s case, the engagement had been decided at birth. No surprise—just as it had been in his previous life, his marriage would be arranged.

Though Qin Mingyu had no crushes and wasn’t interested in romance, he still resented having his life so tightly controlled. “What about you?”

The bar’s air conditioning was too cold, so he reached for Bian Yang’s jacket on the booth.

Bian Yang slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch.”

“What’s wrong with me wearing it for a bit?”

“Get yourself a blanket.”

Bian Yang reached over, straightening out the jacket and making sure the bag beneath was covered.

Qin Mingyu snorted. “What’s in that bag anyway? You’ve carried it around all evening without a word, now you’re wrapping it up with your jacket like it’s some treasure. Come on, let me have a look.”

His curiosity piqued, he reached out with both hands to pry it open. But just as he glimpsed a corner, Bian Yang twisted his arms behind his back. Qin Mingyu yelped in pain and was tossed aside.

When he turned around again, Bian Yang, wary as a thief, was zipping up his jacket over the bag, making sure not a sliver was exposed, and moving it to the far side of the booth.

“Wow, must be a girl’s stuff in there. I saw it! Why did you buy so many sanitary pads?” Qin Mingyu rubbed his hand, drawing out his words with a teasing lilt as realization dawned. “Did you buy them for Tang Yu?”

Bian Yang glanced at him, his expression indifferent. “None of your business.”

“First you buy a heap of clothes, then you spent a night putting up that glass partition, now you’ve lured her to your apartment and are buying her such private things. Yang, your intentions couldn’t be any clearer.”

Bian Yang’s fingers rested idly on the rim of his glass; he barely drank. At these words, his lashes fluttered, but he did not deny it.

Qin Mingyu scooted closer, his hand sticky from the fruit platter, accidentally brushing against Bian Yang’s clothes.

Bian Yang immediately brushed him off. “Keep your distance. If you get that dirty, my girl will have to wash it for me.”

“What do you mean, your girl? Did she agree to that? You’ve already assigned yourself a role! Give me back my cold, aloof Yang! Don’t let this girl steal him away!”

He tried to grab Bian Yang, but was ruthlessly kicked aside, a clear shoeprint left on his pants.

Clutching his backside, Qin Mingyu thumped his chest in mock despair. “Betrayed! Ten years of friendship can’t compare to a month with a pretty girl! Unbelievable, Yang, you used to value friendship over romance!”

Bian Yang merely lifted his eyelids, saying nothing.

“But,” Qin Mingyu straightened up, now serious, “you’re the only son in your family. If they arrange a perfect match for you one day—a girl with no faults—what will you do then?”

Bian Yang’s eyes drooped, his tone flat. “That old bastard wouldn’t dare.”

At the mention of that man, his brow darkened, his mood growing irritable.

Qin Mingyu noticed and tried to soften his words. “Honestly, Uncle Bian is one of the more open-minded parents in our circle. He’s let you do your own thing since you were a kid. Unlike me—my life’s been planned out like a pig in a pen: what school, what major, who I can even talk to. At least Uncle Bian lets you be.”

Bian Yang gave a low, cold laugh, draining his glass. “Open-minded? He’s not just open-minded—he’s open. Not just in his thinking, but in bed too.”

“That was all cleared up, wasn’t it? Uncle Bian was set up, he never touched that little actress. Didn’t both she and her agent get blacklisted afterward?”

The bar lights were bright, but none of their warmth touched the cold glint in Bian Yang’s eyes.

After several drinks, Qin Mingyu pressed a hand over Bian Yang’s glass. “Don’t drink like that. This stuff’s strong, and your stomach’s already bad—it’ll burn a hole in you.”

He asked the waiter to switch to something milder. “Fine, I won’t mention him again. Let’s talk about something happy. Tell me about Tang Yu. Do you actually like her, or do you just feel sorry for her?”

Bian Yang looked up, meeting his gaze. “I’m not an idiot.”

“You’ve never dated before, you’re still young—what if you meet someone you like more in the future?”

They were only nineteen. Even if the world they saw was more complicated than most, they were still just kids, inexperienced in matters of the heart.

Qin Mingyu thought for a moment, then asked, “Do you like her innocence, her cuteness, her looks? Or is it something else?”

He was being quite blunt already, but seeing Bian Yang silent, he pushed further. “Is it just her gentle, pure type that you like? We’ve got plenty of girls like that in our circle—”

“I don’t like them.” Bian Yang cut him off abruptly.

He stared at his glass, the lights catching in the liquid, scattering colors. “I don’t like quiet ones, or pretty ones, or pure ones. I just like Tang Yu.”