Chapter 37: Living Together

Facing Lin Feng’s incredulous stare, Dongfang Cheng blinked innocently, clearly missing the deeper implication.

“My place is clean. I tidy up every day.”

“That’s not what I mean! Ugh, are you actually clueless or just playing dumb?” Lin Feng sighed, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “Even if Hoshino Kirara’s family is bankrupt, you don’t just bring her home. She’s a walking trouble magnet. Do you know how many debt collectors, gossips, and reporters will swarm you?”

Lin Feng’s concern was justified. If he hadn’t “conveniently” hacked Duhuang City’s traffic and neighborhood security systems to scrub footage, and “idly” spammed fake info across social platforms to kill rumors, Dongfang Cheng’s low-key apartment would already be mobbed by goons and paparazzi.

How did he know Kirara was at Dongfang’s place? Well, when he “fixed” Dongfang’s phone last time, he’d slipped in software for chat monitoring, real-time audio, and GPS tracking.

“No one’s shown up, have they?” Dongfang Cheng glanced out the kitchen window at his empty yard, stubborn as ever.

“That’s just your dumb luck,” Lin Feng said, rolling his eyes, watching Dongfang’s back.

The boy stood at the stove, wearing a cartoon kitten apron, stir-frying with focus. Thanks to his transformation side effects, his hair had grown longer, tied into a loose ponytail, stray strands brushing his smooth neck.

The kitchen’s warm yellow light bathed his pale neck and faint collarbone lines. His frame was slimmer, his waist softer—almost like…

Lin Feng’s mind wandered to an absurd image: a newlywed wife cooking a loving dinner for her husband.

Form is emptiness, emptiness is form… He mentally chanted, trying to banish the weird thought.

Scanning the small living room for a distraction, his eyes landed on a makeshift bedroll Dongfang had set up in the corner.

“By the way, A-Cheng, with a beauty like her here, why’re you crashing at my place? Unless…” Lin Feng grinned mischievously, “you’re into me—”

“Get a grip.” Dongfang’s temple twitched, pausing his cooking. “She needs space to process. Take this dinner to her.”

He untied the apron, packed a steaming portion of assorted fried rice into a clean bento box, and handed it to Lin Feng.

“Me?” Lin Feng pointed at himself, surprised. “What about you?”

“Dishes. Hurry up, or I’m eating your share.”

“Fine, on it!” Lin Feng saluted, dashing off.

“So, A-Cheng, you really gonna leave that heiress on ‘ignore mode’? She looked totally out of it when I handed her the bento.”

“I’m no good at therapy talk. If you think you’re a smooth talker, go for it. Otherwise, eat.” Dongfang popped a fried shrimp into his mouth, mumbling.

“Food it is.” Lin Feng grabbed his chopsticks, wolfing down a bite. His eyes lit up. “Holy—delicious! A-Cheng, where’d you learn to cook like this? New plan: I’ll start a company, hire you as my personal chef. Deal?”

“No deal. Slow down, no one’s stealing it.” Dongfang glanced at Lin Feng’s frenzy, then at his own noticeably smaller portion. He wasn’t dieting, but after his recent eating binge, his appetite had inexplicably shrunk along with his height.

Post-dinner, Lin Feng let out a satisfied burp, finally remembering the issue. He sidled up to Dongfang, who was washing dishes. “So, what’s the plan? You can’t keep her hidden at your place forever. Debt collectors aside, what if your mom comes back early? How you gonna explain—‘Meet your future daughter-in-law’?”

“She’s on assignment in Peiguode City for a TV special. Won’t be back for two or three months,” Dongfang said calmly, rinsing a plate and placing it in the drainer. “Mom’s barely home anyway, and she’ll call first. I’ll know.”

Under the dim kitchen light, his slight figure in the goofy apron looked frailer than usual.

Lin Feng, who also lived alone most of the year, felt his urge to tease fade.

“…Hey, A-Cheng.”

He stepped into the kitchen, his tone unusually soft. “Let me wash. You cooked—go rest.”

“I’m almost done.” Dongfang waved him off, hands deftly scrubbing. “Besides, this is my thanks for you getting clothes and letting me crash. I’ll handle cooking and dishes for now. I don’t like owing favors.”

“Uh, anything I can do then?”

Dongfang turned off the faucet, shook water from his hands, and tilted his head back, catching Lin Feng’s eyes over his shoulder.

In that moment, Lin Feng caught a faint, oddly familiar scent from Dongfang—maybe from his slightly open collar or damp hair. It was clean, not like perfume, but like some nameless flower blooming after rain.

“If you’re that free,” Dongfang’s voice snapped Lin Feng out of it, “go ask the heiress next door if she needs anything else besides what I got. I’m clueless about girls’ stuff.”

“Got it. Heading out?”

“Be careful,” Dongfang said casually, turning back to wipe the sink.

Lin Feng slipped on his shoes at the entrance, glancing back at the slim figure scrubbing away. He muttered under his breath, “So this is what it’s like to have someone waiting at home…”

Knock, knock, knock.

“Hoshino, you there? It’s Lin Feng. A-Cheng sent me to check on you.” He rapped on the familiar, slightly peeling wooden door of Dongfang’s place.

After a moment, soft footsteps approached. The door cracked open, revealing half of Kirara’s face. Still pale and worn, she looked better than the afternoon’s near-breaking state—likely thanks to food and a hot shower. Her wet blonde hair draped over her shoulders, and she wore clean clothes Dongfang had bought.

Lin Feng opened his mouth to chat, but she ducked her head nervously, speaking first. “W-Wait a sec.” She darted back inside, returning with a spotless empty bento box, hands fidgeting.

“…It was delicious,” she mumbled, eyes down, voice barely audible. “Did you make it?”

“Nope, A-Cheng’s handiwork. I can’t cook like that.”

“…Oh.” Her lashes trembled, and she fell silent before whispering, “Please… tell him thanks. For letting me stay, for cooking…”

Lin Feng felt a twinge of annoyance. No thanks for me? I scrubbed the security footage clean! And A-Cheng’s bunking at my place!

“Haha, A-Cheng’s just that helpful—” Lin Feng nearly laughed at his own words. The city’s top delinquent, helpful? Hilarious.

“And…” Kirara’s cheeks flushed faintly, her voice almost lost to the breeze. “Thanks, Lin Feng, for bringing the food.”

“Huh? Oh, no big deal!” He waved it off, awkwardly looking away. “Uh, A-Cheng asked if you need any specific stuff. We’re both guys, clueless about what girls use.”

“Nothing,” Kirara shook her head quickly. “You’ve done enough.”

Lin Feng scratched his head, unsure what else to say. After a few stilted pleasantries and a “rest well,” he said goodnight and left.

Comforting a girl—especially a fallen noble like Kirara, radiating tragic heroine vibes—was way above his single-since-birth skill level.