Chapter Text
“Absolutely not,” Shen Jiu says as he folds his napkin in two and gently taps his lips.
The black truffle dumpling melts on his tongue, delicate and rich, but as the conversation veers into territory he has long refused to acknowledge, his appetite flees and vanishes into oblivion.
“Ge,” Shen Yuan whines, mouth full of crispy roasted duck. He doesn’t even pause to chew before continuing, “You know how she is. With Da-ge married, you’re obviously next in line.”
“Why is she not after you, then?” Shen Jiu asks, almost petulant, taking a small, angry sip of the fragrant jasmine tea beside his fine porcelain plate. He knows damn well he’s next in line to inherit the family business—he’s been head of legal for over a year. Comparatively, his twin brother—fifteen and a half minutes younger—has never worked a day in his life.
Shen Yuan smiles like the little devil he is and leans over the table, entirely forgoing manners. “Ge, Mother would never matchmake me to one of the rich aunties’ daughters. I’m pretty sure you have to offer at least something more than our unfortunately shared DNA. Had we not been identical twins, I’m certain they’d have said I was adopted.”
“A-Yuan,” Shen Jiu scolds, tone clipped. He knows his brother’s joking—mostly—but it still stings. “You’re worth more than that, and you know it. A stable job or spouse doesn't define you.”
Shen Yuan just grins wider. “Don’t change the subject.”
He pops a delicate morsel of red-braised pork belly into his mouth and chews like he’s got all the time in the world, while Shen Jiu contemplates the karmic misfortune that brought him into this family.
“Mother has set you up with Qiu Haitang,” Shen Yuan adds, like he’s announcing the weather but his brows furrow like he’s tasted something bad. “I saw her file on Mom’s desk. It's official.”
“You snooped again?” Shen Jiu crosses his arms tightly, as if his brother’s nosiness might erase the fact that, once again, he’s being lined up like a show dog. He can already feel the nausea building at the thought of another awkward, joyless date with someone he’ll be expected to marry for the sake of legacy, mergers, and offspring.
“If I hadn’t, she would’ve ambushed you tomorrow morning, and you’d have spent the whole day fretting.”
“I do not fret.”
“Ge,” Shen Yuan says solemnly, downing his tea like it’s baijiu. A server passing by spots his empty cup and immediately sweeps in to refill it. “We need a plan.”
“What plan? I can simply—”
“What?” Shen Yuan cuts in, rude as ever. “You’ll reject this one, too? You know she’s reaching her limit. At this rate, she’ll marry you off by the end of the year just to get it over with.”
Shen Jiu doesn’t have a good retort for that. Their eldest brother had been cornered into his arrangement with all the elegance of a corporate acquisition. He'd barely blinked before prenups were signed, rings were exchanged, and a joint press release was drafted.
As the family’s second son—and identical twin to their most ridiculous liability—Shen Jiu had assumed he might be spared. Apparently not.
“Who is this one?” he asks, sighing. “My ‘prospective bride.’”
“Qiu Haitang,” Shen Yuan says with a grimace. “From Q-Life Global. Not even the heir.”
“I’m not either,” Shen Jiu replies flatly, lifting his cup again.
“First of all,” Shen Yuan barrels in, “Q-Life is an MLM company. And second,” he adds darkly, “her brother is a total asshole.”
“That’s not a reason—”
“He tried to pick a fight with me at Lingxi over a parking spot. A parking spot, Ge. The man wore sunglasses—mind you, it was like 1AM—and actually said, ‘Do you know who I am?’.” His voice goes both deep and squeaky at the same time as he does his best impression.
“So he’s a peacock.”
“A peacock with a chip on his shoulder and a black card he uses to compensate.”
Shen Jiu pinches the bridge of his nose. “Great. So I’m to be shackled to the sister of an arrogant blowhard with too much money and too little personality.”
“Unless,” Shen Yuan says slowly, grinning conspirationally, “you’re already taken.”
Shen Jiu narrows his eyes. “What are you scheming?”
“It’s simple.” Shen Yuan waves his chopsticks around dramatically, like he’s presenting a grand business pitch instead of eating a gold-flaked scallop dumpling. He could have done well in the company, Shen Jiu thinks. “You’re going to tell Mother you’re dating someone.”
Shen Jiu scoffs. “She wouldn’t believe it.”
“Yeah, fair, the fact that you’ve never dated is written on your forehead—”
“Hey!”
“—but that’s why I’ve found the perfect fake boyfriend for you.”
Shen Jiu puts his chopsticks down. “You what.”
Shen Yuan’s expression turns devious. “You remember Liu Qingge?”
Shen Jiu blinks. “The martial arts heir?”
“The very same. And guess what? He owes me a favour.”
Shen Jiu raises an eyebrow. “What kind of favour could he possibly owe you to warrant this?”
Shen Yuan leans in conspiratorially. “Remember that night at Lingxi when the champagne tower got knocked over and half the heirs of the eastern provinces got plastered?”
“Vaguely.”
“Well, Liu Qingge got absolutely wasted. Tragic, really. No one knew why he was drinking in the first place. Everyone knows he doesn’t touch alcohol. I found him passed out in the VIP lounge and got him home discreetly. Not a single photo leaked.” Shen Yuan preens.
Shen Jiu stares. “That’s it?”
His brother beams. “Ge, I saved his life. You know how fast social media moves—if even one picture of him face down on a crystal ashtray had made it online, he’d have become a meme. Do you want to be married off to a Qiu, or do you want to cash in on this glorious opportunity?”
Shen Jiu rubs his temples. “A-Yuan, this is stupid.”
“Liu Qingge is famously disinterested in dating,” Shen Yuan says triumphantly, completely ignoring Shen Jiu’s obvious concern. “Not a single dating rumour has graced the pages, Ge! Not even a whispered scandal. I’m convinced he wouldn’t recognise attraction if it hit him in the face. He certainly doesn’t lack admirers, though, with that face of his.”
Shen Jiu gives him a flat look. He hasn’t actually seen Liu Qingge in person—he rarely attends galas or after-parties—but he’s seen photos here and there. He is beautiful. He could easily have a secret girlfriend… or several.
“So your plan is to, what, blackmail him and then parade him in front of Mother?”
“No, my plan is to set you up with someone who won’t complicate your life, won’t catch feelings, and is too honour-bound to back out once he says yes.”
“And he’ll agree to this, why?”
“Because,” Shen Yuan says with a wink, “he’s nice. To me.”
“That means nothing.”
“Sure it does,” Shen Yuan chirps. “Especially when I also remind him I saved his life and helped him avoid becoming a meme on Weibo.”
Shen Jiu sighs. He picks up a perfectly sautéed green bean and chews slowly, watching Shen Yuan with growing dread.
He tries to imagine himself getting hitched to a non-heir from an MLM company with an asshole brother, and lets the existential dread sink in.
“Fine,” he says finally. “I’ll bite.”
Shen Yuan lights up like a thousand-watt chandelier. “That’s my Ge!”
“But if this explodes,” Shen Jiu adds, deadly calm, “I’m blaming you.”
Shen Yuan slurps up the last of his tea, smiling like a man who has never faced consequences in his life. “What could possibly go wrong?”
—
It’s the following Sunday morning that Shen Jiu finds himself sitting, ramrod-straight, in a quiet café tucked just far enough from the busy streets of Jing’an. It’s his one day off this week, and he had point-blank refused to go anywhere beyond a twenty-minute walk.
Across from him, Shen Yuan is slouched deep into a plush cream velvet chair, sipping an iced hazelnut americano through a straw while scrolling on his phone.
Shen Yuan glances up, unimpressed. “We got here thirty-five minutes early, Ge.”
He nods toward Shen Jiu’s untouched drink. “Drink your tea.”
It’s a milky osmanthus blend, one of Shen Jiu’s favourites, usually enough to coax him into something resembling peace. But now, as the weight of what he’s about to do settles over him in full, there’s only one thought crowding out the rest: What the fuck am I actually doing?
“Maybe we should leave?”
Shen Yuan looks up again, eyes narrowed just enough to show disapproval. His mouth twists into a shape that wordlessly calls Shen Jiu a coward.
“Do I need to remind you that Q-Life is an MLM company, my dearest brother?”
“Ugh,” Shen Jiu says, resisting the urge to faceplant on the offensively tasteful glass table.
Realising he’s somewhat committed now, he picks up the cup and takes a sip. The tea is smooth and fragrant, the delicate sweetness of osmanthus blooming across his tongue, exactly the way he likes it.
Unfortunately, he isn’t granted the full thirty minutes he’d planned to spend wallowing in dread. Barely ten minutes later, the bell above the café door jingles, and the most beautiful man Shen Jiu has ever seen in his entire life walks in.
He’s seen plenty of blurry fan photos over the years, as they’ve orbited the same circles, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing Liu Qingge in real life.
He’s tall—easily over 180—and his figure is clearly athletic, but understated. He’s dressed in a loose white shirt tucked neatly into steel blue-coloured slacks, the fabric soft and expensive, flowing just right with every step. Over it, he wears a black leather jacket, the kind that should look gaudy on anyone else but somehow makes him seem even more infuriatingly effortless.
His hair is a rich, glossy black, pushed back into something purposeful and styled, exposing the clean lines of his face. His features are so delicate, almost unreal: a tall, straight nose, almond-shaped eyes as dark as ink, and lips curved into a natural heart shape. And under the corner of his left eye, a single mole. It should break the illusion—but it only makes him sexier, as if the universe had deliberately added one imperfection just to prove it could.
Shen Jiu forgets to breathe for a full two seconds.
His brother perks up the second he spots Liu Qingge.
“Qingge!” he calls out—loudly, unnecessarily so, as if they’re in a stadium rather than a quiet boutique café. Several heads turn. If Shen Jiu weren’t too busy staring at the man himself, he’d already have hissed at Shen Yuan to lower his damn voice.
Liu Qingge approaches with long, unhurried strides and sits down without ceremony. His presence, like the rest of him, is immaculate and quietly arresting.
“Shen Yuan,” he says by way of greeting, voice low and even, his face not moving a millimetre from its impassive set.
Shen Jiu blinks. Wait—wasn’t he younger?
The complete lack of honorific sends a jolt through the illusion Shen Jiu had just built in his head. Liu Qingge turns to him next, offering a shallow nod – something between a bow and a curt, lukewarm acknowledgment.
Shen Jiu is halfway to raising a brow and issuing a sharp remark when, naturally, his brother steamrolls in.
“Well!” Shen Yuan says, far too cheerfully, clapping his hands together like they’ve just begun a group project and not a blackmail scheme. “Qingge, this is my brother, Shen Jiu. Don’t be fooled by the angelic face, he’s meaner than I am.”
Shen Jiu scoffs. Trust his brother to sneak in a self-compliment. Their faces are practically identical.
Liu Qingge nods once, impassively, his expression infuriatingly unreadable.
Shen Yuan barrels on, unbothered. “So! You two are going to pretend to date so Mother backs off Ge, and he doesn’t have to leave the nest and go be a live-in MLM wife.” His voice dips into a high, tragic squeak as he wipes at an invisible tear.
“I moved out five years ago, you idiot,” Shen Jiu mutters, unkind.
Liu Qingge shifts slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what would this entail?”
His voice is nice, Shen Jiu notices – low and even, a pleasant baritone that sits just right in the ear. He hates that he notices it.
“Ah, you know,” Shen Yuan says breezily. Shen Jiu absolutely does not know. “Being seen in public occasionally, holding hands, a little light affection, et cetera. Definitely meeting Mother and Father for dinner. They won’t believe it otherwise.”
Liu Qingge listens closely, despite the loosely casual way he’s seated – arms crossed, back straight, one leg resting over the other like he owns the place. He nods occasionally, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows. It might have been endearing if he didn’t look like he was calculating battle logistics.
Shen Jiu feels the heat creeping up the back of his neck at that thought. Which is ridiculous, honestly. He should get a grip.
He stands up, a little too abruptly. “You don’t have anything to drink,” he tells Liu Qingge, his voice going an octave too high. “I’ll get you something.”
Liu Qingge raises a hand in polite refusal. “That’s not necessary.”
“You’re doing me a favour,” Shen Jiu says stiffly. “Let me return the courtesy.”
There’s a brief pause. “Black coffee. And a glass of water.”
“Of course it’s black coffee,” Shen Jiu mutters as he turns toward the counter.
By the time he returns, balancing a small bamboo tray in both hands, he hears Shen Yuan talking low and fast.
“The key is starting the rumour. Half the job’s done once the right people start talking.”
“And how do you propose we start… the rumour?” Shen Jiu cuts in dryly as he sets the tray down. Liu Qingge inclines his head in thanks and settles back into his seat, lifting the coffee like he actually drinks it black because he enjoys it and not out of sheer spite for flavour.
“Oh, easy!” Shen Yuan says, already pulling out his phone. He taps open WeChat Moments, flips to the back camera, and angles it at the three of them. When neither of the other two moves, he turns around with a full, exaggerated scowl.
“It’s for Tangtang.”
Tangtang—full name Shen Tang—is their youngest sibling and the only one still living with their parents. Also: attached at the hip to their mother, a chronic oversharer, and completely incapable of lying. Shen Jiu would’ve called her a snitch, except she genuinely can’t help herself. She’s a walking group chat notification.
“Ah,” he says, immediately understanding. “Very well.”
He scrapes his chair closer to Liu Qingge, and surprisingly, Liu Qingge shifts too, until their shoulders press against each other. No hesitation, no fuss. Just… efficient cooperation. Professional fake dater right there.
Shen Yuan hums in approval and snaps a photo without much warning.
He squints at the screen. “You’re physically close, but you look so awkward,” he announces flatly. “Even Tangtang won’t buy it. Do better.”
They try again. This time, just as Shen Jiu turns toward the camera, he gets a closer look at Liu Qingge.
Up close, the man is still stupidly, infuriatingly flawless. His skin looks like it’s been airbrushed – pale, smooth, and glowing. His lashes are long and feathery. The beauty mark under his eye sits like a deliberate detail on an oil painting. And he smells good (of course he does), clean, expensive, annoyingly restrained.
The photo clicks just as Shen Jiu stares a second too long.
art by en
“Ge!” Shen Yuan crows. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were already in love with Qingge.”
They jerk apart instantly.
Shen Jiu’s ears burn. If not for his tinted sunscreen, he’s certain his whole face would be giving away his embarrassment. His brother is utterly ridiculous.
He clears his throat and dares a glance at Liu Qingge – who’s already looking at him. His expression is unreadable as ever, but there’s a faint flush blooming across the high bridge of his nose, tinting the tips of his ears a soft pink.
He looks like a model in the middle of a photoshoot. The blush on his skin could be makeup, artfully applied to highlight his cheekbones. Shen Jiu is irrationally furious at how stupidly attractive he is. With a face that blank and unbothered, he doesn’t deserve to look that good.
Shen Yuan spends the next several minutes tapping away at his phone, alternating between a look of solemn concentration and quietly giggling at whatever Shen Tang is messaging him about.
Shen Jiu lets him. It gives him time to pretend, just for a second, that he didn’t truly agree to all of this.
It’s only when Liu Qingge speaks again that he startles a little.
“Shen Yuan says you’re the smartest in the family.”
Shen Jiu snorts, somewhere between a huff and a scoff. “I can probably beat you at Go, yes.”
Liu Qingge’s face shifts for the first time since he walked into the café: the corner of his mouth quirks upward, just slightly. Not quite a smile, but something like it. “I’d like to see you try.” His tone is mild, but the look in his eyes is pure challenge.
Something warm and unwelcome curls low in Shen Jiu’s stomach.
He breaks eye contact like a coward and reaches for his now-cold osmanthus tea. He hasn’t even managed a second sip before his phone begins to ring.
He glances at the screen.
“It’s Mother,” he mutters grimly.
Across from him, Shen Yuan is already giving him a shit-eating grin.
He picks up.
“Tangtang tells me you’re spending time with the Liu boy,” she says in lieu of hello.
“Ah,” Shen Jiu says carefully, already trying to head her off. “Yes.”
There’s truly no escaping the clutches of familial surveillance. Not with Tangtang, who has the face of a doll and the soul of a divine retribution committee.
“Come over for dinner sometime, won’t you? It’s been a while. Bring that troublemaker of a brother of yours, too.”
He exhales through his nose. “Yes, Mother.”
“Good,” she says and the call disconnects.
Shen Yuan is already vibrating with unholy delight.
“The devil works hard,” he declares, slurping the last watery inch of his iced americano, “but our dear little sister works harder.”
Shen Jiu signs dejectedly. He hates it when Shen Yuan is right. He turns to Liu Qingge with the air of a man offering up his dignity for sacrifice.
“Would you come meet my mother sometime?”
“You’re ready for the next step,” Shen Yuan encourages, absolutely uselessly, yet positively glowing.
Liu Qingge looks a little conflicted, but a life debt is a life debt, so he easily acquiesces with a tight nod and a low, “Sure.”
And thus begins the most unbelievable chapter of Shen Jiu’s life.