AVRL 10

The thought that Yu Tingzhi was trying to seduce him didn’t linger in Meng Chi’s mind for long.

Although Meng Chi had a healthy sense of self-confidence, he wasn’t so narcissistic as to believe that. He and Yu Tingzhi had only met twice. With Yu Tingzhi’s breadth of experience, he wouldn’t develop feelings for someone so easily.

Meng Chi didn’t have a face that could bewitch anyone, nor was he some universally coveted “dream guy” in the gay circle.

Yu Tingzhi’s deliberate effort to give him an opening in the conversation might have simply been a matter of good manners—so that Meng Chi wouldn’t be left standing awkwardly on the sidelines, unable to contribute a word.

After all, they’d had no further interaction after that day, and their WeChat exchange had ended with that transfer—settling things cleanly between them, neither owing the other anything.

As the spring tea season approached, Youran Teahouse started to get a bit busier—not because of an increase in customers, but because they needed to take stock of the leftover green teas from the previous year, sort them by quality, and store them properly using different methods.

Green tea is an unfermented tea. Unlike aged teas that improve with time, green tea values freshness and earliness. That’s why the teahouse would head to the countryside every year during the spring tea season to grab the freshest harvest.

Although the previous year’s tea wasn’t as aromatic as the new crop, it was still drinkable—but not suitable for serving guests. Yang Zhengfeng, unwilling to waste it, would take these older teas home for his own consumption or give them away as gifts. Meng Chi, on the other hand, would use them to experiment—pairing them with fruits or floral teas, either boiling or steeping them—and had created quite a few innovative tea drinks that were fairly well-received.

Today, with nothing else to do, he had made several tea blends using strawberries and peaches with green tea. He’d wanted to call Song Min over to be his taste tester, but Song Min said he didn’t have time today—a classmate of his brother’s had come to Zewu, and he needed to accompany them.

Song Min had an older brother named Song Chen, who had also graduated from the XX Academy of Fine Arts, then gone abroad for a master’s degree and stayed there to develop his career. Meng Chi had heard him mention this before, and had even remarked that no wonder Song Min was such a good student—he’d gotten into Zewu University.

Since Song Min wasn’t available, Meng Chi called Yang Zile, who had the day off, and lined up the cups of tea in front of him.

Yang Zile took a sip of the “Strawberry Tea” and made a strange face.

Meng Chi: “What’s with that face? Is it that bad?”

“Not exactly bad,” Yang Zile smacked his lips. “Maybe it’s because I don’t like strawberry flavor. I always feel strawberries should only be eaten as strawberries—anything strawberry-flavored is a disaster.”

Meng Chi clicked his tongue. Actually, he didn’t like strawberry-flavored things either, and he agreed with Yang Zile. But when it came to tea-making, you couldn’t just cater to your own taste, which was why he was willing to experiment.

“Then try this ‘Peachy Treasure,'” Meng Chi said.

Yang Zile shot him a disdainful look, picked up the cup, and quipped, “What kind of crappy names are these? Did Jack Ma pay us for advertising?”

Meng Chi laughed. “You’re advertising-crazy, you know that?”

“This one’s pretty good.” Yang Zile smacked his lips, savoring the aftertaste. The peach aroma was sweet and refreshing, and the tea had a pleasant, lingering sweetness. “If we sold these in our shop, those bubble tea places next door wouldn’t stand a chance. Too bad my dad’s such an old fossil. Sigh.”

Meng Chi clicked his tongue. “Watch your mouth. That’s your own father.”

Yang Zile pouted and muttered, “But it’s true. He always says, ‘Tea is tea—no need for all that fancy nonsense.'”

Actually, Yang Zile wasn’t wrong. Yang Zhengfeng could be quite rigid, especially when it came to tea ceremony—he had his own principles and stuck to them.

Meng Chi looked at Yang Zile, paused for a moment, then said with some gravity, “You need to understand—this teahouse means more to Master than just a place to do business.”

Yang Zile froze, his shoulders slumping. He didn’t say anything more, picked up the “Peachy Treasure,” took another sip, but couldn’t help adding, “But still, we’ve got to make a living, right?”

Meng Chi laughed. “It’s not that bad. And besides, Master isn’t totally against fruit teas—just that they shouldn’t overshadow the main offering.”

Yang Zile looked up at Meng Chi, stared for a few seconds, then suddenly flashed a sly grin. “About that modeling gig—I already said yes.”

Meng Chi nearly spat out his tea. “Huh?”

Yang Zile said, “He’s putting on a photography exhibition and needs more than one model. I asked if I could do it, and he said yes, so I agreed.”

Meng Chi: “You?”

“Yeah, you looking down on me?” Yang Zile huffed. “You weren’t interested, so I had to step up myself. I’m not ugly, you know.”

“…”

“It’s not about being ugly. Master will definitely say you’re neglecting your studies again,” Meng Chi said.

“I don’t care what he thinks,” Yang Zile said. “I’m an adult now. Do I need his permission to have my picture taken?”

Meng Chi: “…”

Yang Zile: “I arranged to meet She Shan at the shop this afternoon to sign the contract. You can look it over for me.”

Meng Chi: “…A contract? You’re making it that formal?”

Yang Zile: “Mm-hmm.”

At two in the afternoon, Meng Chi had just woken from his nap when he got a call from Yang Zile saying She Shan had arrived and to come over quickly.

Meng Chi got up, changed out of his pajamas, brushed his teeth, grabbed his jacket, and headed to the shop. At this hour, there were no customers, and Yang Zhengfeng wasn’t there either—only soft music playing in the empty, somewhat chilly space.

As Meng Chi pushed open the glass door, he heard a bright, youthful laugh, followed by Yang Zile’s voice.

Following the sound, he saw two figures faintly visible in the tea room near the courtyard’s laurel tree.

Meng Chi walked over and heard Yang Zile asking, “Completely naked?”

“What do you mean ‘completely naked’?” Meng Chi immediately interjected.

Lifting the bamboo curtain of the tea room, the faint scent of sandalwood and tea greeted him. He first saw a figure draped in an indigo robe, sitting lazily with bent legs leaning against the tea table, the wide-leg pants riding up to reveal bare, sockless feet.

This person had shoulder-length hair, half loose and half tied up in a small bun, an arm resting on his knee, holding a tasting cup. He exuded an air of untamed freedom—so free-spirited it was almost improper.

Hearing the voice, the man turned his head and looked over. He had a very young face—peach blossom eyes and smiling lips—but it was more mature than Meng Chi remembered, carrying a few extra years of quiet depth.

“Ge, you’re here,” Yang Zile said, pulling a cushion over for him to sit on. “We were just discussing the shoot details.”

From the moment Meng Chi appeared, She Shan’s gaze had been fixed on him, scrutinizing him like an X-ray, taking him in completely. It wasn’t until Meng Chi sat down beside him that he handed him a cup of tea and said with a smile, “Long time no see. You still remember me, right?”

Meng Chi took the tea, adjusted his posture, and sat up straight. “I remember.”

“Good. Saves me the trouble of introducing myself,” She Shan said, taking a sip.

Meng Chi: “…”

“What were you two just talking about? What ‘completely naked’?” Meng Chi asked again.

Yang Zile scratched his ear, a little embarrassed. “The shoot. Like, without clothes.”

Meng Chi frowned and looked at She Shan.

“No need for full nudity,” She Shan said, eyeing Yang Zile with a sidelong glance. “Half-naked will do for you.”

He then turned to Meng Chi. “Why are you looking at me like I’m some pervert? I let you keep your pants on back then, didn’t I?”

Meng Chi was momentarily speechless. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it.” She Shan laughed, then shifted gears. “Actually, you should be thanking me. If I hadn’t brought you here for tea, you might never have gotten into this world.”

Meng Chi: “…Have you ever been beaten up for talking like that?”

Shameless.

“Half-naked,” Yang Zile frowned, hesitating. “Do you mean top half or bottom half?”

At that, She Shan snorted, nearly spitting out some tea, and laughed. “What are you thinking, kid? I’m shooting art, not reproductive organs, alright? You’ll be wearing underwear.”

Even Meng Chi, who usually had no filter himself, was rendered speechless by this unbridled choice of words.

He picked up the document on the table and read it carefully. The contract was detailed—time, place, compensation, specific shoot requirements, and the ownership of the photos afterward were all clearly listed.

His eyes landed on the shoot requirements: it stated that, as needed, a painter would be invited to paint on the model’s body.

No wonder it required half-nudity.

The pay was quite generous.

“Ge, is there anything wrong with this contract?” Yang Zile leaned in and whispered.

“Nothing problematic,” Meng Chi said, glancing at She Shan across the table. “The compensation is reasonable too.”

Yang Zile was still frowning, seeming quite resistant to the idea of just wearing underwear. After a long hesitation, he said with a resolve born of desperation, “N-naked… I, I’m fine with it. But you have to promise to shoot promotional photos for our shop and advertise for us—no backing out.”

She Shan squinted, glanced at Meng Chi, and said, “I won’t go back on what I promised. But you need to think it through—these photos will be displayed at the convention center for half a month. Your neighbors, teachers, and classmates might all see them.”

Yang Zile’s expression froze, turning red and pale by turns. Before long, he turned to Meng Chi with a pleading look. “Ge, maybe you should do it instead.”

Meng Chi tapped him on the head with the rolled-up contract. “Weren’t you all brave this morning? Now you’re chickening out?”

“Actually, I do think you’d be better for it. I prefer you,” She Shan said with a smile, shifting his position. Elbows on the table, his peach blossom eyes fixed on Meng Chi with amusement. “Since you became a tea artist, that aura of yours has become even more fascinating.”

Meng Chi met his gaze and stated flatly, “You came here for me.”

“Yep,” She Shan said. “So just say yes.”

Meng Chi chuckled. “What if I don’t?”

She Shan: “Then I’ll just have to be as shameless as I was back then.”

Meng Chi: “…”

Yang Zile: “Ge, why don’t you just say yes?”

After a moment’s consideration, Meng Chi relaxed his body and lazily twirled the tasting cup in his hand. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

She Shan’s eyes lit up. “What’s your condition?”

Meng Chi tilted his head slightly, his gaze drifting past the tea room’s circular window to the cabinet stacked with tea canisters. “You buy all the tea in that cabinet.”

She Shan followed his gaze. That full cabinet of tea had to be worth at least a hundred thousand. Without a second thought, he slapped the table. “Deal!”

Yang Zile was stunned. He thought to himself, photographers are this loaded?

Meng Chi’s expression didn’t change. He said to Yang Zile, “Go pack up the tea for Boss She.”

With his goal achieved, She Shan walked out of Youran Teahouse light and carefree, pulled out his phone, and made a call. After a few seconds, it connected.

“He said yes,” She Shan laughed. “Tingzhi, now you can’t refuse me, can you?”