Chapter 33 - Parallel Lines

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well.

 

I’ve finished setting up the Bella Novels Discord server! You can join us using this invite. There, you’ll be able to easily follow chapter updates for the novel(s) of your choice—along with access to many other features and community content.

I’m also introducing something new: the Chapter Boost System! This system lets you accelerate a novel’s releases by one, five, or even ten chapters.

Join the Discord to learn more about how it works and take part in this new feature!

 

If you’re able to provide me with the Raws of the Novels I need, you'll be the first person to receive my translation of them. You’ll also gain instant access to up to 30 advanced chapters for the novel of your choice, OR you can also request a SuperBoost for that novel.

For more details, you can check out the Raw Provider new page. 

 

And, as I said before, if you wish to read ahead, you can head over to my Patreon to get early access to all the translated chapters.

Here you go, and I wish you a good read. 

Life wasn't all that different from when he ran his café in the alleyways.

 

After mixing the dough, Serg set it aside to rest, then turned to peeling the freshly boiled potatoes. He'd mash them later to make vegetable pancakes.

 

He spent nearly every waking hour in the kitchen. After a few days, the pressure of being around Taotie had eased somewhat, but he was still on edge—especially regarding his almost insatiable, devouring hunger.

 

Cooking inevitably left traces on his body—flour, sauces, the lingering scent of smoked or roasted dishes. In the past, he never thought much of it. He'd clean up after cooking and that was that.

 

But the first day he prepared a meal for Taotie, following the menu he'd requested, he had set an entire ten-seat dining table full of food. And that was when Serg learned just how much a person could eat.

 

Apparently, the reason the fridge was always empty wasn't just that these two lacked domestic skills.

 

A far bigger issue was that they simply ate too much.

 

The way food disappeared was so overwhelming that Serg found himself unconsciously keeping up, stuffing bites into his mouth at an uncharacteristically hurried pace. There was no time for the slow, refined meals he was used to—no lingering over flavors, no quiet appreciation of plating or texture.

 

That wasn't to say Taotie and Vito didn't savor their meals. On the contrary, Taotie chewed deliberately, taking his time with each bite. If one counted, it might even be thirty times per mouthful.

 

But his pace was not that of an ordinary person's thirty bites.

 

Watching them eat was a spectacle in itself. The sheer speed was jaw-dropping—eight servings of boiled potatoes vanished within fifteen minutes. Serg barely managed to grab two for himself. And yet, despite their rapid consumption, neither of them ever appeared to be rushing; every bite was tasted with meticulous care before being swallowed.

 

By the end of the meal, barely an hour had passed.

 

Serg still had a few bites of lasagna left on his plate, but every other dish had been cleaned to gleaming emptiness.

 

Taotie's gray eyes were locked onto him, unwavering. The intensity of his gaze made it nearly impossible for Serg to swallow the food still in his mouth.

 

"Was the portion sufficient?" he asked, though his stomach was not yet completely full. Serg was no light eater, but beneath that steady gray stare, his throat felt tight, as though something unseen was pressing against it, making it impossible to eat any more.

 

"Mm."

 

Taotie ran his tongue over his lips, glistening with the sheen of oil, then gave a thoughtful nod.

 

His gaze remained fixed on Serg's face. On a single spot.

 

A spot that made Serg deeply, thoroughly uncomfortable.

 

Feeling the scrutiny sear into him, Serg had no choice but to lower his head, pretending to cough into his napkin.

 

Even so, he could feel Taotie's stare, as if it would burn straight through the napkin.

 

"When would you like your dessert?" he asked, realizing that no amount of avoidance would deter that gaze. He could only force himself to ignore it.

 

"Can I eat it?"

 

This was the third time Taotie had asked a question that Serg had no idea how to answer.

 

Staring at the last few bites of lasagna on his plate, Serg would later be unable to fathom why he did what he did next.

 

Without much thought, he gave a slight nod and pushed the plate toward Taotie.

 

"Please, go ahead."

 

"Oh! Master, how shameless of you!"

 

There was surely no other servant in the world who would speak of their master like this.

 

Serg chuckled at Vito's scandalized expression.

 

"Then I won't hold back," Taotie said smoothly. He was, after all, a man of refined manners—although, his way of eating was simply… unconventional.

 

Serg inclined his head slightly. "Please do. If it's not enough, I can—"

 

His words never made it out.

 

Because in the next instant, Taotie closed the distance.

 

It was brief—just a matter of seconds—but Taotie's lips brushed against his.

 

His tongue traced along Serg's slightly parted lips.

 

Because Serg had been mid-sentence, their tongues touched.

 

For a fleeting moment, those gray eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

 

Serg, for the first time in his life, was so stunned that his mind went completely blank.

 

His body refused to react.

 

Every nerve in his lips became acutely aware of the sensation.

 

Taotie withdrew without a word, as if nothing had happened, and polished off the lasagna in two or three bites.

 

"You had something on you." Vito, seeing Serg frozen in place, face flushed crimson, kindly provided an explanation.

 

"…Something on me?" Serg turned his head stiffly, the sound of his muscles tensing echoing in his ears.

 

His dark, deep-set eyes held nothing but sheer panic.

 

"Ketchup," Vito supplied, pointing toward Taotie.

 

Serg turned just in time to see Taotie licking the last traces of sauce from his lips.

 

…Ketchup?

 

His mind buzzed, dizziness overtaking him.

 

Only then did he realize he had forgotten to breathe.

 

He took several sharp gulps of air, trying to steady himself.

 

One thing was now absolutely, unquestionably clear:

 

Under no circumstances should he allow anything remotely edible to get on his skin in Taotie's presence.

 

This lesson was driven home the second time his hand was licked without warning.

 

And the third time his cheek was.

 

And the fourth, when Taotie's lips closed over his fingers.

 

Even after learning to keep himself spotless, however, there was still one problem he could do nothing about—

 

Taotie simply liked hovering near him, inhaling his scent.

 

And that was something Serg could never prevent.

 

After all, no matter how careful he was, a cook would always carry the aroma of their craft.

 

Setting aside his obsession with food, Taotie wasn't difficult to get along with.

 

In fact, he was quite an interesting person.

 

But when it came to mealtime, Serg had neither the speed nor the sheer presence to compete with the master and his servant.

 

So, he had long since gotten into the habit of sneaking bites while he cooked.

 

Peeling thirty potatoes with practiced efficiency, he set aside a few for himself, cutting them into bite-sized pieces—convenient for snacking while he worked. The rest, he mashed into a smooth purée.

 

Because Taotie was a vegetarian and Vito a staunch carnivore, Serg had to prepare their meals separately, which inevitably meant more work.

 

But there was one silver lining.

 

Serg had discovered that if he carried the scent of meat, Taotie would pause at a safe distance, tilting his head in deep contemplation over whether or not to approach.

 

A bit mischievous? Perhaps. But it gave Serg a brief reprieve. At least once a day, he made sure to handle meat last, ensuring he'd have a temporary buffer from Taotie's relentless proximity.

 

Once the mashed potatoes were seasoned, Serg moved on to pureeing boiled carrots.

 

It had become something of a personal amusement—sneaking vegetables that Taotie didn't eat into his meals, a trick he'd once used to correct his younger siblings' picky eating habits. It worked just as well on Taotie.

 

Despite his enormous appetite, Taotie was surprisingly picky. A vegetarian, yes, but one with a long list of vegetables he outright refused to eat. Serg had rarely met an Italian who disliked onions and mushrooms.

 

He avoided anything vibrantly colored, with the exception of eggplant, red cabbage, and tomatoes. White vegetables—save for turnips—were met with suspicion. Fortunately, he had no particular aversion to green vegetables, aside from celery.

 

His preferences were simple to the point of monotony: pasta, lasagna, ravioli, boiled potatoes. He could eat the same thing every day without complaint. Whether that made him easy to please or simply exasperating, Serg couldn't decide.

 

His tastes in sweets, however, were another matter entirely.

 

The past few days had revealed an odd quirk—whenever the same dessert appeared twice, Taotie would don an utterly vacant expression. He would still eat it, but he would linger by Serg's side far longer than usual, a silent form of protest.

 

No—perhaps not entirely silent.

 

He would murmur softly in Italian, a near-reverent chant of dessert names.

 

It wasn't until Serg had spent some time with him that he realized—Taotie was, in fact, quite talkative. If he wasn't chattering away with Vito in Italian, he was loitering in the kitchen, nibbling on fruit and biscuits while engaging Serg in a meandering, often nonsensical conversation.

 

Serg didn't mind.

 

He especially enjoyed listening to Taotie talk about glassmaking.

 

Piece by piece, the puzzle of Taotie's cryptic remark—"the clerics would prepare it"—finally came together.

 

A glass artist. A devout Catholic. Financially secure, without a single concern over money. In Italy, most of his work had been for churches, restoring their stained-glass masterpieces.

 

"I love the way sunlight filters through stained glass."

 

Taotie had said it so simply, seated at the kitchen bar, surreptitiously stealing spoonfuls of the ravioli filling Serg had just prepared.

 

"I've never been inside a church. I wouldn't know what that's like."

 

Serg had seen stained-glass floral patterns before but had never paid much attention to them.

 

Yet something in the way Taotie's gray eyes shone at that moment struck him with a sudden, inexplicable urge to see for himself.

 

Those eyes, usually distant and unfocused, could hold light like cut crystal, shimmering with a quiet, fragile brilliance.

 

The next day, after lunch, Taotie handed Serg a small oil-paper package, speaking in an offhanded tone.

 

"You can put this up. It'll look beautiful in the sunlight."

 

Vito, standing to the side, barely contained his laughter, hiding his grin behind a hand.

 

Serg felt an odd sense of embarrassment wash over him, a faint flush creeping up his face.

 

When he unwrapped the package, a soft gasp escaped him.

 

It was a small piece of stained-glass artwork, no larger than his palm. A delicate scene of a deer, its head lowered to drink from a sunlit forest stream.

 

It was small, but exquisitely crafted.

 

Holding it up to the light, just as Taotie had suggested, Serg was startled by the illusion of life within it—the gentle rise and fall of the deer's breath, the rustling of leaves in an unseen breeze.

 

That stained-glass painting now hung by the window near his worktable, where the sunlight could bring it to life.

Last Chapter | TOC | Next Chapter
⥼ Bonus Discord Chapter ⤴

 

❧ Join Bella Novels' Newsletter by clicking here ↫ and
receive an email for each New Update -͙✧˖*°࿐