Chapter 34 - Parallel Lines

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Chapter 34

 

 

The dough, now well-rested, was mixed with carrot purée, seasoned to bring out just a hint of sweetness. That morning, Taotie had specifically requested spinach and goat cheese ravioli for lunch. The colors, Serg thought, would be quite beautiful together.

 

His gaze unconsciously drifted to the stained glass by the window. Naturally, he cherished the gift deeply, to the point where he nearly forgot that his relationship with Taotie was purely transactional.

 

Though he wasn't sure why, over the past few days, aside from the delivery person, Serg hadn't seen anyone—be it Fitch, Shuai Zhaomin, Tengshe, or even Sara.

 

He had assumed Fitch would want to end this competition as soon as possible.

 

Though Serg had only met Fitch once, those amber eyes, dreamy and entranced as they looked at Tengshe—as if gazing at the whole world—left an impression that was hard to shake.

 

It made him wonder: if Shuai Zhaomin took this seriously and won the competition, what would that boy do? Tengshe seemed to hope for Fitch's victory, but Serg had glimpsed uncertainty in those reddish-brown eyes.

 

No... Shuai Zhaomin couldn't win. Absolutely impossible!

 

Lost in thought, Serg slipped. The rolling knife veered off course, slicing a freshly stuffed ravioli in half. He froze, then let out a bitter laugh, sighing at himself.

 

At least this time it wasn't his hand that got cut. His wound had just healed; the skin around his nail was still soft and delicate. Taotie had, on many occasions, deliberately grabbed his hand to lick his wound.

 

It didn't hurt, but it felt even more mortifying than when Taotie licked him because of some food stains.

 

One day, he thought, he might grow as accustomed to Taotie's natural, easy affection as he had to eating until he was sixty percent full while cooking.

 

His gaze found the stained glass again. The deer, with its deep, milk-chocolate-like hue under the sunlight, seemed almost edible.

 

His cheeks burned inexplicably. Serg set down his work, crossing his arms as he faced the stained glass. The little deer, sharing the same innocent and adorable color as him, appeared so pure as it sipped water—like glass that could breathe.

 

He didn't have the nerve to ask Taotie if the deer might have been modeled after him.

 

He knew that if he asked, Taotie would answer honestly, without a hint of hesitation. And the answer would undoubtedly make him die of embarrassment.

 

Clearing his throat to mask his emotions, Serg reminded himself that he wasn't one to indulge in wild fantasies. His upbringing had taught him patience, resilience, and a gentle restraint—while maintaining an air of nobility.

 

Aside from that last part, he had pretty much mastered the rest. Even when he harbored a quiet affection for Shuai Zhaomin, he had only ever lost control once. Beyond that, he had never dared to entertain any inappropriate fantasies about him.

 

So why did he care so much about Taotie?

 

His beautiful, dark eyes averted from the stained glass, though he lacked the will to return to the kitchen counter and continue preparing lunch. Instead, he made himself a cup of milk tea, half-leaning, half-sitting on the cabinet, watching the winter sunlight cast golden specks onto the leaves of the evergreen shrubs outside.

 

"Cinnamon?"

 

The familiar, deep voice—calm and slightly detached—sounded behind him. Where once he would have stiffened, now Serg merely shrugged.

 

"I thought you weren't due for a break for another hour. Would you like something?"

 

He turned, unsurprised to see Taotie already helping himself to the salad prepared on the table, holding the entire bowl instead of bothering with a plate.

 

With only one mouth yet both talking and eating, it was clear Taotie found it a challenge. He chewed his salad, lips dotted with dressing, his gray eyes wandering—eager to speak yet reluctant to pause his meal.

 

Serg stifled a chuckle behind his hand, a playful glint in his eye.

 

"Mr. Taotie, you're short one side dish for lunch now."

 

A faint choking sound escaped Taotie as his chewing slowed, seemingly debating whether to put down the salad bowl. After swallowing, he habitually ran his tongue over his lips, the white cheese and herb dressing disappearing beneath the soft pink.

 

Serg quickly lowered his gaze, his heart thundering in his chest.

 

It was nothing—just a simple gesture. Yet it always made him think of how Taotie looked when he licked him.

 

A peculiar itch spread over the places he'd been licked before—a subtle, unsettling sensation that made it difficult for Serg to keep his composure.

 

"I could move snack time up a bit."

 

Taotie never spoke with food in his mouth, so his words came out quickly, and he immediately took another bite of salad.

 

"Mr. Taotie, I've just baked some cookies. Would you rather have those instead of the salad?"

 

Serg knew all too well that missing a side dish at lunch would lead to far more than just an earlier snack time. Taotie's* appetite was never something that could be satisfied by shifting portions around.

 

[T/N: This is just a reminder of the meaning behind Taotie's name which I find quite fitting. The term 饕餮 (Tāotiè) originates from Chinese mythology and refers to a gluttonous, insatiable beast known for its endless appetite. Nowadays, it can metaphorically describe someone with an intense craving—often for food but also for other desires, such as affection or indulgence.]

 

One wall was one wall; one corner was one corner. Each had its place, and neither could replace the other.

 

The salad had already dwindled by a third, and Taotie was still chewing, still thinking, his hands moving with practiced speed.

 

"You don't need to make Vito's lunch today. I'll take his salad."

 

His gray eyes roamed—from the ravioli on the countertop to the stained glass by the window, finally settling on the view outside.

 

Serg couldn't help but follow his gaze. When he saw what Taotie was looking at, a small sound of surprise escaped him.

 

A short distance from the house lay a white-pebbled clearing. Serg had never known what it was for, nor had he ever seen Taotie or Vito use it.

 

And now, under the gentle winter sun, there were two people there. Vito's curly brown hair, bathed in sunlight, resembled the tousled, inviting softness of a big dog's fur.

 

Beside him stood a smaller, more delicate figure with golden hair. His fair skin had taken on a faint blush of rose under the sun's rays. Facing the window, their fine, beautiful features were the kind that lingered in memory after just a single glance.

 

"Fitch..." Serg's voice was hoarse as he uttered the blonde figure's name.

 

Finally, someone had arrived. A chill crept over his skin as he felt, unmistakably, the reality of this transaction.

 

No matter how well he got along with Taotie and Vito now, this was still a transaction. He had sold himself to Taotie—on the surface, it might seem like just his culinary skills, but in truth, it was all of him.

 

"You said you wanted Fitch to win, so I had Vito bring my weapon over," Taotie said, his tone as casual as if he were talking about the weather.

 

"Aren't you... concerned?" Serg wasn't sure what he meant by that—whether he was asking on his own behalf or Taotie's.

 

Taotie took another large bite of salad. He always ate in silence, but in this stillness, Serg's unease grew and swelled, refusing to subside. Yet he couldn't bring himself to turn away.

 

"We've already agreed—this is just a transaction."

 

Yes, just a transaction. Serg took a deep, steadying breath, his eyes fixed on the two figures outside. With Vito's back to him, he couldn't read the expression on that lively face, but Fitch looked visibly agitated and impatient.

 

Something felt off... Without realizing it, Serg leaned closer to the window.

 

Fitch's amber eyes glared fiercely. The blush on his pale cheeks seemed more from anger than the cold. His clenched fists moved sharply between them, and though Serg couldn't make out the words, it was clear their conversation was anything but smooth.

 

He didn't know Italian, so lip-reading was useless.

 

Vito seemed to spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. Fitch's shoulders tightened, his mouth opening in what looked like a shout. There was no physical fight, though Fitch appeared as if he dearly wanted to hit Vito.

 

"What a hassle." A sweltering warmth pressed against Serg's back, and he tensed instinctively.

 

"Mr. Taotie?" When had Taotie moved so close? His entire body was practically draped over Serg's back. His left hand still clutched the salad bowl, while his right braced against the edge of the counter, effectively trapping Serg within his arms.

 

"Sara doesn't like Fitch." Their heights were nearly the same. Taotie rested his chin on Serg's shoulder, his crimson lashes veiling the gray of his eyes.

 

"It does seem that way," Serg replied, keeping his tone mild.

 

"Sara likes Tengshe, but Zhuque and Qingji really can't stand him. It's quite the headache." Taotie's voice was utterly calm, a flat recitation of facts with not a trace of concern.

 

"And you?" Serg had been avoiding the topic of Tengshe for days. He didn't hold any particular feelings toward the man, but people were selfish. He couldn't bear to see Shuai Zhaomin lose control of himself over Tengshe.

 

"I don't dislike Tengshe, but Vito does." Taotie's nose grazed the hollow of Serg's neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell like cinnamon."

 

"Would you like some milk tea? It's delicious with a sprinkle of cinnamon," Serg offered. The sensation tickled, but he didn't push Taotie away. He knew well enough that it wouldn't work, and besides, he had grown used to it.

 

"I don't like Darjeeling* tea. Ceylon* is much tastier." Taotie took another deep breath, a hint of petulance weaving through his otherwise placid tone.

 

[T/N: Darjeeling tea is a high-quality black tea from the Darjeeling region in the foothills of the Himalayas, in West Bengal, India. It is often called the "Champagne of Teas" because of its delicate floral aroma, muscatel (grape-like) flavor, and light body.

Ceylon tea comes from Sri Lanka (formerly called Ceylon), one of the world's biggest tea producers. It is known for its bold, brisk flavor and bright color. There are many types of Ceylon tea: Black Ceylon Tea – The most common, with citrusy, malty, or spicy notes. Green Ceylon Tea – More delicate and grassy. White Ceylon Tea – Rare and mild, with sweet undertones.]

 

Of course, when it came to tea, Taotie always became unexpectedly difficult.

 

"I'll have some sent over tomorrow." Since Taotie wouldn't drink it, Serg figured letting him enjoy the scent would do. He cradled the cup of milk tea, took a small sip, then mischievously held it up in front of Taotie, giving it a little shake.

 

The man resting on his shoulder let out a low, rumbling growl, slipping back into Italian as he muttered to himself. Serg chuckled, his laughter bright and unrestrained.

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