DCTMOAS Chapter 69
by SuxxiAt the end of July, the short two-week summer vacation for soon-to-be senior high school students was nearing its end.
Chu Cheng had packed his luggage and was preparing to leave home for Tingzhou in the coming days.
Since the start of the break, he had actually wanted to have a proper conversation with his father. But every time the words reached his lips, he found himself unable to speak and turned back.
Today, once again, he was pacing outside the study, conflicted as ever—only to be noticed by his father.
“Xiao Cheng, what are you doing pacing around out there?” Mr. Chu sat on a dark wooden chair, practicing his calligraphy. He happened to glance up and saw a tall shadow drifting back and forth at the folding door.
Chu Cheng had no choice but to walk in and stand in front of the desk, calling out,
“Dad.”
“Getting ready to head back to school?” the old man asked, still bent over his calligraphy, brush gliding smoothly, ink flowing like a quiet stream.
Though he rarely said much, in his heart he had been keeping close track of how long his son had been home.
“Mm. The beginning of senior year is crucial,” Chu Cheng replied conversationally. “Things are going to get busy soon, and I don’t have much experience, so I figured I’d go a couple days early to prepare.”
Mr. Chu nodded. “No matter how busy you are, take care of your health. Don’t stay up late, eat properly… I’m sure your mother’s already nagged you about all this more than once. I just don’t want you to think I’m being annoying.”
Chu Cheng helped him adjust a paperweight that had gone askew and bowed his head slightly.
“No, I’ve taken it all to heart. After all, it’s my own body. I don’t want to end up a frequent flyer at the hospital while I’m still young.”
“So mature now? Doesn’t even sound like you,” the old man chuckled, glancing at his son before returning to his calligraphy.
The study fell into a quiet hush—only the soft sound of brush against paper and the gentle trickle of water from a decorative fountain could be heard.
Chu Cheng kept his head lowered, watching his father’s side profile.
In recent years, the old man had aged noticeably faster. The white at his temples seemed to grow in wild waves, and though the fine wrinkles around his eyes multiplied, they couldn’t dull the sharp light in his gaze. If anything, they made him look more kind and wise.
Moments like this always brought a twinge of guilt to Chu Cheng’s heart. His father had lived an upright and dignified life, and he feared that having a son with an “abnormal” orientation might cause his father grief or scandal in his later years.
“By the way, was there something you wanted to talk to me about?” Mr. Chu didn’t look up, eyes still fixed on the paper.
Chu Cheng answered with a vague sound, but didn’t continue.
The old man noticed the hesitation on his son’s lips, paired with eyes full of words unspoken, and couldn’t help but smile.
All grown up, yet still as transparent as when he was a boy—unable to hide a single secret.
He finished the final, powerful stroke of his calligraphy and then picked up a fresh sheet of rice paper, handing it along with the brush to his son.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you practice your writing. If you really can’t bring yourself to say it, why not write it out for me? If it turns out to be something truly inappropriate, I’ll just pretend you were copying down a random essay.”
Perhaps a letter would be easier.
Chu Cheng nodded and sat down to the side, picking up the brush with a mix of emotions.
His handwriting—whether with pen or brush—was a perfect reflection of his father’s influence: a blend of softness and strength, structure and elegance, all in perfect harmony.
He kept his head down, writing steadily, while the old man waited patiently.
There was no incense burning in the study, no clock ticking. Who could say how much time passed? But before long, the once-blank sheet was covered in page after page of flowing script.
At last, like a confession letter, the paper was passed into Mr. Chu’s hands.
The old man fell silent after just reading the first few lines, disbelief flickering in his eyes. But every word on that paper was written so sincerely, so cautiously—it was clearly no joke. It must have been the result of deep contemplation, perhaps even torment.
So, he chose to keep reading, even as his brows began to furrow deeply without him realizing.
“Dad…”
Chu Cheng finally spoke after a long pause, enough time for his father to finish reading every word. Yet still, there was no response.
His father was already getting on in years. It was only natural that this would be difficult for him to accept. But his reaction was almost too calm—eerily calm.
Just as Chu Cheng began to feel a gnawing sense of unease, the old man finally spoke, his voice low and slow:
“Xiao Cheng, what exactly are you afraid of?”
What was I afraid of?
Chu Cheng didn’t know how to answer.
His father had always been gentle and even-tempered, never raising his voice or lashing out. Chu Cheng knew he wouldn’t lose control or start shouting. But he hadn’t expected that the very first thing his father would say would be a question—about his fears.
“Are you afraid that you’ll regret making the wrong choice?” his father continued.
“Afraid of being seen as an outcast, treated differently by others? Or is it that you’re worried your actions will bring shame to the family?”
He didn’t wait for a response—just kept asking, as if reading his son’s heart.
The truth was, he knew his son well. And he guessed, rightly, that it was most likely the last one.
“I understand,” the old man finally said after a long silence in the tea room.
“I’m also glad you had the courage to come and tell us on your own.”
“But I’d like to discuss this with your mother first. We need to give it some serious thought before we can respond properly.”
“For now, go take care of your own business.”
Chu Cheng knew his parents wouldn’t be able to accept this right away.
He nodded silently and left the study. On the way back to his bedroom, he could still hear his father’s voice calling out:
“Shuqi, can you come in for a moment?”
“What is it?”
“…”
For the entire afternoon, Chu Cheng didn’t hear another sound from his parents. Not even at dinner did the subject come up again—not a word or even a hint.
Sitting at the table, he quietly studied their expressions. They looked just like usual—maybe a little more quiet, that’s all.
They were both people with steady temperaments and excellent self-control. Given that, Chu Cheng wasn’t surprised. But the food felt tasteless in his mouth.
Finally, after dinner, Professor Jin was the first to break the silence.
She gently patted Chu Cheng on the shoulder and said,
“Later I want to move a few of the flowers from the studio into new pots. If you’re not heading out, come help me.”
His mother loved flowers—especially tending to them herself. Most of the time, Chu Cheng could only help out with small tasks. So he knew this was just an excuse.
Mr. Chu looked at his son, who had nearly finished his meal but was still sitting in a daze, and said kindly:
“Go keep her company for a while. Talk with her.”
“Alright,” Chu Cheng gave a slight bow and followed after her.
The summer glass conservatory was bright and resplendent. Along the quiet corridor ahead, one could see hundreds of flowers blooming in vibrant harmony, arranged at varying heights across the shelves.
Chu Cheng was only a few steps behind, but by the time he entered, Professor Jin had already put on her gardening gloves and was getting to work.
He rolled up his sleeves to help, but due to his lack of skill, he could only assist with simple tasks—mainly to keep her company and chat.
Professor Jin, hands occupied, turned to him and asked, “Pass me two pieces of thin cotton string.”
“Okay.” Chu Cheng stood up and went to search for them. After handing her the string, his attention was drawn to a book on one of the shelves.
It was Volume 9 of The Complete Works of Chu Lining, the volume specifically dedicated to him. But it was different from the publicly released edition—twice as thick, in fact, clearly a custom-printed private collector’s version.
Curious, Chu Cheng opened it and, sure enough, it wasn’t the same. The mass-market autobiography version was all text, but this one had hand-drawn illustrations on every page.
“What’s this?” Chu Cheng asked, surprised.
Professor Jin glanced over and replied matter-of-factly, “Oh, that was something your father had wished for a couple of years ago.”
“A wish?”
“Mm. He said he wanted a gift—asked me to help illustrate the old books.”
Chu Cheng flipped through the illustrated pages of himself and asked in confusion, “Why would he think of something like this?”
Professor Jin paused in her work, then answered, “Think about it a little and you’ll understand.”
A thought flashed through Chu Cheng’s mind. He moved his lips. “Because of Grandpa?”
His maternal grandfather, Mr. Jin Zhaoqü, was a renowned traditional Chinese painter, especially in flowers and birds. Sadly, in his later years, he suffered from Alzheimer’s. By the end, he didn’t even recognize the daughter he’d loved most. It had devastated Professor Jin for a long time.
In a daze, Chu Cheng murmured, “Is Dad worried he might end up like that?”
Professor Jin nodded. “Yes. Luckily, he recorded everything about his son in those books. He said, even if one day he forgets everything, perhaps seeing this book would help him remember a little.”
Hearing this, Chu Cheng felt a heaviness in his chest. He spoke with a touch of sorrow: “But he’s always been in good health… Why would he think about something like that? And why didn’t you try to talk him out of it? You even helped him…”
“I don’t think it’s an unfounded worry,” Professor Jin looked at her son seriously and explained, “By the time you reach thirty, your father will be past seventy. We won’t be able to be with you much longer. That’s why we’ve always tried to raise you into someone strong and independent—we couldn’t afford to spoil you. Sometimes, that might’ve made us seem rigid or harsh.”
She paused for a moment before continuing:
“But we’ve never taken pride in trying to change your mind, overturn your decisions, or interfere with your life.”
Chu Cheng was stunned.
The next moment, he heard his mother say clearly,
“If you think that falling in love with someone of the same sex—giving or receiving a kind of affection that’s different from the norm—would tarnish the family’s reputation, then we really have taught you in vain.”
“Mom, you and Dad…”
“Your father and I feel exactly the same way,” Professor Jin said.
“If we could witness you finding someone who can stay by your side for the long run—whoever they are, regardless of gender, profession, age, or family background—as long as they’re upright and sincere, and your feelings are genuine, I think… we’d be happy for you.”
Apart from feeling grateful, Chu Cheng didn’t know what else he could say.
He was overwhelmed with emotion, silently keeping his mother company until all the flowers had been replanted.
“All right now,” Professor Jin took off her gloves and set them aside, handing him a wet wipe. “You’ve been out in the world for years and still wear your emotions all over your face like a fool.”
Chu Cheng took the wipe and cleaned his hands, but he couldn’t stop thinking about that book—one that couldn’t be found anywhere else. He asked,
“Can I borrow it for a while?”
“You can.” Professor Jin nodded. “But that’s the only copy. Don’t forget to bring it back.”
“I won’t.”
After promising his mother, Chu Cheng left the conservatory with the book, returned to his room, and settled into the couch, flipping through it intently.
Because his father’s book chronicled his childhood, Chu Cheng had never read it this carefully before.
It turned out that what his father had described and what he himself had felt were really quite different.
Now, with a calm heart, he realized that every word, every brushstroke in this book was infused with deep affection.
Chu Cheng turned back to the title page and saw a quote from his grandfather written at the top, and beneath it, a line of printed text:
“Giving birth to a child is not the continuation of our lives. We raise them to live a life that belongs wholly to themselves, in the name of love.”
[Private Collector’s Edition, for Mr. Chu only.]
Written by: Chu Lining
Illustrations by: Jin Shuqí
As he read, a wave of emotion swelled in his chest. His nose began to sting, and his eyes welled up—soon the characters on the page blurred into haze.
Then his phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was a video call from Yu Siting.
Chu Cheng set the book down, sniffed, and tapped to accept the call. He tried to hide his emotions, but just a few sentences in, Yu Siting noticed something was off.
“Why are you crying?” Yu Siting immediately caught the redness around his eyes and the off-kilter tone in his voice.
“I’m not.” Chu Cheng smiled and explained,
“I was reading something… couldn’t help it a bit.”
On the other end, Yu Siting sounded concerned and gently offered,
“Then, do you want to go out for some air? I’ll come pick you up.”
Chu Cheng glanced at the time—it was still early—and nodded.
“Okay.”
Yu Siting said,
“Wait for me.”
Then he ended the call.
The summer night breeze was gentle and comforting.
Chu Cheng leaned lazily against the stone railing by the lake at Houhai, nibbling on late-night snacks, letting the cool wind brush his face, and listening to the music wafting from the bars behind them—some bold and soaring, some hoarse and full of longing.
“Here.”
Yu Siting came back from a distance, carrying the spicy tripe and mini wontons his boyfriend had asked for, and handed them to him.
Chu Cheng already had other snacks in his hands. He quickly stuffed the last half of the tamagoyaki into his mouth, took a sip of the old-style yogurt from the porcelain bottle, and only then reached out to take the food.
“You didn’t eat dinner?” Yu Siting asked.
Chu Cheng shook his head, then nodded.
Yu Siting looked at his obedient yet slightly pitiful expression and returned to the previous topic they’d been discussing before he went to buy food.
“So what exactly happened?”
“It’s nothing,” Chu Cheng said. “I just… told my parents about us.”
Yu Siting paused at that, recalling the intense standoff he had with his own father when he came out. He asked cautiously,
“They disapprove?”
Chu Cheng shook his head again and stirred the spicy tripe with his chopsticks. The texture was crunchy and richly flavorful.
“Then what is it?” Yu Siting looked at him in disbelief. “Don’t tell me—they actually approve?”
“Mm, they respect me.” Chu Cheng puffed up his cheeks, chewing diligently, and only spoke again after swallowing.
After listening to him recount the entire conversation—including the tears—Yu Siting finally relaxed. He let out a soft sigh and asked,
“Was it good?”
Chu Cheng: “Mm.”
Yu Siting: “Let me try?”
Hearing that, Chu Cheng picked up a bite with his chopsticks and held it out. But Yu Siting ignored the food in front of him, leaned in, and instead kissed the corner of his lips—right where the sauce was.
“…” Chu Cheng panicked and quickly glanced around.
“No one’s looking,” Yu Siting said with a smirk. “Want something else?”
“I’m full,” Chu Cheng replied.
“Then let’s take a walk.”
The lights sparkled, the lake shimmered with gentle waves. Though the sky had darkened, it reflected in their eyes, making them look bright and clear.
The two of them strolled around the lake. Yu Siting naturally took Chu Cheng’s hand and held it as they walked slowly back to where the car was parked, chatting along the way.
Chu Cheng leaned against the car, feeling the quiet of the night and the comfortable fullness in his belly.
Yu Siting casually opened the back door and slid inside to rest. Tilting his head up to look at Chu Cheng for a moment, he suddenly asked:
“We’ve met the wingman, had dinner together, and now both our families know. Doesn’t that count as having the blessings of parents and the words of a matchmaker?”
“So?” Chu Cheng raised an eyebrow.
“Well, since the relationship is already so formal…” Yu Siting leaned back against the seat, patted his own thigh suggestively, and teased, “Don’t you think we ought to do something not-so-formal to balance it out?”
Chu Cheng had just eaten and didn’t feel like moving, but when he saw Yu Siting’s posture, he couldn’t help feeling a little mischievous.
He climbed into the back seat, threw himself on top of Yu Siting, and with their fingers interlocked, looked down into his eyes.
“Sure,” he said. “Close your eyes.”
The car was cramped, limiting Yu Siting’s movements. He could only comply, slowly closing his eyes and waiting.
Chu Cheng leaned in close, about to kiss him, but then paused. He gave him just the lightest peck—a fleeting dragonfly kiss.
Yu Siting, still with eyes closed, chuckled. “You messing with me?”
Chu Cheng seemed to have just remembered something. He whispered in Yu Siting’s ear,
“Actually, not all of my family knows yet.”
“Oh?” Yu Siting lay back, waiting for the rest.
Chu Cheng pushed himself up off the backseat, fished out his phone from his pocket, and dialed a number.
After a few rings, a gentle female voice came through the speaker:
“Good evening, Mr. Chu Cheng. I’m Assistant to Director Jin. He’s currently in a video conference. Is there anything urgent you’d like me to pass on?”
Chu Cheng spoke into the phone:
“So he’s at the office now? About how long until he’s done?”
The assistant paused for a second, then replied after some thought,
“Expected to finish within an hour.”
“Alright, got it. I’ll head over now.” Chu Cheng said, then hung up.
Because they were sitting close together, Yu Siting had heard the entire call clearly, but he still didn’t understand Chu Cheng’s intention.
“What are you planning to do?”
“Withdrawal. Fifty-fifty split.”
Chu Cheng smiled, just about to open the car door and return to the front seat when his unsatisfied boyfriend grabbed his wrist.
“In such a rush?” Yu Siting didn’t quite get it. He slowly sat up, still clutching Chu Cheng’s hand tightly, speaking in a lazy drawl.
“Can’t you kiss me first, then go?”
Chu Cheng’s brows lifted slightly with a breeze of mischief in his eyes.
“I’ll kiss you after I go.”
Author’s Note:
Director Jin: Security! SECURITY!! I’m terrified of what’s about to happen in the next sixty seconds.