The staff at the shooting venue were going crazy, and the live stream audience was even crazier.

#GuQichiRedCutoutSuit instantly shot up the hot search list, its popularity soaring with unstoppable momentum.

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“Where’s the cameraman!!! Zoom in closer!!! I want to see Chichi wife’s beautiful back!!!”

“I’M I’M directly pitching a tent, performing a blooming salute for little baby Chi [lewd][lewd]”

“Wife is so beautiful!!! Truly a miracle like Venus’s golden ratio, I want to cry and scream, burst out from under Wuxing Mountain, run across the Five Great Mountains, climb Everest until I cry, spiral kneel on the ground, weep until my soul leaves my body, my five viscera and six bowels tremble, tears forming the Yangtze, Yellow River, and Pacific [lick screen][lick screen]”

“Though I really don’t want to admit it, Bo Yu, you’re one lucky bastard [tears][tears] A wife like Gu Qichi is impossible to find even searching heaven and earth with a lantern [tears].”

“Qichi’s waist isn’t a waist, it’s Death’s scimitar; Qichi’s back isn’t a back, it’s Bulgaria’s rose; Qichi’s legs aren’t legs, they’re Seine River spring waters [lewd][lewd]”

“Bo Yu’s face looks so ugly [send heart]. Makes sense, having to share such a gorgeous wife with everyone must piss him off [naughty].”

“I love seeing Bo Yu break [naughty].”

“Bo Yu, your wife’s so hot, lemme hit it [flying kiss][flying kiss].”

“Don’t be shy, Bo Yu, I don’t mind if you show us little baby Chi without clothes [doge].”

…

Gu Qichi was led back to his dressing room by Bo Yu.

The man stuck closely behind him, trying to block all those prying eyes.

Once inside the dressing room, Bo Yu’s gaze kept patrolling Gu Qichi’s exposed back, like a large beast surveying its territory—eyes dark, ink swirling in their depths, utterly intimidating.

Under that inspecting gaze, Gu Qichi couldn’t help but shrink a little.

He lifted his lashes—beneath them, the makeup artist had drawn red traces. His eyes were moist, seductive when looking up from below.

Gu Qichi spoke: “Stop staring. Aren’t you supposed to write a word on me?”

Bo Yu’s face was grim, extremely displeased: “I don’t want to shoot anymore.”

Gu Qichi was a bit helpless, turning around and rubbing his forehead: “If we don’t shoot, it’s a breach of contract—we’d have to pay the penalty.”

The dressing room lights were bright, the incandescent bulbs harsh and glaring. The beam hit that expanse of bare back like fine, lustrous mutton-fat jade.

Bo Yu’s throat tightened. He gripped the acrylic paint tightly, his other hand covering Gu Qichi’s waist, nearly pinching red marks into it.

Bo Yu: “The penalty isn’t much. I can pay it.”

As soon as he said it, Gu Qichi lightly lifted his eyes, a flash of displeasure in their depths.

Gu Qichi: “But this shoot’s concept is really good. I like the photographer and the styling too.”

He really wanted to keep shooting.

Bo Yu obediently shut his mouth but couldn’t help rasping: “Only this once.”

In that moment, the man really looked like some aggrieved large dog. Gu Qichi couldn’t help but chuckle.

He tiptoed higher, arms winding around Bo Yu’s neck, planting a soft kiss on his Adam’s apple.

His water-pink tongue tip probed out, licking the little mole bobbing on Bo Yu’s Adam’s apple—that spot quickly glistened wetly.

“Am I pretty today?” Gu Qichi’s warm breath brushed Bo Yu’s side neck lightly, his ending tone hooking up playfully.

Bo Yu lowered his brows, gaze falling on the youth’s quivering lashes. His Adam’s apple bobbed heavily.

“Pretty.”

His voice was hoarse beyond belief. He half-closed his eyes, mind uncontrollably flashing to the youth’s various bed appearances.

Cheeks flushed, brows and eyes blooming with spring colors, tongue tip slipping out uncontrollably, gaze shattered, shallow waist dimples slick with fine sweat…

Devastatingly beautiful.

Gu Qichi tiptoed even higher, kissing his eyelid: “Reward when we get home.”

“Don’t be mad anymore? Hm?”

Bo Yu’s chest rumbled a “Good.”

The youth turned around, hands braced on the wall, waist dipping slightly, hips round and full.

The acrylic paint was red; the brush fine, easily outlining the desired characters.

The props staff had handed them a slip of paper before they left, with a clear English word on it.

Bo Yu’s breathing grew heavy again. He picked up the brush and began writing on Gu Qichi’s back.

The brush hairs tickled the skin, stirring itchiness, plus the cool touch of the acrylic—Gu Qichi’s brows furrowed, waist and abdomen shrinking, unable to resist dodging.

Suddenly pinned by a pair of large palms, immobile.

Bo Yu’s voice was low, tone thick with… desire spilling out: “Don’t move.”

Gu Qichi tried hard to stay still, enduring the itch.

But paired with Bo Yu’s timbre, it inexplicably heated his ears, ants crawling over his heart, biting—a numb, sour swelling spreading from that thin skin on his back, igniting undeniable heat.

Gu Qichi’s gaze darted, wanting to ask something to distract: “What’s the word the props guy gave you?”

The final stroke finished, Bo Yu lifted his lashes, gaze sweeping upward over every inch of Gu Qichi, finally spinning to settle on his full, round hips.

“Eros.”

He said softly.

Like a peach.

Bo Yu thought, Gu Qichi had no extra flesh anywhere—whatever two liang he had was perfectly placed, as if born to seduce him.

As soon as he spoke, Gu Qichi froze.

Red quickly spread from his ear roots, even his neck flushing.

He’d expected Fashion Pasha’s concept to be bold, but not this bold.

Gu Qichi, top university grad nationwide, how could he not know what “Eros” meant?

Eros, in Greek mythology, embodiment of all creatures’ love and emotion—love god Eros.

But beyond that, a more veiled meaning—

Sexual desire, sex.

Bo Yu lowered his gaze, long dense lashes casting thin shadows on his pale skin.

His eyes swept Gu Qichi’s smooth back, over the deep-shallow spinal groove, stopping at those two pale-pink peach halves.

Suddenly recalling a passage.

From Hesiod’s Theogony, describing him thus:

“Most beautiful among the immortal gods, he makes all limbs slack, melting mind and thought in the hearts of gods and men alike.”

Bo Yu thought, Gu Qichi was the same.

Embodiment of all love, desire, lust.

He lured him deep, maddened him, left him insatiable, willingly sinking for him.

Even unto perdition.

But none of it mattered.

Bo Yu would be Gu Qichi’s sole devotee.

Bo Yu silent, Gu Qichi too.

But it was already written—no erasing now. Gu Qichi simply went all in.

He half-closed his eyes, mist in them, stopping Bo Yu who was setting down the paint: “Add one more character.”

Bo Yu raised a brow: “Add what?”

Gu Qichi’s fingers curled, ear roots bleeding red, mosquito voice:

“Yu.”

Bo Yu’s hand shook; a drop of acrylic fell along the brush curve.

Perfectly landing in Gu Qichi’s waist dimple.

White with a red dot—striking, searing.

The overhead incandescent glared, but for a moment, Bo Yu couldn’t tell if it was the light or the Gu Qichi before him more blinding.

As if not stimulating enough, Gu Qichi whispered: “Bo Yu’s Yu.”

The string called reason in Bo Yu’s mind snapped completely.

His god would descend the altar, willingly, branded with his unique mark.

Eyes burning red, he panted roughly, forcing calm.

Before that red dot, he wrote “Yu.”

Bo Yu’s Yu.

Once the paint fully dried, Gu Qichi turned around.

Bo Yu was still cooling himself.

Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Gu Qichi had been coaxing him earlier, not glancing at Bo Yu’s outfit.

Truth be told, his formalwear wasn’t much tamer.

A black suit, left lapel heavy handmade embroidery—a dark night rose blooming at the heart, paired with Bo Yu’s face, radiating aggressive oppressive beauty.

No inner layer, exposing bare chest.

Bo Yu, office-bound CEO, never skipped workouts—muscles tight and fluid, pecs developed. The tight buttons created clever curves.

Exuding raw, primal power.

The pants design even more ingenious.

Even Gu Qichi sighed inwardly.

Low-waist, hugging Bo Yu’s lowest abs, but with two glossy metal chains at the hip bones, adding desire to the hardness.

Half his hip tattoo peeked—a winding flower stem and half the “Chi” character, teasing in motion.

Gu Qichi narrowed his eyes, suddenly sharing Bo Yu’s agitation.

He wasn’t thrilled either.

Fingers slipping into Bo Yu’s waistband, knuckles against his lower abs, Gu Qichi tugged the pants up.

The hard metal chains rustled.

Gu Qichi lifted his eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing faintly, meaningful: “Control yourself.”

Then he straightened the pant edges, fingers hooking the chain, pad grazing his name tattoo.

Gaze dark and inscrutable.

“I’ll wait outside.”

He gave him time to cool off.

…

Once Bo Yu calmed, he pulled back the dressing room curtain to see Gu Qichi waiting in a chair.

Cheeks’ flush mostly faded.

Hand in hand they emerged; Bo Yu deliberately buttoned his suit tight, hiding the lower abs tattoo.

But during shooting, it was spotted.

Cameraman framing them, directing poses.

Photographer: “Teacher Bo, loosen up. Undo that suit button—we want wild, unrestrained vibe.”

Gu Qichi’s gaze flicked to the camera, thinking you want uncensored spice, not restraint.

Bo Yu said nothing, but nudged by Gu Qichi, cooperated and unbuttoned.

Suit hem parted, platycodon flowers blooming half-visible on his right hip bone.

Cameraman paused, staring at Bo Yu’s hip, intrigued.

Wanted to ask, but hesitated.

Probing a man of Bo Yu’s status about private parts was suicidal.

Photographer awkwardly shut up.

But his silence didn’t mean live chat fans would.

“What’s that on Bo Yu’s hip bone? Tattoo?”

“Seems like… damn, his body’s insane, we’ve seen it before, why hide? Stingy.”

“We’re all family, wife’s back exposed—Bo Yu, showing abs what’s the big deal? [rage]”

“Bo Yu has tattoo, can’t take civil service exam—as Qichi’s future MIL, infinite deduct points!!!”

“Broad shoulders, long legs, dog waist—prime breeder vibes, little baby Chi’s lucky [husky]”

“Summary: YuQin Gu absolute match!!! Fairy pair!!!”

“OMG sisters, Bo Yu’s hip has Gu Qichi’s name!!! [crazy][crazy]”

“Real? Just a bit peeking, how’d you see? [Doraemon shock]”

“[pic JPG] Look, that flowery upper half—isn’t it a ‘Ye’ radical?”

“Plus, who’d he randomly tattoo without reason? [doge]”

“Damn, these two are unreal, so spicy—is this real couple scale? Eye-opening.”

“kswlkswl that’s Gu Qichi’s name for sure, believer’s lifetime good deeds paying off with this CP. [pray]”

…

Luo Qianqian monitored Bo Yu and Gu Qichi’s progress real-time, hyping their live data.

iPad, computer, phone—all three devices, all in their streams.

She naturally spotted the chat frenzy first.

Involuntarily glancing at Bo Yu’s spot.

Winding stem, half flower head—yeah, like a “Ye.”

Then their pose—she suddenly felt parched.

“Teacher Bo’s hand lower, yes, a bit more.” Cameraman watched interaction, tension maxed, but Bo Yu kept blocking Gu Qichi’s back: “Teacher Bo, stop there!”

Photographer finally satisfied.

Gu Qichi back to camera, Bo Yu’s hand on his round hip—side light highlighting silver chain on back, gem below scapulae refracting dazzling light, swaying precariously under chain pull.

Below chain, words emerged like flowers growing from youth’s skin.

Scorching red entangled lustrous white—teasing eroticism.

Of course, photographer had long spotted not just “Eros” on Gu Qichi’s back, but a “Yu” too.

Slightly off-plan, but the tension and vibe more killer.

Love and desire clashing fiercely.

In the frame, cursive English elegant, “Yu” bold and powerful in the waist dimple, sprawling claws out.

Like a unique brand seared on the youth.

Blatantly declaring Bo Yu’s possessiveness.

Photographer: “Teacher Gu, tilt head toward Teacher Bo, gaze on his Adam’s apple.”

Photographer: “Teacher Bo, lower head more, eyes focused—yes.”

Click clear after, photographer had them switch poses.

“Teacher Gu, turn around. Props, that lace.”

Gu Qichi puzzled as staff blindfolded him with dark red lace.

Sheer, handmade weave.

Gu Qichi could even see moving staff through it.

They brought a wide chair.

“Teacher Bo, hold Teacher Gu and sit.” Photographer paused, itching, hesitating before asking: “Teacher Bo, mind if I ask—what’s on your hip bone…”

Bo Yu lifted lids, bland glance, casual: “Tattoo.”

Photographer nearly whistled.

Luo Qianqian burst into gopher screech—string of A’s startling many.

Post-screech, she realized her gaffe, face flaming red.

But next, photographer curbed joy, prying: “Can we see what it says?”

Bo Yu seated Gu Qichi on his thigh, cool reject: “No, personal privacy.”

But giving face, added flatly: “Qichi’s name.”

Shooting site erupted in endless A’s, roof-shattering.

Washing away Luo Qianqian’s embarrassment.

Even chief editor Cheng was CP-ing them to the heavens, blissed-out.

As dual-couple cover planner, Cheng ditched decorum, straight-up for photographer: “Can we shoot your tattoo?”

Feeling improper, and Bo Yu icy, Cheng pivoted sharply to Gu Qichi: “Just the peeking bit, ok?”

Bo Yu lowered brows; Gu Qichi pondered, nodding at Bo Yu.

Bo Yu then leaned back, languid: “If Qichi says yes, then yes.”

Saying so, no more hiding—flung suit open, baring ornate chest, defined eight-pack, half-visible “Qichi” tattoo.

No shame, but transcendent nonchalance.

Chat exploded again:

“Hot damn, Bo Yu burning up.”

“Suspecting he meant for us to see [soy smile][soy smile]”

“Look at his smug ass, flaunting tattoo [soy bye]—scare tactic? [soy smile]”

“Mommy, one writes ‘Yu’ in waist dimple, one inks ‘Qichi’ on hip—spicy af, killing me [lick][lick]”

“AAAAAHHH TOLD YOU!!! Tattoo!!! Bo Yu how you do this?!?!”

“Don’t wash that ‘Yu’—tattoo it on baby Chi, too hot.”

“No one noting Eros? Am I too pervy? [chin rest]”

“Fashion Pasha sales gonna explode—even I who hates mags wanna collect one. [tears][tears]”

“Eros… Inland top wedding co Pasha, no wonder—bold as hell. [like]”

…

Photographer directing: “Teacher Gu, sit Teacher Bo’s left thigh, show his tattoo.”

“Teacher Bo, hand best on Teacher Gu’s neck.”

They complied.

Frame: youth’s jaw lifted, sharp lines tangling with tense jawline. Eyes lace-veiled, lips under man’s finger—below, fragile throat cradled in palm.

Youth’s Adam’s apple rolling—man felt every curve clearly.

Like a fragile ceramic doll ready to shatter.

Bo Yu’s face under a hand too.

Gu Qichi’s.

His unlike Bo Yu’s—knuckles slender, joints pale, even dusted blush by makeup, pink-tinged white, stirring thoughts.

Bo Yu’s brows deep-contoured, features stern-sharp, gaze on Gu Qichi predatory—like mindless beast.

Yet hand on face gentle, feather-light softness, inexplicably softening Bo Yu’s menace.

Lower abs tattoo hazy in light.

Atmosphere between them lingering, ambiguous.

Photographer shot one set after another, sighing inwardly.

Perfect match, heaven-made.

Others first mag shoot awkward, awkward poses needing guidance.

Not Bo Yu—born for this, languid pose, haughty gaze.

Nailing lens, conveying intent.

If not CEO, with that face scouts’d drag him to ent, thriving.

But undeniable: without family wealth breeding that opulent aura, shoot wouldn’t flow.

That lofty disdain—not anyone’s birthright.

In lens, Gu Qichi and Bo Yu like gods sacrificing to demon—yet vicious demon god’s truest believer.

Photographer startled at own thought, then laughed.

Shoot done for outfit—many closeups on Gu Qichi back, Bo Yu lower abs. Satisfied, photographer wrapped, staff took them to change second set.

This tame.

Casual daily wear.

Bo Yu swapped to simple white tank, exposing tight arms; loose gray sweats below.

Gu Qichi shed hollow-back suit, visibly relaxing.

New outfit simpler—no wild design, plain white shirt.

Just no top button—bent collarbone exposed.

Dazzling white.

Photographer thrilled with combo. Once ready, group moved to next staged shed.

Cozy “home” setup.

Sofa, kitchen, living room—huge bed even.

Gu Qichi scanned, sudden bad feeling.

Next sec, photographer winked intimately at them, ambiguous: “Teacher Gu, lie on that bed.”

This Fashion Pasha hired world-famous photographer; Gu Qichi researched style, strength, works—daring the invite.

But scale too much, Gu Qichi headached.

Still, cooperative principle—he lay obediently.

Photographer approached, directing pose.

Wanted hands-on but Bo Yu’s glare deterred—smartly just talked.

All set.

Photographer to Bo Yu: “Teacher Bo, hands braced above Teacher Gu.”

Bo Yu loomed over Gu Qichi.

Photographer continued: “Head in Teacher Gu’s shoulder nest, lips near collarbone.”

Winked ambiguously: “Don’t mind leaving a bite mark…”

__

Author’s note:

Qichi: Control yourself

Bo Yu: Did, but now I’m losing it—

Qichi: Reward when home.

Bo Yu: Wife you’re done—home won’t be reward, it’ll be punishment [devil whisper][ragdoll magic attack]