“No need to rush… Wenwen won’t come up that quickly.”
Seeing Yang Haoran dressing as if he were in a sprint, Shen Qing offered a reminder. She then slipped out of bed, opened the wardrobe, and surveyed the dazzling array of qipaos inside. She picked one at random and slipped it on.
“What do we do now?” Yang Haoran asked once he was dressed, his expression somewhat steadier.
“Wait for Wenwen to come up. You don’t need to say a word—just let Aunt Shen handle it. Oh, and tidy up the bed.”
Shen Qing spoke as she dressed.
Yang Haoran glanced at the disheveled bed and the telltale wet stains. He hurried over to straighten it out.
Once finished, he had covered the traces with the bedding, but a pungent scent still lingered in the air.
“Aunt Shen, which bottle is the perfume?” Yang Haoran thought perfume might mask the smell. He approached the vanity, but the array of bottles and jars left him clueless.
“The blue one.”
Yang Haoran grabbed it and spritzed lightly around the room, careful not to overdo it lest it seem suspicious.
The offending odor was now masked by the perfume’s fragrance. It wouldn’t be noticeable unless someone sniffed closely. Yang Haoran relaxed a fraction.
But why was he in Aunt Shen’s room in the first place? He still had no good explanation for that.
“Come here… Lord… take off This Slave’s collar.”
Now fully dressed, Shen Qing glided over and sat beside Yang Haoran on the edge of the bed.
“Can’t you take it off yourself?” Yang Haoran felt a bit exasperated. His mind was racing with excuses; he had no patience for this right now.
“Mmm… Lord put it on This Slave… How could This Slave dare remove it herself?”
Shen Qing said with a coquettish pout.
With no choice, Yang Haoran reached for her pale neck, unfastened the clasp, and removed the collar.
He stuffed the collar, the SM leather whip, and other toys into the wardrobe, alongside the erotic qipao Aunt Shen had worn earlier.
The evidence was mostly cleared away. He hadn’t expected Shiwen to take as long as Aunt Shen predicted; otherwise, there wouldn’t have been time to cover everything up.
…
A few minutes earlier, downstairs in the room.
Zhou Shiwen stared blankly at the ended WeChat call screen.
What now? How was he supposed to face his mom? He felt utterly lost and helpless. He wasn’t even pondering why Haoran was in her room or other trivial matters. His mind replayed his own words from moments ago, and he wished he could crawl into a hole and die from the shame.
Nothing could be more mortifying—pure social suicide.
While Yang Haoran racked his brain for explanations, Zhou Shiwen obsessed over how to explain himself to his mom. Both were gripped by anxiety.
Zhou Shiwen had long known his mom wrote erotic novels and harbored masochistic tendencies, enjoying twisted role-play as a Bitch to her master. But his own cuckold fetish for her—this she hadn’t known. Now he’d blurted it out himself, hoist by his own petard.
He never imagined Haoran would betray his trust like that. His mom had been right there, yet he’d insisted no one was around.
He’d been screwed over! Zhou Shiwen felt like stabbing Yang Haoran right then.
…
Knock knock…
The knock came right on schedule, just a few minutes late—but inevitable.
“Haoran, get the door.”
Shen Qing nodded for Yang Haoran to answer. She’d already outlined the plan to him.
Hearing Aunt Shen’s scheme, Yang Haoran couldn’t help but admire it. Doing the exact opposite—what a clever twist. His own wits could never have cooked that up.
Yang Haoran opened the door to find Zhou Shiwen outside, face etched with unease. He kept his own expression calm, as if his presence here were the most natural thing in the world—no hint of guilt.
Acting? He was a pro at it.
Zhou Shiwen spotted Yang Haoran and shot him a fierce glare. What a backstabber.
“Why are you here?” Zhou Shiwen demanded, his tone hostile.
“Shiwen… it’s not my fault. Aunt Shen planned the whole thing. I’m a victim too.”
Yang Haoran put on his most aggrieved face.
Seeing Yang Haoran’s pitiful look, Zhou Shiwen wavered, muttering to himself. What was really going on? The two headed back inside.
Yang Haoran fetched a chair for Shiwen, then dragged another over to sit beside him—as if to signal they were both in the same boat.
Zhou Shiwen sat anxiously, eyeing his mom on the bed’s edge. Something was off—her cheeks had a rosy flush, like the afterglow on those beautiful moms in the cuckold videos after a romp with his classmates.
The room fell into heavy silence. Shen Qing’s beautiful eyes scrutinized Zhou Shiwen, making him squirm, his gaze darting away, unable to meet hers.
None of the three spoke.
Finally, Zhou Shiwen cracked under the tension. “Mom, what’s going on? Why is Haoran in your room? And who was that Mu Haipeng you mentioned? Where is he?”
“There is no Mu Haipeng. He’s just an actor Mom hired. The boyfriend Mom found is Haoran. I was afraid you wouldn’t accept it, so I used the actor to test your reaction first.”
Shen Qing explained with a smile, her eyes fixed on her son the whole time. The pressure on Zhou Shiwen was immense.
“So tonight, when you said you’d sleep with Hai… I mean, Haoran—is that true?” Zhou Shiwen pressed, changing tack despite himself.
He was genuinely curious about that part.
He no longer felt so resistant to the idea of his mom’s boyfriend being Haoran. In fact, it felt oddly right.
Because that was exactly what he secretly hoped for.
“It’s not true…” Shen Qing continued smoothly. “Mom said that to make one final test of your true attitude toward me finding a boyfriend—whether you’d call Little Ran over to stop me.”
“But Mom, how did you know I’d call Haoran?” Zhou Shiwen couldn’t help asking.
“Because I’m your mom.”
Shen Qing replied matter-of-factly.
Zhou Shiwen was speechless. He pressed on: “What if I hadn’t called Haoran?”
“Then it would mean you approve of Mom finding a boyfriend.”
“But that would only mean I approve of this Mu Haipeng guy—not Haoran.”
Shen Qing had a ready answer for the sharp question. “Mu Haipeng is your age. Mom worried you couldn’t accept me dating someone around your age, or even me dating at all. As for whether it’s Haoran—if you can accept a peer like Mu Haipeng, you’ll eventually accept it’s him.”
Zhou Shiwen fell silent, lowering his head slightly, unable to meet his mom’s gaze any longer.
