Chapter 146: Side Story: Mu Si × Bo Yu 1

"Welcome."

The wind chime on the cake shop door tinkled lightly.

Accompanying the youth’s clear, elegant voice, he added, "Feel free to look around; I'll be finished with this cake in a moment."

Muse was focused on the rose mousse taking shape in his hands, his head bowed in concentration. There was silence from the other side for a long time, so he looked up. The cake display case blocked the person’s figure, and he could see nothing.

"Hi, Muse! Good evening!"

The shop door suddenly opened, and a youth with black hair, brown eyes, and sharp, defined features walked in, swirling toward Muse like a gust of wind.

Muse didn't even look up. "My name is Mousse, Lorenzo."

Having spent years following Boyu to churches all over the world, Muse had enough English to handle daily life, even if he hadn't received a formal education. He stirred the rose petals and milk until smooth, then added gelatin sheets and sugar. "Muse is a goddess; you shouldn't call me that."

Lorenzo propped his chin on his hand, looking regretful. "Oh, but you look so fragile, baby—a beautiful, fair-skinned little Oriental."

Italians were generally tall and lean with darker skin and sharp features. Even though Muse wasn't short, his refined and reserved Oriental beauty still seemed out of place in this small town.

Muse smiled slightly. "But my fists are quite hard. Would you like to experience them?"

"..."

"Don't be so fierce. I like you very much." Lorenzo was a bold youth; he made no secret of his pursuit of Muse.

Muse finished the last layer of rose jelly, poured it into the mold, and placed his prized rose mousse into the refrigerator to set. He then looked up and asked, "Are you a top or a bottom?"

Seeing a chance, Lorenzo glanced at Muse's fair neck and blinked. "I am definitely a top."

Mousse patted him on the shoulder. "What a coincidence, we’re the same type." He smiled politely and nonchalantly. "We aren't a good fit, buddy."

Lorenzo’s face turned sour. He finally left with regret. "I'll come back tomorrow, then, goddess," he said from the doorway.

Muse usually had a decent temper, but he was getting annoyed. He braced his hands on the counter and vaulted over it. "Can you not understand human language, you f—"

Lorenzo was startled, blew a kiss, and darted away.

Though Muse’s dismount was cool, he had knocked a pile of candies onto the floor. He sighed helplessly. "Coming here to harass me every day without buying a thing—what girl would like such a stingy man?"

He bent down to pick up the scattered candies. Suddenly, he heard a faint, familiar sound. Before he could look up, a wheelchair entered his field of vision, followed by long legs covered in a thin blanket, carrying several cakes. Looking further up, he met a pair of amber eyes.

The man stared at him. "Check out."

"..."

The air fell into an awkward silence.

Muse calculated the price, breaking the quiet. "Why are you here?"

He had thought he would never see Boyu again in this lifetime.

"Do I need to report my itinerary to you?" Boyu retorted.

Muse said no more. The awkwardness from that parting kiss dissipated under Boyu’s icy tone.

"Three cakes, 46 euros total."

Boyu casually handed over a 100-euro note. Muse was puzzled; he knew Boyu didn't eat sweets, so why buy so many?

"I came to see if you were picking up trash."

Muse ran the money through the bill counter and shrugged. "Then it seems I’ve disappointed—"

"Living even worse than picking up trash."

Boyu took the packaged cakes. "Keep the change." Then, he left the shop without looking back.

Muse stood there for a few seconds. Even when being teased, he usually took it with a smile, but now he felt an inexplicable pang in his chest. He braced his hand on the counter and vaulted over it again, knocking the candy box over, but this time he didn't stop—he chased after him out the door.

"Boyu, who cares about your 54 euros!"

He looked just like the resilient, pure-hearted protagonist in a movie.

Just then, his neighbor, the landlady, walked by—a little old woman carrying a woven flower basket. "Oh, cute little cake maker, if you can't come up with the rent you owe me in three days, you'll have to pack your bags and get out of my house."

"..."

The air was deathly silent. A faint smirk seemed to tug at the corner of Boyu’s lips.

Muse’s fair complexion darkened. Even though he was indeed struggling, he didn't want to use Boyu’s money. In the past, when he wanted it, Boyu wouldn't give it to him. Now, he didn't care for this charity.

Just as Muse took a step forward, a sudden event occurred: a man in black snatched the bag from Boyu’s lap with lightning speed and bolted toward the narrow street.

The old woman covered her mouth in shock. "Good heavens! How could they bully a disabled person?"

Boyu hadn't even reacted. He had been through much in his life, but never a public robbery. Usually, he was surrounded by a phalanx of bodyguards, but today, he was entirely alone.

Muse took off running. "Watch the shop!" he shouted back.

Boyu: "..."

Boyu sat under the maple tree, watching Muse’s retreating back, his amber eyes filled with complex emotions.

Ten minutes later, Muse returned empty-handed. "Didn't catch him. Just count yourself unlucky." He turned back into the shop and bent down to pick up the candies. "Go on, don't come back."

Boyu had always been noble and arrogant; he had never cared about a wallet or a phone. But now, he had neither in his sight nor on his person.

"..."

Boyu maneuvered his wheelchair into the shop, staring at the youth squatting on the ground. In his calmest tone, he said, "Give me my money back."

Muse’s hand paused. He slowly looked up. "?"

Boyu’s cold expression remained unmoved. "Do you want me to fly back?"

"You didn't bring any bodyguards?" Muse found it hard to believe. Boyu was someone with deep-seated insecurity and a heavy reliance on his bodyguards; he usually kept them within arm's reach at all times.

"No," Boyu replied.

Boyu didn't elaborate, and Muse didn't ask. When Boyu reached out for the 54 euros, Muse glanced at his clean palm, hesitated for two seconds, and then, almost ruthlessly, turned away. "Sorry, sir, that’s your tip."

"?"

Muse straightened the counter. "There's no such thing as taking back money that’s been given, especially for a high-and-mighty Mr. Boyu."

Boyu had indeed never done such a thing, but it was getting late, and this was an exceptional situation. He wasn't accustomed to help from other bodyguards—like being lifted into a car or supported—as he resisted all physical contact. That was why he had been trying to be independent lately, even venturing out alone for the first time.

And now he couldn't get back.

"I will have someone send you 5,400 euros later," Boyu said coldly.

Muse’s eyelashes fluttered. His voice was lazy. "No need. I don't have such high ambitions. I only want the 54 euros."

Boyu took a deep breath. "Give me one euro; I’ll use a public phone to have someone pick me up."

Muse paused, then said again, "No, I only want the 54 euros."

Boyu: "???"

If this wasn't deliberate revenge, it would be a miracle. "Are you intentionally messing with—"

"Welcome."

Muse interrupted him as a new customer entered. "Move to the side, sir. You're blocking the customer."

Boyu had never suffered such an insult. Not knowing what else to do, he stared coldly at Muse, refusing to move.

Muse moved slightly, took something from his waistband with one hand, shoved it into an opaque cabinet, and walked out from behind the counter. He pushed Boyu aside and said to the customer, "I'm sorry."

The customer smiled and waved, then asked, "Is that your family? Working with your brother who has mobility issues?"

Boyu hated talking to strangers and glared coldly at Muse, waiting for an explanation.

"Not a brother." Muse seemed to be in a good mood, staying in character. "My son."