In the hedgerow.

I wanted to see the place where Margaret grew to what she is, even at the worst time of all, when I had no hope of ever calling her mine. 

OMG WHAT THE HELL THEY FINALLY RELEASED THIS CHENGYU X XIAOSHUAI SCENE FROM THE BTS FOR THE ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF REVENGED LOVE AIRING

“All men do in bed is lie!”

“In bed? How about on the sofa then?”

XS: Chengyu, do you really think I don’t have a brain? (When did he say that? What did he do to make you think that, XS? Also, you are a doctor, smoking does nothing for your boners!)

CY: No

XS: So you think I can’t keep a secret? (What secret? The YueYue one, where CY got her back into the game?)

CY: No, not at all, I meant it. (Except he kept something from his boyfriend, so…?)

XS: See? Men never tell the truth in bed. (bb you are a man yourself- but carry on spreading the gospel)

CY: In bed? We’re on the couch! (Getting off on a technicality, sly old fox. And going for round 2 as distraction, we see what you did there, CY)

What were they talking about, though? Why did they cut so much from the show???

This sick bleach shirt I made. Something to showcase my undying love for prehistoric cave art.

Ceiling of the synagogue in Szeged, Hungary.

babe, you still need to be licensed 😭😭😭😭 and you'll need to provide your registration number on everything you produce and those can be easily checked, including the insurance company that will eventually insure the worksite, so you can't get away with lying about it

you can't get the license with just a degree so you can't solve that issue quickly

But also… rich nepo baby shenanigans. North opens a bakery without knowing anything about running a bakery. Neither does his partner in crime, who probably doesn‘t know anything about food safety regulations, either. They are probably bribing the local health inspector to stay open, come to think of it. (North is so used to handing out red envelopes to uncles, he would be scandalized at having this called bribery)

Tim is caught between getting talked up by Pai, having to fake it til he makes it and the knowledge rich folks fail upwards- and also bribery for the right people to look away. Credentials? Experience? Not needed. He is in his architect era now.

Mind you, Pai didn’t see him working once and he is still willing to give up his job and investment money for Tim. For all the red flags he is pointing out with Yu, he is downright color blind when it comes to his own life. Makes me think he is allowed to be CEO because the board at Empire knows there are smart people responsible for the actual day to day stuff, while Pai gets stuck in meetings all day long. At best, he is micromanaging and shitty at delegating stuff. Either way, of course there is nothing to managing a housing project for someone like him.

Secret Recipe

Summary :- Xiaoshuai is terrible at cooking, but insists on making a birthday meal for Suo Wei. Guo Cheng Yu...elegant and smirking as ever...secretly helps him in the kitchen. Between flour fights, stolen glances, and Cheng Yu leaning over Xiaoshuai’s shoulder to guide his hands, the “revengeful businessman” finds himself enjoying domestic bliss he never expected.

Chapter - 1

Chapter - 2

Chapter - 3

Chapter - 4

Chapter - 5

The kiss lingered in Jiang Xiaoshuai’s thoughts long after the storm passed.

The morning after, he woke up tangled in his blanket, his heart pounding at the memory. He buried his face in his pillow and groaned. “What did I do…?”

But no matter how much he tried to scold himself, the warmth of that kiss clung to him like the scent of flour after days of baking. It had been soft. Real. Dangerous.

He stumbled into the kitchen, half-expecting to see Guo Cheng Yu already there with his usual smirk. But the apartment was empty. Quiet. Too quiet.

“Good,” Xiaoshuai muttered to himself, tying his apron anyway. “I don’t need him. I can cook on my own now.”

Yet as he chopped vegetables, his hand trembled. He heard Cheng Yu’s voice in his head: Don’t fight the knife. Let it do the work. He scowled at the memory, nearly slicing his finger.

By the time he finished the dish, the vegetables were uneven, the noodles clumped together, and the soup was bland. He stared at the mess, shoulders slumping.

“…I miss him,” he admitted aloud, his voice barely above a whisper.

The next day, Cheng Yu didn’t show up. Nor the day after.

Xiaoshuai tried to convince himself it was better this way. That he could finally go back to normal, without distractions, without someone looming over his shoulder. But his apartment felt emptier with each passing evening.

On the third night, he found himself pacing the living room, muttering. “He probably thinks I’m some idiot. Or maybe he realized I’m not worth the trouble. Or maybe…” His chest tightened. “…maybe that kiss didn’t mean anything to him.”

The thought made his stomach twist.

Finally, unable to bear it, Xiaoshuai grabbed his jacket and marched out the door.

Guo Cheng Yu’s office was as intimidating as ever—sleek glass walls, polished floors, a reception desk that made Xiaoshuai feel like he’d wandered into another world. The receptionist blinked in surprise as he stormed in.

“I need to see Guo Cheng Yu!” Xiaoshuai declared.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked politely.

“No! But tell him Jiang Xiaoshuai is here, and if he doesn’t come out, I’ll…” Xiaoshuai trailed off, realizing he hadn’t thought this far ahead. “I’ll make a scene!”

The receptionist hesitated, then picked up the phone. Moments later, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway—elegant as ever, but with a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Xiaoshuai?” Cheng Yu asked.

“You!” Xiaoshuai jabbed a finger at him. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

A murmur rippled through the nearby employees, curious eyes turning toward the scene. Cheng Yu’s brow twitched. “Let’s talk inside.”

Before Xiaoshuai could protest, Cheng Yu guided him into his office and shut the door.

The silence was thick. Xiaoshuai crossed his arms, glaring. “Well?”

Cheng Yu sighed, loosening his tie. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Liar!” Xiaoshuai snapped. “You didn’t come by for three days! That’s avoidance!”

“I thought you needed space,” Cheng Yu said calmly. “After what happened…”

The memory of the kiss flashed between them, unspoken but burning. Xiaoshuai’s ears turned red. “I didn’t ask for space!”

Cheng Yu studied him for a long moment. “Then what do you want, Xiaoshuai?”

The question hit harder than Xiaoshuai expected. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, fumbling for words. “I… I don’t know.”

Cheng Yu’s lips curved faintly, though not into a smirk. “You barged into my office without knowing what you want?”

“Yes!” Xiaoshuai shouted, flustered. “Because I—because I missed you, okay?!”

The words hung in the air, heavier than thunder. Xiaoshuai’s face burned, his fists clenched. He half-expected Cheng Yu to laugh, to mock him, to turn it into another game.

But Cheng Yu didn’t. His expression softened, his eyes warming in a way Xiaoshuai had never seen. “I missed you too.”

Xiaoshuai blinked, stunned. “You… what?”

“I missed you,” Cheng Yu repeated, his voice steady. “Annoying as you are, loud as you are… I got used to being in that kitchen with you. Too used to it.”

Xiaoshuai’s chest tightened, something hot rising behind his eyes. He quickly looked away. “You’re too smooth, you know that? Always saying things like that.”

“It’s the truth.”

The silence stretched, but it was different now. Softer. Almost fragile.

Finally, Xiaoshuai muttered, “Fine. Then… don’t avoid me again.”

Cheng Yu’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “As you wish.”

From that day on, their rhythm returned—but it wasn’t quite the same. The air between them carried a new charge, something unspoken yet undeniable.

When they cooked, their shoulders brushed more often. When they laughed, it lingered longer. When Cheng Yu guided his hands, Xiaoshuai didn’t pull away.

One evening, while kneading dough, Xiaoshuai looked up to find Cheng Yu watching him, not the food. His chest fluttered. “What?”

“Nothing,” Cheng Yu said, though his eyes betrayed him.

“You’re staring,” Xiaoshuai accused.

“Am I?” Cheng Yu’s lips curved. “Maybe I like the view.”

Xiaoshuai nearly dropped the dough. “You—! Don’t say stuff like that!”

“Why not? It’s true.”

Xiaoshuai buried his face in his hands, groaning. “You’re impossible.”

“Yet you keep letting me in,” Cheng Yu replied softly.

The words made Xiaoshuai’s heart pound.

As spring bloomed, so did their bond. Cooking lessons turned into shared dinners, shared dinners turned into late-night talks on the couch. Sometimes they argued, sometimes they laughed until their stomachs hurt.

But always, always, there was that quiet thread pulling them closer.

One night, after successfully baking a cake without disaster, Xiaoshuai plopped onto the couch, exhausted. “We did it. Finally. A cake that doesn’t look like a crime scene.”

Cheng Yu sat beside him, handing him a fork. “It tastes better than it looks.”

Xiaoshuai took a bite, eyes widening. “It’s actually good!”

“Of course it is,” Cheng Yu said smoothly. “You had an excellent teacher.”

“You mean you did all the work.”

“Semantics,” Cheng Yu replied, smirking.

They ate in comfortable silence, the sweet taste lingering on their tongues. When the plates were empty, Xiaoshuai leaned back with a sigh. “You know, if someone told me a few months ago I’d be spending my nights cooking with you, I’d have laughed in their face.”

“And now?” Cheng Yu asked.

“…Now I think I’d miss it if it stopped,” Xiaoshuai admitted quietly.

Cheng Yu’s eyes softened. He reached over, brushing a smear of frosting from the corner of Xiaoshuai’s mouth with his thumb. “So would I.”

Xiaoshuai’s breath hitched. Their eyes met, and once again, the space between them dissolved.

This time, when Cheng Yu leaned in, Xiaoshuai didn’t hesitate. He met him halfway.

The kiss was deeper than the first—hungry, desperate, filled with all the unspoken words they hadn’t dared to say. Xiaoshuai clutched at Cheng Yu’s shirt, pulling him closer, while Cheng Yu’s hand cradled the back of his head with surprising gentleness.

When they finally broke apart, Xiaoshuai’s face was crimson. “You’re… you’re still impossible.”

Cheng Yu chuckled, his forehead resting against Xiaoshuai’s. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“…Yeah,” Xiaoshuai whispered, his lips curving into a small smile. “I am.”

Months later, the kitchen was no longer a battlefield. It was theirs.

Flour fights still happened, but they ended in laughter, not frustration. Mistakes still occurred, but they became part of the recipe—part of the story.

Xiaoshuai still burned things occasionally, but Cheng Yu was always there to steady his hands, to guide him, to remind him he wasn’t alone.

One evening, as they plated dinner together, Xiaoshuai looked around at the messy counter, the warm light, the man beside him. And for the first time, he didn’t see chaos.

He saw home.

“Hey, Cheng Yu,” he said softly.

“Hm?”

“Thanks… for staying.”

Cheng Yu glanced at him, his smirk giving way to something rare, something genuine. “Always.”

And as they sat down to eat, Jiang Xiaoshuai realized the secret recipe hadn’t been about cooking at all.

It had been about finding this—finding him.

Finding love in the unlikeliest kitchen.

THE END.

💖🍰✨ Thank you so much for reading my story! Your support means the world 🌍💫 Every comment, every like, every moment you spend with these characters makes my heart so full 💕🥰

Here’s to more laughter 😂, fluff 🧸, and sweet moments 🍓💌 ahead. Stay cozy, stay happy, and keep enjoying the journey with me! 🌸🌈

With love and gratitude, Cloud Recesses Dropout💌💫

Secret Recipe

Summary :- Xiaoshuai is terrible at cooking, but insists on making a birthday meal for Suo Wei. Guo Cheng Yu...elegant and smirking as ever...secretly helps him in the kitchen. Between flour fights, stolen glances, and Cheng Yu leaning over Xiaoshuai’s shoulder to guide his hands, the “revengeful businessman” finds himself enjoying domestic bliss he never expected.

Chapter - 1

Chapter - 2

The kitchen, once chaotic, now smelled faintly of garlic, ginger, and the sweetness of stir-fried vegetables. Bowls sat neatly arranged on the counter, but the room still bore the scars of battle—flour dust on the cabinets, streaks of soy sauce on the tiles, and a small pile of broken eggshells forgotten in the sink.

Jiang Xiaoshuai wiped his brow with the back of his hand, smearing flour across his temple. “Well… it’s not perfect, but it’s edible. Right?”

Guo Cheng Yu raised a brow, taking one elegant step toward the counter. He picked up a pair of chopsticks, twirling them between his fingers with the kind of poise that made Xiaoshuai want to scream.

“You sound nervous,” Cheng Yu said lightly, dipping into the noodles. He lifted a small bite, blowing gently before tasting.

Xiaoshuai held his breath.

Silence. Then Cheng Yu’s lips curved upward. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?!” Xiaoshuai burst out, half indignant, half relieved. “Do you know how hard I worked for this? I nearly died in a flour avalanche, sacrificed three pans, and probably shortened my lifespan by at least five years—and all I get is ‘not bad’?!”

Cheng Yu smirked, setting the chopsticks down with deliberate slowness. “Would you like me to exaggerate? Shall I fall to my knees and sing praises to the heavens for this mediocre noodle dish?”

Xiaoshuai scowled, hands on his hips. “Mediocre?! You just said it wasn’t bad!”

“Which is a great improvement, considering your usual attempts,” Cheng Yu replied smoothly. “Trust me, Xiaoshuai, this is practically gourmet compared to your instant noodle disasters.”

Flustered, Xiaoshuai opened his mouth to retort, but stopped. For once, the corners of Cheng Yu’s lips weren’t twisted in a mocking sneer but in something softer, almost fond.

“Fine,” Xiaoshuai muttered, dragging a chair out to flop into it. “It’s not like I was doing this for your approval anyway. This is for Suo Wei’s birthday.”

Cheng Yu leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “And yet, somehow, I was the one who spent two hours in a flour storm with you.”

Xiaoshuai’s cheeks warmed. “I didn’t ask you to stay! You could’ve walked out at any time.”

“Ah, but then I’d miss the entertainment.” Cheng Yu tilted his head, his voice lowering. “Besides… maybe I wanted to stay.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than the flour still floating in faint clouds. Xiaoshuai blinked, throat tightening. He wanted to laugh it off, call Cheng Yu a liar, but the weight in his tone made it difficult.

He busied himself by reaching for a bowl of soup. “Whatever. Just don’t burn your tongue.”

They ate in relative silence, the clinking of chopsticks the only sound between them. Every now and then, Xiaoshuai stole a glance at Cheng Yu. Even in such a messy kitchen, wearing a shirt that was dusted white, Cheng Yu still managed to look put-together, as though chaos bent itself to his will rather than the other way around.

Halfway through his noodles, Xiaoshuai broke the silence. “You know, you didn’t have to help me. I mean, you’re this big, scary businessman. What are you doing wasting your time in some tiny kitchen with me?”

Cheng Yu sipped from his soup spoon, pausing only a beat before replying. “Revenge.”

Xiaoshuai froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “Revenge?! Against what, my cooking?”

The corner of Cheng Yu’s lips curled. “Perhaps. Or maybe this is my revenge for all the times you annoyed me.”

“I didn’t ask to be flour-bombed,” Xiaoshuai shot back, cheeks flushing.

“True.” Cheng Yu leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table. His voice softened, though his eyes never lost their glimmer of mischief. “But maybe revenge isn’t always bitter. Sometimes it can be… sweet.”

Xiaoshuai’s breath caught. He looked down at his bowl quickly, pretending to slurp his noodles with exaggerated focus. “You’re weird.”

“Am I?” Cheng Yu asked, his gaze steady.

“Yes!” Xiaoshuai snapped, though it came out more flustered than fierce. “You show up uninvited, you insult my cooking, you—” He cut himself off, realizing he was only digging himself deeper. “Forget it.”

Cheng Yu chuckled, a low sound that sent an inexplicable shiver down Xiaoshuai’s spine. “Forget it, then.”

When the meal was finished, Xiaoshuai jumped up to start clearing the table, eager to escape the tension building between them. But Cheng Yu stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“I’ll do it,” Cheng Yu said.

“You?” Xiaoshuai blinked. “The almighty Guo Cheng Yu, washing dishes? That’s impossible.”

Cheng Yu raised an eyebrow. “Do you doubt me?”

“Yes.”

“Then watch and be amazed.”

To Xiaoshuai’s shock, Cheng Yu actually rolled up his sleeves and began rinsing the bowls under the tap. His movements were efficient, precise, just like everything else he did. Somehow, the sight of this proud, elegant man doing something as mundane as scrubbing a soup bowl felt… intimate.

Xiaoshuai leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “You’re full of surprises.”

Cheng Yu didn’t look up. “So are you.”

The words were simple, but they made Xiaoshuai’s heart skip. He turned quickly, pretending to busy himself with wiping the flour off the cabinets. “Don’t say weird things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because—because it’s distracting.”

Finally, Cheng Yu glanced over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Good.”

Xiaoshuai groaned. “You’re impossible.”

They cleaned in silence for a while, though it wasn’t exactly comfortable silence. The air was thick with things unsaid, words hovering between them like ghosts. Every time Cheng Yu brushed past him or reached over him to grab something, Xiaoshuai felt his pulse quicken.

When the last dish was put away, Xiaoshuai collapsed onto the couch, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m exhausted. Who knew cooking was basically a full-body workout?”

Cheng Yu sat beside him, though not too close. “You just lack practice.”

“I lack talent,” Xiaoshuai corrected, sighing dramatically. “Maybe I should just stick to eating instant noodles for life.”

“You’ll get better,” Cheng Yu said casually, but his tone carried unexpected certainty. “As long as you have the right teacher.”

Xiaoshuai turned his head, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you’re volunteering.”

Cheng Yu smirked. “Why not? You need help. And I—” He paused, then added more softly, “I don’t mind helping.”

Xiaoshuai’s stomach did a strange flip. He looked away quickly, mumbling, “You’re weird. Seriously weird.”

Cheng Yu chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “Maybe. But you don’t seem to mind too much.”

Xiaoshuai opened his mouth to deny it, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he grabbed a throw pillow and shoved it at Cheng Yu’s face. “Go home. I’m tired.”

Cheng Yu removed the pillow with deliberate slowness, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Fine. But remember, Xiaoshuai—next time, no shortcuts. We’ll start with something more challenging than noodles.”

“There’s not going to be a next time,” Xiaoshuai retorted automatically.

Cheng Yu stood, adjusting his cuffs. “We’ll see.”

As the door closed behind him, Xiaoshuai flopped back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. His mind replayed the evening in fragments: Cheng Yu’s hand guiding his, his laughter during the flour fight, the almost-kiss in the middle of the chaos.

He covered his face with his hands, groaning. “Why does he have to be like that?”

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t erase the faint smile tugging at his lips.

The following day, Xiaoshuai woke up with determination blazing in his chest. He had survived one cooking session without burning the apartment down. Surely, with enough practice, he could make something even better for Suo Wei’s birthday dinner.

Marching into the kitchen, he tied his apron like a warrior donning armor. “Alright. Today, it’s just me. No Guo Cheng Yu. No distractions. Just cooking.”

Five minutes later, the smoke alarm was shrieking again.

Xiaoshuai waved a towel desperately, coughing. “Why?! Why does this keep happening?!”

A knock sounded at the door.

“No, no, no,” Xiaoshuai groaned. “Please don’t be who I think it is.”

He opened the door, and sure enough, there was Cheng Yu, leaning casually against the frame, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Your neighbors will file noise complaints if this continues,” Cheng Yu said smoothly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Or maybe they’ll assume you’re running a secret smokehouse.”

Xiaoshuai scowled, embarrassment burning his ears. “What are you doing here again?”

“Checking to see if you survived.” Cheng Yu glanced at the blackened pan on the stove. “Clearly, you didn’t.”

“I was fine!” Xiaoshuai protested. “I was just—”

“Failing spectacularly,” Cheng Yu finished. He rolled up his sleeves again, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Move aside.”

“No! I said I’d do this myself today!”

Cheng Yu’s smirk deepened. “Then let me watch. It will be more entertaining than my morning meetings.”

“You’re the worst,” Xiaoshuai muttered, but his hands trembled as he picked up the knife again, acutely aware of Cheng Yu’s eyes on him.

Every motion felt magnified under Cheng Yu’s gaze. When he chopped too unevenly, Cheng Yu chuckled. When he spilled soy sauce, Cheng Yu arched a brow. When he burned the garlic, Cheng Yu sighed dramatically.

Finally, Xiaoshuai slammed the knife down, exasperated. “I can’t do this with you watching me!”

“Then don’t think of it as me watching,” Cheng Yu said, moving closer. He placed his hand over Xiaoshuai’s again, guiding the knife with practiced ease, just as he had the night before. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Think of it as me helping.”

The closeness was suffocating. Xiaoshuai’s breath hitched, his chest tightening. He wanted to pull away, to protest, but his body betrayed him, leaning slightly into the warmth of Cheng Yu’s presence.

When their eyes met, Xiaoshuai felt his defenses crumbling.

And for the first time, he wondered if Guo Cheng Yu’s “revenge” wasn’t against his bad cooking at all...but against his heart.

And to think Shuai worshipped the ground Meng Tao walked on. Like, where does the need for drugs come in? Probably to silence him, given the sex was horrible at best (the show glossed over that, too).