After Transmigrating into an ABO World with My Nemesis (BL) - Chapter 14

He even made a point of waiting until the takeout arrived before starting.

The dinner was a relatively light Chinese meal. Jiang Zhou felt a little let down; he believed that watching a movie called for fried chicken, “fat nerd water” (cola), and other unhealthy things that spark joy.

He tried to negotiate with Cheng Bing to order some delicious late-night BBQ, only to be met with a cold question: “Are you fully recovered?”

Jiang Zhou: “…”

Jiang Zhou thought guiltily that surely Pheromone Disorder didn’t mean he couldn’t eat junk food, right? Even if the doctor had explicitly reminded him to keep his diet light.

Cheng Bing confiscated the phone he was using to order BBQ and added a follow-up: “Take your medicine after eating.”

Right. To prevent Jiang Zhou from repeating his habit of forgetting his meds, Cheng Bing had personally been monitoring all three daily doses lately.

Jiang Zhou had never been managed like this before, but since it was for a serious matter, the feeling wasn’t bad—just a bit… strange.

Whatever.

Strange or not, Jiang Zhou looked into Cheng Bing’s unyielding eyes and silently gave up the struggle. He rubbed an ear that hadn’t quite finished losing its flush and sat back down on the sofa to eat in silence.

Sautéed greens, corn and rabbit, and a lotus root and pork rib soup.

Though it was a bit plain, the restaurant’s skill was excellent. The greens were crisp, the corn and rabbit was sweet and savory, and the soup was incredibly fresh. Jiang Zhou wasn’t a picky eater and ate with gusto.

The food was set on the low coffee table in front of the sofa. They ate while they watched the movie.

The screen displayed a famous film about parallel universes.

Jiang Zhou’s original world had it too; he knew of it but had never watched it. The plot was currently at the point where the protagonists head out because of a power outage, only to run into the protagonists from another parallel world who also headed out because of a power outage. The two groups met by chance, looking like copy-pastes of each other, faces filled with the same confusion and shock.

“Hey, you’ve read so many books, have you really not thought of how to get back?” Jiang Zhou remembered something and nudged Cheng Bing with his elbow.

Cheng Bing’s gaze swept over him, asking coldly, “Have you thought of a way back?”

Jiang Zhou: “…”

Ouch, roasted.

Jiang Zhou said defiantly, “You’re the top student! How can you compare yourself to a commoner like me?”

During senior year, Jiang Zhou was constantly rotating between intensive training, provincial exams, and school entrance exams. By the time March rolled around, his academic progress had fallen significantly behind. Math, in particular, was his greatest pain; his class ranking had taken a vertical dive. Meanwhile, Cheng Bing was still firmly seated on the throne of rank number one.

His mother had planned to send him to a specialized cram school instead of having him attend regular classes. But when Jiang Zhou saw the tuition—tens of thousands for just two or three months—he thought it was daylight robbery.

He backed away as if a tiger had bitten his rear, waving his hands in fright and insisting it wasn’t necessary.

He had a decent foundation, anyway. Ultimately, he chose to return to school, spending his days reviewing with his classmates and his nights solving math problems with Cheng Bing.

It had to be said, Cheng Bing really knew his stuff. He explained problems so clearly that he was better than their actual math teacher. Jiang Zhou was quick-witted; he grasped things easily once they were pointed out. He dragged his score from the 60s and 70s up into the 100s, and even overperformed with a 120 on the Gaokao.

Jiang Zhou was someone who remembered favors; otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered with Cheng Bing’s Rut.

Hearing his words, Cheng Bing’s brow furrowed. “Don’t use foul language.”

Jiang Zhou: “. ‘Commoner’ is foul language?”

Cheng Bing didn’t speak, but based on his icy gaze—yes, it was.

Jiang Zhou was speechless. “Fine, Your Highness.”

Cheng Bing’s gaze returned to the movie. “In this world, parallel universes also only exist in theory. No matter what book you read, it won’t help; no experiment has ever proven they exist.”

Jiang Zhou slumped. “But this literally happened to us for real.”

Should they go talk to physics students? No, this was too sensational; people would think they were crazy. Even if someone believed them, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t be locked in a lab. The risk was too high.

At this moment, Jiang Zhou felt lucky that Cheng Bing had transmigrated with him. Otherwise, if Jiang Zhou were here as a “monster” alone, he might have broken down.

Thinking of this, he felt a spark of kinship. He leaned a bit closer to Cheng Bing and sighed, “We’ve shared a hardship. By all rights, we should become sworn brothers.”

Actually, if they could use this chance to bury the hatchet, it would be great. They lived so close, their families were on good terms… they didn’t have any deep blood feuds. If they could become friends, everyone would be happy!

Jiang Zhou looked up at Cheng Bing expectantly.

Cheng Bing stared at the screen, not even turning his head, and said coldly, “Who wants to be your sworn brother.”

Jiang Zhou: “…”

Jiang Zhou flew into a rage. “Fine, then don’t! See if I care!”

Happy everyone my foot!

Cheng Bing deserves to be alone forever! No friends for the rest of his life!

And no wife, either!

Jiang Zhou twisted away in a huff, moving to the very edge of the sofa armrest. He picked up a pork rib, pretended it was Cheng Bing, and bit down on it with a loud crunch.

Cheng Bing turned. Jiang Zhou’s eyes were red with anger, and upon noticing Cheng Bing’s gaze, he shot back a defiant look.

Cheng Bing: “…”

Cheng Bing pushed the takeout container—which had only one rib left—toward Jiang Zhou.

Jiang Zhou glared. “What, trying to suck up to me now? You won’t be my brother, but you love being a ‘licker dog’ (sycophant), huh? Do I look like someone who’s easy to win over?”

His mouth really is unforgiving, Cheng Bing thought. He stared at him quietly for a moment and said, “This piece has the soft bone (gristle).”

Jiang Zhou, who actually loved gristle: “…”

Jiang Zhou looked down. The lean meat on the soft bone was tender, with a very thin layer of fat around the edge. The meat wasn’t dry, the fat wasn’t greasy, and the rich oils coated the soft meat—it was the absolute best part of the rib.

Jiang Zhou stared at the rib for a long time. Then, his chopsticks snapped shut, and he “angrily” snatched the rib away.

Infuriating. I really am easy to win over.

Jiang Zhou was the type to forget things quickly. If someone coaxed him even a little, he’d forget he was angry and forget that he was supposed to stay away. For example, he had just felt a sense of “danger” from Cheng Bing, but now he’d forgotten it completely.

He was sticking to the guy again.

Yes, Jiang Zhou unpeeled himself from the sofa armrest. Having been “offered” the final rib, he magnanimously leaned back toward Cheng Bing’s side.

Fine, we won’t be brothers. Whatever. I have plenty of friends, hmph.

Jiang Zhou’s mood smoothed out. Chewing happily, he watched the movie and said indistinctly, “Maybe we need to find a trigger that makes the two worlds intersect?”

They couldn’t get any practical advice from existing physics research, so they had to use “stupid” methods—exhausting every possibility and trying slowly.

Jiang Zhou guessed that maybe at a specific moment, a specific event happened that caused the two parallel dimensions to overlap. They arrived in this world at that moment, and once the event ended, the two worlds went back to being like two intersecting lines, flying off in different directions.

Now they had to find a way to make those two lines meet again so they could jump back.

“Mhm,” Cheng Bing grunted.

“Do you have an idea?” Jiang Zhou asked.

“Do you?” Cheng Bing countered.

Jiang Zhou said hesitantly, “How about we replicate exactly what we did right before we transmigrated?”

Cheng Bing nodded. “We can try.”

The movie was finishing up, and so was the meal. They cleared the table, preparing to start their “tests” the next day.

They had no classes on Friday afternoon, and moving luggage all day had left them exhausted. It wasn’t the time for any strenuous activity. Jiang Zhou came out of the bathroom after his shower, changed into fresh clothes, and prepared to go to bed and “play dead.”

Just as he stepped out of the bathroom, he was grabbed by the back of his collar.

Jiang Zhou looked back. Cheng Bing had caught him.

Jiang Zhou was still radiating damp humidity from his shower. His hair wasn’t blown dry; the wet tips clung messily to his nape. Water droplets ran from his neck down to his shoulder blades, dampening his pajamas. The small patch of collar Cheng Bing was holding was soaked.

A very bad habit.

“Medicine.” Cheng Bing dragged him from the bedroom door to the living room. Then, he pulled out a hairdryer. “Dry your hair.”

Jiang Zhou had forgotten his meds again. He made a face but obediently swallowed them. Then he tried to slip away.

He didn’t make it. Cheng Bing caught him and shoved the hairdryer into his hand.

Jiang Zhou didn’t like drying his hair in the heat of summer. It was hot, and his hair wasn’t that long anyway—it would dry on its own in a bit. He took a deep breath and grumbled, “You nag so much, Cheng-y Bing.”

Cheng-y Bing said, “Mhm.”

Jiang Zhou: “…”

Whatever.

Jiang Zhou took the hairdryer and gave his hair a perfunctory blast, leaving it looking like a bristly, messy “bedhead.”

Cheng Bing commented: “You look like a scruffy puppy.”

Jiang Zhou tried very hard to suppress the urge to hit him.

Meds taken, hair dried—finally, he could lie down. Moving luggage and making the bed today had been too tiring. The moment he hit the mattress, his eyelids felt like they were in a wrestling match; they stuck together heavily.

Just before he fell into a deep sleep, in that half-awake state, he somehow remembered when Cheng Bing asked “Why shouldn’t I be interested?” while they were watching the video earlier.

Those eyes—dark, heavy. The scent of fresh snow and wood pheromones had flooded over him like the rising tide.

It felt like… what did it feel like?

Right before he drifted off completely, Jiang Zhou finally realized.

It felt exactly like being stared at by a massive predator… and then that predator reached out with a hot tongue and gave him a lick.

Strange, Jiang Zhou thought hazily.

Cheng Bing would never do that.

Must be my imagination.

Next Day, Weekend.

The exhausted Jiang Zhou slept until 11:00 AM. He woke up in a daze, his pajama collar slumped to one side, exposing a patch of snow-white shoulder and collarbone.

Jiang Zhou didn’t care; he drifted out of his room like a ghost, heading for the bathroom to wash up. As he came out, he caught the scent of food.

Huh?

Jiang Zhou’s sleepy eyes snapped open. The aroma of food lured his starving self toward the kitchen.

Wow.

What is that shiny thing!

It’s… the Snail Boy (a fairytale spirit who cleans and cooks)!

The “glittering light” faded, and Jiang Zhou looked closer. This “Snail Boy” was actually Cheng-y Bing, wearing an apron.

“Wow.” Jiang Zhou was wide awake now. He circled Cheng Bing like a puppy, sniffing. “Ooh, aah, wow.”

Cheng Bing: “…Speak properly.”

“You’re cooking?” Jiang Zhou peeked into the pot with curiosity, but was pushed back by Cheng Bing’s hand against his forehead.

“Watch out for the oil splattering,” Cheng Bing said.

Jiang Zhou saw it: tomato, potato, and beef brisket stewing in the pot, with greens on the side ready to be added.

He knew Cheng Bing could cook; after all, there was only his grandmother at home, and sometimes she couldn’t manage, so Cheng Bing would do it. Jiang Zhou had “mooched” meals at their house before, but it was usually the grandmother’s cooking. He’d never really eaten anything Cheng Bing made—partly because Cheng Bing never invited him, and partly because Jiang Zhou was afraid of getting indigestion from the awkwardness.

This was a first.

“I actually have such a high honor?” Jiang Zhou joked. “You’re not poisoning me, are you?”

Cheng Bing said coldly, “I can poison you right now.”

Jiang Zhou: “Tch, why so fierce.”

Cheng Bing turned and saw his disheveled state—the snow-white skin of his collarbone was practically blinding. His brow twitched. “Fix your clothes.”

Jiang Zhou: “?”

What’s wrong with my clothes?

Jiang Zhou looked down and saw he was only exposing half a shoulder. He pulled his shirt up indignantly. “Your mind is dirty again, stinky Alpha.”

Cheng Bing: “…”

Jiang Zhou let out a massive yawn and stretched, his shirt riding up to reveal a section of his supple, tight waistline. He said through the yawn, “I’m going to wash up, then I’ll come help you.”

As he turned, he felt a touch on the back of his neck.

Jiang Zhou was exceptionally sensitive to touches on his nape now. He shivered, clutching his neck as he turned back to look at Cheng Bing in confusion. “What are you doing?”

Cheng Bing withdrew his hand, his lashes lowered. He asked, seemingly at random: “Does your gland still hurt?”