President Fu Is Great at Pretending, and the Frail Young Master Has No Way to Deal With Him

Gu Wenning’s sleep quality had never been good, especially before going to bed. He always had difficulty falling asleep and often suffered from insomnia. Of course, there were sleeping pills, but unless he felt very anxious or overwhelmed, Gu Wenning wouldn’t take them.

But ever since meeting Fu Yanhe, Gu Wenning had no difficulty falling asleep, even without sleeping pills. However, something was different that night. Gu Wenning laid in bed and couldn’t fall asleep for a while.

He didn’t think much of it at the time, but looking back later, Gu Wenning felt as though he had been obsessed. Mr. Fu had said he wanted a goodnight kiss, and Gu Wenning had actually given it to him. Hadn’t he ignored such requests before? Why had things changed?

After much deliberation, Gu Wenning concluded that his boundaries with Fu Yanhe had been gradually lowering. The reason for this, however, remained unclear.

After finally falling asleep, Gu Wenning had a vivid dream—a dream that left most of its impressions intact even after he woke up.

In the dream, he found himself in a place with elegant and beautiful houses. Judging by the architecture and decorations—the antique rooms, courtyards filled with rockeries, flowing water, and pavilions—it seemed to be an ancient scene, like those depicted in movies and TV dramas.

Under a pear tree, as white as snow, stood two people—one wearing a red brocade robe, and the other dressed in white.

The two appeared extremely intimate, standing close together, holding each other, and interlocking their fingers.

Gu Wenning couldn’t hear their words, but suddenly, the man in red leaped into the tree, broke off a blooming pear blossom, and used the flower branch as a weapon to dance in the courtyard. His movements were graceful yet commanding, as though a dragon soaring through the skies—both domineering and gentle. His sword dance was so mesmerizing that anyone watching would be unable to look away. It was truly a breathtaking performance.

When he finally stopped and stood still, the man in red pulled the man in white closer and said something. A moment later, he covered his face and began pretending to cry, looking utterly heartbroken and lost. He even wiped at the corners of his eyes. His expression and the faintly resentful look in his eyes made him resemble a betrayed lover, the type of person who made others instinctively feel pity, as though he had been wronged.

The man in red’s coquettishness and pitiful act seemed to leave the man in white helpless. Shaking his head slightly with a faint smile on his lips, the man in white eventually turned, plucked a pear blossom, and performed a sword dance of his own.

His momentum was extraordinary, his movements ethereal. Dressed in white, with his black hair flowing freely, he seemed like an immortal descending into the mortal world.

The solo sword dance soon turned into a double sword dance. The red and white figures intertwined, their movements harmonious and fluid, as though they had been born to perform together.

From the perspective of an outsider, Gu Wenning could feel the silent understanding and connection between the two men. The beauty of their double sword dance extended beyond mere technical skill—it created an atmosphere that was intimate, warm, and impenetrable by anyone else.

It was impossible to define their relationship with terms like “brothers” or “friends.” They were clearly a couple deeply in love.

After waking up, Gu Wenning rubbed his temples and reflected for a moment. No dynasty in history, as far as he knew, had openly allowed same-sex relationships, so why had he dreamed of such a scene?

Although he couldn’t clearly see the faces of the men in his dream—whether it was the man in red or the man in white—and their voices remained indistinct, Gu Wenning still found them inexplicably familiar.

But it was just a dream—a highly unrealistic one. Gu Wenning didn’t dwell on it for long. Checking the time, he saw it was 6:10 in the morning. This was half an hour earlier than his usual waking time, but since he was already awake, Gu Wenning decided not to go back to sleep. After all, he doubted he could fall asleep in just half an hour.

After leaving the bedroom, Gu Wenning immediately saw Fu Yanhe sleeping on the sofa.

Fu Yanhe was tall and broad-shouldered. Just his presence in this not-so-spacious house created a feeling of oppression, as though the space had suddenly become cramped. At least, that was how it felt to Gu Wenning. When he lived alone, he never experienced the sensation of having insufficient room to stretch out.

On the sofa, Fu Yanhe had to curl up his legs to fit. For such a tall man to huddle on a sofa barely the same length as his body, the sight seemed a little pitiful. Gu Wenning paused, then walked over to drape a blanket over the sleeping man.

At some point during the night, Fu Yanhe must have shifted. The blanket that had been neatly covering him was now crumpled into a wrinkled pile, bunched up around his knees.

“Wife~”

Fu Yanhe suddenly murmured and turned over, startling Gu Wenning, who thought for a moment that he had woken up. But when Gu Wenning looked closer, Fu Yanhe’s eyes were still tightly closed—it was clear he had only mumbled in his sleep.

Why did this man keep dreaming about his wife? How attached was Mr. Fu to this idea of a “wife”?

Then Gu Wenning remembered that the “wife” Fu Yanhe referred to was, in fact, him. His expression grew subtly complex, and his mood turned conflicted. On one hand, it was flattering to be so thoroughly on someone’s mind. On the other, the situation felt absurd.

Still, Gu Wenning shook his head to dispel any unpleasant memories lingering in his mind.

Fu Yanhe slept deeply and soundly, and by the time he finally woke up, the morning sun was already bright. He stretched, feeling refreshed and energized, then patted the pillow beneath his head with satisfaction.

“It’s better to sleep on the pillows from my wife’s house. No matter how much I sleep, my neck doesn’t get stiff,” he said to himself.

“Wash up and have breakfast, Mr. Fu,” Gu Wenning said from nearby.

Fu Yanhe turned toward the dining table and saw toast and milk already set out.

Living alone, Gu Wenning had developed basic life skills and could take care of himself. Though he couldn’t put together an elaborate meal, he was more than capable of warming milk and toasting bread. Additionally, Gu Wenning always ate something warm in the mornings; otherwise, his stomach wouldn’t agree with him, and he’d lack energy throughout the day.

Fu Yanhe assumed he hadn’t overslept, but it was obvious Gu Wenning had risen earlier and prepared breakfast. Realizing this, Fu Yanhe immediately patted his head in self-reproach.

Why had he slept so soundly, like a log? He hadn’t even noticed when his wife got up, and now his wife had prepared breakfast for him.

This shouldn’t have happened—it really shouldn’t have. It was his duty to serve his wife, not the other way around.

Gu Wenning noticed Fu Yanhe smacking his own forehead and glanced at him in surprise. What was he doing? Some kind of unique way to clear his head?

But the brain was an essential organ. If someone hit it every day and with such force, wouldn’t it cause problems? Gu Wenning became momentarily lost in thought, distracted by his musings.

When he snapped out of it, Fu Yanhe had already moved to wash up quickly across the room.

At the dining table, Fu Yanhe’s plate held three times the amount of bread on Gu Wenning’s plate, accompanied by two large glasses of milk. Gu Wenning had intentionally prepared a larger portion for him, considering Fu Yanhe’s hearty appetite. After all, letting someone leave the table only half-full was out of the question. What kind of host would he be?