Ji Xiaofei's eyes sparkled as she gazed at the chickens clucking and pecking in the yard, her excitement barely contained.
"Since you adore them so much, they're yours now," Yarrow murmured, a slow smirk curling his lips. "Feeding, cleaning, gathering eggs—you're on coop duty, sweetheart. And don't forget to let them stretch their little legs."
Ji Xiaofei turned, eyes wide with curiosity. "Do they have names?"
Yarrow's smirk deepened, his voice teasing. "Big Ji Ba, Little Ji Ba—call them whatever tickles your fancy."
With an easy flick of his wrist, he pulled out the key and unlocked the door.
The moment he stepped inside, reality slapped him—the house was drowning in dust, the air thick with neglect. A whole damn month had passed, the space frozen in time like a lover left waiting too long.
He switched on the fluorescent stone lamp, its amber glow fusing with the sunset spilling through the window. The house, despite its disarray, pulsed with warmth. Home.
Ji Xiaofei wasted no time. "A soft sofa!" she squealed, diving onto the plush couch. Her joy was short-lived—the dust exploded around her like a lover's scorn, sending her into a fit of sneezes.
Serena's voice dripped with amusement. "Didn't expect you to have taste, Yarrow. I figured your place would be… messier."
He scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "I spent a fortune on this place. You think I'd let it rot? Hell, when it rains, I'm damn near tempted to hold an umbrella over it."
Serena chuckled, her gaze trailing over the decor—solid wood floors carrying the faint scent of cedar, succulents soaking in the golden light, landscape paintings complementing the wallpaper and the rich velvet of the sofa. A shaggy rug sprawled under the coffee table, begging to be touched.
Then, a voice like cold steel cut through the moment.
"Is your nest this small?"
Zen stood at the threshold, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with barely restrained disdain.
Yarrow met his glare head-on. "Yeah, it's not a palace, but then again, you're not exactly royalty at the moment, are you?"
Zen's lips twisted into a frown, his arrogance slipping for just a second. Yarrow bit back a laugh. This so-called conquest was shaping up to be more entertaining than he'd expected.
He stretched, rolling the tension from his muscles. "Rooms are upstairs. Eight of them. Beds included. Take your pick. They might be a bit dusty, but hey, consider it a bonding activity. We'll do a proper cleaning tomorrow."
The house was deceptively large for a two-story build. When he'd bought the land, the seller had thrown in furniture as a sweetener. Cheap, but brand new. And now? Useful as hell.
Grabbing a mop, he made to clean, but Serena's delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist, stopping him.
"Let me."
Yarrow raised a brow. "You're still walking like you got off a wild ride, and you wanna mop the floor?"
Serena gave him a look that could cut through glass. "Do you think I handled a mop when I was a bear?"
She lifted her hand, and just like that, magic surged. A warm current of air swirled, stirring the dust into a tight, compact sphere. With a flick of her wrist, it shot out the window like a discarded lover. Another wave of her palm, and water coiled in shimmering tendrils, sweeping across the floors, the furniture, the walls—leaving everything spotless and glistening.
Yarrow let out a low whistle, running a finger along the polished wood. "Now that's a neat little trick."
Serena's lips curved in triumph. "Silver-rank mage, darling. Learn the title."
Yarrow smirked. "Great. That means house chores are officially your job."
Serena's brow arched. "You're absolutely insufferable."
"Then be a dear and clean the upstairs rooms too. I need to step out."
Her eyes narrowed. "Where?"
He spread his hands. "Food, babe. Unless you're keen on starving tonight?"
With that, he slipped out into the cool evening, the scent of dusk heavy in the air. Halfway to the village tavern, he spotted a familiar figure crouched outside a house. Long limbs folded, chin resting on his knees, staring at a cluster of flowers like they held the answers to the universe.
Yarrow slowed, his voice smooth as sin. "Haka, what the hell are you doing?"
This towering mountain of a man, all rippling muscle and raw strength, was Haka. A beast in form, but inside? Soft as melted butter and about as quick-witted as a brick.
But he had a heart of gold. When Yarrow first stumbled into Baiyun Village, lost and rough around the edges, Haka had been there—offering a hand, a meal, and a friendship that had only deepened over time.
Haka's face split into a lopsided grin the moment he saw him. "Oh, Yarrow! You're back?"
"Just got in today. What are you staring at?" Yarrow followed the man's line of sight.
"Bees." Haka pointed at the tiny creatures flitting through the flowerbed, his expression one of deep contemplation.
Yarrow smirked. "Bees, huh?"
"Yeah," Haka said, rubbing his chin. "Uncle Luo Sang told me something today—bees help flowers make babies."
Yarrow chuckled. "That's right. When they collect nectar, they transfer pollen from one flower to another. Nature's little matchmakers."
Haka nodded solemnly. "So I've been thinking."
Yarrow raised a brow. "That's dangerous."
"You said bees take pollen from the stamen of a male flower to the pistil of a female flower to make seeds, right?" Haka's tone was dead serious.
"Yeah?"
Haka's lips stretched into a slow, goofy grin. "It's kinda like someone grabbing a man's sperms and then spitting it into a woman's vagina ."
Silence. Thick, unbearable silence.
Yarrow regretted every decision that had led to this moment.
He could never look at bees the same way again.
He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Your brain's already working overtime, Haka. Maybe ease up on the deep thoughts."
Giving the big guy a reassuring pat on the shoulder, Yarrow turned to leave—then hesitated.
"Haka, you got any food at home? Just got back, and my pantry's empty."
Haka scratched his head. "Uh… should be some? Can't remember. Come look."
Yarrow followed Haka inside, heading straight for the kitchen. A quick glance around led him to the water tank, where two fat fish swam lazily.
"Nice fish. Mind if I take one?" He reached in, gripping one to examine it.
That's when he noticed. The poor thing's mouth was ringed with raw, stretched wounds.
"Uh… Haka?" Yarrow turned slowly, dread curling in his gut. "Why is its mouth like this?"
Haka shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. "Uh… that fish… isn't for eating."
A heavy pause.
Yarrow narrowed his eyes. Then it clicked.
The fish's wide, horrified gaze met his own, as if screaming, Save me!
Yarrow dropped it like it burned him. The fish plopped back into the tank with a pitiful splash.
He exhaled slowly. Haka was a grown man, still single. A man had… needs. Special needs. As a friend, Yarrow wouldn't judge.
Forcing his gaze away from the traumatized fish, his eyes landed on a nearby basket overflowing with cucumbers.
He brightened. "These cucumbers look good. Mind if I take a few?"
Haka hesitated, then rubbed his neck again. "…Those aren't for eating either."
A long, long silence stretched between them.
Yarrow stared at him. Haka looked away.
"…You know what?" Yarrow finally said, voice dry. "You've really outdone yourself."
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