Chapter 5

The green eyes behind his lenses were like a shadowy forest beneath dark clouds at night, mysterious and unfathomable.

Bo Tingyuan cast a restrained glance at the reclining man before looking back at his son and asking patiently, "Who are the presents for?"

Wen Cishu did not notice his glance. He merely lowered his eyes, sat up, and swept his loose hair behind him.

That glance was completely unnecessary. How presumptuous of me.

Bo Yiming stood up. "Little Dad said he'd give presents to me, Grandpa, Grandma, and Uncle."

Bo Tingyuan looked at the man putting on his slippers with his head lowered and slowly asked, "Is that so?"

Wen Cishu slipped on his slippers and stood up. "You two talk, then. I'll go back to my room and rest."

He tugged at the lapels of his robe, only to find that a dark figure had already approached him and was bending down to scoop him up without a word.

Wen Cishu swayed, habitually resting one hand on his right shoulder and instinctively looking into his deep green eyes.

But Bo Tingyuan was speaking to his son. "Yiming, Albert will send someone else over with your clothes tomorrow. You can pick out a few more things then."

"Sure." Bo Yiming had been worrying about not having a suitable outfit.

Even if they were only filming a teaser, he was determined to make a stunning entrance.

Wen Cishu lowered his head and thought, Oh, so he does remember to be good to his son.

But his body was still somewhat weak, and he became exceptionally drowsy at his usual bedtime. He really could not suppress a small yawn.

Seeing this, Bo Tingyuan gave one last instruction before carrying him out of the room.

The hallway was extremely quiet. Despite the thick carpet, the faint sound of each footstep was still audible.

Perhaps because Bo Tingyuan's arms and embrace were so warm and steady, Wen Cishu felt no discomfort at all. The rhythmic motion made him even sleepier.

By the time he was put to bed, Wen Cishu's eyes were damp at the corners from yawning, a small cluster of wet lashes clinging to his skin.

Bo Tingyuan arranged the covers and braced one hand against the headboard, quietly studying the face flushed with sleepiness.

Through his drooping eyelids, Wen Cishu seemed to see his lips move.

Drowsily, he struggled to stay conscious and murmured a vague question. "What?"

Bo Tingyuan watched him sink into a deep sleep.

His exquisite, palm-sized face held an unexpectedly beguiling allure as he slept.

He raised a hand, gently tracing his thumb along the eyelid to the outer corner, slowly brushing over the lashes dampened by warm tears. In a low voice, he spoke a sentence in French: [Don't I get a present?]

Chapter 5

Three understated black luxury cars drove slowly toward the western outskirts and stopped at the side entrance of Eternal Peace Chan Temple.

Outside the temple stood two monks in blue-gray robes.

A bodyguard opened the rear door of the middle car.

Wearing a black face mask, Bo Tingyuan extended his long legs and stepped out.

After getting out, he straightened the lapels of his suit, calmly pressed his palms together, and gave the approaching monks a slight nod.

One of the monks was the temple's abbot.

Standing on the steps, he looked at the mixed-race man's thick brows and green eyes and returned the greeting, prayer beads in hand.

"Welcome, Mr. Bo. This way, please."

Bo Tingyuan entered the temple with the abbot, followed by several bodyguards.

Eternal Peace Chan Temple had several hundred years of history. It occupied a small area and featured distinctive wooden architecture.

With its yellow tiles and red walls, the temple had an exquisite layout, carved beams and painted pillars throughout, and numerous solemn, majestic Buddha statues.

At the main entrance stood an osmanthus tree planted during the Southern Song dynasty.

In the center of the courtyard stood a four-legged ceremonial incense burner, where many local worshippers were standing with incense in hand, bowing in prayer.

The abbot led Bo Tingyuan into a side hall shaded by pines and cypresses, leaving two bodyguards waiting quietly outside the wooden doors.

Among the worshippers across the covered walkway, a sharp-eyed young man noticed this and could not help asking the middle-aged woman beside him, "Auntie, who is that? Why did he get to go in separately? Do you know?"

The middle-aged woman came to Eternal Peace Chan Temple every month and saw nothing unusual about it.

"Oh, he's a donor to the temple. He comes often. Very devout."

The young man was surprised. "Huh? So he's rich? How much did he donate to get to go in separately like that?"

The woman explained what had happened years ago.

Eternal Peace Chan Temple had once been a small, dilapidated temple hidden in the bustling city. Restoration costs were a bottomless pit, and the government had even considered placing it under joint management with another temple.

Ten years earlier, the Bo family had suddenly donated several hundred million, allowing the temple to be preserved in its entirety.

They had subsequently spent over a hundred million more on restoring Buddhist scriptures and statues.

In effect, without the Bo family, there would be no Eternal Peace Chan Temple as it was today.

The young man recalled his brief glimpse earlier. The unfamiliar man in glasses had a strikingly defined profile and was far taller and larger than those beside him.

He asked in confusion, "But that guy looked like a foreigner. Are you sure you haven't got it wrong?"

"What foreigner? His father is from here."

The woman added, "His mother seems to be a foreigner, though."

"Even a mixed-race guy is this superstitious?"

The young man found it hard to believe. "I thought foreigners all believed in Jesus."

"Oh, don't go saying things like that!"

The woman glared at him. "Eternal Peace Temple really answers prayers. If the Buddha hears you-you'll wet your pants in your sleep tonight."

The young man was already in his twenties. How could he believe such things?

He continued asking, "Auntie, why is a mixed-race guy like him such a believer?"

The woman lowered her voice. "I only heard it from other people, but apparently someone in his family is in poor health. Something very serious happened ten years ago, so... get it?"

The young man nodded. "So that's why. Looks like when rich people run out of options, all they can do is turn to superstition too."

The woman raised a hand and swatted his arm. "You talk too much. Go wait outside."

She had brought a bag of offerings to fulfill a vow and hurried toward the Guanyin Hall.

In the side hall, a stick of incense burned before the Buddha, wisps of smoke curling upward.

The abbot moved his prayer beads, murmuring sutras.

On a red kneeling cushion edged in gold, Bo Tingyuan's back was as straight as pine and bamboo.

His palms were pressed together, his index fingers touching his chin.

His eyes were closed behind his lenses, his expression reverent and devout.

On the altar sat a golden-thread nanmu tray. Nestled in black velvet was a bracelet of bamboo-segment beads carved from mutton-fat jade.

Each little bamboo segment was free of cloudy inclusions, impurities, and cracks, its texture fine and lustrous.

The stick of incense burned to its end.

The abbot pressed his palms together and bowed. "Please rise, Mr. Bo."

Bo Tingyuan slowly opened his eyes. His deep green irises resembled gemstones steeped in ice water, betraying no emotion, yet possessing an extraordinary gravity and solemnity.

The abbot lifted the tray and presented the consecrated white jade bracelet.

Bo Tingyuan pressed his palms together in a bow. "Sorry for the trouble, Master."

He accepted the box containing the white jade bamboo-segment bracelet and lifted his gaze.

Upon the lotus pedestal, the Bodhisattva's eyes were lowered, compassionate and serene.

At a riding ground on the outskirts of the city.

Wen Cishu lifted his face toward the sunlight, his brows curving slightly, flecks of light shining in his phoenix eyes. His expression was peaceful and gentle.

With a faint smile, he watched Bo Yiming riding in the distance.

A bodyguard held up a black parasol.

As the young master's riding direction changed, he raised the edge of the parasol slightly, afraid of blocking Mr. Wen's view.

The crew of Little Ones Are Supermen had come to film the teaser that day.

Before arriving, the small team had already been looking forward to meeting Wen Cishu and his son.

Only after reaching the agreed location and seeing them did the crew realize that Wen Cishu truly had been born with an appearance untouched by worldly concerns.

Moreover, father and son had arrived escorted by several cars.

Their entourage included both assistants and bodyguards. They were clearly either wealthy or influential.

When word reached the production team, everyone became even more curious about their background.

At that moment, the cameraman was filming Bo Yiming.

An assistant quietly glanced toward the man whose entire bearing exuded refinement, his expression gentle.

Wen Cishu did not mount a horse. He simply stood outside the fence, patiently watching his son's performance.

He wore a loose mint-green shirt with a short stand collar and wide sleeves, paired with off-white casual linen trousers.

Beneath a white woven Panama hat, his waist-length black hair fell like silk satin.

In the mild sunlight, Wen Cishu looked incomparably elegant and languid, yet every detail showed an effortless refinement.

To her surprise, the assistant realized that Wen Cishu was not even wearing a watch, yet he still looked so overwhelmingly distinguished.

Good looks were ultimately only skin-deep. What did it take for someone to radiate the air of having been born above the clouds?

A rare sense of reverence arose within her, as though even one more glance would be a desecration of Wen Cishu.

The assistant came back to herself just as the male colleague in front of her turned around.

Noticing her strange expression, he asked, "What's wrong with you?"

Looking at this face that had not been favored by Nüwa, the assistant closed her eyes in despair.

The filming crew had originally expected an amateur guest to be relatively difficult to work with, but the shoot went exceptionally smoothly.

After watching all the footage they had filmed, Bo Yiming felt that every frame looked quite good.

Pleased with himself, he asked, "Little Dad, I'm really photogenic, aren't I?"

Even the cameraman beside him could not help smiling in praise. "Yes, Yiming has very well-defined features and plenty of facial depth. He looks good from every angle."

He glanced at Mr. Wen, whose looks and appearance were even more outstanding, and hesitated to speak.

Instead, the assistant spoke first, asking tentatively, "Yiming's dad, we have relatively little footage of you. Would you like to shoot a little more? If you don't feel like moving, you can just sit while we film."

"Yes, exactly." The cameraman smiled. The young assistant knew just what to say.

Wen Cishu politely declined. Looking at the lively little fellow, he explained, "I'm accompanying Yiming. He's the star. Sorry for the trouble, but please give him more screen time when you put the promotional video together."

Everyone nodded. "Of course, we certainly will!"

Wen Cishu smiled faintly. "Thank you."