Chapter 33: The Fake Kiss

That night, Tang Yan grabbed his suitcase and headed straight for the airport. Earlier that day, he’d received a ticket from Yemou—paid for in full, with explicit instructions that all expenses on this journey would be covered by him. "At least you’ve got some conscience left. I won’t curse you for the next few days."

Soon enough, Tang Yan met Yemou in the heart of S University City. Yemou still wore his signature black outfit, but now it was sharper, more formal than before. “Yemou, let’s go.”

“Mm. But first, we need to change clothes.” Yemou took Tang Yan’s hand and led him toward a clothing boutique.

Thankfully, both men were wearing disguises—perfectly fitted masks that blended seamlessly with their skin, nearly invisible to the naked eye. After a quick transformation, Tang Yan stood before Yemou, now bearing an entirely different face, slender and elegant.

Yemou had already finished dressing—sharp suit, polished demeanor, strikingly handsome. “Yemou, I didn’t expect your physique to be this good.”

“You’re not bad yourself,” Yemou said, glancing briefly at the faint seam along Tang Yan’s neck. A subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Tang Yan followed behind as they boarded the cruise ship. The vessel moved at a painfully slow pace, and Tang Yan couldn’t help but grow impatient. “Yemou, why are we taking a damn cruise? This thing moves like a snail!”

“It’s fine. The mission doesn’t start until tomorrow. Tonight, we stay here—enjoy the view.” Tang Yan glanced at Yemou, who was staring right at him. He quickly looked away, afraid the other man might see through him.

“Whatever. I’ll go rest then.”

“Wait.” Yemou stepped forward, one arm sliding around Tang Yan’s waist. “There are other people on board. We have to pretend we’re just a couple on vacation. Otherwise, we’ll stand out.”

That wasn’t what Yemou had said earlier—but his grip was ironclad, impossible to break. “Yemou, you never mentioned this before!”

Yemou smiled gently. “Yangzhao, don’t worry. I won’t do anything to you. It’s just part of the mission.” His gaze lingered on the distant island, dark and mysterious.

Tang Yan studied the man before him. For once, it actually seemed like he was telling the truth. “Fine. I’ll play along. But you owe me something in return.”

“Deal. Whatever you want, after this is done.” Yemou remained cold as ever—but the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly.

For the first half of the night, Yemou used their fake marriage as an excuse to wander the ship, his hand never leaving Tang Yan’s waist. At times, he even brushed his fingers teasingly against him.

“Yemou, that’s enough. Let’s go to bed already,” Tang Yan said, genuinely tired now.

“Alright. Time to rest.” Yemou scooped him up effortlessly and carried him toward their reserved room.

Tang Yan was already annoyed—being suddenly lifted like that wasn’t exactly comforting. Then he saw the room: only one bed. His temper flared instantly. “Yemou, don’t push it. Why did you book just one room?”

Yemou looked down at him, eyebrows slightly raised. “Have you ever seen a newlywed couple booking two rooms?”

Tang Yan froze. No reply came. Yemou chuckled softly. “Relax. The room’s big. There are two beds.”

And so, under the watchful eyes of everyone on board, Yemou carried Tang Yan into the room himself. “Stay here. I’ll check outside.” He set Tang Yan gently on the bed, then slipped on another coat and stepped out.

Outside the door, a crowd of people lingered—eager, waiting. As soon as Yemou emerged, their eyes locked onto him like predators. “Hmph. Come on, then.”

Yemou walked casually toward the deck, stepping into the open air beneath a sky thick with stars. Warm wind swept across the deck, carrying the salty tang of the sea and a faint metallic scent—like old iron.

“Can’t wait, huh?” he murmured.

The group ahead closed in, clearly trying to force him overboard. All the ship’s cameras had been hacked—no recordings, no evidence. Perfect. They could shoot each other to pieces, and no one would know.

“Knew they’d send someone,” one voice crackled—faceless, distorted, layered with synthetic static. “We’ve been waiting.”

Yemou reached silently toward the gun at his back. Before he could draw it, a barrel pressed hard against his chest. *Bang!*

He twisted sideways—just in time. The bullet whizzed past his ear.

Yemou narrowed his eyes. Disgusted. Deadly. He fired—one shot, two targets. Both enemies dropped, legs shattered. The rest were locked in the hold, but now they were firing wildly, bullets tearing through metal and wood, completely reckless—ready to sink the ship.

“Crazy bastards,” Yemou muttered. His gun emptied. With no ammo left, he burst through the door and into the cabin.

Inside, Tang Yan heard the gunfire. He couldn’t stay idle. He stepped out, grabbing his weapon.

Just as Yemou rushed in, he nearly collided with him. “Idiot! What are you doing out here?”

“I can help.”

Yemou’s eyes flicked to the flash grenade in Tang Yan’s hand. “Good. Stay close.”

He took Tang Yan’s hand and led him to the room where the other tourists were being held. “You open it. I’ll cover you.”

“Got it.” Tang Yan removed a small decorative pin from his hair—his old lock-picking tool—and began working the lock.

Seconds later, the door swung open. A wave of people poured out—tourists, businessmen, politicians, all scrambling. The assassins hesitated. Now surrounded by powerful figures, they dared not move.

Yemou’s eyes darted to the killers. Then, without warning, he stepped in front of Tang Yan—pushing him down. “Yangzhao… sorry.”

Tang Yan stared, stunned. *Was Yemou… kissing him?*

The touch was real—warm, soft, urgent. His mind refused to believe it. But the pressure of lips, the heat of breath—it was undeniable.

Yemou was using their supposed intimacy as cover—dodging enemy fire while pretending to be lovers lost in passion. His eyes weren’t on Tang Yan—they scanned the shadows behind, watching the assassins move cautiously.

Tang Yan caught on immediately. He wrapped his arms tightly around Yemou’s chest, playing the role perfectly. Yemou, surprised by how eager Tang Yan was, leaned deeper into the kiss—hot, wet, intense.

Finally, Yemou pulled back, breathing unevenly. “All right. Done.”

“Yemou…” Tang Yan whispered, eyes shimmering. “You’re so hot.”