ST CHAPTER 27

Wei Jiayi’s reply to Zhao Jing was a “Sure.” The response was simple, but his emotions remained unsettled for the entire day.

While he diligently focused on work, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Zhao Jing’s thought process was too perplexing to grasp.

If they had done something intimate last night, wanting to continue sharing a bed the next day would have made sense. But in reality, they had simply lain there, doing nothing. Yet Zhao Jing insisted on occupying a large portion of Wei Jiayi’s bed. Wei Jiayi didn’t mind—he actually slept well with Zhao Jing beside him. Still, Zhao Jing clearly found the room small and didn’t seem to have any issues with his sleep quality. So, what exactly was Zhao Jing’s intention in wanting to share a bed?

Wei Jiayi spent the entire day puzzling over this and came up empty.

Zhao Jing’s overly proper demeanor made Wei Jiayi feel a bit embarrassed even imagining himself touching him, as if it would count as sexual harassment. It also made Wei Jiayi feel like his own thoughts were far dirtier than Zhao Jing’s. He began to wonder in confusion: could Zhao Jing’s feelings be purely platonic? Or perhaps he simply saw Wei Jiayi as an exceptionally important pet who could share his bed, and Wei Jiayi just couldn’t tell the difference? Surely no one could be that naive, right? And then there was the worst-case scenario—what if Zhao Jing had some sort of unspeakable illness?

Asking Zhao Jing directly wouldn’t yield any clear answers, given Zhao Jing’s limited knowledge of emotions. After mulling it over, Wei Jiayi decided to test his reaction through actions instead. That afternoon, he chatted with a few local colleagues and asked for recommendations for restaurants suitable for dates with good privacy. His colleagues, who had good connections in the area, offered to help make a last-minute reservation. So, Wei Jiayi decided he’d take Zhao Jing out for dinner and a couple of drinks that evening.

Once the day’s photoshoot wrapped up smoothly, Wei Jiayi handed the pictures to the digital editor and hurried back to the hotel room before six. Upon entering, he noticed that both Zhao Jing and his crutch were gone.

However, the room now held several of Zhao Jing’s belongings. Wei Jiayi sent him a message asking where he was. As he opened the wardrobe, he saw three outfits with dust covers neatly hanging inside. They were leaving at noon tomorrow, so Wei Jiayi couldn’t figure out when Zhao Jing planned to wear so many clothes.

Still, he was long accustomed to Zhao Jing’s tendency for extravagance, so he remained unfazed. Pulling out the bathrobe that had been shoved to one side, he took it into the bathroom and quickly showered. When he emerged, drying his hair, the door let out a “beep.” Zhao Jing pushed it open and walked in.

Noticing Wei Jiayi’s less-than-presentable state, Zhao Jing immediately shut the door behind him, throwing a cautious glance back over his shoulder before giving Wei Jiayi a sharp look. “What did you forget?”

“…Sorry,” Wei Jiayi apologized, retreating into the bathroom to finish drying his hair.

After blow-drying, he returned to find Zhao Jing seated in the armchair, scrolling through something on his phone. Zhao Jing’s right leg was bent while his left remained habitually extended. The room, which had felt spacious when Wei Jiayi stayed alone, now seemed undeniably cramped with Zhao Jing’s presence.

“I was upstairs just now.” Zhao Jing set his phone aside when he noticed Wei Jiayi. He paused for a few seconds, seemingly for no reason, before continuing. “I was doing rehab exercises and working.” His voice dropped slightly as he asked, “Why did you shower as soon as you got back?”

Wei Jiayi couldn’t fathom why he was asking and replied, “I asked around for restaurant recommendations. How about we go out for dinner tonight? Do you prefer Italian, Japanese, or Middle Eastern food?”

“You want to go out?” Zhao Jing looked at him, momentarily stunned. After a brief hesitation, he said, “If it’s here, I’d need to bring bodyguards to leave the hotel.”

His tone wasn’t exaggerated but matter-of-fact. Wei Jiayi hadn’t considered this and froze for a moment. After a few seconds, he said, “In that case, let’s skip it. We can eat at the hotel restaurant instead. That’s fine too.” He had stayed at this hotel before for shoots and had eaten at the restaurant. The food was average, but at least it wasn’t bad.

Zhao Jing gave an “Mm,” so Wei Jiayi called the restaurant to reserve a table. Grabbing some clean clothes, he went back into the bathroom to change.

Most of the steam on the bathroom mirror had dissipated. As Wei Jiayi tied his hair back, the mirror reflected his face, his raised arms, and his bent elbows, with the joints subtly protruding. The white short-sleeved T-shirt he wore wasn’t long, and lifting his arms revealed a hint of his waist, along with the curve of his hip bones just below the mirror.

His build was slender, and due to being too thin, the shadows around his hip bones were pronounced. His narrow eyes and tightly pressed lips betrayed a hint of nervous tension.

Wei Jiayi wasn’t particularly fond of looking at himself in the mirror. After staring at his reflection for a few seconds, he lowered his arms and tugged his shirt down.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Zhao Jing was already standing, waiting for him. He held his crutch in one hand as if it were a toy. Together, they made their way to the hotel restaurant and settled into a secluded booth with a view of the sunset.

The sun’s fading light spilled across their table, staining the white tablecloth with an orange hue and casting defined shadows. The bay outside the window was buzzing with activity. In the parking lot below, sunlight glinted off the neatly parked cars, turning their roofs into smooth, glowing silver disks.

Zhao Jing sat across from Wei Jiayi, his eyes lowered as he studied the menu and spoke with the waiter. His broad shoulders and defined muscles stretched his soft, lightweight shirt to its limits. His facial features were sharp, and Wei Jiayi almost slipped into his professional habits, thinking that, with a camera in hand, he could capture a perfectly composed shot of Zhao Jing suitable for any advertisement.

Fortunately, Zhao Jing broke the silence. Closing the wine list that Wei Jiayi had specially handed him, he said calmly, “Drinking hinders recovery. I’m not drinking. But you can if you want.”

Looking at Zhao Jing’s innocent face, brimming with smug satisfaction from having dutifully followed the doctor’s advice, all of Wei Jiayi’s intimate thoughts evaporated. Determined to drink himself into a stupor, he ordered a pairing wine for himself along with a few cocktails recommended by the waiter.

The food, while unremarkable in flavor, was exquisitely presented. As they ate, their conversation meandered through amusing stories from their university days and Zhao Jing’s reflections on his entrepreneurial journey. Zhao Jing spoke without any apparent intent to entertain, yet Wei Jiayi found himself laughing several times, unable to pinpoint why. Thankfully, Zhao Jing didn’t seem to mind; he simply frowned briefly and continued speaking.

Just before dessert was served, Zhao Jing suddenly said, “About yesterday’s matter—I had someone investigate the funding sources for his earlier films. Two of his investors are already nearing bankruptcy, which made them easier to deal with.”

“When handling it, I don’t plan to make everything public. I’m keeping the information within industry circles.” When discussing serious business, Zhao Jing spoke carefully. “The goal is to keep it low-profile and avoid any backlash.”

Zhao Jing’s lack of common sense and his startling remarks often made Wei Jiayi forget that Zhao Jing lived in the real world. Wei Jiayi looked at Zhao Jing’s composed expression, nodded, and downed his martini in one gulp. He hadn’t even set the glass down before Zhao Jing commented, “Wei Jiayi, I didn’t realize you liked drinking so much.”

By now, Wei Jiayi had had several drinks. With the alcohol hitting, he thought happily to himself that it wasn’t about liking to drink—it was just that talking to Zhao Jing made him want to take a few sips. But when he looked at Zhao Jing, he still kept his words restrained. “Really? Then what else have you noticed?”

The sky outside had gone dark, and the dim lighting in the restaurant added to the haze in Wei Jiayi’s head. Zhao Jing didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked at Wei Jiayi with an inscrutable expression before finally saying, “It seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

“I haven’t,” Wei Jiayi denied at once.

Before he could finish speaking, Zhao Jing suddenly laughed. It wasn’t a big laugh, but Wei Jiayi could clearly see the teasing expression on his face. He immediately asked, “Are you laughing at me? I’ve only had a few drinks; how is that too much?”

Zhao Jing chuckled lightly again but didn’t reply. Just then, the waiter brought out dessert, which was lemon sorbet. Wei Jiayi ate some, then reached for the last of his margarita, determined to prove his drinking capacity far exceeded a single wine glass and three cocktails. But just as his hand stretched toward the glass, Zhao Jing placed his own hand over it.

Zhao Jing’s hand was firm, covering both Wei Jiayi’s fingers and the back of his hand. Wei Jiayi’s fingertips were hotter than Zhao Jing’s, but the back of his hand was cooler. He looked up at Zhao Jing, who explained quietly, “If you drink more, you’ll really get drunk.”

Then, Zhao Jing let go of Wei Jiayi’s hand, picked up the glass, and moved it out of his reach. He raised his hand to signal for the bill.

Wei Jiayi slouched against the back of the booth, his thoughts drifting. He realized he might have indeed overdone it as his emotions were all over the place. He rested for a short while until Zhao Jing finished signing the receipt and stood up, saying, “Let’s go back.”

Zhao Jing stood in front of him, but Wei Jiayi sat still with his head tilted up to look at him. His expression made it clear he was drunk.

Zhao Jing gently took hold of Wei Jiayi’s arm. His skin was cool, smooth, and so thin it felt as though there was barely anything to hold. Zhao Jing tugged lightly but didn’t dare to use much strength. After a moment of hesitation, he let go again, unsure where to hold to help Wei Jiayi up.

Wei Jiayi stared at Zhao Jing for a moment before finally reaching out to grab Zhao Jing’s wrist, using it for support as he stood. Their arms brushed together as they walked out of the restaurant. When Wei Jiayi stumbled slightly, Zhao Jing steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Wei Jiayi turned his head, his faint, warm breath brushing against Zhao Jing’s neck before drifting away.

Inside the elevator, Zhao Jing glanced at Wei Jiayi. His hair was slightly disheveled, his cheeks were flushed, and his usually pale lips were now rosy. His fair skin made the joints of his fingers and wrists appear tinged with a delicate pink from the alcohol.

The cool, smooth sensation from when he had grabbed Wei Jiayi’s arm still lingered in Zhao Jing’s palm. When the elevator arrived, they walked toward Wei Jiayi’s room. Wei Jiayi wobbled along, bumping into Zhao Jing a few times. He murmured a low “Sorry,” sounding like he was already out of it.

When they reached the door to the room, Wei Jiayi continued walking forward until Zhao Jing pulled him to a stop and opened the door. Wei Jiayi obediently stepped inside.

The room was dark, and Zhao Jing locked the door behind them. He wasn’t experienced in taking care of others, having always been the one cared for. He called out softly, “Wei Jiayi,” hoping he wasn’t passed out drunk.

Wei Jiayi turned at the sound of his name, gazing up at Zhao Jing.

Even in his drunken state, his eyes resembled a lake at night. Zhao Jing felt his breath falter—Wei Jiayi was too close. And yet, not close enough. That distance made Zhao Jing think of him endlessly until it left his heart aching.

Wei Jiayi understood Zhao Jing too well. He must have read Zhao Jing’s thoughts because he leaned in closer and called his name. His voice was quiet, almost a murmur. Then, he raised a hand, his fingers brushing the back of Zhao Jing’s neck like a strip of icy silk. With his eyes shut and his lashes trembling against his cheeks, Wei Jiayi tilted his face upward. His lips quivered as he leaned in, pressing them against Zhao Jing’s. They were so soft that Zhao Jing felt as if even the tightest kiss wouldn’t be enough, like inhaling an instantly addictive drug.

Wei Jiayi was drunk, which wasn’t ideal. Yet Zhao Jing found himself incapable of pushing him away—not even by a single centimeter. Wei Jiayi’s hand slid down from Zhao Jing’s ribs, pausing briefly as it encountered an unmistakable obstacle, before moving back up again.

His skin and lips were sweet, with ten thousand words fit to describe them. It felt as though, with every touch, an abundance of emotions was being conveyed.

Wei Jiayi kissed Zhao Jing for a while before seeming to run out of breath. He pushed Zhao Jing away and walked to the bed, curling up as he lay down. Zhao Jing stood there for a moment, then followed him. Wei Jiayi opened his eyes to look at Zhao Jing. His lips were slightly swollen, and his cheeks were even redder than before.

Zhao Jing thought to himself: So this is what love, kissing, and intimacy feel like. Why hadn’t Wei Jiayi done this with me earlier?

He sat down beside Wei Jiayi for a while. Wei Jiayi wasn’t asleep, but neither was he entirely awake. He stared blankly ahead, his arm resting near Zhao Jing’s leg in a way that carried an inexplicable allure.

Zhao Jing couldn’t stop himself from looking at him and lightly brushed his face, just as he had the night before when Wei Jiayi had fallen asleep. After being touched a few times, Wei Jiayi’s eyes flickered, and he finally spoke, acknowledging Zhao Jing’s observation. “I guess I really am drunk. It must be because I’ve been so tired lately that my tolerance has gotten worse.”

Zhao Jing hummed noncommittally as his hand continued to brush against Wei Jiayi’s cheek.

“Zhao Jing.” Wei Jiayi pushed Zhao Jing’s hand away and adjusted his posture, sitting up a little more. Holding onto Zhao Jing’s arm, he suddenly looked at him and confessed, “I originally planned to get you drunk tonight. But I didn’t expect you wouldn’t drink. Because I thought you…”

He left the sentence unfinished, and Zhao Jing asked, “You thought I what?”

Wei Jiayi’s eyes darted around before he pressed his lips together and smiled at Zhao Jing. “I’m not telling you.”

His smile carried a hint of wickedness, as if he’d shed his mask of docility and immersed Zhao Jing in the scent of tobacco, leather, and alcohol. His slender fingers gripped Zhao Jing’s neck, melding their two temperatures into one.

Wei Jiayi bit Zhao Jing’s lips. Zhao Jing felt his heart attach itself to Wei Jiayi—to his skin, his eyes, his scent, his entire being. Before Wei Jiayi tightened his hold on him, Zhao Jing made a decision: he was going to marry Wei Jiayi.