ST CHAPTER 31

If the word smoothness made Wei Jiayi think of life, then innocence evoked luxury—something rarer with age. Wei Jiayi had believed himself far removed from such emotions, yet being held in Zhao Jing’s embrace felt like falling into a net. It relaxed him, his heart unwinding completely. He rediscovered a faint trace of innocence, along with the freedom to be unapologetically willful.

After soaking in Zhao Jing’s warmth for a while, Wei Jiayi finally stood up. He grabbed a fresh set of towels, handed them to Zhao Jing, and led him to the bathroom.

When Zhao Jing finished his shower, he announced his intention to personally hang the clothes his secretary had brought into Wei Jiayi’s wardrobe.

Hanging clothes hardly seemed like a task that required assistance, so Wei Jiayi left him to it. Just as he was about to head to the bathroom, he suddenly heard Zhao Jing call out, “Wei Jiayi!”

Entering the closet, Wei Jiayi saw it was completely packed with his own clothes. Zhao Jing stood there, holding a hanger, looking at Wei Jiayi in shock. “I never knew such a small closet could hold so many clothes.”

“Most of these were gifts,” Wei Jiayi defended himself, reaching over to move a few items aside.

“From who?” Zhao Jing demanded instantly. Even after Wei Jiayi cleared some space, Zhao Jing remained rooted to the spot. He simply stood there in the wardrobe, his head lowered cautiously, resembling an oversized mannequin that didn’t fit in the display window.

“Friends, clients, coworkers.” Unable to do much about him, Wei Jiayi explained, “Look, most of them are still unworn.”

Only then did Zhao Jing relent. He turned back to the closet, shoved his few sets of clothes inside, and remarked, “Not a single thick one.”

Wei Jiayi wasn’t fond of heavy clothing, and his health had been impeccable—he hadn’t shown any signs of catching a cold in years. Pretending not to understand, he gave Zhao Jing an innocent smile and excused himself to take a shower.

When Wei Jiayi returned to the bedroom after drying his hair, he found the room brightly lit. Zhao Jing was seated on his bed, holding the photo frame Wei Jiayi had placed on the bedside table.

As soon as Wei Jiayi entered, Zhao Jing’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Wei Jiayi, you must really love my gift. One in the living room, another here in the bedroom.”

“Yep, you caught me.” Wei Jiayi strolled over without denying it and joked, “It’s so precious—I even cuddle it when you’re not around.” He bent down to examine the photo with him.

The clumped lashes on the closed eyes seemed to have an ineffable artistic charm the longer he looked. Wei Jiayi thought his sense of aesthetics had been completely reshaped by love.

Zhao Jing was the only person who would believe such a lie, as though he were entirely swept up in it. He responded with a “Hmm,” and even added, “I’ll print new ones for you later.” Wei Jiayi thanked him with a smile as he pulled the photo frame from Zhao Jing’s hands. He felt a sudden urge to hug him, but before he could act on it, Zhao Jing unexpectedly asked, “Why don’t you like taking pictures?”

Wei Jiayi froze for a moment, staring at him, tempted to ask how he had figured it out.

Zhao Jing read his expression and explained, “I noticed you barely have any photos.” As though understanding why Wei Jiayi had just removed the frame, Zhao Jing reached up, grasped his elbow, and gently pulled him to straddle his lap.

The light was bright, their faces just inches apart, with nothing between them. The moment was intensely intimate. Wei Jiayi gazed into Zhao Jing’s eyes—direct and sincere, untouched by the ambiguity and hidden motives he so often encountered in others.

The arm around his waist wasn’t overtly lustful, though it wasn’t entirely devoid of desire either.

Just two months ago, Wei Jiayi had seen news coverage of Zhao Jing’s company and could still recall the icy look Zhao Jing had given him while ordering him to delete the photo. The memory had left him uneasy, making him want nothing more than to keep his distance. Yet now, he found himself feeling greedy, silently hoping Zhao Jing’s gaze would linger on him a little longer.

Wei Jiayi told Zhao Jing, “I take pictures of others so often that being photographed makes me feel awkward.” Besides, I don’t look that good; there’s nothing worth photographing. Wei Jiayi didn’t say this out loud. Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw himself as too thin, his eyes too long, his pupils so large they appeared ghostly. He could never gain weight, always too busy to eat properly, and maintaining his appearance felt impossible.

But Zhao Jing grabbed his wrist and said, “Then I’ll take candid shots of you. If you don’t notice, you won’t feel awkward. And I think you look better than any of those celebrities you photograph.”

In all his years behind the camera, Wei Jiayi had always spent his days praising or coaxing his clients and models from morning until night, and no flattery was too cheesy for him to use. However, it wasn’t until Zhao Jing revealed his protective side and unshakable confidence that Wei Jiayi truly understood what it meant to feel inadequate.

It was getting late. After chatting a while longer, they turned off the lights and lay down without doing anything more. At first, Wei Jiayi couldn’t sleep. Once Zhao Jing had settled, Wei Jiayi childishly reached out, took his hand, and gave it a small shake to confirm he was truly asleep. Then he gazed at the faint slice of night sky and the dark surface of the lake visible through the gap in the curtains.

This apartment hotel was one Wei Jiayi had carefully chosen at the end of last year, amidst his busy schedule. Friends had come over for a housewarming party, and they’d had hotpot a few times. Before the New Year, the property management had delivered festive red static stickers, and at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s, he had stood alone on the balcony, watching fireworks explode over the lake. Those were his memories of the apartment, but none of them compared to the feeling of today—snuggling close to Zhao Jing and drawing warmth from his presence. This moment truly made Wei Jiayi feel that this place was home. He intertwined his fingers with Zhao Jing’s, indulging in the blissful fantasy that they would always be the two masters of this home.

The next morning, Wei Jiayi woke to find Zhao Jing no longer by his side. The faint aroma of food wafted in the air. Walking out, he saw breakfast for two already laid out on the dining table. The plates and cutlery weren’t even from his kitchen.

“You sure can sleep.” Zhao Jing stood in front of the fridge with a bottle of water in hand. Turning to Wei Jiayi, he added in high spirits, “The chef’s already left.”

Wei Jiayi endured the unjust jab, washed up, changed into fresh clothes, and joined Zhao Jing for breakfast. As they ate, Zhao Jing outlined their plans for the day.

In the morning, they visited Xuzhang Mountain to see Zhao Jing’s dog, which involved climbing a short mountain trail.

The weather was beautiful, with the sun high in the sky, warming their skin. However, the mountain was quite windy. After climbing together for a while, they both pulled the hoods of their jackets up. Zhao Jing explained why he had chosen the Xuzhang Cemetery for his dog, “It’s the oldest pet cemetery in the city. When I was a kid, I thought he’d make friends here.”

The higher they climbed, the stronger the wind howled. Wei Jiayi wanted to ask, “And what about now?” but the answer came to him immediately. Zhao Jing had grown up, likely becoming an atheist. To him, death probably represented an endpoint, offering no chance for making new friends.

They reached a slope that led to the relatively level entrance of the cemetery. Zhao Jing, evidently familiar with the place, guided Wei Jiayi through rows of gravestones. His long legs carried him ahead quickly, but he frequently turned back to wait for Wei Jiayi. After several such pauses, Zhao Jing eventually returned, took Wei Jiayi’s hand, and slowed his pace. “It’s a bit far.”

The pet burial section was located on another hillside. The gravestones there were distinctly different from human ones, often shaped like the animals they memorialized. Some even had toys or cans of food placed in front of them. From a distance, Wei Jiayi spotted an unusually large tombstone—almost gigantic—and had a hunch.

Zhao Jing raised his hand to point. “That’s the one.”

As expected, Wei Jiayi’s guess was correct.

As they approached the grave, a large photo adorned the headstone. It featured a handsome Rottweiler sitting on a podium, a medal hanging around his neck like he had just won a canine competition. Below the image were the words: “Grave of Beloved Dog William.”

Wei Jiayi turned to look at Zhao Jing, whose face betrayed no discernible emotion. He gazed at the headstone for a moment before saying, “I was three when my dad got him at a charity auction hosted by his friend’s dog club.”

“He looks very sharp,” Wei Jiayi remarked.

“You’re right.” Zhao Jing paused briefly, then continued without any softening of his words, “The accident happened during the summer vacation when I was eight. We were staying at a holiday villa on the southern island. I was really mischievous back then—slept very little and woke up early, often around three or four in the morning. Without telling my parents, I’d bypass the alarm system, pull him out of his kennel, and sneak past the security guards to take him for a walk on the public beach. He was always so quiet, and I thought it was thrilling.”

Wei Jiayi hadn’t expected Zhao Jing to have experienced such sleepless moments. He watched as Zhao Jing narrated the story matter-of-factly, his face devoid of emotion, as though recounting someone else’s experiences.

“We had a driver on the island who was like a playmate to me. He was the only one who knew about my habit and even covered for me. Later, he got caught stealing from my family because of his gambling addiction. The butler discovered him, and he was fired. I didn’t know about it at the time. After he left, he harbored a grudge and became desperate for money. He sold my morning routine to a few local criminals. One morning, as soon as I reached the beach, I ran into them.”

“I ran as fast as I could, but William stayed behind, trying to hold them off. I saw them hit him and turned back, but it was too late.” While saying this, Zhao Jing’s head dipped slightly, as if following a mental routine to process the unpleasant emotions. After a moment, he glanced at Wei Jiayi and continued, “I’ve always had good luck. They should’ve caught me that day, but a resident across from the beach had just called the police to report a noise disturbance. A patrol car showed up and scared them stiff. I carried William and ran, and they couldn’t catch up. I ran all the way to the residential area and saw a garbage truck approaching. I climbed into a trash bag with William in my arms, and soon, we were taken away.”

“I stayed with him at the landfill until the afternoon. My parents and the police tracked us down through his microchip, and I was safe again, with almost no lasting trauma. Just one thing—do you remember when you found me on the beach and I immediately wanted a shower? It’s because I hate feeling dirty; it always reminds me of that day at the landfill.”

Zhao Jing spoke about it entirely without emotion, his tone even more narrative than when he had asked Wei Jiayi who had given him the clothes. “Another thing I realized was that my habit of not sleeping wasn’t healthy, so I fixed it. But for some reason, my mom thought I was sleeping too much and brought in a psychologist. Fortunately, the psychologist agreed I was perfectly fine and that the incident hadn’t had a major impact on me.”

“After I built this grave for William, I always came here alone,” Zhao Jing continued. “You’re the first person I’ve brought along. Even though a date at a cemetery is pretty unlucky, for some reason, after you asked me yesterday, I just wanted to tell you everything.”

“It’s fine,” Wei Jiayi said without hesitation. “I’ve always loved dogs, enjoy hiking, and I’m not superstitious.”

Zhao Jing gave a faint smile. “Good.” After a few seconds, he added, “There’s a eulogy I wrote for him down below. You can take a look. It’s in both Chinese and German because he was a German dog.”

Wei Jiayi leaned down to read it. The eulogy wasn’t long, but it was well-organized. It detailed William’s life, his favorite foods, and his love of exercise—not at all the childish scribble he had imagined. “I can’t read the German, but the Chinese is beautifully written.”

Zhao Jing responded with a “Hmm.” Wei Jiayi glanced at the photo again and sighed. “I’ve always felt a close connection with Rottweilers whenever I’ve met them.”

“He would’ve liked you too,” Zhao Jing replied.

Wei Jiayi looked up at him, thinking Zhao Jing might finally say something heartfelt. Instead, Zhao Jing added, “This dog was a bit of a perv.”

The remark was such a mood-killer that Wei Jiayi burst out laughing. Even Zhao Jing cracked a smile before saying, “Just teasing you.” His expression became slightly more serious as he added, “I didn’t bring you here to feel sad.”

He reached out to hold Wei Jiayi’s hand, but just as their fingers touched, his phone buzzed. Zhao Jing frowned, muttering, “Didn’t I say not to bother me this morning?” He pulled out the phone, and Wei Jiayi noticed the name and title on the screen—Chief Legal Officer of Zhao Jing’s company.

Zhao Jing answered the call, and although Wei Jiayi couldn’t make out the words, the urgency in the caller’s tone was evident. Zhao Jing’s expression darkened slightly, though not very noticeably, and he told the other person, “Stay calm, I’m coming back now.”

He hung up the phone and turned to Wei Jiayi. “The company just received notice of an antitrust investigation. I need to go back for an emergency meeting.”

Noticing the worry in Wei Jiayi’s expression, Zhao Jing didn’t rush off or let go of his hand. He gently kissed Wei Jiayi’s hair and said, “It’s a small matter. I’ve always been lucky. Don’t worry.”