The rain drizzled endlessly, a constant murmur against the dull sky, which was occasionally lit by streaks of lightning, rumbling faintly in the distance.
The heavy downpour had loosened the soil into a slippery mess, puddles of varying depths forming on the ground, while the roadside grasses and forested patches had been washed clean, brimming with life.
Yu Zhi wore the household’s raincoat and carried a large black umbrella as he walked along the forest path. Calling Ji Xingyu on his phone only yielded the perpetual message: “The user you are trying to reach is switched off,” rendering the phone useless.
With no other choice, Yu Zhi shouted Ji Xingyu’s name as he walked, hoping that the wandering Ji Xingyu might somehow hear him and, in an act of mercy, appear, ending this aimless search.
Since it was afternoon, the crew was busy filming at other rented farmhouses, leaving only a few cameras set up for remote shooting. They hadn’t expected Ji Xingyu to run off in this rain, and even if they wanted to help now, they couldn’t act faster than Yu Zhi.
The mountain rain lashed and the wind whipped the sheets of rain so fiercely that it nearly obscured the path ahead. Yu Zhi didn’t think about anything else; his mind was entirely on where Ji Xingyu could have gone.
He walked and paused, frequently scanning the steep slopes beside the path, checking if Ji Xingyu might have slipped. Still, no sign of him appeared.
Yu Zhi climbed higher and higher up the mountain. He had reached halfway up; another stretch would bring him to the summit, yet there was still no sight of Ji Xingyu.
Just as he considered whether to call for backup, he noticed a shadow moving slowly along a hidden path.
The rain was so heavy that Yu Zhi held the umbrella not to shield himself, but to clear his line of sight.
Now he could see clearly: a person, struggling but steadily, was making their way out along the muddy path.
Instinctively, he watched the movements carefully. Good, walking normally. No sign of injury. A small sigh of relief escaped him.
“What are you doing up the mountain?!” Once he confirmed Ji Xingyu was unharmed, the worry-fueled anger surged, his tone hard and sharp, tinged with reprimand.
But Ji Xingyu didn’t care. From the moment he heard Yu Zhi’s voice and saw him approaching, he couldn’t contain his own excitement. Even the scolding didn’t matter; he quickened his pace until he reached Yu Zhi and then opened the bag he had been carrying, revealing its contents.
“Look!”
Look at what?
Yu Zhi’s mood soured at the abrupt interruption, yet when he saw the other’s eyes, wide and gleaming with anticipation despite being soaked in the downpour, he couldn’t help but sigh and furrow his brows. Reluctantly, he lowered his gaze, and saw that the bag was filled with a riot of red flowers.
“I heard there are thorny flowers on this mountain,” Ji Xingyu said, “and the heavy rain might damage them, so I came to see if I could still pick some.” He wasn’t sure if Yu Zhi liked flowers, but he was certain he didn’t dislike them. So he thought, why not try? Maybe he could find some and make Yu Zhi happy.
The villagers here were simple and rustic. Some of the common flowers didn’t even have proper names; anything with thorns was simply called thorn flowers.
When Ji Xingyu arrived, he saw thorny vines crawling across the hillside. The flowers, just coming into full bloom, were battered by the rain, looking almost on the verge of collapse. He picked a few of the ones that were still intact and looked beautiful.
Yu Zhi looked at the flowers, but his gaze lingered on Ji Xingyu’s hands, pale and wrinkled from being soaked. With a stern expression, he said, “Let’s go back.”
Seeing that Yu Zhi offered no smile, Ji Xingyu’s own expression fell. A flash of frustration burned in his chest, but he remembered to restrain himself, though in moments like these, he usually had a hard time controlling his temper, even if he could pretend otherwise on ordinary days.
Seeing Yu Zhi’s voice so cold and hard, Ji Xingyu forced his own tone to match. “You don’t like them? Then tell me, what is it you do like?”
If this person would just plainly say what he liked, Ji Xingyu wouldn’t have to rack his brains trying to win his favor.
Yu Zhi didn’t answer immediately. His voice remained low and steady. “Why did you go out alone in the pouring rain? Why leave no note, ignore your phone? Have you forgotten we’re not here to go sightseeing?”
Of course Ji Xingyu hadn’t forgotten, they were here to film a show.
But he didn’t feel he had done anything seriously wrong. The production team had said they’d only shoot indoor content today; nothing was compulsory, it was essentially a day off. Even if it weren’t a break, the show operated with a degree of freedom.
Besides, he’d only gone up the hill. a few steps, nothing like some remote wilderness. Why make such a fuss?
“My phone got ruined in the rain.” Ji Xingyu said. Going out had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. Of course, he thought it wasn’t far and wouldn’t take long. Who could’ve predicted that walking in this rain-soaked path would be so treacherous? He nearly slipped several times while hurrying, then learned to slow down and tread carefully.
His phone broke, but Yu Zhi’s hadn’t. So he called the production team, letting them know Ji Xingyu was fine and would return immediately.
“The rain’s heavy outside. We’ll talk later.” Yu Zhi hung up and glanced at Ji Xingyu.
That glance made Ji Xingyu’s chest tighten with irritation. Even the flowers he held suddenly looked less beautiful and more cumbersome.
Pursing his lips, he casually tossed the bag of flowers down the steep slope. In a blink, a cascade of pink blooms tumbled into the ravine, disappearing from sight.
Standing in the rain with an air of composed dignity, Ji Xingyu crossed his arms over his chest, his voice shifting from firm to cold. “If they’re not liked, there’s no use keeping them.”
Yu Zhi’s gaze followed the flowers down the slope. His brows knitted slightly, as if silently honoring the words, or perhaps pondering something. After a long pause, he said, “Do as you wish.”
He ignored the brief pang of emptiness and discomfort that had flickered when the flowers were tossed, speaking in an even, calm tone.
But ignoring isn’t forgetting.
He clearly felt the strange twinge in his heart caused by Ji Xingyu’s act, why did he feel reluctant to let go?
After thinking it over, he concluded it was because those flowers had been painstakingly picked by Ji Xingyu. And after all the effort he had spent searching for him through the muddy paths, the energy wasted made him attach a sense of sunk cost to the flowers.
The reasoning was logical, and it satisfied him.
Ji Xingyu, however, had no knowledge of this inner calculation. Seeing Yu Zhi remain unmoved, he felt all his effort had been for nothing, that he had made a fool of himself. Added to the frustration of navigating the slippery hillside, impatience bubbled up and overcame his restraint, and he grew even angrier.
He didn’t even glance at Yu Zhi, quickening his pace as he started down the mountain.
But his mood was sour, and he walked carelessly. Coupled with the already treacherous path, it didn’t take long, just a few steps, before he stepped on moss covering a rock and slipped. He landed squarely on his backside, sliding a short distance down the slope!
“Damn it!”
Ji Xingyu didn’t have time to worry about the stinging abrasions on his hands; his mind was consumed by only one thought, his clothes were filthy!
Not just a little dirty.
In other words, they were very dirty.
He had landed on his butt, and now the entire rear of his clothing was coated in mud. Anyone with eyes could guess exactly how humiliatingly he had slipped.
In short, it didn’t hurt much, but it was mortifying.
Yu Zhi followed close behind. Seeing Ji Xingyu sitting there, dazed and unmoving, he thought he must have hurt himself and asked hurriedly, “Are you hurt anywhere? Let me see.”
Having witnessed the entire process of Ji Xingyu’s fall, he couldn’t help but sigh at the other’s admirable or perhaps stubborn self-awareness.
“I’m fine!” Ji Xingyu shouted.
He realized that, compared to others guessing how he’d fallen, having Yu Zhi witness the full spectacle of his tumble was far more humiliating.
But now that Yu Zhi had seen it, there was no undoing it. He couldn’t just fall again to erase the memory.
Holding to the philosophy that embarrassment exists only in others’ perceptions, Ji Xingyu slowly got to his feet. Once steady, he used the rainwater to rinse his hands, only to discover that his right palm had been scraped by a rock when he had tried to steady himself. Now, washed clean, it was red, the blood had seeped out but not yet clotted, and the rain had just washed it away.
A firm grip appeared on his arm. “Walk slower.”
Yu Zhi held his arm, preventing another slip.
Seeing that Yu Zhi’s face bore no trace of mockery, Ji Xingyu felt a mix of relief and helplessness.
“Wait.” he called.
Yu Zhi paused, a puzzled look on his face as if asking what he meant.
Ji Xingyu averted his gaze, refusing to meet his eyes. “Let me stand in the rain a little longer. You can go ahead.”
“You don’t want to head back?” Yu Zhi frowned.
“It’s not that.” Ji Xingyu countered.
“Then what are you waiting for?” Yu Zhi asked, genuinely puzzled.
“I like standing in the rain… want to stay in it a little longer,” Ji Xingyu said seriously, spouting nonsense with a straight face.
Yu Zhi didn’t buy it. He studied him carefully, his gaze landing on Ji Xingyu’s hand, awkwardly placed behind his back, brushing over his butt. A guess formed in his mind; he raised an eyebrow, and a faint, indescribable understanding flickered across his eyes.
Ji Xingyu pressed his lips together, saying nothing. The sharp intensity in his eyes was dulled by the rain, unable to fully convey the edge he intended. His voice was cold as he said, “Aren’t you going?” Trying to watch me make a fool of myself, huh?
Yu Zhi sighed, giving him a glance. “Hurry up.”
It was better to go together; otherwise, if something happened halfway, it would be endless trouble.
Ji Xingyu met his gaze and, seeing no sign of pretense, felt some of his frustration ebb away.
The mountain forest around them was empty, everything swallowed by the downpour.
Ji Xingyu stood fully in the rain, while Yu Zhi remained sheltered under the umbrella, the two separated only by a thick, watery veil of rain.
Time in the rain dragged on, long and seemingly endless, yet Ji Xingyu’s thoughts gradually settled. He turned inward, reflecting on himself.
After a brief pause, he finally spoke to Yu Zhi, voice softening: “I… I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for making you worry.”
Yu Zhi lifted his eyes to look at him, as if surprised that he would apologize.
“It was me who was too impulsive, not thinking things through.” The words proved that Ji Xingyu wasn’t just offering a token apology; he had genuinely reflected on his actions.
After a moment, he looked at Yu Zhi again. “But… Yu Zhi, you’re too difficult to break through. You leave me no choice but to rack my brain, trying every angle, every way I can think of.”
Yet in reality, blindly doing things that might please him, seeking out things he might like, none of it mattered.
Yu Zhi remained indifferent, as if everything Ji Xingyu did was for nothing.
For the first time, Ji Xingyu felt a true sense of exhaustion.
It was more tiring than when he had trained for months to shoot those fight scenes.
He closed his eyes, trying to shake off the fatigue, feeling as if the rain had already washed most of it away, then stepped forward and said, “Let’s go back.”
Ji Xingyu walked ahead, Yu Zhi followed behind; barely two meters separated them.
Yu Zhi lowered his gaze, contemplative, his mind replaying Ji Xingyu’s words.
It seemed that Ji Xingyu was emotionally drained by his stubbornness. If this continued, the day Ji Xingyu truly gave up wouldn’t be hard to foresee, Yu Zhi should have been pleased.
Yet in fact, besides a quiet sense of relief, there was also a faint melancholy in his chest.
Like something that had always been there had suddenly vanished.
Yu Zhi let out a small, unexpected chuckle. Even he wasn’t immune to human nature, only regretting what’s lost.
No… not exactly.
Yu Zhi understood himself. For things that didn’t matter, he never invested any thought. If he truly felt regret after losing, it could only mean that, before losing it, he had already cared if only a little.
He closed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh.
The human heart is the most difficult to understand, even for oneself.
The path down the mountain was smooth; the rain had begun to ease.
Yu Zhi, noticing he still had his raincoat, handed the umbrella to Ji Xingyu. It had been meant for him all along.
The two of them slowly made their way down the mountain. As they passed a narrow country path, Ji Xingyu suddenly widened his eyes, tugged on Yu Zhi’s sleeve, and pointed at the trail with delight.
“Yu Zhi, look!”
Yu Zhi turned his head to see the path carpeted in lush green grass, dotted with tiny, delicate blue flowers.
They were scattered like stars, stubbornly thriving despite the wild.
Seeing the field of forget-me-nots, Ji Xingyu’s eyes lit up, and he said sincerely, “It’s… beautiful!”
………………
Back at the house, Ji Xingyu managed to conceal the incident of his fall, at least no one else had seen him so humiliated.
He felt satisfied. After apologizing to everyone, he retrieved his earring from the young girl.
He had taken it off for fear of losing it.
If it fell inside the house, it would be troublesome enough to find; outside, it would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.
The only thing still bothering him was Yu Zhi’s sour mood since their return. He hadn’t been very responsive.
What was going on? Yu Zhi had seemed fine after the apology.
Thinking carefully, it seemed that his change in mood began the moment he saw the forget-me-nots.
Ji Xingyu’s mind lingered on it; he wanted to find a chance to ask Yu Zhi about it.
But unexpectedly, Yu Zhi approached him first.
After the first day of filming wrapped up, Yu Zhi invited him to go along, and of course Ji Xingyu agreed, happily climbing into the car. In his mind, he wondered: had he done something that touched Yu Zhi, prompting him to want to talk?
When they arrived at Ji Xingyu’s house, the assistant went downstairs to wait, leaving only Yu Zhi and Ji Xingyu inside.
Ji Xingyu had just boiled some water and returned to the living room when he heard Yu Zhi’s calm yet gentle voice:
“Ji Xingyu.”
“…Give it up.”
Ji Xingyu froze mid-motion with the kettle, pausing for a long moment. He finally set the kettle down, crossed his arms, and fixed a sharp gaze on Yu Zhi.
Yu Zhi didn’t flinch or look away; he met Ji Xingyu’s stare steadily.
“What do you mean?” Ji Xingyu asked in a low voice. “Did I do something to upset you? Or do you think I’ve been pushing too hard, bothering you? Or… do you already have someone you like, or someone you’re interested in?”
He still mulled over who this someone might be, was it an actor from a previous shoot, or one of the guests on this variety show?
Yu Zhi tugged at the corner of his lips, revealing, for the first time in front of Ji Xingyu, an expression that mixed helplessness with an almost indescribable undertone. It lasted only a moment, but Ji Xingyu caught it squarely.
“If it were possible, I’d tell you who it is.”
“But…”
“So what do you mean?” Ji Xingyu’s face stiffened. He tried to remind himself to endure, to suppress the anger bubbling in his chest, but every time he looked at Yu Zhi, self-control slipped, and his efforts achieved little.
“On the contrary,” Yu Zhi said, “I’ve realized that… I don’t actually feel nothing for you.”
Yes. After careful reflection, Yu Zhi could no longer deny it, he had to accept the fact.
He did have feelings for Ji Xingyu. Hard to define, but they were there.
Once he acknowledged it, Yu Zhi began noticing traces he’d overlooked before.
His tolerance of Ji Xingyu had been excessive.
With anyone else, persistent pursuit after rejection would have been swiftly curtailed.
But when Ji Xingyu reached him, Yu Zhi had not ended it with a more direct, definitive refusal.
He hadn’t said yes, but he hadn’t pushed him away either.
This wasn’t due to the constraints of the show, nor because Ji Xingyu held a special role as a mission target.
Even knowing that the other person liked him, he hadn’t maintained distance. Even knowing that closeness might only bring trouble, he hadn’t forcibly pulled away. Even knowing…
Reflecting on it, he realized his words during the earlier interview had been strangely prophetic.
Ji Xingyu was attractive, talented, charismatic, influential, and highly visible. His temper could be rough, but he restrained it. His personality might be spoiled and willful, yet it retained a certain charm. No one is perfect, but someone like Ji Xingyu already possessed the qualifications to attract others.
The crucial point was that Ji Xingyu liked him.
Ji Xingyu didn’t know this, but Yu Zhi was fully aware: he had never disliked him because of any lingering feelings for that white moonlight. No one understood the matter of that white moonlight better than he did.
To claim he resented Ji Xingyu because of it would be a lie.
All along, he had insisted on keeping his distance, subconsciously telling himself he had no feelings for Ji Xingyu. That quiet, almost imperceptible flutter of the heart had simply been suppressed by his own mind.
He laid all of these thoughts bare before Ji Xingyu, who listened, wide-eyed, heart pounding chaotically.
“Then the reason you act this way…” Ji Xingyu felt he shouldn’t ask. His sixth sense told him the answer wouldn’t be what he hoped.
But he wanted to know anyway.
Not for any reason, just because he wanted to know.
Yu Zhi clasped his hands together on his knees, looking at Ji Xingyu with a serious expression. “Because… I haven’t let go of my previous relationship yet.”
Yes. This was the reason his subconscious had insisted he had no feelings for Ji Xingyu.
Ji Xingyu almost laughed from frustration.
“Are you kidding me?” he said. He had done his homework on Yu Zhi, what previous relationship?
Yu Zhi didn’t care whether he believed him. Today, he said it simply to reveal the truth, not to seek trust.
“Who was it?” Ji Xingyu asked, teeth clenched.
“He’s gone,” Yu Zhi replied.
Ji Xingyu froze. “Then you still—”
“But I haven’t forgotten,” Yu Zhi said.
He had no intention of clinging to the past obsessively, yet he hadn’t fully let go. To clearly love one person in his heart while developing feelings for another was unfair.
Unfair to anyone.
If he were ever to truly release the past and accept someone else, only time could soften it; no one could replace anyone else.
He had once assumed Ji Xingyu’s pursuit would never shake him, which made him fearless. But now he realized, it could.
And so, if he didn’t clarify things now, it wouldn’t be right.
It seemed that ever since their first encounter, when he had noticed the black star earring on Ji Xingyu’s ear, Yu Zhi couldn’t help but place a fraction of his attention on him, an attention that had led to the situation they now found themselves in.
It was his fault.
He stood up and looked at Ji Xingyu seriously. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m truly sorry that I couldn’t remain true to myself.”
“I’m sorry that, even though I had feelings, I still had to reject you.”
“I’m telling you this because I want you to know, my refusal isn’t because you’re not enough. On the contrary, you are more than enough. You are good enough to draw me in, to tempt my heart.”
He smiled softly, his expression gentle, his tone calm, yet the words carried a cruel firmness.
“Ji Xingyu, don’t waste your heart on someone who can’t love you fully. It’s not worth it.”
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