Before going to bed, Wei Jiayi checked his phone as usual, worried he might have missed some work-related messages. To his surprise, he noticed that Zhao Jing had changed his WeChat profile picture. The previous image, a photo of his back, had now been replaced with the snapshot Wei Jiayi had taken that afternoon. His emotions instantly became complicated.
The back-view photo had been taken by Zhao Jing’s mother, Ms. Li, and Wei Jiayi had seen her share it before. But the new photo from the afternoon was just an unintentional snapshot, captured from a rather intimate angle and distance. Yet Zhao Jing had made it his profile picture without hesitation, stirring a peculiar and indescribable feeling in Wei Jiayi.
Of course, Zhao Jing likely just liked the photo, Wei Jiayi thought to himself.
After all, the image had a superhero-like quality, perfectly aligning with Zhao Jing’s self-perception.
In some ways, Zhao Jing was quite simple. Over the past few days, Wei Jiayi had come to understand this very well.
Zhao Jing’s confidence came from always being the one in control. He only needed to decide whether he wanted something or not. If he wanted it, he took it. If he didn’t, he discarded it. If he wanted someone, they stayed. If not, they disappeared.
Ordinary people were different. Even if they longed to be chosen, they often felt too ashamed to fight openly for themselves. So, if Wei Jiayi claimed he didn’t envy Zhao Jing, he’d be lying.
Locking his phone, Wei Jiayi turned off the lights and lay in bed. He knew there was no point in comparing himself to Zhao Jing, yet his thoughts still drifted back to last year.
At that time, he had agreed to photograph Pan Yifei for a magazine. Everything had been arranged and communicated properly. But just as the contract was about to be signed, Pan Yifei’s agent called Wei Jiayi’s agent and requested a replacement.
Wei Jiayi had been quite displeased at the time. Such incidents hadn’t happened in a long while since he became established in his career, especially given how difficult it was to book his schedule.
Pan Yifei’s agent even called Wei Jiayi directly to explain. “I feel like the photos you take of Xiao Pan lack a sense of distance.” After a few explanations, she abruptly began to criticize him. “I’m not the only one who thinks this way—many people have noticed, including Xiao Pan’s fans. You must know these things yourself, right? Honestly, this job shouldn’t have been given to you in the first place, and you shouldn’t have accepted it. I don’t know why you did, but Xiao Pan can’t be affected by this. So, I took it upon myself to make this decision for him. I hope you won’t blame me.”
Perhaps Wei Jiayi truly lacked confidence. When she made that remark, he momentarily doubted himself: Could taking this job really have been driven by some ulterior motive buried in my subconscious?
It didn’t seem likely, but it wasn’t entirely impossible either. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t hold his head high.
Of course, he later reasoned it was utter nonsense! Still, it wasn’t exactly feasible to call Pan Yifei’s agent a month later to clarify and demand compensation for wasted work. He had no choice but to let it slide.
In hindsight, compared to the overly slick and difficult personalities often encountered in the industry, Zhao Jing’s character wasn’t entirely without its merits. At the very least, when Zhao Jing abruptly halted the PR photoshoot halfway through, the payment still came through.
Moreover, Zhao Jing—despite his reputation for being hard to please—didn’t nitpick the photos Wei Jiayi took. Nor did he use his status to force Wei Jiayi to stay up all night tweaking edits, only to declare in the end that the first version was best after all.
Reflecting on the frustration he had endured with Pan Yifei’s agent, Wei Jiayi found himself tossing and turning until the middle of the night. At dawn, he was jolted awake by his ringing phone. Seeing Zhao Jing’s name on the screen, he answered without hesitation.
Before Wei Jiayi could say a word, Zhao Jing’s energetic voice boomed, “Wei Jiayi, how can you sleep so much? It’s already 8:30.”
Li Mingcheng, apparently nearby, chimed in to defend him, “He’s probably just exhausted from the past few days or forgot to set his alarm.”
Li Mingcheng hit the nail on the head. Wei Jiayi had indeed forgotten to set his alarm the night before. His head throbbed as he got to his feet, thinking: Young Master Zhao personally called to rush me—he must have been waiting at the table for a whole few seconds.
He was lost in thought when Zhao Jing scolded Li Mingcheng on the other end, “The alarm didn’t go off? What about his biological clock?”
Zhao Jing wasn’t wrong, but hearing it from him almost made Wei Jiayi laugh. The remark woke him up fully. He apologized, “Sorry. I forgot to set my alarm. Go ahead and eat without me.” His poor sleep had left his voice raspy, and even he thought he sounded unwell.
Zhao Jing didn’t respond, likely because the concept of “acknowledging an apology with forgiveness” didn’t exist in his world.
After a brief silence, Wei Jiayi had no choice but to speak up again. “I’m really sorry. I’ll be down right away.”
He quickly went downstairs and arrived at the dining area, noticing that Zhao Jing didn’t seem too upset. The three of them ate together as light rain drizzled outside. The rain was neither too heavy nor too light, and the sky remained overcast, showing no signs of clearing up.
Li Mingcheng made a call to Nick, who informed them that the weather was unsuitable for excavation work. Instead, they planned to visit the temporary shelter to assess the shortage of supplies. Coincidentally, new materials delivered by Zhao Jing’s parents had arrived earlier that morning, so the three of them at the guesthouse decided to go along.
The resettlement area was set up on several flat areas above the medical center, consisting of simple shanties.
Because of the rain, no one was outside, but faint murmurs of conversation could be heard. Outside the shacks were numerous empty drying racks for clothes. The ground, trampled by many feet, had sparse grass, and the rain-soaked mud left deep footprints wherever they stepped. Everything appeared crude and chaotic.
Wei Jiayi put on a raincoat, unloaded the supplies from the back of the truck, and divided them into portions to be delivered to the shelters.
The generator powering the resettlement area was low-capacity, so each unit had only a single dim bulb. The living conditions were harsh. Some people sat motionless by their beds, grieving the loss of loved ones, while others, still holding on to some strength, expressed heartfelt gratitude. The gloomy skies, damp air, and oppressive atmosphere made everyone feel depressed.
After distributing all the supplies, Nick called out to Zhao Jing.
He mentioned that Lini’s aunt had invited them for lunch. The meal would likely be simple, but she wanted to personally thank them for taking care of Lini. Apparently, Lini had slept much better last night compared to the previous days.
Wei Jiayi and Li Mingcheng were happy to accept the invitation. They glanced at Zhao Jing, who readily agreed without hesitation, showing none of his usual extravagance of traveling with both Chinese and Western chefs.
Following Nick’s car to Lini’s aunt’s house, Wei Jiayi discussed the resettlement area’s living conditions with Li Mingcheng, who was driving.
Wei Jiayi wanted his assistant to post information about an official donation channel for disaster relief on his social media account.
He contacted his assistant, but for some reason, the assistant, who had been managing the account yesterday, was unable to log in today. Despite entering the correct verification code twice, the login attempt failed both times.
Wei Jiayi decided to try himself and managed to log in on his first attempt. However, upon seeing a flood of unread notifications, his body went numb involuntarily.
The assistant called back, and Wei Jiayi told him, “Never mind, I’ll post it myself. I’m already logged in.” Switching directly to the post editor, he pasted the donation channel details, added a couple of lines asking for everyone’s support, and clicked send.
At that moment, Zhao Jing, who had been sitting silently nearby, suddenly moved closer.
“What did you post?” He learned in unabashedly to peer at Wei Jiayi’s phone and whispered, “I’ll have my PR department post one too.”
They were riding in an off-road vehicle. Zhao Jing had been seated in the middle, occupying two seats with his leg stretched out. Wei Jiayi remained in the back with him, prepared to assist if needed.
Now, Zhao Jing had taken over the entire row of seats to get a better look at the screen. His entire frame leaned toward Wei Jiayi, pressing so close that he was practically against him.
The distinctive woody scent Zhao Jing always carried reached Wei Jiayi’s nose. With his back pressed firmly against the door, escape was impossible. He fell silent, vaguely recalling how, when he first found Zhao Jing on the beach, he hadn’t been like this.
Wei Jiayi felt he preferred that version of Zhao Jing—the one who, even in dire situations, clumsily tried to maintain a little social distance by hiding his hands in his sleeves.
Oblivious to this, Zhao Jing pointed at Wei Jiayi’s post. “The format’s clear. I’ll just tell them to copy yours.”
Zhao Jing’s finger accidentally tapped the screen, opening the message inbox to reveal a long list of red unread notifications. He let out a puzzled “Huh,” and Wei Jiayi felt a shiver run down his spine.
Sure enough, Zhao Jing began his critique. “So many unread messages. Is your assistant always this unreliable?”
In that moment, the only solace Wei Jiayi found was that the content of the unread messages wasn’t visible. Otherwise, if Zhao Jing saw the messages from Pan Yifei’s fan group or various celebrities alternately praising or criticizing him, he’d undoubtedly grab Wei Jiayi’s phone and start asking two hundred questions.
Before Zhao Jing could open the unread messages, Wei Jiayi quickly closed the app and spoke up in defense of his assistant. “They were probably all sent today. He hasn’t had a chance to check them yet.”
Tucking the phone away in his hand, Wei Jiayi nudged his elbow slightly toward Zhao Jing, hoping he’d pick up on the cramped space and move back to his seat, leaving some room.
But Zhao Jing was Zhao Jing. He remained oblivious to Wei Jiayi’s hints, still leaning in close. Lowering his head to look at Wei Jiayi’s face, he made an inexplicable comment, “Wei Jiayi, your phone screen could make you blind.”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that.” Wei Jiayi felt his patience reaching its limit. He took a deep breath and tried to respond as gently as possible. “Given the current situation, I can’t replace it. I’ll just have to use my phone less for now.”
At that moment, Zhao Jing’s lips curved almost imperceptibly. He said to Wei Jiayi, “No need to use it less. I told my secretary yesterday to get you a new one. You can swap it out after dinner.”
As he finished speaking, a glint of self-satisfaction flashed in his eyes, as though he were waiting for Wei Jiayi’s positive response.
“…Thank you so much, President Zhao,” Wei Jiayi said. “Now I can use my phone without ruining my eyesight.”
“Mm.” Zhao Jing raised his chin. “My parents even messaged me this morning to say my new profile picture looks good. You should take more photos like that in the future.”
“Okay,” Wei Jiayi responded with some effort. “If there’s a suitable setting, I’ll take a few more for you to choose from.”
After receiving the answer, Zhao Jing finally moved back, ending Wei Jiayi’s torment. Spending time with Zhao Jing every day felt like riding a roller coaster in pitch black—never knowing whether the next moment would bring an uphill climb or a steep plunge.
The uphill climbs were when Zhao Jing acted unhinged, while the plunges were the moments when Zhao Jing, as Li Mingcheng had once said, revealed himself to not be such a bad person after all.
The car turned onto a bumpy road, and the interior began jolting up and down. Zhao Jing seemed to be in pain from his leg, but he endured it, his expression far from pleasant. Sitting in the middle seat without anything to support him, he swayed with the motion of the car. He reached for the grab handle on the roof, but the movement tugged at his left leg. The pain must have intensified because he quickly withdrew his hand without a word.
Wei Jiayi noticed Zhao Jing’s discomfort, which he refused to admit. Hesitating for a moment, he softly asked, “Do you want to hold on to me?”
Zhao Jing glanced at him, saying nothing. Clearly, he intended to act tough and refuse, but the car suddenly lurched violently. His face paled, and he immediately raised a hand. At first, he placed it on Wei Jiayi’s shoulder, but the position felt unstable. Adjusting, he wrapped his arm around Wei Jiayi’s shoulders instead.
Zhao Jing was heavy, his body radiating heat. In an uncoordinated way, he used Wei Jiayi like a crutch. Wei Jiayi had never been this physically close to anyone outside of extreme circumstances, let alone confined in a small space, suddenly bearing someone else’s warmth and weight. He felt a little uneasy, his mood shifting to something unfamiliar and hard to define.
Zhao Jing, of course, remained oblivious to Wei Jiayi’s reaction. He wasn’t the type of person to express gratitude, and Wei Jiayi knew that well. Still, compared to the last time—when he had to drag Zhao Jing from the beach back to the main road—Wei Jiayi found himself much more willing to act as Zhao Jing’s crutch now.
Oho? News of their relationship broke out?
Thanks for the chapter <33333