ST CHAPTER 13

After Wei Jiayi deleted the post, he mentioned that he had something to take care of and went upstairs. Zhao Jing sat in the living room, consumed by a complex mix of emotions that were difficult to articulate. Ever since Wei Jiayi admitted that the articles weren’t entirely false, Zhao Jing felt as though a thorn had lodged in his heart, leaving him uneasy whenever he thought about it.

He had always assumed that Wei Jiayi was an upright person like himself—entirely devoted to work, indifferent to romantic entanglements, and free from personal desires. Yet, to his surprise, Wei Jiayi had once secretly harbored a crush, and it was on someone so ordinary-looking and so disgraceful in conduct.

Applying simple reasoning, Zhao Jing concluded that this Pan guy must have been aware of Wei Jiayi’s feelings. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to clarify things with such an angle. Of course, as Wei Jiayi had admitted, he hadn’t seen much of the world. It was inevitable that others might exploit and exaggerate his weaknesses.

After contacting the head of the PR company, Zhao Jing called his secretary and instructed him to tell the chef to prepare an especially lavish dinner that evening.

Let Wei Jiayi see what real good food was like.

Li Mingcheng had returned to his room to work remotely. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the rain continued, casting a gloomy atmosphere over the living room.

Zhao Jing wasn’t fond of resting; he felt more energized when working in the forest, even though it was mentally draining. At least there, he could contribute something tangible rather than sit on the sofa with an injured leg.

For the first half of his life, Zhao Jing had only held an abstract understanding of charity. He associated it with his family’s foundations, company funds, or the videos recorded by their staff. Raised with the belief that charity was a lifelong duty, he had never truly understood its deeper meaning.

He considered messaging his parents to share the complex shift in his mindset, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase it. In the end, he simply wrote, “Lini’s aunt invited me over today for lunch and expressed her gratitude for my help with Lini.”

His parents were likely busy, as they merely responded with two thumbs-up emojis that didn’t convey much.

The exchange brought Zhao Jing’s thoughts back to Wei Jiayi. Whenever Wei Jiayi praised him or explained something, he did so with logic and substance.

After some reflection, Zhao Jing resolved to be more mindful of maintaining an appropriate distance from Wei Jiayi.

Due to Zhao Jing’s educational background and social environment, he had encountered people with diverse orientations and a wide spectrum of gender identities—some with fluidity in their gender and sexual preferences. However, to him, these concepts remained somewhat vague. Whenever conversations veered into topics involving sexuality, he would typically excuse himself, preferring to focus on his own interests.

Zhao Jing was both thoughtful and principled. As a CEO, he actively participated in his company’s anti-sexual harassment training via video and maintained a clear understanding of appropriate boundaries in all situations. When he learned about Wei Jiayi’s situation, he made a conscious effort to avoid physical contact, understanding that it could otherwise be misinterpreted as harassment.

When Wei Jiayi would notice the details in his actions and feel his thoughtfulness, he would be moved.

Before dinner, Zhao Jing’s doctor arrived to conduct a routine follow-up. While the doctor examined his leg brace, Wei Jiayi came downstairs after finishing his work. His hair was slightly messy, with a few strands sticking out near his face, making him look less like someone hard at work and more like someone just waking from a nap.

He walked over to Zhao Jing and watched the doctor at work while yawning. Zhao Jing glanced at him, but Wei Jiayi didn’t notice; his eyes were fixed on Zhao Jing’s injured leg.

The doctor asked, “President Zhao, you didn’t overdo it today, right?”

Zhao Jing promptly replied, “No.”

“That’s not true,” Wei Jiayi interjected, his expression growing more serious. “He took a car ride earlier, and the bumps on the road seemed to really hurt him at the time.”

Only then did Zhao Jing remember that this had indeed happened.

Wei Jiayi continued to show such care for him. As Zhao Jing gazed at his profile, a deep sense of peace and certainty settled within him.

From Zhao Jing’s perspective, it was clear that Wei Jiayi’s top priority was taking care of him and maintaining their relationship. Wei Jiayi didn’t prioritize Li Mingcheng, let alone that Pan guy. Over the past five years, Wei Jiayi hadn’t posted anything about him on his Moments, and in recent days, he hadn’t even mentioned him in conversations with Zhao Jing. It was safe to say he had been entirely forgotten.

The doctor glanced at Wei Jiayi before turning back to examine Zhao Jing’s leg more thoroughly.

“There’s no major issue,” the doctor said at last. “But President Zhao, as I’ve told you before, you need to limit your movements. Even construction workers don’t go back to digging immediately after a bone fracture. While you’re strong and your muscles offer some protection, you still need to take it easy.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Zhao Jing was clearly tired of the lecture and waved his hand to dismiss the doctor.

Li Mingcheng also came downstairs after finishing his remote work, and the three of them moved to the dining room, where the chef began serving dinner. Despite limited conditions and ordinary ingredients, the chef had cooked a spread that resembled a table full of delicacies.

Before Wei Jiayi could comment, Li Mingcheng rubbed his chin and sighed. “What’s the occasion today?” He asked Zhao Jing curiously, “Ge, didn’t you eat enough at lunch?”

Zhao Jing shot him a glare, silencing him immediately.

The food was undeniably good, but Zhao Jing’s overbearing presence was a bit hard to ignore. As Wei Jiayi ate with his head down, he could sense Zhao Jing stealing glances at him. Each time, Zhao Jing quickly looked away, as if he thought Wei Jiay wouldn’t notice if he was fast enough.

When they were all too full to continue, the chef emerged to ask how the dishes were and whether they suited their tastes. Zhao Jing remained silent, while Li Mingcheng was oblivious to the atmosphere. “Very good.” He joked, “Is today some kind of holiday?”

The chef simply smiled without answering, and Zhao Jing was even less inclined to respond. Wei Jiayi stepped in to break the awkwardness. “It’s probably because everyone’s been working so hard lately. Especially President Zhao—balancing rescue efforts with recovery must require a lot of extra nourishment.”

“It’s nothing. All of it’s easy for me.” Zhao Jing maintained his nonchalance, making no mention of the five times he’d stalled the compactor machine.

Wei Jiayi had nothing to add, so Zhao Jing continued, this time commenting on the food. “It’s decent compared to some plain meals.” Finally, Zhao Jing looked directly at Wei Jiayi, his eyes seemingly hinting at something.

Wei Jiayi understood what he meant, though he felt Zhao Jing was going off track. After all, Zhao Jing didn’t even know how to turn on a stove, yet his competitive streak was unmistakable.

Still, Wei Jiayi couldn’t get angry with him. Instead, he played along, saying, “That’s true. After eating this, it’s hard to go back to plain meals.”

Hearing the response he wanted, Zhao Jing gave a slight nod of approval.

After dinner, Nick unexpectedly arrived at the guesthouse to visit Wei Jiayi, bringing two visitors with him.

By then, it was completely dark outside. The three visitors wore raincoats speckled with mud, making them look quite disheveled. Nick introduced the visitors as the mayor of the town at the base of the mountain and the captain of the local guard. The mayor had gray hair and coughed occasionally, while the captain was tall and robust but also looked extremely exhausted.

The mayor explained the purpose of their visit: they wanted to ask Wei Jiayi to take a set of documentary photographs before he left.

The devastation in the residential area at the mountain base was so severe that the emergency agency had decided to demolish everything and rebuild from scratch. Soon, the old homes would be gone forever. The ruins left in the wake of the tsunami had once been filled with the lives of families, bearing small, ordinary, yet irreplaceable traces of their existence. Without a photographic record, those traces would linger only fleetingly in the unreliable memories of survivors before eventually fading away.

“We want to create a memorial museum,” the mayor explained. The museum would house artifacts and photographs of the tsunami, preserving as much as possible the memories of the people who had lived there. For many residents, this idea had become a source of strength, motivating them to continue searching through the ruins of their homes in hopes of finding signs of their loved ones and friends.

Wei Jiayi solemnly agreed to help and refused their offer of compensation.

With more rescue work scheduled for the next day, Nick and his companions departed after the conversation.

Wei Jiayi didn’t have his own equipment, so he picked up the camera on the coffee table, which had been seized by Zhao Jing. It was the same one originally used to record Li Mingming’s wedding banquet—a full-frame digital camera, expensive and high-quality enough to meet the memorial museum’s requirements.

When Wei Jiayi turned on the camera, he noticed the battery was running low. Before charging it, he decided to delete unnecessary photos and save the usable ones to the computer. He hadn’t planned on sending the wedding photos to Li Mingming anyway—keeping them felt like a waste of storage space.

Zhao Jing, who had been sitting on the other side replying to messages, suddenly moved closer and asked, “What are you looking at?”

“Just the photos I originally took.” Wei Jiayi angled the screen slightly toward Zhao Jing and explained, “When I first arrived on the island, I took the camera with me and shot some street scenes near the residential area. These might be useful for the mayor.”

He had arrived early that day and wandered around the hotel alone. Unlike the all-inclusive resort, the areas where the locals lived felt full of life. At the time, he figured that since he had a camera, he might as well use it. Unexpectedly, he ended up capturing something valuable.

The images depicted a town that had once been sturdy and alive with people—a stark contrast to its current state. Zhao Jing studied the photos in silence.

After about a hundred pictures, the scenes shifted back to the hotel, revealing an entirely different world. Wei Jiayi didn’t really fit in with Li Mingmian’s friends, so he had half-heartedly snapped pictures of the evening party.

At this point, Li Mingcheng joined them, leaning over the back of the sofa to peer at the camera.

“This was before the fire, right?” He pointed to one of Wei Jiayi’s photos. “That’s the guy who started it!”

Wei Jiayi deleted the photo.

Li Mingcheng pointed at the next photo, which captured a crowd dancing in one of the seating areas, with Li Mingming’s back visible in the background. Li Mingcheng reminisced, “By this point, Li Mingming was already drunk. He mistook a model for his wife and hugged her, calling her his wife. His actual wife slapped him. You missed that part?”

Wei Jiayi deleted dozens more.

He continued until he reached a photo from the wedding day—a shot of the decorative backdrop he had taken. Out of nowhere, Zhao Jing spoke up. “What’s this?”

He pointed at a large floral arrangement, his hand instinctively reaching out to grab Wei Jiayi’s hand to zoom in. But then, as if something occurred to him, he pulled his hand back and gave a firm voice command, “Zoom in on it for me.”

Wei Jiayi noticed Zhao Jing’s overly deliberate avoidance of physical contact and thought to himself: So Zhao Jing is a bit homophobic.

Having encountered plenty of homophobia in his wide social circle, Wei Jiayi was no stranger to people behaving differently once they learned about his sexuality. He was used to it, so he felt only mildly conflicted.

When the photo was zoomed in, Zhao Jing’s sharp eyes caught sight of a sign next to the floral arrangement that read: “Congratulations on Your Wedding–Gifted by Pan Yifei.”

“Why is he in this?” Zhao Jing demanded in a harsh tone, shooting a cold glance at Wei Jiayi. “Why did you take a picture of this?” His meddling knew no bounds.

Wei Jiayi was innocent this time. “I photographed all the decorations and happened to get this one.”

“You didn’t know, ge?” Li Mingcheng was oblivious to Zhao Jing’s hostility toward Pan Yifei. “Pan Yifei is the bride’s brother.” Then he turned to Wei Jiayi. “Jiayi, are you two close?”

Even from the corner of his eye, Wei Jiayi could see Zhao Jing’s expression darken completely. He quickly clarified, “No, not at all.”

“Haha, good. I didn’t like his new movie that much.” Li Mingcheng kept chatting casually, unaware of the tension. “The one that won an award before was decent.”

Zhao Jing, who hadn’t seen any of Pan Yifei’s films, arrogantly declared, “They’re all garbage. Watching them is a waste of time.”

Li Mingcheng paused, puzzled by Zhao Jing’s strong opinion, and suddenly felt too nervous to speak.

The sunset on the evening of the wedding had been beautiful. Wei Jiayi had kept a few shots of the ocean and some distant panoramic views. There were also photos capturing guests’ reactions to the ceremony—some lost in thought, others visibly moved. He preserved the ones he found meaningful, including a few of Li Mingcheng and his family.

As he scrolled further, he came across a photo of a woman in a suit taken from behind. Wei Jiayi vaguely remembered her as an elder. The photo didn’t show her face, and he thought his photography skills were mediocre at best. Just as he was about to delete it, Zhao Jing suddenly grabbed his wrist.

After grabbing him, Zhao Jing froze for a moment too, possibly because his instinctive reaction made him forget his homophobia.

Zhao Jing immediately let go, his hand reflexively clenching before he pointed at the blurry partial head next to the woman in the photo. Glaring at Wei Jiayi with displeasure, he accused, “Wei Jiayi, that’s me. Didn’t you recognize me?”