ST CHAPTER 16

Wei Jiayi stood stiffly, his eyes meeting Zhao Jing’s in the mirror. He knew sneaking off to take that phone call had been wrong. Now, frozen in place, he quietly allowed Zhao Jing to take the photos.

After a few more shots, Zhao Jing handed the camera back to him. “Send me the copies later.”

Wei Jiayi accepted the camera and replied, “Okay.” Then he looked up and asked, “Are you still upset?”

Seeing Wei Jiayi sincerely admit his fault and eager to appease him, Zhao Jing felt satisfied but kept his expression neutral. Testing him, he asked, “What do you think?”

He hoped Wei Jiayi would take the initiative to explain all the key points.

When Wei Jiayi had stepped away to take the call earlier, Zhao Jing’s initial annoyance hadn’t escalated into anger. What bothered him more was Wei Jiayi’s attitude and disregard for him—why did he have to leave just because Zhao Jing asked who it was? Why couldn’t he take the call nearby? What could he possibly need to say that Zhao Jing couldn’t hear?

But after a few seconds of sulking on the sofa, Zhao Jing suddenly recalled something. The second night after the tsunami, when Wei Jiayi had been busy soothing his PTSD symptoms, there had been another call that disrupted their warm moment. Back then, the keywords Wei Jiayi used were “your sister,” “filming,” and “busy bee.”

It clicked. That call had also been from this person surnamed Pan.

So, this was the second time that Pan guy had interrupted them. Zhao Jing immediately stood up, ready to march over, snatch Wei Jiayi’s phone, and remind Pan Yifei to respect boundaries. He would hang up for Wei Jiayi himself, following the principle of not answering calls outside of work hours.

But halfway there, Zhao Jing caught snippets of Wei Jiayi’s voice. He realized that Wei Jiayi’s tone toward Pan Yifei was perfunctory, lacking the warmth he was accustomed to hearing, and his words were simple. Zhao Jing decided to hold back and listen instead of charging forward. Then he heard Wei Jiayi say, “If we get photographed together, all your PR work would be for nothing.”

Zhao Jing hadn’t planned to cool off so soon, but hearing that had softened him a little.

Wei Jiayi hung up quickly and walked back.

Zhao Jing didn’t want Wei Jiayi to notice his mood had already improved before being coaxed. Observing Wei Jiayi’s hesitation and slight frustration, Zhao Jing decided to steer the conversation away from the topic of that Pan guy altogether. Instead, he turned on the camera at hand.

In the first photo, Zhao Jing’s anger was still evident, and the picture came out blurry. Wei Jiayi looked startled and had his eyes shut. By the second shot, Zhao Jing’s anger had completely faded, but Li Mingmian’s camera was so difficult to use that the image was still unclear. It didn’t even match the quality of a phone camera.

After Wei Jiayi adjusted the settings and reviewed the results, they were surprisingly good. In the soft light, his eyelashes and pupils were captured in sharp detail. In the shot with his eyes open, Zhao Jing holding the camera was faintly reflected in Wei Jiayi’s eyes.

Wei Jiayi even complimented the photos, which significantly boosted Zhao Jing’s confidence in his photography skills. Zhao Jing then had Wei Jiayi stand properly next to him in front of the guesthouse’s full-length mirror, carefully capturing their first photo together.

When Zhao Jing asked his question, Wei Jiayi held the camera, pausing thoughtfully before smiling. “You probably aren’t upset anymore. In my eyes, President Zhao is a very magnanimous person.”

It wasn’t incorrect, so Zhao Jing responded with an “Mm.”

Zhao Jing had been standing for quite a while. The doctor had advised him to minimize standing, so he initially planned to head back to the living room to review the photos with Wei Jiayi. But Wei Jiayi said, “I’ll go upstairs and transfer the photos first.”

Since Wei Jiayi was so eager, Zhao Jing saw no reason to dampen his enthusiasm and nodded in agreement.

Back in his room, it took only about ten minutes before Wei Jiayi sent over the photos.

The first batch included three images, accompanied by a note: “These are the ones in focus.” A second batch followed shortly after: “These are out of focus, but the composition is still good. This camera isn’t very beginner-friendly.”

Zhao Jing wholeheartedly agreed: “True.”

Opening one of the focused shots, he noticed that Wei Jiayi’s expression looked dazed. A few strands of hair had fallen near his ear, brushing against his thin face. He leaned slightly toward Zhao Jing, dressed in casual home clothes, the two of them appearing quite close.

Zhao Jing zoomed in and studied it for a while. The more he looked, the more satisfied he felt. Photography was quickly becoming his new favorite hobby. He texted Wei Jiayi: “What about the two photos I took of you?”

After a brief pause, Wei Jiayi replied and sent the two shots over: “I forgot. My bad.”

Zhao Jing immediately forwarded the images to his photography professor for feedback. The professor’s response aligned closely with Wei Jiayi’s assessment.

Wei Jiayi had done countless celebrity photoshoots but had very few photos of himself. On the day Zhao Jing was browsing news articles during the meeting, he came across hundreds of photos of Pan Yifei that were nothing short of an eyesore, yet he could find only a handful of blurry work photos of Wei Jiayi. An interview article about Wei Jiayi was virtually devoid of substance, accompanied by poorly taken photos. That was when Zhao Jing decided he would print and frame his first-ever photography piece and give it to Wei Jiayi as a gift.

Tonight, Zhao Jing didn’t have his photography class because his mother had scheduled an appointment with his therapist.

Since an incident in his childhood, Zhao Jing’s mother had insisted he meet with a therapist a few times a year. Though Zhao Jing had always been self-assured, and even the therapist affirmed he was mentally sound, his parents remained deeply concerned. Open-minded about the process, Zhao Jing didn’t mind the sessions and maintained the routine for their sake.

This session was supposed to be his final one for the year, originally scheduled for December. However, his mother, worried about potential trauma from the tsunami, had pushed for a video call, robbing Zhao Jing of an evening he could have spent practicing his new hobby.

When the therapist called, the screen displayed the familiar consulting room. After exchanging pleasantries, they began discussing the tsunami and Zhao Jing’s recent experiences helping with rescue efforts on the island.

Zhao Jing didn’t hide anything, admitting frankly that in the days following the tsunami, he had moments of fear and anxiety. However, he explained that those feelings had entirely passed. He shared details about what the PR company had done and his involvement in the rescue operations.

While the work in the forest had been undeniably grueling, Zhao Jing found his thoughts focused on people longing to recover the bodies of their loved ones—like Lini, who was searching for his father when Zhao Jing met him. This kept him steady, even amidst the tragedies he faced daily.

The therapist praised Zhao Jing’s ability to recover emotionally. Zhao Jing, never one to hog credit, admitted generously, “That’s also thanks to Wei Jiayi.”

The therapist, who had already closed his notebook, reopened it at this mention and asked, “Let’s talk more about Wei Jiayi. You’ve brought him up several times today. How has he helped you in your recovery?”

“He kept me company, talked with me, and helped me move past the trauma.” Zhao Jing was starting to feel sleepy and glanced at his watch. “Are we still not done for the day?”

The therapist replied, “We still have time left,” and continued asking about Wei Jiayi.

Zhao Jing didn’t want the therapist to act like a certain doctor who had once run to his mother, complaining about an unfinished session. So, he patiently answered a few more questions, shared his experiences with Wei Jiayi, and eventually mentioned the one surnamed Pan. His tone must have turned heavier because the therapist immediately picked up on it.

“It seems you harbor strong aversion toward this Pan. You don’t even call him by his name,” the therapist noted. “How do you feel about Wei Jiayi being in contact with him?”

Although it was uncomfortable to articulate, Zhao Jing wasn’t one to hide his emotions. Besides, having already canceled his photography class for this therapy session, he saw no reason to hold back and waste the time.

After a moment of thought, he said plainly, “I hope Wei Jiayi stays as far away from him as possible.”

“Have you considered why you feel that way?” The therapist tried to guide him.

“Hatred, disgust.” Zhao Jing glanced at his watch—it was five minutes until the end. “What other reason could there be?”

The therapist paused before responding, “Those are strong emotions. What if it were someone with good character? How would you feel if Wei Jiayi connected with them or even got together?”

Zhao Jing immediately frowned when he heard him say this. “Who?”

The therapist was visibly taken aback and clarified, “It’s just a hypothetical situation.”

“Why hypothesize about someone who doesn’t exist? I haven’t seen Wei Jiayi interact with anyone who meets those criteria.” Zhao Jing found the suggestion incomprehensible and was starting to feel irritated. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

The therapist jotted a note in his notebook and carefully rephrased, “Let me put it another way. If he liked you, how would you feel about that?”

Zhao Jing felt a subtle feeling stirring within him. He looked at the therapist and asked, “Do you think he likes me? Is that what you’ve inferred from how we interact?”

“…That’s not what I meant.” After a two-second pause, the therapist added, “If we were to increase the frequency of our sessions to once a week, I could gather more information and perhaps help analyze that possibility.”

Zhao Jing felt the conversation couldn’t go any further. Seeing that time was up, he ended the therapy session. Reflecting on the therapist’s cryptic words and frustrated by the disruption to his photography lesson, he went to bed in a sour mood.

The next morning, Wei Jiayi left early. When Zhao Jing woke up, he found only Li Mingcheng in the dining room. Li Mingcheng mentioned that Wei Jiayi had driven down the mountain at dawn to capture some early morning shots. Wei Jiayi hadn’t informed Zhao Jing before leaving, which left Zhao Jing with a faint sense of displeasure, though he suppressed it.

The weather was unpredictable during the rainy season. Although work had been possible in the morning, it rained again by the afternoon.

Zhao Jing’s brace got wet and slightly dirty. Fortunately, most of the excavation work in the forest had been completed. He assigned the engineering team to continue while he and Li Mingcheng returned to get medical attention for his brace. Earlier that morning, Nick had brought Lini over before heading down the mountain on his own errands. Since there was still time, Zhao Jing decided to bring Lini back to the guesthouse with him.

Lini had already received the construction vehicle that Zhao Jing had given him and couldn’t put it down. He refused to play with it in the mud for fear of getting it dirty, cradling it carefully in his hands. Once back at the guesthouse, Lini finally began using the remote control to maneuver it around the living room.

After a while, the vehicle’s battery died. Zhao Jing personally replaced it for him. As he was finishing up, Wei Jiayi returned.

It seemed Wei Jiayi hadn’t brought any rain gear. He had wrapped his jacket around his camera, leaving himself soaked to the bone. When he saw them, he gave a quick nod in greeting and went straight upstairs to shower.

Zhao Jing turned to glance at Wei Jiayi’s retreating figure, noticing how his T-shirt clung to his body.

Maybe it was because he was so thin, but Wei Jiayi always walked with a swaying stride and lacked proper posture. His voice was also soft and airy—traits Zhao Jing hadn’t liked before. Yet somewhere along the way, Zhao Jing stopped categorizing these characteristics as good or bad—they simply became part of Wei Jiayi’s unique character.

The tall, slender figure was Wei Jiayi. The unsteady walk was Wei Jiayi. The gentle, considerate one was Wei Jiayi. A person who had attended a certain school, who took photos of the tsunami-stricken town, who was exceptionally kind to Zhao Jing. None of it had anything to do with artistic achievements, photography rates, or connections in the industry. It was all simply Wei Jiayi being Wei Jiayi.

The negative emotions had faded, and Zhao Jing found himself paying closer attention.

Lini began playing with the bulldozer, which now had batteries installed, and told Zhao Jing that during last year’s rainy season, there had been few hotel guests. As a result, his dad had taken a day off and brought him to the other side of the island to ride a duck boat that ferried tourists to see haunted houses.

“Have you ever been on a duck boat?” Lini asked Zhao Jing. “It’s really fun! It drives right into the river, and you can see lots of haunted houses in the town.”

At that moment, Wei Jiayi came downstairs after his shower, his hair already dried. Approaching them, he asked, “What kind of car are you playing with?”

“A bulldozer,” Lini informed him.

Wei Jiayi patted Lini on the head, seemingly finding the texture pleasing, so he ruffled it a couple more times.

Seeing how much Wei Jiayi enjoyed it, Zhao Jing also reached out to touch Lini’s hair. It was short, curly, and had a unique feel. Catching a glance from Wei Jiayi, Zhao Jing asked Lini while still patting his head, “Do you want to ride the duck boat today?”

“Will it still be running?” Lini’s eyes lit up with anticipation.

Zhao Jing replied, “We can check.”

Li Mingcheng opted not to join their duck boat outing, so Wei Jiayi drove Zhao Jing and Lini himself.

The mountain road leading to the town hadn’t been affected by the tsunami. The drive took about forty minutes. Wei Jiayi focused on driving while Zhao Jing sat in the back, teaching Lini how to master the remote control for the toy. It felt like no time had passed before they arrived at their destination.

The town Lini had mentioned was situated on a slightly elevated flat area on the island. A stretch of the river widened here, with brick houses on both sides, several of which had turned black. These were likely the “haunted houses” Lini had talked about.

At the dockside plaza, two amphibious duck boats were parked. Like similar tourist vehicles worldwide, they were painted bright yellow with exaggerated designs.

Wei Jiayi parked the car and went to inquire about the rides. When he returned, he announced, “Great news! They weren’t originally open today, but the guide happened to be here. He said if we charter the boat, we can take a ride. Most of the revenue will go to the disaster relief fund.”

The rain had dwindled to a fine mist, barely noticeable. Still, Wei Jiayi opened an umbrella and held it above Zhao Jing and Lini’s heads.

Noticing that Wei Jiayi was struggling to hold the umbrella high above his head, Zhao Jing took it from him.

Once seated on the duck boat, with Lini sandwiched between them, the boy was bursting with excitement.

As soon as the guide started the tour, the boat erupted into a song. The volume was so loud it gave Zhao Jing a headache. However, seeing Lini singing along, he could only ask the guide, “Could you lower the volume a bit?”

The guide responded cheerfully, “No can do! That’s part of the charm around here!”

Zhao Jing was about to flip out when Wei Jiayi lightly tapped his elbow and handed him a pair of Bluetooth earbuds.

Glancing down at the earbud case, Zhao Jing noticed it was engraved with Wei Jiayi’s initials and the number 5. Pointing at it, he asked, “What does the 5 mean?”

Wei Jiayi’s expression turned slightly sheepish. His lips moved, but Zhao Jing couldn’t hear him. Removing one earbud, he caught Wei Jiayi’s reply, “I lost four already. This is the fifth one.”

Lini looked up and innocently informed Zhao Jing, “You were talking really loudly just now.”

As the boat entered the river, the guide finally lowered the music and began narrating the history of the haunted houses along the banks.

Zhao Jing removed his earbuds to listen, only to discover that the short stretch of river seemed to encompass every famous haunting and murder story in the world. Meanwhile, Lini was shrieking nonstop.

Before the guide could finish explaining the “most legendary haunted house,” the boat came to an abrupt stop.

The guide gasped and said that a ghost had boarded the boat. They were now required to close their eyes and pray for three minutes so that God could banish the spirit.

“We ran into a ghost the last time too!” Lini boasted loudly, then quickly squeezed his eyes shut and began his prayer.

The guide also turned around and closed his eyes. It was obvious this was part of the boat ride’s routine. Zhao Jing had no intention of participating. He turned his head and saw Wei Jiayi closing his eyes obediently, with an expression of sincere piety. He leaned slightly against Lini, one hand resting on the boy’s shoulder.

The rain was light, so the duck boat hadn’t lowered its plastic curtains. A fine drizzle floated into the boat, and the surroundings were quiet. The vessel faced a pitch-black haunted house, while the gray river rippled softly beneath it, rocking the boat with the waves.

Zhao Jing observed Wei Jiayi for a while and thought he looked as though he had fallen asleep. How could an adult be as naive and gullible as the only child on the boat? Yet here he was, fully immersed in the unimpressive haunted house tour.

For some reason, Zhao Jing pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of Wei Jiayi’s face. He briefly considered applying some of the photography techniques his professor had taught him but quickly gave up—he simply wasn’t interested in those skills. Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind: maybe photography wasn’t really his new hobby after all.