It was always easier to make ambitious plans in solitude than to execute them in reality.
In Wei Jiayi’s mind, he had envisioned a calm and effortless way to draw a clear boundary with Zhao Jing. By burying himself in work and delaying his responses, he thought he could gradually create distance, diminishing their conversations until they barely kept in touch.
Eventually, Zhao Jing’s interest in him would naturally fade, and they’d become casual acquaintances, exchanging polite nods when they met. Wei Jiayi would wrap things up smoothly and even retain the kind of social connection most people could only dream of. On paper, it was a flawless strategy.
However, in reality, Wei Jiayi’s resolve crumbled immediately. After landing, he spent ages drafting a polite refusal to Zhao Jing’s invitation in his chatbox. Yet, the moment he stepped off the plane, he found himself hurrying back home instead.
Standing outside his building waiting for Zhao Jing, Wei Jiayi couldn’t help but feel useless. His head throbbed from the wind, and he was more than a little confused.
Before meeting Zhao Jing, coming home after work meant curling up on his couch and zoning out in the most comfortable position. It never involved standing outside, shoulders hunched against the cold, chatting with the familiar doorman. He never had to endure questions like, “Which male celebrity you’ve worked with is the most handsome? Which female celebrity is the prettiest?” Nor did he have to respond to things like, “Jiayi-ge, do you think I could be a model?”
Thankfully, Zhao Jing arrived soon.
The moment Zhao Jing’s car pulled up, the doorman went quiet and moved to open the car door. But the driver stepped out first to handle it.
Zhao Jing’s left leg emerged first. He had removed the brace and wore soft gray slacks. Then came the crutch, the one Wei Jiayi had seen in the photo, tapping confidently against the pavement.
Over the past few hectic days, Wei Jiayi had been so mentally scattered that he thought he’d almost erased Zhao Jing from his thoughts. He was certain that meeting him again would stir no more than the polite indifference needed to get through the encounter.
But as Zhao Jing stepped out of the car, took a white shopping bag from his driver, and limped slightly toward him, his tall frame casting a shadow over Wei Jiayi’s hands and legs, Wei Jiayi’s thoughts faltered. He suddenly found himself thinking about how those eight or nine days of work had flown by in the blink of an eye. Yet, seeing Zhao Jing looking as handsome as ever, it felt oddly like a long time had passed.
Before he knew it, the gift exchange was over.
Zhao Jing had already made himself at home, lounging on Wei Jiayi’s couch and sipping a nearly expired sparkling water that Wei Jiayi had handed him. He voiced his opinion, “Wei Jiayi, why does your fridge only have water? You haven’t eaten yet, have you? I’ll call my chef to come over and cook for you.”
His leg still needed to be stretched out, occupying most of the couch. The remaining space for Wei Jiayi was about as cramped as a seat on the subway during rush hour, right after a schoolkid vacates it.
“No need. I had airplane food, so I’m not hungry.” Wei Jiayi stood by the TV cabinet, uneasily glancing at Zhao Jing. He had never felt his sofa was so small or his home so crowded. He vaguely remembered that when he bought this apartment, the lake view and the supposedly spacious couch—big enough for several people—had been the main selling points.
Zhao Jing showed no intention of leaving. After noticing Wei Jiayi standing there for a while, he suddenly became aware of his poor manners and shifted over slightly. It was such a rare occurrence for the young master to make room that Wei Jiayi felt obliged to move and sat down beside him.
The two ended up sitting a little too close, prompting Zhao Jing to scoot away. Yet he kept stealing glances at Wei Jiayi, staring long enough to make him feel on edge.
Wei Jiayi switched on the TV, hoping Zhao Jing might find interest in the news or a drama. But after flipping through several channels, Zhao Jing didn’t even glance at the screen. With no other choice, Wei Jiayi turned and asked, “Is there something specific you’d like to watch?”
“No,” Zhao Jing replied.
Wei Jiayi glanced at his watch, subtly hinting it was getting late. However, Zhao Jing suddenly remarked, “I think you’ve lost some weight.”
“Not really,” Wei Jiayi instinctively denied.
“You have,” Zhao Jing tilted his head slightly closer to observe him. Raising his hand, he didn’t touch Wei Jiayi’s face but compared it from a distance of ten centimeters before lowering his hand again. “Wei Jiayi, you’ve been overworking yourself. You’re even busier than I am.”
“It’s not that bad. I’m used to it.” Wei Jiayi smiled at him. Inwardly, he consoled himself: it was fine if Zhao Jing just wanted to sit here and chat—as long as the conversation didn’t veer into feelings or relationships.
Unexpectedly, Zhao Jing’s next sentence was, “With all this work you’ve taken on, when would you even find the time to think about dating? If you don’t take the time to reflect on things, how will you ever figure it out?”
His expression was calm as if he were merely offering good advice. Zhao Jing might have thought he was being subtle, but Wei Jiayi was so frightened that his heart was pounding. Struggling to maintain composure, he said, “I don’t really have a choice. I still have a mortgage to pay, so I have to work hard for now.”
Zhao Jing asked immediately, “How much?”
Wei Jiayi’s body stiffened, his eyes glued to the television screen as if he hadn’t heard anything. He said casually, “Not much, really. Just a few more years of work, and it’ll be paid off.”
Zhao Jing paused, letting his gaze wander around the apartment before asking, “You bought this? I thought it was rented—just one bedroom.”
“It’s mine. I don’t like renting.” Wei Jiayi was relieved the topic had shifted and patiently explained, “All my equipment is locked in the studio. It’s just me, and I don’t need a lot of space. I’m not here often anyway, and I don’t care much about property rights or anything like that. This apartment is convenient because I don’t have to clean it myself.”
“Your parents—” Zhao Jing clearly wanted to ask where his parents were, but he seemed to suddenly remember that he had been taught it was impolite to bring up such a subject. He stopped abruptly and didn’t continue.
Wei Jiayi didn’t mind. As long as Zhao Jing avoided the topic of relationships, anything else was fair game. He explained, “My mom passed away when I was in kindergarten. My dad emigrated and has a happy new family. We don’t keep in touch much.”
Zhao Jing made an “Oh.”
When others asked about his family, Wei Jiayi always answered, but the conversation inevitably became awkward. People typically didn’t know how to react—they’d try to comfort him with a few kind words and quickly change the subject, often saying, “You’re doing well now.” While he appreciated their concern, he’d long stopped caring. Most of the time, he just wished those moments of sympathy would pass quickly.
In comparison, Zhao Jing’s response was much more fitting. He didn’t show any emotional reaction and simply asked, “So what are you doing for the New Year?”
“Probably working,” Wei Jiayi replied.
“Working during the New Year?” Zhao Jing frowned, his tone cold but firm, as though he were both ordering Wei Jiayi and reassuring himself. “It’s still early to say. You might not have to.”
Wei Jiayi couldn’t help but laugh. “True.”
He opened his mouth to continue the conversation, intending to say that if he didn’t have work, he might travel somewhere new. But he hesitated, afraid Zhao Jing would take it as an invitation to spend the New Year together. Instead, he stayed silent, inexplicably staring at Zhao Jing for a few seconds. He thought to himself: If only Zhao Jing weren’t Zhao Jing.
If Zhao Jing hadn’t been born into such a family, if he weren’t so wealthy, if the gap between them weren’t so vast—if Zhao Jing had been just a little more ordinary, without living in a place so exclusive it didn’t even appear on maps—then, even if someone had warned Wei Jiayi in advance that their relationship would end disastrously, heartbreakingly, and painfully, he might still have tried to be with him.
Because no one except Zhao Jing would gift Wei Jiayi close-up photos where he looked like a ghost. And no one else would be as careless and peculiar as Zhao Jing, whose antics could make him laugh unexpectedly.
Wei Jiayi genuinely didn’t want to hurt him. But he also didn’t want to get hurt himself.
“Zhao Jing,” Wei Jiayi said after a moment’s thought, “I’m a bit tired and want to sleep.” Then, for the first time, he asked him directly, “When are you planning to go to bed tonight?”
Zhao Jing glanced at his watch. “It’s still early for me.” Raising his eyebrows slightly, his tone a mix of inquiry and statement, he asked bluntly, “Wei Jiayi, are you hoping I’ll leave now?”
“I’ve only been here an hour,” Zhao Jing complained unhappily. “It’s been nine days since we saw each other, and you barely messaged me.”
Wei Jiayi didn’t know how to deal with him. When he looked into Zhao Jing’s eyes, he realized that any attempt to turn him down would inevitably hurt him. Apart from the tsunami, Zhao Jing had never experienced any real setbacks. The realities that others could endure seemed to wound him.
Normally, Wei Jiayi had a tough heart. In the past, when he lived with Pan Yifei, he had no trouble separating his emotions from his actions. Even when his photos betrayed his feelings, he could completely suppress any sense of affection while interacting with him, fully aware there was no future between them and keeping everything strictly business. But with Zhao Jing, it was entirely different.
Wei Jiayi found himself acting contrary to his plans yet again. In the end, he apologized. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I want you to leave; I’m just really exhausted and need to shower and sleep.”
“Then go shower,” Zhao Jing said immediately. “I’ll watch TV and wait for you.”
Wei Jiayi wanted to avoid him for a while and collect his thoughts. He went along with Zhao Jing’s suggestion and took a quick shower without dawdling. When he stepped out, hair dried, he found that a certain someone had fallen asleep on the sofa out of boredom. Zhao Jing’s left leg was propped securely on the armrest, and he had even thoughtfully placed a pillow under his head.
Wei Jiayi had never met anyone like him before—he felt like Zhao Jing could drive him mad. With a helpless sigh, he walked over, leaned down, and nudged him while calling his name.
Zhao Jing’s eyes fluttered open. Taking advantage of his half-asleep state, Wei Jiayi coaxed him into calling his driver. For once, Zhao Jing complied without fuss. Wei Jiayi helped him up and saw him off downstairs.
Perhaps because Zhao Jing had accidentally fallen asleep and been caught by Wei Jiayi, he couldn’t find an excuse to stay any longer and looked sulky. When the elevator reached the ground floor, he still didn’t move until Wei Jiayi tugged his arm. The fabric of Zhao Jing’s clothes was soft and thin, and when Wei Jiayi’s hand rested on it, he could feel the firm, hot muscles of his forearm. Wei Jiayi quickly let go.
After finally getting Zhao Jing into the car and watching it drive away, Wei Jiayi exhaled in relief, greeted the doorman, and returned to his apartment.
The house felt significantly emptier with Zhao Jing gone. Wei Jiayi walked to the TV cabinet, picked up the close-up photo of him with his eyes closed, and carried it into his bedroom, placing it on the nightstand.
The room had a large bed and a window that overlooked the lake.
Wei Jiayi turned off the lights, sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at the pitch-black lake outside and the glowing office buildings in the distance. After a while, he picked up the photo that Zhao Jing had taken and ran his fingers over the glass of the frame.
Wei Jiayi didn’t know how to turn Zhao Jing down or how to keep his distance. It was one of those rare moments when the weight of life and emotions made him let out a deep sigh.
Thankfully, exhaustion soon overtook him, and he fell asleep.
He woke as the sky began to lighten and checked his phone. Zhao Jing had messaged him late the previous night. The first message read: “Home.” Just one word, radiating displeasure. Twenty minutes later, he had angrily followed up with: “Going to sleep.”
Sitting up in bed, Wei Jiayi replied: “I went to sleep right after seeing you off last night. I just saw your messages now.”
Zhao Jing was likely still asleep and didn’t respond.
At 9 AM, Xiao Chi arrived to pick Wei Jiayi up. They were headed to the studio to grab equipment before heading to the airport. Just as he got into the car, Wei Jiayi received a call from Zhao Jing.
Zhao Jing’s tone was sharp. “Are you at home?”
Wei Jiayi was startled and thought to himself: Is he planning to show up again? Cautiously, he replied, “I just left. What’s going on?”
“I told Wu Rui to deliver something to you. He’s almost there. If you’re not home, tell him to leave it at the front desk.”
“What is it?” Wei Jiayi asked.
“Your earphones,” Zhao Jing replied. “They fell out of your bag yesterday, and there was only one left inside.”
Thinking that such a small item could easily get lost at the front desk, Wei Jiayi said, “I haven’t gone far; I’ll go back and get it.” He then asked the driver to turn around.
When he returned to the apartment building, he spotted Secretary Wu stepping out of his car. Feeling embarrassed, Wei Jiayi walked over, expecting a small bag. To his surprise, Secretary Wu opened the passenger-side door, revealing an entire box filled to the brim.
Dumbfounded, Wei Jiayi thanked Secretary Wu, politely declined his help, and carried the box to the trunk of the studio car himself. Once seated, he opened one package from the box. Xiao Chi leaned over, clearly wanting to ask questions but not daring to.
The earphones were identical to the model Wei Jiayi used. As he examined them, he noticed they had engravings—his initials and the number 5. Wei Jiayi took a photo of the earphones and sent it to Zhao Jing to thank him. Zhao Jing didn’t reply.
Wei Jiayi added: “I’m sorry about yesterday. I took too long in the shower and made you fall asleep.” After a pause, he followed up with: “Why are the earphones still engraved with 5?”
For a while, Zhao Jing continued ignoring him. When Wei Jiayi stopped sending messages, Zhao Jing finally felt appeased. He humbled himself and typed a response to Wei Jiayi’s question: “Obviously, engraving all of them with a 5 means you won’t lose them.”
Author’s note:
The distance between Wei Jiayi and Zhao Jing continues to fluctuate between +5 and -10…
