Before heading back to Buderus Island, Wei Jiayi had spent the entire week working out of town. Zhao Jing, on the other hand, had packed his schedule to make time for the groundbreaking ceremony. During those seven days apart, Wei Jiayi lost count of how many times he recalled Mrs. Li’s characterization of Zhao Jing’s personality—it felt undeniably accurate.
Whenever Zhao Jing set his sights on a goal, he became exceptionally shrewd and difficult to handle. Yet in his daily words and actions, he truly seemed simple-minded, which often made Wei Jiayi overlook this fact and unknowingly let his guard down.
The two had been locked in a standoff over whether to establish a trust fund. Neither was willing to back down first, yet neither wanted a full-blown argument. Instead, they silently agreed to stop addressing the matter directly.
Wei Jiayi followed the proper procedure and contacted Lawyer Lin, asking him to coordinate with Zhao Jing’s lawyer to revise the draft. After hearing his request, Lawyer Lin felt a bit troubled, but since he worked for Wei Jiayi, he agreed to negotiate on his behalf. Wei Jiayi never mentioned this matter to Zhao Jing.
Zhao Jing, however, handled things entirely differently. Whenever he called, he would drop comments that gave Wei Jiayi a headache. For instance, he’d complain over the phone, “The lawyer handling the marriage agreement reached out again today, saying the other side is being too stubborn, and they can’t make any progress.”
Perhaps in this regard, Wei Jiayi wasn’t as thick-skinned as Zhao Jing, not as good at reading between the lines, or maybe he was simply a bit more soft-hearted. All he could do was ask in a non-confrontational tone, “Could we maybe talk about this in person?”
The moment Zhao Jing heard such a response, he’d quickly change the subject and ask for things no normal person would think of.
To keep Zhao Jing from bringing up the agreement again, Wei Jiayi kept backing down, agreeing to things he didn’t even want to think about afterward. But when it started happening too often, Wei Jiayi grew suspicious and realized Zhao Jing wasn’t just being pushy or trying to settle some grudge—he was using it as an excuse.
By the time this dawned on him, Wei Jiayi was already neck-deep in obligations.
The day before they were set to leave for Buderus Island, Wei Jiayi had spent the latter part of the week shooting a vacation series ad for a designer he frequently collaborated with. The shoot took place in a seaside city known for its steep coastal cliffs, and they stayed at a hotel next to the cliffs.
After wrapping up work that evening, Wei Jiayi planned to turn in early, but the designer insisted he join them for drinks downstairs. Not wanting to seem impolite, he agreed, though he didn’t drink much or stay long. Still, when he called Zhao Jing on a video chat later, Zhao Jing was already pouting.
Due to the time difference, Zhao Jing was still at the office, dressed in a suit with a neatly tied tie. He cast a downward glance at Wei Jiayi through the screen without saying a word.
It’ll be fine once we meet in person, Wei Jiayi thought. He asked with concern, “Have you confirmed what time you’ll arrive tomorrow?”
“Three in the afternoon.” Zhao Jing’s tone was slightly cold. “After you land at the capital airport at 1:30, someone will pick you up. Don’t wander around by yourself.”
Previously, Wei Jiayi had declined Zhao Jing’s offer to arrange a private flight from his workplace, thinking it was too much trouble. That decision had clearly irritated Zhao Jing. Adding up all these small things, Zhao Jing seemed to feel deeply wronged. The more he spoke, the worse his mood became.
“Okay.” Not wanting the conversation to stay this stiff, Wei Jiayi casually asked, “Will you already be on the island when I arrive?”
“Mm.” Zhao Jing glanced at him briefly, his tone still curt. “I have a meeting then, so I won’t be picking you up.”
“Got it,” Wei Jiayi responded sensibly with a smile. “Once I arrive, I’ll just wander around the local houses.”
Perhaps to appear more imposing, Zhao Jing had been holding his phone while leaning back in his chair. But after hearing Wei Jiayi’s words, he sat up, staring at the screen with a hint of anger. “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t want to see me?”
“…” Zhao Jing was so sensitive that Wei Jiayi didn’t even know how to have a normal conversation with him. He felt helpless. “I just didn’t want to bother you. Stop overthinking things. Fine—I’ll come to you as soon as I get there. Does that work?”
Zhao Jing still didn’t seem appeased, and Wei Jiayi sighed before continuing to coax him. “I bought that thing you wanted. After your meeting, I’ll wear it and show you.”
“Oh?” Zhao Jing raised an eyebrow slightly, his expression finally returning to normal. He paused for a moment, then asked, “What color?” His mood seemed to improve noticeably.
“Black.” Wei Jiayi already felt light-headed just saying it.
When Zhao Jing was bored, he would go down internet rabbit holes searching for Wei Jiayi’s old work, digging through everything from Chinese to English. He had even unearthed obscure things from hidden corners and would give his critiques. This was just his hobby.
A couple of days ago, Zhao Jing had stumbled upon a photoshoot Wei Jiayi had done early in his career for a lingerie brand. He didn’t review the full set of photos in detail but did something even weirder—he sent a close-up of a hand from one of the images and said he wanted Wei Jiayi to buy the same kind of handcuffs and put them on.
Wei Jiayi was utterly speechless and ignored Zhao Jing’s comment. Yet it wasn’t long before Zhao Jing called him.
Of course, Wei Jiayi initially refused. But Zhao Jing, as usual, started talking about trust funds and lawyers. Somehow, Wei Jiayi got tricked into agreeing.
The real problem was that Zhao Jing had no idea how to shop for things himself. Most of his belongings were either delivered by brands or selected by his secretary. This kind of less-than-dignified item couldn’t be handled the same way. Left with no other choice, Wei Jiayi ordered it online and had it shipped to his hotel. Picking it up felt like a covert operation—he was terrified someone might see it and ask what it was.
Meanwhile, Zhao Jing wasn’t discreet at all. After learning the color, he casually suggested, “Send me a picture.”
“I already packed it away.” Since the packaging was still sealed, Wei Jiayi negotiated gently, “Let’s do it tomorrow. You can open it yourself, okay?”
Zhao Jing initially refused, but just then, Secretary Wu knocked on his office door, saving Wei Jiayi.
After hanging up, Wei Jiayi noticed an email from the mayor of the Buderus Island residential area, asking about his arrival time and whether he needed transportation.
Not long after Zhao Jing had asked about his travel plans, the mayor had also extended an invitation to the groundbreaking ceremony for the memorial hall. Wei Jiayi had authorized the island to sell an online photo collection he had taken for the memorial, donating all proceeds to disaster recovery efforts. This had kept him in regular contact with the locals.
Wei Jiayi politely replied that no transportation was necessary, then turned off the lights and went to bed.
The next morning, he woke early, departed the coastal city, took a connecting flight, and arrived at the capital airport of the island’s country.
It had been a long time since he’d last been to this airport. It was still as busy as ever, with travelers of all kinds and ethnicities pushing their suitcases back and forth. Wei Jiayi followed the crowd to the exit and quickly found the driver Zhao Jing had arranged for him.
As soon as he got into the car, Wei Jiayi sent a message to Zhao Jing. Zhao Jing replied almost immediately: “Got it. The driver already told me.” But the tone of the message made it clear—he was still sulking.
Wei Jiayi felt a sense of unease, suspecting that even after they met in person, the tension between them might not improve.
The crux of their conflict remained unresolved, and eventually, one of them would have to compromise. Yet after thoroughly reviewing the draft marriage agreement—especially the section concerning the trust fund—Wei Jiayi found the terms excessive and unnecessary. No matter how many times he questioned himself, his conclusion remained the same: he wouldn’t sign it.
The helicopter ride was noisy. Staring blankly out of the tinted window, Wei Jiayi let his thoughts wander until he suddenly remembered the interview Zhao Jing had sent him earlier. Shaken by Zhao Jing’s mood swings over the past few days and wary of a sudden inspection, Wei Jiayi pulled up the video and watched it on mute.
The interview was lengthy, over forty minutes long. Wei Jiayi watched the first two minutes, which were mostly Zhao Jing discussing his company. Zhao Jing was impeccably dressed, but the content was dull enough to make him drowsy. Since Zhao Jing wasn’t around, Wei Jiayi decided to skip ahead rather than endure it at double speed. He dragged the progress bar forward a few times and stopped at the 34-minute mark, where the host asked Zhao Jing about his wedding ring.
Without sound, Wei Jiayi had to rely on the subtitles. Zhao Jing appeared relaxed. “Getting married was a decision we made after careful consideration. It has nothing to do with the ongoing antitrust investigation—it just so happened that the timing coincided.”
“We’ve been in love for some time, and our relationship is stable. We didn’t want to delay our plans because of company matters, so we decided to go ahead with the wedding.” Zhao Jing added, “Of course, we signed an agreement—he doesn’t hold company shares to avoid potential risks in decision-making.”
“Was this a mutual decision?” The host congratulated him and asked, “He made such a significant sacrifice for you, so he must love you deeply.”
At that time, Zhao Jing hadn’t yet known about the ring situation. His tone was exceedingly self-assured. What he said wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t a lie either. Skilfully sidestepping the question, he smiled faintly at the host and replied firmly, “Yes, thank you.”
Soon, Wei Jiayi saw Buderus Island. Looking down at the residential areas, he noticed numerous cranes and construction machines at work. The ruins and broken walls had disappeared. Perhaps new, sturdier buildings would soon rise from the ground.
The helicopter landed smoothly on a new platform. As Wei Jiayi descended the steps, he spotted the car waiting to pick him up nearby. He walked over, and the driver opened the door for him. Just as he was about to get in, he froze momentarily at the sight of the person inside.
Despite having confidently claimed the day before that he had meetings and wouldn’t be able to pick him up, Zhao Jing was seated in the car.
Wearing headphones, Zhao Jing glanced at Wei Jiayi with a detached expression and said nothing. A laptop rested on the panel in front of him. Not wanting to disturb what seemed like an ongoing meeting, Wei Jiayi quietly got in.
Dressed in a light beige casual suit, Zhao Jing took up a significant portion of the backseat. In person, he somehow looked even more perfect than he had in the interview video. His rolled-up sleeves revealed an expensive watch on his wrist. Focused on his screen, he conversed with someone on the other end of the meeting call, showing no inclination to acknowledge Wei Jiayi’s presence.
Noticing that Zhao Jing’s camera was off, Wei Jiayi wasn’t sure if he should try to smooth things over. After a brief hesitation, he reached out anyway, gently squeezing Zhao Jing’s palm as it rested on the armrest.
Zhao Jing didn’t react, acting as if he didn’t exist. Failing in his attempt, Wei Jiayi withdrew his hand. But within two seconds, Zhao Jing muted the meeting, grabbed Wei Jiayi’s arm, and pulled him in for a kiss.
Zhao Jing’s lips were hot, a sensation Wei Jiayi knew well. The kiss was intense, with Zhao Jing giving him a small bite, though it wasn’t too hard. Just as quickly as it started, it ended, and Zhao Jing resumed his meeting. This time, however, his right hand remained tightly clasped around Wei Jiayi’s and didn’t let go.
Since their previous homestay had been repurposed as temporary housing and office space for the memorial hall’s construction team, they were staying in a villa at a hotel this time. Wei Jiayi had originally planned to visit the residential area and Lini, but given Zhao Jing’s foul mood, he decided not to bring it up for now.
Once they arrived at the hotel room, Zhao Jing headed straight to the study to continue his meetings. Meanwhile, Wei Jiayi brought his suitcase into the bedroom closet, unzipped it, and began hanging up the clothes he planned to wear the next day.
In the corner of the suitcase, the handcuffs he had bought were stuffed inside a pink velvet pouch. The color of the pouch was quite suggestive, but thinking of Zhao Jing’s expression earlier, Wei Jiayi wasn’t in the mood for such things. He picked it up absentmindedly and glanced at it, only to hear Zhao Jing’s voice from behind him. “It’s daylight, and you’re already thinking about this?”
Wei Jiayi turned to see Zhao Jing standing in the doorway, arms crossed. The light streaming in from the bedroom window was almost completely blocked by his figure. His meeting must have ended since he was no longer wearing his headset.
“I was just looking at it.” Wei Jiayi tried to put the pouch back, but Zhao Jing stepped closer, reached out, and snatched it from him.
Without a word, Zhao Jing opened the pouch and pulled out a pair of black handcuffs. Wei Jiayi had bought them in his own size, which made them appear small in Zhao Jing’s hand. Zhao Jing noticed this as well. His expression unreadable, he remarked, “You bought such a narrow pair—will they even fit?” He grabbed Wei Jiayi’s wrist and said, “Let’s find out,” before fastening one cuff around it.
The cuffs were meant for play, made of soft material. They weren’t cold and hung loosely on Wei Jiayi’s right wrist like a bracelet. Zhao Jing examined it briefly and asked, “Is it too tight?”
Wei Jiayi replied, “It’s fine,” still unsure of Zhao Jing’s intentions. Tentatively, he raised his left hand and asked, “So, do you want to try them now?”
…
Awakened by an alarm that had been left on by mistake, Wei Jiayi felt dizzy. He couldn’t even hold his phone steadily. After much effort, he finally turned off the alarm, but the phone slipped from his grasp and fell under the bed.
His wrists were still red and swollen, likely from the way Zhao Jing had handled them the night before, affecting his blood circulation. His mind was a foggy mess, and he didn’t have the energy to get out of bed to retrieve his fallen phone. He sat there dazed for a while before turning to look at Zhao Jing.
Zhao Jing lay sprawled in the middle of the bed, sleeping soundly. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, radiating warmth throughout the room.
When Zhao Jing was asleep, he looked proper and composed again. If not for the marks on his chest left by Wei Jiayi, it would almost seem like they had done nothing more than sleep peacefully side by side.
Morning light seeped in through the cracks of the door and windows. Wei Jiayi stared at Zhao Jing’s face, replaying the things he had said last night. After their first round, Wei Jiayi had already felt too drained to continue. He just wanted a shower and some rest. He had asked Zhao Jing if he was feeling better, but Zhao Jing only stared at him in brooding silence. They had both been trying to avoid an argument, yet one had broken out anyway.
“I don’t understand why you don’t trust me,” Zhao Jing eventually said.
He accused Wei Jiayi of refusing to be a little braver for him.
“The only reason you won’t sign the trust agreement is that you think we might break up. You don’t want our assets to be entangled.” It was the truth, though it sounded undeniably harsh. Wei Jiayi’s wrist was aching, yet Zhao Jing showed no sign of softening his stance. “I’m not upset about the unsigned agreement—I’m upset about why you won’t sign it.”
Wei Jiayi couldn’t admit the truth or offer an explanation, so his silence became a tacit acknowledgment.
Initially, Zhao Jing, still angry, had no intention of continuing. But perhaps Wei Jiayi’s pitiful expression swayed him. Though Zhao Jing didn’t yield on the matter, he kissed Wei Jiayi gently at first. Before long, he abandoned that gentleness in response to Wei Jiayi’s deliberate attempts to appease him.
After lying down for a while, Zhao Jing was still sleeping like a pig, while Wei Jiayi, unable to sleep, got up first.
He dressed, wrapped his wrists tightly in front of the dressing mirror, carefully checked to make sure no skin was exposed, then borrowed a car from the town mayor and drove down the mountain for a bit.
By the time he reached a scenic overlook along the coastal highway, Zhao Jing called him. His tone was sharp as he demanded, “Where are you? You’re just leaving without telling me now?”
Wei Jiayi paused before replying, “I left you a note. Didn’t you see it?” Then he reminded him, “It’s under your phone.”
There was a brief silence on the line before Zhao Jing admitted, “I didn’t see it earlier. I just found it now.”
“I only just woke up.” He rarely explained himself. “I kept calling for you, but you were already gone.”
“I saw how deeply you were sleeping, so I didn’t want to wake you,” Wei Jiayi said. “I didn’t think you’d be upset.”
Zhao Jing let out a “Hmm,” and after a short pause, his tone softened. “Take a quick drive and come back soon. The ceremony starts in two hours. There will be a live stream managed by my company’s PR team. Without this PR effort, the shareholders would complain about me being away for three days. If you don’t want to appear on camera, you don’t have to.”
After hanging up, Wei Jiayi rolled down the car window, letting the breeze wash over him. The island air carried the same familiar scent. Yet, he felt lost and helpless, weighed down by a love that might be too heavy for him to bear. He had thought many times before—if Zhao Jing had fallen for someone more self-assured, he wouldn’t have to endure the frustration of being hurt by Wei Jiayi’s hesitation.
Of course, the marriage was already done. Even if Zhao Jing wanted to regret it, it was too late. Wei Jiayi came to a decision. He didn’t want to see Zhao Jing unhappy anymore, so he resolved to make some concessions and not be so stubborn about this issue. It wasn’t easy, but he wanted to be braver for Zhao Jing.
By the time the PR team and stylists had finished preparing everything, Wei Jiayi still hadn’t returned. Perhaps something along the road had captured his attention more than the husband waiting for him.
Lately, Zhao Jing’s mood had been swinging wildly, largely due to Wei Jiayi’s bouts of stubbornness and sulking.
As Zhao Jing had learned from experience, marriage brought unpredictable conflicts and uncontrollable emotions. Even as someone used to steering the direction of his family, there were moments when he felt powerless.
Whenever he tried to push Wei Jiayi harder, the latter’s wounded expressions immediately softened Zhao Jing’s resolve, making it harder for him to carry out important family decisions.
Like now—Zhao Jing was growing impatient from waiting. But when he saw Wei Jiayi slowly walk in, carefully covering his wrists, his frustration faded away.
“Will you join the live stream later?” Zhao Jing asked.
“Sure.” Wei Jiayi stepped closer, his curiosity piqued as he studied Zhao Jing. “Oh, you got styled?” He reached out, touching Zhao Jing’s hair, which had been set with hairspray. His lips hovered close to Zhao Jing’s face. Zhao Jing resisted the urge to kiss him, maintaining a composed and dignified demeanor.
Together, they headed to the memorial hall’s groundbreaking ceremony by car.
As they parked near the site, Wei Jiayi became a bit nervous upon seeing several cameras. Zhao Jing noticed and reassured him that the live broadcast was being managed by the local TV station. The PR company would simply edit the footage to create a short promotional video for a more authentic feel. Besides, not many people outside Buderus Island would be watching, so there was no need to be too tense.
“At most, only Lini might see this,” Zhao Jing said, carefully watching Wei Jiayi’s expression. “But if you regret it now, there’s still time to back out.”
Wei Jiayi seemed to relax a little. He gave an “Mm,” smiled at Zhao Jing, and said, “I’m not that timid.”
However, the ceremony host’s style was somewhat unexpected.
She was a well-known anchor from the local TV station, someone who had also lost family members in the tsunami. Yet, she remained energetic and radiated a cheerful vibe, much like the heart-shaped island itself—a natural optimist.
They first sat on chairs in front of a simple podium and a model of the construction project. The mayor gave his speech, followed by Zhao Jing, who delivered a brief statement. Then, the town mayor took over to express his gratitude.
When the mayor mentioned Wei Jiayi’s work, the host immediately seized the opportunity to involve him. She called the camera operator over for a close-up of Wei Jiayi’s face. Sitting slightly behind and to the left of Zhao Jing, Wei Jiayi’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly uncomfortable. His lips pressed into a tight line as he awkwardly managed a small wave at the camera, looking like he was regretting his decision to attend.
Even after the ceremony concluded, the live stream continued.
The host invited several government officials, Zhao Jing, the memorial construction lead, and Wei Jiayi to participate in an informal live Q&A. She posed a few prepared questions to keep the conversation flowing.
Wei Jiayi hovered near the edge of the group, but the host didn’t overlook him. She had done her homework, even mentioning that photographer Wei Jiayi had a photo book currently available for sale online, encouraging local residents who could afford it to show their support.
Following her gaze, Zhao Jing glanced across the fifteen or so meters between them. Wei Jiayi stood stiffly in front of the camera. Seeing him like this, Zhao Jing couldn’t help but think that, compared to his stubborn moments, Wei Jiayi’s awkwardness was far cuter. Whatever vague displeasure Zhao Jing had been harboring over the past week completely faded away.
Toward the end of the Q&A, the host posed a final question: “If the world were ending, or if a tsunami struck and you had only one minute left, what would you do?”
The mayor said he’d hope to be out rescuing people. The town mayor echoed the same sentiment.
“I’d also hope to spend that last minute helping with rescue efforts,” Zhao Jing answered, speaking from personal experience. “But I was actually up in a tree at the time.”
Everyone laughed, and Zhao Jing took a quick glance at Wei Jiayi, who was laughing as well.
Over the past few days, Wei Jiayi’s smiles had been strained at best. But in that moment, it felt genuine. The contrast was so stark that, for the first time in his life, Zhao Jing had a fleeting thought of letting go. Even though he knew deep down it was irrational and wrong, he didn’t want to make things difficult for Wei Jiayi anymore—even if it was just for a moment.
When it was Wei Jiayi’s turn to answer the host’s question, he spoke softly into the microphone, clearly uneasy under the camera.
At first, his response mirrored the mayor’s and town mayor’s answers. But after a brief pause, he added, “But if I only had ten seconds left and knew I wouldn’t survive, I’d probably call the person I love.”
Zhao Jing’s eyes locked onto Wei Jiayi’s face, but Wei Jiayi was looking at the host, his expression unusually gentle. The host was intrigued and followed up, “What would you say?”
Wei Jiayi hadn’t expected the question. He froze for a moment, looking slightly dazed.
The island sun blazed overhead, and a soft breeze drifted through the air. Maybe it was because Wei Jiayi was always gentle, the kind of person who made others feel at ease. The mayor chuckled and said, “If you’d call the person you love, why wait for the last ten seconds? You should call them now.”
“Yes, why not call them now?” Zhao Jing couldn’t help but chime in, still wanting to tease Wei Jiayi. His voice might have been a bit too loud, and he even thought he caught the host glancing at him.
He expected Wei Jiayi to find an excuse to refuse. After all, Zhao Jing knew all too well that Wei Jiayi was skilled at turning people down—he had rejected the marriage agreement without hesitation. But instead, Wei Jiayi took out his phone, dialed a number, and smiled. “Alright, I’ll make the call.”
He switched the phone to speaker mode. Zhao Jing’s gaze fixed on Wei Jiayi’s hand, while his peripheral vision caught sight of his secretary, standing among the onlookers in the distance, hastily pulling out his own phone. The secretary stared at the screen as if it were a hot potato, too afraid to answer.
“It went to voicemail. I’ll have to wait a bit,” Wei Jiayi said after a moment, turning to the host. The atmosphere remained cheerful, filled with smiles. Yet no one knew who he had actually called.
Wei Jiayi never glanced at Zhao Jing. As the voicemail recording began, he fell silent for a few seconds. For a moment, Zhao Jing thought he wouldn’t say anything at all. But then, Wei Jiayi spoke. “I love you.”
He ended the call immediately and quipped, “If he calls me back tonight, he might ask if I lost some sort of bet.”
“I’ll back you up,” the mayor said without hesitation.
Everyone laughed, and even Wei Jiayi seemed to loosen up. The only one left speechless was Zhao Jing.
As the host wrapped up the live broadcast, the mayor pulled Wei Jiayi aside for a conversation.
Zhao Jing watched them. Never in his life had he been this lost for words. His heart was racing. He wanted to ask Wei Jiayi what he had been thinking, why he had done this, and just how much he really loved him. It turned out he truly couldn’t live without him. The urge to pull Wei Jiayi away from the crowd and make him whisper a thousand sweet nothings was overwhelming.
He didn’t even notice when his secretary approached. Taking the phone that was handed to him, he glanced down at the screen. There it was—a missed call. And the name on the screen exposed the secret behind the call made during the broadcast. It was from Wei Jiayi.
