ST CHAPTER 46

From January to June, the weather shifted from cold to warm. Wei Jiayi’s 27th year was remarkable, bringing many unexpected changes.

For the first time he could remember, Wei Jiayi experienced a lively Spring Festival where he truly felt included. It wasn’t like his childhood, when he spent the entire day in the kitchen and ended up with a thin red envelope as a token reward. Nor was it like the years after he started working, when he either took on a job or traveled alone to places that didn’t celebrate the Lunar New Year.

On New Year’s Eve, Wei Jiayi had dinner with Zhao Jing’s family and a few close relatives.

The decision had been made in late January. Wei Jiayi had just returned to the city after finishing work, coinciding with a break in Zhao Jing’s schedule. Zhao Jing’s parents invited them over for dinner. During the casual conversation at the table, the topic turned to plans for the upcoming Lunar New Year.

Wei Jiayi readily agreed to attend the reunion dinner before Zhao Jing’s mother added, “A few of our relatives will be joining us as well.” He felt a little uneasy but thought he had concealed it well, though Zhao Jing noticed immediately.

Under the table, Zhao Jing’s hand clasped his firmly, the grip strong and warm, as if silently reassuring him. Then, with his usual nonchalant attitude, Zhao Jing made an outrageous statement: “Who are they? Aren’t they a bit too old to be joining us for New Year’s? Let’s not invite them anymore from this year on.”

Wei Jiayi wanted to pull his hand away but couldn’t. A cold sweat threatened to break out as, for once, he wasn’t just reluctant to speak—he was completely speechless. Fortunately, Zhao Jing’s parents were very familiar with Zhao Jing’s words and actions. They immediately understood his intent and didn’t scold him for being immature. Instead, they turned to Wei Jiayi and asked about his feelings.

“Jiayi, you don’t need to be overly polite with us. The guests are people you already know—Mingcheng’s family and Zhao Jing’s aunt’s family. They’re all easygoing,” Zhao Jing’s mother said from across the round table. “But honestly, we invited them just to make things livelier. If you’re not comfortable, the four of us can celebrate elsewhere instead.”

For a moment, Wei Jiayi felt disoriented. In the past, emotions were just emotions—never something to be taken seriously, not even by himself. But now, the fact that his feelings could influence a family’s New Year plans felt almost unreal. He quickly gathered his thoughts and replied, “No, no, it’s fine. I know Mingcheng well.”

“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable. I just got a little nervous when I suddenly heard there’d be more people.” He realized that honesty wasn’t as hard as he had imagined, even if he could never quite say it with confidence. “…I’m just afraid they won’t like me.”

Both Mrs. Li and Zhao Jing’s father smiled reassuringly, assuring him that wouldn’t be the case.

As expected, New Year’s Eve went smoothly. Wei Jiayi and Zhao Jing arrived at Zhao Jing’s family home around noon. By three in the afternoon, Li Mingcheng’s family and Zhao Jing’s aunt’s family had arrived as well, bringing gifts and beautifully potted flowers as festive offerings. Like any ordinary family gathering, the relatives exchanged red envelopes and presents.

Zhao Jing’s young niece, a kindergarten student, took an instant liking to Wei Jiayi for reasons no one could explain. She declared that he looked like a celebrity and clung to his legs. Wei Jiayi was quite experienced in taking care of children. While the older generation played mahjong, the younger group headed to the home theater to watch a movie.

Since a child was present, they chose an animated film. The little girl sat on Wei Jiayi’s lap, engrossed in the movie and eagerly discussing the plot with him. Zhao Jing sat beside them and initially tried to join the conversation, sharing some of his own thoughts. However, the movie was probably too boring for him, and with the year-end workload having been quite heavy, he suddenly fell silent after a while. When Wei Jiayi turned to look, he saw that Zhao Jing had already reclined his chair and fallen asleep.

Dinner that evening was lavish, and Zhao Jing’s relatives were warm and welcoming toward Wei Jiayi. The festive meal was filled with chatter and laughter. Afterward, they even set off fireworks. It was, without a doubt, the happiest Spring Festival Wei Jiayi had ever experienced.

Zhao Jing’s house was so large that it was difficult to measure by footsteps, yet it made Wei Jiayi feel more at home than anywhere else.

Beyond the transformative Spring Festival, Wei Jiayi’s career also took an unexpected turn, something he hadn’t foreseen since embarking on his journey as a fashion photographer.

By late January, encouraged by the mayor of Buderus Island and his mentor, both of whom had purchased and praised his photo book of the island, Wei Jiayi carefully selected five photographs, curated them into a series, and submitted them for a photography award. It was the first time in five years he had taken such a step.

He also had to update his photographer’s bio. The last time he had written one was five years ago. Back then, he had been feeling discouraged, living in a rental apartment with leaky windows, submitting portfolios, paying fees, and barely scraping by. No matter how much he studied or photographed, it felt like he was getting nowhere.

After a sigh, he replied to his agent’s message, thanked him for his support, and said he was open to discussing a contract and taking on portrait work.

Now, Zhao Jing sat beside him, wearing the only set of matching couple’s pajamas they owned. Zhao Jing helped him spot typos and even reminded him of past projects he had forgotten to include in his resume.

After submitting the files, Zhao Jing took another look at the photo series and remarked, “These are so good, you might as well start writing your acceptance speech.”

Wei Jiayi had been feeling a little sentimental and nervous but couldn’t help but laugh at the comment. “You’re saying this way too early. What if I don’t win?”

“That’s impossible,” Zhao Jing replied with absolute confidence. “If the judges are truly blind, I’ll set up my own award just to hand it to you personally. How does that sound?”

Wei Jiayi wrapped his arms around Zhao Jing’s neck and kissed him on the lips. “Thank you.” Then he firmly pulled Zhao Jing’s hand out of his pajama shirt, as he was about to head out for work.

True to Zhao Jing’s words, by April, Wei Jiayi received a notification from the award organizers. He had won the silver prize in the Breaking News Photography category.

He picked up the call while resting in the media dining area. The evening spring breeze swept through the open-air fashion show, carrying hints of perfume and specks of glitter onto Wei Jiayi’s light sweater.

Wei Jiayi shared the good news with Zhao Jing immediately. Even though Zhao Jing was in a meeting, he called back right away, reinforcing his earlier prediction, “I told you to prepare your speech early. Now you’re scrambling at the last minute. Lucky you have me—I’ll help you write it tonight.”

Since there was a two-week confidentiality period before the award announcement, there was plenty of time to write the speech. Wei Jiayi agreed. “Alright.”

“I’ll head home early.” Zhao Jing’s tone shifted to something low and steady, as if sealing a secret pact with Wei Jiayi. “You should, too.”

Before bed, Zhao Jing earnestly sat down to brainstorm ideas for the speech. What he came up with sounded suspiciously like his high school motto—entirely unfit for Wei Jiayi to say out loud. The award didn’t have an in-person ceremony, so all that was required was a recorded acceptance message. But Wei Jiayi felt that if he read what Zhao Jing wrote, by the time the organizers published it the next day, he’d be blacklisted by the entire photography community.

He praised Zhao Jing’s effort at first, then half-heartedly went along with it for a while before secretly writing his own version alone.

By the end of April, when the award was officially announced, congratulations poured in from friends, along with numerous invitations to panel discussions, sharing sessions, and interviews. On a day off, Wei Jiayi and Zhao Jing fooled around until the afternoon before finally collapsing on the sofa to seriously debate which invitations to accept.

Life had settled back into a familiar rhythm after Zhao Jing’s company reached a settlement with the regulatory body. As he looked over the list of invitations, Zhao Jing analyzed them for a moment before abruptly announcing in a stiff tone that he understood Wei Jiayi was busy and had decided to take on the responsibility of overseeing their new home’s renovations alone.

Wei Jiayi immediately sensed something was off.

Their new home, located on the other side of Snowlake, was closer to Zhao Jing’s parents’ house. It had been built by a renowned developer and was already handed over with the hard finishes completed. The soft furnishings had been chosen by both of them together, with input from a designer Wei Jiayi admired. Even the furniture had already been ordered.

Wei Jiayi couldn’t figure out why Zhao Jing insisted on being involved in the renovations. What could Zhao Jing even do? Lay bricks? Screw in nails?

If Zhao Jing hadn’t mentioned it, Wei Jiayi probably wouldn’t have thought much of it. But once it was brought up, it immediately felt suspicious. Trying to probe gently, Wei Jiayi said, “Don’t take it all on yourself—it’s too much work. I can help too.”

“Stay out of it.” Zhao Jing was firm, raising his hand to hold Wei Jiayi’s chin and cheeks in place, preventing him from continuing the discussion.

Occasionally, Wei Jiayi would catch Zhao Jing returning from the new house. He made a point of observing closely but never saw any traces of paint or dust on him. Instead, Zhao Jing’s eyes sparkled, and his expression carried a faint satisfaction. After seeing this enough times, Wei Jiayi stopped worrying about it. He figured Zhao Jing was just there to supervise the work.

After living together for so long, Wei Jiayi had learned a lot about President Zhao. Most likely, Zhao Jing was at the house dictating the exact placement of every piece of furniture—just as he insisted on arranging the picture frames on his desk, all of which were photos of Wei Jiayi with his eyes closed.

To Wei Jiayi, those photos looked nearly identical. It was obvious they had been taken in a rapid series, yet Zhao Jing insisted each one was unique and couldn’t decide, so he printed all of them.

Finally, June arrived, bringing with it Wei Jiayi’s birthday. To celebrate, he first took Zhao Jing out for two meals with friends, during which Zhao Jing behaved quite decently. Later, they celebrated again at Zhao Jing’s place, where Wei Jiayi received gifts and cut a birthday cake.

On the day of his actual birthday, Wei Jiayi had work that wrapped up precisely at four in the afternoon. His team at the studio surprised him with a celebration. Zhao Jing came to pick him up, arriving just in time for the birthday song and sharing a few bites of cake with him. Wei Jiayi realized that Zhao Jing hadn’t missed a single one of his birthday cakes this year.

Once they were alone in the car, Zhao Jing asked, “What did you wish for when you blew out the candles?”

“This year has been the best,” Wei Jiayi replied. “When I closed my eyes, my mind went blank. I didn’t even make a wish. Now I kind of regret it—I should’ve wished for health and safety for my family.”

“If you’re going to make a wish, why not just tell me directly?” Zhao Jing drove, his tone carrying the confidence of someone who was certain he could grant any wish Wei Jiayi had.

It was a sunny day in June. Snowlake sparkled a brilliant blue under the soft sunlight. As they drove along the road circling the lake, they passed the hotel apartments without stopping. Wei Jiayi suddenly caught on and asked, “Are we heading to the new house?”

Zhao Jing hummed in response.

Wei Jiayi couldn’t help but ask, “Is the renovation done?”

“I told you not to ask.” Zhao Jing grabbed Wei Jiayi’s hand firmly and cast him a glare that lacked any real menace.

As they approached the new house, the gate slid open, and after a short drive along the driveway, they arrived at the entrance. Since purchasing the house, Wei Jiayi had rarely visited due to Zhao Jing’s interference, so the sight of the transformed garden took him by surprise. All the trees, regardless of size, had been trimmed into round shapes, making them look adorable—like little green clouds floating near the house.

“So beautiful,” Wei Jiayi said in admiration. “I’ve always liked clouds.”

“What’s the big deal?” Zhao Jing replied nonchalantly, though his expression betrayed a hint of pride. Stepping out of the car, he wrapped an arm tightly around Wei Jiayi’s shoulders and briskly led him toward the door.

Upon entering, the house was completely different from how Wei Jiayi remembered it. The main color scheme and design he had chosen with Zhao Jing had materialized before his eyes.

However, at first glance, the house felt a little crowded, almost different from the designer’s original renderings. As he walked further inside, Wei Jiayi realized the sense of overcrowding came from the walls, which were now covered in items that hadn’t been part of the original plans.

The walls of the entrance hall were adorned with dark, narrow frames holding over a dozen 4R and 5R-sized photos of cumulus clouds, none particularly large.[mfn]the sizes: [/mfn] Wei Jiayi stepped closer to examine them and noticed that the photos were scanned reproductions—the originals had a yellowed tint, their origin unknown. At first, the images seemed vaguely familiar. After staring at them for a moment, recognition suddenly struck him. It was as if his thoughts had instantly sharpened. He turned to Zhao Jing.

“You rated these clouds ten points, so I printed them in 4R,” Zhao Jing explained casually. “Fifteen-point clouds got printed in 5R. I scanned them myself. Not bad, huh?” Seeing that Wei Jiayi hadn’t responded, Zhao Jing added, “The original photos are upstairs in the study. I already cleaned them.”

Zhao Jing was dressed in light-colored casual clothes, his arms hanging naturally at his sides, his expression relaxed. He wore a ring on his left hand, unlike Wei Jiayi, who often kept his hidden. The one Zhao Jing wore around his neck was also deliberately exposed, resting atop the soft fabric of his shirt.

From childhood photos preserved in the museum to now, Zhao Jing hadn’t changed much. His life seemed untouched by the dust of the streets, and he didn’t seem like the type to rummage through an old house for discarded items of Wei Jiayi’s, carefully clean them, and frame them. But that was exactly what he had done.

Sensing that Wei Jiayi had paused too long, Zhao Jing prompted, “If you want to look at them more, we can come back later.”

Wei Jiayi followed him further into the house.

On the living room’s feature wall hung a set of three photographs that Wei Jiayi immediately recognized. They were from his sophomore year, taken for his first documentary photography course with his mentor. He had spent weeks wandering alone near the city’s shelters, capturing this series as an assignment. His mentor believed he had a natural talent for controlling the camera and favored him because of it, which earned him the chance to frequent the studio—for free food, drinks, and access to film and software.

“I got them from your mentor,” Zhao Jing said. “He chose these three. He also helped design the arrangement of all the photos in the house.”

As Wei Jiayi walked around the dining area, he spotted more cloud photographs he had taken as a child. Then, as he moved toward the staircase, he noticed a rather intriguing set of photos hanging on the wall. Ascending the steps, he realized that many of them were old pictures from his middle and high school years—ones he had never even seen before. He probably hadn’t been the main subject in those photos originally, but after being cropped, he suddenly appeared much larger.

“Where did you even get these?” Wei Jiayi asked, a bit stunned, turning to Zhao Jing.

Zhao Jing seemed delighted by his reaction. Resting a hand on the stair railing, he replied with even more pride than when he had introduced his personal museum, “I found your middle and high school yearbooks and called your classmates myself.”

“Your classmates were very kind. I told them I was your husband and was preparing a gift for you. They helped me look through their collections and sent me plenty,” Zhao Jing explained.

Among the photos of Wei Jiayi, there were also a few of Zhao Jing, seemingly from the same era and at a similar age. The mix of frames, large and small, gave the illusion that they had known each other back then.

Upstairs on the second floor, in the living area, Zhao Jing had displayed Wei Jiayi’s third-year landscape photography project. Outside the windows, lush greenery stretched into the distance. After offering a few brief comments, Zhao Jing led Wei Jiayi to the study, where he noticed a shelf filled with books, notebooks, and portfolios he had assumed were long discarded.

Among them were Zhao Jing’s own belongings: high school textbooks, his original yearbooks, and even items he had once displayed in his museum.

There were also many other objects, both big and small. For example, Wei Jiayi’s second-hand Polaroid camera, his film camera, a disposable camera, and a dozen stacked empty film rolls were carefully encased in glass, arranged in wall compartments, and lit with a warm glow. It was a solemn collection of memories that Wei Jiayi rarely revisited—like a love spell so strong that it defied time, completely enveloping him.

As they reached this point, Zhao Jing declared, “I’ve decided that having a one-person museum isn’t much fun anymore.” His bright eyes drew Wei Jiayi’s attention away from the long-lost relics. “So, I moved everything that fits into this house.”

Wei Jiayi opened his mouth to respond but suddenly realized they were now standing near the windowed wall of the study.

The window was slightly ajar, allowing a subtle scent of greenery to blend into the air-conditioned space. Zhao Jing cornered Wei Jiayi in the small nook, standing so close that it felt a little cramped. Then, he said, “Happy birthday.”

Wei Jiayi looked up and saw the slight curve of Zhao Jing’s lips. “Jiayi.”

“I’m not bankrupt, and I didn’t buy a new ring, but I want us to have a home of our own.” Zhao Jing’s hands were empty as he asked, “So, will you marry me?”

This was Zhao Jing’s way of proposing. Without waiting for a reply, he reached out, wrapped his hand around Wei Jiayi’s neck, and took off his necklace.

The air felt hot, almost intoxicating, leaving Wei Jiayi dizzy. In the 80-square-meter study, Zhao Jing insisted on squeezing him into a single square meter of space. He slid the necklace off, pinched the ring that hung from it, and gripped Wei Jiayi’s hand firmly, poised as if ready to act. The moment Wei Jiayi said, “I do,” he immediately slipped the ring onto his finger—like an obsessive-compulsive ritual meant to put both of them at ease, yet also exactly the kind of wedding Wei Jiayi had always wanted.

They kissed in their new home. Wei Jiayi pressed a hand against Zhao Jing’s chest, feeling the heavy thud of his heartbeat. It felt as though he had found the path to happiness, and emotion rose to the surface.

His mind drifted back to October 31 of the previous year, to his second day on Buderus Island—the day before the tsunami struck. That afternoon had been calm and still. He had been chatting with Li Mingcheng near the hotel garden, the distant music from the pool blasting through the air.

After a while, Li Mingcheng checked his watch and said loudly, “I need to pick up my ge! It’s a rare chance to meet him.” Then, he left the garden.

About twenty minutes later, Wei Jiayi was on the second floor, sipping a drink by the window, when he heard the hum of a propeller. Looking up, he saw a seaplane. Its white body bore the hotel’s name and logo, painted in blue.

He must be on that plane, Wei Jiayi had thought at the time.

The plane landed smoothly on the lagoon, docking at the pier.

As small as a pinky finger from a distance, Zhao Jing marched off the plane, stepping onto the heart-shaped island and heading toward the wedding about to take place.

Soon, he would be stepping into an approaching disaster—into chaos, flashing cameras, reality, and the long process of rebuilding.

He continued walking toward troubles and hesitations that weren’t his own, toward dreams and love, crossing everything like a warrior, reaching his destination—capturing all the clouds of Wei Jiayi’s adolescence and adulthood.

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Author’s note:
Another story is finished! Thank you all for your support, fun comments, and discussions. You have made my 2024 so fulfilling. I hope this happiness lasts forever…

Translator’s Note:
This was a joy to translate! Thank you for reading this short story, and I hope you enjoyed it. 🌟❤️