Although it was phrased as a question, Jiang Yaolin’s other hand remained firmly around Ji Zhi’s waist, showing no sign of letting go. His pale eyes reflected Ji Zhi’s figure perfectly.
Realizing there was no escaping at the moment—and not wanting to draw too much attention—Ji Zhi hesitated only briefly before following Jiang Yaolin to his lounge, just ahead of anyone else spotting them.
Once inside, Jiang Yaolin locked the door behind them out of habit.
Part of it was to keep his manager from barging in unexpectedly. The other part was simpler: he didn’t want Ji Zhi to leave.
His gaze settled on Ji Zhi.
Ever since he’d learned that Ji Zhi was right there beside him, Jiang Yaolin had started eagerly anticipating the filming schedule for this variety show. It was the only way to guarantee seeing Ji Zhi.
He had so much he wanted to share—like how, now that Ji Zhi was talking to him again, Jiang Yaolin finally had the mental bandwidth to sort out the mess with the game studio. That blunder had indirectly sparked the rift between them, after all.
But he had no intention of shutting the studio down. He loved the game too much, and it featured Ji Zhi to boot. No, what he really wanted was to buy it outright and rewrite those infuriating bad-end routes that felt utterly irredeemable. Negotiations were still underway.
He also dreamed of commissioning more titles like it, ones he could dive into alongside Ji Zhi…
To his bitter disappointment, though, Ji Zhi hadn’t streamed at all last week. Busy classes had kept him from interning too, slashing their online chats to almost nothing.
The days had crawled by in agony for Jiang Yaolin—until this moment, when all that pent-up frustration finally evaporated at the sight of him.
He’d desperately wanted to lunge forward the instant he laid eyes on Ji Zhi, but with others hovering nearby, Jiang Yaolin had forced himself to remember Ji Zhi’s warnings and hold back.
Still, once his own work wrapped up, restraint gave way. Under the flimsy excuse of checking on the overseas trainees, he’d bolted off to investigate.
The moment he heard their interviews had just ended, he knew Ji Zhi hadn’t left yet. He scoured the base until he found him, right on the verge of slipping away.
From this angle, however, Jiang Yaolin noticed a glimpse of black peeking from Ji Zhi’s collar.
A closer look confirmed it: a Ludwig original.
Every one of the designer’s pieces was handcrafted and utterly unique, right down to the intricate locks and ever-shifting motifs—his trademarks.
Doubt flooded Jiang Yaolin’s mind.
Ludwig’s work was so niche. How had Ji Zhi gotten into it?
Did he like it too?
Or had someone else given it to him?
And if so… what exactly was their relationship?
Ji Zhi snapped him out of it first, seizing the initiative to buy himself time for a cover story. “How do you even have something from a designer like that?”
Jiang Yaolin saw no reason to hide it. “I use it for Gumi props.”
Gumi?
The term rang a bell for Ji Zhi. After a moment’s thought, it clicked. Not long ago, he’d been helping Chen Xingwen photograph a standee of his favorite character. The seller had pushed some decorative extras, calling them perfect Gumi props.
Curious, they’d Googled it: Gumi was the latest craze, dressing up merch with stickers, ribbons, and backdrops for killer photoshoots, complete with staging and lighting.
Gumi props, then, were all those add-ons.
Ji Zhi had been mildly surprised at the time.
Chen Xingwen? Utterly floored. He’d lamented all the fun his idol had missed out on, then impulse-bought a mountain of stuff.
He’d run out of cash midway, even floated the idea of picking up a side gig—and roped Ji Zhi into debating it. The memory had stuck.
But Jiang Yaolin’s Gumi props didn’t match what he’d seen before.
His expression was dead serious, though—no trace of a lie.
Catching Ji Zhi’s stare, Jiang Yaolin dangled the black velvet ribbon from his fingers. “My turn now. Why do you have one too?”
Jiang Yaolin was no stranger to flaunting his Ji Zhi merch online. He designed Ji Zhi-themed events and decked out the peripherals to match.
This latest one was angels. He’d been hyping it in the fan super-topic, even commissioning pro artists and copywriters.
One sketch—an angel’s wings shackled in chains—had hooked him hard. He’d snapped up a few Ludwig pieces as photo props. Offers had poured in to buy them at a premium, but money was no object. The event came first.
He just never imagined seeing a Ludwig design hugging Ji Zhi’s neck.
The thought that someone else might have gifted it sent his grip tightening on the ribbon.
Dark thoughts dragged at him like quicksand, but his voice came out syrupy sweet, as if papering over the rot while coaxing the truth from Ji Zhi.
“I bought it myself,” Ji Zhi said.
With attributes and price tag like that, claiming it as a gift from anyone would scream intimacy. After a beat of consideration, self-purchase was the cleanest lie.
Jiang Yaolin’s gloom hitched. His tone turned puzzled. “But…”
It didn’t fit Ji Zhi’s vibe at all. And why wear it to work?
Fearing he’d poke holes if given time to think, Ji Zhi cut him off. “I just thought it looked cool—wanted to try a new look. Put it on to test, but I couldn’t get it off. Had no choice but to wear it in, since I don’t have anyone close who could’ve helped…”
“Plus, I was kinda embarrassed about it. Didn’t want to tell you.”
“Bro,” Jiang Yaolin said, “how’d you even discover this designer?”
Ji Zhi had only just learned the name from him, but he dimly recalled Fu Huixu mentioning how he’d found the guy—something about his butler tracking it down after Fu Huixu took an interest.
Feigning calm, Ji Zhi replied, “Got curious, did some digging. Someone introduced me.”
Jiang Yaolin dropped his gaze to Ji Zhi.
For now, the answers held up under scrutiny.
Knowing it was Ji Zhi’s own purchase chased away most of the shadows. Light returned to those pale eyes.
“Bro,” Jiang Yaolin said, “if you like it that much, let me put it back on for you.”
The lack of follow-ups brought a wave of relief. Ji Zhi started to refuse out of reflex, but paused. That lock was a nightmare—if Fu Huixu noticed he’d pried it off solo, suspicions might arise.
Better safe than sorry. “Sure. Thanks…”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he spotted the faint tremor in Jiang Yaolin’s hand on the ribbon.
No illusion. “Your hand…”
Odd. The collar wasn’t hot to the touch. Had he pulled another all-nighter yesterday?
Jiang Yaolin followed his gaze downward, snapping to awareness. He willed the shaking to stop, but it wouldn’t. “I’m good, bro.”
Ji Zhi found it strange, but if Jiang Yaolin insisted…
He figured the guy would turn around for better access. Instead, Jiang Yaolin stayed right in front, facing him.
Before Ji Zhi could ask, he was already at work.
The ribbon had warmed in his palm—no longer chilly, but scorching now.
Even so, his fingertips quivered as he fastened the final clasp.
He’d removed it with such ease before. Now, reattaching it? He fumbled the chain links repeatedly, taking ages to get it right.
“Are you feeling okay?” Ji Zhi asked. “Have you been overworking yourself…?”
It wasn’t idle worry—Jiang Yaolin’s hand was shaking that badly. Ji Zhi couldn’t help suspecting something was wrong with his health.
Jiang Yaolin didn’t pull away. He licked his suddenly parched lips and forced out the words. “Bro, I’m really fine. It’s just… first time doing something like this.”
“I never imagined a day would come when I’d be the one collaring your neck…”
Ji Zhi blinked. ?
Why did that sound so weird?
And Jiang Yaolin’s reaction dwarfed anything he’d anticipated—
His ears burned scarlet, the flush creeping toward his cheeks. No actor’s poise here, masking nothing.
Truth was, he’d never dwelled on it before.
Sure, he’d wheedled personal items out of Ji Zhi once—some for himself, others to “season” life-size Ji Zhi body pillows and plushies. As if that made them smell like him.
That chained-wing angel sketch had already revved him up, haunting his dreams for nights with visions of bound feathers. Actually slipping a collar onto Ji Zhi himself? Unthinkable.
Yet here they were. A mere tilt of his head, and there it was: Ji Zhi, on display.
His mind went blissfully blank. He’d even forgotten to circle behind for a proper angle.
Beneath hair black as raven feathers, those eyes—framed by lenses—gleamed like obsidian kissed by mist, crystalline yet bottomless. The sharp lines of his glasses bit into that pale nose bridge, begging to be ripped away roughly, just to watch his sockets redden and his gaze turn glassy.
Worst of all—or best—that black ribbon hugged his slender throat like it was made for it, flush against the subtle throb of his pulse.
The cold black satin formed a stark contrast with Ji Zhi’s submissive, upward-tilted fragile lines, like some meticulously orchestrated blasphemy. It reminded Jiang Yaolin that he had personally branded this subtle mark of possession in the most conspicuous yet intimate place.
It was like a secret shared only between him and Ji Zhi.
The gaze behind those lenses held a trace of puzzled confusion, but to Jiang Yaolin, it was now the most potent aphrodisiac. His throat bobbed as he yearned to trace the skin beneath that black ribbon with his fingertips, to hear Ji Zhi let out soft whimpers from his slightly obstructed breathing.
This was clearly a scene he had dirtied with his own hands, yet it remained so pure it bordered on madness.
Jiang Yaolin’s heart pounded wildly. It was as if he were murmuring to himself—or perhaps speaking to Ji Zhi. “Bro, so it can be done like this?”
“……No,” Ji Zhi said.
He had finally realized the root of Jiang Yaolin’s confusion. The other man hadn’t even known about something like this before.
In that light, Jiang Yaolin wasn’t quite as twisted as he’d imagined. But now, hadn’t he just opened some strange new door for him…?
!
The realization hit Ji Zhi like a jolt. He scrambled to backpedal. “I just wanted to try a different style, that’s all. Now I think it doesn’t suit me, and I have no plans to experiment with it again.”
“Don’t overthink it.”
Jiang Yaolin lowered his eyes, his tone laced with disappointment. “Okay.”
But then something occurred to him, and he looked up at Ji Zhi sharply. “In that case, Bro, if the collar doesn’t suit you, could you give it to me? I can trade something else for it…”
