Wen Chaosheng stared at the face inches from his own, his mind a total blank.
It took him several long moments to snap out of it. The disappointment and bitterness in his chest transformed in an instant into pure delight. “You—you…”
“What about me?”
Xi Zhui released his wrist and arched an eyebrow. “How many times did you sneak glances at me back at the banquet? You didn’t even come say hi from across the room. I thought I’d gotten the wrong guy.”
Wen Chaosheng’s ears flushed red as he stammered, “There were so many people at your table. I—I didn’t know any of them.”
“Yeah, figured as much.”
Xi Zhui had expected Wen Chaosheng to be as shy and slow to open up as he’d been as a kid. What he hadn’t anticipated was that it was even worse now.
He’d only been joking when he said “didn’t know them,” but Wen Chaosheng hadn’t even considered introducing himself. Instead, he’d bolted like a startled rabbit.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed down the corridor. The other groomsmen approached.
“Xi Zhui, you’re fast—even changed out of your suit already?”
“Mm.”
Xi Zhui’s tone turned faintly cool.
One of the groomsmen noticed Wen Chaosheng standing beside him and asked curiously, “Who’s this?”
“A friend of mine,” Xi Zhui replied.
Wen Chaosheng found himself facing a group of complete strangers, his social anxiety flaring up. He had no idea if he should say hello.
“I’ve got some things to take care of with my friend. We’re heading out,” Xi Zhui said. He saw right through Wen Chaosheng’s unease and gently nudged his elbow. “Let’s go.”
“Oh.”
Wen Chaosheng hurried after him.
It wasn’t until they’d rounded the corner and left the corridor behind that Wen Chaosheng thought to ask, “Xi Zhui, are you done with everything? Is it really okay to just ditch them like that?”
“What’s there to worry about? We’re not close. They’re my little uncle’s groomsmen buddies, not mine.”
The wedding was winding down anyway. No one would care what he did now.
The two of them reached the elevator hall nearby. Xi Zhui pressed the call button. “Got plans later?”
“Huh?”
Wen Chaosheng shook his head. “No. You?”
Xi Zhui answered honestly. “Been run ragged all day against my will. Thinking of heading back to the room to unwind.”
The elevator dinged on the third floor, its doors sliding open.
Xi Zhui glanced at Wen Chaosheng, who was still standing there awkwardly reserved. “My room’s on the twenty-fourth floor. Wanna come up and chill?”
Wen Chaosheng’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t expected an invitation. “Me?”
The polite refusal hovered on the tip of his tongue, but the words wouldn’t come.
If he passed up this chance, who knew when he’d see Xi Zhui again?
Wen Chaosheng clutched the strap of his backpack. “If I go up, won’t I be… bothering you too much?”
Even as he spoke, a flicker of anticipation stirred in his heart.
“No bother at all.” Xi Zhui’s brow quirked again. He grabbed Wen Chaosheng’s wrist and pulled him into the elevator. “Quit dragging your feet. You really haven’t changed one bit.”
Xi Zhui’s palm felt cool against his skin. The touch lasted only two or three seconds before he let go.
Wen Chaosheng registered the lingering difference in warmth and stole a glance upward.
The elevator’s soft lighting cast Xi Zhui’s profile in gentle shadows. It no longer looked so starkly severe—instead, it carried a hint of familiarity.
Just like back when they were kids.
That realization quietly melted away the tension coiled in Wen Chaosheng’s chest.
…
The hotel room was a standard suite that the groom had arranged for out-of-town guests: a small living room out front, with the bedroom beyond.
Xi Zhui’s sleek black suitcase sat untouched in the outer hall.
Wen Chaosheng took in the space, searching for small talk. “You just get back to the country?”
“Mm.”
He’d landed at ten the night before, only to be roped into groomsman duty by early morning.
Xi Zhui headed into the bathroom to wash his hands, calling back to Wen Chaosheng without thinking. “Sit wherever.”
“Got it.”
Wen Chaosheng perched obediently on the sofa, clutching his backpack against his chest.
The moment Xi Zhui stepped out of the bathroom, the sight greeted him: Wen Chaosheng’s slightly tousled chestnut curls, thick black-framed glasses perched on his fair face, sitting bolt upright and watching him with the attentive look of a student eager for class to start.
Stupidly cute. Painfully obedient.
“…”
Xi Zhui’s gaze lingered an extra beat before he moved toward the living room fridge. “Something to drink? Beer?”
The room stocked whiskey and wine too, but uncorking and letting them breathe would take too long.
He twisted open a beer bottle one-handed as he approached and passed it over. “Here.”
Wen Chaosheng hardly ever drank—he didn’t enjoy it and didn’t know how—but he couldn’t bring himself to turn Xi Zhui down.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Their bottles clinked lightly, the chill buzzing through their palms.
Xi Zhui settled onto the sofa as well, studying him with open curiosity. “Nearsighted now?”
Wen Chaosheng pushed up his glasses on reflex. “Just a touch. Nothing serious. These are non-prescription.”
Xi Zhui took a swallow of beer, his mouth curving faintly upward. “So it’s just for style?”
Your eyes are plenty nice as they are. Shame to cover them up.
Wen Chaosheng sipped his own, the icy bite making his tongue quiver. “…Not exactly.”
He felt too embarrassed to admit the truth.
On high school graduation day, one of his female classmates had cornered him on the stairs for a confession—and gone out of her way to compliment his eyes.
Wen Chaosheng had always figured his personality kept him invisible at school. The shock left him frozen, barely able to stammer out a polite rejection before fleeing the scene.
After that, he’d gotten the oversized black glasses.
Call it style if you wanted—it was more like a clumsy shield for his social anxiety.
Wen Chaosheng traced the condensation on his bottle with a fingertip and asked the question burning in his mind. “Xi Zhui, how long are you staying in the country this time?”
“Not sure. Could be the whole summer vacation, or I might fly back with my parents in a few days.”
He was doing an undergrad-to-master’s program in finance in Germany. He still had semesters left and had to be back for the fall term.
“Oh.”
Wen Chaosheng nursed another sip of beer, groping for more conversation. “You still in touch with Zhao Ye and the others? Feng Yi mentioned Zhao Ye became a jewelry designer.”
After returning to the Imperial Capital for school, Wen Chaosheng had wound up as classmates with Xia Fengyi by chance. But once the other went abroad in his sophomore year, they’d drifted apart.
“Yeah, Zhao Ye and I keep in touch. We even meet up sometimes.”
Xi Zhui didn’t deny it, casually filling him in on his two childhood friends.
The Shen Family’s business already dealt in jewelry procurement. Shen Zhaoye had inherited his mother’s artistic flair, and with the family’s encouragement, he’d racked up gold medals from contests around the world before he even hit eighteen.
These days, his design sketches commanded astronomical prices—and still had tycoons and foreign royalty scrambling for them.
Wen Chaosheng praised him sincerely. “That’s amazing.”
Xi Zhui didn’t argue, going on. “Feng Yi went into medicine. Pediatrics.”
“Huh?”
Wen Chaosheng blinked. He couldn’t picture the motor-mouthed Xia Fengyi coaxing kids as a doctor.
Xi Zhui spilled more. “He’s nowhere near graduating. Come finals, he loses it—like his brain short-circuited—wailing in our group chat every day about how he’ll never study medicine in the next life. Annoys Zhao Ye and me so much we just pretend not to see.”
Wen Chaosheng could picture it perfectly and let out a soft chuckle.
Sensing Wen Chaosheng’s growing ease, Xi Zhui lobbed the question back. “And you? What’s new?”
Wen Chaosheng answered straight. “Imperial Capital Film Academy. Directing Department.”
Xi Zhui nodded; it was exactly what he’d expected. “Actually going for director, then? Got any films under your belt?”
“…Not yet.”
Wen Chaosheng’s cheeks warmed. “Still in school.”
Xi Zhui inclined his head. “That field’s not one you can rush.”
“Mm.”
They made small talk for a while after that—mostly Xi Zhui asking questions, Wen Chaosheng answering truthfully.
Before long, though, Wen Chaosheng felt his eyelids drooping, his head swimming. He ducked his head to stifle a tiny yawn.
Xi Zhui spotted the flush creeping across his cheeks and raised a brow in surprise. “Wen Chaosheng, you drunk already?”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng stared at the half-full can still in his hand, bewildered. “Dunno.”
Xi Zhui had never seen someone taken down by half a beer. He sighed helplessly. “If you can’t hold your liquor, why not speak up? Tired?”
Wen Chaosheng nodded. “Kinda.”
Truth was, it wasn’t just the beer.
He’d pulled an all-nighter tweaking parts of Contour the day before. Now, with alcohol loosening things up, all that suppressed exhaustion bubbled to the surface.
“Want to crash for a bit? Inner room.”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng darted a glance at the king-sized bed beyond and shook his head frantically. “No, that’s fine. Not right.”
He hadn’t even showered.
Besides, that was Xi Zhui’s spot to rest.
Xi Zhui watched his head wobble like a dashboard ornament and stood, switching tactics. “Then lean back on the sofa and nap here?”
Wen Chaosheng started to rise with him but wobbled and plopped right back down. He drew an irritated breath but gave in to the drowsiness and buzz all the same.
“Fine, then… just ten minutes. Wake me after?”
“Sleep as long as you need. No rush.”
“Mm.”
Wen Chaosheng fell silent, hugging his backpack a little tighter.
Xi Zhui glanced down. “What’s in there? Protecting it like gold?”
Wen Chaosheng unzipped the bag and peeked out a corner of the script, mumbling. “My screenplay. Filming it this summer.”
He tipped his head back, his eyes hazy behind the lenses. “Xi Zhui…”
“Yeah?”
“I’m gonna be a director.”
“…”
Xi Zhui caught the soft, almost petulant murmur and leaned in. “No kidding? Mind if I take a look?”
Wen Chaosheng hadn’t even considered refusing him. Buoyed by the booze and unguarded honesty, he nodded and thrust the whole backpack forward. “Here. All yours.”
Xi Zhui accepted the slight weight, a smile tugging at his lips. “Get some rest. I won’t bug you.”
“Okay.”
…
Wen Chaosheng had no clue when he’d nodded off. All he knew was the soft, enveloping warmth surrounding him.
In his dream, he stood on the bustling set of a lavish film production. Crew members hurried to and fro, beaming as they called out “Director Wen.” He lingered by the monitor—and there on the screen was Xi Zhui.
He’d actually starred as the male lead in his movie!
“…”
He woke with a start. Sleepiness and buzz both gone in a flash.
Wen Chaosheng reached instinctively to rub his eyes and realized his glasses had been lifted from his nose. The blanket draped over his shoulders slid away.
“Awake? Still tired?”
A calm voice of inquiry sounded, scattering the last remnants of haze from Wen Chaosheng’s mind.
He lifted his gaze and saw Xi Zhui seated right beside him.
Their eyes met.
“Sorry about that,” Wen Chaosheng said immediately. “How long was I out?”
“Less than an hour.” Xi Zhui lifted a hand. “I still haven’t finished your script.”
“…”
Script?
Only then did Wen Chaosheng notice the short script still clutched in Xi Zhui’s hand. His eyes widened unconsciously.
Xi Zhui spotted his shock and promptly closed the script. “Can’t I read it? You agreed right before you dozed off.”
“No, it’s fine. Go ahead.”
“Good. It’s pretty well-written. Did you create it all by yourself?”
“Yeah.”
A hidden flutter of unease stirred in Wen Chaosheng’s heart.
Before he could pinpoint the source of that feeling, Xi Zhui handed the unfinished script back to him. “Wen Chaosheng, I’ve got a question for you.”
“What?”
“Is the male lead based on me?”
“…”
Something suddenly clicked for Wen Chaosheng, and his expression turned distinctly evasive.
Xi Zhui picked up on the shift but played dumb. “Just kidding. This guy’s personality doesn’t really match mine.”
“Uh-huh.”
Wen Chaosheng clenched his fingertips in a panic, praying under his breath that Xi Zhui wouldn’t spot his little ploy.
But fear has a way of summoning the very thing dreaded.
Right in front of him, Xi Zhui flipped open the first page and tapped the protagonist’s name. “I did notice one coincidence, though. The male lead is named Tang Yu.”
Tang Yu and Xi Zhui—they shared the exact same radicals and components.
“…”
Wen Chaosheng’s drunken haze had vanished entirely by now. He resembled nothing so much as a freshly boiled crab, red from head to toe.
Silence stretched through the room.
Xi Zhui wasn’t rushed. He watched the man before him with keen interest as his face flushed deeper and deeper.
Wen Chaosheng had never been skilled at evasion or fibbing, not since childhood. It took a long moment before he managed to mumble, “Xi Zhui, sorry.”
That was as good as a confession.
Back when he’d written the script, Xi Zhui had indeed been on his mind—and he’d cleverly woven elements of his name into it.
Xi Zhui chuckled, just as expected, and responded with gracious magnanimity. “It’s fine. Borrowing my name as inspiration? No copyright fees from me.”
