Xi Zhui lowered his gaze to the room key in Lin Keyang’s hand, confirming once more. “A king bed?”
“Yes, it’s a king room, not a twin.”
Worried they might not be used to it, Lin Keyang took pains to explain. “Don’t worry, I double-checked the bed dimensions when I booked. It’s more than big enough for two guys.”
A king room at this hotel cost a dozen bucks less per night than a standard twin, which added up to real savings over the entire shoot.
The school had allocated funds for the production, but they’d already burned through a chunk on early prep for costumes, makeup, and props.
To leave breathing room for the actual filming expenses, the core team had agreed on a principle for lodging: save where they could.
Even so, Wen Chaosheng and Xi Zhui, as the production’s two key figures, had originally been assigned separate king rooms.
This hotel glitch was pure bad luck, a force majeure.
…
Wen Chaosheng heard about the unexpected snag and shot Xi Zhui a look laced with anxiety.
He was fine following Lin Keyang’s every call if it meant scrimping to pour money into the shoot. But Xi Zhui was different—
Xi Zhui was a real-deal rich heir, the sort who dropped thousands on hotel stays without blinking.
Staying at a run-of-the-mill county hotel to film with them was already slumming it. How could he cram into a king bed with them?
The thought made Wen Chaosheng speak up hastily before Xi Zhui could. “Hold on, I’ll just book another room with my own money.”
Lin Keyang cut him off. “It’s not about the money anymore. I already checked with the front desk—this place is fully booked. Forget singles; even standards won’t be free for three days.”
Gannan’s tourism had boomed these past couple years, and peak summer vacation meant hordes of visitors.
“Aren’t you two friends? What’s the big deal sharing?” Sun Xuan couldn’t resist chiming in, blunt as ever. “The director and lead actor bunking together? Perfect chance to hash out the plot.”
…
Wen Chaosheng was out of rebuttals.
Xi Zhui eyed Wen Chaosheng’s troubled expression and finally spoke. “Do you really want to sleep alone that badly?”
Wen Chaosheng mumbled, “No, I’m fine either way.”
Satisfied with the answer, Xi Zhui plucked the remaining keycard from Lin Keyang’s hand. “Then that’s settled. I’ll go with the crew’s arrangement. Everyone’s beat—head back and rest.”
Wen Chaosheng had no choice but to nod along.
…
The rooms were scattered along the hall, and the keycard Xi Zhui held led to the one farthest right.
The corridor light was dim and murky, laced with the musty staleness of poor circulation. The carpet underfoot had faded to a worn patina.
Wen Chaosheng trailed behind, staring at Xi Zhui’s back with growing unease—
The hotel wasn’t bad, exactly, but far from great. Would the king room measure up? Would Xi Zhui turn up his nose at it?
Worst of all, they had to share the same bed tonight!
It wasn’t until they stopped at the door that Wen Chaosheng, after stewing for ages, spoke up. “Sorry, Xi Zhui.”
Xi Zhui glanced over at the unexpected apology. “Why the sudden sorry?”
Wen Chaosheng said slowly, “For dragging you into squeezing in here with me. I’m afraid you won’t be comfortable.”
…
Xi Zhui paused, torn between laughter and tears. “Wen Chaosheng, you really see me as some pampered young master?”
Wen Chaosheng shot back, “Aren’t you?”
In his eyes, Xi Zhui deserved nothing but the best.
Xi Zhui met that dead-serious gaze and threw up his hands.
With a helpless sigh, he admitted, “Fine, yeah. I’m picky—always chasing the best within reach.”
If it were anyone else, Xi Zhui would’ve found another hotel on his own.
But sharing with Wen Chaosheng? He vaguely recalled those summer camp nights from childhood and felt no aversion deep down.
Xi Zhui rephrased. “I’ve been on field training with Zhao Ye and Feng Yi—slept in the middle of nowhere, ancient forests and all. Not as finicky as you think.”
Somewhat relieved, Wen Chaosheng said, “Oh. Okay then.”
“Enough overthinking.” Xi Zhui tamped down a faint headache and urged him gently. “Let’s get inside, unpack, and crash.”
He swiped the keycard. Lights on.
Wen Chaosheng realized his worries were overblown. The king room was far nicer than expected—spotless and well-kept.
He breathed a silent sigh of relief and wheeled his luggage to the corner. “Xi Zhui, you settle in first? I’ll go sync with my senpai on tomorrow’s shoot.”
As he spoke, he snuck a glance at the bed’s size. “Uh, should I have housekeeping send up an extra blanket later?”
Sharing a bed was one thing—sharing covers? No way. He’d be too wired to sleep!
…
Xi Zhui caught the pointed addition and chuckled inwardly. “Sure, whatever you say.”
…
It was nearing ten when Wen Chaosheng returned.
The room lay quiet, main lights off, just the soft row of sleep lights glowing above the bed.
Xi Zhui had finished washing up and lay propped in all-black sleepwear. He lifted his head at the sound, brow furrowing as their eyes met.
“Back?”
“Yeah. Grabbed a spare key from the desk.”
Sensing the chill in the air, Wen Chaosheng hesitated, not daring to approach. “Did I wake you?”
Xi Zhui sank back into the pillow, his usual calm edged with restraint. “No. Couldn’t sleep anyway.”
…
Only then did Wen Chaosheng notice his pallor under the light. He hurried over. “Xi Zhui, you okay?”
Xi Zhui dropped the pretense. “Headache. Probably altitude sickness.”
He’d traveled to high elevations before without issue, so this had caught him off guard.
It had started faint, but the shower made it worse.
Xi Zhui endured it. “I’ll sleep it off.”
His own oversight—no one’s fault.
Wen Chaosheng pushed back for once. “You can’t! Don’t play tough guy.”
Lin Keyang’s boyfriend had just come down with it too, hooked up to oxygen. Altitude sickness wasn’t a joke when it hit hard.
With that, Wen Chaosheng called the front desk. “Do you have portable oxygen? Send one up for him.”
Xi Zhui’s breaths grew heavier but he didn’t protest.
Five minutes later, the portable unit sat on the nightstand. The staffer, well-practiced with guests’ altitude woes, set it up smoothly.
“Sir, it’s on the optimal auto mode, timed for twenty to thirty minutes per session. Red button’s the switch—adjust as needed.”
“If it persists or worsens, call us right away. We’ll get you to a doctor.”
“Thanks.” Xi Zhui took the disposable mask and fitted it on.
Wen Chaosheng hung back the whole time, keeping distance from the staffer and avoiding eye contact.
Once they were gone, his tension eased, and he edged back to Xi Zhui’s side.
Xi Zhui took in the whole show and smirked to himself. “Social anxiety much?”
…
“I’m not.”
Wen Chaosheng deflected. “Take a few more pulls. Tell me if anything feels off.”
Xi Zhui nodded. “You go wash up. Skip the hair wash tonight—don’t want you catching it too.”
“Got it.”
Wen Chaosheng grabbed his clothes and ducked into the bathroom.
When he emerged, Xi Zhui had the mask back on and lay with eyes closed.
Wen Chaosheng eyed the empty space and covers, then Xi Zhui, a knot of tension twisting in his chest.
He climbed in carefully, lay ramrod straight under the blanket, even reining in his breaths for fear of disturbing him.
Suddenly, Xi Zhui spoke. “Lying there like a board, lights still on—how do you expect to sleep?”
“Huh?” Wen Chaosheng turned his head but let his gaze drift past Xi Zhui’s profile to the oxygen unit. “I’m good. You feeling better?”
…
Xi Zhui switched off the bedside lamp, leaving only the faintest floor light. He rolled to his side, eyes fixed on Wen Chaosheng in the dimness.
Caught in that stare, Wen Chaosheng’s breath hitched. “Xi Zhui?”
Answering the earlier question at last, Xi Zhui said, “Head still kills.”
The voice, muffled through the mask, carried a rare weariness and vulnerability he never showed outsiders.
Unable to help it, Wen Chaosheng turned to face him across the covers. “Close your eyes and rest easy. I’ll watch the oxygen timer.”
…
Free of glasses, Wen Chaosheng’s eyes gleamed pure and luminous in the low light. Stunning.
Xi Zhui’s thoughts drifted unbidden to that childhood summer camp, details sharpening into crystal clarity.
It took him a beat to reply. “I have trouble sleeping in new beds. With this headache, doubt I’ll get much shut-eye tonight.”
Wen Chaosheng hesitated. “What can I do to help?”
Xi Zhui drew a deep breath and made his request, natural as breathing. “Tell me a bedtime story.”
Wen Chaosheng blinked. “Huh?”
Xi Zhui pressed. “All these years later, who ended up taking that Smart Bean?”
“You still remember that?” Wen Chaosheng’s eyes widened; it took him a moment. “You said it was boring back then.”
“Holding a grudge?” Xi Zhui chuckled, then winced as pain stabbed.
Seeing Xi Zhui suffer, Wen Chaosheng offered softly, “How about I rub your temples and the back of your neck?”
He’d practiced on Song Xuelan at home; she’d said it felt great. Not a cure, but it’d loosen tight nerves and aid sleep.
…
Xi Zhui went quiet, but his deep gaze silently assented.
No explicit okay, but Wen Chaosheng reached out tentatively to Xi Zhui’s temple.
Warm, delicate fingertips grazed feather-light, carrying some soothing magic.
Xi Zhui’s breaths deepened under the mask for a second. Tension ebbed; he murmured an approving “Mm.”
Emboldened, Wen Chaosheng massaged with steady rhythm.
…
Xi Zhui shut his eyes, savoring the brief relief.
Without the intensity of their close eye contact, Wen Chaosheng shed his initial unease. His fingertips trailed slowly from Xi Zhui’s temples, extending backward to the acupoints behind his ears before circling around to the nape of his neck.
One press after another.
Wen Chaosheng massaged with utmost seriousness, his body unconsciously drawing closer to Xi Zhui.
In the darkness, every sense sharpened beyond measure—
Xi Zhui could hear the steady hum of the oxygen machine behind him and feel the deliberate pressure of Wen Chaosheng’s fingertips rubbing against his skin. He could even catch the faint, familiar scent wafting from Wen Chaosheng’s body.
These sensations blended with the pure oxygen flowing through the mask, gradually easing the explosive agony that had threatened to overwhelm him.
—Beep.
The oxygen session had reached its set time.
Xi Zhui’s eyes snapped open. His deep, fathomless gaze locked onto Wen Chaosheng, who was mere inches away. With one hand, he pulled off the mask, and in that instant, their breaths mingled and intertwined.
Caught off guard, Wen Chaosheng tumbled into the dark pools of Xi Zhui’s eyes. His movements froze, his breathing falling into disarray.
Only then did he realize just how close they were. A surge of unbidden panic drove him to break the gaze. “…Aren’t you going to keep using the oxygen?”
Xi Zhui didn’t move. “It’s better now. I can’t rely on it forever—I need to adapt gradually.”
His voice, roughened slightly from the oxygen, carried an indescribable allure.
“…”
Wen Chaosheng’s heart hammered against his ribs, threatening to burst free, as if he were the one stricken with altitude sickness. On instinct, he tried to pull his hand back, to widen the too-narrow gap between them.
But Xi Zhui suddenly seized his wrist, holding him in place. “Wen Chaosheng.”
Wen Chaosheng shivered. “Mm?”
Xi Zhui asked out of nowhere, “Are you still using that Baby Cream? The coconut milk one.”
Wen Chaosheng hadn’t expected the topic to shift there. Heat flooded his cheeks. “It’s not Baby Cream. It’s adult body lotion.”
He had grown so used to the scent over the years that he never considered switching.
Wen Chaosheng ducked his head into his blanket and sniffed cautiously, still uncertain. “I only put on a little.”
A touch of distress crept into his voice as he pressed, “You don’t like the smell? Does it bother you?”
The corners of Xi Zhui’s mouth lifted faintly. Only then did he release Wen Chaosheng’s wrist. “No, it’s nice.”
He liked it very much—this scent.
“Oh.”
Wen Chaosheng murmured in response, hesitating over whether to resume the massage.
In the next moment, Xi Zhui leaned in of his own accord. His tone held no demand, carrying instead a hint of vulnerability. “It still hurts. Massage it some more for me.”
