Dim light blurred the boundaries, while drunkenness tangled their thoughts into a chaotic mess. Their breaths grew ever more entwined, and the pounding of their hearts echoed through the quiet bedroom.
Wen Chaosheng clutched tightly at Xi Zhui’s bathrobe, responding to the deepening kiss with shy, clumsy eagerness.
But it was all too intense. He could only manage a few unconscious whimpers—sounds that only drew Xi Zhui in further.
After what felt like an eternity, Xi Zhui pulled back from the brink, slamming on the brakes just in time. He forced his breathing to steady, though his eyes still burned with unsatisfied hunger as he pulled the man in his arms even closer.
“. . . Mm.”
Wen Chaosheng seemed to sense something and shrank back a little. The prolonged, forceful kiss had drawn beads of hot sweat from his forehead, chasing away the last traces of his buzz.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry and raspy from the kissing. “Xi Zhui, has it reached the twenty-second yet?”
Xi Zhui’s hand stroked the back of his neck out of habit. “Mm, it’s past midnight.”
Wen Chaosheng turned his head, burying it in the crook of Xi Zhui’s neck. “Happy one-year anniversary.”
Xi Zhui tightened his embrace in response. “Happy one-year anniversary.”
“. . .”
They clung to each other, no space left between them.
Wen Chaosheng could clearly feel the urgent arousal stirring between them. Bolstered by the remnants of his drunken courage, he ventured, “Do you . . . want to do it?”
Perhaps because they’d spent so much of the past year apart, or maybe due to his own naturally reserved nature and thin skin, their intimate moments had always stopped at mutual assistance.
No matter how much Xi Zhui suffered in restraint, he’d never crossed that line.
Xi Zhui’s hand paused at the back of his neck, but his answer was brutally honest. “Do you really need to ask if I want to, when you can feel it for yourself?”
“. . .”
True enough.
It was impossible to ignore.
Still buried in the crook of Xi Zhui’s neck, Wen Chaosheng didn’t dare look up. Drawing on the dregs of his liquid courage, he pressed on. “Then should we . . .”
But Xi Zhui’s refusal came before his courage could fully muster.
“Not tonight.”
“. . .”
Wen Chaosheng fell silent, a mix of shame from the rejection and an inexplicable grievance washing over him.
It took a long while before he leaned back slightly, creating some distance. He looked up with a pout. “Why not?”
“Brother, don’t give me that pitiful look.” Xi Zhui brushed the reddened corner of Wen Chaosheng’s eye, then countered, “Who told you that you forget everything after getting drunk?”
“If I went all in and you woke up tomorrow forgetting every fragmented detail, what then?”
Precisely because they were each other’s first love, Xi Zhui wanted their first time to happen when they were both clear-headed and fully aware.
If possible, he’d make sure Wen Chaosheng remembered every single detail with crystal clarity.
Wen Chaosheng wasn’t convinced. “I can remember.”
Xi Zhui didn’t buy his drunken assurances. He chuckled. “Oh yeah? Then tell me, when was our first kiss?”
Wen Chaosheng didn’t understand the sudden question, but he answered confidently. “Last year, in Berlin.”
“Wrong.”
“. . .”
Wen Chaosheng blinked in confusion, thinking Xi Zhui was teasing him. “Huh?”
Xi Zhui didn’t explain. He simply reminded him gently, “It’s late, Wen Chaosheng. You really should go to sleep.”
Wen Chaosheng’s mind buzzed. “I can’t sleep.”
Xi Zhui sighed, as if he’d just gotten his confirmation. “Looks like I didn’t wear you out enough in the bathroom tonight after all.”
A glint flickered in his eyes as he kissed Wen Chaosheng’s lips. “Brother, want a reward?”
“Yes.”
Wen Chaosheng nodded, then added puzzled, “But why a reward?”
“Consider it a celebration for winning the Best Director award—”
Before he could finish, Xi Zhui threw back the covers over them, letting the pent-up heat dissipate.
Before Wen Chaosheng could react, Xi Zhui slid down toward the foot of the bed with utmost attentiveness. “Be good and stay still.”
“. . .”
In that instant of wet heat enveloping him, Wen Chaosheng’s mind ground completely to a halt.
. . .
. . . . .
Buzz, buzz buzz, buzz buzz buzz.
The relentless vibration of an incoming call jolted Wen Chaosheng and Xi Zhui awake.
Wen Chaosheng cracked his eyes open amid lingering drowsiness, only to squeeze them shut again after a couple of seconds. His head throbbed as he instinctively sought shelter against Xi Zhui. “. . . So noisy.”
They hadn’t fallen asleep until nearly two in the morning, so Xi Zhui wasn’t fully awake either.
His hand, draped over Wen Chaosheng, patted soothingly by reflex. Only then did he free up his other hand, frowning as he groped blindly for the phone on the nightstand. Without checking the screen, he answered.
“Hello? Who’s this?”
His sleep-deprived voice carried a hint of irritation at being disturbed.
There was a long pause on the other end before an uncertain voice asked, “Is . . . is this Xi Zhui? Isn’t this Xiao Sheng’s phone?”
One second, two—
Xi Zhui suddenly realized who it was. His eyes snapped open, sleep vanishing in an instant, replaced by faint panic. “Auntie Song?”
Hearing that, Song Xuelan on the other end was fully convinced. “It really is Xiao Zhui? Where’s Xiao Sheng? Is he with you?”
Xi Zhui sat up bolt upright, steadying himself after a few seconds of fluster. “Auntie, Chaosheng got drunk at the celebration party last night. His senior, Lin Keyang, couldn’t reach you, so she called me.”
As he spoke, the still-groggy Wen Chaosheng also snapped alert, his face twisting in even greater panic.
Xi Zhui reached back to soothe his lover’s back while scrambling for more excuses. “I drove him back to my place last night—it’s close by. Yeah, his phone’s in the living room. Should I get him for you?”
“Oh, he hasn’t woken up yet?”
Song Xuelan clearly trusted the boys completely and didn’t suspect a thing. “He didn’t come home last night, and he hasn’t replied to my WeChat messages. I was worried.”
She paused. “Xi Zhui, thanks for taking care of him last night. Have Xiao Sheng give me a call when he wakes up.”
“Sure thing.”
Xi Zhui tried his best to suppress his guilt. “No trouble at all, Auntie.”
The call ended.
Xi Zhui let out a quiet breath of relief and turned to the tense-faced Wen Chaosheng beside him. “I thought it was my phone. Didn’t check before picking up.”
Wen Chaosheng retrieved his phone and saw that Song Xuelan had indeed sent several WeChat messages the night before. But he couldn’t reply directly now—not without giving them away.
His heart still raced. “You scared me to death.”
Xi Zhui eyed his lover’s tousled curls. “It’s only seven-thirty. Want to sleep more?”
The call had chased away all of Wen Chaosheng’s sleepiness, but he burrowed back under the covers anyway, peeking out with half his face. “. . . My head’s spinning. Did I get drunk again last night?”
Catching the fleeting blankness in his eyes, Xi Zhui tested the waters. “How much do you remember from last night and the early morning?”
“. . .”
Wen Chaosheng met his gaze and racked his brain, only to shake his head in frustration. “Not much.”
Just vague, fragmented snippets that didn’t form a coherent picture.
Xi Zhui’s expression said, I knew it. He rolled onto his side, leaning closer. “Want me to recap for you?”
Wen Chaosheng grew wary. “Did I throw a drunken tantrum?”
“No.” Xi Zhui threaded his fingers through the soft curls, kneading lightly. “You were very well-behaved drunk—just a bit bolder than usual.”
Wen Chaosheng didn’t get it. “Bolder? What do you need to recap?”
Meeting his lover’s innocent, puzzled gaze, Xi Zhui leaned in and whispered a few explicit details in his ear.
“. . .”
As the pointed, even rather graphic recap unfolded, the hazy fragments in Wen Chaosheng’s mind sharpened—and blurred further.
His ears turned visibly red. By the final snippet, he panicked and shrank entirely under the covers. “Stop talking!”
Xi Zhui patted his head through the blanket and kept teasing. “Wen Chaosheng, so now you know to hide like a turtle in its shell? But in the early hours, you were the one who couldn’t hold back . . .”
Before he could finish, a shout louder than any before rang out. “Xi Zhui!”
The momentum fizzled instantly through the covers. “Please, spare me.”
Xi Zhui’s smile deepened.
He eyed the huddled lump under the blanket like a turtle shell, worried Wen Chaosheng might actually smother himself. So he pulled back the covers, teasing and coaxing in turn.
“Alright, stop hiding. If your head’s spinning, laze in bed a bit longer. Catch some more shut-eye if you want.”
He glanced at the faint daylight seeping through the curtains and added, “I’ll go wash up and head out for a morning run. I’ll bring back breakfast when I return.”
No matter what, Wen Chaosheng had been drinking the night before. They couldn’t let him go hungry first thing.
Wen Chaosheng’s face was still flushed. Eager to change the subject, he mumbled agreement. “Mm-hmm.”
. . .
Just before nine, Xi Zhui returned with breakfast from outside. Wen Chaosheng had gotten up, freshened up, and replied to Song Xuelan.
He sat at the dining table and took the soy milk Xi Zhui handed him. “Mom says the family wants to celebrate my win.”
For anyone in film, snagging a Hundred Flowers Award trophy was worth celebrating.
Wen Chaosheng sipped the hot soy milk, warmth soothing his stomach. “It’s a bit last-minute, but we’re doing lunch.”
Xi Zhui nodded. “Mm. I’ll drive you there later.”
Wen Chaosheng shook his head, still uneasy about the morning’s close call with the phone. “I’ll go myself.”
He paused, then added, “I’m free tonight. You busy?”
Wen Chunshen and Song Xuelan had originally planned for that evening, but Wen Chaosheng remembered it was their anniversary. Selfishly, he wanted to keep the night free.
Xi Zhui caught the hint. “Enjoy your family celebration. I’ll pick you up later—we’ll spend the evening together.”
Wen Chaosheng got the answer he wanted and grinned. “Mm.”
. . .
The private room for the celebration had been booked last-minute.
But with the Spring Festival holiday in full swing, the Wen Family relatives and elders were all happy to show up. By noon, a lively crowd had gathered.
It wasn’t until nearly two that the celebratory feast wrapped up.
Wen Chunshen, beaming from ear to ear, saw off the last guest. Then he shot his wife a meaningful glance.
Song Xuelan gently patted Wen Chaosheng’s shoulder and asked, “Baby, while no one’s around right now, why don’t you sit down and chat with Dad and Mom?”
Wen Chaosheng was startled at first, thinking that the phone call from that morning had given him away.
He felt a little tense but still sat down with his parents.
Song Xuelan noticed the stiffness in her son and spoke gently. “Your dad and I just want to ask about your plans going forward. Are you going to keep writing and directing your own literary films?”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng realized he’d been overthinking it and let out a secret sigh of relief. He looked at Wen Chunshen sitting across from him and earnestly laid out his idea. “Dad, I-I’m thinking about setting up my own personal studio.”
“I’ve talked about it before with Senior Keyang, Sun Xuan, and the others. They’re all very supportive and willing to work with me.”
Wen Chunshen nodded slightly, his expression showing reasonable approval of the idea. “Still doing literary films?”
To be frank, literary films might make it easier to snag awards at film festivals, but they weren’t the dominant trend in the actual market.
Once the label of “literary film director” stuck to Wen Chaosheng, it would be tough for his work to branch out into other commercial avenues.
Put bluntly, his film projects would always struggle to secure investment.
“I still have one more literary film script in hand. It’s a short one called Cloud End.”
Contour, Flower Moon, and Cloud End were the three-film series that Wen Chaosheng had long decided to write and direct. With the first two already completed successfully, it was only natural to get the final one on the schedule.
That said, Wen Chaosheng was aware of some industry buzz and public opinions—
Jealous types had more than once attacked him, claiming he only knew how to game the system with literary films and couldn’t handle big-budget commercial movies.
“Dad, Mom, I’d like to start building the studio while wrapping up the final film, Cloud End. Once that’s done, I’ll spend some time honing my skills and try my hand at commercial story-driven films down the line.”
Of course, he’d keep writing and directing his own projects if he could manage it.
Seeing how clear his son’s goals were, a flicker of relief and pride welled up deep in Wen Chunshen’s eyes.
Song Xuelan picked up on her husband’s emotions—he wasn’t one for expressing them openly—and smiled as well. “Sounds good. As long as you have your own plans, your dad and I respect and support whatever you decide.”
Wen Chunshen cut straight to it. “If you hit any real roadblocks down the road, come find us anytime. Dad’s got your back.”
“Yeah, thanks, Mom and Dad.”
…
Wen Chaosheng parted ways from his parents, claiming he had dinner plans with friends that evening.
The couple secretly hoped their son would be a bit more outgoing and make more friends, so they didn’t press for details. They simply waved him off.
Following Xi Zhui’s WeChat directions, Wen Chaosheng located a relatively unfamiliar SUV in the outer parking lot.
He climbed into the car, curiosity piqued. “Why the car switch? Have you been waiting long?”
“This one’s more convenient. I just picked up a few things and got here a short while ago.” Xi Zhui fastened Wen Chaosheng’s seatbelt for him and double-checked. “Nothing else on for tonight? Right?”
Wen Chaosheng nodded, anticipation flickering in his eyes. “So where are we headed tonight? Out to a restaurant, or ordering takeout at home?”
“Neither. We’ve got some time before it’s too late—” Xi Zhui glanced at the current time, fired up the engine, and chose to keep a touch of mystery.
“Brother, we’re not spending the night at home. Let’s try something different tonight.”
