The aroma filled the entire small dining room.
Wen Chaosheng gazed at the lavish New Year’s Eve dinner spread across the table, genuine admiration shining in his eyes as he looked at Xi Zhui. “Impressive.”
The corners of Xi Zhui’s mouth lifted, and he accepted the praise without reservation. “Eat plenty later. Don’t waste my hard work.”
Black Boss, its scars healed and pain forgotten, had unilaterally declared a truce with Xi Zhui.
Right now, it perched excitedly on its owner’s shoulder, straining to assert its presence. “Eat! Boss eats too!”
“Hold on.”
Wen Chaosheng suddenly remembered something and dashed back to the bedroom.
Less than half a minute later, he returned to the table cradling Kuai Kuai’s thermostatically controlled terrarium.
Xi Zhui had already guessed his intention and chuckled to himself. “What are you doing?”
There was no room on the small dining table for the terrarium, so Wen Chaosheng held it awkwardly. “Can’t leave Kuai Kuai alone in the bedroom. It has to join us for New Year’s.”
Xi Zhui stepped closer and lifted Kuai Kuai out of the terrarium for him. “Just let it out directly. Set the tank on the floor—the room’s warm enough; it won’t get cold.”
“Oh.”
Wen Chaosheng did as instructed.
Kuai Kuai was placed at one corner of the table. It slowly poked its head out to survey the situation, while Black Boss scurried over and started shouting, “Kuai Kuai! Kuai Kuai! Dumb turtle! Dumb turtle!”
“…”
Kuai Kuai turned its little head to the other side, ignoring it completely.
Wen Chaosheng watched the two little creatures interact, the corners of his mouth curving up again.
Xi Zhui wiped his hands with a napkin. “Before we eat, I need to confirm something with you.”
Wen Chaosheng was caught off guard. “What?”
“I’ve been tied up in the kitchen all afternoon, so I want to have a drink later.” Xi Zhui hoisted a six-pack of beer. “But if I drink, I can’t drive, and on New Year’s Eve, good luck finding a ride-share.”
He laid out the situation plainly, meeting Wen Chaosheng’s eyes with candid ease. “Can I stay over tonight?”
“…”
Busy all afternoon—he must be worn out.
Wanting a drink for New Year’s made perfect sense.
Wen Chaosheng eyed the feast on the table, unable to come up with a reason to refuse. “Weren’t we going to ring in the New Year together anyway? The bedroom bed’s small—if you don’t mind squeezing in, stay.”
Xi Zhui chuckled. “Right, ring in the New Year together—gotta make it past midnight. So, I’ll drink?”
Wen Chaosheng nodded, then added, “I want some too.”
Xi Zhui paused as he cracked open a beer. “You?”
Wen Chaosheng knew exactly what he was doubting and replied with confidence. “My tolerance’s improved. I don’t pass out after one bottle anymore.”
Xi Zhui handed him the opened can first. “Here you go, but pace yourself. Otherwise, I’m worried you’ll get drunk and start getting handsy again.”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng’s face heated at that second half, and he shot back, “I won’t.”
The two sat down and began savoring the New Year’s Eve dinner.
After they’d sampled every dish, Xi Zhui finally opened up the conversation. “These years abroad—did you celebrate Spring Festival?”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng paused for a couple of seconds before answering honestly. “Not really.”
He hated spending traditional holidays with the Chang family mother and son. The one time he had was when Song Xuelan flew overseas to keep him company.
From that simple reply, Xi Zhui gleaned a trace of loneliness and isolation, his gaze deepening.
Then he heard the other man ask in return, “What about you? The Spring Festival vibe in China has to be way stronger than abroad.”
The Xi Family clung to strong traditional values.
When Elder Xi was alive, he always hoped his children would gather around him often. Even after the Xi Family’s eldest couple moved to Germany for business, they flew back to the Imperial Capital for every holiday to keep the old man company.
Xi Zhui replied, “The first couple of years, I came back to the Imperial Capital for New Year’s. Later ones, I was busy filming on set.”
Elder Xi was getting on in years, and every time Xi Zhui returned, the nagging about marriage never let up.
To dodge it, Xi Zhui started using “filming” as an excuse to stay away.
Their eyes met, then shifted away in a subtle, awkward dodge.
Wen Chaosheng pretended nonchalance as he probed. “You’ve built a solid career in the entertainment industry these years.”
“It’s going fine.”
Xi Zhui took a sip of beer and continued on his own. “After that surprise injury on Wolf River, I had to rest for half a year.”
“My family pushed me to quit the industry, but I couldn’t stomach fading out quietly, so I stuck with acting.”
From bit parts to second lead, and finally to the male lead.
He’d scooped up plenty of resources thanks to capital hype, but also weathered heaps of outside skepticism and abuse. Still, he brushed off the gossip.
No rumor cut as deep as that breakup text. Acting dulled his pain, and he hustled for every shot it gave him.
Xi Zhui almost never used stunt doubles. On-set injuries and blood were par for the course.
He’d plunged into sub-zero water at minus twenty degrees, filmed fight scenes in desert heat pushing fifty, even botched an explosion take—but he pushed past the fear and did it again.
One grueling story after another, those unposted acts of grit now spilled out calmly from Xi Zhui’s own lips.
“…”
Heartache and admiration twisted in Wen Chaosheng’s chest.
He hung on every word from start to finish, unwilling to miss a syllable, desperate to fill the six-year void of what he’d missed.
“My agent couldn’t watch it anymore and started booking me fashion gigs and magazine shoots after wraps.”
For Xi Zhui, those were like halftime breaks—he could slip out of character and reclaim a sliver of his real self.
“One year, I even hit Milan’s Fashion Week. Stayed a full half month—one of the rare breaks in six years.”
“…”
That location made a faint, imperceptible regret flicker in Wen Chaosheng’s eyes. He lowered his gaze, drained the last of his beer, and took the opening to ask:
“Xiao Chao mentioned that before committing to Rotten Mud, you planned an overseas vacation. Where were you thinking?”
Little did he know, the question landed right in Xi Zhui’s wheelhouse. “Italy.”
Florence.
The last lead he’d gotten on Wen Chaosheng’s overseas home.
“…”
The familiar name hit his ears.
Wen Chaosheng looked up reflexively, locking eyes with Xi Zhui.
Those pitch-black pupils shed their old sharpness, distance, and masks, brimming instead with a gentleness that felt almost familiar. “I was planning to go to Italy to find you.”
The words came plain, no frills, yet they carried a sincerity impossible to overlook.
Wen Chaosheng’s gaze quivered. For an instant, he suspected his tolerance had backslid—that drunken delusion was playing tricks. Unthinkingly, he gripped the empty beer bottle on the table.
Crinkle.
The nearly drained can crumpled with a faint crunch.
Wen Chaosheng yanked his hand under the table, digging his fingertips into his palm over and over. The sharp sting grounded him, proving it all too real.
He knew his face must look bizarre right now. “Y-you were going to find me? Why?”
Xi Zhui buried years of emotional turmoil and picked the one vital, straightforward truth. “I wanted to see what you’ve been up to abroad these years. If you’re doing okay.”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng met Xi Zhui’s eyes, sensing he was waiting for him to open up.
Xi Zhui had laid bare his career path; in fair exchange, he owed the honest rundown of his own six years.
“I-I’m doing okay.”
“Apart from refining the Rotten Mud script, I do paid translations of social articles and lit books, and sometimes scrape by with film analysis pieces.”
Wen Chaosheng shied from dredging up the full agony of those years.
Truth was, beyond grinding out work for cash, most of his time went to hospital runs with Chang Ming—checkups, treatments, weathering mood swings and outbursts.
In time, the unrelenting pressure landed him a mental health diagnosis.
Foreign therapy and meds cost a fortune. He’d started out resisting, toughing it solo; then symptoms snowballed, suicidal flashes hit, forcing him into treatment.
All his savings and earnings vanished into drug bills.
Luckily, Wen Chunshen and Song Xuelan had the foresight to buy investment funds in his name early on.
Before returning for Rotten Mud production, he’d sold off a hefty chunk out of guilt, scraping together the initial funding.
“…”
Xi Zhui knew cracking Wen Chaosheng open wouldn’t be easy, but he seized the moment. “Can you tell me now? Why the sudden breakup back then?”
Like those PI shots suggested—a new flame? Or some hidden story?
Xi Zhui bet on the latter.
Deep down, he’d never bought Wen Chaosheng as the two-timing type.
“…”
The long-awaited question landed, and the hand under the table clenched harder. “I’m sorry.”
Right after it blew up, Chang Ming’s suicide threats and his parents’ fierce backlash had left him drained. In a horribly irresponsible move, he’d dumped Xi Zhui unilaterally via text.
From day one, he’d owed him an explanation—and an apology.
But an apology wasn’t what Xi Zhui wanted. “Wen Chaosheng, I want to know why.”
“I…”
Wen Chaosheng thought of Chang Ming, oceans away, and his heart went ice-cold.
The man was a time bomb buried in his life—set to blow whenever, maybe taking bystanders down too.
Wen Chaosheng wavered a moment, then skirted Chang Ming entirely, opting for another raw truth. “Back then, my parents came to visit abroad and stumbled onto us dating.”
He could still picture that hallway showdown at the hospital, fresh bitterness flooding his chest.
“Both of them were firmly against it. My dad even brought up both our families’ elders to force me to break up with you. He said that if I didn’t obey, he’d cut ties with me as father and son.”
“…”
Xi Zhui’s heart clenched abruptly, a tangle of emotions surging over him in an instant. Long ago, he’d realized Wen Chaosheng’s fear and unease about making their relationship public.
But he hadn’t expected their bond to truly crumble over this harsh reality.
Although Wen Chaosheng had mentioned his parents, he still shouldered all the blame himself. “In the end, it’s because I’m not strong enough.”
“I-I didn’t dare gamble on our future. I figured a short, sharp pain was better than a long one, so I sent you that message.”
“Xi Zhui, I’m sorry.”
Wen Chaosheng’s mind flashed back to the scar on Xi Zhui’s body. “I had no idea you were badly hurt on set back then too.”
The thought of Xi Zhui waking up from his severe injuries only to see that inexplicable breakup message—and even get blocked by him—filled Wen Chaosheng with heartache and guilt.
Sadly, time couldn’t be rewound. He couldn’t change what had happened.
“…”
Too?
Who else had been injured?
Xi Zhui keenly picked up on that word, sensing that the man before him was still hiding part of the truth.
Bzzz—
Suddenly, his phone buzzed with an incoming call, cutting off the question on the tip of Xi Zhui’s tongue.
Wen Chaosheng glanced at the screen and hesitated for two seconds. “It’s my mom. I need to take this.”
Xi Zhui nodded slightly. “Go ahead.”
The bedroom door clicked shut, cutting off the sight of Wen Chaosheng’s slender back.
Xi Zhui slowly pulled his gaze away and stared at the half-empty beer bottle in his hand, his mind replaying Wen Chaosheng’s words over and over.
—My parents found out we’re dating.
—Both of them were dead set against it. My dad even invoked both our families’ elders to force me to end things with you.
—He said that if I didn’t, he’d disown me.
Xi Zhui didn’t dare dwell too deeply. Given Wen Chaosheng’s tendency to internalize everything, how had he silently shouldered all that pressure from the elders six years ago? How had he quietly taken the blame for the breakup?
Perhaps the truly immature and weak one back then had been Xi Zhui himself—the one without the power to convince Wen Chaosheng they had a future.
Xi Zhui drained the rest of the beer in one go.
The crisp sweetness of the malt spread quickly across his tongue, followed by a faint bitterness that lingered stubbornly.
…
Wen Chaosheng’s call with Song Xuelan lasted far longer than expected. By the time he emerged from the bedroom, nearly an hour had passed, and the food on the table had gone cold.
He met Xi Zhui’s gaze as the man sat waiting alone and explained apologetically, “My mom hasn’t seen me in ages. We just kept chatting.”
He hadn’t mentioned that he was spending New Year’s Eve dinner with Xi Zhui, to avoid any complications.
Xi Zhui replied, “It’s fine.”
But the call had disrupted their conversation’s rhythm and mood.
Remembering Wen Chaosheng’s mention of his parents’ opposition, Xi Zhui didn’t want him brooding over it on New Year’s Eve.
At least Wen Chaosheng had finally poked his head out of his shell. There would be other chances to talk more deeply; Xi Zhui had plenty of patience and time.
With that in mind, Xi Zhui changed the subject. “Are you full?”
Wen Chaosheng nodded, eyeing the leftovers on the table with some regret.
Xi Zhui read his expression. “Let’s save it for now. We can reheat it tomorrow; some dishes will still be good.”
“Okay.”
“Mind if I use your en-suite bathroom to shower?” Xi Zhui stood up. “I smell like cooking oil, and it’s bothering me.”
Wen Chaosheng didn’t object, though he said uncertainly, “Your change of clothes…”
Xi Zhui was prepared. “I brought some in my suitcase. Didn’t you already take it inside?”
Wen Chaosheng blinked as it dawned on him. “Oh, right.”
…
Haishi City banned fireworks.
Even on New Year’s Eve, not a single firecracker popped outside the window.
When Wen Chaosheng stepped out of the bathroom, Xi Zhui—now dressed in pajamas—was still perched on the edge of the bed, not yet under the covers.
Kuai Kuai had been returned to his heated tank and retreated into his shell to sleep. Black Boss, meanwhile, was still active at this hour, perched atop the computer screen and chattering away, mimicking speech patterns.
Earlier, Wen Chaosheng had wanted to add some festive cheer to his sterile rental apartment, so he’d fired up the computer and tuned into the live Spring Festival Gala.
Xi Zhui wasn’t really watching, just listening to the sound.
Black Boss, on the other hand, was hooked, picking up lines from a stand-up routine one after another. “Happy New Year! Gongxi facai!”
He even greeted the freshly showered Wen Chaosheng. “Hey there~ You’ve arrived?”
“…”
Wen Chaosheng couldn’t help but chuckle.
Xi Zhui found it both ridiculous and amusing. “Silly bird. You’ve got the accent all jumbled.”
Wen Chaosheng walked over. “What time is it?”
Xi Zhui glanced at him. “One hour till midnight. Do you want to turn in now, or stay up for the new year?”
Wen Chaosheng was back in the country for Spring Festival after so long. “I’ll stay up till midnight and then sleep.”
“Alright.”
The two sat side by side on the foot of the bed, passing the time with the Gala.
As midnight approached, Xi Zhui’s phone started vibrating nonstop with New Year’s greetings from business partners, his team, and friends.
He didn’t feel like replying to each one right now, so he switched his WeChat to his private account.
Bzz.
His childhood friends’ group chat lit up too.
This time, Xi Zhui tapped in. It was a message and video from Xia Fengyi:
“Brothers, Happy New Year!”
“One of you’s overseas, one’s in Haishi City—bet you can’t see the airport fireworks, huh? Don’t say I’m not a good bro!”
“Here’s a real-time fireworks video for your viewing pleasure. Pay up to watch.”
The video ran a full fifty-eight seconds.
Shen Zhaoye chimed in: “Does it have your obnoxious commentary? If so, I’m skipping.”
Xia Fengyi: “[Furious JPG] Pure fireworks edition—happy now!”
“…”
Xi Zhui caught sight of the exchange and turned to Wen Chaosheng. “Want to see some fireworks?”
Wen Chaosheng’s attention snapped away from the boring skit. “Fireworks? Where?”
“Feng Yi’s spending New Year in Xiang City. He sent it—no ban there.”
Xi Zhui opened the video in the group chat and held the phone in front of Wen Chaosheng.
—Boom!
The video erupted with the rapid cracks of fireworks blooming.
Hundreds of brilliant bursts lit up the night sky, magnificent and dazzling.
Wen Chaosheng let out a short gasp. “Wow, so many.”
For better viewing, Xi Zhui switched off the room lights. The colors in the video popped even more vividly.
Shoulder to shoulder, the two leaned in close, heads bent over the phone screen and its New Year’s fireworks. Less than a minute later, the eagerly awaited countdown began on the computer broadcast.
“Five, four, three…”
Wen Chaosheng felt his heartbeat quicken. At the stroke of midnight, he looked up at the person he most wanted to see. “Happy New Year.”
Xi Zhui spoke at the exact same moment. “Happy New Year.”
The fireworks video reached its end. At the same time, Xi Zhui hit mute on the computer atop the desk.
The bedroom, which had buzzed with festive noise moments before, fell utterly silent.
In the dimness, the glow from the computer screen flickered across Xi Zhui’s face. “Wen Chaosheng—”
“Yeah?”
In the shifting light, Wen Chaosheng caught the look in his eyes— just like that boy from the snowy Berlin night years ago, brimming with the same unwavering tenderness.
“Let’s get back together. Okay?”
