Chapter 61: Rest

Wen Jiang: Sent her off.

Wen Jiang: Little Dino all floppy.jpg

“……”

Cute. Xie Qi’s face remained expressionless as he screenshotted the chat interface.

After taking the screenshot, his fingers paused as he prepared to type a reply. He tilted his head toward his diagonal rear, where Wen Jiang had his arm draped over the back of the sofa chair, watching him with no particular expression.

In a coffee shop, Wen Jiang and Huo Xia Tong had talked at one end, while Xie Qi had eavesdropped from the other using subtle air currents.

It had been a joint plan between the two of them, but they hadn’t intended to both show up to ask Huo Xia Tong for the favor—that would feel too intimidating. Besides, Xie Qi always carried an innate “don’t bother me” aura. Wen Jiang figured he was drawing the short straw as the shorter one, so he’d handled the solo conversation part.

Xie Qi had snuck in quietly. Now, caught red-handed, he showed no awkwardness at all. Instead, he took the initiative: “Heading back?”

“Yeah.” Wen Jiang replied. Xie Qi smoothly took his hand, leading him out the door, into the car, closing the door, sliding into the driver’s seat, and heading to Xie Qi’s House—all in one seamless motion.

Wen Jiang, buckled into the passenger seat: ……?

Not that it’s a bad idea.

The term “Xie Qi’s House” was a bit vague. For one, it wasn’t the main residence and wasn’t lived in often, so it lacked that emotional “home” vibe. For another, it was hard to say how many “Xie Qi’s Houses” there actually were in Yanhai. To describe it properly, you’d need add-ons like “Xie Qi’s coming-of-age gift” or “the one with three hidden rooms in a single building.”

Since Xie Qi had always stressed that only the periodically cleaning housekeeper and Wen Jiang had ever been there—and no third person ever would—Wen Jiang decided to rename it the Secret Base (non-Qian Lang edition).

After getting out of the car, the building before them felt especially familiar. He’d stayed there for two nights just recently. Wen Jiang poked around and noticed some changes: snacks and drinks restocked in the cabinets, new throw pillows on the sofa. He checked the room he’d stayed in last time—the layout was completely refreshed with new bedding and carpet, plus a new small bookshelf stocked with two or three rows of hardcovers.

This renovation feels like settling into a new home, Wen Jiang thought curiously. He asked, “You planning to live here from now on?”

Xie Qi had been trailing behind him the whole time. At the question, he froze for a second before probing, “……You want to move in long-term?”

“Nope.” Why would I move into your house? Wen Jiang shot back bluntly.

“Oh.” Xie Qi’s face fell, sounding distinctly unhappy. He wasn’t ready to give up, though. After a moment, he added meaningfully, “This is your room. You can come stay whenever you want.”

……Like a bird building a nest. Wen Jiang inexplicably recalled how many bird species meticulously decorated their nests before mating season to boost their appeal.

Thinking of Qian Lang’s words—”Isn’t he too lonely?”—and considering Xie Qi’s unstable Supernatural Ability and its quirky solution—which meant he’d probably have to come back here a few more times—Wen Jiang eyed the layout that suited him perfectly everywhere. He beckoned Xie Qi over.

His hand had barely lifted when Xie Qi seemed to get it. With a casually indifferent expression, he bent down and placed his head under Wen Jiang’s palm.

“?” Even if you act all nonchalant like that… Wen Jiang kept his poker face as he naturally ruffled Xie Qi’s hair. “Short stays are fine.”

Xie Qi’s mood visibly brightened. True to his excellent qualities, he savored the head pat while saying, “Then tonight…”

Wen Jiang pulled his hand away. “Not tonight.”

***

Though he wasn’t staying overnight, the afternoon had been free time anyway. With the play done and the talk finished, Wen Jiang slipped into a lazy phase. He hugged a throw pillow on the Secret Base sofa, watching a movie while occasionally scrolling his phone—hunting for suitable practice missions and checking the personal info sheet Lin Xun had sent him.

The unfinished long-term practice assignment was still chasing him down.

Luckily, it wasn’t urgent. Lin Xun wanted Wen Jiang to play him at a party, and the when and where were entirely up to Lin Xun’s whims. After some negotiation—or rather, Lin Xun’s “request”—Wen Jiang had carved out six or seven days for rest and character study.

A breeze from the air currents ruffled Wen Jiang’s hair. Xie Qi sat beside him, watching the movie too. The screen wasn’t playing some trendy hit but an old black-and-white classic. Once it ended, the next one started—now in color, with the characters’ clothes and props visibly brighter.

Xie Qi’s attention wasn’t on the film. After a bit, he asked Wen Jiang, who had shifted to a half-reclined sprawl on the sofa, “You actually watching?”

“Yeah.” Wen Jiang glanced at his phone and replied flatly, “Multitasking.”

Xie Qi chuckled inexplicably, not sure why it amused him. He tossed out casually, “That’s pretty impressive.”

“I think so too.” Wen Jiang agreed, scrolling through cooking pages to a bread recipe that caught his eye.

He looked so relaxed now—soft hair draped down, head just a handspan from Xie Qi’s. Xie Qi gazed down at Wen Jiang’s profile, recalling the soft touch he’d brushed against in his earlier anxiety.

Xie Qi’s fingertips—and heart—itched faintly. After a silent moment, he reached out, carefully touching Wen Jiang’s cheek.

Wen Jiang glanced over puzzled—not at the touch itself, but because Xie Qi had completely suppressed his presence.

Why go full stealth mode? It’s not like my face is a bomb button.

Wen Jiang returned to his phone and proactively asked, “What do you want to say?”

Pulling him back home, trailing behind everywhere—now they were finally alone. Had he rehearsed his little secret talk?

Xie Qi’s hand paused, then he let out a soft laugh, sounding a bit wistful. Sometimes, he felt utterly at a loss with Wen Jiang.

“I overheard you talking to Huo Xia Tong.”

There wasn’t much to say, really. Xie Qi recapped the preamble, then thought that his situation with Wen Jiang wasn’t like Qian Lang and Huo Xia Tong’s.

When he’d first heard Wen Jiang’s plan, Xie Qi had mulled over a lot. He understood Qian Lang’s approach perfectly—he’d planned to head straight into the Secret Tower himself. Qian Lang getting a girlfriend had been the unexpected part.

That night on the cruise had been calm at first. Compared to “I’m leaving, so might as well confess,” Xie Qi had leaned toward saying nothing. He’d always thought it was unnecessary, not wanting to complicate Wen Jiang’s feelings right before leaving—maybe it’d make Wen Jiang remember him longer? That thought had stirred him a bit, but he’d chosen silence in the end.

Later, Xie Qi realized the real reason he hadn’t spoken: confessing on the eve of departure felt like closure and release.

Because he was leaving, it would punctuate the past emotions. Saying it out loud meant bidding them farewell. The entity named “Wen Jiang” would shrink into a backward glance, a handful of dust scattered by the wind—fading smaller and paler in his heart, insignificant, as he “moved forward.”

How could he allow that?

He wanted to carry those feelings, thinking of Wen Jiang living on long and prosperously. That would be the nectar sustaining him longer in the Secret Tower—not bitter endurance.

Then Wen Jiang’s text arrived like a miracle.

After Wen Jiang and Qian Lang left, Xie Qi had only played a few rounds of Truth or Dare before excusing himself. On the drive to the airport, he got the message.

Even now, he could vividly recall that moment. Brain blank, he yelled for the driver to stop. Before the car fully halted, he flung open the door and jumped out—like leaping from his predestined path without looking back.

The car had reached the suburbs by then, green belts planned for development outside. Xie Qi crouched on the ground, nose filled with the scent of grass and wood.

The driver, startled, scrambled out but hesitated a few steps away. Xie Qi ignored him, burying his head in his arms, gasping deeply. He clutched his phone like gripping a thread from fate’s loom—or his own bones and organs.

He gripped so tight his hands shook, heart pounding in panicked frenzy, leaking painful juices. But the pain’s source was too sweet, igniting unprecedented vitality. Like a seed absorbing water, sprouting new shoots through his heart’s fissures. For an instant, Xie Qi thought he’d burst into joyful tears.

So this is the feeling.

Night wind blew down the empty street, stars casting cold light, cooling his fevered body. Calming slightly, Xie Qi thought that Qian Lang—extremely averse to close bonds—turning into a lovestruck fool at a confession made perfect sense.

But something felt off. A subtle dissonance, faintly enveloping him. Like if he probed it, just touched it, it would pop—shattering like a iridescent bubble in sunlight.

In that instant, Xie Qi instinctively felt unprecedented fear.

……Whatever.

He finally stood and said, “I’m not going.”

Looking back now, desire had probably sprouted then—like an arrow loosed from the bow, irreversible. Qian Lang might abandon it for Huo Xia Tong’s future; Xie Qi once thought he could too, but now it felt impossible.

Even if things deviated from expectations, so what? That odd dissonance was growing daily. Ignoring it, Wen Jiang’s rejections hinted at poor outcomes.

But Wen Jiang was here now, right beside him—reachable, more relaxed than with anyone else, unguarded, unrestrained. Not at all like a high mountain flower, just lazily sprawled.

No one else should ever touch Wen Jiang like this again.

Xie Qi’s hand steadied, palm gently conforming to Wen Jiang’s skin.

So fragile, like it could break easily… Unlike the theater panic, his heart burned in another way. Unable to resist, Xie Qi rubbed his thumb lightly.

Wen Jiang blinked, suddenly sitting up from the sofa. He turned to Xie Qi and caught the devastated look in his eyes. Xie Qi opened his mouth, a hint of uncontainable grievance spilling out first: “This isn’t okay either?”

Haven’t we passed the hand-holding-only phase?! So, how long to get back to more touching? This month?

……Huh? Wen Jiang looked at him innocently. “Qian Lang’s calling.”

He said he wanted to talk tonight.

—Five minutes later, Qian Lang stared expressionlessly at the two on his screen—one utterly composed, the other scowling fiercely. He declared his “beat around the bush, take it slow, divide and conquer” plan temporarily bankrupt.

You two aren’t usually stuck together on calls. Why today of all days?

Qian Lang felt like he had nothing left to discuss.