Chapter 56

Steam filled the bathroom, thick mist curling in the air.

The sharp click of the door lock.

It wasn’t clear if it had always been that loud, or if this time it just seemed especially so.

Shen Li paused at the sound, his hands stilling for a moment. He pondered briefly before calling out to the person outside.

“I left your dinner on the table.”

“Mm, I saw it.”

Qian Xingzhi gave a low murmur in response, and then there was silence.

Shen Li’s gaze darkened slightly. He listened intently for a bit longer but didn’t pursue it further.

The shower continued to pour over the old scars on his legs. Shen Li sat on the bath chair, propping his elbow against the wall, his legs slightly parted. He lowered his eyes and continued meticulously cleaning his body, his expression blank.

Eventually, the awkward position made it too difficult to continue. His back pressed against the cold tile wall, the sharp jut of his shoulder blades leaving a trail of water on the surface. He closed his eyes and sat still for a long while before reaching once more for the body wash bottle, his fingertips trembling faintly.

Smack!

The bottle tumbled into the pooled water, spinning as it bumped against the frosted glass door.

Shen Li’s arm knocked against the metal rack with a dull thud.

The faucet shifted from the impact, the water flow suddenly surging stronger. It rushed along his prominent collarbones toward his chest, streams trickling from the ends of his hair, rolling down the dip of his spine, swirling near the base before trailing away.

From outside came the sound of slippers dragging across the wooden floor, followed by Qian Xingzhi’s concerned voice.

“Did you fall?”

“No, just the bottle dropped.”

“How much longer?”

“Ten minutes.”

“. . . Alright, you finish up and I’ll go after.”

Qian Xingzhi’s voice was gentle and low, and with that, the sound of slippers tapping against the floor receded briskly.

Shen Li had no idea what he meant by that and couldn’t be bothered to guess at his thoughts. He simply quickened the pace of his movements.

Truth be told, Shen Li could have showered much earlier. He’d deliberately waited until now and hadn’t locked the door, yet Qian Xingzhi still hadn’t come in.

Five minutes later, Shen Li toweled off with a stony expression, awkwardly but methodically applying lubricant where needed. Once his clothes were on and everything securely covered, he stared at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror for a long moment.

He didn’t need to wipe away the steam to know that his pale, gaunt body was indeed far from the attractiveness it had held ten years ago.

So Shen Li lifted his eyelids and gave himself a quick glance.

No more than five seconds.

Then he grabbed the hairdryer—the very one Qian Xingzhi had scorned—and stepped out of the bathroom.

Perhaps Shen Li opened the door too abruptly.

In the modestly sized room, Qian Xingzhi lay sprawled on his narrow bed, his tall frame stretched out. The hem of his deep gray linen shirt was rolled up, revealing a glimpse of toned waist.

Worst of all was the white T-shirt draped over his face—the one Shen Li had hand-washed just last night. Now it hung loosely over Qian Xingzhi’s straight nose, rising and falling gently with his breaths.

Hearing the door, the man showed no sign of guilt. He simply lifted the shirt from his face at a leisurely pace. His half-lidded peach-blossom eyes flicked toward Shen Li, dark and inscrutable.

“You’re done?”

“Mm.” Shen Li responded politely, then plugged in the hairdryer the next instant, as if he hadn’t noticed the shirt at all.

Qian Xingzhi said nothing more and headed straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

The shirt was left discarded on the pillow, ignored by all.

Shen Li’s wrist tensed, the blue veins standing out, then relaxed. Once his hair was dry, he pulled out his iPad and got to work.

He double-checked the data in the file Zhou Yulin had sent, confirmed it was correct, then went out to borrow Xiao Chen’s phone. After fussing with the email for ages, he finally sent the file off.

He slipped into the shadows behind the bar counter and called Zhao Rong.

No answer. So he tried Lin Jie next—if he remembered right, she was off during the day, dropping Geng Qiuqiu off for orientation, but working the night shift.

Still no pickup; she was probably on duty.

Shen Li replied to Geng Qiuqiu’s message first, then checked in with his mother. Once all his replies were done, he glanced at Zhou Yulin’s apology from that morning:

[Zhou Yulin]: 【Sorry, my phone auto-shutdown last night before I could finish the call】

[Zhou Yulin]: 【There are still some things I want to say to you】

Shen Li sighed and closed his eyes briefly.

Logically, Zhou Yulin had handed him an easy out, and he really should take it. But for some reason, Shen Li swiped left on the chat interface instead, leaving it unanswered.

His finger tapped the pinned Little Tongqian icon. The chat was still frozen from days ago.

Qian Xingzhi’s profile picture was that silly dog avatar—their old Tongqian.

He opened the man’s Moments after a long time away. The background was pitch black, with a stark boundary line beneath:

—Showing only the past month’s posts to friends—

At some point, Qian Xingzhi had stopped posting much.

Shen Li narrowed his eyes, his fingertip lingering on the black void for a good while. Finally, he returned to their chat.

He thought for a long time.

In the end, Shen Li changed the nickname he’d deleted seven years ago back to “Xingzhi.”

As he swiped from the profile settings to the chat, he saw “The other party is typing…” at the top.

It lasted only two seconds before Qian Xingzhi’s message arrived:

[Xingzhi]: 【Where are you?】

Shen Li: . . .

Just as he started typing “bar” in pinyin, two more messages from Qian Xingzhi popped up:

[Xingzhi]: 【I’m done showering】

[Xingzhi]: 【Tonight?】

The words were curt and detached, like asking if he’d be working overtime.

Shen Li’s eyes narrowed. He stared blankly for a moment, expressionless, then deleted the half-typed pinyin and fired off a curt, indifferent reply:

“Wait for me back there.”

Then he powered off the phone.

As he headed upstairs to his room, the crystal chandelier cast tendril-like light spots on the white walls. The directors murmured softly about reshoots, while cheers of “Uno!” from Ke Jiujiu echoed from the living room—distant clamor from another world.

Shen Li gripped his phone, unable to stop replaying that recent exchange with Qian Xingzhi. The distant, secretive tone felt eerily like their chats seven years ago, right before divorce, just prior to intimacy.

Yet on second thought, not quite.

There was also a hint of something older, more awkward—like the tentative probes before their very first time.

. . .

Polite to the extreme, yet not entirely polite.

Otherwise, Qian Xingzhi wouldn’t have draped his shirt over his face like some pervert.

Brazen and forward, yet not entirely so.

Otherwise, during their marriage, given the man’s nature, what he’d cover his face with now would likely be something far more intimate than a T-shirt.

Shen Li’s gaze dimmed as he entered the room. Qian Xingzhi had just finished mopping and was tidying the shag rug by the floor-to-ceiling window.

Seeing Shen Li, he glanced away expressionlessly—guilty as charged, really. He kicked over a suitcase onto the rug, as if to say:

Just routine cleaning because I’m neat, nothing more.

It made sense, of course.

This was the Program Group’s turf, not home. Doing it facing the window was out of the question.

Shen Li closed the door without expression, locked it, and gave Qian Xingzhi a faint glance before awkwardly retreating to the bathroom again.

There wasn’t much to wash; he’d just showered. Now it was just hands.

But if he went out like this . . .

Shen Li’s dark eyes fixed on the sink, lost in thought for who knew how long.

Then came a polite knock—perfectly measured, pausing between raps—on the unlocked bathroom door.

Shen Li glanced over but didn’t respond.

The door was yanked open from outside in an instant. Someone seized his waist from behind, a large hand pressing against his hip bone. That warm, familiar body heat enveloped him, scorching against his back.

Bang!

Click.

Door shut and locked in one smooth motion.

“Right here—more private.” Qian Xingzhi’s voice was even, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Shen Li frowned, about to say lying down might be easier for him.

But soft, meticulous kisses landed simultaneously on his neck and shoulder blade.

As his spine stiffened under the touch, Shen Li noticed the mirror’s lingering steam, hazy and indistinct—much like the view back then.

Just like over a decade ago, in that rental apartment, the reflection of the two of them in the mirror.

“. . .”

Shen Li pressed his thin lips together and turned his head. “Better on the bed. I can’t stand here long.”

Before the words finished.

Shen Li felt a strong arm hook around his lower back, lifting him off the ground in a flash. The cool edge of the sink pressed through his clothes into his skin. Instinctively, as he was hoisted up, he grabbed Qian Xingzhi’s shoulders.

His fingers dug into the fabric, but Qian Xingzhi wedged himself between Shen Li’s knees. The tailored wool of his trousers brushed against Shen Li’s calves, and only then did Shen Li realize the man had changed into formal attire.

Thinking back . . .

He had once casually mentioned liking him best in slacks.

Just offhand, really. Even under repeated prodding, it was a throwaway line, barely thought through.

To avoid kisses on his neck—or anywhere visible—Shen Li turned his head away, mouth opening to refuse.

But fingers rough with calluses gripped his chin, tilting it up. His lips were captured firmly, his trembling gaze locking with the deep pools of Qian Xingzhi’s eyes.

The overhead light fractured into shards of silver in the mirror, imprinting their overlapping figures across countless reflected worlds.

Qian Xingzhi’s low, husky explanation brushed his lips with warm breath:

“The Program Group has spare room keys. Tonight, we’ll do it here . . .”

Shen Li’s throat bobbed. His left hand instinctively caught Qian Xingzhi’s loosely dangling tie—such a pretense—and wrapped the silk around his hand once, like leashing a dog. He tugged Qian Xingzhi’s neck forward.

Any further excuses died between their pressed lips.

Shen Li leaned in first, his kiss tentative yet tender.

Careful and gentle.

The fourth time.

This was Shen Li’s fourth kiss.

Qian Xingzhi’s Adam’s apple bobbed dangerously under the silk restraint. He tilted his head back, pious and obedient, accepting it fully.

Until his single hand braced against the mirror, cool glass fogging under his palm, while the other trailed down Shen Li’s taut spine, zeroing in on the third protruding vertebra—the one that made him shiver.

With just one press of his lips, the corners of Shen Li’s pale, aloof eyes reddened faintly. He scowled, turning his face away as he hastily ended the kiss he’d started himself. Instinctively, he even shielded his eyes with his wrist.

He dodged.

But Qian Xingzhi’s voice rang out, cold and low, laced with a husky edge.

“…I’ve touched every inch of your body.”

It was a plain statement of fact, yet it sounded like boasting.

Shen Li’s brows knitted tightly. Rationally weighing his options with the sink countertop digging into his back, he still concluded it wasn’t feasible.

A flurry of positions flashed through his mind, but he doubted his injured knee could withstand any of them…

The next second, however, Qian Xingzhi pinned him against the mirror and deepened the kiss with even greater force.

It had to be admitted—Qian Xingzhi was truly skilled at kissing.

Skilled to a degree that stood in stark contrast to his performance in other areas.

The thought made Shen Li feel a faint deflation, as if he were already dreading the return to work. He merely scowled coldly, instinctively enduring his ex-husband’s increasingly blatant advances until those kisses trailed downward…

Only then did Shen Li realize what he intended.

But by the time he thought to refuse again, it was already too late.

Compared to their past encounters, Qian Xingzhi was far less talkative this time, so every movement came as a sudden shock. Yet each one carried an unmistakable intensity, as if pent-up desire had sharpened it to a razor’s edge.

“Xingzhi! You…”

Their fingers intertwined.

Qian Xingzhi’s watery eyes met his with a profound gaze, but he ignored the protest and buried his head once more.

Shen Li’s brows furrowed even deeper. Only then did he understand—Qian Xingzhi wasn’t doing this to take him; he was here purely to serve him.

…

Helpless, Shen Li pressed his lips into a thin line. He lowered his gaze to Qian Xingzhi’s devastatingly handsome face and made no further objection, instead sinking his teeth into the back of his own hand—

Perhaps it was a habit ingrained during their marriage. When the barriers of reason began to crumble, he always resorted to pain as a final bulwark.

Qian Xingzhi had done this for him plenty of times before, but Shen Li had never particularly enjoyed it.

He disliked it on a psychological level, and it never brought enough physical pleasure either.

Sometimes Qian Xingzhi would accidentally graze him with his teeth, sending pain shooting through him strong enough to curl his toes.

But this time, Qian Xingzhi’s movements seemed exceptionally careful, almost reverent…

…And more importantly.

It felt like…

It was actually…

—?

Shen Li’s frown deepened into furrows of rational yet chaotic confusion, prompting him to call a halt first.

“—Hold on.”

His knuckles trembled faintly as he straightened his spine. Grabbing a fistful of the man’s hair, he yanked the head from his lap with a bit more force.

A faint flush crept across Qian Xingzhi’s peerlessly handsome face, mingled with a hint of irritation at the interruption. His soulful peach-blossom eyes narrowed dangerously, their profound depths pinning Shen Li’s exquisitely refined features. He exhaled softly.

“What’s wrong?”

“…”

Shen Li’s clear, dignified eyes—now unmistakably aroused—were furrowed in utmost seriousness.

He offered no reply for a long moment.

Assuming some muscle tension was causing discomfort, Qian Xingzhi lowered his head again to check on Shen Li’s injured leg.

But the instant his palm brushed the knee, Shen Li ruthlessly pulled away.

Where Qian Xingzhi’s gaze fell next, Shen Li’s hands gripped the edge of the sink so fiercely that his knuckles had turned white.

…

He still didn’t like it?

Qian Xingzhi’s eyes darkened further. He started to rise from his kneeling position, intending to stand and tell Shen Li they could stop if he wasn’t enjoying it. But suddenly, the decorative tie around his neck tightened—

The next second.

Shen Li eyed him coldly, using the tie to force Qian Xingzhi’s head up and compel him to his feet.

Qian Xingzhi’s right hand shot out to brace against the mirror. The muscles in his forearm tensed into sharp lines, veins snaking prominently beneath his honeyed skin as adrenaline surged. Instinctively, he gripped Shen Li’s waist, his expression composed as he met Shen Li’s gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

He asked again, with saintly patience.

But on Shen Li’s cool, solemn face, a trace of detached, rational suspicion surfaced—like an investigator scrutinizing a suspect.

“You say that over these seven years—”

” Hm?”

Qian Xingzhi let him lead without expression, his Adam’s apple bobbing as professional poise masked his primal hunger.

Much like a moon-devouring tengu who had bowed its head, forcing itself not to gaze upon its forbidden moon.

Shen Li pondered for a long moment before continuing gravely.

“…You say you haven’t slept with anyone else. Are you trying to fool me?”