Chapter 53: Time Flies

At the same time, only one thought remained in Ji Zhi’s mind—

He couldn’t keep pretending any longer. This had far exceeded the limits of what he could endure.

Ji Zhi could no longer maintain his fragile facade. Overwhelming panic and shame crashed over him like a tidal wave. Before that hand could take any further action, he abruptly opened his eyes. His body instinctively curled up as he tried to retreat backward, only to find the mattress blocking his escape.

“Awake?”

Duan Zhao’s voice was low and husky, laced with a knowing tone that betrayed no surprise whatsoever.

He didn’t withdraw his hand at Ji Zhi’s sudden awakening. Instead, he took advantage of the position to press his palm firmly against the hip bone at the edge of Ji Zhi’s sleep pants. The scorching heat of his touch nearly seared into the skin.

In the dim light, Ji Zhi met Duan Zhao’s gaze. Those eyes, usually veiled with calculated warmth and pretense, now churned openly with dark, surging desire—like an unfathomable vortex ready to swallow him whole.

“I… I just woke up…” Ji Zhi’s voice was hoarse from sleep and quivering with barely suppressed tremors. He made a final desperate attempt to struggle, reaching out to push away the hand resting on him. But Duan Zhao easily seized his wrist and pinned it to the pillow beside his head.

“Is that so?” Duan Zhao leaned down until their noses nearly brushed.

Earlier, when they’d entered the room, Duan Zhao had peered down Ji Zhi’s collar but hadn’t spotted any obvious red marks. To be safe, though, he’d wanted to check more thoroughly.

After they finished washing up, Duan Zhao noticed Ji Zhi had closed his eyes. Though he looked asleep, there were clear differences from when he truly slumbered, so Duan Zhao quickly realized Ji Zhi was faking it.

But he didn’t call him out right away. Instead, he went along with it.

Watching Ji Zhi clearly struggling to hold back, yet too afraid to wake up, stirred a sense of nostalgia and amusement in Duan Zhao. It reminded him of Ji Zhi’s old livestream days.

Seeing Duan Zhao’s expression, Ji Zhi realized he must have been exposed long ago.

He wanted to say something, but his eyelashes trembled violently, and no words would come. He could only lift his eyes to meet Duan Zhao’s gaze.

Duan Zhao let out a low chuckle, reading Ji Zhi’s embarrassment clearly. He refrained from teasing him further.

Instead, he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the sharply rising and falling hollow of Ji Zhi’s collarbone. His tongue tip lightly licked along the protruding bone, feeling the intense shudder ripple through the body beneath him.

The wet, heated kisses trailed slowly upward along the line of the collarbone, finally capturing Ji Zhi’s sensitive earlobe between his teeth. He ground against it gently, not too hard or soft.

At the same time, Duan Zhao’s voice murmured in Ji Zhi’s ear: “I told you, don’t lie to me anymore.”

Ji Zhi had never heard Duan Zhao’s words so clearly. He nodded frantically.

Only then did Duan Zhao pull back. He slowly and methodically buttoned Ji Zhi’s shirt, one fastening at a time.

The shift was so abrupt that, if not for the lingering sensation of those heated kisses on his skin, Ji Zhi might have thought it was all a hallucination.

He glanced cautiously at Duan Zhao, who had been focused on him the whole time and immediately met his eyes.

“Too late,” Duan Zhao said.

In truth, Duan Zhao had stopped not because of the hour, but because he’d sensed the tangible fear radiating from Ji Zhi.

This also confirmed for Duan Zhao that Ji Zhi could endure quite a bit before reaching his core limits.

It seemed Ji Zhi really might be the straight guy he’d claimed to be.

But Duan Zhao had already figured out how to help him adjust to this.

As expected, relief washed over Ji Zhi’s face like a pardon from execution. Joy flickered in his eyes as he immediately lay back down, pulling the covers even tighter around himself.

Compared to going all the way, what Duan Zhao had done before hadn’t bothered Ji Zhi nearly as much.

Unaware that he’d unwittingly revealed a vulnerability, Ji Zhi watched nervously as Duan Zhao lay down beside him.

After that heart-pounding ordeal, Ji Zhi was utterly exhausted, body and soul.

He slept dreamlessly through the night, only stirring awake to the sound of knocking at the door.

As he called out in response, he hurried out of bed. A servant stood outside.

From what she said, Duan Zhao had already gotten up and gone to the company. Before leaving the house, he’d worried Ji Zhi might oversleep, so he’d asked the servant to remind him. Breakfast was ready, and Ji Zhi could head to his internship afterward.

After eating, Ji Zhi took the car to the company.

Yao Shan was already waiting for him there.

Ji Zhi had been anxious that she might know about his relationship with Duan Zhao and suspect he’d pulled strings to get the internship. He’d earned the spot through his own efforts and didn’t want others thinking he was riding coattails.

But Yao Shan asked nothing about it. She simply informed him matter-of-factly that, due to staff reshuffles on the show, he’d been assigned a new task.

Ji Zhi froze for a moment at her words, but he quickly realized Duan Zhao must have had the entertainment company’s boss soften the phrasing.

The thought eased the tension in his chest.

Just as Duan Zhao had said, the new work was much like his previous duties. However, Yao Shan’s focus remained on filming with the show crew, so she couldn’t supervise him full-time.

Sensing his nerves, she reassured him: “Don’t worry. If anything comes up, just contact me or the other colleagues.”

“Though honestly, with your skills, I don’t think you need me at all.”

Ji Zhi knew it was just encouragement, but the praise still made him flush with embarrassment.

Since the work was similar, he picked it up quickly. He was still handling interviews, but for a spin-off program that didn’t require going to the filming site.

When Yao Shan mentioned heading to the site that afternoon, Ji Zhi hesitated before asking about Jiang Yaolin.

Yao Shan replied, “His agent said Teacher Jiang has something today, so he probably won’t show.”

“It’s odd, though. He’s come to every rehearsal before, even this one. Maybe it clashed with another schedule…”

Her words sank Ji Zhi’s heart. He wondered if Jiang Yaolin’s sudden absence had anything to do with him.

Had he gone to the school looking for him again?

No, that didn’t make sense. Jiang Yaolin should know he’d be interning at the site today. If he wanted to find him, skipping work wouldn’t be the way.

Maybe it was unrelated after all…

A flurry of thoughts swirled in Ji Zhi’s mind, but the one person who could clarify was nowhere to be found—and he couldn’t contact him anyway.

The day flew by. After work, Ji Zhi took the car home.

Without the livestreams, his life settled into a remarkably peaceful routine for a while.

He’d worried Jiang Yaolin might track him down at school, but whether Duan Zhao had intervened or Jiang Yaolin had simply given up, Ji Zhi never saw him again. Occasional glimpses of Jiang Yaolin only came via trending searches or mall billboards.

Both Jiang Yaolin and Fu Huixu seemed to fade into the recesses of his memories.

In the blink of an eye, two and a half years slipped by.

The thrill of receiving his university acceptance letter felt like yesterday, yet the date on his phone and his class schedule clearly told Ji Zhi he was now deep into his junior year.

He packed away his textbook, exchanging greetings with classmates as he hurried out of the classroom.

Once word spread about his “family” connection to Duan Zhao, his classmates had warmed to him considerably. Though his deliberate aloofness had cooled some overtures, plenty persisted undeterred.

Even after two and a half years, Ji Zhi’s presence in the class remained notably heightened.

Chen Xingwen was waiting at the classroom door. Spotting Ji Zhi, he hurried over. “You’re finally done.”

“You asked Mr. Duan for permission, right? Told him we’re grabbing lunch together today?”

Ji Zhi nodded, glancing at him. “How else could we get out?”

Chen Xingwen was now a senior, deep into his internship at a top internet firm some distance from campus. His time on school grounds had dwindled accordingly.

But that hadn’t strained his bond with Ji Zhi. Whenever he was back, they made a point to meet up—usually with Duan Zhao’s approval.

Over those two and a half years, Duan Zhao had learned about Chen Xingwen’s existence.

Chen Xingwen’s straight-guy vibe was so blatant that Duan Zhao felt no threat from their friendship.

Hearing Duan Zhao’s take had left Ji Zhi with mixed feelings. Duan Zhao hadn’t fully bought his own claims of straightness, so why accept it so readily for Chen Xingwen?

Ji Zhi couldn’t help comparing himself to Chen Xingwen. The more he did, the more he realized he didn’t quite measure up as a “straight guy.”

Thanks to Ji Zhi, Duan Zhao and Chen Xingwen had crossed paths too. Duan Zhao had treated Chen Xingwen to meals multiple times at his favorite private restaurant.

At first, based on Ji Zhi’s descriptions, Chen Xingwen had been downright nervous—bordering on scared—about meeting Duan Zhao. But Duan Zhao was a master at handling people. After their first dinner, Chen Xingwen’s impression flipped entirely. When Duan Zhao gifted him a rare limited-edition figurine, Chen Xingwen’s admiration soared anew, leaving him in total awe.

He knew all about needing to check in with Duan Zhao for Ji Zhi’s outings. Two and a half years on, Ji Zhi still followed the rule faithfully. But whenever it involved Chen Xingwen, Duan Zhao always approved promptly.

Chen Xingwen had returned this time because the school needed their signatures on some paperwork, so they had summoned everyone back. After getting back to campus, he realized it had been a full month since he’d last seen Ji Zhi. That was when Chen Xingwen suggested they grab a meal together.

The two didn’t go anywhere fancy, though. They decided to eat at the school cafeteria instead.

It was Chen Xingwen’s choice, really. After trying the cafeteria at his company, he’d come to the conclusion that the school’s food was far superior. In fact, he’d developed a genuine love for it.

Ji Zhi: “…….”

Oh no. Chen Xingwen’s taste buds must have finally gone bad.

Still, Ji Zhi hadn’t eaten at the school cafeteria in ages himself, and since it was Chen Xingwen making the request, he nodded and agreed.

The cafeteria wasn’t too crowded that day. Ji Zhi and Chen Xingwen picked out their meals and settled at a quiet corner table.

No sooner had they sat down than Chen Xingwen couldn’t hold back any longer. He started venting to Ji Zhi about work. “I haven’t slept well in days…”

His job didn’t require dealing with a ton of people, but that didn’t stop others from micromanaging him—constantly demanding new features be added, all on ridiculously tight deadlines.

Chen Xingwen: “……”

Sure, he was a night owl at heart, but he liked staying up late to binge anime, not to grind away at work. Sometimes Ji Zhi would wake up to find despair-filled memes from Chen Xingwen, sent at three or four in the morning. Those moments made Chen Xingwen regret turning down Duan Zhao’s offer to join the company he’d recommended. It would have been a lot less stressful.

That said, the job wasn’t without its perks. Big internet companies paid handsomely, with food and housing fully covered. Chen Xingwen had managed to save up a decent amount, so shelling out for his tuition’s final payment wouldn’t leave him strapped for cash.

Ji Zhi let out a quiet sigh of relief in his heart as Chen Xingwen’s complaints shifted into excited daydreams about buying figurines.

At first, hearing about Chen Xingwen’s troubles at the company had worried him quite a bit. But seeing how quickly his friend had bounced back and adjusted put Ji Zhi’s mind at ease.

Chen Xingwen soon changed the subject, asking how Ji Zhi’s own work was going.

Ji Zhi was still interning at the same entertainment company, and things had settled into a steady routine. Recently, his department had merged into a larger one, bringing in more staff and interns. With two and a half years of experience under his belt, Ji Zhi was one of the veterans, so he often helped guide the newer interns.

Yao Shan had been promoted recently and was now a senior manager in charge of all external affairs, though she remained Ji Zhi’s direct superior.

She was quite fond of him and had already started asking whether he wanted to stay on full-time after graduation. With his familiarity with the department, he could climb the ranks quickly.

Ji Zhi was tempted, but Duan Zhao’s words gave him pause.

Duan Zhao hadn’t given up on trying to convince him to study abroad, and going overseas would naturally mean he couldn’t keep working at the entertainment company. Fortunately, graduation—and entering the workforce—were still a long way off, so Ji Zhi had plenty of time to think it over.