Chapter 38: "Does It Feel Good to Touch?"

Zhou Yili sat with one leg crossed lazily, lost in thought. A tattoo? Could it be that Shen Jixing intended to give him a tattoo? That man carried himself with such aloof elegance, as if born to be served—hardly the image of someone who would lower his eyes and devote himself to inking tattoos on others.

Little Mo placed the freshly brewed coffee in front of him, shooting him a curious glance. "Bro, what are you thinking about? You're all flushed."

Zhou Yili took two gulps of iced coffee before his mind cleared. He glanced at Little Mo, who was bustling about, and tapped his long fingers on the table to get his attention.

"Mo, come here."

Little Mo was swamped with work. The original schedule had been upended by Zhou’s sudden decision to join a variety show, leaving them to burn the midnight oil catching up. Little Mo shuffled his chair closer, his fingers still clattering away on the keyboard. "What’s up, bro?"

"Do you think I’d suit a tattoo?"

"Of course!" Little Mo’s eyes sparkled. "Super cool! Super stylish!"

Zhou Yili already looked like a rebellious heartthrob—a tattoo would only make him even more striking.

But in the next moment, Zhou pointed to his face. "What if I get it here?"

Little Mo didn't understand, but he respected it. "That could work," he said, cradling his chin as if assessing a piece of art. "Maybe it’d have a sort of unconventional beauty. I don’t know if the public would accept it, but for me, I just can’t."

Zhou Yili delivered another blow. "Tattoo 3154789."

It took Little Mo several stunned seconds to recover, but risking a smack, he still voiced his honest thought. "Are you branding livestock?"

Inside the brightly lit office building, Little Mo’s shriek echoed like a pig being slaughtered.

"Shen Jixing really intends to humiliate me," Zhou Yili thought coldly as he stood. He refused to fall for it.

"Enough, you two, cut it out." Their manager, already nursing a headache at the sight of them, handed over an exquisite suit. "Change into this and shoot some cover photos for the album."

Zhou Yili's new album was still in preparation. The songs had been recorded, but not a single photo or MV had been shot yet—this troublesome child. He’d already pulled an all-nighter because of it.

…

Zhou Yili was not at home.

And Zhou Yili’s home was Shen Jixing’s home.

Shen Jixing moved with practiced ease through the house, found the blanket Zhou had tossed aside, and wrapped it around himself, lounging comfortably on the swing.

An incoming call: Chu Wen.

Peace is always broken by troublesome people.

"Hello?"

Chu Wen seemed surprised he answered so quickly, pausing before asking, "You’re not asleep yet?"

"I am," Shen Jixing replied calmly. "You’re speaking to my corpse right now."

Chu Wen was momentarily speechless, stung into silence.

"Is there something you need?" Shen Jixing got straight to the point.

Anyone else might have found him too arrogant—his name had just been linked to reports inviting complaints against Chu Wen, and now he was as cold and prickly as ever. But Chu Wen seemed used to it, his voice steady as he said, "I watched the variety show."

Shen Jixing replied, "I didn’t tell you to use QQ."

Chu Wen wanted to die.

"I just wanted to remind you that although you’ve managed to trip up Fang Siqian for now, what you’ve uncovered isn’t enough to make him disappear completely."

Chu Wen had mentored Shen Jixing for a year. He knew that once Shen Jixing set his sights on someone he disliked, he acted with ruthless finality.

"Have you found anything else?" Chu Wen asked.

He came from humble beginnings, and his network wasn’t enough to erase Fang Siqian entirely, but he clearly wanted to help.

"No," Shen Jixing replied.

Chu Wen didn’t believe him. He knew Shen Jixing didn’t trust him. For all his softness, Shen Jixing was also merciless—once betrayed, he’d never look back.

"Alright, I’ll keep an eye out for you on my end," Chu Wen said after a moment’s hesitation. "But you should be careful around him. He’s met with Mr. Bo."

At that name, Shen Jixing’s gaze shifted slightly, but he said nothing.

"Get some rest. Good night," Chu Wen said gently, ending the call. Only after a long moment did Shen Jixing return to himself.

He opened his laptop and searched for something: "Umbrella on a Rainy Night."

It was the first time Shen Jixing saw this photograph. Fine rain fell in silvery threads, soaking the blind girl’s black hair; the shimmer on her face could have been tears or rain. A man in a black trench coat stood before her, his profile pale and cool as snow, holding a black umbrella over her.

A streetlamp cast its light over them, lending the scene an air of fated redemption.

In that moment, the idol became flesh and blood.

Shen Jixing studied it quietly for several seconds, then gave a soft, self-mocking laugh. "So that’s how it is."

He closed the photo and opened his chat window, typing a message.

[S]: Try to help me find Ruan Jia. I want to see her.

[Mystery Contact]: Is it urgent?

[S]: Yes.

[Mystery Contact]: I’ll check tomorrow and get back to you.

Just as Shen Jixing was about to send his thanks, another message came through.

[Mystery Contact]: I’m eating king crab right now, not at the office.

Shen Jixing: "…"

Why was everyone eating king crab?

Was king crab really that delicious?

Shen Jixing hadn’t had dinner. He wandered downstairs, but with his delicate stomach, he settled for some simple bread and warm milk, then went back upstairs to sleep.

Zhou Yili wasn’t home.

There was no lavish dinner waiting for him.

…

Zhou Yili didn’t return until just before dawn.

He was so tired he could barely lift his fingers. He glanced at the stairs to the second floor, wondering why he ever bothered to have them installed—they seemed like an insurmountable divide.

He gave up and collapsed onto the sofa, falling asleep at once—

As the first light of morning crept in, Shen Jixing, dressed casually, came downstairs and spotted him.

He paused, then walked over and asked, "When did you get back?"

The person on the sofa didn’t respond.

Shen Jixing noticed the suit he wore—it wasn’t the one from yesterday’s shoot.

So he’d spent the night out, and even changed clothes before coming home.

Shen Jixing slowly crouched down, fixing him with a cool gaze. "Where have you been?"

Still no response.

He was sleeping like a little blue pig.

Shen Jixing noticed a tag dangling from the suit and flipped it over: "Falling Star Album Shoot No. A01."

The deep black material was adorned on the shoulders with hand-stitched silver stars, like a fragment of the Milky Way. A tuft of blue-dyed hair poked up from the collar, oddly endearing.

Shen Jixing had never touched Zhou’s blue-highlighted hair before—each strand was bold and rebellious. Unable to resist, he gave it a playful tug.

Still no reaction.

Shen Jixing crouched by the sofa, puzzled. "Did you pull an all-nighter? Is that why you’re sleeping so deeply?"

Perhaps only at moments like this did he dare let his gaze linger on the scar behind Zhou Yili’s ear.

Behind the glittering black diamond earring, a pink, uneven scar curved across the skin.

Shen Jixing’s gaze rested there for several seconds. Then, almost involuntarily, his fingers brushed against it, tracing the unhealed line.

In the quiet of night, did Zhou Yili ever touch that scar and wonder: how could people be so cruel and heartless?

Shen Jixing’s hand lingered behind his ear, his cool eyes momentarily lost.

He didn’t realize that was Zhou Yili’s most sensitive spot.

So when he came to himself, he was met with a pair of drowsy, bloodshot eyes, dark as the deepest pool, fixed right on him.

Staring straight at him.

A horror story unfolding before his eyes.

With a sultry, sleep-drenched gaze and a lazy, magnetic voice, Zhou Yili asked, "Does it feel good to touch?"