Wei Zhenye was still in the same black T-shirt and slacks he’d worn that morning. Work had been hectic — he hadn’t had time to change clothes, much less watch the live stream. But even with his schedule packed tight, he had still stopped a meeting midway and driven straight over after reading He Zheng’s teasing message.
The first thing he did when he entered was scan the room, searching for someone.
Following his gaze, He Zheng glanced behind him, misunderstanding his intent. “My mom’s on night shift. She won’t be back.”
As soon as he said it, he realized how wrong that sounded.
He’d texted Wei Zhenye asking him to come warm his bed, and now he was saying he was home alone — wasn’t that basically an invitation?
He coughed awkwardly and hurried to explain. “Don’t take that WeChat message seriously. I lost a PK, that’s all — it wasn’t on purpose.”
Wei Zhenye, after confirming no one else was home, calmly retracted his gaze. “I know you didn’t mean it. You’re not the kind of person who’d say that.”
He Zheng coughed again.
“I thought Yang Cheng was at your place — that he used your phone,” Wei Zhenye said. “That’s something he’d totally do.”
“You and Yang Cheng… you’re close, huh?” He Zheng asked, remembering Yang Cheng’s weird behavior and feeling a twinge of unease.
“Mm. Known him for eight years.” Wei Zhenye closed the door and walked over to the water dispenser, pouring himself a glass.
His back still to He Zheng, he added, “Our parents have been business partners for more than a decade.”
He Zheng hesitated, unsure whether to tell him about Yang Cheng’s unusually forward attitude toward him.
The most awkward part was — Yang Cheng had never actually confessed. Everything he said could be passed off as a joke. And since Wei Zhenye had just said, “That’s something he’d do,” it was even harder to bring up.
“He’s pretty carefree — don’t take his jokes seriously.”
As expected, Wei Zhenye’s single remark completely dispelled He Zheng’s suspicions.
He Zheng remained silent for a while. Wei Zhenye set his glass down and looked over.
“Why is it that every time you’re around me, you drift off?”
“Does Yang Cheng like men too, like you?” He Zheng suddenly asked.
Wei Zhenye was silent for a moment, then answered honestly, “He’s bi.”
He Zheng wanted to ask more, but Wei Zhenye clearly didn’t want to hear any more questions about Yang Cheng. He went straight to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and changed the topic.
“Have you eaten?”
He Zheng swallowed what he was about to say and shook his head. “I was just about to order takeout.”
“What do you want to eat? I’ll cook for you.”
“Anything…” He Zheng stopped himself halfway and changed, “Just a vegetable salad.”
As Wei Zhenye tied on an apron, he looked him up and down.
“Touch yourself — you’re skin and bones.”
“I do have bones,” He Zheng said, slipping his hand under his shirt to touch his ribs. Then he lifted his shirt and said to Wei Zhenye, “Does this look unhealthily skinny to you?”
Wei Zhenye turned his head — and saw his waist.
Objectively speaking, He Zheng wasn’t actually thin. His figure had been sculpted through long-term diet control: lean but not frail, with smooth, natural abs, every line distinct and well-proportioned.
And his skin was very fair.
Wei Zhenye quickly turned his head away, suppressing the surge of desire that nearly broke through.
“It’s fine,” he said quietly.
Wei Zhenye’s cooking skills had once been something he took pride in. During the six months He Zheng had taken him in, he got used to preparing a full late-night meal for him, waiting until He Zheng came home exhausted from the set. But He Zheng had barely ever touched the food — even when starving, he would only eat a few bites of vegetables. That extreme self-discipline had cut off the only bridge through which they might’ve grown closer. Wei Zhenye had left the day he realized he was of no use to him anymore.
Maybe it was because he had spent too long living comfortably in Mexico — with housekeepers taking care of every meal — but now, his knife skills were clearly rusty. He Zheng leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching him fumble busily, just about to remind him to start heating the oil, when he saw Wei Zhenye’s brows suddenly knit together.
Wei Zhenye set down the knife, blood streaming down from his fingertips.
He Zheng quickly rushed forward and grabbed his wrist. The cut wasn’t large, but the blade had split the skin open — deep and raw.
“Come to the bedroom, I’ll bandage it.”
He pulled Wei Zhenye into his bedroom. The computer screen was still on, reflecting their figures. It wasn’t until Wei Zhenye’s face appeared on the screen that He Zheng realized—
He hadn’t ended the livestream.
When Wei Zhenye rang the doorbell earlier, he had gone straight to open the door. He hadn’t turned it off.
Wei Zhenye stumbled back a few steps from the push, clutching his bleeding finger, looking lost and hurt.
He Zheng leaned in toward the computer. The moment he saw the barrage of live comments, his heart sank.
“Is that the Top Supporter?? Damn, he’s tall and handsome.”
“Didn’t you say you hadn’t met offline?”
“So they’re living together now? I followed you thinking you were a clear-headed guy, but I guess even you let your Top Supporter sleep with you.”
“Screenshot taken! This guy is definitely the most handsome Top Supporter ever — at least he’s not bald.”
He Zheng couldn’t say a word. He immediately ended the stream. The screen went black, reflecting his stormy expression.
“What do we do now?” He Zheng pressed his forehead in frustration, looking at the frozen Wei Zhenye. “They saw your face. What do we do?”
Wei Zhenye lowered his gaze to his bleeding hand and said quietly, “You don’t want them to know you’re with me, do you?”
“That’s not it,” He Zheng said quickly, grabbing the alcohol and bandages from his bedside drawer. “I’m just afraid your privacy will be exposed. Huang Chen’s fans are ruthless — I don’t want them coming after you.”
“It’s fine.” Wei Zhenye didn’t care about any of that. He only cared about He Zheng’s attitude. “I just thought… maybe you didn’t want to make it public.”
“Come here. I’ll disinfect it.” He Zheng patted the edge of the bed.
Wei Zhenye walked over and sat down. He Zheng knelt in front of him, dipped a cotton swab in alcohol, held his hand, and blew on it gently.
“It’ll sting a bit. Bear with it.”
“Mm.”
He Zheng first wiped the blood from the edges, then carefully dabbed at the wound, letting the alcohol seep in. Every few seconds, he looked up to check Wei Zhenye’s face. Seeing him calm, he kept going.
It wasn’t exaggeration — the cut was deep. The blood was dark and steady, not the shallow red of a scratch.
They were very close. Wei Zhenye sat on the bed while He Zheng crouched before him. From his angle, he could see He Zheng’s slightly open collar, the dip of his collarbone, his loose ponytail, and the few strands of hair brushing his cheek. When He Zheng looked up at him, his eyes were filled with quiet focus — asking softly, “Does it hurt?”
It did.
Wei Zhenye’s face tightened, trying to restrain the surge of heat from a certain part of his body. It hurt — in more ways than one.
He Zheng carefully wrapped the bandage, but as soon as he pressed down, the blood welled up again.
“You should go to the hospital for stitches,” He Zheng sighed, shrugging helplessly. “I can’t fix this.”
“No need,” Wei Zhenye said after a deep breath. “It’s not that bad.”
He Zheng raised an eyebrow. “Why’s your voice hoarse?”
Wei Zhenye’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m… thirsty.”
“Really?” He Zheng’s lips curved slightly; his gaze didn’t wander, just held Wei Zhenye’s eyes. “Should I get you some water?”
Wei Zhenye was desperate for him to leave. “Mm.”
This time, He Zheng truly laughed, saying nothing more before turning to go out of the room.
And the moment He Zheng laughed, Wei Zhenye knew—he’d been found out. His face burned with embarrassment, wishing he could dig a hole and disappear.
He hadn’t even touched or kissed He Zheng—yet his body still reacted.
What would He Zheng think of him now?
Wei Zhenye covered his face with both hands, rubbed it twice in frustration, then gritted his teeth and walked out to the living room. He Zheng was bent over at the water dispenser, filling a cup. When he noticed Wei Zhenye coming out, his gaze—despite himself—fell on a certain obvious area.
After a pause, he pointed toward a door and said considerately,
“The bathroom’s that way.”