Making Peace
When Bo Yun got up early the next morning, Jiang Zhuoye was still asleep.
Jiang Zhuoye slept until noon, ate brunch, then slung his skateboard over his shoulder and went out again, not coming back all day.
It was the same for two days in a row—never home, clearly still angry and unwilling to deal with Bo Yun.
Bo Yun did, however, see Jiang Zhuoye through the window.
After stopping his partnership with the sibling pair, Jiang Zhuoye behaved himself and went to island instructors or other staff instead.
At the moment, Jiang Zhuoye was trying glassblowing. But he clearly had no patience for delicate handcrafts. After spending half the day without shaping anything properly, he got fed up, smashed the unfinished piece flat, tossed it aside without a glance, and went back to skateboarding.
So irritable.
Bo Yun thought, watching Jiang Zhuoye walk away through the window. In the end, he didn’t follow him.
Instead, he went inside and asked the staff what Jiang Zhuoye had been trying to make.
The staff knew he was Mr. Jiang’s lawful partner, and it wasn’t anything confidential. Smiling, they brought out a sample image.
It was a lily-of-the-valley hairpin—meant to be delicate and elegant, but clearly abandoned halfway through, warped and ruined from impatience.
“Overestimating himself,” Bo Yun murmured.
He removed his watch and walked over to the workstation.
….
Bo Yun returned late that day.
When he came back, Jiang Zhuoye was in the media room watching a movie. His sudden appearance startled Jiang Zhuoye badly.
It was a horror film.
Just as Bo Yun walked in, a vengeful ghost was crawling out of the water, dripping wet.
Hearing movement by the door, Jiang Zhuoye nearly thought the ghost was Sadako, about to crawl out of the screen.
When he realized it was Bo Yun, he almost cursed aloud. “Are you a ghost? Showing up without a sound—who are you trying to scare?”
He rolled his eyes in irritation, thinking yet again that he and Bo Yun were utterly incompatible.
Bo Yun knew his silent entrance had been frightening and didn’t argue back.
Instead, he naturally walked over and sat beside Jiang Zhuoye.
Jiang Zhuoye immediately frowned. “What are you doing?”
They weren’t close enough to watch movies together.
Bo Yun turned his face toward him and examined him.
In the dim media room, Jiang Zhuoye’s side profile looked like an artist’s masterpiece. The light from the screen reflected in his eyes like a dark, glittering galaxy. At the corner of his eye was a faint red mark from yesterday’s collision, not yet faded, like a deliberate brushstroke of color.
Bo Yun blinked lightly and said, “I thought you planned on never speaking to me again.”
Jiang Zhuoye let out a cold laugh.
Exactly.
He never should have engaged with Bo Yun in the first place.
He turned away immediately, looking down at his iPad and flipping through movies.
Romance—too sweet, annoying.
Sci-fi—boring.
Apocalypse—too bloody.
Bo Yun watched quietly for a few seconds before speaking. “Are you still angry about what happened a few days ago?”
Jiang Zhuoye didn’t spare him a glance.
Bo Yun said, “If you’re still upset because of my attitude, because I misunderstood you, then I can apologize again.”
That stunned Jiang Zhuoye outright.
He even forgot he’d been giving Bo Yun the cold shoulder, lifting his head to stare at him like he’d seen a ghost.
Was this a joke?
Those words actually came out of Bo Yun’s mouth?
Still, he didn’t respond, just raised one eyebrow and looked at him.
Bo Yun said, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not someone who refuses to admit mistakes. That day at the hotel, I was indeed angry and let it cloud my judgment. After calming down, I also realized that I might have had some bias toward you.”
He paused and handed over a box.
“I didn’t know how to make it up to you, so I made a small thing. If you don’t like it, you can throw it away.”
This time, Jiang Zhuoye’s mind was truly blown.
What the hell.
Was this really Bo Yun? Had he been swapped out?
Suspicious, Jiang Zhuoye stared at him, half-convinced the island was some secret experimental site and the real Bo Yun had been captured—this one was Robot 13567 with the same face.
He hesitated for a few seconds before taking the box, setting it on his lap, and opening it.
He thought that, with Bo Yun’s personality, it would probably be a watch, a tie clip, diamonds—maybe something bought by a secretary.
He understood.
His brother did the same.
All these heartless capitalists followed the same script.
A trace of mockery surfaced in his eyes.
But when he opened the box, he froze.
Inside wasn’t some luxurious, ostentatious item—but a piece of handcrafted glasswork.
A long, naturally drooping lily of the valley, crystal clear. The blue petals were vivid and lifelike, yet the glass material gave it a cool, restrained beauty.
The flower rested in a small planter, laid horizontally on black velvet.
Quiet. Elegant.
Like a beauty untouched by the world.
Jiang Zhuoye raised an eyebrow and glanced at Bo Yun. “I was at the glassblowing studio this afternoon. You saw me?”
That was clearly the design he’d been working on earlier.
But he had a short temper and not much patience for delicate work. What he’d made was crooked and uneven, and before long he’d gotten annoyed and tossed it aside.
“Mm.”
Bo Yun’s expression didn’t change. “I was outside the glass studio at the time. I wanted to talk to you, but I figured you wouldn’t bother with me. So after you left, I finished the piece you abandoned.”
He looked at Jiang Zhuoye calmly. “Is it okay?”
For some inexplicable reason, Jiang Zhuoye felt like laughing.
What was this supposed to be?
The whole point of handmade crafts was the experience—doing it yourself made it worthwhile. What did it mean for Bo Yun to finish it for him?
Did he really lack a glass flower hairpin?
Yet as he turned the long, crystal-clear lily of the valley in his hand, he felt an awkward, rare sort of goodwill.
A first of its kind, he thought. Someone as arrogant as Bo Yun—proud as a lion—actually lowering his head and apologizing in such a roundabout way.
He shot Bo Yun a curious glance.
Then, deliberately, he made things difficult. “Is this how you give gifts? This was supposed to be something I made. You finish my half-done work and give it to me—how did you even think of that?”
A trace of mockery surfaced on his face.
“Is this how you prepare gifts in the business world too?”
Bo Yun thought: not at all.
Business gifts were far easier. A secretary would investigate the recipient’s preferences and select something appropriate.
But with Jiang Zhuoye, he had no idea what he liked.
Luxury cars and watches were easy enough, but when Jiang Zhuoye was angry, he wasn’t the type to accept that kind of appeasement.
The gift wasn’t the point. Making peace was.
He studied Jiang Zhuoye for a moment. Of course he could tell Jiang Zhuoye was deliberately picking a fight.
By his usual temperament, he should have turned around and left.
Strictly speaking, both of them had been at fault that night. But Jiang Zhuoye was young, had been publicly embarrassed, and would naturally feel his dignity wounded. As the elder one, Bo Yun couldn’t very well stoop to arguing—hence his decision to come and smooth things over.
And yet Jiang Zhuoye wasn’t taking it.
Still, after looking at him for a while, Bo Yun reached into his pocket and pulled out another small box.
“I also made something else,” he said. “If you don’t want the lily of the valley, you can take this instead.”
Jiang Zhuoye was speechless.
Was Bo Yun Doraemon or something? He actually pulled out another one.
Fine—let’s see what it is.
He let out a cold laugh and took the box. But when he opened it this time, he genuinely froze.
Inside was a ring.
The ring itself wasn’t anything special—but set into it was a chubby little orca.
Round head. Stubby body.
Floating atop turquoise-blue waves.
In an instant, Jiang Zhuoye’s emotions turned strangely complex.
Because orcas were his favorite animal—something very few people knew.
He had even donated to an orca conservation association, setting up a dedicated fund.
But since he kept a dog, most people assumed his favorite animal was a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.
He shot Bo Yun a puzzled glance.
At that moment, Bo Yun said, “I saw this orca design in a catalog at the workshop. It wasn’t difficult, so I made one casually. If you don’t mind, you can keep it.”
Oh. The catalog.
That made sense. Orca motifs were common on an island like this.
Jiang Zhuoye instantly dismissed his suspicion.
He stared at the round little orca for a while. It actually looked quite nice. Even if Bo Yun hadn’t intended it, he’d accidentally hit the mark.
He glanced at Bo Yun, no longer in the mood to keep sulking. “Barely acceptable. It’ll do.”
As he spoke, he set the box aside as if it meant nothing.
Then he said, “I am pretty surprised, though. I didn’t expect you to take the initiative and apologize. I thought we’d just cold-war for ten days or half a month—it wouldn’t affect you anyway.”
Truthfully, he hadn’t been that angry.
That night, when Bo Yun said he was more worried about his safety, afraid he’d be led astray by shady people and hard to explain to the Jiang family—that had already cooled his temper.
Because Bo Yun was thinking of him.
But he was a twenty-year-old adult. Being lectured on a whim—called stupid one moment, morally questionable the next—was still hard to swallow. That was why he’d ignored Bo Yun for a few days.
Bo Yun blinked once.
“Tomorrow we’ll be heading back,” he said. “After that, we’ll be living together for a long time. If you were still like before—seeing me once a year at most—I wouldn’t care. But we’ll be sharing a bed, going on dates, attending banquets together. I want a calm partner, not a ticking time bomb.”
Jiang Zhuoye’s temper, which had already cooled, nearly flared up again.
Listen to this.
Classic ruthless capitalist logic. Because he was useful now, Bo Yun would lower himself to placate him. If he weren’t useful, he’d be discarded.
He really shouldn’t have expected anything better from Bo Yun’s mouth.
But before he could explode, Bo Yun added one more sentence.
“But being sorry for misunderstanding you—that part is real.”
Bo Yun looked at him directly. In the dim screening room, his eyes were like mist over distant mountains, like a damp, lingering rain.
“I apologize for my words—for calling you promiscuous, for accusing you of improper conduct. That was my mistake. I’ve also contacted the parents of that brother-and-sister pair. They’ll be grounded for six months.”
The anger Jiang Zhuoye had just reignited was instantly doused.
Before it could even vent, it fizzled out completely.
The words jammed in his throat and came out as a vague, awkward, “Oh…”
He hadn’t expected Bo Yun to be so decisive—
He had even gone to negotiate with the siblings’ parents and ensured they were punished.
Jiang Zhuoye pressed his lips together, emotions tangled.
“Forget it.”
He leaned back into the seat and resumed browsing for movies.
Without looking up, he muttered, “Once is enough. You don’t need to apologize this many times.”