Perhaps because of that opening moment, the shoot went much more smoothly than Jiang Zhuoye had expected.
Bo Yun had set requirements in advance—there wouldn’t be any overly intimate poses.
The two of them sat side by side on the sofa. Jiang Zhuoye propped his chin on one hand, looking arrogantly into the camera, though the corners of his lips lifted slightly.
Bo Yun, by contrast, was calm as still water. One hand rested casually on the black armrest, his fingers pale as jade. On his ring finger was a black diamond ring.
Behind them was a floral backdrop that had taken all morning to assemble. Camellias poured in through a half-open window, spilling across the wall and floor.
Deep green. Soft white.
Like an entire early spring flowing into the room.
This was the most important set of photos that day—formal, dignified, destined for the magazine cover.
The inner pages were more relaxed.
The photographer had them change poses several times, all within reason. The boldest was Jiang Zhuoye sitting on the table while Bo Yun sat in a wide black leather chair. One of Jiang Zhuoye’s legs rested on Bo Yun’s knee, and Bo Yun supported his ankle with one hand.
There was nothing more intimate than that, but even so, Jiang Zhuoye felt awkward.
For professional models or celebrities, this probably wouldn’t have been a big deal.
But he was just a civilian. He’d never done this before.
Jiang Zhuoye pressed his lips together, thinking, Why didn’t Bo Yun just have this pose removed?
But then again—Bo Yun hadn’t said anything.
If he protested now, it would just make him seem overly delicate.
After thinking it over, Jiang Zhuoye said nothing. His socked foot rested on Bo Yun’s knee, exposing a pale, sharply defined ankle.
Bo Yun’s hand came up to support it. Like the man himself, his palm ran cold—only the faintest trace of warmth against Jiang Zhuoye’s skin.
The photographer continued directing them. “Please look at each other. Mr. Jiang, lift the corner of your lips a bit—something provocative, but not too much. Mr. Bo, just raise your head and look at him.”
So damn wordy, Jiang Zhuoye thought. Why don’t you make that stone-faced bastard smile instead?
Still, complaints aside, he lifted his brow, curved his lips, and smiled at Bo Yun.
Sunlight streamed in naturally through the window. His eyes gleamed like amber.
Bo Yun’s grip on his ankle tightened for no reason—then quickly loosened.
…..
Twenty minutes later, the photography portion was complete. Next came a short, half-hour interview.
Jiang Zhuoye still felt awkward. Even after slipping his foot back into his shoe, something felt off. His ankle itched inexplicably, irritating him.
When he glanced sideways, he saw that Bo Yun had already washed his hands and was now carefully wiping them again with a wet wipe, meticulously cleaning even his fingertips. His face showed unmistakable impatience.
Heh.
Jiang Zhuoye rolled his eyes, feeling not the slightest bit guilty now.
Putting on airs here, huh? Where was that level of strictness when you were approving the photos earlier?
Serves you right.
After a few minutes of rest, the two of them sat down together and moved on to the next segment.
The interview questions were simple—any interesting stories, how they met, what kind of birthday gifts they’d give each other.
Utterly harmless. Trivial.
Not even as suggestive as idol boy groups trying to sell a CP.
Most of the time, Bo Yun answered.
Jiang Zhuoye sat there playing the role of a mascot, though he couldn’t help pricking up his ears. He really wanted to hear what kind of nonsense Bo Yun would come up with.
As expected of a master hypocrite—despite that cold, heartless face, the moment he faced the camera, he became a completely different person.
“The opportunity to meet Jiang Zhuoye?” Bo Yun chuckled softly. “We can’t really say we ‘met.’ We saw each other on the third day after his birth, in the hospital. I went with my grandfather to visit him and his mother. I was eight years old then, and Jiang Zhuoye was so small, sleeping in a cradle. I didn’t even dare touch him.”
He paused at just the right moment, as if sinking into memory, then continued, “I never imagined that baby would become my partner one day. I only thought he was very cute.”
Jiang Zhuoye: “……”
He was genuinely impressed.
No wonder capitalists were black-hearted. He could tell such lies without batting an eye.
Jiang Zhuoye clearly remembered Bo Yun saying he’d been ugly as a newborn—like a worm—and that he hadn’t even wanted to touch him. Just thinking about getting engaged to that “worm” had supposedly given him nightmares.
Unable to hold it in, Jiang Zhuoye let out a quiet snort.
The host, however, clearly loved Bo Yun’s answer and played along enthusiastically. “That’s such a special kind of fate—not everyone gets to see their lover from the day they’re born.”
Then she turned to Jiang Zhuoye. “And you, Mr. Jiang—do you have any particular memories of Mr. Bo when he was younger?”
Bo Yun also turned to look at Jiang Zhuoye, his eyes carrying a warning. He was clearly worried Jiang Zhuoye wouldn’t cooperate.
What memories? Jiang Zhuoye thought. An annoying bastard. Always sarcastic to me, courteous to everyone else, couldn’t even spare me a glance.
They were like sworn enemies from eight lifetimes ago, forcibly shoved together.
He rotated the string of southern red agate beads on his wrist—something Bo Yun’s grandfather had given him. A collector-grade old piece, supposedly just a small gift.
Thinking of that always-kind old man, Jiang Zhuoye glanced at Bo Yun and ultimately decided not to cause trouble.
“I didn’t see Bo Yun very often when I was little,” Jiang Zhuoye said stiffly. “He’s eight years older than me. By the time I started elementary school, he was already in college. But I remember one year when he competed in a horse riding event. I think he was eighteen or nineteen. My family took me to watch. I didn’t really understand anything back then, but I bet on him to win, while my brother bet on contestant number two. So I was really nervous and kept watching him the whole time.”
As he spoke, Jiang Zhuoye’s lips curved into a genuine smile.
Looking back now, it was kind of ridiculous. Back then, he’d had a vague, indescribable attachment to Bo Yun—thinking of him as his “fiancée.” Sure, he was a guy, but he was so good-looking, with long hair. Even if Bo Yun was mean to him, Jiang Zhuoye felt he should still treat him well.
So he stubbornly bet on Bo Yun.
“And then?” the host asked with a smile. “Did Mr. Bo let you win?”
Jiang Zhuoye turned to look at Bo Yun—who was already looking at him.
The man sitting beside him now was twenty-eight, steady and composed. Yet with just one glance, Jiang Zhuoye could still see the eighteen-year-old Bo Yun—riding a tall black horse, dazzling and youthful, arrogant with reason, effortlessly commanding the entire field’s attention.
“Yes. He let me win,” Jiang Zhuoye replied softly, smiling. “He took first place overall, so my brother lost a whole year’s allowance to me.”
The host laughed. “Wow, you really are each other’s lucky charms. He brought you victory, and you gave him good fortune.”
Sweet words.
Jiang Zhuoye withdrew his gaze, smiled at the host—and quickly winked, releasing his charm without restraint. The girl laughed and lifted her cue card to cover her face.
Bo Yun was still immersed in his surprise, because he had absolutely no memory of anything like that happening at that year’s horse riding competition.
But looking at Jiang Zhuoye now—radiating charm in every direction—he was left with nothing but wordless resignation.
A magnet for trouble, he thought.
Never knows how to rein it in.
…..
After the interview ended, all of the day’s filming was finally complete.
Outside, dusk had settled. Jiang Zhuoye stretched lazily, his long arm draped over the back of the sofa. Even someone with his level of energy would feel worn out after spending an entire day in an unfamiliar field.
Bo Yun, on the other hand, looked no different at all. He was still on the phone with his secretary, instructing them to arrange a flight to Europe immediately.
A lunatic, Jiang Zhuoye thought. Just like his brother—human money-printing machines, tireless in the arena of fame and profit. Boring to the core.
He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and accepted a glass of lemon water from the assistant beside him.
“Thanks,” he said gently. He was always good-natured toward everyone except Bo Yun. He’d even exchanged WeChat contacts with the assistant earlier after discovering they were both fans of the same animation director.
Once Bo Yun finished the call, the two of them left the magazine studio together.
They’d arrived together, so Bo Yun was also responsible for taking Jiang Zhuoye home.
In the car, Jiang Zhuoye clearly had no interest in engaging with Bo Yun. He couldn’t even be bothered to look at his phone, staring out the window the entire time.
Bo Yun, meanwhile, kept reviewing documents on his laptop, his brows faintly knit, his mood visibly unpleasant.
When they reached the Jiang residence, the driver smoothly guided the car into the garden and stopped in front of the white villa. Jiang Zhuoye, however, didn’t get out right away.
It took Bo Yun a moment to notice. He lifted his gaze from the screen and glanced at Jiang Zhuoye. “What’s wrong?”
Jiang Zhuoye finally pulled his eyes away from the scenery outside. He looked at Bo Yun with a complicated, scrutinizing expression.
The shoot was over. In just a little more than two months, he and Bo Yun would be getting married.
Even if it was a fake marriage, the marriage certificate would be real. The vows spoken before witnesses would be real. On the wedding day, countless guests would attend, the media would swarm, and in everyone’s eyes, they would be a legitimate couple.
They had no love. No real intimacy.
Yet to the world, they would be spouses in every sense.
Jiang Zhuoye rested his hand on the car door, as if about to pull the handle, but hesitated.
“There’s actually something I’ve always been curious about,” he said.
Bo Yun looked at him. “What is it?”
“You’re marrying me just to fulfill your grandfather’s wish—don’t you feel even a little resentful?” Jiang Zhuoye asked. “When I marry you, at least I’m being lured in by three hundred million in pocket money, plus all the generous benefits your Bo family promised. Enough to make my brother see dollar signs. Those are tangible gains. But what about you?”
His brows carried a hint of mockery—and a trace of pity.
“What do you get?” he continued. “This is a completely losing deal for you.”
Bo Yun didn’t believe in that so-called master’s nonsense. Jiang Zhuoye was sure of it.
And judging by what he knew of Bo Yun, he probably hated being bound by this relationship even more than he did.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have glared coldly at him since childhood.
Yet now he was offering such an exorbitant price to “marry” him.
The irony was almost laughable.
Bo Yun hadn’t expected Jiang Zhuoye to ask this. He studied him quietly.
The car interior was dim, but Jiang Zhuoye’s eyes were bright—youthful, sharp, carrying both sympathy and ridicule.
Bo Yun had been dealing with work nonstop, but now he stopped.
He could’ve chosen not to answer.
But he did anyway.
“I don’t think I’m losing anything,” he said calmly. “I think this transaction is very fair. To me, marriage is insignificant. Who I marry makes no difference. Something useless like that, in exchange for a period of peace of mind for my grandfather, already makes it worthwhile. So I wouldn’t call it a sacrifice.”
He paused slightly. “And I don’t really care about that bit of money.”
That bit.
Jiang Zhuoye almost laughed. The Bo family’s sincerity had been enough to make Jiang Xu beam with delight—it was practically cutting flesh to bleed.
Yet Bo Yun spoke of it as though it were pocket change.
Jiang Zhuoye let out a soft chuckle.
He hadn’t asked because he cared deeply about the answer. He was simply curious. He’d never imagined that someone like Bo Yun could go this far for family.
“Alright then,” he said quietly. “Self-inflicted suffering.”
He didn’t pursue it further. He opened the car door and stepped out.
After he left, the car slowly pulled away from the Jiang residence.
Bo Yun sat in the steady back seat, staring at the text on his laptop—yet his thoughts drifted. Jiang Zhuoye’s voice lingered in his mind.
A losing deal?
Paying such a steep price, binding himself to a marriage that might never be happy.
He’d asked himself that question before.
Even his grandfather had asked him—was it really worth it?
His answer back then was the same as it was now.
“I think it’s fair.”
…..
When Jiang Zhuoye stepped into the house, Jiang Xu was feeding the koi fish. He looked up, paused, then smiled. “You’re back? How did it go? Did they say you two were handsome?”
There was a teasing edge to his tone.
After all, it was just a photoshoot—not a date with Bo Yun. Since Jiang Zhuoye had agreed to it, it shouldn’t have been difficult.
With that face of his, he could wipe the floor with half the entertainment industry’s pretty boys.
But Jiang Zhuoye didn’t even bother responding. “Won’t you see for yourself when the magazine comes out?”
…..
The magazine was officially released two months later.
Although the Bo Group and Jiang Group had already announced the upcoming marriage in advance, this issue still sparked heated discussion online.
The reason was simple—just as Jiang Xu had predicted, Jiang Zhuoye and Bo Yun’s looks were devastating. They could’ve debuted in entertainment without issue.
Add to that the labels “elite family marriage,” “same-sex marriage,” and “childhood connection,” and every one of them hit the public’s sweet spot.
Especially when Gleam quickly released behind-the-scenes footage and interview clips.
The photographer and editor worked miracles.
Despite Jiang Zhuoye and Bo Yun barely interacting on set—practically oil and water—the edit somehow created an atmosphere of gentle companionship.
They sat casually on the sofa during the interview. Though they barely made eye contact in reality, every single glance they did share was cut in and placed perfectly.
Especially the moment when Jiang Zhuoye stood by the window and Bo Yun suddenly lifted his head from the sofa to look at him.
Whether it was the sunlight, or the editor’s devilish angles, that glance somehow carried a hidden depth of affection.
The onlookers went wild.
A CP super-topic was created on the spot. People brought out metaphorical microscopes to extract “sugar,” even digging up the fact that the two had attended the same middle and high school.
Jiang Zhuoye himself was amazed.
If he weren’t one of the people involved, he’d have believed they actually had something going on behind the scenes.
Same high school. Same horse riding club. Graduation photos taken beneath the same banyan tree in the same library courtyard.
Despite the age gap and the apparent lack of interaction, their lives seemed faintly intertwined—until, finally, in Jiang Zhuoye’s twentieth year, they became a “perfect match made in heaven.”
The story was absurdly well-crafted.
Jiang Zhuoye’s phone was flooded with mockery from his so-called friends, all of them digging up netizen comments and laughing themselves sick.
His response was to send back a string of middle-finger emojis.
“That’s enough already,” he cursed. “Send me one more and I’m flipping out. Especially you, Fang Chen—try sending me one more of those NSFW drawings of me and Bo Yun and see what happens. Who the hell is drawing this stuff? Such talent wasted.”
Kissing. Hugging.
Just looking at it felt like permanent damage to his eyesight.
And why the hell was he always the one being pinned down?
The thought alone made Jiang Zhuoye furious.
….
And at this point, there were only twenty-six days left until Jiang Zhuoye and Bo Yun’s wedding.
That same year, in June, under clear skies and perfect weather—
On June 20th, Jiang Zhuoye and Bo Yun officially held their wedding at an estate in Country F, witnessed by family and friends.