Yao Zhen coaxed him back with a few words and went back to his daily routine of playing around. Jiang Mian didn’t come for nothing, either. Hearing that the hotel planned to create a gallery corridor, she proactively offered to help.
She studied jewelry design in Paris and her family was in the business, so she had the background, connections, and resources. She actively helped coordinate a jewelry exhibition at the hotel.
Though the timeline was tight, the project moved smoothly. The opening day was set for a weekend, lasting for half a month. Most of the jewelry sent for the exhibition came from independent European designers. The various styles created quite a buzz, attracting a swarm of jewelry enthusiasts.
The hotel went all out on marketing and perfected its supporting services, yielding significant results. Combined with the official launch of the partnership with the Yacht Club, the room occupancy rate hit a new record. The manager was grinning from ear to ear every day, walking with a literal spring in his step.
The lion’s share of the credit belonged to Liang Jiming. Since the Young Master didn’t want to work, most of the tasks were handled by him and the hotel manager. Yao Zhen only had to be the one to give the final nod and sign his name.
The upside was that the Young Master was extremely cooperative and never raised any objections. After all, Liang Jiming was his man; what his “wife” did represented what he did.
At 1:00 AM, Liang Jiming stood in the center of the exhibition hall, where only the floor lights remained on, holding a checklist.
The grand opening was tomorrow. After dozens of hours spent on curation, coordination, and final checks, a dull ache throbbed at Liang Jiming’s temples.
The exhibition hall was massive. Named “The Gallery,” it actually occupied an entire floor of a converted banquet hall. Eight thematic zones, hundreds of pieces of jewelry—the flow of movement, lighting design, temperature control, and security protocols—as the organizer in charge, he had to verify every single detail.
Finally, everything was in place. At ten o’clock tomorrow morning, the media and the first wave of VIP guests would walk through those doors.
Liang Jiming felt nothing but exhaustion. He set down his checklist and rubbed his temples, eyes closed. The hall was exceptionally quiet, save for the low hum of the air conditioning. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the island night was silent, punctuated only by the rhythmic blinking of the pier’s signal lights in the distance.
The sound of light footsteps came from behind. Liang Jiming snapped his eyes open and turned instinctively.
Yao Zhen’s figure entered his vision. The Young Master was standing a few meters away in the shadows of the side entrance. The lights over there were off, leaving him almost dissolved into the dimness.
Liang Jiming blinked, his voice dry from fatigue. “What are you doing here?”
Yao Zhen stepped out of the shadows, scuffing along in slippers and pajamas.
“I should ask you that. Why are you still here?” He walked up to Liang Jiming and glanced around. “Do you know what time it is? There isn’t a soul in sight. Someone who didn’t know better would think you were here up to no good.”
“One last check,” Liang Jiming explained. “I’m heading back now.”
Yao Zhen handed him the mug he had been carrying. “Your voice is hoarse. Is all this really necessary?”
Liang Jiming didn’t take it immediately. He looked down; two lemon slices floated in the mug, and thin wisps of steam rose from the rim, carrying the sweet, clean scent of honey.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Poison,” Yao Zhen said crossly, shoving the mug closer. “Arsenic mixed with hemlock. You drinking it or not?”
The Young Master tilted his chin up expectantly. Liang Jiming looked at him for a moment before finally taking the mug. Warmth radiated into his palms—the temperature was perfect.
He took a slow sip. The slight acidity of the lemon balanced the sweetness of the honey water, soothing the scratchiness in his throat and causing his stiff nerves to loosen.
“…Thank you.”
“Save it.” Yao Zhen walked over to a nearby display case to look at the jewelry.
Liang Jiming followed. The Young Master glanced at him sideways, reached out to pluck the laser rangefinder clipped to Liang Jiming’s pocket, and aimed it at the spotlight above the case, squinting one eye to read the numbers.
“What are you looking at?” Liang Jiming asked.
“The angle of this spotlight seems slightly off,” Yao Zhen said casually. “Looking at jewelry is all about the fire, color, and cut, right? You can’t tell during the day, but in a pitch-black environment like this at night, even a tiny deviation can make the diamond lose its facets in the reflection. It won’t show its perfect state. You’ll need to have someone adjust it tomorrow morning.”
Liang Jiming stood there, mug in hand, genuinely surprised. “You know how to do that?”
He had just learned the basics himself over the past few days from the setup crew, and he only knew the surface-level stuff. The “playboy” Young Master seemed to know significantly more.
“You’re surprised I’m not a complete airhead?” Yao Zhen let out a short laugh. “I can adjust the lights myself if I have to. ‘Playing’ with jewelry—isn’t that what you called it? Knowing how to play is a skill in itself. I took elective courses on this while studying abroad.”
“It’s impressive you actually learned something in class,” Liang Jiming remarked.
“Bastard,” Yao Zhen cursed. “You’re looking for a fight, aren’t you?”
Liang Jiming put a finger to his lips. “Lower your voice. It’s the middle of the night; if you make a scene, you’ll trigger the alarm.”
Yao Zhen shook a fist at him but let it go. His attention was quickly caught by a pearl broach in the next display. He leaned in for a closer look.
The centerpiece was a South Sea white pearl the size of a grape. Under the light, it emitted a soft, silvery sheen, looking like a drop of night dew about to solidify, or a tiny, uncarved moon. The pearl was cradled by thin threads of platinum, and the base was matte-finished platinum shaped into abstract, flowing leaf outlines. It was elegant and unburdened, existing solely to highlight the unique pearl at its center.
“Moon Dew,” Yao Zhen read the name on the card next to it and gave a low whistle. “Beautiful.”
“You like it?” Liang Jiming stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him. In the glass reflection, he saw their figures blurred and overlapping, and his heart stirred slightly.
Yao Zhen smiled, turning to him with a wink. “Baby, if I say I like it, will you buy it for me?”
“Can’t afford it,” Liang Jiming said truthfully. The broach was worth over 200,000 RMB. He had the money, but that was the “pocket money” the Young Master gave him; ever since he started receiving a salary, he hadn’t touched a cent of it.
Yao Zhen clicked his tongue. “You’re such a killjoy. Would it kill you to just play along?”
Liang Jiming took another sip of the honey water. The warm liquid glided down his throat, its sweetness blooming across his tongue.
Suddenly realizing something, he asked, “Did you mix this yourself?”
“Who else?” Yao Zhen claimed the credit, puffing out his chest. “It was obviously this Young Master. Is there anyone else here?”
Yao Zhen was the type who never lifted a finger; usually, even the simplest drink had to be prepared for him. Liang Jiming was surprised, but then he recalled that this was exactly who Yao Zhen was—underneath that cynical, playboy exterior lay a raw, sincere side that occasionally flickered to the surface.
Yao Zhen looked away. Hardly. He had just been gaming until midnight and came out for a drink. Noticing the guest room door was open and Liang Jiming was missing, he guessed the man was still down here and decided to check on him since he couldn’t sleep anyway.
As for the honey water? He’d made it for himself, found the lemon too sour, and simply shoved it at Liang Jiming.
“Don’t get too touched. It was just an afterthought,” Yao Zhen said dismissively.
Liang Jiming merely assumed he was feeling shy. He suppressed the rising tide of emotion in his chest and silently finished the rest of the drink.
“Let’s go. Time to head back.” Once the mug was empty, Liang Jiming turned to leave.
Yao Zhen stole one last glance at the pearl before following.
Upon exiting, Liang Jiming switched off the floor lamps and the display case lighting. The hall plunged into darkness. Yao Zhen complained, “Why turn them all off? Leaving one on wouldn’t break your bank account.”
Liang Jiming set the mug down on the reception desk by the door and turned around. Caught off guard, Yao Zhen stumbled back a step, his back hitting the wall. He watched wide-eyed as Liang Jiming leaned in close.
“…What are you doing?”
“Young Master,” Liang Jiming’s breath brushed against him as he whispered, “Did you come down specifically for me?”
A stray beam of light from the floor-to-ceiling windows swept across Liang Jiming’s face, momentarily illuminating his deep, dark eyes. Yao Zhen froze, his mind going blank.
“Were you looking for me?” Liang Jiming persisted.
“…”
Since when did you become so talkative?
Taking Yao Zhen’s silence as a silent admission, Liang Jiming’s gaze darkened. In the quiet darkness, he reached out with a mix of gravity and tenderness, pulling Yao Zhen into a firm embrace.
The Young Master finally snapped out of it, but it was too late to struggle.
“…What’s with all the hugging again?”
Liang Jiming didn’t answer; truth be told, he couldn’t quite explain it himself. His taut nerves had unraveled the moment Yao Zhen appeared, and that cup of honey water had soothed far more than just his physical exhaustion. He couldn’t ignore the ripples in his heart, so he simply followed his instinct.
Yao Zhen felt awkward, his mind a battlefield of whether or not to shove him away with brute force.
After a long while, Liang Jiming suddenly laughed. The clear sound, wrapped in his warm breath, landed right by Yao Zhen’s ear.
“What’s so funny?” the Young Master asked irritably.
“The honey water,” Liang Jiming said, pausing for a second. “It was delicious. Thank you.”
There was an unusual weight behind that “thank you.” To Yao Zhen, it just felt cheesy.
“Stop it. Let me go.”
Liang Jiming tilted his head, his lips grazing Yao Zhen’s temple almost imperceptibly before he stepped back and released him.
“Let’s go.”
Light only returned when they reached the elevator lobby. While waiting, Yao Zhen rubbed his ear, catching his reflection in the polished elevator doors. His face was flushed, and he felt a surge of embarrassment.
…It must be too hot in here.
Glancing at the composed Liang Jiming beside him, Yao Zhen felt a spark of annoyance. How does he stay so cool? Who’s playing who here? This guy was a pro at being sentimental—no wonder he managed to woo Jinghe.
Wait, he can actually get a reaction out of being with a man… maybe he’s had boyfriends before. The thought made the Young Master even more irritated.
“What are you thinking about?” Liang Jiming suddenly asked.
Yao Zhen looked away. “Nothing.”
The elevator doors opened. Liang Jiming naturally took his hand, his voice low and steady. “Don’t go sleepwalking on me. Just hang in there a bit longer until we get upstairs to bed.”
He mistook Yao Zhen’s unease for post-midnight sluggishness and held his hand to ensure he didn’t bump into anything. Yao Zhen’s heart skipped a beat.
“…”
Damn it. It’s cheesy, but I think I’m actually falling for this.