“Swish!” The heavy floor-to-ceiling curtains were yanked open, and the clear winter sunlight outside poured in all at once, exposing the previously dim and messy villa living room completely under the light.
The person sitting on the sofa was stung by the sudden brightness and couldn’t open his eyes. He frowned in displeasure, then turned his face toward the side the sunlight couldn’t reach.
“Can you pull yourself together?” Qi Yan turned back from the window and looked at the wrecked living room, heartbroken. “Look at yourself, even a ghost would be scared of you!”
“If only there really were ghosts…” Song Zhuchen muttered.
“What did you say?” Qi Yan didn’t catch it, but didn’t care either. He started tidying up the room for Song Zhuchen while nagging like a mother hen. “Fang Ye’s accident has nothing to do with you. Why are you moping around just because he got into a car crash? By the way, how is he doing now?”
“Close the curtains.” Song Zhuchen dodged the question, his voice terrifyingly hoarse.
“No! If you don’t like the light, get up and close them yourself!” Qi Yan gathered up a huge pile of newspapers and magazines and put them under the side table next to the sofa. When he turned around, he saw Song Zhuchen raise a hand to block the light.
Qi Yan only felt a flash of light before his eyes, then he stared wide-eyed at Song Zhuchen’s hand in disbelief. “Hey? What’s that on your hand? When did you start wearing jewelry?”
“Nothing.” Song Zhuchen unconsciously twisted the ring on the middle finger of his left hand, the high-clarity diamond dazzling in the sunlight.
“Nothing?” Qi Yan was suspicious.
“Mm.” Song Zhuchen didn’t want to say more and moved his left hand out of Qi Yan’s sight.
Qi Yan looked worriedly at the wooden-like Song Zhuchen, then suddenly said, “The weather’s nice today. Let’s go out for a walk.”
“Not going.” Song Zhuchen refused flatly.
“Do you have any idea how many days you’ve been cooped up at home?!” Qi Yan sat down beside him. “Even the paparazzi staking out your usual place got tired of waiting. Haven’t you had enough of staying home? Get up!”
Song Zhuchen couldn’t be bothered to respond, just listlessly lowered his head, hiding himself in the shadow created by his hair.
Qi Yan hadn’t seen Song Zhuchen in a long time. This time, it was Song Zhuchen’s assistant Li Nian who, after being turned away at the door countless times and growing desperately worried that Song Zhuchen would starve himself to death at home, had asked Qi Yan for help. Qi Yan rushed back to the country only to learn that his childhood friend had shut himself away over his nemesis’s car accident.
Frightened? No way…
“Didn’t the traffic accident report already come out? It was an accident. What does it have to do with you?” Seeing that persuasion wasn’t working, Qi Yan switched to temptation. “If you really feel bad, I passed by a little temple on my way here. It looked quite ancient. How about we go pay our respects and set your mind at ease? I know you don’t believe in ghosts and gods, but there’s no harm in praying, right…”
“Not going.”
“Let me tell you, when I arrived, I happened to stop in front of that little temple to buy cigarettes,” Qi Yan said, sitting on the edge of the sofa, ignoring his friend’s refusal, propping his head up as he rambled on. “The temple looked shabby, but it had an antique charm about it, like it was really efficacious. The shop owner selling cigarettes said the temple’s incense fire has been thriving lately, and apparently wishes made there come true especially well. Someone prayed for romance, and on the way back received a confession from his dream girl, then immediately came back to fulfill his vow. And there was…”
Qi Yan was still marveling over some juicy gossip he’d just heard, unaware that Song Zhuchen had at some point turned his head and was saying in a low voice, “There’s no temple around here.”
“There is!”
“There isn’t.”
“Hey, you must be a donkey, so stubborn. I just came from the temple, you think I wouldn’t know? Not only is there a temple near your place, it’s super effective. Whatever you pray for, you get!”
“Then let’s go.” Song Zhuchen sat up.
“Huh?” Qi Yan hadn’t even deployed his full arsenal of persuasion techniques, and yet this stubborn donkey had turned around on his own.
“Let’s go pay our respects.” This time Song Zhuchen not only stood up briskly, he even ruffled his own hair.
“Huh?” Qi Yan: shocked-pupils.jpg
A quarter of an hour later, Best Actor Song, wearing a hat and a face mask and dressed in a smoky-gray pinstripe suit, headed out with Qi Yan.
“There’s no need to be this formal, is there?”
“To show sincerity,” Song Zhuchen said as he picked out his shoes.
“?”
The moment Song Zhuchen got out of the car, he saw the dilapidated little temple and glanced back at Qi Yan with a hint of confusion. Qi Yan wore an expression that said “See, I told you,” and jerked his chin toward the main hall where wisps of incense curled upward. The incense burner was wreathed in blue smoke, packed with red incense sticks, a truly impressive sight, the flourishing incense fire forming a stark contrast with the shabby little temple.
“Either way, there’s no harm in paying respects. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, we can just treat it as an outing to clear our heads.” Qi Yan, quick-eyed and quick-handed, grabbed his best friend’s arm to keep him from diving back into the car the next second.
Song Zhuchen stood on the small plaza, quietly studying this little temple that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The three characters “Chiming Temple” on the plaque were bold and forceful, but the temple itself… Song Zhuchen frowned slightly at the walls covered in moss. Though his mysophobia made it nearly impossible for him to take a step toward the temple’s entrance, for some reason, he kept feeling that something in this temple was straining to draw him closer.
“Wow! So cute!”
“So stylish!”
“Adorably cool!”
A short distance away, several girls crouched on the ground in a circle, exclaiming in wonder while snapping photos with their phones like crazy.
Song Zhuchen glanced at that wall of people erupting in occasional gasps of amazement. From the center of the crowd, a fluffy pale-golden-gray little tail suddenly poked out, swept across the ground, and then whooshed back in.
Song Zhuchen withdrew his gaze and strode toward the temple’s only main hall.
Fang Ye had finally managed to escape the girls’ enthusiastic kisses, hugs, and being lifted up high, and walked back to Zhong Jianli’s side looking utterly defeated.
“I say, Zhong Jianli, can you stop making me sell my looks all the time? I’m an introvert, you know?” The fluffy little cat drooped that pretty little face of his, expressing dissatisfaction with Master Buling’s arrangements.
“If I don’t keep having you appear before the worshippers, how would they come pet you?”
“Pet me? Old Zhong, do you have some kind of unspeakable fetish?”
“If they don’t see you and pet you, how would they develop the urge to confide in you? If they don’t develop the urge to confide, how would they tell you the wishes they made to the Buddha? If they don’t tell you, how would you fulfill them? If you don’t fulfill them, how would you boost the incense fire? And if you don’t boost the incense fire, how would you become human?” Great Swindler Zhong’s chain of logic was airtight, link by link.
“Then why don’t you just put up a sign next to the prayer cushions telling them to come worship me directly after they’re done worshipping the Buddha?” the little kitten demanded, scowling.
“Heh,” Zhong Jianli said, having finished fiddling with the thing in his hands. He crouched down in front of Fang Ye with a small bowl. “Listen to you, if everyone comes to burn incense to you, what happens to my Buddha statue that you’re giving me? Eat.”
With that, an exquisite food bowl descended from the sky, appearing before the little kitty.
Fang Ye stared at the bowl of cat food before him with an indescribable expression, his dreamy blue eyes glaring at Zhong Jianli. If looks could cut, Fang Ye believed that in these few short days, Zhong Jianli would long since have been sliced into a roast duck.
“I’m a human! I want a proper meal, the kind with braised pork and sweet-and-sour pork tenderloin!” Little Cat Fang stomped his paws in fury.
“You’re a cat. Human food is bad for your feline body. Besides… are you sure you don’t want it?” Zhong Jianli shook the cat food bowl with great skill, and the aroma of fresh cat food burst forth into the air, exuding an irresistible feline allure. The cat part of Fang Ye simply could not resist the temptation of the cat food. If he hadn’t clamped his mouth shut with all his might, drool would have dripped down in disgrace long ago.
“You’re making this awkward for both of us…” Fang Ye said through gritted teeth, meowing out each word one by one.
“Stop pretending. Your stomach was growling so loud I could hear it from way over there.” Master Buling pressed his lips together and smiled, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
The battle over dinner ended in defeat once again. Looking thoroughly glum, Fang Ye resigned himself and lowered his noble, chubby cat head toward the food bowl. What he didn’t know was that while he was busy chowing down, his rival, the great movie star Song Zhuchen had already stepped his long legs into the main hall, quietly gazing at the ancient Buddha statue before him, its eyes full of compassion.
The hall was no longer as dim as it had been at first; rows of ever-burning candles held up an island of light. But these were no modern lighting fixtures after all, so the brightness was still limited. The flickering candlelight made the features on the ruined Buddha statue loom shadowy and indistinct, giving off a mysterious, unfathomable sense of majesty that made one want to fall down in worship.
“Is it really that efficacious?” Song Zhuchen tilted his ear, hearing someone nearby hesitantly ask their companion.
“Why would I lie to you? I’m telling you, it absolutely is!” The other person, somewhat worked up at being doubted, said, “Last time I was so absorbed in a novel I didn’t want to go to work. I wandered into this temple for a look and made a wish for a week of paid leave. Then I went back, ordered takeout, and came down with a high fever. Though I personally felt fine, the doctor looked at my test results and insisted my white blood cell count was off the charts, that I had sepsis and was about to die, demanded I be hospitalized immediately, and swiftly wrote me a sick note. The thing is, after my fever broke I really had no symptoms at all. So I just lay in the hospital happily reading novels for a whole week. It was so satisfying!”
“Wait, that counts?”
“How does that not count? Paid leave to read novels sick, but with no symptoms, and the medical bills were even covered by insurance. That’s basically perfect!”
“Uh…”
“No, seriously, I don’t know what you’re hesitating for. What harm could praying possibly do? The worst outcome is just that it doesn’t work. But what if it does!” The seductive voice wormed its way into Song Zhuchen’s ears.
“Fine then…” The person was clearly persuaded. He walked to the small wooden table piled with incense, drew out three sticks, returned to the prayer mat, and knelt down perfectly straight, saying with devotion and hope, “May the Buddha bless my idol to pass his exams smoothly.”
The lucky mascot Fang, whose DNA had been stirred, lifted his head from his food bowl, wishing the wish-maker would be a little more specific which god-tier hunk exactly, and what exam was this even about?
Fang Ye had seriously suggested that Zhong Jianli write up a wish instruction sheet and post it on the door, clearly stating the time, place, person, and event of each wish. Come on, I’m just a cat with a minor Special Ability, not a big data center.
But that fellow Zhong Jianli insisted the mystique must be preserved, and refused.
Looks like he’d have to deploy the beauty offensive after all. Fang Ye yawned and stretched in a soft, languid arch, then set off toward the little girl praying before the Buddha with a coquettish (though utterly unpracticed) catwalk, mewing sweetly as he went. He hadn’t taken three steps when he found himself shrouded in a huge shadow.
Having been terrified these past few days by random passersby suddenly scooping him up for vigorous petting sessions, Fang Ye immediately looked warily toward the source of the shadow and a pair of gleaming dark-brown French Oxford shoes came into view.
Fang Ye: Who is this? Since when does praying to Buddha require this much style?
The suit trousers hanging over the Oxfords were the perfect length, the cashmere fabric fine and exquisite. The trousers’ owner’s legs were beautifully encased within long, straight, and lean. Gorgeous!
Fang Ye’s gaze couldn’t help but climb up along those crisp trouser creases, sliding past a narrow waist, over clearly defined pectorals, past the handsome Adam’s apple on that neck, arriving at the mask on the man’s face, and then…
And then Fang Ye found himself staring straight into those exquisite eyes once praised by a famous director amber eyes that had once sparkled with brilliance, now utterly still and unfathomable, gazing down at him darkly.
Hah, a mask covering the face means nothing, those eyes, I’d recognize them even reduced to ash! Who else could it be but that utter bastard Song Zhuchen!
Wait, Song Zhuchen??
Countless exclamation and question marks erupted like fireworks across Fang Ye’s forehead. In that flash of a moment, he had no capacity to think about Song Zhuchen’s eyes every part of him, from ear tips to tail tip, was puffing up in alarm.
How could I run into Song Zhuchen here?! I’m already a ghost, why won’t he let me go?!
Song Zhuchen looked down at the dusty little gray cat before him. It was clearly terrified, a pair of round blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on him, its chubby little paws shuffling backward until there was nowhere left to retreat, until finally the whole cat shrank into a tiny ball, puffing itself up into a little gray coal.
Fang Ye loved cats, but he was allergic to cat fur, so in the two-person world that Song Zhuchen had envisioned for himself and Fang Ye, cats had never existed. Fang Ye’s health always came first but Fang Ye loved cats…
Gazing down at the soft, fluffy little ball huddled on the ground, Song Zhuchen felt an inexplicable surge of irritation. Clearly he’d been sweetly mewing at every other tourist, why hide from me?
The fingers hanging at Song Zhuchen’s side twitched and then he watched the little cat bolt away with a startled “yowl” as if shocked by electricity.
Why are you running? Before Song Zhuchen could go after him, the phone in his pocket rang.
Song Zhuchen took out his phone, glanced at it, frowned, pressed answer, and walked out of the temple gate toward a spot with no one around.