Chapter 222: Hug?

Chapter 222: Together?

Since Shen Zhao was going, Wen Xian naturally followed.

The ceremony would take place on Wednesday afternoon during the second class period in the foreign language school’s auditorium.

Wen Xian had originally planned to accompany Shen Zhao and even started calculating how many classes he’d need to skip. But the night before, Shen Zhao hesitated for a moment and said, “You still have class. Studying is more important—no need to tag along.”

Wen Xian gave a noncommittal hum. “English class doesn’t matter. I don’t listen anyway.”

His time abroad had made his English practically native-level. Without attending class, his instincts alone could keep his grades up.

Shen Zhao kept packing his things without looking up. “…Still, you should listen.”

Wen Xian countered, “There are so many classes, but only one award ceremony.”

Leaning against the sofa, he leaned in until his face was inches away from Shen Zhao’s. “Such an important occasion—I should at least take a photo for you, right? There are only a few shining moments in life. This is the top score in the region-wide standardized test! Out of all those elite schools, you’re the best among thousands! That’s insane! When I won first place in an amateur guitar competition as a kid, my mom snapped photos like crazy.”

He wiggled the DSLR camera in his hand. “My dad’s camera. I borrowed it just for this.”

His face was so close that Shen Zhao could almost see the fine hairs on his skin. He quickly looked away, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Still, attend class. Aren’t you planning to study abroad? English is important.”

Wen Xian paused, thinking, *Does he not want me to go?*

Ever since rescuing Shen Zhao from that alley, this was the first time Shen Zhao had resisted doing something together.

After a moment, Wen Xian relented. “Fine, then go by yourself.”

Come afternoon, though, he still skipped class and slipped into the auditorium.

The ceremony had already begun. After the host’s opening remarks, the lights dimmed, leaving only the stage and podium illuminated by spotlights.

As his eyes landed on Shen Yuechuan in the center of the front row, Wen Xian took in the tall, handsome man in formal attire—carrying some extra weight, but still commanding presence.

Beside him sat his assistant and secretary, while several reporters with long lenses hovered nearby. Wen Xian guessed that within days, the human-interest section of the city paper would feature a headline: *Local Entrepreneur Mr. Shen Yuechuan Donates Generously to Support Outstanding Underprivileged Students,* followed by a glowing profile of his endless generosity and kindness.

Wen Xian edged through the darkness and settled two rows behind Shen Yuechuan—within earshot, yet safely out of the spotlight.

As valedictorian and student representative, Shen Zhao was required to give a speech. He had changed into a clean, threadbare uniform and stood on stage with other recipients, holding a plaque inscribed with the scholarship details. Taking the microphone, he began speaking in a measured, clear voice that carried effortlessly across the auditorium.

Shen Zhao had clearly prepared his words. His pace was unhurried, his enunciation precise, ensuring every syllable reached the audience. Holding the scholarship plaque, he smiled warmly and praised Shen Yuechuan and the Shen Group with such sincerity that his words could have been lifted straight into the newspaper’s headline. His expression was perfectly composed, flawlessly sincere. Paired with his worn school uniform, he embodied the earnest, bookish high-achiever—grateful to his benefactor and wholly focused on his studies.

When his three-minute speech ended, the crowd broke into applause. Shen Zhao bowed and stepped back.

Shen Yuechuan rose and took the stage, beaming with satisfaction. During the group photo, he even draped an arm over Shen Zhao’s shoulders, the picture of a proud mentor.

At the touch, Shen Zhao went rigid for a split second before forcing himself to relax. He curved his lips into a practiced smile.

A barrage of camera flashes lit up the room, shutters clicking rapidly.

In the reporters’ photos, the entrepreneur stood with his arm around the young student, who smiled earnestly while holding his scholarship plaque—as if his future was all but guaranteed.

This was undoubtedly the money shot—the most valuable image of the day. If the newspapers included a photo, it would surely be this one.

But Wen Xian, seated in the audience, let his DSLR drop to his lap.

Something told him Shen Zhao wouldn’t want this moment captured.

Some moments weren’t meant to be kept.

He dreaded Wen Xian seeing him like this.

This version of Shen Zhao felt foreign to Wen Xian.

Later in life, Shen Zhao kept his emotions guarded in business, often wearing a faint, unreadable smile during meetings that left others guessing. But he rarely acted this way in front of Wen Xian. At home, Shen Zhao was either weary, exhausted, or drowsy after their moments together—he never smiled like this.

Wen Xian thought he looked deeply unhappy.

The strained smile was flawlessly practiced, but his eyes were hollow and numb, as if filled with unspeakable sorrow—like a puppet mechanically replaying a script.

"..."

After the group photo, Shen Zhao and the other student representatives stepped down from the stage. The host moved on to the next part of the ceremony, while Shen Yuechuan chatted casually with the school administrators. Their voices were loud enough for Wen Xian to overhear.

Shen Yuechuan: "That kid just now was sharp—spoke well, too. I quite took a liking to him."

The school administrator fawned: "Ah, that one? He's from the 33rd Middle School. Aced the joint exams, crushing second place by over ten points. Brilliant—just a tough background. Fatherless since birth, mother passed early. An orphan, really."

The administrator flattered further: "Easy on the eyes too—handsome. I'd say he carries a bit of your charisma."

Shen Yuechuan, a self-made man who married up, was undeniably good-looking—the kind who’d have been a matinee idol in Wen Xian’s parents' era.

Shen Yuechuan: "Oh?" He stroked his chin, thoughtful. "Indeed... What’s his surname?"

The administrator: "Jiang, after his late mother."

Shen Yuechuan sighed deeply: "Jiang…"

His tone turned wistful, his voice tinged with nostalgia, and he didn’t press further.

The two moved on to other topics.

Before the ceremony ended, Wen Xian slipped out early, sneaking back into class through the back door as if he’d never left.

From that day on, Shen Zhao officially became a student at Foreign Language School.

Assigned to the honors class beside Wen Xian’s, Shen Zhao was led by the administrators past Wen Xian’s classroom near the end of the period.

Seated by the window, Wen Xian tapped the glass as Shen Zhao passed, not bothering to hide from classmates, mouthing: *"See you after class."*

*Don’t be upset.*

Startled, Shen Zhao flinched back two steps, falling to the back of the group.

They were separated by textured, wavy glass. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting pale green shadows onto the surface, which blurred into dappled green light. Wen Xian’s face was half-hidden behind the glow, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Still that same achingly handsome face.

Shen Zhao suddenly felt the urge to cry.

In the classroom, a literature lesson was underway, students reciting texts amid the drone of cicadas and chirping birds—while Wen Xian tapped the window, silently promising to meet him later.

It could’ve been such a perfect afternoon.

He nodded hastily in response, mumbling a hurried "Yeah," before following the group away.

Wen Xian thought, *That’s more like it.*

Way better than his stage act.

His mood improved, and he began to half-heartedly listen to Chinese class, idly scribbling some notes out of boredom. When the class ended, he went to find Shen Zhao as promised, bugging him with simple math problems. After solving them, Wen Xian leaned against the railing, watching the younger students run and play soccer on the field.

Shen Zhao also leaned against the railing, but his gaze was unfocused, staring blankly at the playground, his mind elsewhere.

Wen Xian tsked and, like a magician, pulled a canned drink from his pocket and pushed it toward Shen Zhao. "Here, try this."

The drink was chilled when he took it out—Wen Xian had bought it from the convenience store before class ended, and it was still icy cold, the can sweating.

Wen Xian’s way of comforting people was straightforward: gifts, treats, drinks, or trips. But being a senior, trips weren’t happening, and he couldn’t conjure up a gift on the spot—only snacks and drinks remained.

The drink was lemon-lime flavored. Wen Xian found it too sour, but he remembered that in his past life, Shen Zhao had liked this brand.

Shen Zhao opened the can, took a sip, and frowned slightly. "It's okay," he said honestly, "but a bit sour."

After some joking around, the matter was brushed aside. Neither of them brought up the day’s ceremony again. They went home, sticking to their usual routines—studying and living as normal.

Until one day, Shen Zhao received a phone call.

At the time, he and Wen Xian were eating. Shen Zhao gave an apologetic smile, excused himself, and stepped onto the balcony to continue the call.

Wen Xian had a premonition.

Sure enough, that very night, Shen Yuechuan put out word—he had met a bright and well-mannered student at the foreign language school, felt sorry for him being alone, and wanted to take him in as an adopted son.

And that student was Shen Zhao.

Shen Zhao told Wen Xian, saying he would stay at the Shen family’s house for a couple of days. Wen Xian fell silent for a moment before replying, "I respect your choice. But if you’re unhappy there, you can come back anytime. I—or my parents—can help pay for college. They really like you."

He didn’t want Shen Zhao to go to the Shen family, but if things were truly as Wen Xian suspected, there wasn’t much he could do.

The detective’s investigation had hit a wall. The old account books had been destroyed, leaving no critical evidence. No one could prove the truck driver had been hired to commit murder, much less link Shen Yuechuan to the crime. It was all buried in the past, hidden in some unknown corner. If they wanted proof, they’d have to get it from within the Shen Group.

But Wen Xian was from the Wen family. His mother, Zhang Xiaoping, and Ji Mingzhu were cousins in name only—their families’ interests didn’t align, locked in power struggles and keeping each other at arm’s length. It would be difficult for Wen Xian to access Shen family records.

Shen Zhao deliberately avoided involving Wen Xian, and Wen Xian understood and respected that. He just wanted Shen Zhao to know that no matter what happened, he was always welcome here. If he needed a safe harbor, he could return anytime.

Shen Zhao nodded.

They were still classmates, seeing each other every day, yet things got weirdly tense between them, as if they were about to be separated for a long time.

Shen Zhao quietly packed up—just a backpack and two suitcases. Wen Xian crouched down to help and noticed Shen Zhao had carefully folded his trench coat and tucked it into the deepest layer of the suitcase.

Wen Xian let out a “tsk,” thinking, *What’s so special about this damn coat? You’ve carried it with you for two lives running.*

He nudged Shen Zhao and couldn’t help saying, "That coat’s old and doesn’t even fit you. If you like it, I’ll buy you more—as many as you want."

Shen Zhao didn’t move, continuing to adjust the coat. "No need to buy more."

He was like a squirrel stockpiling food for winter, and Wen Xian’s trench coat was a big, beautiful pinecone he had to drag back to his den.

Wen Xian couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or laugh. "Then what do you want? My credit card’s back—name it and it’s yours..."

He wanted to say, *I’ll buy you anything.*

But before he could finish, Shen Zhao suddenly stopped, looked at Wen Xian for a long moment, and then opened his arms.

He ventured, "A hug?"

He hid it carefully, making it seem like a farewell embrace between good friends—with nothing more behind it.

Wen Xian thought to himself, *what's the big deal?* In his previous life, he had held him countless times—wrapped in each other’s arms afterward, carrying him to the bathtub and back to bed again and again, skin to skin with no hesitation or restraint.

So Wen Xian raised his hand and pulled Shen Zhao straight into his embrace.

He used an ocean-citrus scented body wash, specially chosen by Madam Zhang. The fresh, sunny fragrance filled the air as his arms wrapped around Shen Zhao’s back, forming a deeply comforting hold.

Shen Zhao held his breath.

He lifted his hands and cautiously returned the embrace.