Chapter 225: Like

Chapter 225: Affection

During class hours, the school infirmary was empty, with only a bearded doctor lounging in a recliner under the shade of a tree.

Wen Xian pulled Shen Zhao over and presented the ace student to the school doctor. “Here, take a look. His lower back is swollen.”

The school doctor had Shen Zhao lift his shirt for a glance, then sneered, his eyes filled with disdain—as if to say, *This minor injury will heal in a few days. Was it really necessary to come all the way here?*

He casually pointed to the medicine cabinet. “There’s some arnica oil and mupirocin inside. Grab some and apply it for him.”

Wen Xian nodded and pulled Shen Zhao inside.

A hanging curtain divided the infirmary into two halves, with a lone sickbed tucked behind it.

Wen Xian picked up the ointment, scanned the instructions, and prodded Shen Zhao. “What are you standing around for? Lie down on the bed.”

“…”

Wen Xian saw no issue with this—after all, he had helped apply medicine before when Shen Zhao got hurt. Shen Zhao tugged at his shirt hem, clearly ill at ease.

By the time Wen Xian finished studying the instructions, Shen Zhao was still standing at the foot of the bed, staring at the cracks in the floor as if trying to count them.

Wen Xian suddenly said, “Shen Zhao, have you ever watched those imperial harem dramas?”

66 loved watching TV dramas, and Wen Xian had seen bits of them recently while staying with him.

Shen Zhao: “…?”

Wen Xian: “The concubines who were banished to the Cold Palace had the exact same expression when they counted floor tiles.”

Shen Zhao: “…”

Wen Xian washed his hands, smeared chilly ointment onto his fingertip, and urged, “Come on, lie down and pull your shirt up past your waist.”

Unable to refuse, Shen Zhao reluctantly lay down, lifting his shirt to expose his lower back. Then Wen Xian’s fingertip touched his skin, sending a shiver through him and peppering his back with goosebumps.

Lying down limited his vision—he couldn’t see Wen Xian, only the metal bed frame in front of him. His skin felt ten times as sensitive as usual, and as Wen Xian’s fingertip circled and rubbed, the ticklish sensation made him instinctively flinch.

But there was no escaping in this position. Shen Zhao could only grip the pillow tightly, his back muscles stiffening as he endured the strange sensation, waiting for Wen Xian to finish applying the medicine.

Thus, the mix of numbness, itchiness, and swelling pain overwhelmed him. Clutching the pillow, he found this gentle touch even more unbearable than Shen Jixing’s slaps.

Wen Xian worked the ointment in circles to help it absorb, making idle conversation along the way. “I heard from my parents that Shen Yuechuan had you attend two banquets over the weekend and even plans to change your name?”

Being taken to banquets was a clear signal—it meant the head of the Shen Group approved of his adopted son, letting him build connections and eventually enter the company.

Shen Zhao: “Mm, it went smoothly.”

Wen Xian chuckled. “So, should I start calling you Shen Zhao from now on?”

Compared to the new name he’d just learned, Jiang Zhiyi, Wen Xian was far more familiar with “Shen Zhao.” He had married this name, shared a bed but not a life with it for three whole years, and witnessed every version of Shen Zhao—lost in despair, icy, shattered… He knew them all.

Though the one before him was still green and unpolished, Wen Xian already knew what the matured version would look like. This “Shen Zhao” would one day take the reins of the Shen Group and rise to enviable heights.

But the body beneath his fingers tensed slightly. Shen Zhao muffled his face in the pillow and muttered, “No.”

His voice was muffled and despondent. “Don’t call me that.”

Wen Xian paused. “You don’t like it?”

In later years, Shen Zhao erased every trace of his past. No one could discover his origins or learn about his background. Even the name Jiang Zhiyi was completely forgotten after Shen Yuechuan's imprisonment. Wen Xian had originally thought that he assumed the identity of the leader of the Shen Group and chose the name Shen Zhao himself.

Shen Zhao remained silent for a moment. "How could I possibly like it?"

He said softly, "Just like before, please."

"Just like before" meant addressing him as "Classmate Jiang."

Wen Xian changed his address, "...Zhiyi, sorry."

Of course, how could he possibly like it?

The cramped tenement, accompanied by plum rains, floods, and poverty—the black-and-white photo of his mother, and the large cigarette burns on his waist.

He wasn't sure whether he was apologizing to the person before him now or the one from the past. For three years of sharing a bed, Wen Xian had never truly explored Shen Zhao's thoughts or understood the weight of his unspoken pain.

Jiang Zhiyi said, "There’s nothing to apologize for."

He sighed. "Shen Yuechuan is extremely controlling and deeply concerned with status. In public, I must use the name 'Shen Zhao,' but in private, just call me by my original name. I want someone to remember it."

Wen Xian’s fingers paused slightly. "Did your mother choose it?"

Jiang Zhiyi gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Yes."

After a few more words, the ointment was fully applied. Wen Xian reached out and helped him up from the bed.

He pulled Jiang Zhiyi upright and asked, "During the break after exercises, how did you run into Shen Jixing? Didn’t you walk with the rest of the class?"

The homeroom teachers always kept watch. As long as he stayed in the middle of the group, Shen Jixing wouldn't have been able to pull him away.

Jiang Zhiyi hesitated.

Wen Xian pressed, "Why aren’t you saying anything?"

Jiang Zhiyi replied, "Well... actually, I saw you had dark circles under your eyes this morning."

Wen Xian: "Hmm?"

Jiang Zhiyi: "I received my scholarship money, and Shen Yuechuan also gave me some spending allowance."

Wen Xian raised an eyebrow. "So?"

So now that Jiang Zhiyi had money, was he planning to imitate the future Shen—no, *Jiang* CEO from the Previous Dynasty and start "supporting" Wen Xian early?

Wen Xian thought, *What in the world?* In the past, at least it was after achieving success. But this Jiang Zhiyi was still so young—was he really thinking of doing the same?

Jiang Zhiyi pursed his lips. "I... I brought you a drink."

As he spoke, he reached into his school uniform. The pockets of the international school jacket were deep and spacious, easily fitting a canned beverage. Jiang Zhiyi rummaged around and pulled out a small gray-blue aluminum can—250ml.

Wen Xian’s eyebrows lifted even higher.

Despite its size, the brand was expensive. This little can cost over ten yuan. To the future Shen Zhao, it would be nothing, but for a high schooler like Jiang Zhiyi, it was quite a splurge. Instead of buying clothes or stationery with his scholarship, he spent it on this—which was unusual.

Wen Xian asked, "How did you know I liked this brand of energy drink?"

In the past, Wen Xian occasionally played basketball and always carried this brand—it was refreshing and quickly replenished energy. But after his rebirth, he found it beneath him to compete with a bunch of kids for the ball, so he hardly played anymore.

Jiang Zhiyi answered, "...I asked your classmates."

Wen Xian laughed, “You don’t have to buy me anything. Just keep the money Shen Yuechuan gave you. I’ll grab my own if I want some.”

Jiang Zhiyi pushed the drink into his hands. “…Take it, okay? It’s already bought, and I don’t really have any other way to thank you right now.”

Wen Xian: “Since when do we do ‘thank yous’?”

He thought to himself, *We’ve been together three years—what’s with the thanks? Or are you gonna hand me a credit card for a sports car next?*

Jiang Zhiyi: “…Just take it.”

Wen Xian accepted it, took a sip, and the sharp lemon flavor hit his tongue. He stared at the little blue can in his hand, suddenly remembering something.

Beside the sports field at the foreign language school stood a row of lockers. Wen Xian had rented one long-term, using it to stash his clothes and backpack during games. There was nothing valuable inside, so he often left it unlocked. During his first and second years, girls would sometimes slip love letters in—especially at the start of freshman year, when he’d get several in a single day.

But Wen Xian never responded, and gradually, the letters dwindled. By senior year, they stopped entirely.

Yet one day during senior year, he found a drink inside.

A gray-blue can, lemon-flavored, costing over ten bucks—neatly placed in his locker.

At first, Wen Xian assumed it was another love letter from some girl, but after searching the entire locker, he found nothing else. The sender had left only the drink, with no explanation.

Not knowing where it came from and during a wave of kidnappings targeting rich kids, Wen Xian feared it might be drugged. He didn’t dare drink it, so he took it home and forgot about it for years, until it eventually got lost somewhere.

He vaguely recalled the date—it was probably around this time.

“…”

Was it Jiang Zhiyi from his past life who sent him that drink?

…Why?

In this life, with so many interactions between them, Jiang Zhiyi giving him a drink made sense. But in the previous life, they’d barely crossed paths—Wen Xian had only saved someone in an alley and taken them home. Why would he send him a drink?

Moreover, if Jiang Zhiyi had also left the group to buy a drink back then, had Shen Jixing ambushed him in the woods too?

Wen Xian couldn’t bear to think about it.

In that lifetime, there had been no Wen Xian to save him.

Given Shen Jixing’s hostility toward him, it couldn’t have been just one or two instances of bullying. In the previous life, in places Wen Xian couldn’t see, that honor student must’ve gone through hell.

Wen Xian suddenly said, “Zhiyi, what if I switched to your class?”

Jiang Zhiyi’s head snapped up, eyes lighting up.

Wen Xian shrugged. “I beat up Shen Jixing—he’s totally gonna hold a grudge. I’ll just tell the school that Shen Jixing and I don’t get along, and I don’t want to stay in the same class. They’ll let me switch to yours.”

The foreign language school had several accelerated classes. Wen Xian and Shen Jixing were in one, while Shen Zhao was in another—both with near-perfect college admission rates.

Wen Xian and Shen Jixing were students who had gotten in through connections and money. Shen Yuechuan had established scholarships, and Wen Huarong had donated a large batch of electronic equipment—both were considered the school’s “patrons.” As the “young master” of a patron family, Wen Xian’s requests were usually accommodated.

Jiang Zhiyi lit up.

Nothing like his future self’s composure, he couldn’t hide his emotions around Wen Xian. Wen Xian elbowed him, grinning. “You *that* desperate to share a class with me?”

Jiang Zhiyi exhaled sharply and fell silent.

His flustered reactions were endlessly amusing—something Wen Xian had never seen from his future self. A weird rush of pride swelled in him. “Really? You *that* eager to be in the same class?”

Jiang Zhiyi took a deep breath. "Right. Exactly."

Without waiting for Wen Xian’s reaction, he walked off.

Wen Xian trailed far behind, ambling along, oddly cheerful. He spent a long time smiling to himself without knowing why. By the time Jiang Zhiyi entered the school building, Wen Xian was still loitering on the field, occasionally raising his drink to take a sip.

Some students were playing basketball on the court—several of them familiar to Wen Xian. They happened to be in a break and waved at him. On impulse, Wen Xian raised his drink deliberately, revealing the gray-blue can logo. They saw it clearly.

One of them paused, staring at the can. “Hey, Wen Xian, weren’t you rushing toward the grove earlier? Where’d you get this drink?”

The grove was in the exact opposite direction of the commercial district.

“Who says I bought it?” Wen Xian countered. “Can’t it be a gift?”

Others laughed. “Oh right, another underclassman crushing on you? Rushed all the way here just to bring you a drink.”

“Too bad though, Young Master Wen’s allergic to romance—no girlfriends for him.”

“Such an expensive drink. Should’ve given it to me instead.”

Wen Xian scoffed. “Why does it have to be a junior girl?”

—Couldn’t it be the top-ranked academic god?

But of course, he couldn’t say that out loud. So he backpedaled: “Can’t it just be a close friend?”

They howled with laughter.

Someone tossed the ball toward Wen Xian, who caught it and threw it back. The group laughed even harder. “Come on, man—who’d shell out for this drink if they didn’t like you? We’re your friends too. Ask any of us, would we ever buy you something like this?”

“A bottle of water is good enough for bro code.”

“Exactly, exactly.”

That gave Wen Xian pause.

He had been married to Jiang Zhiyi from the previous life for three years—they knew each other backward and forward. Being close came naturally; their intimacy was second nature, instinctive and unquestioned.

But now, it hit him differently.

Giving him drinks, holding onto his clothes, hinting for hugs more than once…

Was Jiang Zhiyi… into him?

If Jiang Zhiyi liked him, then…

Did the Jiang Zhiyi from his past life—the one who strong-armed him into marriage—like him too?