Chapter 241: Redesign

Chapter 241: Transformation

The raised scars under his fingers were kissed gently by Wen Xian, as if the numb scar tissue had suddenly come alive with sensation. Jiang Zhiyi’s abdomen twitched violently.

He reached out to pull Wen Xian up, but his arms lacked strength, leaving him powerless against the wet heat spreading across his waist. The old scar burned fresh, as though transformed into another organ—each gentle kiss from Wen Xian erupted in goosebumps across his skin.

“No…”

Despite the tenderness of the kisses—so much gentler than the brutality of the past—Jiang Zhiyi seemed unable to bear it. He panted desperately, pushing futilely at Wen Xian, not even knowing what he was resisting, only pressing his palm against Wen Xian’s shoulder blade and repeating, “No…”

Yet when Wen Xian actually stopped, bracing his hands on either side of the pillow, his deep amber eyes silently watching, as if waiting for further reaction, Jiang Zhiyi suddenly broke down. Their clothes were disheveled, and with just a slight glance downward, Wen Xian could see the scars on his waist—ugly, twisting like earthworms.

He turned away, arching his back to hide them, but Wen Xian gently stopped him. Kissing the scars again, he asked softly, “Did it hurt?”

It had, of course. But time had dulled the memory, and Jiang Zhiyi no longer recalled.

Pushing at Wen Xian’s hand, he tried to push him away. “Enough. I’m tired. Shen Group has a meeting tomorrow—let’s stop here…”

What Jiang Zhiyi didn’t know was that resistance at this moment only had the opposite effect.

Wen Xian had no intention of stopping. Emotional knots had to be unraveled all at once—otherwise, the next outburst would only be worse.

His hands never stopped moving—one holding his lover’s wrists, the other continuing its path. He kissed the scars with loving tenderness before returning to Jiang Zhiyi’s face, pressing countless kisses to his eyelids, drying the trembling dampness on his lashes. Softly, he coaxed, “Zhiyi, love, it’s okay. I’ll be gentle, alright?”

Jiang Zhiyi’s struggles froze, his pupils dilating. “You—”

How did Wen Xian know the name “Zhiyi”? And how could he call him “love”?

The answer came in the form of another skilled kiss.

Wen Xian’s kisses were practiced—within moments, Jiang Zhiyi was completely overwhelmed. His breath was stolen, overcome with breathless pleasure, his mind hazy as if drunk, lost in an intoxicating dream.

Wen Xian knew how to bring his lover joy.

No pain, no endurance, no stifled cries—only comfort, only kisses, only tenderness.

Yet it was more agonizingly tender than before.

At some point, Jiang Zhiyi had held his breath. Wen Xian kissed his earlobe and whispered, “Zhiyi, how did you get these scars?”

He had asked before. Jiang Zhiyi had said it was his late father. Everyone in Nan City knew Jiang Zhiyi was Shen Yuechuan’s adopted child—his “late father” could only mean his birth father. Wen Xian hadn’t pressed further. But now he knew—Jiang Zhiyi’s real father was Shen Yuechuan. These scars had nothing to do with a nonexistent birth father. They were because of Shen Jixing.

Jiang Zhiyi stayed silent, but Wen Xian had infinite patience. His kisses slowed, deliberate, as did his questioning. “Zhiyi? How did you get these scars? Tell me, please?”

Jiang Zhiyi barely gathered his thoughts before murmuring, “It was my late—”

Then, abruptly, he fell silent.

Wen Xian prodded gently, “Hm? How did it happen?”

“…”

Jiang Zhiyi turned his face away, refusing to speak.

Sensing something amiss, Wen Xian leaned closer—only to find his lover’s eyes tightly shut, the flush on his face faded halfway, his gaze distant and unseeing, lost in thought.

Wen Xian sighed softly.

He kept kissing him softly and tenderly, “I found out—it was Shen Jixing, right? Zhiyi, baby, why couldn’t you tell me?”

Jiang Zhiyi turned his head to look at him, his lips quirking in a silent, self-mocking smile. “If I say it was Shen Jixing, would you believe me?”

Jiang Zhiyi’s reputation was ruined. Everyone knew he was a backstabbing ingrate who had torn his benefactor’s family apart, while Shen Jixing was Wen Xian’s cousin, someone they had grown up with.

Jiang Zhiyi had studied literature. He understood the saying about not coming between family. Moreover, from Wen Xian’s perspective, Shen Jixing had been deliberately killed by Jiang Zhiyi—the killer walked free while his cousin couldn’t even rest in peace. If Jiang Zhiyi now used a trivial scar to accuse and slander Shen Jixing, what would Wen Xian think?

Would Wen Xian feel heartache for him?

No. Faced with a disgraced, despised marriage partner, he would only wonder—who did Jiang Zhiyi think he was? Even after his cousin’s death, did he still have to drag his name through the mud?

His heart clenched painfully. Even normal couple’s squabbles felt unbearable, and Wen Xian couldn’t continue.

This wasn’t the Jiang Zhiyi who had been loved in their past life. For that Jiang Zhiyi, this would have been mere playfulness; for the current one, it was torture.

Wen Xian gazed into those dark tea-colored eyes. “I believe you.”

“Zhiyi, baby, as long as you say it, I’ll believe you.”

Jiang Zhiyi’s eyes flickered. Held tightly in Wen Xian’s embrace, he finally understood exactly how lovers played their games. When they were done, he couldn’t move a single finger.

Wen Xian carried him to the bathroom, cleaned him up, then brought him back, bundling him up in the blankets before pulling him close.

Exhausted, Jiang Zhiyi had nearly fallen asleep halfway through the bath. Wen Xian didn’t tease him anymore, just holding him close as they both closed their eyes to sleep.

There were many misunderstandings between them, too many to resolve in a single day. But it didn’t matter. Wen Xian would slowly draw Jiang Zhiyi out of his shell, gently untangling the knots in his heart.

He held his younger lover and drifted into deep sleep.

Beside him, Jiang Zhiyi silently opened his eyes.

His satisfied body begged for sleep, every muscle relaxed as if soaking in a warm bath, yet Jiang Zhiyi couldn’t sleep.

He shifted slightly, his gaze landing on Wen Xian’s sharp profile. Jiang Zhiyi watched him quietly for a long time.

Wen Xian had investigated him. Why?

The name “Jiang Zhiyi” had long been buried in the currents of time after Shen Yuechuan was imprisoned. No one knew Shen Zhao had once been Jiang Zhiyi, nor did anyone know about his miserable, destitute high school years. How had Wen Xian uncovered it? And why?

And then there was this achingly tender lovemaking, one that left Jiang Zhiyi completely defenseless.

Jiang Zhiyi had never believed in karma, nor in lucky breaks falling from the sky. Otherwise, Shen Yuechuan should have been struck dead by lightning long ago, instead of living freely for nearly two decades.

On the eve of their divorce, could it really be that his husband, who had given him the cold shoulder for three years, had a change of heart?

He closed his eyes slightly, feeling the considerate embrace and scorching warmth of the man beside him, letting out a faint sigh.

It didn’t matter. Whether it was kindness for the sake of securing shares or compensation out of guilt, having this fantasy before the divorce was… nice.

Having come this far, indulging himself a little couldn’t hurt.

So Jiang Zhiyi yielded to his heart and nestled deeper into Wen Xian’s arms.

It was the best night’s sleep he’d ever had.

The next day, Wen Xian slept in as usual, unbothered by CEO Jiang’s morning routine. By the time Wen Xian groggily woke up, Jiang Zhiyi had already left for the office.

*

Wen Xian grabbed his phone, swiped to Jiang Zhiyi's contact page, and noticed the impersonally labeled "Shen Zhao." With a few quick taps, he changed it to "Wife," half-teasing, half-complaining:

"You're up so early. I was going to drive you to work."

If this were the Jiang Zhiyi from later, he might have retorted, "You're the one who slept in. If I waited for you, I’d miss my meetings."

But this Jiang Zhiyi hesitated for a long time, sent no response.

Jiang Zhiyi’s status showed "typing..."

Evidently flustered, he kept typing, deleting, then retyping. Eventually, Wen Xian tsked and took the initiative: "Sick of takeout? Want me to bring you lunch?"

When Wen Xian wasn’t around, Jiang Zhiyi picked at his food like a finicky cat, barely eating as if determined to starve himself.

The other end continued editing and deleting.

Jiang Zhiyi had initially planned to say, "No need." But thinking about their remaining two weeks of marriage and Wen Xian’s inexplicable gentleness—whether out of guilt or something else—he found himself typing against his instincts: "Okay."

Wen Xian: "Great. Wait for me."

They had a cook hired at home. It seemed that across lifetimes, Jiang Zhiyi remained the same person—even the cook was familiar to Wen Xian. Auntie Li, skilled at home-cooked meals.

Wen Xian padded to the living room in slippers. Auntie Li had already arrived, so he leaned against the doorframe: "Auntie Li, make something light today, maybe with some soup."

Jiang Zhiyi couldn't stomach anything rich today.

Auntie Li: "Chicken and mushroom stew? With two vegetable sides?"

Wen Xian grunted in approval.

Once the soup was ready, Wen Xian packed it into an insulated lunchbox—clear broth, tender chicken, and cross-cut mushrooms, an appetizing sight.

Then he drove to Jiang Zhiyi’s company.

He didn’t hide his presence along the way, the ring on his left hand catching the light boldly. Carrying the lunchbox, he barged right into the CEO’s office under Assistant Yuan’s bemused stare.

Wen Xian: "Had Auntie make some soup. Kept it light."

When Wen Xian loved someone, he was meticulous and considerate. Jiang Zhiyi, unused to sharing meals with him, seemed slightly awkward, while Wen Xian acted as if he owned the place, casually serving portions—sometimes for Jiang Zhiyi, sometimes for himself. Jiang Zhiyi hesitated at the meat, but Wen Xian controlled the portions, figuring he'd had enough before stopping.

Before leaving, Wen Xian blurted out, "Zhiyi, can I borrow your wedding ring?"

He pointed at the band: "Too plain. Not eye-catching enough—no one can tell we're married at first glance. I want to set a pair of main stones."

Wen Xian contacted the jewelry workshop from their Previous Dynasty. Fortunately, their original gemstones were still available. He paid upfront and commissioned the redesign.

After Wen Xian’s animated, if disjointed, instructions, the designer perfectly captured his vision. The jeweler’s schedule was set—all that remained was shipping the rings for modification.

Wen Xian opted for priority VIP processing, ensuring the redesigned rings would be ready by their third anniversary in two weeks.

The commemorative cake was also ordered.

If all went well, Wen Xian planned to tear up the divorce papers that day and reaffirm his married status.

Jiang Zhiyi paused.

He looked at Wen Xian, his dark gaze inscrutable. Though Wen Xian had explained clearly, he couldn’t fully trust it.

Yet, in the end, he still worked the ring off his finger and placed it in Wen Xian’s palm.

As Wen Xian nestled it in a velvet case, Jiang Zhiyi’s eyes followed every movement until the box vanished into the bag. Then, softly, he asked, "Will you bring me lunch tomorrow too?"

Wen Xian smiled, free with his affection. He leaned down and laid a loud, smacking kiss on Jiang Zhiyi’s cheek.

"Of course, baby."