Chapter 242: Heavy Snow

Chapter 242: Heavy Snow

In the days that followed, Wen Xian truly came every day.

After getting used to hotel meals, Jiang Zhiyi found himself naturally preferring home-cooked food. Whenever Wen Xian placed fresh, appetizing dishes in front of him and handed him the chopsticks, Jiang Zhiyi always ended up eating more than usual.

As for dinner, he often worked late, so his dinners were usually irregular. Later on, Wen Xian started picking him up right on time, pulling him out of the office and insisting he leave work promptly to go home for dinner.

The first time Wen Xian did this, Jiang Zhiyi was stunned, allowing Wen Xian to take his wrist and lead him out. Assistant Yuan at the door looked even more confused, his expression clearly asking, “Boss, should I call the police?”

Eventually, Jiang Zhiyi got used to it—and so did Assistant Yuan.

Whenever their boss’s handsome husband appeared at the elevator entrance, striding down the hallway with his long, model-worthy legs, his footsteps echoing along the corridor before escorting their boss away, Assistant Yuan would happily start packing his desk, thinking, “Ah, another early day today.”

And Jiang Zhiyi grew increasingly comfortable with Wen Xian’s closeness.

They had an unspoken agreement not to mention divorce again, sharing lunch together, dinner together, and eventually sleeping together.

No matter what position they fell asleep in, Wen Xian would adjust his position, pulling his lover into his arms and holding him like a pillow.

He noticed that Jiang Zhiyi was unusually affectionate just after waking up.

At those moments, President Jiang looked just like the younger version of himself from the past life. Wen Xian couldn’t resist giving him a tender, drawn-out morning kiss.

One morning, after kissing Jiang Zhiyi, Wen Xian tried to go back to sleep. Jiang Zhiyi nudged him gently.

“I have a working lunch with a client today, and a meeting tonight. It will go late into the night, so don’t come pick me up or wait for dinner.”

Still half-asleep, Wen Xian murmured in acknowledgment, “Alright, but make sure you eat on time. The weather’s bad today—bring an umbrella.”

Jiang Zhiyi gave a quiet “mm,” and Wen Xian let go, rolling over and burying half his face in the pillow to catch more sleep.

As the year-end approached, Nan City grew colder. Puffy jackets, once rarely seen, were now common. Wen Xian turned on the TV for background noise and heard the host predict snowfall that evening.

Nan City rarely saw heavy snow—only a light sprinkle that melted quickly, never even reaching ankle height. But this year was unusually cold. Wen Xian glanced at the sky, where lead-gray clouds stacked heavily overhead, threatening a major storm.

By four o’clock in the afternoon, heavy snow had indeed begun to fall.

The city sent out snowplows, but they couldn’t keep up with the falling snow. By the time Jiang Zhiyi left the office close to midnight, the snow had piled thickly.

A path had been cleared down the center of the street. Jiang Zhiyi drove home through a strangely deserted road—pedestrians long gone, shops on either side closed for the night.

The deep snow made the tires slip, turning a thirty-minute drive into nearly an hour. When his neighborhood finally came into view, Jiang Zhiyi let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Cars were prone to stalling in such conditions.

But as he turned off the main road toward the residential complex, beyond the reach of the city's snow removal efforts, the snow became deeper. His car struggled through the deep, powdery snow, its low chassis barely clearing the soft layers.

His vehicle was designed for comfort, not rough terrain, and with each passing moment, the tires sank further in.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he frowned slightly.

After driving a bit farther, the engine sputtered weakly and died completely. Jiang Zhiyi tried to restart it—no response.

The buildings in the complex were spaced far apart. Even after entering the gate, it would take another fifteen to twenty minutes on foot to reach his unit.

Normally, walking wouldn’t be a problem, but today, after a business meeting in freezing temperatures, Jiang Zhiyi had only worn a turtleneck under his suit. His pants were thin, and his loafers had open tops—elegant, perhaps, but not suited for the cold.

Jiang Zhiyi called roadside assistance to tow his car, gripping the door handle with one hand, poised to step out into the freezing air.

Ten or twenty minutes of freezing was nothing—certainly not worse than when Shen Jixing had stubbed a cigarette out on him.

But as he unbuckled his seatbelt and swung one leg out, the biting wind rushed up his pant leg, sending goosebumps prickling across his ankle. Jiang Zhiyi hesitated.

A body spoiled by warmth couldn’t handle the cold or discomfort now.

The windshield had fogged over, but through the haze, he could still make out the scattered pedestrians outside. Among them, a couple leaned into each other for warmth under a shared umbrella.

Jiang Zhiyi wiped the condensation from the glass and watched as the couple, cheeks flushed red from the cold, drifted away laughing. The man had whispered something, making the woman burst into giggles before they playfully bumped into each other and disappeared into the night.

He unlocked his phone and opened Wen Xian’s chat.

Their last exchange was at six, with Wen Xian’s message: *They say it’ll snow tonight. Be careful.*

His fingers tightened slightly around the phone.

Would Wen Xian actually come for him?

The freezing night, the snow deep enough to cover his ankles, the late hour—no one would willingly step out now, let alone Wen Xian, who had once been distant from him.

If it were for the sake of shares, would Wen Xian keep up this act?

With only a few days left in their two-week marriage, the deadline for their performance of affection was nearing. Jiang Zhiyi hesitated, then decided to ask anyway.

If Wen Xian had been willing to bring him meals every day, maybe he’d be willing to come pick him up too?

He didn’t call. Instead, he typed out a message, deleting and rewriting before finally sending a clipped, hesitant line: *My car stalled.*

*No umbrella.*

*I’m at the fork near the neighborhood entrance.*

*You…*

Would you come get me?

After sending it, Jiang Zhiyi locked his phone as if fleeing from the act. He leaned back in his seat, clutching the steering wheel, forehead pressed against his hands. His watch bumped against his skin, the icy metal digging in.

The night was pitch-black, and in the silence, the ticking of the second hand echoed too loudly.

Thoughts churned like waves, and the wait stretched unbearably long. Ten seconds after sending it, regret already gnawed at him. He wanted to delete it, pretend it had never been sent—but just as his finger hovered over the delete button, Wen Xian replied.

*Sure, wait there. Don’t get out. I’ll be right there.*

A few hundred meters away, at home, Wen Xian threw on a thick down jacket and grabbed an umbrella. He had initially meant to take two, but on impulse, he left one behind before hurrying out.

At the neighborhood entrance, he spotted Jiang Zhiyi’s car.

The engine had died, the heater powerless. Wen Xian trudged awkwardly through the snow in his bulky coat and peered through the fogged glass to see the young CEO deep in thought, staring at his phone screen—at Wen Xian’s message.

Wen Xian smiled.

In the future, that same young CEO had once clutched his phone just as dazedly during a flood, waiting for Wen Xian to pull him from the water.

He leaned down and rapped on the window.

Jiang Zhiyi’s head snapped up.

He frantically silenced his phone, shoved it into his pocket, and hurriedly opened the car door. Wen Xian was already standing at the entrance, wearing the thickest down jacket in the house—so thick it looked like a comforter. At a glance, Jiang Zhiyi thought he resembled a tall penguin.

Jiang Zhiyi blanked for a second, then kept staring.

Wen Xian’s outfit… was so unlike Wen Xian.

Then, the “penguin’s” expression turned displeased. He reached out, yanked Jiang Zhiyi out of the car, and scrutinized his clothes with a cryptic *tsk*. Unbuttoning his down jacket, he drummed his warm chest and said, “Come here.”

In the animal kingdom, penguins often have the softest feathers on their chests.

Before Jiang Zhiyi could react, a gust of icy wind made him shiver. The next second, Wen Xian pulled him into an embrace, wrapping him in the “down comforter.”

Thus, the penguin became an oversized penguin.

Wen Xian was already tall, and his loose, puffy jacket fit Jiang Zhiyi perfectly. The warmth seeped through his sweater, offering a steady, cozy heat.

Wen Xian wrapped an arm around Jiang Zhiyi’s waist—a reflex from their shared future—and felt his pulse with a squeeze. “Did the car heater stop? Are you freezing?”

Jiang Zhiyi: “…It died right as you showed up.”

Wen Xian: “Good. Who the hell drives this late? I was about to fall asleep waiting. If you’d been an hour later, I’d have had to meet you in my dreams.”

Jiang Zhiyi went still, catching his meaning. His earlobes flushed red instantly.

Wen Xian: “Yeah, otherwise who else would I be holding while sleeping?”

Habits were terrifying things. After spending so many years together, suddenly returning to their youth, Wen Xian realized he couldn’t sleep without pulling Jiang Zhiyi into his arms.

Seeing Jiang Zhiyi spacing out again, lost in thought, Wen Xian jostled him and complained, “Alright, it’s freezing out here. Let’s hurry home.”

Jiang Zhiyi: “Yeah.”

Then, the two penguins began walking side by side toward home.

They passed snowdrifts, a cobblestone path across the lawn, and the commercial street at the neighborhood entrance, where the only lit convenience store had a steaming coffee machine at the door.

Wen Xian: “Zhiyi, cold?”

Jiang Zhiyi: “I’m alright.”

Wen Xian pinched his fingers. “Still lying.”

The tips of his fingers were icy, his skin a weird, flushed pink. A little longer, and frostbite would set in.

So Jiang Zhiyi heard Wen Xian mutter under his breath, “If you keep lying, I’ll have to get creative.”

Jiang Zhiyi stiffened, instantly understanding, his earlobes flushing red.

Wen Xian reached up and pinched one, his fingertips burning, making Jiang Zhiyi duck his head slightly.

Wen Xian: “You could try telling me what you really think. Like how you wanted me to pick you up tonight.”

Jiang Zhiyi: “If I said so, would you have come?”

Wen Xian’s temper flared. He gave a sharp tug at the soft flesh of Jiang Zhiyi’s earlobe, turning it even redder. “Duh. Am I some spooky ghost standing in front of you? Have you ever seen a ghost this hot?”

Jiang Zhiyi glanced up at him: "Not a vengeful spirit."

He followed Wen Xian’s slow steps, mentally adding the rest: "...but a penguin."

The "penguin" had already dragged him into the convenience store, paid for and grabbed a coffee, and even asked the clerk—who’d been binge-watching anime—for two insulating cup sleeves.

The clerk was surprised to see customers at this hour. As he stood up to make the coffee, he made small talk: "You're out late tonight?"

Wen Xian shrugged: "What can you do? He was working overtime, so I had to come pick him up."

The clerk nodded in understanding: "Couple?"

Wen Xian scanned the payment code: "Married."

As he spoke, he slid the sleeves onto the cup and handed it to Jiang Zhiyi: "Hold it."

Thus, the coffee became a steady source of warmth, its heat kept from burning his hands by the double layer of insulation.

Jiang Zhiyi lowered his gaze and cradled the coffee carefully.

When Wen Xian wanted to be good to someone, he thought of everything.

The two penguins waddled out of the convenience store and began strolling home.

They reached their doorstep, shaking off the snow on the doormat before heading inside to clean up. Jiang Zhiyi immediately noticed a present-looking box on the coffee table, tied with a ribbon—clearly meant for someone.

But since Wen Xian didn’t mention it, he didn’t ask, just gave it a glance before looking away.

Afterward, they each washed up and lay side by side in bed. By the time Wen Xian pulled Jiang Zhiyi into his arms again, it was nearly 2 a.m.

Wen Xian was dead tired, out like a light the moment his head touched the pillow. Jiang Zhiyi gently nudged him: "Wen Xian, how many shares do you want?"

Jiang Zhiyi had joined Shen Group for revenge. He didn’t care about the company Shen Yuechuan had built, nor did he care about the transfer of shares. Work was more of a habit to him, a way to fill the yawning expanse of his life and give him something to pass time in his otherwise monotonous life. If Wen Xian wanted them, he could give them all.

Wen Xian mumbled sleepily: "What shares?"

He was too drowsy to make sense of Jiang Zhiyi's words, only managing—with what little awareness he had left—to pull him closer: "Zhiyi, are you free the day after tomorrow? I booked us a table—let’s eat together?"

Jiang Zhiyi paused.

The day after tomorrow was the final day of their agreement.

He let his lips quirk up slightly into something resembling a smile, then remembered the dim moonlight tonight meant Wen Xian couldn’t see his face. Softly, he replied: "Okay."

The last thread of tension in Wen Xian snapped, and he was out cold.