Chapter 243: Confession

Chapter 243: Coming Clean

On the afternoon of the third day, Jiang Zhiyi once again got into Wen Xian’s car. He glanced at his watch—there were six hours left in their marriage.

Wen Xian seemed unusually nervous, talking more than usual and making small talk about random things. Finally, he said, “Zhiyi, the weather’s nice today.”

Jiang Zhiyi looked up. Thick, ink-dark clouds loomed overhead, and a fierce wind howled through the streets.

He curved his lips slightly. “Nice.”

Of course, that was a lie. Jiang Zhiyi thought maybe Wen Xian wanted too large a stake in the company and found it hard to bring up.

But it didn’t matter—the amount wasn’t important to him.

He raised his hand, absentmindedly twisting the base of his ring finger.

When he was unhappy, Jiang Zhiyi liked to fiddle with his ring—a long-ingrained habit.

But the Möbius-strip-shaped ring had already been taken by Wen Xian, leaving his finger empty.

Wen Xian asked, “What do you want for dinner? Let’s go somewhere farther this time.”

Jiang Zhiyi didn’t care where they ate. “Anything’s fine.”

Wen Xian let out a relieved sigh. “Then let’s have Western. How about that?”

“Mm.”

Jiang Zhiyi didn’t object.

He just hadn’t expected Wen Xian’s idea of “far” to be *so* far.

The car merged into traffic, passed overpasses, and drove from the east to the west of the city—nearly an hour’s journey covering most of Nan City before exiting the highway at a certain ramp.

Jiang Zhiyi lifted his gaze, staring blankly for a moment.

The street was familiar. The buildings were familiar. The vendors at the alley entrance were familiar. Even the pancake cart in the alley was familiar.

Wen Xian had driven them near their old high school. Across the street, the signs of Foreign Language School and 33rd Middle School hung prominently.

It was nearly six o’clock, just as students were dismissed. Boys and girls in uniforms poured out, carrying backpacks, bursting with youth.

Wen Xian parked by the roadside. “We’re here. This place… well, it has a great reputation. Thought I’d bring you to try it.”

Jiang Zhiyi looked up at the restaurant’s sign, his gaze darkened with emotion.

The Foreign Language School district was Nan City’s downtown area. Years ago, the government had launched a redevelopment initiative, flattening much of the old neighborhood. The shops across the street had undergone repeated renovations, transforming into an upscale shopping center. The second floor housed a Western restaurant, right across from the Foreign Language School.

The old street had been torn down and rebuilt, but the restaurant remained the same.

This was where Wen Xian and Jiang Zhiyi had their first meal together in their previous life.

Later, after they married, Jiang Zhiyi often came here. He loved the restaurant’s cream of mushroom soup and ordered it every time.

Sometimes, they’d sit by the window. Outside, rain poured heavily, while inside, it was warm and cozy. Jiang Zhiyi would cup the warm bowl of soup, and he’d squint, satisfied.

Wen Xian thought, since this was the same Jiang Zhiyi, he must like it too.

They sat facing each other. A server handed them the menu, and Wen Xian slid it over to Jiang Zhiyi, gesturing for him to order first. He was about to say, “Their cream of mushroom soup—”

Before Wen Xian could get the words out, Jiang Zhiyi had already pointed to a spot on the menu and motioned to the waiter: “One of this, please.”

It was cream mushroom soup.

Wen Xian hesitated but stayed silent.

After a while, the dishes arrived. Wen Xian was still composing his thoughts while Jiang Zhiyi kept his head down, quietly eating. The steam rising from the soup made his eyes water slightly, blurring his vision. For a moment, there was a sudden prickling behind his eyes—like tears were threatening to spill over.

Wen Xian spoke softly, “Zhiyi, I have something for you.”

Jiang Zhiyi didn’t look up, answering, already understanding, “Mm.”

Of course he knew Wen Xian had something to give him.

Since Wen Xian had been unhappy with the original equity agreement, he must’ve drawn up a new version. On the final day before their marriage ended, they needed to sign a new contract.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jiang Zhiyi saw Wen Xian slide something toward him. He ran a thumb over his bare ring finger absently, thinking: *If I sign, will he return the ring to me?*

He had spent so long choosing those rings. Before the wedding, he flew alone overseas to work with a world-famous jeweler. Jiang Zhiyi still remembered poring over endless designs before settling on the pair.

The custom process had taken far longer than expected. At one point, the designer had asked if he wanted to consult his fiancé’s opinion. Jiang Zhiyi had dodged the question, vaguely replying, “No, it’s fine. I can decide. He won’t mind.”

The designer had sighed, “Your partner’s a lucky one.”

Jiang Zhiyi had simply smiled, accepting the compliment.

Everyone in Nan City’s circles knew their marriage was just for show—something Jiang Zhiyi had stubbornly insisted on. Only an overseas jeweler would offer such a sincere blessing.

He thought, *If Wen Xian insists on making me sign, at least return the ring.*

As he drifted into his thoughts, something fuzzy nudged his hand.

A velvet box.

Wen Xian’s voice was tense. “Zhiyi… will you—will you open it?”

The box was already half-open. With just a light touch from Jiang Zhiyi, it flipped open.

Inside sat two rings.

They kept the original design—platinum bands intertwined, elegant and clean. But now, each held a gemstone at its center.

One gleamed orange-red, bright as a sunrise. The other glowed deep cobalt blue, calm as the sea. Side by side, their sparkle was breathtaking.

Wen Xian picked up the wider band and slid it onto his own finger. Then, holding the other between his fingertips, he reached out his hand. “Zhiyi… would you let me?”

“…”

Jiang Zhiyi didn’t understand.

His thoughts short-circuited. A thousand ideas flashed through his mind, yet left nothing behind. In that haze, his body moved first—his spoon clinked into the bowl as his fingers barely grazed Wen Xian’s palm—

Only to be seized tightly.

Gently, Wen Xian pried apart his stiff fingers, lifted his ring finger, and slid the band onto his lover’s hand like a knight in a vow.

Then, he bowed slightly and brushed a kiss against his knuckles.

The soft touch sent warmth flooding up his arm. Jiang Zhiyi’s mind went utterly still.

He couldn’t understand Wen Xian’s meaning, let alone know how to respond. He stood there dumbly, like a lifeless block of wood.

Wen Xian murmured, rubbing the knuckles of Jiang Zhiyi’s hand softly, “Let’s not get divorced, okay?”

Jiang Zhiyi didn’t react, so Wen Xian continued, “You put the ring back on—does that mean we can stay married?”

He held onto Jiang Zhiyi’s fingers. “I know I was wrong before, but haven’t you noticed how much I’ve changed these past two weeks? My attitude has improved—I’ve been driving you home, bringing you lunch, waiting up for you every night… and…”

Wen Xian squeezed his fingers lightly. “I’ve improved in bed too, haven’t I?”

…

Wen Xian sounded sincere, as if *he* were the desperate one in this marriage, begging to keep his partner.

But Jiang Zhiyi knew better.

It felt ridiculous, like some twisted joke. Three years married, three years in a cold war. He had tried countless times, only to fail each time. For three years, Wen Xian had silently resisted, leaving Jiang Zhiyi exhausted. Finally, when he had decided to let them both go and end this failed marriage for good, Wen Xian asked, “Can we not divorce?”

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Jiang Zhiyi didn’t know how to react—disbelief, joy, confusion, or relief. He felt like an unprogrammed machine, left hollow and completely blank.

“Wen Xian.”

Jiang Zhiyi heard his own voice, straining to sound calm. He twisted his hand, threading their fingers together and gripping tightly—his knuckles white, veins standing out. It was a painful grip for both of them, but Jiang Zhiyi didn’t seem to notice.

Wen Xian rubbed soothing circles on his lover’s hand. He felt the pain but didn’t let go.

Because Jiang Zhiyi’s hand was trembling.

Jiang Zhiyi’s face was stone-cold, his voice icy—as if Wen Xian were a business rival at the negotiation table, an enemy to crush. But Wen Xian knew: his hand was trembling.

Trembling violently.

“Wen Xian,” Jiang Zhiyi said, “Our marriage involves the division of shares between two corporations. This isn’t some game.”

Wen Xian gave his palm a reassuring squeeze. “Mm.”

Jiang Zhiyi: “I need you to understand—constant stock fluctuations hurt the company’s stability.”

Wen Xian twisted Jiang Zhiyi’s ring. “Mm-hmm.”

Jiang Zhiyi: “This is the last chance. If you regret it later… I won’t grant a divorce a second time.”

Wen Xian: “Mm-hmm, mm-hmm.”

He waited until Jiang Zhiyi finished speaking before nudging the mushroom soup forward. “Little Jiang, your soup’s going cold.”

Jiang Zhiyi frowned. “You—”

Wen Xian sighed. “Loud and clear, no misunderstandings. So, my dear CEO Jiang, do you agree?”

Jiang Zhiyi just stared at him, expressionless. To other employees or competitors, that look would be intimidating. But to Wen Xian, he just looked lost.

Wen Xian realized Jiang Zhiyi hadn’t processed a single word he’d just said.

So he repeated, “I said, let’s not get divorced, okay?”

He tugged Jiang Zhiyi’s hand into his lap, kneading it gently. “Still not getting it? Sweetheart, no divorce, okay?”

Wen Xian had always been unrestrained—what his childhood friends would describe as "showing off like a peacock" or "flirtatious." When teasing Jiang Zhiyi, he'd throw around terms like "sweetheart," "honey," and "baby" like they were free, not caring who was watching. Sometimes, he even did this in front of Assistant Yuan.

The older Jiang Zhiyi had grown less shy; at first, he would feel embarrassed, but eventually got used to it. But this version of Jiang Zhiyi now was still quite timid.

"..."

Jiang Zhiyi quickly pulled his hand away from Wen Xian’s and grabbed the soup spoon instead. "Mm."

Wen Xian was overjoyed.

Unlike Jiang Zhiyi, Wen Xian wasn’t someone who could hide his emotions, nor did he wear a perpetually stoic face. His feelings were vividly on display—when happy, he beamed with triumph, much like the sparkling gem on Jiang Zhiyi’s ring, making it obvious at a glance that he was in high spirits.

That kind of genuine happiness was hard to fake.

Jiang Zhiyi was still confused. He usually disliked direct questions, preferring to hint around. But Wen Xian’s joy seemed contagious, and Jiang Zhiyi found himself relaxing lazily along with him. The question blurted out before he could think: "Why?"

Wen Xian replied cheerfully, "Hm?"

Jiang Zhiyi: "Why don’t you want a divorce anymore?"

It was a nagging doubt deep inside him—he needed to understand.

"Ah, well, that’s a long story." Wen Xian straightened up. The matter of his rebirth was too outlandish, like something out of a cheesy soap opera, and he wasn’t sure how to begin.

Jiang Zhiyi didn’t press him, just sat quietly, waiting.

He looked ready to listen patiently, as if prepared to wait indefinitely until Wen Xian spoke.

Wen Xian set down his knife and fork, glancing briefly at the creamy mushroom soup in front of him. "Alright, I actually have something to ask you too... How about a quick Q&A game?"

Jiang Zhiyi looked puzzled. "Okay, starting now?"

Wen Xian held up a hand. "No, wait until I say 'start.' Then we’ll begin."

But by the time Wen Xian actually said "start," Jiang Zhiyi already regretted agreeing.

He was pinned against the headboard, his pajama collar gaping open, while Wen Xian slowly undid the last few buttons, demanding he fulfill his spousal duties.

As the final button came undone and the pajamas slid down his waist, Wen Xian cheerfully announced, "Ready?"

Kissing his lover’s earlobe, his hands never pausing, Wen Xian gazed into Jiang Zhiyi’s eyes—now clouded with increasingly ragged breaths—and asked softly, "First question, Zhiyi... why do you love me?"

"...Why did you insist on marrying me, even knowing it would be an unhappy marriage?"