Chapter 364: If: Shen Zhao and Jiang Zhiyi Swap Bodies

Chapter 364 If: Shen Zhao and Jiang Zhiyi Body Swap

Jiang Zhiyi woke up to a throbbing ache in his lower body.

He thought hazily, "Did Wen Xian go that hard last night?"

Yesterday was their third wedding anniversary. Friends and business partners from both sides had come to celebrate. They partied late into the night, cutting into a three-tier cake, downing endless drinks, and even playing games like *Truth or Dare* with friends.

Later, Jiang Zhiyi blacked out; his memory grew hazy. He vaguely remembered their friends cheering them on as he and Wen Xian embraced and kissed, their bodies gradually heating up.

So, had it really been that rough last night?

Jiang Zhiyi shifted slightly and hissed as a searing pain shot through him.

"Seriously," Jiang grumbled to himself. "Why didn’t Wen Xian apply any ointment for me?"

Wen Xian and Jiang Zhiyi had known each other since their youth, walking the path to marriage together. Both were young and impulsive, and sometimes, they’d lose control in the heat of the moment, leading to occasional injuries. But afterward, Wen Xian always pampered him—kisses, cuddles, a bath, and gentle ointment, all done with care.

So why had Wen Xian forgotten the ointment today?

Just as he was thinking this, the door opened, and a figure stepped in—with striking, deep-set eyes and handsome features, a tall and lean frame. His tailored suit pants emphasized his long legs as he walked. He could’ve been a male model.

It was Wen Xian.

Oddly, though, Wen Xian’s expression was cold. He carried a medical kit to the bedside and started to shift Jiang Zhiyi’s position.

Still drowsy, Jiang Zhiyi rolled over and hugged a pillow, only to see Wen Xian squeezing ointment onto his fingers.

Jiang Zhiyi had used this ointment before. It worked well, but it stung—he hated it.

Burying his face in the pillow, he protested, "Not this one. Use the other one."

Half-asleep, his voice was hoarse from the previous night’s drinking, making it sound oddly like a whine.

Wen Xian’s hand froze mid-air.

Jiang Zhiyi: "?"

Jiang thought groggily, "Why isn’t he moving?"

In the silence, Jiang Zhiyi foggily remembered something—during yesterday’s *Truth or Dare*, he’d agreed to something.

Today, he wasn’t allowed to call Wen Xian "Wen Xian." He had to call him… *husband*.

Jiang Zhiyi was shy. Normally, he could never bring himself to say something as embarrassing as "husband." But last night, drunk, Wen Xian had sweet-talked him into it.

"Honestly," Jiang Zhiyi thought. "So that’s why he’s ignoring me?"

Embarrassed or not, after years of marriage, if Wen Xian wanted to roleplay, Jiang Zhiyi could humor him. Taking a deep breath, he mumbled, "*H-husband*… use the blue tube instead. This one hurts too much."

Wen Xian stiffened even more.

Jiang Zhiyi: "?"

Still not good enough? What did he want, then?

He turned to look at Wen Xian, mildly irritated, only to see the man set the medical kit beside him and say, "Do it yourself." Then, he turned and walked away.

Jiang Zhiyi: "???" Jiang Zhiyi stared after him, baffled.

Confused, he picked up the ointment to apply it himself, then limping into the living room, he saw Wen Xian watching TV on the sofa.

The TV was showing a winter sports event, currently showing alpine skiing. Jiang Zhiyi and Wen Xian had visited that mountain just a couple of years ago.

Jiang Zhiyi plopped down beside Wen Xian, dropping his head naturally on his shoulder. "Wanna go skiing again? Should we go back sometime?"

"..."

From the moment Jiang Zhiyi leaned against him, Wen Xian's breath hitched, and his grip on the remote froze. He glanced down ambiguously at the person on his shoulder—the CEO, usually all sharp edges and composure, now in pajamas with unstyled hair falling softly, drowsily nuzzling against Wen Xian, even letting out a small yawn.

Jiang Zhiyi watched the TV and remarked casually, "This skier isn’t as good as you. You make it look effortless."

"..."

Wen Xian's breath faltered almost imperceptibly. He frowned slightly, remaining rigid. "Is that so?"

Jiang Zhiyi: "Yeah."

He reached out, koala-hugging Wen Xian’s arm, nuzzling closer. "What’s the plan today? A concert in the afternoon? Or golf in the suburbs?"

Wen Xian often complained that Jiang Zhiyi was always working and never home. For their wedding anniversary, Jiang Zhiyi had taken three days off specifically to spend time with Wen Xian.

"..."

Wen Xian reached out, peeling Jiang Zhiyi off, his tone cold. "I’m paying respects at Shen Jixing’s grave with my mom this afternoon."

Shen Yuechuan was in prison, Ji Mingzhu had been institutionalized, and Zhang Xiaoping occasionally visited her sister there, always catching Ji Mingzhu muttering about Shen Jixing. With the Shen family either dead or insane, no one was left to mourn, so Zhang Xiaoping did it on their behalf every year.

"Paying respects at Shen Jixing’s grave?" Jiang Zhiyi went still, lowering his gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Is it because of the recent execution of those drug dealers?"

Shen Jixing had been taken by Shen Yuechuan to an underground bar, where he became addicted to drugs and later died in a drugged-out car crash. The police had followed the leads from that bar, raiding several dens. Recently, Jiang Zhiyi had seen news reports that those involved had been sentenced to death.

Wen Xian’s frown deepened. "Drug dealers?"

"Shen Jixing died in a drug-related crash. I heard the kingpins behind that operation were recently caught and are about to be executed," Jiang Zhiyi paused, blinking up at him, bewildered. "...Isn’t that why?"

Wen Xian: "..."

He stared at Jiang Zhiyi, wanting to say, *"Don’t you know how he really died?"* But Jiang Zhiyi met his gaze steadily, his lashes lowered, eyes full of hurt, and Wen Xian couldn’t bring himself to say anything harsh.

Taking a deep breath, Wen Xian felt an overwhelming sense of strangeness. He stood abruptly, avoiding Jiang Zhiyi’s eyes. "I’ll check."

He grabbed his coat and left.

Jiang Zhiyi: "......?"

He lowered his head, mashing the remote buttons absently, thinking, *"What’s going on?"*

Since when did Wen Xian get so weird?

*

Shen Zhao opened his eyes, first aware of the cool air on his lower half and the warmth of an embrace.

He was lying in someone’s arms—that person had pulled him close, an arm wrapped around his waist, breath warm against his ear, holding him in a claim-staking grip.

Shen Zhao looked up and saw Wen Xian’s heart-stoppingly handsome face.

The moment Shen Zhao stirred, Wen Xian woke. He nuzzled the top of his lover’s head with his chin. "It’s still early. Why not sleep more?"

Shen Zhao squirmed. For a moment, he even wondered if he was still dreaming.

In all their married days, Wen Xian had never held him this tight.

He lowered his eyes. "I'm not going back to sleep. I'm going to the company."

Wen Xian never liked being around him. If Shen Zhao was at home, Wen Xian would make sure to leave. Since there were still some things to take care of at work, Shen Zhao decided to go there directly.

"Going to the company?" Wen Xian's disbelieving voice came from above him. "Zhiyi, today is our third wedding anniversary. Are you really going to blow me off for work?"

"..."

Shen Zhao felt momentarily disoriented.

He had almost forgotten—he also had the name Jiang Zhiyi.

How did Wen Xian know?

Before Shen Zhao could speak, Wen Xian had already sat up. "Are you joking? I booked a concert for the afternoon. Are you really going to leave me for the company on our anniversary?"

Shen Zhao could only manage a bitter smile. When had he ever abandoned Wen Xian? It was always Wen Xian who left him. In fact, their divorce agreement had already been drafted, and today was supposed to be the day they signed it.

Shen Zhao was suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. He had no energy to distinguish between reality and dreams, or some cruel joke, so he pushed Wen Xian's hand away. "Wen Xian, I'm tired. Work is piling up. I need to go."

His tone was serious and firm. Wen Xian froze. "Alright, is it really that important? Then you owe me big time. Do you want me to drive you to the company?"

As he spoke, Wen Xian released Shen Zhao but suddenly leaned down, brushed aside the hair that had fallen across his ear, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Every morning, they'd share a morning kiss.

Wen Xian: "Then get ready first. I’ll go check on breakfast."

Jiang Zhiyi disliked eating breakfast outside, so their meals were prepared by hired help.

"..."

Even after Wen Xian left, Shen Zhao remained seated on the bed, dazedly raising his hand to touch his cheek.

The lingering warmth on his skin felt like sunlight on a blanket—comforting and warm.

He got out of bed and walked to the living room, where Wen Xian had already served the porridge. He pushed a bowl toward Shen Zhao as naturally as if he had done it hundreds of times.

"Here. I overdid it a little yesterday," Wen Xian said with a smile. "Let’s have something light today."

As he spoke, sunlight fell on him, gilding his profile in gold. Since they were at home with the heating on, Wen Xian wore only a fitted turtleneck sweater, its soft texture accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist—a figure like a fashion model's. Yet, holding a bowl of porridge and a plate of fried eggs, he also looked completely at home.

Shen Zhao couldn’t bring himself to look.

He lowered his eyes and drank the porridge, finishing it in a few mouthfuls. Wen Xian smiled again. "You ate so little today. Was it not what you wanted?"

"..."

Shen Zhao answered tersely, "No."

He wasn’t used to such mundane conversations. In their three years of marriage, Wen Xian had never spoken to him like this—with such easy intimacy and tenderness, as if they were truly in love.

"That’s good," Wen Xian said, not noticing Shen Zhao's discomfort. "The new housekeeper—I wasn’t sure if you’d like her food."

As he spoke, he grabbed the keys. "Let’s go. I’ll take you to work."

As Shen Zhao wrapped himself in his overcoat and settled into Wen Xian's car, he still didn’t know what Wen Xian wanted.

He watched as Wen Xian started the car, without setting the GPS, and smoothly merged into traffic, driving steadily toward Shen Zhao's company as if he’d done it a thousand times before—picking Shen Zhao up from work or dropping him off.

Yet he had never done it even once.

Soft, soothing music played through the speakers, the kind Shen Zhao liked, as if overnight, his distant husband had suddenly turned considerate, willing to spare even a little attention for someone he despised.

Yes, despised.

Shen Zhao’s mouth went bitter. His office still had their unsigned divorce papers—of course, he was the one Wen Xian despised.

The car ride passed in a flash. With a quick swerve, Wen Xian pulled neatly into the company parking lot, pulling into Shen Zhao’s reserved spot. He opened the door. "By the way, do you have any meetings this afternoon? What time do you get off work?"

Shen Zhao thought for a moment. "There's a department meeting. It’ll be over in about 40 minutes. Why do you ask? Is there—"

He wanted to say, "Is there something you need?" But as he watched Wen Xian open his memo app and jot down the time, a thought crossed his mind. His fingers unconsciously tightened around the seatbelt. "Wen Xian, you—"

He paused, then let out a dry laugh before continuing, "Are you… planning to pick me up?"

It was a logical assumption, yet in their three years of marriage, Wen Xian had never once come to get him. So the words, once spoken, felt more like a pipe dream.

"Of course," Wen Xian said, closing the app with a frown. "Mr. Jiang, a little reminder—today is our three-year wedding anniversary. You blowing off the concert for work is one thing, but am I not even allowed to take you out for dinner?"

Shen Zhao fell silent.

He laughed bitterly to himself. *We’re getting divorced—why bother with an anniversary?* Yet he still replied, "Alright, I'll wait for you."

As he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door, he realized the door was still locked. Wen Xian's finger hovered over the unlock button, eyebrow arched, staring at him.

"Hey, Mr. Jiang," Wen Xian said, displeased. "Did you forget? Yesterday's truth or dare—what were you supposed to call me?"

"…?"

Shen Zhao froze. "What about yesterday?"

He had been at the office handling business until late last night. When he got home, thinking it was the last day of their marriage, he’d wound up in bed with Wen Xian. *Truth or dare? What truth or dare?*

Wen Xian's voice rose. "You actually forgot?!"

Shen Zhao: "…?"

"Husband! *Husband!*" As Shen Zhao stared in confusion, Wen Xian emphasized each word in exasperation. "Mr. Jiang! Today, you're supposed to call me *husband!*"