Chapter 365: If: Shen Zhao and Jiang Zhiyi Swap Bodies 2

Chapter 365 If: Shen Zhao and Jiang Zhiyi Switch Bodies (Part 2)

Wen Xian had Shen Zhao trapped in the car, refusing to let him leave unless he called him "husband." Shen Zhao remained silent for a long while, still saying nothing.

He lowered his gaze, a little lost.

They were about to get divorced—what was Wen Xian doing?

The word "divorce" stabbed like a thorn into his heart; the slightest touch would draw blood.

With some difficulty, he managed a weak smile. "Stop joking around."

Wen Xian frowned. "How is this teasing… Zhiyi, you’re being weird today."

He muttered but didn’t press further, still hitting the unlock button anyway.

The car door swung open, and Shen Zhao hastily shoved it open, desperate to get away from the awkward situation. But the moment he stepped one foot out, his wrist was caught again.

Right through his finely tailored suit sleeve, Wen Xian precisely caught Shen Zhao’s wrist. Under Shen Zhao’s stunned gaze, he pulled him closer, raised a hand to cup the back of his neck, and then lightly pecked his cheek.

"Won’t call me husband? Then can’t I at least claim a little reward?" Wen Xian said, releasing him. "Alright, I’ll pick you up for dinner tonight."

"..."

Shen Zhao said nothing. On autopilot, he pushed the door open and stepped out, his steps slightly hurried.

He didn’t understand.

Stunned, embarrassed, bewildered—it was all too much. Silently, Shen Zhao took the elevator, passed through the crowd, and entered his office.

Assistant Yuan was already waiting inside. Seeing Shen Zhao, he looked slightly surprised but quickly adjusted his expression and greeted with a smile, "Good morning, boss. Here’s today’s meeting schedule."

Shen Zhao nodded and took it, not in the mood for small talk. But Assistant Yuan curiously peered behind him. "Boss, where’s your runway-worthy husband from home? Isn’t today your wedding anniversary? Shouldn’t you be celebrating? Why are you at work?"

Shen Zhao’s hand, flipping through the schedule, paused.

He repeated, voice flat, "Runway-worthy husband?"

Wen Xian had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long legs—a classic model build. Every time he came to pick up the boss after work, he was always dressed to impress, his trench coats and accessories always the latest trends. He strutted like he owned the place, so Assistant Yuan and the others called him "runway-worthy husband."

Assistant Yuan: "I mean Mr. Wen." He leaned in. "Boss, what time is Mr. Wen picking you up today?"

His answer decided whether he could leave early!

Shen Zhao’s frown deepened. Wen Xian had never been to his company—how could Assistant Yuan know him? And why did he sound so familiar with him?

Seeing Shen Zhao’s stormy look, Assistant Yuan froze. "Boss… did you and Mr. Wen have a fight?"

"No," Shen Zhao rubbed his aching temples. "Leave the schedule here. Go handle other things."

"Oh… alright." Assistant Yuan set down the documents, stood up, and left, carefully closing the door behind him.

Shen Zhao sat at his desk and turned on his computer. But as his gaze swept across the desktop, it suddenly froze.

On the desk was a geometrically intricate metal photo frame with a high-transparency sapphire glass cover. Inside was a photo that didn’t exist in his memory—a picture of him and Wen Xian together.

In the photo, both were wearing long trench coats, perched back-to-back on a stone bridge railing. Wen Xian was flashing a peace sign at the camera, while Shen Zhao smiled at him. Behind them flowed a quiet canal, and across the water stood century-old historic buildings. Vines and flower-covered walls cascaded down the red brick, with morning glories and begonias in full bloom.

Shen Zhao lowered his gaze, his fingertips brushing over the frame, lingering on Wen Xian's smiling face.

He knew this place—it was the city where Wen Xian had attended university. Shen Zhao had dreamed of it before. In the dream, Wen Xian had confessed his feelings to him here. They had custom-made wedding rings together, listened to live guitar music, bitched about the awful pizza, and then taken a boat ride, floating down the canal past the whole city.

He had even met Wen Xian’s friends, drinking with them before collapsing onto the plush hotel bed, exchanging one lingering kiss after another.

Of course, it was only a dream.

Later, Shen Zhao had secretly visited this city. He sat on the bridge by the canal, watching the crowds pass by, listening to street musicians play the guitar, and then tried the infamously bad pizza from his dream—alone. But he had never taken a photo with Wen Xian here.

How did this photo even exist?

Then, he noticed a line of small text in the bottom right corner of the photo.

—*Taken on 10.18, during our honeymoon with Wen Xian.*

"......"

Shen Zhao and Wen Xian had never had a honeymoon.

His fingers trembled faintly against the frame.

Remembering Wen Xian’s weirdness earlier and Assistant Yuan’s strange remarks, Shen Zhao suddenly had a suspicion.

He set the frame down and immediately pulled out his phone, unlocking it with his fingerprint before tapping into his photo gallery, scrolling backward through the images.

As photo after photo flashed before his eyes, his fingers moved faster and faster, shaking harder and harder. The screen’s cold blue glare in his eyes looked like splinters of ice.

There were tons of photos—all of him and Wen Xian.

Some showed them in skiing gear, carving down snowy mountains. Others captured them sailing on a boat. There was one of Wen Xian rolling up his sleeves to grill meat skewers in the snack alley behind Shen Zhao’s university. Further back, there were even photos from high school, after their college entrance exams, strolling along the small playground.

Shen Zhao had none of these memories.

But they belonged to someone else.

As Shen Zhao stared at the photos on his phone, he suddenly found his own smiling face painfully bright.

Those dreams weren’t just dreams—or rather, they weren’t *only* dreams.

In some parallel world, there was a version of him who possessed everything he had ever longed for.

That person had known Wen Xian since they were young. They had gone to school together, shared the best years of high school and university, and then, naturally, tied the knot with everyone cheering them on. They had designed wedding rings together, gone on a honeymoon, skied and dived, done a million things together, been everywhere together—none of which Shen Zhao had ever experienced.

Shen Zhao flipped his phone face-down on the desk, couldn’t bring himself to pick it up again.

If the happy ending from his dreams truly existed somewhere, then what was the point of all his years of suffering?

Shen Zhao didn’t understand.

That day, he stayed alone in his office, getting nothing done. He just mindlessly scrolled through his phone like an outsider looking through a window, stealing glimpses of someone else’s happiness.

Assistant Yuan came in several times to ask about the meeting schedule, but Shen Zhao only shook his head. He stood motionless by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the morning sun gradually sink westward until it disappeared below the horizon. The city lights flickered to life, neon lights spilling over the streets, while he remained like some lifeless puppet.

Assistant Yuan hesitated at the door, debating whether to shoot an email to Wen Xian—one of the company’s shareholders, whose contact information was in the system.

Before he could decide, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Assistant Yuan turned and saw Wen Xian standing there.

Wen Xian said softly, "You can leave work first. I'll take care of things here."

Assistant Yuan: "Alright... Mr. Wen, the boss has been very upset today."

Wen Xian: "I’ll handle cheering him up."

He stepped into the office, and Assistant Yuan closed the door behind him. The latch gave a soft creak as it clicked shut, startling Shen Zhao awake.

Wen Xian walked up behind him and touched his lover’s shoulder. "Zhiyi?"

Shen Zhao stayed motionless.

He stood frozen by the window, gazing outside, until Wen Xian gently turned him around.

Shen Zhao lowered his lashes, as if struggling to suppress something, and beneath his eyes were clear streaks from tears.

He’d been crying.

Wen Xian sighed, drawing his lover close and rubbing slow circles on his back. "What do you prefer I call you? Zhiyi, or Shen Zhao?"

Shen Zhao went rigid.

His eyes met Wen Xian’s hazel-brown eyes, lips pressed tight, unable to speak. Wen Xian reached up, his warm fingertips brushing away the tear tracks, drying them with his touch.

"Don’t cry. I know you’re from the Previous Dynasty, aren’t you?" Wen Xian murmured. "I’ve lived through that too."

Shen Zhao froze, his voice hoarse. "What do you mean?"

Wen Xian: "I’ve lived two lives. In the first, we were strangers. I thought we despised each other. The second is the one you’re in now."

Keeping him tucked close, he explained everything—the past, the crossing, the system—in a gentle, coaxing tone. As Shen Zhao listened, he fell silent, his eyes filled with unmistakable hollow grief.

"I’m sorry," Shen Zhao said. "I just feel... unwell."

A whirlwind of emotions twisted inside him—confusion, bewilderment, pain, and... envy.

But how could he not envy?

They were the same person, yet their paths had diverged so drastically. Every photo of those smiles burned like salt in a wound.

"It’s okay. I understand." Wen Xian sighed softly. "But whether you’re Jiang Zhiyi or Shen Zhao, one thing I can promise is that, in any lifetime, I’ve always been drawn to you."

Nobody understood his own type better than he did. Wen Xian had always been drawn to tall, slender beauties with an air of aloofness—and Shen Zhao fit his ideal to a T, life after life.

Seeing Shen Zhao suddenly lift his gaze, a spark finally cutting through the emptiness in his gaze, Wen Xian smiled. "Really. It just takes knowing the right moves."

Dinner hour had come and gone, the sun fully set in the west. Wen Xian took Shen Zhao’s hand, with a mischievous grin. "Come on, let’s go eat. I’ll spill all my secrets over dinner."

"Okay..."