Chapter 366: If: Shen Zhao and Jiang Zhiyi Swap Bodies 3

Chapter 366 If: Shen Zhao and Jiang Zhiyi Body Switch 3

Wen Xian held Shen Zhao's hand as they got into the car, carefully fastening the seatbelt for his lover with a smile. "What would you like to eat?"

Shen Zhao's thoughts were all over the place, so he only replied, "Anything is fine."

Wen Xian then chose a restaurant he frequented and got seated in a private booth with Shen Zhao before saying, "Actually, straightening things out is really simple—you just have to tell me directly."

Shen Zhao looked up, his eyes filled with obvious confusion. Wen Xian chuckled. "You don't believe me? It’s true. I’ve liked you for a long time."

In the Previous Dynasty, due to bad timing and his inexperience with love, Wen Xian had failed to recognize his own feelings. But upon reflection later, he realized he had cared deeply for Shen Zhao all along.

Otherwise, Wen Xian asked himself, why would he have gone out of his way to hire a detective to investigate the past? Was it really for Shen Jixing?

He couldn’t even remember Shen Jixing’s face anymore.

Looking at his lover’s confused and downcast look, Wen Xian took Shen Zhao’s hand and said earnestly, "Really, who knows me better than I do? Just tell him—say you didn’t do it, say you were wronged, and say you like him. He'll feel the same way."

"...Mm."

*

In another world, Jiang Zhiyi dug through the drawers and found a thermometer.

After taking his temperature, he sighed.

Sure enough, he had a fever.

He had no idea what Wen Xian had done yesterday, but right after breakfast, Jiang Zhiyi had felt lightheaded and out of it, his head heavy and uncomfortable. After checking his temperature, he immediately grabbed a jacket, intending to buy some medicine downstairs.

But as soon as he finished changing, Jiang Zhiyi stood in front of the mirror and reached up in confusion to touch the top of his head.

"Did I shrink?" he thought.

Jiang Zhiyi was slightly taller than Shen Zhao but a little shorter than Wen Xian. Shen Zhao, due to malnutrition from excessive stress in high school, was a good few inches shorter than Wen Xian.

But whether it was Shen Zhao or Jiang Zhiyi, both were shorter than Wen Xian. Jiang Zhiyi cared about keeping up his boss image, so he preferred wearing low-heeled dress shoes to work.

Now, however, no matter what he wore, he couldn’t seem to match Wen Xian’s height.

"...?"

Jiang Zhiyi looked around and noticed the bread maker in the kitchen was missing, the travel souvenir tapestry on the sofa was gone, and even the gold bird statue gifted by Ms. Zhang Xiaoping in the display cabinet had disappeared.

Jiang Zhiyi: "?"

Though Wen Xian often complained about how ugly it was, joking that he’d melt it down to forge something else, he had never actually gone through with it.

Something felt wrong, and Jiang Zhiyi began searching the house.

Most of the clothes in the wardrobe were gone—all the casual clothes had vanished, leaving only boring dark suits. The storage cabinets no longer held any of the gifts he and Wen Xian had exchanged, including watches, rings, and ties. Though the overall layout of the house was mostly the same, little things were different—there were no hanging plants on the balcony, no dumbbells in the lounge that belonged to Wen Xian, and all sorts of miscellaneous little trinkets were missing.

This place resembled Jiang Zhiyi’s home, yet it wasn’t his home.

Jiang Zhiyi's headache got worse.

He took out his phone, about to text Wen Xian, but was distracted by the empty message list.

Yesterday had been their third anniversary, and Jiang Zhiyi had received a generous red envelope of lucky money from Ms. Zhang Xiaoping—the message should have been right there in his messages.

But now, the message bar was completely empty, except for some work stuff.

Jiang Zhiyi swiped through the photo gallery.

The photo section was completely empty, containing nothing but a few meeting notes.

"......"

Jiang Zhiyi drew a deep breath.

He then searched for his company and his own name, finding a few anonymous forum posts. Finally, Jiang Zhiyi clicked on Wen Xian's profile.

"Wen Xian, come home tonight. We need to talk."

Wen Xian was standing by his cousin’s gravesite. Zhang Xiaoping was burning joss paper for Shen Jixing, while he was adjusting the chrysanthemums on the flower stand. Seeing Shen Zhao's message, he paused.

Shen Zhao had never spoken to Wen Xian in such a serious tone before.

He replied, "I might not make it in time. The cemetery is a bit far from home."

Jiang Zhiyi: "Alright, I'll wait for you tonight."

Wen Xian paused again.

Shen Zhao wasn’t the type to force him. The two of them kept their distance, their lives rarely overlapped. If Wen Xian showed reluctance, Shen Zhao would rarely push further.

He typed, "Okay."

Because of Shen Zhao's message, Wen Xian left half an hour early with Zhang Xiaoping, skipping dinner with her and going straight home.

Jiang Zhiyi wasn’t in the living room, and the house was silent.

Wen Xian stepped inside, hung his coat on the rack, and called out, puzzled, "Shen Zhao?"

No response.

Confused, he wandered around the living room. Just as he was about to send a message to ask, he noticed the bedroom door slightly open. He knocked three times before pushing it open.

Jiang Zhiyi was curled up under the blankets.

He was feverish, his face flushed, his head pounding, and too unwell to eat. Under the blanket, his body looked frail, his skin tinged with an unhealthy flush.

Wen Xian frowned, sitting quietly on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on Jiang Zhiyi’s cheek.

He asked softly, "Shen Zhao? Are you okay?"

Shen Zhao would never show weakness in front of Wen Xian. In such situations, he would shake his head to indicate he was fine and tell Wen Xian to go about his own business.

But Jiang Zhiyi opened his eyes dazedly, grasped Wen Xian’s cold fingers, and pressed his burning cheek against them, giving a light nuzzle. Then he murmured in complaint, "Didn’t you promise to come back a little earlier?"

Wen Xian paused but didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he took a tissue and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Sorry, traffic was heavy."

He tested the heat on Jiang Zhiyi’s cheek. "You have a fever. I’ll take you to the hospital."

Jiang Zhiyi: "Mm."

He leaned slightly toward the edge of the bed, opening his eyes glazed with fever to stare unblinkingly at Wen Xian, like rain-soaked glass—but made no move to get up. The meaning was clear: he wanted Wen Xian to carry him.

"......"

Wen Xian lowered his gaze, slipped an arm under Jiang Zhiyi’s knees, and lifted him up. Jiang Zhiyi’s body wasn’t heavy to begin with, and Shen Zhao was even lighter. The other man naturally nestled against Wen Xian’s chest, resting his head there.

Jiang Zhiyi had a fever, his voice slightly hoarse and dry, yet his tone was soft: "Wen Xian, I have something to tell you."

Wen Xian helped him out: "Let’s go to the hospital first."

Jiang Zhiyi insisted: "Take me to the hospital while I tell you."

"..."

Actually, as long as he persisted a little, Wen Xian could never say no to him.

"Tell me."

Jiang Zhiyi relaxed in his lover’s arms, thought for a moment, and murmured: "Wen Xian, I might not be the Shen Zhao you know, and you might not be the Wen Xian I know. It’s complicated to explain, but what I want to say is—I saw the rumors on the forum. Some things about me aren’t true."

Wen Xian: "What do you mean?"

Jiang Zhiyi: "My identity, my past, Ji Mingzhu’s madness, and Shen Jixing’s death."

Even with a fever, his thoughts remained clear and logical. Starting from his mother who sold braised food, to his entry into the Shen family and name change, to Shen Yuechuan’s actions, and the fates of Shen Jixing and Ji Mingzhu—he told everything.

These past events were painful memories Shen Zhao couldn't bear to recall, but for Jiang Zhiyi, who had known real love, the scars had long healed, leaving only faint traces that no longer mattered. So he told everything easily.

After listening, Wen Xian still held him steadily, though his steps noticeably slowed.

Jiang Zhiyi: "You don’t believe me?"

By then, they had reached the garage. Wen Xian opened the back seat, helped Jiang Zhiyi in, took off his trench coat to wrap around him, and fastened the seatbelt thoughtfully.

After a long silence, he finally spoke: "...I’ll look into it."

The first half of Jiang Zhiyi’s story sounded pretty far-fetched, but since they're so different, it wasn’t impossible. As for the latter half, earlier that afternoon, Wen Xian had already contacted several private investigators to look into Shen Jixing’s alleged DUI. If Jiang Zhiyi’s account was true, we'd know the truth soon.

The car drove smoothly out of the underground garage, heading toward the nearest hospital.

Jiang Zhiyi lay in the back seat: "Wen Xian, I think I’m about to leave. Your ‘him’ is coming back."

He had this strange feeling—as if their worlds were about to converge, and when he woke up, he would return to his own.

As he was falling asleep, Jiang Zhiyi whispered: "...If you find out the truth... be kind to him... You’re so cold... He likes you so much, it must kill him."

Wen Xian couldn’t help but ask: "How do you know he likes me?"

Shen Zhao had never acted affectionate with him.

"...Of course," Jiang Zhiyi managed to say, "In my wardrobe... there’s your trench coat... the all-black wool one."

Wen Xian suddenly remembered—Shen Zhao did own such a coat.

Then, from the back seat, Jiang Zhiyi murmured in fragments, dreamily: "Back in high school... when you saved me from those bullies... I fell for you... He... must have felt the same."

...He must have. No one understood better than Jiang Zhiyi himself just how much he loved Wen Xian.

"..."

Wen Xian’s heart lurched.

High school? Trench coat? Bullies?

Fragmented images flashed through his mind—there really had been a day when Wen Xian, walking past the gates of the 33rd Middle School after class, had rescued a slender boy.

"Hey," he began haltingly, "So, we met that early? Back then, you already..."

You... liked me?

So early, so long ago, long enough for memories to fade, for faces to blur, so long that Wen Xian had forgotten completely.

There was no answer.

After a prolonged silence, Wen Xian glanced through the rearview mirror. The man was curled up on the back seat, his brows slightly furrowed, his refined features tinged with illness, dark circles under his eyes, and an overwhelming weariness, as if he had walked a very long road alone.

Resting his head on his arm, his face buried in the fabric of his clothes, he had already fallen asleep.