Chapter 367: If: Shen Zhao and Jiang Zhiyi Swap Bodies 4

Chapter 367 If: Shen Zhao and Jiang Zhiyi Switch Lives 4

When Shen Zhao woke up, his body felt unusually heavy.

Groggy with fever, his mouth tasted bitter, and his nostrils reeked of disinfectant.

He raised a hand, wanting to rub his blurry eyes, but before he could lift it, someone held it down.

Wen Xian's voice came through: "Don't move. You have an IV in your arm."

Shen Zhao was lean, with long fingers, faint veins traced his hand. An IV stand stood beside the hospital bed, the medicine dripping steadily through the transparent tube into his veins.

"You have a fever—38.5°C. There’s one more bag after this," Wen Xian explained. "Do you feel better? Do you want something to eat?"

Shen Zhao followed the voice. Wen Xian was sitting by his bedside, lips forming words as if speaking.

With great effort, he focused his attention and caught the question. He shook his head. "I'm fine. Much better." He looked at Wen Xian and added, "Got plans tonight? You don’t have to wait for me. I can call my driver."

That was just how Shen Zhao was. Even if Wen Xian wouldn’t worry, even if he was still in pain, he would say, "I’m fine, much better, don’t wait for me."

Yet his gaze remained fixed on Wen Xian, didn’t waver.

Wen Xian didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned over and touched Shen Zhao’s fever-hot forehead. "So, you don’t want me to stay?"

Shen Zhao smiled faintly. "Don’t worry about it. If you have things to do, you should go ahead."

As he spoke, his free hand discreetly pressed against his abdomen.

This body hadn’t eaten in nearly a day, and his stomach twisted with hunger.

Wen Xian said nothing, glancing down at him before standing and walking toward the door.

His sleeve brushed against the hospital bed. Shen Zhao’s free hand twitched slightly, as if wanting to grab hold, but in the end, he relaxed his grip, allowing Wen Xian to leave.

"......"

The room fell silent.

Outside, the sky had darkened completely. The lights in the room were off, leaving only the faint glow from the corridor’s fluorescent lamps. Shen Zhao turned his head toward the window, catching sight of the dense clusters of lights from the residential buildings.

And there he sat, in the darkness, as if the world had left him behind.

His head throbbed, his mouth was bitter, and his gut clenched. With his free hand, Shen Zhao reached for his phone on the bedside table and mindlessly scrolled through his contacts.

He opened Wen Xian’s messaging interface, recalling what the other Wen Xian had said—explain, whine a little. But Shen Zhao couldn’t bring himself to do such things. He struggled to compose a message, yet he drew a blank.

Then, the door creaked open again.

Light spilled back into the room. Shen Zhao froze, watching as Wen Xian returned.

Shen Zhao: "You—?"

Wen Xian lifted a takeout bag. "You haven’t eaten all day. Hungry? I bought some congee."

A flicker of joy flashed in Shen Zhao’s eyes before he quickly masked it with his usual polite smile. The automatic politeness slipped out effortlessly: "Sorry for taking up your time—"

"You’re not taking up my time." Wen Xian cut him off before he could finish. He set the food container down on the bedside table with a clatter. "You’re family. Of course I’ll take care of you. That’s not a waste of time."

"......"

As he spoke, Wen Xian sat back down in front of Shen Zhao, ladled the porridge into a bowl, and picked up the spoon.

Wen Xian said, "Lean pork congee. You can only have something light right now."

While speaking, he scooped up a spoonful on his own and held it to Shen Zhao's lips.

Shen Zhao lowered his eyes: "...I can do it myself."

He raised his hand to take the spoon but was gently pressed down by Wen Xian: "Your right hand has an IV drip. Which hand do you plan to eat with?"

Shen Zhao had no choice but to take the porridge into his mouth.

Though raised in luxury, Wen Xian was unexpectedly good at taking care of others. The porridge was at the perfect temperature, its savory taste countering the bitterness in his mouth and soothing his aching stomach. They continued like this—one feeding, the other eating—in silence for a long while.

Once the bowl was finished, Wen Xian helped Shen Zhao back under the covers and checked his forehead temperature again: "Your fever’s nearly gone. Do you want to stay overnight at the hospital?"

In his condition, he could either be hospitalized or go home—it was entirely up to Shen Zhao.

Shen Zhao shook his head slightly.

By then, the IV had finished. Wen Xian hit the nurse call button. As the needle was pulled from the back of his hand, a couple drops of blood appeared, and Wen Xian promptly pressed down on the cotton ball.

With one hand held by Wen Xian and the other pushing himself up with effort, Shen Zhao tried to get out of bed on his own.

Wen Xian suddenly asked: "Need me to carry you?"

Shen Zhao hesitated.

Given his personality, of course he wouldn’t normally ask to be carried. But the other’s embrace looked so warm. After a brief pause, he reluctantly nodded.

"Yes," he said.

So Wen Xian slipped an arm under his knees and effortlessly lifted him up.

His embrace was warm, his steps steady. Shen Zhao rested his head against Wen Xian’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, and before he knew it, sleepiness overtook him again.

Wen Xian glanced down, just catching sight of the top of Shen Zhao’s head. The typically polished CEO hadn’t had time to groom his hair today, leaving it soft and messy. Wen Xian asked softly: "Feel like talking about it?"

"...About what?"

"Your background. Ji Mingzhu. Shen Jixing’s death."

Shen Zhao fell silent for a moment, as if carefully choosing his words. Meanwhile, Wen Xian took off his coat, wrapped it around him, and belted him into the back seat.

He started the car: "Only if you want to."

Only after Wen Xian turned the steering wheel and drove out of the hospital did Shen Zhao slowly start talking.

His voice was quiet, his low tone blending with the cello from the static-filled radio, as if he were recounting someone else’s story.

Wen Xian listened, white-knuckling the steering wheel several times.

By the time the car pulled into the underground garage, Shen Zhao suddenly came back to himself, only to find Wen Xian opening the door and scooping him out again.

Shen Zhao fidgeted, uncomfortable: "I can walk."

Wen Xian easily overrode his weak protest: "I want to carry you. Is that not allowed?"

"..."

Shen Zhao's breath caught, and he fell silent.

The blankets at home were warm and cozy, and the bed was infinitely more comfortable than the hospital's. Since Shen Zhao was still recovering and couldn’t shower, Wen Xian fetched a damp towel to wipe down most of his skin before bundling him into bed and heading off to bathe himself.

Half-asleep, Shen Zhao only heard the faint sound of running water nearby before the covers were lifted, and a warm body pressed against him.

It seemed the misunderstandings had been cleared up, and perhaps they could attempt the next steps—sweet talk and cuddling. Shen Zhao hesitated briefly before steeling himself and nuzzling closer.

He was promptly yanked into a tight hug.

Wen Xian murmured, "Get some rest. Take tomorrow off—I’ll stay home with you until you’re better."

After that, Wen Xian truly stayed home every day.

He brought warm milk in the morning, fed Shen Zhao porridge at noon, and in the evenings, they squeezed together on the couch to watch TV before Wen Xian tucked him into bed at night.

It was as if they were cramming years of missed closeness in one go.

Three days later, Shen Zhao fully recovered, and Wen Xian began driving him to and from work. There, he met this world's version of Assistant Yuan and once again earned the title of "male model-level hottie."

Then, Wen Xian started planning vacations and trips.

Jiang Zhiyi had described to him the many places he and the alternate Wen Xian had visited, their travels covering every corner. Wen Xian thought he and Shen Zhao could do the same.

Though the two had grown much closer, there still seemed to be a thin wall between them, urgently needing an opportunity to break through.

So, one evening, Wen Xian asked Shen Zhao where he’d like to travel. After a brief hesitation, Shen Zhao listed the places he’d seen in photos—the beach the alternate Wen Xian and Jiang Zhiyi had visited, the skiing resort where they’d skied, the mountain where they’d watched the sunrise…

Shen Zhao couldn’t quite describe his feelings at the time. He just thought the places in the photos looked beautiful, and Jiang Zhiyi had smiled so happily. He wanted to have those kinds of beautiful memories too.

Wen Xian frowned slightly before relaxing. "I’ll take care of everything, okay?"

Of course, Shen Zhao nodded.

But when he received the plane tickets, he realized none of the destinations matched the ones he’d mentioned.

Wen Xian had chosen a desert.

Shen Zhao was slightly surprised but followed along anyway. They pitched their tent in the endless dunes, rode camels across undulating dunes, and finally lit a golden campfire under the undulating Milky Way.

This was a sight he hadn’t seen in Jiang Zhiyi’s photos.

The desert nights were cold. Huddled together in the tent, Wen Xian shoved a steaming cup of milk tea into Shen Zhao’s hands and muttered, "I like *you*. What’s the point of retracing other couples’ trips?"

At that moment, they were so close that Shen Zhao could rest his head on Wen Xian’s shoulder with just a slight tilt. Clutching the warm cup, he repeated, "You like me?"

Wen Xian: "Of course. What else?"

Frustrated, he wanted to pull Shen Zhao over and mess him up, but in the end, he just gave his cheek a playful pinch. "Mr. Shen, when did *you* start liking me?"

Shen Zhao paused.

He looked out the tent opening. "...Probably high school."

A seed had been planted in the recklessness of youth, and without him realizing, it had taken root, sprouted, and bloomed wildly.

Wen Xian let out a low laugh. "So it really was that early."

Strangely enough, though they’d shared a bed many times and worked through so many mix-ups, this marked the first time they’d actually said "I like you."

Shen Zhao: "But..."

He looked bewildered: "Why would you like me?"

From forced marriage to misunderstandings, and then a long-prepared divorce agreement—if not for this exchange, if not for Wen Xian's compensation for the misunderstanding, their relationship would have ended with no room for reconciliation.

"So that's how you see me?" Wen Xian frowned at him. "Shen Zhao, I won’t lie to you. If it’s you, I’d be easy to win over, really."

He gazed at the distant stars: "You just needed to tell me you liked me, come to my concert, spend time with me, do that a couple of times, and then just ask me directly if I could be your boyfriend. That’s all it would take."

Shen Zhao looked at him, skepticism plain in his gaze.

Wen Xian: "It’s true."

After all, no matter which version of him it was, he had always been soft-hearted toward Shen Zhao.

Shen Zhao then asked: "Can I ask for things now?"

Wen Xian: "Of course, fire away."

Shen Zhao: "I want a wedding."

Wen Xian: "We’ll have a new one as soon as we’re back."

Shen Zhao: "I want us to pick different wedding rings together."

Wen Xian: "Any brand, any designer—your pick."

Shen Zhao: "I want a honeymoon."

Wen Xian: "You pick the place."

"..."

Shen Zhao: "And... I want a kiss."

Wen Xian leaned in, cupping the back of Shen Zhao’s head, and they shared a deep, lingering kiss.

Under the stars’ gaze, they embraced, lips and tongues entwining, breaths tangled until both were a little breathless.

When Shen Zhao was left kiss-drunk, Wen Xian pulled back slightly, noses brushing, his eyes gazing at Shen Zhao, twinkling with mischief.

"I want something too. Can I make one?"

"What?"

Wen Xian nudged his lips against Shen Zhao’s: "I want to hear you call me 'husband.'"

What the other Wen Xian had, this Wen Xian would have too!

"..."

Shen Zhao froze, his ears turning crimson, a pink flush creeping across his cheeks. After a long silence, under Wen Xian’s expectant gaze, he whispered: "H-Husband."

The response was Wen Xian smacking a loud kiss on his cheek.

"Sweetheart!"