Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Gu Jingchi lowered his head to gaze at Song Yuan, his expression softening considerably.

Song Yuan glanced at the deserted central hall, his innocent eyes fixed on Gu Jingchi. “Did you clear the place?”

Gu Jingchi nodded.

Song Yuan possessed an exceptionally gentle nature; he wasn’t inherently aggressive. He struggled to refuse others and often prioritized their feelings. Perhaps to avoid causing offense or disappointment, Song Yuan would occasionally push himself, relegating his own desires to second place.

From Gu Jingchi’s observations, this was Song Yuan’s typical demeanor.

Had he not cleared the venue, the Song brothers might have resorted to emotional manipulation, feigning distress to indirectly pressure Song Yuan into choosing between accommodating them and asserting his own will. That would have been profoundly unfair.

He reached out and smoothed Song Yuan’s slightly ruffled collar. “Let’s head back.”

Song Yuan happily skipped out the door and, just before merging into the bustling crowd, playfully nudged Gu Jingchi.

“No need for this.”

Gu Jingchi assumed Song Yuan was merely being polite and offered no reply.

However, Song Yuan suddenly chuckled, “I know how good it feels to refuse others. I’m not stupid.”

Thus, Song Shenyu and Song Qiao could never truly corner him.

Even if they tried, he would simply refuse.

Little Song’s calculations were clear as day; he feared no one.

Gu Jingchi was taken aback. Song Yuan’s words were entirely unexpected.

In that moment, Song Yuan displayed a rare shrewdness, a facet the usually naive and childlike Song Yuan had never before revealed.

Song Yuan merely appeared slow-witted, but he was far from truly simple. On the contrary, he habitually used this facade to mislead others, making them believe he lacked the capacity for self-preservation. In reality, he was remarkably astute, protecting himself with great skill.

Childishness and maturity, two inherently contradictory qualities, achieved a delicate balance within him, stirring a subtle emotion in Gu Jingchi.

The car glided along the elevated highway, merging into the sluggish, dense traffic.

Song Yuan seemed to have been exceptionally busy lately, suffering from severe sleep deprivation. He drifted off to sleep as soon as he entered the car.

Gu Jingchi drove with extreme steadiness—no sudden overtakes, no congested main roads. He preferred to take a longer, circuitous route rather than risk the noisy, crowded return journey waking Song Yuan.

After parking the black sedan, Gu Jingchi didn’t immediately get out. He casually rested his hand on the steering wheel and glanced at Song Yuan.

Song Yuan slept peacefully, his lips slightly parted, appearing soft and moist. He was only an arm’s length away, his most authentic self revealed only in Gu Jingchi’s presence. The thought inexplicably filled Gu Jingchi with a sense of quiet pleasure.

Gu Jingchi yearned to kiss him.

But his ingrained, old-fashioned gentlemanly code reined in his impulses.

His actions in Nancheng last time had been impulsive enough. Though Song Yuan hadn’t blamed him, Gu Jingchi felt it was inappropriate.

Kissing—that should only happen with Song Yuan’s willing consent.

Gu Jingchi steadfastly believed he should never exploit Song Yuan’s trust and dependence to demand anything.

Song Yuan’s reliance on him stemmed from their arranged marriage shortly after his coming of age; it was natural for the younger party to depend on the elder.

However, this period was also crucial for the formation of Song Yuan’s free will. Gu Jingchi, as the older party, felt it was even more imperative not to use his fiancé status to actively influence Song Yuan.

He considered such an act unfair to Song Yuan, who possessed the right to act according to his own free will.

In the past, within the Song family and with his adoptive brothers, Song Yuan had not received the respect and freedom he deserved. But at least with Gu Jingchi, he was willing to protect Song Yuan’s freedom to truly awaken to himself.

Finally, unable to resist, Gu Jingchi placed a feather-light kiss on the tear-shaped mole at the corner of Song Yuan’s eye.

Song Yuan dreamed that summer had arrived, and a mosquito was buzzing incessantly by his ear.

Exasperated, he lifted his hand to swat the mosquito away. But he didn’t know what he touched—something warm, an unusual sensation that roused him from sleep.

The moment he opened his eyes, he found his hand held by Gu Jingchi’s. Song Yuan felt a blush creep up. “Sorry, did I just hit you?”

“No.” Gu Jingchi’s voice came out slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat, then released Song Yuan’s hand.

Song Yuan stretched with a yawn, then suddenly seemed to recall something. He turned, opened his backpack, and pulled out a sky-blue folder.

“Gu Jingchi, I have something for you!”

From the folder, Song Yuan retrieved a manila envelope and handed it to Gu Jingchi.

“What’s this?” Gu Jingchi raised an eyebrow.

“The agreement,” Song Yuan stated.

Gu Jingchi looked at Song Yuan, clearly surprised by the item. He broke the seal and took out the document.

When they had first signed the agreement, two copies were made, one for each party to keep. Only when both copies were presented together, with matching official seals and intact lamination, could the agreement be proven valid. Similarly, to dissolve the agreement, both copies needed to be present.

“Song Shenyu and the others were keeping it before. I didn’t think that was right, so I asked for it back.” Song Yuan’s eyes sparkled as he secretly observed Gu Jingchi’s reaction.

Gu Jingchi should like this “gift,” right?

From now on, if Gu Jingchi wished, he could dissolve the agreement at any time.

Song Yuan considered himself incredibly thoughtful, having considered everything so meticulously.

He hoped Gu Jingchi, recognizing his exceptional emotional intelligence, might consider this possibility.

Gu Jingchi lowered his gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line. His earlier relaxed demeanor had vanished, replaced by a serious intensity—as if he were not examining a troublesome agreement, but a contract vital to the fate of an empire.

Song Yuan had handed the agreement to him.

This was an action Gu Jingchi had never anticipated.

In their circle, arranged marriages were not uncommon, but it was rare for someone to willingly entrust such a crucial document to another.

It was akin to offering one’s heart.

Because, in essence, it was implicitly telling the other person—*you can now reconsider the nature of our relationship.*

It could signify an end. Or a new beginning.

Like transforming a nominal alliance into a genuine marriage.

Evidently, for him and Song Yuan, it was the latter.

Song Yuan hoped to change their relationship.

Song Yuan wanted to marry him.

Song Yuan truly liked him.

“Gu Jingchi, don’t you like this gift?” With the other party silent, Song Yuan felt uncertain.

Was the gift too ordinary?

That couldn’t be. He had gone to such lengths to retrieve the agreement; he couldn’t let a minor flaw undermine his previous efforts.

He quickly added, “Are you not satisfied? What other gift would you like?”

Gu Jingchi gently lowered his eyelids, concealing the turbulent emotions within. He gazed at Song Yuan for a moment before telling him earnestly,

“No, I like it very much. I’m truly happy that you gave me this agreement as a gift.”

Song Yuan blinked.

“Next time, don’t say things like whether others will be satisfied or not. You don’t need to please anyone, understand?”

Song Yuan seemed to understand, yet not quite. He was a little confused as to whom he was trying to please by merely wanting to dissolve the agreement.

“Alright, but I didn’t give you a gift to please you. It’s because I genuinely wanted to give it to you.”

Song Yuan’s earnest expression made Gu Jingchi find him endearing.

He patted Song Yuan’s head. “I know.”

*

This year, the Chinese New Year fell late, compressing the first half of the academic year’s courses into just three quarters, making the schedule incredibly tight.

After returning from Nancheng, the entire School of Arts entered a rapid-paced existence. The most noticeable change was the packed timetable and the severe lack of rest.

At this juncture, young Song Yuan stood at a new crossroads—

Whether or not to participate in the overseas exchange program.

This program, a year-long study abroad opportunity, was jointly organized by W University and an educational institution in Country E. Students could choose their campus and advisor, and some departments even allowed free selection of majors.

However, the requirements were stringent. Song Yuan’s year group had only one spot. GPA, major-specific scores, practical training experience, and the graduation project were all part of the assessment criteria.

Looking around, Song Yuan was the sole individual who met these exceptionally demanding requirements.

Song Yuan had a perfect GPA, ranked first in his major, possessed three rounds of practical training experience in Nancheng, and only needed to complete his graduation project.

“Yuan Yuan, do you know you’ve broken our college’s historical record?”

“Huh?” Song Yuan, who had been lost in thought, snapped back to attention.

“This program has existed for a long time. Normally, policy favors senior students first, then us. So, applying now means the requirements are exceptionally strict. Most people who can’t meet them just wait until they’re in a higher grade and the requirements loosen.” Jiang Ming exclaimed excitedly, “After 2,153 days, you’re the first to meet the criteria!”

The advisor was also pleased, but seemed to sense Song Yuan’s lack of enthusiasm. “What’s wrong? Don’t you plan to participate?”

Song Yuan genuinely didn’t want to.

That day, the exchange program coordinator held an informational session in the lecture hall, and he attended.

The atmosphere was better than he had anticipated. He exchanged many ideas with his senior peers and found it quite fruitful.

But strangely, upon receiving the list of universities and departments, Song Yuan didn’t feel any urgent desire to pursue further study.

The W University Arts Festival, the Nancheng Comic Con, and making clothes for “Gu Jingchi”—the moment these ideas sprang to mind, Song Yuan had been eager to dive in.

But this time, there was nothing.

Song Yuan trusted his intuition. This matter didn’t capture his interest, and he truly didn’t want to go.

Yet, he couldn’t articulate why.

Confusion crept into his heart, leaving Song Yuan feeling adrift.

He explained his feelings to his teacher, who then comforted him.

“Perhaps it’s because you’ve been too tired lately, and your subconscious is instinctively resisting another demanding endeavor,” the advisor said, understandingly.

“Don’t overthink it for now. You can start by focusing on your graduation project. The college just issued a notice—the graduation project for exchange participants can be counted towards your senior year assessment. If you complete it now, you won’t have to do it in your senior year.”

That, at least, was a motivating reason.

For the next week, Song Yuan’s waking hours were consumed by studying artworks. Ancient and modern, academic and independent, he scoured every available resource, yet remained utterly without inspiration.

The university library and teaching buildings operated on a 24-hour lighting policy. During his busiest days, Song Yuan even fell asleep at a computer desk in the library.

In the office.

Gu Jingchi watched Song Yuan, his gaze lingering.

“Have you been busy lately?”

For the past three days, Song Yuan hadn’t sent a single message asking, [Can we eat together?] One day, Gu Jingchi deliberately texted him before class ended, asking what he wanted for lunch.

That day, Song Yuan replied:

【Heading out for fieldwork this afternoon, already ate and ready to go!】

【Backpack.JPG】

The only reason Song Yuan was sitting there today was because it was raining outside. Whether this counted as a stroke of luck remained to be seen.

Song Yuan nodded. “Very busy.”

Gu Jingchi had his secretary clear Song Yuan’s lunchbox and told him to rest in the office’s lounge.

Song Yuan instinctively took off his coat and burrowed under the blanket.

“I’ve hit a creative block. It feels like all my creative channels have been severed—now I’m just an ordinary person with no skills left.”

It was a terrible feeling, as frustrating as discovering you were getting wisdom teeth for the first time.

The comparison was so odd that Gu Jingchi couldn’t help but chuckle.

Gu Jingchi didn’t quite understand these things, but he knew Song Yuan had an account filled with many figure drawings. The most frequent subjects were well-built adult men, and Gu Jingchi had been following his updates.

Had the recent drop in update frequency been due to this?

Song Yuan couldn’t draw those well-built mature men anymore.

Gu Jingchi wasn’t one to have an inflated sense of self, but if Song Yuan was creatively drained and couldn’t draw those things—

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t help him.

They had just finished eating, so it was probably quite warm. Gu Jingchi was only wearing a black turtleneck sweater. Song Yuan lay flat on the blanket, and from his angle, he could clearly see the distinct ridges of Gu Jingchi’s abdominal muscles, very prominent.

Song Yuan suddenly spoke up, “Gu Jingchi, do you work out often?”

Gu Jingchi nodded.

“No wonder, your muscles are so beautiful!” Song Yuan praised sincerely.

He touched his own stomach—perfectly flat.

He felt a pang of confusion.

Gu Jingchi was stuck in the office all day; where did he find the time to work out?

Song Yuan felt deeply disappointed with his own physique, but what he didn’t know was that the blanket cinched his waist, and because he had just eaten, his stomach looked slightly full, as if something had been tucked inside.

Gu Jingchi’s eyes burned with a sudden intensity.

“You think my physique is good?”

“Mhm!” Song Yuan gave the highest praise, “Ten out of ten!”

“You haven’t even seen it.”

Song Yuan blinked. “Don’t need to see it. Your frame is already excellent—how bad could the details be? Even though clothes obscure the details, I have a feeling it’s very good-looking.”

Gu Jingchi lowered his eyes and suddenly asked, “Then… would you like to see?”