Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Song Yuan blinked slowly, his long lashes like butterflies, as if to flutter right into Gu Jingchi’s heart.

At the sudden invitation, Song Yuan was momentarily stunned. “Huh? Why… why so sudden?”

Gu Jingchi paused, then told him, “Didn’t you say you were out of inspiration?”

So, you’re willing to show me?

Coming from Gu Jingchi, these words felt somewhat unreal.

Especially since his expression was so calm when he said it—nothing like a joke. An outsider might think they were discussing a serious academic topic.

…Ahem, ahem!

Once that thought took hold, their supposedly academic discussion suddenly seemed a little improper.

Song Yuan grew flustered. “…Never mind, never mind.”

Gu Jingchi lowered his gaze, his face expressionless, studying Song Yuan for a few seconds before saying, “You should rest.”

With that, he turned off the lights in the room.

“You’re leaving?” Seeing Gu Jingchi about to depart, Song Yuan sat up and grabbed his hand. “Won’t you rest too?”

Though the Gu family’s business was sprawling and operations demanding, Gu Jingchi had always been lenient, never overworking his subordinates. Overtime was carefully controlled, and there was a two-hour lunch break every day.

“Take a break,” Song Yuan murmured softly.

When he arrived earlier, he had noticed Gu Jingchi wearing frameless glasses.

Gu Jingchi only wore glasses under heavy workloads.

Song Yuan guessed that Gu Jingchi must have been swamped lately.

Gu Jingchi said, “I’ll take the couch outside.”

“Do you have another blanket?” Song Yuan asked.

Gu Jingchi shook his head.

“Without a blanket, you might catch a cold.” Song Yuan obediently shifted over, smoothing out the wrinkles on the sheets. “We can share.”

Gu Jingchi tilted his head slightly, looking at Song Yuan. “The bed isn’t very big.”

Song Yuan sat up and moved even further in, patting the mattress confidently. “How will we know if it’s big enough if we don’t try?”

Gu Jingchi: “…”

He had no good reason to refuse. Song Yuan was impossibly considerate—even helping him tidy the bed. He caught Song Yuan’s hand, which was still lightly patting the sheets, and tucked it under the blanket.

As he stood up, Gu Jingchi peeled off his black fitted sweater with one hand.

Beneath it, he wore a thin undershirt, and the motion of removing the sweater caused the fabric to ride up, baring his sculpted abs.

Mm, very nice. Perfectly defined, not overly bulky, but firm—just the shape Song Yuan liked.

Easy on the eyes.

Suddenly feeling embarrassed, Song Yuan jerked the blanket up over his face.

But the gesture was too obvious, painfully obvious, so he sheepishly lowered it again.

When he used to sketch, Song Yuan had always imagined Gu Jingchi’s face as his reference. Extending from that, he’d also imagined Gu Jingchi’s hands—both familiar to him because Song Yuan had seen and held them.

But he rarely imagined other parts, like the abs beneath clothes or the trail leading downward at the hips…

Though there was a half-nude “Gu Jingchi” beneath the hanging cloth in his room, until now, Gu Jingchi’s abs and chest had always been vague in his mind.

Only after seeing them in person did Song Yuan realize how inadequate his imagination was.

You can’t draw what you’ve never seen.

Song Yuan fully agreed.

Though it had only been a few seconds, the contours of those muscles had already been burned into his memory—like discovering forbidden treasure. The feeling left him flushed yet pleased.

Gu Jingchi glanced at Song Yuan before tugging his shirt back down.

In the dim room, Gu Jingchi slid into bed.

The air between them grew warmer.

As it turned out, the bed was indeed too small for two people. With no room to lie flat, Song Yuan had to turn on his side, facing Gu Jingchi.

Gu Jingchi closed his eyes as soon as he lay down, saying nothing.

Jiangcheng was currently experiencing a late spring chill, the air sharp and biting. Yet, just an arm’s length away, warmth radiated, brushing against Song Yuan’s face and comforting him.

The last time they had been this close was in Nancheng—a place so far away that Song Yuan’s memories of it had blurred.

But Gu Jingchi’s body temperature instantly yanked him back into those recollections. Against his will, he recalled the last night they had shared a bed, how Gu Jingchi’s arms had tensed slightly around him.

He’d believed himself over it, but he hadn't.

Those memories had been tucked away in a corner of his mind, primed to resurface. The sensation of that searing closeness once again overwhelmed his senses, scattering his thoughts.

Gu Jingchi’s eyes were closed, but he could still feel an intense, heated stare.

He opened his eyes, meeting Song Yuan’s stare.

Caught in the act, Song Yuan felt awkward.

“What… what is it?” He burrowed under the covers, leaving only his flushed nose and clear, bright eyes exposed—looking ridiculously vulnerable. “Did I disturb you?”

Gu Jingchi’s lips curved slightly. “Mm.”

Song Yuan immediately fell silent, like a child awaiting punishment for misbehaving.

Gu Jingchi took mercy and didn’t press further. “You disturbed my eyes.”

Song Yuan frowned, turning the words over in his mind before realizing Gu Jingchi was teasing him.

“You’re terrible!”

Where on earth had Gu Jingchi learned to say things like that?

Song Yuan deliberately played a prank, reaching out to poke Gu Jingchi’s stomach.

Gu Jingchi placed his hand over the back of Song Yuan’s hand. His palm was warm, gently uncurling Song Yuan’s fingers with his fingertips before pressing them flat against his stomach.

“Mm, I’m being awful.”

His muscles were firm and taut, pleasant to the touch. Song Yuan’s face burned, his palm damp with sweat.

Worried Gu Jingchi would notice or that the sweat would transfer onto him, Song Yuan quickly withdrew his hand.

Gu Jingchi tilted his head slightly, watching Song Yuan.

Song Yuan felt guilty—perhaps because Gu Jingchi was so close, and close-range eye contact always carried a subtle challenge.

Though uneasy, he feared even more that Gu Jingchi might misunderstand him as being disgusted by him. Song Yuan reached out to grasp Gu Jingchi’s arm, his fingertips brushing against the other’s watch. “Gu Jingchi, you’re so generous.”

The watch was nice—it had no temperature. Song Yuan’s face no longer burned.

Gu Jingchi paused for a second before unfastening the watch and placing it in Song Yuan’s hand.

The watch was weighty, exquisitely crafted, and clearly expensive.

Realizing Gu Jingchi had misunderstood, Song Yuan laughed. “Not that kind of generosity! I meant you actually let me touch you.”

Gu Jingchi hesitated.

Song Yuan: “You never used to be like this. Before, you’d always get mad when I touched you.”

Gu Jingchi recalled some details; he pursed his lips.

He couldn’t bring himself to deny it. In the beginning, he had indeed been very resistant to Song Yuan’s closeness—though not quite angry.

His tone was slightly awkward. “No.”

“Alright.” Song Yuan didn’t press further, his expression relaxed as if he were about to fall asleep.

Gu Jingchi felt even more unsettled. The word “no” sounded too flimsy—he didn’t even believe it himself.

As if to console him, he found Song Yuan’s hand, gently straightening his curled fingers before clasping them fully.

Song Yuan stiffened.

At some point, Gu Jingchi had become increasingly adept at handling his “separation anxiety.”

Thinking back, it seemed to have started when Song Yuan once insisted he had “separation anxiety” and needed to stay close. Gu Jingchi had put up with it without complaint.

This realization pleased Song Yuan, relieving some stress from the exchange program.

But unfortunately, the thought brought it all back.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to sleep and not dwell on what was bothering him.

“Have you decided on the exchange?”

Song Yuan’s eyes flew open, meeting Gu Jingchi’s gaze.

How did Gu Jingchi know about this?

He shook his head.

Gu Jingchi asked, “Don’t want to go?”

Song Yuan neither nodded nor shook his head. Without thinking, he leaned closer to Gu Jingchi, as if being playful. “Do you think I should go?”

At times like this, overanalyzing things and worrying ahead of time made it hard to decide. “If I go, wouldn’t it help my major more?”

Gu Jingchi didn’t want to answer directly.

His work kept him busy, and the time difference would make it hard to talk or meet with Song Yuan.

But he knew he couldn’t use his experience to influence Song Yuan's decision.

Song Yuan had the right to decide for himself.

“The schools in the exchange program are all excellent.” Gu Jingchi paused before adding, “But the first priority should be whether you’d like it.”

Song Yuan had never thought of that.

Gu Jingchi always managed to highlight what he’d overlooked in just a few words. Unconsciously, Song Yuan’s mood lightened. “Comrade Gu Jingchi, your way of thinking is seriously flawed.”

Gu Jingchi looked at him, looking like an attentive student in class.

“At the best time to push yourself, you’re actually advising me to choose life over leveling up.”

This was hardly the mindset of a protagonist in a self-improvement story.

Gu Jingchi was amused by Song Yuan’s phrasing and couldn’t help but laugh.

His laugh was infectious. Song Yuan froze for a moment, forgetting what he planned to say.

Gu Jingchi looked so good when he smiled.

Song Yuan thought it—and said it aloud. “You should smile more.”

Unsure what exactly was so appealing, Gu Jingchi didn’t respond to that.

“No need to level up.” Gu Jingchi said. “You’re already at the top.”

Gu Jingchi’s way of speaking was truly unparalleled.

With just a few sentences, he had Song Yuan completely won over.

Still, between leveling up and life, Song Yuan ultimately chose the former.

Because he still loved creation—luck, weather, mood—things beyond human control. But the moments when the urge to express burst forth were entirely within his grasp.

He relished that control.

Back at the library computer, Song Yuan came up with his thesis idea in just one afternoon.

The late spring chill persisted, so Song Yuan brought a blanket, planning to stay overnight at the library.

The library’s lounge had plenty of couches, prepared by the school—a haven for workaholics. The place had a weird energy; a nap could leave one ready for a two-mile run upon waking.

During his earlier studies, he’d noticed this phenomenon more in better schools. He never imagined he’d one day join their ranks.

When Gu Jingchi heard about his library stays, he wasn’t happy about it, making sure to be there at the school gates every evening after work to pick him up.

Song Yuan had explained to him that it was only one night a week, but Gu Jingchi still refused.

Today, he was too busy and just didn’t have time to go back.

He placed the blanket on the sofa and got ready to sleep.

Suddenly, his phone rang in his pocket.

“Video Call: Gu Jingchi.”

Song Yuan suddenly felt guilty. He grabbed the blanket and went outside the library.

After answering, Song Yuan saw Gu Jingchi’s face, and his earlier calm vanished, tension returning.

“You’re back?”

“No.”

Song Yuan complained, “Then why did you call?”

Now he’d had to run outside.

No telling if his spot would still be there when he went back? Those spots were always snatched up fast.

Gu Jingchi lowered his eyes, pinning Song Yuan through the screen, unnerving him.

“Are you home?”

Song Yuan felt guilty.

Gu Jingchi knew it would be like this. “You’re sleeping in my bed tonight.”

Song Yuan gave a guilty nod. He was about to hang up when Gu Jingchi stopped him.

“Don’t hang up.”

His tone was cold, brooking no argument. “Point the camera at yourself.”

“Why?” What a weird request. Why not just send a photo later?

“To keep an eye on you.” Gu Jingchi’s lips quirked. “Make sure you behave.”