Chapter 38 Not for Children

Chapter 38: Not Safe for Minors

A month later, what came before the album prep wrapped up was Lin Xishan's finals week.

Professor Zhou mercifully gave them time off before finals week—though the price was that they'd need to stay on campus during winter break to continue working on the project, letting them go home only for the week of Chinese New Year.

The seniors, led by Shen Zhiyi, were long used to this, and Lin Xishan didn't bat an eye either.

Shen Zhiyi asked him, curious, why he wasn't complaining.

Lin Xishan said flatly, "This way I make more money."

Shen Zhiyi slowly gave him a thumbs up.

Damn. Now that's what you call dedication—she tipped her hat to him.

Lin Xishan grinned and shot a thumbs-up back.

With the project off his plate for now, during finals week Lin Xishan basically lived in the library.

After all, that scholarship money had to be banked.

Sure, it was pocket change compared to four million, but every little bit counts.

He was so swamped during this stretch that he didn't reach out to Pei Zhi at all—though he'd given him a heads-up, of course.

Finally, after finishing his last exam, he opened his phone, ready to check Pei Zhi's location and head over, only to find a photo Pei Zhi had sent half an hour ago—him sitting at a coffee shop near campus, waiting.

No caption, but Lin Xishan got the message: "Come get me."

Without a second thought, he said bye to Ji Huaixu, who'd just wandered over, then jogged straight to the coffee shop, spotting Pei Zhi by the window, zoned out.

"Holy shit." Lin Xishan couldn't stop himself.

Pei Zhi's hair was now a light gold, making his already pale skin damn near glow.

How to put it... dangerously tempting.

Ahem, don't get it twisted—that "tempting" was about the dessert in front of Pei Zhi. Lin Xishan scrambled to cover his own ass.

While he stood there frozen, Pei Zhi casually glanced out the window and locked eyes with him in an instant.

Without a beat, he ditched the half-eaten cake, got up, and launched himself into Lin Xishan's arms.

The second he lunged, Lin Xishan instinctively opened his arms and caught him solid.

Pei Zhi tucked his head into Lin Xishan's neck for a long moment, then nuzzled and mumbled, "Charged up."

Lin Xishan grinned and ruffled his hair: "That's all it takes? I figured it'd at least need until tonight..."

Mid-sentence, Lin Xishan took a sharp elbow to the ribs. He smoothly pivoted: "Why'd you go with this hair color?"

"Does it look good?" Pei Zhi asked.

"It looks good, but your hair's fried like straw." Lin Xishan winced.

"Can't help it. Zhou Yan said we had to—we're shooting some damn promo pics tomorrow, and he said this would draw people in." Pei Zhi frowned, clearly annoyed.

"It's definitely eye-catching. I'm a little jealous." Right as he said that, his phone buzzed. He glanced down—Professor Zhou had posted in the group chat that due to equipment issues, they'd get three more days off before the project started. He smirked. "I'm coming with you to that shoot tomorrow."

His man was too good-looking—no way he was leaving him out there alone.

The next day, Lin Xishan made good on his promise and went with Pei Zhi to the studio.

The studio was in a repurposed old factory on the east side of town. Zhou Yan had warned them the photographer was a bit of a name in the industry, and they'd barely snagged his slot, so everyone needed to bring their A-game.

When Lin Xishan got there, the other three guys in Abyss Band were already in the dressing room.

Jiang Muye was stuck in a chair getting glitter slapped on, looking like a man headed for the gallows.

Gu Zhou stood nearby filming him on his phone, doubled over laughing.

Zhou Yan stood arms crossed in front of the makeup mirror, pleased that his dark circles were hidden under concealer.

The makeup artist led Pei Zhi to another mirror, and Lin Xishan leaned against the wall nearby, watching.

The makeup artist was a young woman with a ponytail, quick and efficient, complimenting Pei Zhi's skin as she laid down his base.

Pei Zhi kept his eyes shut and said nothing. His light gold hair picked up a soft glow under the lights, making his features look even sharper and more sculpted than usual.

"I'm not adding more—anything extra would be a crime against this face." After eyeliner, a touch of blush, and a layer of clear gloss, she studied him a beat and decided to call it done.

And just like that, Pei Zhi pulled off the feat of arriving last but getting done first.

Having a face like that really let you do whatever you wanted.

Next up: wardrobe. The stylist wheeled in a rack of clothes. Pei Zhi gave them a once-over and grabbed the most low-key set.

A black motorcycle jacket over a white tank, black skinny leather pants, and lace-up combat boots.

When he stepped out of the changing room in that getup, the whole dressing room went dead silent for a beat.

The better-looking you are, the plainer you dress, the more stunning you look.

Everyone in that room got the memo.

Pei Zhi walked over to Lin Xishan, tilting his head up to look at him, a flicker of barely hidden hope in his eyes, though his tone stayed casual: "Decent?"

Lin Xishan reached out to fix his jacket collar, fingertips grazing the pale skin above his collarbone, and said lightly: "Decent."

Total liar. He was already mentally ordering the same outfit online so Pei Zhi could wear it just for him at home.

Pei Zhi didn't seem satisfied with that. But before he could push it, the photographer called for him from outside.

He had no choice but to let it go and head over.

The set was styled as an abandoned space—mottled concrete walls, rusted iron frames, loose wires and old speakers scattered across the floor.

The photographer was a middle-aged guy in a baseball cap, surname Fang. He talked a mile a minute and was a stickler for every detail.

Though he did do a double take when he saw Pei Zhi.

After a few group shots, Fang had Pei Zhi do a solo set.

Pei Zhi stood against the mottled concrete wall, side lighting carving sharp lines of light and shadow across his frame.

Fang had him turn sideways, turn his head, look at the camera—he did it all, but his movements were stiff.

"Hold up." Fang lowered his camera and looked at Pei Zhi. "You're posing like it's a mugshot. Relax. Imagine you're on stage."

Pei Zhi's lips pressed together briefly.

"Don't tell me you've never shot an editorial before," the photographer, Fang, said, clearly familiar with Pei Zhi. "I've seen your performance videos. Just bring out half the energy you have on stage."

Pei Zhi was silent for a few seconds, then reached up and pulled off his leather jacket.

The jacket was tossed carelessly onto the ground, landing with a dull thud. The white tank top hugged his waist, and the muscles in his arms stood out clearly under the lights. A small mole sat just above his collarbone, usually hidden by his collar, now exposed.

He faced the camera again, and his expression changed.

No longer the stiff look from before, but a casual indifference that seemed to radiate from deep within.

A slightly lifted jaw, a faintly curved corner of his mouth, and that provocative glint in his almond-shaped eyes. It was exactly the same Pei Zhi who gripped the mic stand on stage, tearing through songs with his voice.

Striking.

The word popped into Lin Xishan's head.

The camera fired off shot after shot.

"Yes! That's it!" Fang's voice was clearly excited. "Tilt your head a bit more! Give me more intensity in your eyes! Good! Hold it!"

Pei Zhi ran through several poses.

Every single one was killer.

Lin Xishan stood at the edge of the studio, watching the man blazing in the spotlight.

He remembered the first time he saw Pei Zhi perform at the "Dark Surge" Livehouse, standing in the corner, feeling like he was watching a star burn.

Now that star was right in front of him.

Fang fired off dozens of shots before reluctantly stopping, then looked down at the camera screen, scrolling through the shots, mumbling to himself.

Then he looked up, scanned the room, and his gaze landed on Lin Xishan.

"Hey, you," Fang pointed at him. "Are you on the crew? Come here a second."

Lin Xishan pointed at himself in question.

"Yeah, you." Fang beckoned. "Come over. Stand here."

Lin Xishan walked over and stood where Fang indicated. Then he realized he was now facing Pei Zhi, less than a step apart.

"Pei Zhi, look at him." Fang stepped back two paces and raised the camera again. "Keep that energy. Look at him. Yeah, don't change the look."

Pei Zhi lifted his eyes and met Lin Xishan's gaze.

The shutter clicks started again, but Lin Xishan barely heard them.

He only saw the way Pei Zhi was looking at him—completely different from how he'd looked at the camera.

When he looked at the lens, he was sharp, defiant, untouchable. Now, looking at him, all the sharpness in those eyes had faded, replaced by something he couldn't quite name.

Not softness. Pei Zhi was never soft.

It was something that only showed when he let all his defenses down.

Fang paused, his finger on the shutter. He popped out from behind the camera, looking slightly puzzled.

"This vibe is a bit different from before. But it's interesting, too—keep it going," he said, then pressed the shutter again.

Lin Xishan stood at the edge of the spotlight, light pouring from behind Pei Zhi, turning his pale gold hair into a soft, glowing halo.

It felt like an eternity—or maybe just ten seconds—before Fang finally called it.

"Alright, that's a wrap on this set." He flipped through the photos on his camera, a satisfied smile on his face. "These came out great. I'll send them to you once they're edited. Even without hearing the album tracks, I feel like these promo shots alone could blow up on Douyin."

Zhou Yan, as the band leader, hurried over to lay on the professional flattery, hoping to get himself edited so he didn't look so shabby next to Pei Zhi.

Pei Zhi, meanwhile, withdrew his gaze, bent down to pick up the leather jacket from the floor, shook off the dust, and draped it over his arm.

Lin Xishan walked over, grabbed a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and handed it to him.

Pei Zhi took a sip, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"What were you thinking when you looked at me just now?" Lin Xishan asked.

Pei Zhi paused for a moment, took another sip of water, then replied in his usual indifferent tone: "Nothing."

Lin Xishan watched him turn and head toward the changing room, those long, straight legs wrapped in leather pants, a small patch of the white tank top damp with sweat, clinging between his shoulder blades.

Nothing, my ass.

Lin Xishan looked away.

He'd been thinking a lot—thoughts definitely not suitable for minors.