Lu Xingyan wasn’t there.
The moment he saw that message, he tossed his phone aside and drove home, spending the entire trip thinking his way from I’m dating my brother all the way to the Big Bang.
About half an hour later, Lu Xingyan sat in his living room and finally opened WeChat to reply to Sun Cheng.
Lu Xingyan: “I’m here, man.”
Lu Xingyan: “The plan is still the same plan, but there might have been a slight change.”
Sun Cheng: “?”
Lu Xingyan: “I don’t want to explain. You wouldn’t understand even if I did.”
Sun Cheng: “…”
Sun Cheng: “I already understand.”
Lu Xingyan: “What do you understand?”
The screen showed The other person is typing… Lu Xingyan casually tapped Sun Cheng’s WeChat profile picture. It was the male half of a matching couple avatar set, the kind of cliché image you could find a whole pile of by searching “gorgeous atmospheric aesthetic.”
Lu Xingyan scoffed at it, then could not resist opening a webpage and searching for “niche sophisticated matching couple avatars.” After browsing for a while, he picked two he liked and sent one of them to Jiang Ji.
Lu Xingyan: “Bro, should we use matching couple avatars?”
Lu Xingyan: “[miss-you-love-you-kiss-you.jpg]”
Jiang Ji had not replied yet when Sun Cheng’s message arrived first.
Sun Cheng: “Man, I don’t want to expose you, but I also don’t want to play the idiot and act along with you every day. If you like your brother, just admit it. You two are actually dating now, aren’t you?”
Lu Xingyan: “Heh.”
It was an exceptionally meaningful and inscrutable heh. After sending it, Lu Xingyan deliberately waited a full minute to keep Sun Cheng in suspense, and just as expected, Sun Cheng grew curious and sent him an inquisitive question mark.
At almost exactly the same moment, Jiang Ji replied too.
Jiang Ji: “No. I have too many clients on WeChat. It wouldn’t be convenient.”
Lu Xingyan: “Since you’ve asked so sincerely, this young master will graciously enlighten you.”
Jiang Ji: “?”
Lu Xingyan jolted in horror—he had sent it to the wrong chat.
He hurriedly unsent the message and sent a cute-dog sticker as an explanation. “Wrong chat, Bro. I’m talking to someone else.”
Jiang Ji: “Oh. Who?”
“…”
Jiang Ji’s WeChat avatar was an austere, minimalist snow scene, taken several years ago when he had gone skiing in Altay with Jiang Wanyi.
The aloof profile picture paired with his concise wording was nothing unusual, yet Lu Xingyan somehow imagined Jiang Ji questioning him to his face, as though Jiang Ji cared deeply about his social life and might even be jealous.
Although he did not want Jiang Ji to be jealous, if something like that really happened—if Jiang Ji got angry and smacked him—Lu Xingyan would probably be willing…
Happiness bubbled up in his chest, and he sent Jiang Ji a whole string of heart-filled stickers in one burst.
Jiang Ji: “What are you doing now? Speak properly.”
Lu Xingyan: “Miss you.”
Jiang Ji stopped replying, perhaps because he found Lu Xingyan annoying or perhaps because he was busy.
Lu Xingyan stared resentfully at the screen, rereading the few messages Jiang Ji had just sent him more than ten times and still finding it unsatisfying—one day, he absolutely had to invent a phone that would let him kiss his brother through the screen.
Right! Lu Xingyan suddenly had an idea. He found a snowy landscape photo in his album that looked extremely similar to Jiang Ji’s profile picture and changed his own avatar to it. Wasn’t that a matching couple avatar? He was a genius.
Sun Cheng noticed almost immediately after he changed it.
—Sun Cheng also had Jiang Ji added on WeChat.
Sun Cheng: “HAHAHA, I’m dying.”
Lu Xingyan: “?”
Sun Cheng: “Your brother’s used that avatar for years; I’m not going to say who’s pretending it’s a matching couple avatar.”
Lu Xingyan: “You don’t know shit.”
Lu Xingyan: “My brother has too many clients on WeChat, so he has to keep a low profile. You think everyone likes showing off like you people do? Shallow, vulgar—people show off whatever they lack; true love doesn’t need to be displayed, understand?”
As though Sun Cheng had struck a sore spot, Lu Xingyan rattled off an enormous paragraph like a machine gun.
Sun Cheng picked out the important part. “So you admit it’s true love?”
Lu Xingyan: “.”
Lu Xingyan: “No. You don’t understand.”
Sun Cheng: “…”
There it was again.
He was always saying “you don’t understand,” as though he were the only person in the entire world who understood anything. The title of “Know-It-All King” should never have belonged to Trump; it should have gone to Lu Xingyan instead.
Elio’s Notes: “Know-It-All King” (懂王) is a Chinese internet nickname associated with Donald Trump, jokingly implying that someone claims to know everything.
But Lu Xingyan seemed entirely serious. “I’m telling you, I really am operating on the fifth level.”
Sun Cheng: “[You’re in the basement.jpg]”
Lu Xingyan: “I’ll admit it—I really do like my brother now.”
Sun Cheng: “Well, well.”
Lu Xingyan: “But that doesn’t interfere with my plan.”
Sun Cheng: “?”
Lu Xingyan: “Do you know what a Method actor is?”
Lu Xingyan: “A truly brilliant deception requires you to deceive yourself before you deceive anyone else. I’m a Method actor.”
Lu Xingyan: “I’ve already gotten into character and genuinely believe that I’m deeply in love with my brother. You think I’ve fallen for him, but no—the plan is still progressing methodically, and every thought Jiang Ji has remains completely within my grasp.”
Sun Cheng: “…”
Sun Cheng: “Man, I give up.”
Lu Xingyan sent several more messages after that, but Sun Cheng did not reply.
Lu Xingyan did not care whether Sun Cheng replied or not. He worked out at the gym for an hour, came back and took a shower, then suddenly decided to go take an afternoon nap in Jiang Ji’s room.
He called it an afternoon nap, but lying in Jiang Ji’s bed, he was not sleepy at all.
By this point, Lu Xingyan had already come to his senses.
But being clear-headed was worse than not being clear-headed; the sweetness of being in love and an inexplicable sense of insecurity assailed him at once, both so intense it was almost incomprehensible, as though the resentment and loathing he had harbored toward Jiang Ji for ten years had completely changed in nature today, transforming into an uncontrollable current of heat that raced wildly through his body.
Lu Xingyan could not think too deeply. Whenever he thought of Jiang Ji, he remembered Jiang Ji’s lips, the deep look in his eyes when he gazed at him, and his ambiguous expressions; Lu Xingyan’s chest tingled and electricity seemed to course through his entire body. If this was what happened when he got too deeply into character, would he still have a chance to break character?
No. He could not even think about what would happen after he “broke character.”
If he dumped Jiang Ji, Jiang Ji would be heartbroken…
“…”
Lu Xingyan had barely regained a little clarity before sinking back into confusion.
The symptoms felt like a fever—Jiang Ji, Jiang Ji, Jiang Ji. He missed Jiang Ji so much.
It was just like one day many years ago, when Lu Xingyan had been bedridden with a high fever from the flu. Lu Yong and Jiang Wanyi were both away, and Jiang Ji was the only person at home with him.
Sick people were vulnerable, and Lu Xingyan desperately wished Jiang Ji would hold his hand tightly and not leave him. But Jiang Ji was sitting at the desk three meters away doing homework, only turning to look at him every so often without any particularly gentle expression and asking, “Feeling any better?”
“Better my ass,” Lu Xingyan said. “How could I possibly get better when you’re acting like this?”
Looking baffled, Jiang Ji said, “You seem pretty energetic to me—you still have enough strength to cause trouble.”
Lu Xingyan’s nose stung, and his face fell as he called, “Jiang Ji, take my temperature.”
“Didn’t we just do that?”
“The last one wasn’t accurate,” Lu Xingyan hemmed and hawed. “Don’t use the digital thermometer; use the mercury one.”
“…” Jiang Ji seemed to see through his deliberate attempt to keep him from doing his homework properly, but since Lu Xingyan was sick, he gave him a little extra patience.
Jiang Ji went downstairs to ask the housekeeper for a mercury thermometer and handed it to Lu Xingyan as though coaxing a child.
Lu Xingyan lay there without moving and said, “You do it for me.”
He raised an arm, signaling for Jiang Ji to tuck the thermometer into his armpit, but when Jiang Ji actually did so, Lu Xingyan refused to cooperate and deliberately let the thermometer slip down behind his clothes, forcing Jiang Ji to reach in and retrieve it.
As Jiang Ji fumbled around for it, he ended up holding Lu Xingyan in his arms.
At the time, Lu Xingyan believed he utterly hated Jiang Ji, yet he secretly pressed closer into that embrace, reluctant to pull away.
“Jiang Ji.” He instinctively leaned toward his older brother’s neck. The skin there had an almost white-jade quality, so smooth and soft that it seemed entirely out of place on someone as cold and heartless as Jiang Ji.
Lu Xingyan was hazy with fever, his lips drifting closer and closer; he really wanted to take a bite.
So he did, and the sensation made his head spin. But Jiang Ji’s slight stiffening startled him, and he hurriedly said, “I’m going to infect you!”
Jiang Ji immediately shoved him away, saying, “Psycho.”
“…”
Lu Xingyan fell back onto the bed, and the thermometer had already slipped off somewhere unknown. His forehead burned even hotter and he felt even sicker as he watched Jiang Ji return to the desk and turn his profile toward him.
That familiar profile looked meticulously carved, without a single imperfect line. His lowered lashes resembled delicate feathers, fluttering lightly in the sunlight and stirring up a haze of golden dust that spread into a memory Lu Xingyan would never forget.
He had never recovered from that illness.
Only now did Lu Xingyan realize that he had experienced it long ago: liking Jiang Ji felt like a high fever.
Unfortunately, there was no fever medicine in the world that could cure this; all Lu Xingyan could do was let himself remain delirious, resenting, envying, and yearning until the day he died.
…Might as well just die.
That was what reason said.
But lying on his brother’s pillow, Lu Xingyan had no reason left. Half asleep and half awake, in his muddled dream he turned himself into some object Jiang Ji would carry with him everywhere.
He followed Jiang Ji, always followed him; Jiang Ji was his master, his everything. He was picked up, played with in Jiang Ji’s palm, casually discarded, then picked up again…
“Don’t abandon me,” Lu Xingyan said in the dream. “Big brother, I’m yours…”
Suddenly, the bedroom light came on.
“What did you say?” A familiar voice slipped into his dream.
Lu Xingyan jolted awake and opened his eyes to meet the deep gaze looking down at him from above, making his heart jump.
“Bro, you’re back…”
“Why are you in my room again?”
Jiang Ji drew the curtains, and only then did Lu Xingyan realize it was already dark. He had actually slept for this long.
Probably because he had been too excited to sleep properly the night before.
Jiang Ji had just come back from meeting a client and had changed back into a suit; his jacket was draped over one arm while his other hand undid the buttons of his shirt. Lu Xingyan helped him remove his tie and, unable to help himself, leaned closer for a kiss.
Jiang Ji blocked him. “The door’s open.”
“Are they home?” Lu Xingyan asked quietly.
“No.”
“…Then why did you scare me?”
“So you do know how to be scared?” Jiang Ji said. “I thought you were completely lawless and would dare announce outright to your father that the two of us were together.”
“Of course I would,” Lu Xingyan said unconcernedly. “As long as you agreed.”
“…”
He did not look as though he were joking. Jiang Ji had no intention of taking their game this far in front of their parents. “I don’t agree. Behave yourself.”
“Oh.” Lu Xingyan lay back down on the bed, experiencing the misery of a secret relationship on the very first day.
But that small amount of misery could not dilute the joy of being in love; he was no longer even thinking much about the plan—if he was going to get into character, he might as well let himself stay immersed for a while, and there was no need to advance the plan until Jiang Ji’s affection for him grew from “one little bit” to “two little bits.”
After all, dating for one day was dating, and dating for a year was dating too.
Lu Xingyan’s thoughts went in a circle, and he grew excited again. He got out of bed and shut the door himself. Jiang Ji had already taken off his suit and changed into loungewear. Lu Xingyan had nothing else in mind; he simply wanted to kiss him, hold him, and be close to him.
Jiang Ji held his hand down and said, “We just got together, Lu Xingyan.”
“Hm?” Lu Xingyan did not understand.
“Do you know that relationships can end as well as begin?” Jiang Ji suddenly said. “We got together on impulse, but there are actually a lot of ways we’re incompatible. If problems come up after a few days together, I might break up with you.”
Lu Xingyan froze and echoed, “…Break up?”
“I said I might.”
Cold words came from the warm, soft lips Lu Xingyan had kissed countless times. His expression immediately changed, and he instinctively put on a pitiful look as he pleaded, “Don’t, Bro…”
“Then you have to listen to me, understand?”
“Am I not listening to you now?”
“What do you think?” Jiang Ji kept a hand on Lu Xingyan’s arm and felt the muscles tense beneath it, trembling faintly without Lu Xingyan even realizing it.
The feeling was extraordinary.
Jiang Ji knew he had a mean streak and not much of a moral conscience, but he had never realized he could be this bad. The sight of Lu Xingyan completely at his mercy filled him with an intense pleasure that surprised even himself, and it had lasted from the night before until now without fading.
“Wouldn’t it look strange if someone found out you came into my room to sleep?” Jiang Ji said seriously. “And your WeChat profile picture—you suddenly changed it to one like mine; is that appropriate?”
“…Fine.”
Lu Xingyan admitted fault: “I’ll change it back, so don’t be mad.”
Jiang Ji sat down at the edge of the bed, and Lu Xingyan sat beside him. Jiang Ji deliberately kept a stern expression while Lu Xingyan secretly glanced at him from the corner of his eye, looking as though he wanted to coax him but did not dare.
After they remained like that for a while, Lu Xingyan finally could not hold back and pressed close to lightly kiss his cheek. “Bro, are you still mad?”
Jiang Ji said nothing, so Lu Xingyan kissed him again and said, “Such a bad temper—who besides me would even be willing to coax you?”
His kisses were very light, one after another like a chick pecking at grain, and strangely ticklish.
Jiang Ji raised a hand to block him, so Lu Xingyan kissed the back of his hand instead, and after kissing it for a while, suddenly grabbed his hand, slipped his index and middle fingers into his mouth, and bit down.
“…”
The gesture was unmistakably suggestive; Jiang Ji could feel Lu Xingyan’s tongue and teeth moving around, as though it were not fingers he had in his mouth but something else entirely.
A person who had just woken up ran warm, and the inside of Lu Xingyan’s mouth was even hotter. Jiang Ji was stirred by it, and Lu Xingyan seized the opportunity to pull his hand away, leaving a trace of moisture at the corner of his lips.
The next second, that wet trace was pressed against Jiang Ji’s jaw.
—This stupid dog had somehow taught himself the handsome-man seduction tactic.
“Don’t mention breaking up again.”
Sensing Jiang Ji’s attitude soften, Lu Xingyan finally pressed his entire body against him without restraint and said in an unbearably sappy voice, “Otherwise I’ll die, big brother…”
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