“President Jiang, we’re here.”
It was already close to midnight on the evening of June 17. Jiang Ji’s car stopped in front of the house, driven by an employee who had accompanied him to a business dinner that night.
The driver opened the door. Jiang Ji, asleep in the back seat, stirred slightly, half awake.
“President Jiang?”
“Mm.” Jiang Ji answered and opened his eyes. “Take a cab home. Get some rest.”
The fare would naturally be reimbursed by the company. The employee said goodbye and left. Jiang Ji did not get out; he pulled the door shut again and closed his eyes.
When a person was exhausted enough, they did not want to move; Jiang Ji’s mind was awake, but his body still felt asleep. He had not drunk much that night, simply worn out from getting off a plane and immediately having to attend a dinner engagement.
Jiang Ji sat in the car for a while, then opened the window for some air.
The temperature had been unstable lately. A few days ago, the heat had been scorching, but after today’s rain it had cooled down; the night breeze carried a refreshing chill that was unusually comfortable.
There were new messages on his phone. Ignoring the row of red notification dots beside other contacts, he opened Jiang Wanyi’s chat first.
Jiang Ji had been away on a business trip for the past week, and Jiang Wanyi occasionally chatted with him, mostly about family matters; aside from trivial everyday things, the main topic was Lu Xingyan.
She said, “You haven’t been home, so you don’t know. Xiao Yan has been so well-behaved these past few days. He keeps his dad company and talks to him, bought us health supplements, and even gave me a skincare set.”
Jiang Ji’s eyelid twitched.
Jiang Wanyi continued, “I told him we’re not old enough to need supplements yet, but Xiao Yan said young people take them too, just for extra nutrition. Honestly, I haven’t seen him this obedient in years.”
“…”
Jiang Ji could guess Lu Xingyan’s motive and had nothing to say, so he replied, “Really? That’s rare.”
“Exactly.” Jiang Wanyi seemed pleased. “His dad thought he might have gotten himself into some kind of trouble, but after watching him for a few days, it doesn’t seem like it. Oh, right—do you know who Xiao Yan’s girlfriend is?”
“I don’t know.” The advantage of chatting online was that Jiang Ji did not have to manage his expression, so he answered without guilt, though his actual mood was nowhere near as calm as the words made it seem.
—Lu Xingyan had guessed correctly. Jiang Ji’s thoughts were in a mess.
For someone as decisive, strong-willed, and action-oriented as Jiang Ji, this was extremely unusual.
Over the past few days, rather than considering whether he should stay with Lu Xingyan, Jiang Ji had been trying to measure his own heart and determine exactly how deep his feelings for Lu Xingyan ran.
Love was a strange thing: it began with the faintest stir of attraction, then being drawn in by the other person, losing control again and again, until the fleeting pleasure of the present inevitably led to thoughts of the future—and with the future came trouble.
Dating might be a private matter between two people, but people lived in society, and very few things were truly “private.” Social rules, ethics, reputation, and status could all complicate what had once been a simple feeling.
If he stripped everything else away and considered only whether he was attracted to Lu Xingyan, Jiang Ji did not think he would reject him. At the very least, the happiness he felt when they were together was real, and he was deeply reluctant to give it up.
But life did not contain only one kind of happiness.
Jiang Ji had known since childhood that “this kind of happiness” and “that kind of happiness” could conflict with each other. When he was young, for example, he wanted a complete family and did not want his parents to divorce, but that was impossible; he could only choose between them.
Later, when he was a little older, he developed the same interests as other boys: he wanted toys, games, figurines, the shoes everyone compared with one another… Owning those things would have made him happy too, but he never bought them. Whenever Jiang Wanyi asked, he would think about how tight their finances were and say, “I don’t like them.”
Later still, Jiang Ji entered university. Many of the people around him relaxed completely after the Gaokao, as though all the striving of the first half of their lives were finished and it was finally time to enjoy themselves. But Jiang Ji knew his life had only just begun; he could not indulge in games, romance, socializing, or travel the way everyone else did, and had to give up those short-term pleasures and invest his energy in the future, hoping for greater returns later.
That was why Jiang Ji was disciplined. At its core, self-discipline was a form of self-denial; everyone knew sleeping in was more comfortable than leaving early and returning late, but not everyone had the luxury of sleeping in.
Jiang Ji was very good at denying himself, giving up things he should not want in order to preserve the principles he had always followed, which was why he had become more successful than most people his age.
And now he had reached the same crossroads again: he ought to give up Lu Xingyan, correct his mistake, preserve the harmony of the family, and exchange that sacrifice for a longer, more stable future.
But—
Jiang Ji’s head hurt. He had not drunk much, yet still felt uncomfortable. He moved into the front seat and drove the car into the garage.
The time on his phone read 10:49 p.m., and Jiang Ji remained seated in the car as he opened Lu Xingyan’s livestream.
He knew which platform Lu Xingyan streamed on. In the past, he had never had the time or interest to watch, but these past few days he had occasionally opened it for a glance, though never for long.
When Jiang Ji had gone home that afternoon, Lu Xingyan had already been streaming; now it was nearly midnight, and the stream still had not ended.
Lu Xingyan had his camera on, with the game filling most of the screen and his face appearing in a small window in the lower-right corner. Jiang Ji watched the game for a while without understanding what it was, so his attention naturally drifted to Lu Xingyan himself.
Streaming a game was different from playing one in private: there was no real chance to relax, and he had to stay aware of his appearance, maintain his energy, and interact with the chat at all times, which was actually exhausting. Lu Xingyan had been streaming for nearly seven hours straight, and fatigue was already visible on his face.
He seemed to be using a beauty filter. His skin looked paler, and the shape of his face was slightly distorted; he did not look as good as he did in real life.
Jiang Ji watched the somewhat unfamiliar face on the screen and could not help smiling, then topped up his newly registered account, browsed through the gift list for a moment, and selected the most expensive one.
“Thanks to user 3475743593… Why is your username so long… for the Super Rocket.”
Lu Xingyan thanked him in a formulaic tone without the slightest change in expression.
Because he had spent money, Jiang Ji automatically received a fan badge at a fairly high level, and his messages now appeared in a distinctive fan-only color that stood out clearly.
Jiang Ji typed to tease him: “Streamer, aren’t you being a little cold? I just spent three thousand yuan and you won’t even smile?”
Lu Xingyan was still a new streamer with an existing but relatively small fanbase, and the fan levels on his gift rankings were generally not very high, so Jiang Ji’s single gift immediately pushed him to the top of the daily ranking.
Although Jiang Ji did not normally watch livestreams, even he knew that the top gifter carried a lot of weight and that most streamers would actively flatter them; yet this young master of his was apparently used to putting on a sour face even while streaming for a living, perhaps expecting the top gifter to coax him instead.
Lu Xingyan either did not see the message or chose not to respond.
The fans in the chat spoke up for him:
“Big spender, first day here?”
“That’s just our streamer’s persona. He’s the aloof type.”
“He may look cold, but he’s already celebrating inside.”
“He’ll count the money like crazy after the stream.”
Jiang Ji laughed as he read.
Then he suddenly remembered something and opened the livestream announcement—Lu Xingyan had not lied, and had actually written: “Streamer has a wife. Loves wife very much.”
Jiang Ji was speechless and typed, “Streamer, are you married? You look too young.”
“Not yet,” Lu Xingyan said. “But my wife and I are in a stable relationship. Marriage is only a matter of time. Don’t be jealous.”
Jiang Ji: “…”
Apparently Lu Xingyan had already told this barefaced lie more than once, because the chat immediately erupted the moment he finished speaking:
“Here we go again. Streamer’s starting up again.”
“It’s been three whole minutes since I last heard the streamer tell us how much his wife loves him, and I’ve got ants crawling all over me.”
“Please stop asking him, okay? Once you start him off he never shuts up, ahhh!”
“I know this one: streamer’s wife is gorgeous, kindhearted, successful, an icy goddess, universally adored, a total heartthrob!”
“Master, stop chanting. Fine, fine, I ship it!”
Jiang Ji: “…”
What kind of nonsense is all this?
So Lu Xingyan spent his livestreams making things up every day, but this was not a bad streaming style either; the atmosphere in the chat was lively and playful, everyone joked around together, and the number of viewers kept climbing.
Jiang Ji yawned, exited the stream, and finally got out of the car.
As he went upstairs, he passed Lu Xingyan’s room and noticed the door had been left slightly open. It had been like this before too: every night when Jiang Ji came home, Lu Xingyan’s door would be left ajar, seemingly so he could wait for him.
Unfortunately, Jiang Ji had never paid attention before; only now did he understand why.
He did not disturb Lu Xingyan’s stream and went back to his own room to change and shower.
By the time he came out of the bathroom, Lu Xingyan had already ended the stream and, hearing movement, came over and knocked on the door looking furtive.
“Is something wrong?” Jiang Ji stood in the doorway. “It’s late. I want to sleep early.”
“…Oh.”
Lu Xingyan understood that this was a refusal to be affectionate, but one extra sentence was still one extra sentence. “Bro, there’s something I want to discuss with you.”
“What is it?”
“Are you free this weekend? Can you spare me a few hours? I booked a photographer to take pictures of us.”
Jiang Ji was somewhat puzzled. “What are the pictures for?”
“Uh, they’re useful.” Lu Xingyan hesitated, reluctant to explain directly, but he knew Jiang Ji would not agree unless he made himself clear.
“Isn’t your birthday coming up? I’m preparing a special gift for you, and I need photos for it,” he explained. “It’s really simple. We can just take a couple! It won’t be a hassle, okay?”
“All right. Sunday works,” Jiang Ji said. “But my birthday is still more than a month away. Why are you preparing this early?”
“It’s a big project. If I don’t start early, I won’t finish in time.”
After saying that, Lu Xingyan fell silent for several seconds, then subtly edged farther inside the doorway and closer to Jiang Ji. “Bro…”
He was about to start acting spoiled again, and Jiang Ji knew the next question was probably going to be Can I have another kiss?, so he cut him off in advance. “No. We already kissed today.”
“…Fine.”
They kept their voices low, afraid of being overheard. Even though their parents and the housekeeper were already asleep, the secretive atmosphere of something that could not be brought into the open still hung heavily over the entire villa, creating an almost psychological sense of suffocation.
Lu Xingyan did not leave immediately after being refused, silently standing by the door and looking at Jiang Ji with an expression completely unlike the one he wore on stream, pitifully waiting as though for his owner to feed him; if Jiang Ji gave him nothing at all, it would practically count as abuse.
Jiang Ji had “abused” Lu Xingyan plenty in the past and had even enjoyed doing it, yet lately he had become increasingly softhearted and could no longer quite bring himself to be cruel.
“Lu Xingyan,” Jiang Ji said after thinking for a moment. “Stop using the beauty filter when you stream. You look better the way you do now.”
“Huh?”
Lu Xingyan processed that for a second, then lit up with overwhelming delight. “You watched my stream?!”
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