Chu Lai was a very low-key person. When Shen Quanzhang pursued him during their junior year in college, even after they got together, Chu Lai never posted anything about their relationship in his WeChat Moments. It was as if he had no desire to share anything at all. His WeChat Moments were always closed off, most group chats were muted, and this fit the image of someone who had little presence in the minds of their classmates.

Even Shen Quanzhang discovering Chu Lai was a game live-streamer was something he found out by accident.

At that moment, Shen Quanzhang had a feeling that he wasn’t even really Chu Lai’s boyfriend.

So why was it like this now? He had never been publicly acknowledged by Chu Lai.

Chu Lai had no idea Shen Quanzhang worked at Cen Wei’s company. While Cen Wei was in a meeting, he left his secretary to assist Chu Lai with anything he needed. The secretary was very respectful, and when he learned that Chu Lai was going to pick up some food delivery, he even offered to do it himself.

Chu Lai spent the afternoon gaming quite diligently. Unlike the games he streamed, which were mostly single-player puzzle adventures, he was now replaying a mobile game’s main storyline. While he was playing, his phone blew up with notifications after posting on Weibo. Liu Yuan messaged him right away:

Liu Yuan: You posted on Weibo?!?

Chu Lai opened the screenshot—it was of his own post—and simply replied with a “mmhmm.”

Liu Yuan followed with a series of animated emoji expressions, suggesting that Chu Lai should also post it in his WeChat Moments.

Liu Yuan: I know you keep your Moments closed, but a lot of our old classmates know you and Shen Quanzhang were dating, right?

Liu Yuan: Shen Quanzhang hasn’t posted about the breakup, by the way. I saw someone commenting on one of his recent posts.

Liu Yuan: I’ll find the screenshot for you.

Liu Yuan: [image]

Liu Yuan: See? He’s still pretending like nothing happened. [puking emoji] Sorry, I should have told you earlier.

Chu Lai opened the screenshot, showing a conversation where Shen Quanzhang replied to a mutual friend, mentioning they had spent an evening together last week.

Chu Lai felt a wave of disgust but decided to take Liu Yuan’s advice. His WeChat Moments had been closed for a long time, and unlike most couples, he and Shen Quanzhang never shared photos or marked relationship milestones online. He wasn’t the kind of boyfriend who checked his partner’s phone either. As a boyfriend, Chu Lai was quiet, low-maintenance, and the epitome of “calm.” Liu Yuan always said his relationships lacked passion, but he knew it had something to do with Chu Lai’s family background.

Liu Yuan, a local, had once tried inviting Chu Lai to spend the Lunar New Year with his family, but Chu Lai politely declined. He spent holidays working random jobs until the school dorms reopened. The dorm mother, knowing his situation, gave him extra attention due to his polite, gentle demeanor.

A few minutes later, Chu Lai replied to Liu Yuan: “Posted.”

Liu Yuan: So, how does it feel to have gotten your marriage certificate?

Liu Yuan had only met Cen Wei once, in a dimly lit bar, and he was still somewhat concerned about Chu Lai marrying someone so quickly. Marriage was much more serious than dating, and there were countless horror stories of people losing everything because of it. And Chu Lai was a stubborn person—once he made up his mind, it was hard to change. Just like how he had chosen Shen Quanzhang, even when there were three people vying for his attention.

Liu Yuan wasn’t surprised by Chu Lai’s decision to get married; he had always been the type to seek stability in relationships. Whether there was love or sex didn’t matter to him as long as there was a home, even if it was just two people stuck together out of convenience.

In many ways, Liu Yuan thought that even though Chu Lai had a dog, his personality was more like a cat—aloof, cautious, and only allowing others to get close on his terms. He wanted things on his own terms but would never demand too much. He gave off an aura of “this is enough” and was always ready for a clean break if necessary.

It was like with Shen Quanzhang—Liu Yuan had thought it wouldn’t end so easily. Why did Shen Quanzhang get to take the blow dryer, the oven, and even the dryer when he had barely contributed? To Liu Yuan, the impression of Shen Quanzhang could be summed up as greedy and cheap.

After that night when Chu Lai and Cen Wei left, Liu Yuan had gathered up the courage to ask his future brother-in-law, Jiang Liyong, for information about Cen Wei.

Surprisingly, despite their complicated connection as half-brothers to Jiang Liyong’s partner, they actually got along pretty well, and both thought Chu Lai and Cen Wei had met at just the right time to solve each other’s problems.

In Liu Yuan’s eyes, Jiang Liyong was someone from a completely different world—an Ivy League graduate with elite education, success seemingly at his fingertips. This impression came from Liu Yuan’s boyfriend, who always spoke about his half-brother with jealousy. Still, Liu Yuan believed in the saying “birds of a feather flock together” and Jiang Liyong seemed level-headed, so any close friends of his wouldn’t be questionable characters either.

When Liu Yuan heard that Cen Wei’s family made umbrellas, he couldn’t remember the brand’s name but relayed to Chu Lai that it was a century-old business. Hearing that Cen Wei liked niche games as well, Liu Yuan was convinced that he and Chu Lai would get along just fine—definitely better than Shen Quanzhang, who wasn’t into games and was bad at basketball. To this day, Liu Yuan couldn’t figure out what Chu Lai saw in Shen Quanzhang, who wasn’t even making as much money as Chu Lai.

After all, they were both guys—same anatomy and everything. There was no reason for any of that “I can’t believe he’s with a guy” sentiment. It was just wasting Chu Lai’s youth!

Meanwhile, the secretary from Cen Wei’s office saw Chu Lai as more and more like a character straight out of a manga, sitting on the sofa, not even bothering to zip up his bag. A corner of his marriage certificate was poking out after he had taken out his Bluetooth earbuds earlier.

Chu Lai had briefly looked at the photo, which showed him and Cen Wei sitting close together, both of them giving half-hearted smiles. Yet somehow, in the frozen moment of the picture, the awkwardness wasn’t visible at all.

Maybe it was the red backdrop, or perhaps it was the moment when Cen Wei had leaned in, his cologne filling the air, reminding Chu Lai of the hugs they had shared.

He opened his chat with Liu Yuan, typed “Didn’t feel much,” deleted it, and replaced it with “It’s fine.” In the end, he settled on:

“I kind of understand why people say getting married makes you happy.”

Liu Yuan nearly jumped out of his seat when he read that. He re-read the message over and over, feeling like his supposedly emotionally distant friend had suddenly recovered from some deep-seated trauma.

Did… did Chu Lai just say he was happy? The last time he mentioned being happy was years ago! Back when it had snowed and he had just started dating that cheap jerk Shen Quanzhang.

It was true—moving on to the next relationship was the cure to the last!

Liu Yuan: So, you’re feeling the joy of marriage, huh?

Liu Yuan: Seems like you and Mr. Cen are really getting along.

Liu Yuan: He’s good-looking, has his own business, doesn’t need to live off your income, and is a local guy. Way better than your ex.

Just as Liu Yuan sent that message, Cen Wei walked out of the conference room, followed by a few department heads. Among the group of men, Cen Wei stood out the most. There were others around his age, but they weren’t as tall, and those who were didn’t have his good looks.

With his towering figure and strikingly handsome features, Cen Wei exuded the presence of a man in charge. As he walked past the office’s floor-to-ceiling windows, Chu Lai noticed that his expression was somewhat stern, though he smiled when he saw Chu Lai.

It was a complete contrast to the authoritative aura he had just displayed while in work mode, revealing hints of the weariness that clung to his face from hours of meetings—reminding Chu Lai of their first encounter at the bar.

Chu Lai nodded briefly, then looked back down to his phone, replying to Liu Yuan: “It’s okay.”

Cen Wei’s colleague, Shen Yangxu, who had been standing beside him, teased, “Didn’t you just get your marriage certificate? Why does he look so glum?”

Understanding Chu Lai’s personality, Cen Wei wasn’t too bothered and countered, “Should he be grinning at you then?”

Shen Yangxu chuckled, “I saw that smile! He smiled at you, and then you made him lower his head. Maybe you should reflect on that, huh, Mr. Boss?”

Cen Wei ignored the teasing. “Get back to work, I’m leaving early.”

Shen Yangxu was surprised, “Seriously? It’s still early, and you’re already off?”

Cen Wei, for once, allowed himself some leniency: “I’m the boss. I can clock out whenever I want.”

Everyone else stayed silent, though it was clear they understood. If Cen Wei, a workaholic, was leaving early, something important was happening.

Naturally, their thoughts went to the rumors of Cen Wei being cheated on. It seemed they felt even more sympathetic toward him now, watching as he left the room to join the young man waiting on the sofa.

Without even looking up, Chu Lai asked, “Ready to go?”

Cen Wei nodded, “Yeah, I’m leaving early.”

There was no hint of nervousness in Chu Lai’s tone despite the impending meeting with the parents. He only murmured, “Let me finish this level.”

Curious, Cen Wei asked, “What game are you playing?”

Despite his busy day, Cen Wei always found moments to check his phone here and there. Seeing how packed his schedule was, Chu Lai thought, maybe being a regular employee wasn’t so bad.

He was about to answer but paused, his lips moving without sound for a few seconds before admitting, “I forgot.”

Cen Wei was taken aback for a moment before laughing, “Are you sure you didn’t just not want to tell me?”

Chu Lai had been playing a horror puzzle game earlier but had switched to a rhythm game he hadn’t touched in a while. He truly had forgotten the name, so he shook his head, “I’ll tell you later.”

As he glanced at Chu Lai, a pale-skinned youth with delicate features and nimble fingers, Cen Wei couldn’t help but appreciate the sight.

Sensing the gaze, Chu Lai asked, “Do you think I look good?”

This time, it was Cen Wei’s turn to be stunned.

Still focused on the game, Chu Lai’s tone was curious, “It might sound a little self-absorbed, but can I ask, are you a hand fetishist? We haven’t known each other long, but you’ve been staring at my hands quite a few times now.”

He had earbuds in, the case lying beside him—a bright yellow banana-shaped cartoon case, conspicuous and whimsical.

Although Chu Lai’s usual attire was in muted shades, like grey and other Morandi colors, his belongings were vibrant and colorful. During lunch, Cen Wei had even noticed that his glasses case was orange.

“Hand fetish?” Cen Wei thought for a moment. “I don’t think I have that.”

He tried to recall anyone else’s hands, but nothing came to mind.

“If I were a hand fetishist, I would probably be able to remember a lot of people’s hands, right?”

He paused, “But your hands are indeed very nice.”

Without thinking, his eyes fell on Chu Lai’s right wrist. His sleeve was rolled up, revealing the small red mark there. Because his skin was so pale, the red mark stood out like a drop of vermillion ink—intense and striking, drawing one’s attention. It made him wonder for a fleeting moment whether that spot would blur and spread under the touch of a fingertip.

Catching himself in that thought, Cen Wei quickly pushed it aside, feeling it was unnecessary.

Chu Lai accepted the compliment with ease, “I think so too.”

He played the game with swift, decisive movements, a stark contrast to his typically calm demeanor.

Chu Lai added, “Your ex-boyfriend’s hands were probably nice too.”

Then, as if correcting himself, he said, “I mean, your ex.”

Cen Wei chuckled, “I honestly don’t remember.”

He smiled, then asked, “Do you still remember yours?”

As they headed out of the building, the two of them were casually discussing their exes. Passing colleagues overheard snippets of the conversation and couldn’t help but feel nervous.

Wasn’t talking about exes such a huge relationship landmine? They just got their marriage certificate!

Chu Lai hummed, “I remember his hands, and I remember him telling me that you’re not romantic.”

That had left a strong impression on him, and Cen Wei sighed, “I remember your ex’s voice too.”

Chu Lai thought about running into Shen Quanzhang downstairs earlier and almost asked if Cen Wei had ever met him. But they had already broken up, so there was no point.

Eventually, they arrived at Cen Wei’s parents’ house.

The Cen family’s umbrella business was a well-known brand in the country, dating back to before the founding of the People’s Republic of China. With Cen Wei being the fourth generation, there wasn’t much about the family that one couldn’t find online.

Even so, as they pulled into the villa, Chu Lai couldn’t help but ask, “What kind of person does your family like?”

He paused, then clarified, “I mean, for a partner.”

Cen Wei glanced at him from the corner of his eye. For the first time, he noticed a hint of unease in Chu Lai’s posture—the way he clutched his phone, his lips pressed together.

It was rare to see him like this, so Cen Wei found it refreshing but decided not to tease him.

“Just be yourself,” Cen Wei said simply.

Chu Lai asked, “Did you ever consider marrying your ex?”

It was a personal question, but given how openly they had already discussed their past relationships, it felt natural.

Cen Wei shook his head. “I never thought about marriage before.”

He parked the car as he continued, “But my grandfather said he wouldn’t be able to rest in peace unless he saw me married.”

There was a note of helplessness in his voice, “So I came up with this solution.”

After a pause, Chu Lai asked, “If it hadn’t been me, would you have chosen someone else?”

Cen Wei shook his head. “No, there are no ‘ifs.’ It was a coincidence that you responded that day.”

After a brief silence, Chu Lai joked, “So, was it a mass message?”