Chu Lai’s resignation approval process went smoothly, and he was in the middle of handing over his work. Oddly enough, his family thought he seemed even busier in these final days before leaving the company.

The rumors circulating online had reached the ears of the elders in the family. Cen Jiansun, who didn’t use the internet much, believed there was no need to pay any attention to it. However, Grandma Hong, who frequently browsed online to check out handsome men, occasionally came across related information. But the elderly lady only watched videos featuring real people, skipping past most unless they showed pictures of Chu Lai and Cen Wei. When that happened, she would seriously listen to the AI voice reading the captions.

If Xuan Rongqing was present, Grandma Hong would grab her arm and ask, “Isn’t this all just nonsense?”

After soothing the old lady, Xuan Rongqing would then seek out Chu Lai.

When Chu Lai returned to the Cen family home after work, he often didn’t have much appetite, possibly because of the overtime he had to put in before his resignation was finalized. Xuan Rongqing had been feeding him several times lately, subtly trying to probe what was on his mind.

Unfortunately, even a dog would enjoy snacks more than Chu Lai did. Despite having known him for so long and being practically family now, all that Xuan Rongqing could remember about his preferences was that he had a fervent love for green peppers. This led her to try grilled green peppers, even though she wasn’t a fan of them herself.

To her surprise, it turned out that Cen Wei liked them too. She only now discovered that her son, back in high school, would stop at street food stalls after school to eat skewers.

In recent days, while Cen Wei was inspecting factories, Chu Lai had been working overtime alone at home. Around mealtime, he realized that he had been eating grilled green peppers at almost every meal lately.

Chu Lai glanced at Xuan Rongqing, with a look that hinted at something unsaid.

The elegantly dressed woman looked back at him, asking, “What’s the matter? Don’t you have an appetite, Lai Lai?”

Meanwhile, Grandma Hong, who was taking her pre-dinner medicine, remarked, “Lai Lai hasn’t had much of an appetite for a while now. He hasn’t gained any weight at all, and it’s obviously Cen Wei’s fault.”

This logic baffled Chu Lai, and just as he was about to respond, Cen Jiansun, who was sipping warm water with his wife’s medicine, said, “What else could it be? He’s probably losing his appetite just looking at him.”

Chu Lai finally caught on—they were clearly making fun of their grandson while he wasn’t around!

Xuan Rongqing chided, “Dad, Mom, why are you like this? If Cen Wei finds out, he’ll be upset again.”

The old man eyed the deflated-looking grilled green peppers. “Nobody else knows about this. It’s not like Lai Lai’s going to secretly record it and send it to Cen Wei, is he?”

Chu Lai: …

Well, that wouldn’t be necessary. Cen Wei had probably already grown used to his standing in the family by now.

Cen Jiansun glanced at the dazed young man across from him and picked up the grilled green peppers from Chu Lai’s plate. He sniffed them and asked, “Lai Lai, do you eat like this every day when you’re with Cen Wei?”

Chu Lai shook his head.

This kind of family-style dinner chatter had started ever since he and Cen Wei began staying at the family home. Over time, Chu Lai, who was initially uncomfortable with it, had grown used to these casual meals filled with conversation. Before, the most he would experience was similar casual dining at Liú Yuān’s house.

Chu Lai replied, “If you eat it every day, it’ll cause inflammation. We just eat it occasionally.”

Xuan Rongqing let out a surprised sound. “But Cen Wei told me to make more of the food you like. Did I get it wrong?”

Grandma Hong chimed in, “It’s not like you’re the one doing the cooking anyway.”

It was common for the family to playfully undercut each other. Chu Lai asked Xuan Rongqing, “Did he only tell you I like this?”

She immediately opened a voice message from Cen Wei and played it for him. It was a long message, starting with “[Lai Lai likes this…]” and filled with details about how Chu Lai didn’t like soup or broccoli, with countless mentions of “Lai Lai” throughout. By the end of the message, it was almost nauseating how many times “Lai Lai” had been said.

Chu Lai felt his stomach churn just a little and frowned. “He’s so mushy.”

Xuan Rongqing sighed, “He’s never been this attentive with me, his own mother.”

Chu Lai shook his head. “He’s only been gone two days. You’d think he’d been away for two years.”

His tone was indifferent, showing no hint of being moved. Although he claimed not to eat grilled green peppers every day, he was clearly enjoying them.

The family had long become familiar with Chu Lai’s personality. While Grandma Hong sipped her soup and observed his expression, she found it hard to imagine that the same Cen Wei she knew would stop for grilled green peppers after school. Unable to resist asking, she said, “Was the grilled green pepper skewer at your high school gate really that good?”

Chu Lai nodded enthusiastically. “It was delicious.”

Xuan Rongqing suddenly had a realization. “That explains why he never wanted to eat late-night snacks when he came home. Turns out he’d already eaten.”

Since the high school was a bit far from the Cen family home, Chu Lai was curious. “Didn’t Cen Wei have a car to pick him up?”

Xuan Rongqing shook her head. “He was going through his rebellious phase back then—so moody that he didn’t even talk to his mom.”

Back when Chu Lai wasn’t entirely satisfied with Cen Wei’s face, he at least appreciated his figure. Now that they were together, he couldn’t help but feel that his sleeping face, just inches away, exceeded expectations. He asked, “How moody?”

“Didn’t he look the same as he does now?”

Though they had both attended the same high school, Chu Lai had enrolled just as Cen Wei was graduating. Their paths might have briefly crossed, but if it hadn’t been for last year’s chance meeting, they likely wouldn’t have had any other encounters.

Xuan Rongqing put down her chopsticks. “Let me find some old photos.”

To Chu Lai, she felt more like an older sister, able to seamlessly switch between being poised and playful. She also had a love for fun.

Chu Lai couldn’t resist sending a message to Cen Wei.

First, he sent a photo of their dinner featuring grilled green peppers, followed by a message: “Your mom says you were super moody during your rebellious phase.”

At that moment, Cen Wei hadn’t yet eaten. He was busy with work in the factory, and by the time he saw the message, Chu Lai had already finished dinner and was flipping through the family album that Xuan Rongqing had given him.

She sat beside him, with Grandma Hong on the other side. Chu Lai didn’t even have to turn the pages himself—it was like an automatic guided tour.

There weren’t many photos, some of them were printed, some were Polaroids, and some had turned yellow over time. “Cen Wei never liked taking photos,” Xuan Rongqing explained.

Chu Lai looked at the young boy in the photo, his bangs covering his eyes, with a face full of youthful coldness and faint gloom. He wasn’t even looking at the camera, and his entire expression screamed displeasure.

“I told him to take at least one photo every semester. He wasn’t too happy about it, but he still agreed.”

Grandma Hong adjusted her reading glasses and defended him, “Our Cen Wei was always obedient.”

Chu Lai, however, found it amusing. The Cen Wei in the photos was a complete stranger to him.

The current Cen Wei wasn’t exactly his ideal type, and the high school version was even less so.

Perhaps because his grin was too obvious, Xuan Rongqing asked, “Lai Lai, why are you laughing?”

Chu Lai nodded, “He looked really moody.”

Xuan Rongqing recalled a young man she’d once met outside the apartment complex—Dīng Xiūlín, a friend’s son, who had also attended their wedding. Although the elders didn’t pry, they could sense the emotions leaking out of the young ones.

Over the years, Cen Wei had matured a lot. The brooding adolescence brought on by his father’s death had long passed. Even his mother had difficulty having heart-to-heart conversations with him.

A while ago, on the way to drop Xuan Rongqing off at an event, Cen Wei had brought up school during a chat. He had mentioned, almost casually, that he regretted not meeting Chu Lai in high school.

“If only we were three years apart,” he had said.

His mother had been shocked.

The driver hadn’t elaborated further, as if it had been nothing more than idle conversation.

But being three years apart meant they could have been a first-year and a senior in high school together—not a first-year and a college freshman, or in different countries. It represented a different possibility of meeting earlier.

Cen Wei had only said that one sentence, but it made Xuan Rongqing realize how deeply he liked Chu Lai—far more than she had ever imagined.

It even overturned her darkest fears from the past—when her husband died, she had been terrified that her son would make extreme choices in life.

But Cen Wei was still capable of love.

Perhaps Xuan Rongqing had been silent for too long because the married man now sitting beside her called out, “Mom,” and said earnestly, “I’ve found my own happiness, and I hope you can find yours too.”

“It doesn’t have to be romantic love. To Grandpa and Grandma, you’re not just their daughter-in-law—you’re their daughter.”

These words shouldn’t have come from Cen Wei, but he was still sincere: “I hope you can be happy too.”

“We’ve all spent too long trapped by that man’s mistakes.”

Now, with Cen Wei happily sitting beside her, Xuan Rongqing almost burst into tears. Chu Lai, startled, grew concerned. “Did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m just happy for Cen Wei. I’m glad he found you.”

“I used to worry he’d never find someone. He was always so busy with work, and I feared he wouldn’t be able to hold on.”

She didn’t need to finish for Chu Lai to understand. He lightly tapped on the photo of seventeen-year-old Cen Wei. In the picture, the young man already had a broad frame, although he still appeared somewhat thin compared to his current self. He had always been striking among his peers.

Chu Lai finally recalled that there had been discussions about a handsome upperclassman after he graduated. Some had even tried to find evidence of him on the honor wall.

But Chu Lai had never liked handsome guys or gossip. He had walked past the “Star of the School” bulletin board countless times during his first year.

If he had taken a closer look, he might have found a student photo of Senior Cen that hadn’t yet been replaced.

But he hadn’t.

Chu Lai said, “He’s doing well now, so you don’t have to worry, Mom.”

Although they were married, Chu Lai had never called her “Mom” directly in front of her before, something she had only privately discussed with Grandma Hong. Now, she froze for a moment, then hugged Chu Lai after a few seconds.

Grandma Hong flipped through the album, dissatisfied. “He’s not smiling in any of these. Really not likable. Do you have any family photos, Lai Lai? Show them to Grandma next time?”

Chu Lai shook his head. “All I have are ID photos from exams and my graduation photos—nothing else.”

It wasn’t surprising. After all, he had only had his grandmother and no friends.

The atmosphere suddenly became a bit heavy, but Chu Lai maintained a light tone, “If I did have any, they’d probably look just like Cen Wei. I wasn’t much of a smiler either.”

Grandma Hong: “Then take a picture now, and make sure you smile.”

From his seat on the sofa, Cen Jiansun, who was reading a newspaper but clearly eavesdropping, grumbled, “What about me?”

His voice was loud, and Grandma Hong retorted, “You can take the picture for us.”

Cen Jiansun protested, “I want to be in it too!”

Having finished his work for the day, Cen Wei got into the car and opened his phone. Both Chu Lai’s messages and the family group chat had new notifications.

He checked Chu Lai’s message first, seeing the casual shot of the grilled green peppers and the sentence that left him utterly surprised.

But Chu Lai didn’t send any follow-up, so Cen Wei switched to the family group chat. There, he found a selfie of Chu Lai with the rest of the family—everyone except Cen Wei. It seemed like some exaggerated filter had been applied, giving the photo a comical look.

Chu Lai, stuck in the middle, looked particularly exasperated. A new short video showed him with added cat ears, while Xuan Rongqing kept commenting on how cute he looked.

Cen Wei watched the video several times, oblivious to the fact that his secretary, sitting in the front seat, had glanced at the rearview mirror several times.

The secretary thought to himself, “Why is the boss smiling so much? Is this just what happens when you’re newly married?”

In the short video, Cen Wei could also see the album Chu Lai was holding, enough to remind him of the old photos his mother used to take.

He messaged Chu Lai: “Was I really that moody?”

Chu Lai instantly replied: “Very moody. The type I’d avoid if I saw you on the street.”

His response came so fast that Cen Wei couldn’t help but call him.

It was already past nine, and Chu Lai had long finished the post-dinner family activities. He had just returned from walking the dog and was about to take a bath.

He placed his phone to the side while sorting through his personal work documents, answering with a lazy “Hello.”

Cen Wei asked, “Why would you avoid me? Wouldn’t you avoid others as well?”

Although Chu Lai had a very real ex-boyfriend, Cen Wei wasn’t typically a jealous person. But now, he found himself acting sour over the smallest things.

Wearing his comfortable loungewear, Chu Lai rested his face in his hand as he stared at the computer, showing no sign of taking Cen Wei’s question seriously.

Smiling, Chu Lai asked, “Who are these ‘others’?”

Cen Wei, though not particularly hurt, still felt slightly annoyed and couldn’t help asking, “So, what am I to you now?”

The secretary had to put on his earphones quickly, finding it almost unbearable. He had worked with Cen Wei for quite some time and knew him as someone with an icy, almost emotionally unavailable demeanor, especially after being cheated on in his last relationship. Yet now, he seemed like an entirely different person post-marriage, acting like a jealous partner over something trivial.

There was the sound of a mouse clicking from Chu Lai’s end. The dog, Dàcái, lay in his lap, and Chu Lai couldn’t help but pet him. His tone toward the dog was particularly gentle, even a little indulgent—something he didn’t display toward people.

Just a moment ago, he had asked the dog if it wanted a snack. Now, he answered Cen Wei, “My boyfriend.”

The “boyfriend” felt a sharp contrast in treatment, an unfamiliar wave of melancholy washing over him. “Just a boyfriend?”

Chu Lai responded, “A legal boyfriend.”

Those two words, “legal boyfriend,” might have been tough for him to say, but people are funny like that—the more they can’t hear something, the more they want to.

They had been truly together since their contractual marriage, but Chu Lai only referred to him as “Cen Wei” when he was too tired in bed, otherwise alternating between “Cen Wei” and “Mr. Cen.”

There was, of course, the occasional intentional slip.

Cen Wei sighed, and Chu Lai, knowing what he regretted, checked the time and asked, “Have you eaten yet?”

Outside, the night view of the unfamiliar city stretched out, and with the year’s end approaching, the business and social calendar for a well-known entrepreneur like Cen Wei was packed. A love that started with marriage and then transitioned into a relationship was hard to maintain.

Ordinary couples faced tension when they couldn’t see each other often, but Chu Lai wasn’t one to cling or make many demands.

Or rather, when he did make demands, they were usually not ones most people would expect, such as requesting a tight hug.

Such requests typically came from Chu Lai, but now it seemed like this particular quirk had shifted to Cen Wei. It was Cen Wei who felt uneasy whenever he didn’t see Chu Lai for even a day.

He had once believed that he wouldn’t fall prey to such love sickness, but now he found himself acting like an insecure boyfriend, with every question laced with implicit longing.

Chu Lai replied, “It’s okay, I’ll work overtime with you.”

Cen Wei: “You’ve already had dinner.”

Chu Lai: “Then I’ll keep you company while you eat.”

Cen Wei: “Video call?”

Chu Lai: “No, that’s too much trouble.”

What could be so troublesome about that?

Cen Wei didn’t respond immediately, and Chu Lai sighed, “Alright, fine, I’ll turn it on.”

It sounded as though he was reluctantly agreeing just because Cen Wei was being unreasonable. Cen Wei replied, “I wouldn’t force you.”

The car pulled up to the hotel, and Cen Wei instructed the staff to send the meal to his suite. His secretary would send the day’s report to his email in two hours.

Chu Lai: “Alright, I’m hanging up then.”

Cen Wei: “You’re hanging up already?”

He nearly laughed at himself. He had been in a three-month-long relationship before, during which he had been cheated on. That was a long-distance relationship too, yet now, this moment with Chu Lai felt like his first real long-distance relationship.

Chu Lai: “Aren’t you about to have dinner?”

Cen Wei: “Don’t you…”

He wanted to ask Chu Lai if he missed him, but the words couldn’t come out. This was the same boss who could make his subordinates tremble during regular meetings, yet now, as a newlywed, he was stumbling over a simple phone call.

Chu Lai had already guessed his meaning. He continued petting the dog while clicking his mouse.

Once his documents were all sorted, Chu Lai opened his livestream account. His private messages were always buzzing with new notifications, some fans expressing their love and others cursing him for “choosing wealth over love.”

Today’s featured livestream on the platform was a couple discussing long-distance relationship issues. Chu Lai clicked in to watch.

Both of them fell silent.

It wasn’t awkward—just one person feeling shy, and the other’s attention being diverted.

Cen Wei asked, “Lai Lai, what are you watching right now?”

As he swiped his card to enter the suite, his tablet displayed a notification: “[The host you’re following is watching this livestream].”

This couple had way more fans than Chu Lai, having transitioned from a campus relationship to successful content creators. Many of their viewers had also found partners thanks to their advice, and the comments section was flooded with hopeful messages.

Chu Lai replied, “A livestream.”

When Cen Wei clicked on his tablet, the livestream was currently discussing the challenges of long-distance relationships. The chat was filled with genuine discussions, with many viewers engaging earnestly. Noticing that a popular creator had joined, the streamer even gave a shout-out, and the chat erupted with requests for Chu Lai to join the conversation.

Chu Lai declined in the comments, adding, “I’m on the phone with my husband.”

Cen Wei finally got the title he’d wanted, albeit in a completely unexpected way and setting. He almost felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

Hearing the quickened breathing on the other end, Chu Lai chuckled.

The livestream host continued reading viewer comments, many of which discussed the anticipation of meeting up and spending the entire day in a hotel.

With the stream running in the background, Chu Lai opened the video chat on his computer.

He ended the phone call and switched to the video. On-screen, Cen Wei saw Chu Lai sitting in the study, holding the dog in his arms.

Chu Lai wore a loose, color-blocked sweater, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at him.

Cen Wei asked, “Weren’t you going to hang up?”

He thought to himself, “I’ve only been gone two days, why do I already want to go home so badly?”

Chu Lai nodded, “Didn’t I hang up?”

He was referring to switching from phone to computer.

After saying that, he picked up the dog and pointed it toward the camera. “Who’s this?”

Unfortunately, the dog wasn’t cooperative and tried to jump away.

Leaning back in his chair, Cen Wei couldn’t take his eyes off him. When Chu Lai finally returned after taking the dog downstairs, he found his impeccably dressed, business-ready husband still watching him intently through the camera.

Chu Lai asked, “What are you looking at?”

Cen Wei leaned back with a sigh, “I miss home.”

Chu Lai replied casually, “If you miss me, you can just say it.”

He said it as effortlessly as sipping a glass of water, so naturally that it sounded plain. Still, Cen Wei asked with a smile, “Don’t you miss me?”

Chu Lai: “Do you want the truth?”

Cen Wei: “Forget it.”

Cen Wei knew all too well that Chu Lai could live perfectly fine without a partner.

But perhaps Chu Lai read his thoughts because he leaned closer to the camera and whispered, “I miss you.”

The last two words were mouthed silently but unmistakably—the same words he had casually mentioned in that livestream earlier.

Cen Wei hadn’t been upset before, but now, his posture sank even deeper into the sofa. The chair looked incredibly soft and comfortable, and his heart ached with the thought, “I want to be home right now.”

Chu Lai: “What, still not eating?”

Cen Wei: “I’ll wait a bit.”

He was about to add, “It’s not like you’re eating with me.”

Chu Lai replied, “How old are you? Do you need someone to eat with you? Didn’t you eat alone when you were in school?”

At the mention of school, Cen Wei thought back to the album he had seen earlier in the video. He hummed in agreement, “That was school. I’m married now.”

Holding the tablet at an awkward angle, Cen Wei still looked as handsome as ever, even in the most unflattering posture. Though Chu Lai liked the sight, he couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated.

Cen Wei asked, “Why the sigh?”

Before Chu Lai could respond, Cen Wei continued, “You’re still not satisfied with me, are you?”

Chu Lai: “Where’s your dinner? Why isn’t it here yet?”

Cen Wei: “It’s in the screen. I can’t eat it.”

It took Chu Lai a moment to process that, and once he did, he looked at Cen Wei in shock. “Where did you learn that?”

The man on the screen didn’t break eye contact, his gaze unwavering as he said, “Straight from the heart. I miss you.”

Downstairs, Xuan Rongqing had just sent the dog off and instructed the maid to slice some fruit. She brought it up to Chu Lai herself.

When Chu Lai opened the door, he saw her holding a large tray of fruit and reached out to help. His phone was on speaker, and the computer screen displayed a video of Cen Wei having dinner.

Cen Wei asked, “What did you have for dinner?”

Xuan Rongqing commented, “Are you video chatting with Cen Wei?”

Chu Lai nodded. “He’s just finished dinner. So busy.”

His mother didn’t interrupt them. Once Chu Lai had set the fruit tray down, he noticed that Cen Wei had changed into a different set of clothes.

Thinking about the grilled green peppers from earlier and the voice message Cen Wei had sent to his mom, Chu Lai asked, “You’ve only been gone for two days, not two years. Was it really necessary to have Mom grill green peppers for me?”

Cen Wei replied, “A day feels like a year without you.”

The man on the screen now had a mature, refined look—completely different from the cold high school student in those old photos. Perhaps Chu Lai had stared too long because Cen Wei asked, “What’s wrong?”

Chu Lai said, “Nothing.”

He pulled out a small ID photo of Cen Wei from his phone case, the one that Xuan Rongqing had given him, and compared it to the present. “I just realized that back in high school, you would have been the ideal type for a lot of the girls in my class.”

The fact that his partner pulled out an ID photo from his phone case left Cen Wei stunned for a while. When he finally responded, his tone was sour, “But I wasn’t your type.”

He was quite certain that even if they hadn’t missed each other back then, even if they had gone to the same school, Chu Lai still wouldn’t have noticed him.

Just like Jiang Liyong had once heard from Chu Lai’s friends, Chu Lai liked non-aggressive, gentle-looking, and easygoing people.

Jiang Liyong had relayed this to Cen Wei, earning himself a long, meaningful stare.

As an orthopedic surgeon, Jiang Liyong had protested, “I’m not easygoing.”

But that hadn’t done much to lift Cen Wei’s mood. After all, looks were hard to change.

Chu Lai hummed thoughtfully. “Not necessarily.”

“Maybe I would’ve seen this ‘Senior Cen’ at the mixed basketball game and gone home to sleep with my stuffed bear thinking…”

He paused, “All the other guys looked so scrawny next to you. Your hugs must feel strong.”

Cen Wei was stirred by his words, feeling a bit of heat rising. “Maybe I should just come home today after all.”