Chapter 10: What Did I Do to You Last Night?

Early the next morning.

When Shen Jixing woke, his fever had completely subsided.

Perhaps he had slept too long, making up for years of exhaustion and busyness, so that when he finally opened his eyes, he was exceptionally alert.

Exceptionally alert to the fact that—

He was lying in a man’s arms.

…

The tip of his nose brushed just below the man’s collarbone, catching the pleasant scent lingering on the shirt collar—something like watermelon chilled in summer, mixed with the crisp, clean aroma of pine needles shrouded in winter snow.

What on earth…?

Shen Jixing shifted.

The man beneath him moved as well. With a single hand, he easily clasped both of Shen Jixing’s cool, pale wrists, crossing them carelessly against his firm chest.

The man’s voice, lazy and still heavy with sleep, warned him, “Try moving again.”

His black pajama shirt had fallen open, and the back of Shen Jixing’s hand was pressed almost bare against the man’s hot skin.

Shen Jixing lifted his brows slightly, attempting to withdraw his hands to no avail.

He countered, “And what if I do?”

Zhou Yili’s eyes snapped open almost instantly.

He met Shen Jixing’s elegant, aloof gaze. After only a fleeting pause, he let go of Shen Jixing’s wrists with a careless flick, rolled over, and settled into a more comfortable position.

“If you try, you’ll be dead.”

…

Shen Jixing was silent for two seconds before asking bluntly, “Why are you in my room?”

The tall, languid young master was still draped in sleep, like a regal, dangerous puma, lounging gracefully at his side.

“Your room?”

His lazy tone carried a hint of mockery. “Maybe you should take a better look, Movie King Shen.”

Usually, those three words were spoken with a measure of respect by others.

But Shen Jixing didn’t hear the slightest trace of it in Zhou Yili’s voice.

When he’d first opened his eyes, he’d scanned the room—it did look like his guest bedroom, but…

The curtains before the floor-to-ceiling windows fluttered in the breeze, sunlight after a summer rain spilling through. Various musical instruments scattered on the carpet caught the light, sheets of music and lyrics strewn across the floor.

As carelessly disordered as their owner.

This was the master bedroom.

He was the one sleeping in Zhou Yili’s bed.

That realization cracked Shen Jixing’s usual cool composure.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Just then, Zhou Yili spoke again, chuckling, “Weren’t you quite talkative just now?”

Shen Jixing’s gaze drifted over the man’s rumpled, slightly spiked hair—several rebellious blue strands nearly slipping beneath his own shirt at the waist.

He averted his eyes and decisively climbed out of bed.

The noise made Zhou Yili open his eyes a fraction, lips parting as if to say something.

“I don’t really remember.”

Standing by the bedside, Shen Jixing’s lashes curved into a sharp, elegant arc.

He seemed to be trying to recall it seriously, but couldn’t find a single memory of coming to Zhou Yili’s bed of his own accord.

He lowered his eyes. “Sorry. I must not have been fully conscious yesterday.”

Now it was Zhou Yili’s turn to be taken aback.

He opened his eyes slowly to look at him, deep, narrow, wild eyes brimming with his unique insolence.

Shen Jixing gazed at him for a few seconds, his tone chilly yet pleasing to the ear as he asked,

“What did I do to you last night?”

…

Zhou Yili, propped on one arm, exuded a lazy, languid air, like a drowsy blue-maned lion.

“What did you do?”

“Not much, really…”

He recounted the night’s crimes with a nonchalant elegance, “You just took advantage of the dark and stormy night to sneak into my room and tried to molest a—well, a decent, handsome young man.”

…

Shen Jixing’s lips twitched.

He looked as if he wanted to retort with his usual frosty arrogance, but after all, he was at fault.

Because Zhou Yili went on, “Hiding behind your illness, acting all muddled, insisting on sleeping with me because you’re afraid of thunder, afraid of lightning, afraid of rain…”

He laughed with interest. “You sure are scared of a lot, Movie King Shen.”

…

Shen Jixing’s gaze dropped, his voice soft as he admitted,

“Yes.”

Zhou Yili was momentarily stunned.

Shen Jixing was silent for two seconds, then raised his cool, rational eyes. “Sorry. I’ll give you a proper explanation for this.”

He turned, massaging his brow, and walked out of the master bedroom as calmly as he could manage.

Zhou Yili’s sleepiness vanished in the span of just a few words.

He stared at the tightly closed door for a long while before finally turning his gaze to the empty half of the pillow.

At last, he let out a soft, scoffing laugh.

“Seriously, does he actually believe that?”

Sneaking into his bed in the dead of night?

The superstar must have been delirious from his fever.

Zhou Yili lay on his back on the soft pillow, letting his mind drift for a moment, then raised a hand to shield his cold, narrow eyes.

A slow smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Even I don’t buy that nonsense.”

Shen Jixing was always so aloof.

Even back when they were together, just kissing him required half a day of coaxing and wheedling before that man would finally lower his head and bestow him with a kiss, as if granting a favor.

…

Shen Jixing could barely hold it together by the time he reached the guest bedroom.

He pressed his back lightly to the door, rubbing his brow in mild exasperation.

Perhaps it was because he so rarely found himself in such awkward situations, but the tips of his ears were tinged with a faint blush.

“This is insane.”

To be fair,

They were no longer close enough to be sharing a bed.

He had overstepped.

Shen Jixing frowned in mild confusion and walked to the bathroom for a shower.

“Shen, something’s happened!”

When Shen Jixing picked up the phone, he was absentmindedly towel-drying his hair.

He murmured softly, “I know.”

Zhou Yili was not someone to be trifled with.

That man’s temper was anything but mild—when riled, he was like a bristling young lion.

As for what to do about this, even he found himself at a loss.

“Huh? You know?”

Xiongxiong’s words pulled him from his thoughts, and Shen Jixing realized, to his surprise, that he’d actually been distracted—something rare for him.

He set aside the towel and spoke calmly, “No, what happened?”

The other end sounded like chaos.

Normally, any event or schedule was personally relayed by Pei Ming, but since Pei Ming was absent, this was clearly not a minor issue.

Sure enough, Xiongxiong took a deep breath and asked warily,

“Do you know the Herberts?”

Shen Jixing’s expression turned instantly cold and clear, his voice cool as he replied,

“I do. What about them?”

Xiongxiong couldn’t help but shiver.

In all his years at Shen Jixing’s side, he’d rarely heard his voice so frosty.

“They’ve been invited to China. They’re going to attend the upcoming YC live-stream celebration to clear up some things for you.”

Shen Jixing’s knuckles whitened around the phone.

When he didn’t respond, Xiongxiong grew anxious.

In theory, this should be good news. The internet was abuzz with rumors that Shen’s influential family background was fabricated; the Herberts were well-known French entrepreneurs. If they were willing to publicly clarify on his behalf, it should count as a positive development.

But everyone on their team knew exactly who’d done the inviting.

Shen Jixing asked, “Who invited them?”

Xiongxiong answered gingerly, “Fang Siqian.”