Chapter 56: I Raised Him—He Belongs to Me for Life

Shen Jixing left the café.

The man in the wheelchair wore a slightly dark expression, gazing in the direction of his departure and softly repeating, “Picking up his ex-boyfriend from work?”

For reasons he could not explain, he almost wanted to laugh.

He had finally found time to return to the country, yet Shen Jixing had not welcomed him, but instead went to find that young lover he’d broken up with years ago?

Did that make any sense?

“Sir.”

The bodyguard returned and stood behind him, his clear, cool voice tinged with doubt. “Young Master Shen has left?”

Bo Yu’s expression was somber. “Mm.”

The oblivious bodyguard asked, “He’s not taking you home, sir?”

At those words, the very air seemed to grow heavy.

The bodyguard fell silent, pretending nothing had happened. After a long pause, Bo Yu’s voice finally sounded, slow and measured.

“He’s doing this to provoke me.”

His pale, slender hand rested on the wheelchair, guiding it forward.

“He’s always been timid, weak, lacking in security, longing to be protected, to belong, to be cherished.”

Bo Yu’s tone was refined and gentle. “He’s upset that I ignored him, yet he’s never thought to reach out to me for help.”

The bodyguard, dressed in black, followed silently.

He thought to himself, No, he wouldn’t.

The little boy afraid of the dark had grown up now. Perhaps he’d ask for help on someone else’s behalf, but never for himself.

“Go find out why he’s meeting that nouveau riche brat who has nothing but money and no refinement.”

Shen Jixing shouldn’t like him.

He certainly shouldn’t abandon me to seek him out.

Is this just another act of rebellion, trying to antagonize me?

The bodyguard replied behind him, “Yes, sir.”

“And check how far things have gone between them.” As he spoke, the wheelchair rolled out of the café, crunching over fallen leaves, the crisp sound mingling with the coolness in the man’s voice.

“I don’t want to see history repeat itself.”

The masterpiece he had personally cultivated deserved to remain lofty and immaculate, untouched by anyone.

Especially not that unruly, vulgar upstart.

“He will never understand a simple truth.”

As the maple leaves reflected in his eyes, the man’s elegance and grace seemed almost innate, like nobility.

“He was raised by me. He belongs to me for life.”

Shen Jixing had once unhesitatingly placed his hand in his, and from then on, he should never think of leaving.

...

“Today’s shoot is over. Great work, everyone.”

The agent took the lead in applauding. The shoot had wrapped up much earlier than expected, and the atmosphere in the studio was light and relaxed.

Mostly because that one cooperated so well.

Like he’d been injected with adrenaline, parading like a peacock the entire time.

Every photo was strikingly handsome, the photographer couldn’t have been more satisfied.

“We’re pretty much done with the cover and promotional shots. All that’s left is the main MV for the title track,” the agent said, approaching, “Did you look at the candidates I sent you?”

He’d handpicked all the entertainment industry’s classic ‘white moonlight’ types.

“I saw them. They’re just so-so.” Zhou Yili stepped down from the stage.

The agent was speechless.

Trailing after him, he nagged, “Could you stop holding everyone to Shen Jixing’s standard? Where am I supposed to find you another Shen Jixing?”

Finally, Zhou Yili spared him a glance.

His silver-grey suit exuded luxury, his slightly upturned blue hair was wild and unruly. Zhou Yili gave a soft snort, “There’s no second Shen Jixing in this world.”

The agent thought, So you do know.

Then why insist on him?

Not that it was about whether Shen Jixing would accept the role—after reading this script, there was no way he’d take it.

Si Kongxiu was a typical ‘fox’ director known for his push-and-pull, while Zhou Yili’s persona was all hormone-fueled allure.

Rumor had it, when those two worked together, the result would be something fit for a mosaic.

It wasn’t that extreme.

But close enough.

At the very least, there were several kissing scenes.

“You really want Emperor Shen to film this?” the agent asked.

Since his debut, Shen Jixing had only acted in major films and top-tier TV dramas, always with the purest credentials and almost no romantic storylines.

If there ever was one, even holding hands would send the audience into a frenzy.

Now you want him in a rock singer’s MV?

How was that any different from a princess being kidnapped by a—no, by a blue-haired bad boy?

The bad boy played it straight: “Yeah, I want him. I’ve already sent him the script.”

Zhou Yili rummaged through the table for his phone, lowering his head to check if Shen Jixing had messaged him.

The agent hadn’t even been shocked yet—You sent him the confidential script already???

Curiosity got the better of him: “Has he replied? Is he doing it?”

Zhou Yili stared at the empty chat window, his sharp, handsome features gradually turning somber.

He switched off the phone screen, gnawing impatiently at the tip of his teeth, and retorted, “Why are you so nosy? Did I ask you to pry?”

Agent: “?”

Who’s the princess here?

Little Zhou the princess was rattled.

“Forget it, it’s normal if he doesn’t reply. Emperor Shen never accepts kissing scenes anyway,” the agent said, not taking it to heart, but still warning, “You should at least tell him about the confidential script.”

Zhou Yili strode toward the elevator.

“Telling him or not makes no difference. It'll all be changed in the end.”

The agent caught up, confused, “Changed how?”

Standing regally in the bright elevator, Zhou Yili glanced at him with an especially disdainful, proud look.

“He won’t do kissing scenes. So now I’m supposed to do them?”

“...”

The agent couldn’t tell whether this was a competitive streak, or if Zhou Yili simply didn’t want to be close to anyone but Shen Jixing.

It was pointless to ask further. Instead, he asked, “So where are we going now?”

“Bird hunting.”

“?”

The sunset tinged the top-floor windows with gold, scorching clouds rolling across the sky.

The agent had wanted him to stop for a couple of promo shots, but Zhou Yili breezed past without even glancing.

Fine, bird hunting first.

As soon as the lounge door opened, Zhou Yili saw the empty room. The peacock-like bravado he’d flaunted during the shoot faded from his face, replaced by silence.

The agent was used to bantering with him.

This time, as he was about to speak—“I told you…”

He noticed Zhou Yili’s lowered lashes, long and distinct. His defined features were as bold as ever, but now he seemed so quiet, almost as if he’d been abandoned.

For a moment, he thought he saw a hint of grievance in Zhou Yili.

“If he doesn’t want to film, then fine, damn it…”

Zhou Yili let go of the doorknob, his voice dropping low, “It’s not like I’m forcing him.”

Running off like this, what was that supposed to mean?

The agent had always thought he was just talking.

But it had been four years.

It seemed he still hadn’t let go of that person, quietly holding on for four years.

“We need to settle on someone today. I’ll talk to Director Si Kong and have all the kissing scenes deleted or changed to camera tricks.”

“Delete them,” Zhou Yili said.

“...Alright.” The agent pulled out the prepared folder. “Pick one, just choose the prettiest, okay?”

Sometimes he felt like he was raising a child.

In truth, Zhou Yili was always a bit childlike—quick-tempered, but easy to coax, never really angry for long.

“Which one’s the prettiest?” Zhou Yili scanned the options.

Just then, the elevator behind him chimed softly.

Someone approached with unhurried steps, leaned in casually, and asked in a cool, clear voice by his ear:

“I’d like to know that too—which is the prettiest?”