TL Note:
To my readers, I’m very sorry for not uploading last Saturday. Got busy over the weekend. To make it up to you, I’ll upload a total of six (6) chapters today.
Thank you for your continued support. (1/6)
The heavy rain poured outside the window, making Chen Zemian feel cold.
He stood by the window, leaning on the railing—seemingly waiting for the rain to stop, though in truth, his mind had already wandered elsewhere.
Lu Zhuonian called him back. “Don’t just stare—what do you want to eat tonight?”
Chen Zemian turned to look at him. “Theoretically, we should be sitting on the top floor of the Century Building, watching the sunset and eating steak.”
“Oh? You even planned a Western dinner for me? So romantic.” Lu Zhuonian walked over and hugged him from behind. “You can’t see the sunset tonight, but I can still make you steak. How well done do you want it?”
Chen Zemian relaxed, leaning back against Lu Zhuonian’s chest. “Zero points.”
Lu Zhuonian couldn’t help but laugh. “Raw?”
“Zero points is the score I give to my confession plan,” Chen Zemian said resentfully. “The steak should be medium—four points. The remaining six should go to God, for dumping a bucket of cold water on me.”
Lu Zhuonian wasn’t sure whether Chen Zemian’s words were genuinely funny, or if his brain had simply been corroded by hormones to the point of losing all judgment.
In any case, he wanted to laugh just listening to him.
He curled his lips. “Don’t be upset.”
Chen Zemian sighed, disheartened. “I should’ve known it’d turn out like this. Every time I try to prepare a surprise for you, it turns into a disaster.”
“It’s fine. Twists and unpredictability can be more memorable than routines and rules.” Lu Zhuonian rested his chin on Chen Zemian’s head and wrapped his arms around him. “This kind of heavy rain only comes once in a few years. It’ll be unforgettable—something you remember for life.”
Chen Zemian was laid-back about most things, but when it came to confessing to Lu Zhuonian, he was especially persistent. “I’ll make it up to you when the rain stops.”
As soon as he finished speaking, a bolt of lightning struck right in front of the building.
Blue-purple light exploded against the windowpane, nearly touching the tip of their noses as it seared their retinas.
Before the afterglow faded, thunder cracked overhead, startling Chen Zemian.
Lu Zhuonian laughed—twice, insincerely. “Are you afraid of thunder?”
“I’m not afraid of thunder,” Chen Zemian said, taking two quiet steps back. “But this sudden storm and that lightning strike just now—it’s weird. There’s a story here.”
Lu Zhuonian raised an eyebrow. “What story?”
Chen Zemian shook his head mysteriously, glanced at the storm outside, then suddenly kissed Lu Zhuonian on the lips.
A loud bang exploded in their ears.
Chen Zemian jumped on him. “Did you see that?! Every time I kiss you, thunder strikes!”
“It’s not that magical,” Lu Zhuonian said, holding him with one hand. “It’s just a coincidence. Try kissing me again.”
Swallowing nervously, Chen Zemian lowered his head and kissed him again—quickly, gently.
No thunder.
Still unconvinced, and suspecting the lightning hadn’t finished its cooldown period, he put his arms around Lu Zhuonian’s neck and kissed him a few more times—testing, licking, confirming.
It proved two things: the previous thunder was just coincidence, and no, kissing hadn’t somehow caused the male lead to turn gay via supernatural weather events.
Lu Zhuonian was so overwhelmed by Chen Zemian’s persistent kisses that he grabbed the back of his head and deepened the kiss himself.
After a long, dizzying moment, Chen Zemian suddenly found himself lying on the sofa, unsure how he got there.
“Why do you act like kissing me will call down lightning?” Lu Zhuonian looked down at him. “Have you been reading Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio again?”
Indeed, Chen Zemian had recently been staying up late reading Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio for inspiration. He was planning a Chinese horror-themed story for his next game and had already written over 30,000 words of framework. He was fully obsessed.
Thinking of this, Chen Zemian suddenly remembered a burst of inspiration he’d had just before bed the night before. He pushed Lu Zhuonian away and dashed into the study, hammering away at the keyboard.
Lu Zhuonian: “…”
On May 20—the day Chen Zemian had so carefully chosen for his confession—it rained heavily. The wind howled, and the entire city came to a halt: work and school suspended.
Because of the extreme weather, the confession plan was completely scrapped.
Lu Zhuonian didn’t see the sunset. He didn’t see the sports car nor did he eat Western food.
He didn’t even hear a confession.
By the time Chen Zemian finished typing the 15,000-word outline, he glanced at the clock. It was past midnight.
The rain still hadn’t stopped. Wind slammed the drops against the window, making sharp crackling sounds.
Chen Zemian froze for a moment, two words flashing through his mind:
It’s over.
It would’ve been one thing if the confession had been interrupted unexpectedly—but he had actually forgotten the time, too absorbed in work, and left Lu Zhuonian alone in the living room for most of the day.
There couldn’t be a worse boyfriend than him.
Would Lu Zhuonian be angry?
Chen Zemian crept out of the study.
In the dining room, the chef-made steak had long gone cold. It sat on a fine white porcelain plate, bleeding red juice. No one had touched the gourmet dishes. The only thing that had changed on the table was the candlestick.
The candle was nearly burnt out, its small flame flickering weakly.
Lu Zhuonian was sitting on the sofa, propped up by his arms, watching TV. When he heard footsteps, he looked up.
“Are you hungry?”
The living room light was off. The TV cast changing colors on Lu Zhuonian’s face, making it look soft and indescribably gentle.
He hadn’t eaten dinner either. But the first thing he did when he saw Chen Zemian was ask if he was hungry.
He wasn’t angry. He still cared about him so much. And that only made Chen Zemian feel even guiltier.
He hadn’t felt tired earlier. Inspiration had energized him. He could’ve stayed up writing for days. But for some reason, the moment he saw Lu Zhuonian waiting quietly for him, he suddenly couldn’t write another word.
Chen Zemian walked over and sat down beside him. “I’m sorry.”
Lu Zhuonian looked surprised. “What’s wrong?”
Chen Zemian lowered his head. “I got caught up in writing the outline. I didn’t spend time with you.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
Chen Zemian sighed deeply. “I’m not a qualified boyfriend. You treat me so well, and I don’t care enough about you.”
Lu Zhuonian was quiet for a moment, then said, “Chen Zemian, I want to talk to you.”
Chen Zemian’s pupils shrank. He instinctively tried to dodge. “Talk? Do we have to?”
“What’s wrong?” Lu Zhuonian gently grabbed his wrist. “Why are you panicking?”
Chen Zemian tried to pull away but didn’t resist for long. He tugged at Lu Zhuonian’s hand, not meaningfully. “You’re so serious—it’s freaking me out.”
Lu Zhuonian let go. “Don’t be nervous. Get comfortable first.”
Chen Zemian shook out an air-conditioning blanket, draped it over his head, and wrapped himself entirely inside, leaving only his head poking out. “Okay.”
…
At this moment, in Chen Zemian’s mind, the comfort level of an air-conditioning blanket, hoodie hood, or padded coat was all greater than that of Lu Zhuonian.
Which wasn’t surprising.
Since they had gotten together, Chen Zemian had been overly cautious, as if he still hadn’t adjusted to the shift from friendship to romance.
Their intimacy hadn’t deepened—it had regressed.
If this had been before, after an intense eight-hour writing session filled with ideas, Chen Zemian wouldn’t have apologized for forgetting dinner. He would’ve just dragged Lu Zhuonian to the screen and excitedly demanded feedback.
Now, he was just… too nervous.
It’s understandable to want to show the best version of yourself in front of your lover. Lu Zhuonian originally thought that Chen Zemian’s recent nervousness was because he was planning a confession.
But now, it seemed that wasn’t the case.
For a moment just now, the emotion in Chen Zemian’s eyes couldn’t even be described as nervous.
That flash of panic made Lu Zhuonian realize they needed to talk openly.
“Did I make you feel stressed?” Lu Zhuonian still reflected on himself first. “There must be something wrong with my current state. How should I adjust to make you feel comfortable?”
Chen Zemian shook his head. “No, you didn’t put pressure on me. It’s me—I just can’t seem to do anything right.”
Lu Zhuonian said, “I think you’re doing just fine.”
Chen Zemian looked up at him. “I forget about you when I get busy. Is that okay?”
“That’s just how human-computer interaction works,” Lu Zhuonian said, gently touching Chen Zemian’s head through the blanket. “It’s not like I didn’t know you were a single-core processor who can only focus on one task at a time.”
“I’m not a human-computer interaction!” Chen Zemian pushed his hand away and said dejectedly, “But I really can’t handle relationships that are too complicated.”
Lu Zhuonian remained calm. “Is a romantic relationship too complicated for you?”
Chen Zemian nodded. “I was very happy and relaxed when we were friends, but after we became lovers, I didn’t know what to do. That was what I worried about the most before.”
Friendship is an evergreen tree; love is a rose. Evergreen trees are easy to grow, but roses are incredibly hard to care for. The more carefully you water them, the more problems you encounter.
After hearing him out, Lu Zhuonian didn’t refute him but simply asked, “Am I difficult to please?”
Because Lu Zhuonian was too gentle, Chen Zemian blurted out the truth before he could think. “A little, when we first met. But now, you’re easy to fool.”
No matter how upset Lu Zhuonian was, as long as Chen Zemian gave him a couple of casual kisses, his mood would go from gloomy to sunny.
Lu Zhuonian: “…”
Chen Zemian instantly regretted saying too much. He started fiddling with the stitching on the sofa and lowered his head, saying nothing.
Lu Zhuonian coaxed him, “If I’m that easy to fool, then why do you still think roses are hard to raise?”
Chen Zemian said, “You can fool friends, but you can’t neglect your lover. I’m used to taking care of everything myself. I haven’t learned how to prioritize taking care of you.”
Lu Zhuonian said, “But haven’t we always been like this? It’s a dynamic we’re both comfortable with. There’s no need to change it.”
Chen Zemian had never considered that possibility and said subconsciously, “But we were friends before. Now we’re lovers.”
Lu Zhuonian asked, “So, are you uncomfortable now because I’ve changed, or because the relationship has changed?”
Chen Zemian couldn’t answer. “I don’t know.”
Lu Zhuonian looked at him and changed the question. “Then when the wind blows the flag, is it the wind that moves, or the flag?”
For a moment, it was as if a bell rang in Chen Zemian’s ears.
His pupils dilated slightly. It was as if something clicked, and he understood.
It’s not the wind that moves nor the flag that moves. It’s the heart that moves.
The root cause of everything wasn’t the change in his relationship with Lu Zhuonian. It wasn’t about the evergreen tree becoming a rose.
It was his mindset that had shifted.
He believed it would be difficult to maintain love with Lu Zhuonian, anticipated all kinds of problems ahead of time, and thus became overly cautious and afraid—afraid he wasn’t good enough, perfect enough, afraid he would kill the rose and lose the person he loved.
But the more careful he became, the more it changed his behavior, creating unease for himself and disrupting the way they interacted.
If things continued that way, problems would surely arise—and then he’d conclude, wrongly, that “roses are hard to raise.”
Lu Zhuonian had grasped the core issue and identified the key with one sentence.
Suddenly, Chen Zemian said, “So… I don’t have to keep thinking about how to be your boyfriend and make you like me. I just need to be myself, and you’ll still like me.”
“Yes. I like you—your sudden inspirations, the unexpected situations, the accidents. I like all of it.”
Lu Zhuonian looked at him and said, “Chen Zemian, you are the palace change and feather change I never sought, but was lucky enough to encounter in my monotonous life.”
*****
After the heavy rain, the sky cleared. It was an unbroken stretch of blue, not a single cloud in sight.
Chen Zemian’s confession plan was postponed to May 23 due to the weather.
Even though Lu Zhuonian had already guessed the gift would be a sports car, when the curtain dropped and the charcoal-black Koenigsegg One:1 appeared, he still couldn’t suppress his heartbeat.
Chen Zemian had given him a sports car—a sports car worth nine figures.
That alone made it an extravagant gift, but it carried even more meaning—
“I thought Lu Shao was already a rare lovesick fool, but I didn’t expect there were even crazier ones out there,” Zheng Huaiyu commented the day the car was shipped to China. “You’re the kind who throws money just to make someone smile.”
Chen Zemian ran a hand along the engine’s sleek casing. “Only something like this is worthy of Lu Zhuonian.”
Zheng Huaiyu rolled his eyes. “Do you have any money left? Overseas operations for your game aren’t cheap. Want my dad to invest again?”
“Yes,” Chen Zemian said, pulling out a check and handing it to Zheng Huaiyu. “This is from Lu Zhuonian’s father. I don’t know how to cash it—help me out when you have time.”
“The Lu family is really generous,” Zheng said, looking at the check’s amount and then its date. “Wait, this date is after you ordered the car. Did you know his dad would give you money?”
“I didn’t.”
“You still dared to spend everything on a car and pause overseas operations?”
“I was confident,” Chen Zemian said. “If his father hadn’t given it, someone else would’ve. I believe the money I spend will come back to me in another form.”
“Exactly.” Zheng Huaiyu leaned against his shoulder, gazing at the colorful reflection on the car’s surface in the sunlight. “That’s how big money is made. Look at the world’s richest people—none of them got there by saving. If you don’t spend your money, who’s going to burn it with you when you die?”
Zheng Huaiyu knew Chen Zemian had emptied his entire fortune for the car, and Lu Zhuonian was well aware of his financial situation too.
More precious than the Koenigsegg One:1 was the thought behind it.
At a time when Lu Zhuonian still doubted Chen Zemian’s seriousness, Chen Zemian had already prepared this gift with all his heart.
The charcoal paint shimmered with the final rays of sunlight, glowing like it had been brushed with gold foil.
The sunset, the clouds, the distant mountains, and the flying birds—all faded in that moment.
In Lu Zhuonian’s eyes, there was only Chen Zemian, and there would only ever be Chen Zemian.
His chest surged with a gust of wind; his heart nearly leapt from his body.
As romantic music played, Chen Zemian handed him the car keys. “Will you take me for a ride tonight, handsome?”
Lu Zhuonian took the keys. “I don’t remember that line being in your confession outline.”
Chen Zemian turned his head to look at him. “That’s because, when I wrote it, I didn’t know you’d be this handsome today.”
Fortunately, he’d dressed up. If he had shown up in his usual clothes next to the dazzling Lu Zhuonian, he’d have looked like just another assistant.
Seeing the keys exchanged, the waiter stepped forward as rehearsed and asked, “Mr. Chen, would you like an aperitif?”
According to the script, Chen Zemian was supposed to say, “No, thank you. My boyfriend doesn’t let me drink.”
Lu Zhuonian turned to him, waiting for Chen Zemian to say the line and confirm his boyfriend status.
But Chen Zemian suddenly felt too embarrassed and backed out like an artist abandoning the stage. “Let’s just eat, let’s eat.”
The waiter: “…”
Lu Zhuonian, ushered to his seat by Chen Zemian, asked politely, “So we’re skipping the confession part now?”
Chen Zemian folded his napkin and mumbled, “You’ve already heard it several times.”
*****
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Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal wondering in the void and falling into the translation abyss.
