Chapter 8

Wen Fu sat at the dining table and took his medicine under Zhou Ji's watchful eye.

After he finished, he turned to look at Zhou Ji. Zhou Ji said, 'Open your mouth.'

Wen Fu opened his mouth. Zhou Ji checked that he wasn't hiding pills in there, then shoved his hands in his pockets. 'Alright, I'm out.'

Two steps out, he turned back, pulled something from his bag, and handed it to Wen Fu. 'Almost forgot — Stella got you a Safety Charm from Daci Temple.'

Wen Fu took it, looked it over from every angle, face thoughtful.

'Weird, right?' Zhou Ji figured Wen Fu was as confused as he was. 'She goes to Baiyun Temple every year for luck with money, and this time she runs off to Daci Temple and gets a Safety Charm? Has she hit some age where her health-conscious genes kicked in?'

Wen Fu didn't answer. He held the Safety Charm up to his nose and sniffed it, his puzzled look deepening.

It smelled like Fei Bolin.

Something suddenly occurred to him. He looked up at Zhou Ji. 'My clothes?'

'At my place,' Zhou Ji said. 'Didn't have time to send them to the cleaners today. I'll wash them and bring them over tomorrow — speaking of which, are you still sneaking cookies in your pocket?'

That was exactly what Wen Fu wanted to say. 'Don't eat my cookies.'

Not because he was stingy about it — the cookies were a gift from a fan, and Fei Bolin once taught him that passing a fan's gift on to someone else was disrespectful.

'Don't worry.' Zhou Ji stepped back, pulled out his phone, and snapped a photo of Wen Fu with his empty pill cup beside him — proof to send Stella later. 'You barely get to stash snacks behind Sister Dai's back. I'm not gonna steal them.'

Before leaving, he glanced around and grabbed Wen Fu's trash to take down with him.

Back in the car, Zhou Ji sent the photo to Stella.

Stella replied that she got it, then forwarded it to Fei Bolin on a whim.

[Stella: [photo]]

[Stella: Made sure he took his medicine. Don't worry, Director Fei.]

[Lin: Thanks for your trouble, Sister Dai.]

Scrolling up, there was a conversation from twenty minutes earlier:

[Lin: Xiao Fu isn't great at cooking. I'll have meals prepared these next few days. Sister Dai, if you could arrange for someone to pick them up and deliver them.]

[Stella: I can't cook either, Director Fei /crying-laughing]

[Lin: We can say the assistant made them.]

[Stella: /ok Director Fei really thinks of everything]

[Lin: When he takes his medicine, he pretends to swallow the water, waits until the person leaves, then spits the pills out.]

[Stella: /ok I'll have someone keep an eye on him.]

-

The days without performances, Wen Fu stayed home — reading papers, writing his thesis, doing his composition homework, eating, sleeping.

Occasionally thinking about Fei Bolin.

Two days before the flight to Beijing, Stella was still unhappy with the formalwear she'd managed to borrow for Wen Fu.

She was on the phone fighting with the company while simultaneously reaching out to stylists she knew. 'My connections? Yeah, I have connections, and I'm reaching out to people. But no matter how wide my network is, I can't cover everything — do you know how hard it is to borrow men's haute couture? Even if the stylists and brands owe me favors, they can't just hand it over. The second they give Wen Fu couture, someone with a bigger fashion profile or a better relationship with the brand comes asking next. Brands aren't charities. Now you're panicking? Where was the panic when that hit piece on the forum racked up hundreds of floors a few days ago? You couldn't even be bothered to spend money on PR for something that damages his fashion image — it took Sifuse Media Group to step in and handle it. You want every bargain. What, you just want him to walk the red carpet well so you can land more endorsements? In a rush? If you're in such a rush, just buy him a haute couture set yourselves.'

After that whole outburst, she didn't wait for a response — she slammed the end-call button.

While the former ace agent was still fuming, the man at the center of it all was just stepping into the eyewear brand counter he endorsed.

Since this was a private outing with no fans tailing him, Wen Fu was wearing his old clothes, wrapped up head to toe, only his eyes showing as he browsed the counter.

That first night they met in the Central Business District, he'd noticed Fei Bolin was still wearing the glasses he'd given him eight years ago. Despite careful upkeep, the gold frames had some wear.

Wen Fu picked out a similar style on the counter — gold a shade deeper than the old pair, understated and refined without losing its elegance.

At checkout, the sales associate quoted him: 'With the lenses, that's 6,780 yuan total.'

He was about to pay when he suddenly asked, 'Does the spokesperson get a discount?'

The associate blinked. 'Yes.'

Wen Fu took off his mask.

Even with the discount, the glasses cost more than everything Wen Fu was wearing combined.

Three minutes later, he was in a taxi heading toward the Central Business District office tower, new glasses in hand.

Sifuse Media Group's other headquarters is in Beijing. The Jin City headquarters building is still in the design phase — floors twenty through twenty-three of the office tower currently serve as Sifuse's Management Studio.

Wen Fu went to the front desk and asked for Fei Bolin. Predictably, he was turned away for not having an appointment — he could only wait in the reception area and have the front desk reach out during a gap in Fei Bolin's schedule.

He didn't argue, left his name and number, and sat down on the reception sofa. Then twenty minutes of silence.

Wen Fu slipped into his usual monk-like stillness, barely moving, staring at the disposable paper cup on the coffee table.

Until Special Assistant Zhang, who'd been in that meeting with him, happened to pass by. He glanced over twice, startled, then walked up and asked quietly, 'Wen Fu?'

Wen Fu lifted his eyes from under his cap brim, recognized Special Assistant Zhang, and nodded.

As the director's special assistant, monitoring public sentiment around the company's partners was part of Zhang Chao's job. When that forum post blew up, before he could even ask Fei Bolin whether to intervene, Fei Bolin had already called him and told him to contact the forum administrators immediately.

For something this small — failing to catch wind of it first, not grasping the situation immediately, and having his boss beat him to the punch — that was already a failure on his part.

Later, Zhang Chao went to Fei Bolin's office, mentally prepared to be reprimanded. He planned to ask whether Fei Bolin wanted him, as the person involved, to publicly clear up the elevator misunderstanding — and only act once Fei Bolin agreed.

But Fei Bolin just rubbed the bridge of his nose and asked, smiling, 'How were you planning to clear it up?'

'Just say…' Zhang Chao hesitated. He hadn't actually thought this part through, and his confidence crumbled. 'Say… that Wen Fu didn't call me fat.'

Fei Bolin looked at him with a smile. 'And then?'

The moment those words left his mouth, Zhang Chao regretted them.

And then? Tell everyone Wen Fu didn't call him fat, he called him heavy? What's the difference?

Or just lie and say Wen Fu said nothing at all? Half the elevator heard it that night. If someone who'd been there posted a video or an anonymous thread to prove it, and then rumors started flying that Wen Fu had paid the other party off for PR — the more he tried to clean it up, the worse it'd get.

There was no clean way to clear this up.

Zhang Chao lowered his head. 'Sorry, Director Fei. I didn't think it through.'

Fei Bolin just shook his head. 'It's not your fault.'

Just as Zhang Chao was leaving and closing the door, Fei Bolin called out, 'Zhang Chao.'

He turned back, confused, waiting.

'Don't take what Xiao Fu said to heart.' Fei Bolin took off his glasses, fingertips lightly polishing the frames — half talking to himself, half explaining for Wen Fu. 'He didn't mean it that way. He just isn't good at expressing himself.'

The sharp, perceptive Special Assistant Zhang went back and quietly sensed something off about that whole scene.

Today, seeing Wen Fu in person, he confirmed that something was off.

'You're looking for Director Fei?' Zhang Chao didn't know why — Wen Fu wasn't exactly young — but ever since he'd heard Fei Bolin call him 'Xiao Fu,' he'd started treating Wen Fu like a younger generation. His voice unconsciously softened, he leaned in, like soothing a little brother. 'What can I do for you?'

Wen Fu's two dark eyes stared at Zhang Chao. Blink. Blink again.

He'd originally had one thing to do, but now that Zhang Chao was here, he had two.

Wen Fu considered for a moment, then decided to handle the other one first.

Zhang Chao felt uncomfortable under that direct stare. He was about to get up and leave, embarrassed, when Wen Fu suddenly said, 'I'm sorry.'

Zhang Chao froze for a second, then thought he'd misheard. 'What—what?'

'I'm sorry.' Wen Fu repeated it plainly, his voice muffled through his mask. 'I shouldn't have said you were heavy that day.'

If it hadn't been for that forum post, he genuinely wouldn't have known that kind of comment was rude.

Wen Fu's eyes were clear black and white, projecting a childlike purity — no awkwardness, no resentment, no dodging. Just a matter-of-fact tone, earnestly offering an apology.

Zhang Chao was completely at a loss.

Since entering the workforce, he'd barely heard anyone express themselves so directly. It was like people had an unspoken rule — apologies came with gifts, with meals, with some tangible or intangible exchange. The simplest 'I'm sorry,' weighed down by status gaps and mutual interests, was both too solemn and too trivial. Nobody could say it comfortably.

But for Wen Fu, it seemed to be the easiest thing in the world.

Wen Fu's world, like his eyes, was black and white. Receive a gift, say thanks. Make a mistake, say sorry. Between what he understood and what he did, there weren't many interfering factors.

Zhang Chao noticed Wen Fu still staring at him without blinking, then realized he was waiting for a response. He quickly laughed, 'N-no problem.'

Wen Fu heard the response and dropped his gaze again.

He quietly checked one item off his mental to-do list.

Zhang Chao watched him — those long dark lashes, that quiet daze — and inexplicably felt a wave of paternal affection. He softened his tone again. 'Were you looking for Director Fei?'

Wen Fu heard Fei Bolin's name, looked up, and nodded.

Zhang Chao: !!!

How could someone be so much like a little kid! One question, one answer, not a word more!

Want to pocket him! Pocket him! Pocket him!

From today, he was Wen Fu's number one fan in the entire universe! A dad fan! A brother fan! Every kind of family fan! Anyone posting hate threads about Wen Fu would be slaughtered by him!

Zhang Chao kept his composure, coughed expressionlessly, and put on his special assistant demeanor. 'Director Fei isn't here right now. He went to inspect the warehouse half an hour ago — he should still be there. I happen to be heading there too. I'll take you with me.'

Wen Fu, unaware he'd just gained a thirty-something dad fan, silently got into Fei Bolin's company car with the glasses in hand.

The warehouse wasn't in Jinjiang River district. The driver up front drove, and the two in the back seat went a full forty minutes without a word.

At the warehouse entrance, Wen Fu seemed to remember something and took off his hat first.

Zhang Chao, looking for something to say, noticed the messy black hair under Wen Fu's hat and laughed. 'Your hair's a mess. Didn't you comb it when you got up this morning?'

Wen Fu, dead serious: 'I did.'

Zhang Chao, awkwardly: 'Oh, you did… what did you comb it with?'

Wen Fu: 'A comb.'

Zhang Chao: 'Oh. A comb…'

Special Assistant Zhang felt like he'd killed the conversation.

—Wait, no, someone else had killed it.

Inside the warehouse was a shed area. The two had just stepped through the main gate when they spotted a tall figure up ahead by the shed.

The weather was nice. Fei Bolin wore a long trench coat, belt tied at the back, looking tall and lean from the side. He was turned slightly, speaking quietly with the person in charge at one of the warehouses ahead.

Zhang Chao called out first, 'Director Fei!'

Fei Bolin turned instinctively, but his gaze froze the instant it met Wen Fu's.

He quickly scanned the surroundings — the landscaping outside the warehouse gate, every tree along the wall.

Not spotting any paparazzi, Fei Bolin said something to the person beside him. The man nodded, immediately gathered the few scattered workers in the area and led them away. Then Fei Bolin walked over and told Zhang Chao, 'Send the security guards home for the day. Bring me the keys. And check the perimeter for anyone tailing us with cameras.'

Zhang Chao acknowledged and left.

In no time at all, there wasn't a single extra soul in sight at the place Wen Fu had come to.

The two faced each other in silence, one looking up, one looking down. After his initial surprise, Fei Bolin quickly composed himself and guessed why Wen Fu had come today.

Probably because of that chance encounter at the baby store.

He hadn't yet explained to Wen Fu that those things weren't for himself.

Fei Bolin was about to speak when a bag was suddenly pressed into his palm.

He looked down and saw it was from the eyewear brand Wen Fu endorsed.

Wen Fu said, 'For you.'

Fei Bolin's thumb quietly rubbed the bag. He smiled, barely perceptibly.

Before he could say thanks, Zhang Chao appeared in his peripheral vision, keys in hand, walking up behind Wen Fu to hand over the gate key.

Fei Bolin's gaze didn't leave Wen Fu's face. Still looking into his eyes, he reached up to take the key from Zhang Chao.

As his palm passed over Wen Fu's head, Wen Fu glanced up, then automatically rose on his toes and pressed the top of his head into Fei Bolin's palm.

Fei Bolin: '…'

Zhang Chao: '…'

When Wen Fu saw he wasn't moving, he rubbed his head back and forth under Fei Bolin's palm.

The dark strands of hair slipped through the gaps of Fei Bolin's fingers — soft and fluffy.