In the end, Pei Qingjian didn’t let Lan Xingchen fry the boxes himself. The reason was simple—hot oil is dangerous, and he really worried that the young master, who had never touched a cooking pan before, might burn himself before finishing the food.
Fortunately, Lan Xingchen was obedient when it came to kitchen matters. Since Pei Qingjian firmly refused, he just quietly stood beside him, occasionally feeding him a bite of lunch box and keeping him company while he worked.
When all the boxes were finally fried, Pei Qingjian carried them out and made a soup to go with them.
Lan Xingchen gave him a thumbs up as he ate. “If you quit acting and become a chef, you’d still get famous.”
Pei Qingjian shook his head. “Cooking is my hobby. If it became a job, it would lose all its fun.”
“That’s true,” Lan Xingchen nodded.
“Well, then you could be a photographer,” he added, recalling the photo Pei Qingjian had taken of him before. “You’re good at taking pictures too.”
Pei Qingjian smiled—he was a photographer before, after all.
But he couldn’t tell Lan Xingchen that now. He frowned slightly, wondering when he could be honest with him. Or if there would even be a day when they could be completely open with each other.
Would Lan Xingchen still be sitting across from him at the same table then?
Lost in thought, he took a sip of soup.
Lan Xingchen enjoyed the meal thoroughly. When he finished, he still seemed a bit reluctant to stop. “Don’t make new breakfast tomorrow. Just eat this again.”
“Okay,” Pei Qingjian agreed.
Lan Xingchen stood up with a smile, took their bowls and chopsticks, and went to wash them in the kitchen.
Pei Qingjian opened the backend of his social media app.
After an afternoon away, his inbox had filled up. He replied to each message in order.
Chen Yanting was on her phone when a notification popped up. Opening it, she saw that the photographer she had teamed up with for the previous post had replied.
Sea: “How many photos do you want me to edit?”
Chen Yanting: “Three, is that okay?”
“Sure.” Pei Qingjian replied, then added his rates: “Is that acceptable?”
Chen Yanting: ??? So cheap?!
She snorted. Cheap doesn’t mean good. If he really had amazing skills, would he charge so little? One gets what one pays for—if this price could produce those kinds of results, it would be impossible!
“Sure,” she replied perfunctorily.
She didn’t even want her own photos edited, so she picked some of her cousin’s photos from her computer and sent them over.
All that was left was waiting for the edited photos to be sent back, so she could post them online and expose them!
Chen Yanting was full of confidence: “When will they be done?”
Normally, these three photos would have been queued for over ten days, but by chance, Pei Qingjian had an idea the moment he saw them. He replied: “By the day after tomorrow at the latest.”
Chen Yanting: “Yay! I’ll wait for your masterpiece~~”
“Okay,” Pei Qingjian agreed.
After replying to all the editing inquiries and organizing his workload, he decided to take only this batch for now. The rest would wait.
After all, money never runs out, but time is limited. He had to reserve his energy for his new drama.
Pei Qingjian turned on his computer and began editing.
Lan Xingchen, having replied to the group chat, looked up and saw Pei Qingjian hunched on the sofa, seriously focused on the screen.
“What are you doing?” he asked, curious, and walked over.
Then he saw the photos Pei Qingjian was working on.
Lan Xingchen: !!!
“You took these?” he asked, surprised.
Pei Qingjian shook his head.
He opened the original files. “Someone else took them. I’m just doing the edits.”
Lan Xingchen: !!! That’s… a photo?!
“Your post-processing is impressive,” Lan Xingchen commented.
Pei Qingjian smiled. “Not too bad.”
“So this is the editing you mentioned before?”
“Yes.”
“You started making money the day after you moved in?” Lan Xingchen was amazed.
Pei Qingjian nodded. “I said before, once I settled in, I’d start working.”
Lan Xingchen: …
He had thought Pei Qingjian meant working for him, but it turned out he had a real job!
Truly, he was working hard.
Lan Xingchen looked at him with admiration. Cooking, photography, editing—he could do it all, and he was an actor too!
“You really are versatile.”
No wonder he was the crowned king of the canaries—King Canary!
Pei Qingjian smiled lightly. “If you have photos you want edited, you can give them to me too.”
He added, “No charge.”
“Alright,” Lan Xingchen stood. “I’ll come to you if I need it. But you shouldn’t sit here all day either. It’s cramped. Come on, I’ll give you a proper workspace.”
Pei Qingjian picked up his laptop and followed him.
Lan Xingchen approached his study, opened the door, and switched on the light. “Here, you’ll work here from now on.”
Pei Qingjian looked around the room in surprise, then turned to him. “Isn’t this your study?”
“Yeah,” Lan Xingchen said calmly.
“Can I… come in?”
Lan leaned back against the door. “Of course. If there are any books you want to read, feel free.”
Pei Qingjian hadn’t expected him to be so generous. “But what if I see something I shouldn’t?”
Lan Xingchen thought he was overthinking. “You’re not the type to go snooping around. Nothing inappropriate will happen.”
The study had never been locked. If Pei Qingjian had wanted to, he could have wandered in long ago. Whether browsing or using it, the study was here for him—Lan had never hidden anything, never said otherwise.
Yet Pei Qingjian had never stepped in. Even when passing by, he never entered.
So Lan Xingchen trusted him. He was someone who knew boundaries—at least with him.
“Sit,” Lan Xingchen said, nodding toward a desk not far away.
The study was unique: at least three desks, each placed near the door, near the bookshelf, and near the balcony.
The desks were different shapes—diamond, round, and rectangular.
The one Lan Xingchen was gesturing to was the diamond-shaped desk.
Pei Qingjian followed his gaze and sat down. The chair was soft and adjustable, and the desk was immaculate.
He set up his laptop and glanced at Lan Xingchen, who had walked in, taken a book, and sat at the round desk to read. Pei Qingjian then returned to editing photos.
One edited photos while the other read, and somehow it felt harmonious.
Occasionally, Pei Qingjian looked up and saw Lan Xingchen’s profile in the quiet room, serene and captivating like a well-aged wine.
He looked back down and opened the photos Chen Yanting had sent.
But as he edited, he realized with a start that the boy in the photos was slowly starting to look like Lan Xingchen.
Panicked, Pei Qingjian erased his edits and started over.
Once all three photos were finished, Lan Xingchen closed his book, stretched, and looked at Pei Qingjian. “How much longer?”
“Done,” Pei Qingjian said, saving the files and shutting the laptop.
Lan Xingchen stood and walked out with him.
As usual, they showered one after the other, then lay on the same bed.
Lying down, Pei Qingjian suddenly thought of last night’s hug. Tonight… would it be the same?
He stared into the dark and wasn’t sure if he wanted it to be the same—or not.
He didn’t rush to sleep.
He waited until Lan Xingchen fell asleep, until the night grew deep, then slowly closed his eyes.
But no sooner had he done so than he felt Lan Xingchen shift and wrap a hand around him, pulling him into his arms.
With a soft “plop,” it was like a fish slipping into water.
Listening to Lan Xingchen’s steady heartbeat, Pei Qingjian slowly lifted his head.
Lan Xingchen was asleep, completely unaware. Peaceful, steady.
Pei Qingjian felt his warmth and after a while, gently wrapped a hand around his waist.
It was warm—Lan Xingchen’s familiar warmth.
He held him a little tighter, thinking, People say he has a slim waist… but his isn’t much bigger than mine.
Curiously, he experienced the feeling of holding him like this.
As he held him, he suddenly remembered a giant stuffed animal he had seen in middle school—almost life-sized.
Back then, he had just left the village for town, and everything seemed new.
One afternoon, a classmate’s father came to pick her up, carrying a giant teddy bear, almost the same height as them.
The classmate hugged it happily and looked up at her dad while chatting.
Pei Qingjian stared in wonder. There are toys this big?
He had been staring too long. The dad noticed, glanced at him, and the classmate turned to look too.
Pei Qingjian blushed, embarrassed, and ran out of the school gate.
It took an hour to get back to his village, and he ran fast, reaching home before sunset.
He didn’t tell his grandmother, worried she’d think he was greedy and cry behind his back.
He just thought quietly: If I had a toy that big, I could hug it at night when I sleep.
Since elementary school, his grandmother hadn’t held him to sleep, insisting he was a little man and should be independent. But winter was cold, and the stove never warmed the room enough. Even with a hot water bag, Pei Qingjian still wanted to hug something while sleeping.
If he had such a huge doll, he could hug it to sleep, he thought.
He smiled at the thought for a while, then bent over his desk to study until he was sleepy, finally crawling into bed.
The next morning, as usual, he woke to the crowing of roosters.
After breakfast, he ran from the village to town. But before he even entered the classroom, the girl whose doll he had stared at yesterday pulled him aside.
Pei Qingjian thought she wanted to confront him about yesterday and said guiltily, “I didn’t mean to… I just hadn’t seen it before, so I couldn’t help staring at your doll a little longer.”
“You like it?” she asked.
Pei Qingjian nodded, childlike in his reaction. “It’s so big.”
“My dad bought it for me from the city,” the girl said, clearly pleased. “It’s even bigger than me.”
“Where do you keep it?” Pei Qingjian asked, curious.
“On my bed,” she replied kindly. “It was a birthday gift from my dad. I can’t give it to you, but he said I could give you this.”
She opened her hand, revealing a small, plush fox keychain.
“Here.”
Pei Qingjian didn’t dare take it. He shook his head hard. “No, I don’t want it.”
The girl thought for a moment. “How about this? These two days it’s my turn to do chores. You help me, and I’ll trade this for you.”
She added pitifully, “My dad can only stay a week this time before leaving for work again. I want to get home early and spend more time with him.”
“You give me this little fox, and I help with your chores?”
Pei Qingjian looked at the tiny fox in her hand, thinking. “Okay, I’ll help you all semester.”
“That’s too much! Just the next few days will do,” she said, handing him the fox.
Pei Qingjian took it, gazing at the white, adorable little fox. He smiled so broadly his eyes almost disappeared.
He ended up helping her with chores for half the semester. Chores rotated weekly, and her turn didn’t come that many times, so it wasn’t too much work.
Pei Qingjian thought it was a great deal—he got a cute, fluffy little fox.
He didn’t want to hang it up, so he kept it in his backpack and sometimes held it while sleeping.
If only it were bigger, as tall as me… then it would be warm to hug, he thought.
Now, hugging Lan Xingchen, he felt almost like he had returned to those days.
He held Lan carefully, feeling his breath and warmth.
It was warm, just as he had imagined as a child.
Pei Qingjian happily closed his eyes.
That night, he dreamed.
In the dream, young Pei Qingjian ran home holding the little white fox. But he tripped and fell into the snow, tossing the fox away.
Looking up frantically, he saw the little fox land on the snow—and it turned into a real, fluffy fox.
Snow-white fur, round little body.
He blinked. The fox trotted toward him, but just as it leapt, it suddenly grew into a huge fox, as tall as him.
It knocked him down and kept scratching his waist.
Pei Qingjian couldn’t stop laughing as he lay in the snow playing with it all night.
The next morning, groggy, he opened his eyes, still seeing that fox in his mind.
He lifted his head to see Lan Xingchen’s picture-perfect sleeping face.
Pei Qingjian stared at him. His still-half-asleep brain thought: With a face like this… he’s clearly a fox spirit.