Chapter 23 Talk to me about love

In the photo, Huaixu was dressed in pure white, his head slightly bowed as he played the guqin, his expression focused and solemn. The delicate contours of his profile were perfectly outlined, accentuating his bright, handsome features—so flawless he seemed like a painting come to life.

His fair skin, illuminated by the stage lights, seemed to glow radiantly, forming a striking contrast with his thick, dark lashes. His lips, tinted with a soft pink balm, resembled the tender sweetness of a ripe peach, and the faint upward curve of his mouth made it impossible not to be drawn into the enchanting musical world alongside him.

But what captivated the viewer wasn’t just Huaixu’s face—it was also his hands on the strings.

His hands were extraordinarily beautiful—slender fingers, straight and elegant, with perfectly trimmed oval nails. The veins on the back of his hands faintly surfaced with each movement, and under the stage lights, his skin looked as smooth and white as jade, even the joints appearing as delicate as a baby’s.

At this moment, both Huaixu and Jing Zhengxuan were staring at the phone’s lock screen, neither saying a word.

Huaixu felt the hand around his waist grow hotter, burning with an intensity that unsettled him.

He bent down to pick up the phone, and the darkened screen lit up again.

It really wasn’t his phone—the wallpaper was indeed a photo of him.

This was strange. No matter how close they were, they had never reached the point of using each other’s photos as wallpapers.

Jing Zhengxuan had always used the default system wallpaper before—why the sudden change?

With one hand pushing against Jing Zhengxuan’s shoulder and the other shoving the phone in his face, Huaixu asked half-jokingly, half-seriously, "What’s the deal with this wallpaper?"

Jing Zhengxuan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he cleared his throat, then snatched the phone back and tossed it onto the sofa, his hands returning to Huaixu’s waist.

Huaixu was slender, his waist especially narrow—so much so that Jing Zhengxuan’s large hands could almost encircle it entirely.

Unable to push him away, the two locked eyes, one standing tall, the other slightly bent.

Jing Zhengxuan’s fingers traced Huaixu’s waist, abruptly changing the subject. "A-Xu, have you lost weight?"

He remembered Huaixu’s waist being slightly fuller before—though even then, it had always been delicate, almost too slender to grasp properly.

Huaixu kept pushing at him. "Let go."

Whether from anger or something else, Huaixu’s face and ears were now flushed red, his natural peach-like scent making him seem even more irresistibly sweet.

Jing Zhengxuan only tightened his grip, his cool brown eyes fixed on him as he pressed, "Your diet hasn’t changed. Have you been troubled by something lately?"

"What trouble could I possibly have?" Huaixu countered.

Jing Zhengxuan’s grip tightened slightly. "Then… why didn’t you bring me along when you met with that senior Xie today?"

"Since when do I need a reason for everything?"

Huaixu continued struggling, but his arms were noticeably slimmer than Jing Zhengxuan’s, his strength no match. No matter how hard he pushed, if Jing Zhengxuan refused to let go, he couldn’t break free.

Frustrated, Huaixu punched Jing Zhengxuan’s shoulder. "I said let go!"

Jing Zhengxuan still didn’t release him, his sharp features softening slightly as he gazed up.

His lashes drooped with a hint of melancholy, his voice low. "A-Xu, you’re keeping secrets from me."

Realizing escape was futile, Huaixu gave up, his face burning as he pointed at the phone. "Explain the wallpaper."

Jing Zhengxuan’s eyes flickered, his head tilting slightly. "I thought it looked nice. You don’t mind, do you?"

Huaixu punched his shoulder again, blurting out, "What would your girlfriend think if she saw it?!"

The moment the words left his mouth, he froze.

Why did that sound so…?

He’d held back for so long—why had it slipped out now?

Huaixu’s hand fell, unable to meet his best friend’s gaze.

Jing Zhengxuan was momentarily stunned. "…?"

Then he chuckled softly, answering solemnly, "I don’t have a girlfriend."

"Then you—" Huaixu abruptly cut himself off, swallowing the rest of his sentence—"Then why have you been sneaking off alone lately?"

That would’ve made it sound even more…

Huaixu hastily backpedaled, pursing his lips. "Not like it’s any of my business."

Jing Zhengxuan laughed again, his hands still resting on Huaixu’s waist, his lips curving in rare amusement. "Why would you think I have a girlfriend?"

Huaixu avoided his gaze, staring at the phone instead. "Why did you set my photo as your wallpaper?"

Jing Zhengxuan looked at him with fond indulgence. "Didn’t I just answer that?"

Huaixu: "…"

His face flushed even hotter. Annoyed, he punched Jing Zhengxuan again. "Let go. I need to use the bathroom."

How bizarre—since when had he become so scatterbrained, asking the same question twice?

He’d never been like this before.

Jing Zhengxuan still didn’t release him, tightening his grip instead. "Answer me first. Why did you meet Xie Kaiyan alone today?"

"Didn’t you say you’d give me space?" Huaixu snapped, his words tumbling out unchecked. "You get to go out alone, but I don’t?"

Jing Zhengxuan: "…"

His smile faded, his lips pressing into a firm line as he studied Huaixu’s expression. "Don’t be angry."

Huaixu shoved him. "Just let go already!"

Jing Zhengxuan hesitated, then reluctantly released Huaixu’s waist—only to seize his hand instead, his voice earnest. "A-Xu, you’re the only one I have."

The words were ambiguous, open to interpretation—like a feather tickling Huaixu’s heart, leaving him both itchy and restless.

"I know," Huaixu muttered, his face burning as he turned away, not even heading to the bathroom but straight to his room.

He needed a cold shower to clear his head.

Though "cold" was relative—Huaixu knew his constitution was weak, so he was careful in all things, partly because being sick was miserable, and partly because he hated troubling others.

But after the shower, his mind felt even more muddled.

What was Jing Zhengxuan up to?

Why had he suddenly become less overbearing?

Why was he keeping secrets?

Why use his photo as a wallpaper?

And why say something like "You’re the only one I have"?

Countless questions swirled in his head, none with answers.

That night, he kept staring at his and Jing Zhengxuan’s profile pictures, recalling Shu Jinwei’s words from before: "They look like couple avatars."

Did they?

Maybe a little—but wasn’t that a stretch?

Plenty of people used suns and skies as profile pictures. Did that make them all couples?

Huaixu shook his head, dismissing the faint suspicion in his heart.

Just a coincidence.

He and Jing Zhengxuan were just childhood friends.

Jing Zhengxuan’s words simply meant "You’re my only close friend."

With that thought, Huaixu fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, he had a dream—vivid and intimate.

In it, he and Jing Zhengxuan were embracing, the hold so tight it stole his breath. Yet instead of pushing away, he pressed closer, their faces alight with happiness—just like the couple who had hugged after the anniversary performance.

Lovers.

The word seemed to carry a magical weight, making dream-Huaixu smile even brighter.

Then, a damp sensation jolted him awake.

Sitting up, he realized his pajama pants were wet.

—

Huaixu had always been a person of few desires, but that didn’t mean he was abnormal. On the contrary, he’d experienced everything typical of adolescence.

But after that phase, he’d rarely had strong reactions—just the usual morning phenomena.

This was the first time something like this had happened in the middle of the night.

His face burned like an overripe tomato.

But what mortified him even more was the reason for the dream—

Dreaming of being held by Jing Zhengxuan.

Tightly. The way couples held each other.

This was absurd. Unnatural.

Huaixu felt like he’d lost his mind.

He got up, showered, changed into fresh pajamas, then stealthily tossed the soiled clothes into the washing machine.

Staring at the control panel, he had to study it carefully before figuring out which button to press.

Huaixu had never done laundry before—never even operated a washing machine.

Since childhood, Jing Zhengxuan had always handled his clothes.

Sure, there were housekeepers at home and school, but Jing Zhengxuan never let anyone else touch Huaixu’s laundry.

Huaixu found it both irritating and amusing. He’d offered to wash his own clothes several times, but Jing Zhengxuan always stopped him, insisting the machine made it effortless.

After a few attempts, Huaixu had given up.

Pressing the start button, he watched the machine hum to life. It was simple, just as Jing Zhengxuan had said.

So why hadn’t he been allowed to do it himself?

The night was silent, only the laundry room on the first floor illuminated.

The villa was spacious, making even the quietest sounds noticeable—especially the mechanical whirring of appliances.

As Huaixu stood before the machine, a voice came from behind. "What are you doing?"

"Ah!" Huaixu jumped, turning to see Jing Zhengxuan. He relaxed momentarily—then flushed crimson, lowering his head. "Just… doing laundry."

Jing Zhengxuan tilted his head. "Why suddenly now?"

Huaixu leaned against the machine, feigning nonchalance. "Clothes got dirty. Do I need a reason?"

Jing Zhengxuan took in his obviously flustered expression, then glanced at the red exclamation mark on the display. Walking over, he turned off the machine and booped Huaixu’s nose. "This is the dryer."

Huaixu’s eyes widened. "Huh? Dryer?"

"Mm." Jing Zhengxuan glanced down, his expression unreadable. "Underwear needs to be hand-washed."

He moved to open the door, but Huaixu blocked him. "I’ll do it."

Jing Zhengxuan easily caught his wrists, effortlessly dismantling his resistance.

Huaixu’s voice rose in protest. "I can do it myself!"

Jing Zhengxuan smiled, retrieving the garments. "I’ll handle it."

Then he caught a whiff of a distinct, musky scent—amplified by the dryer’s heat, the fabric now stiff in his hands.

Understanding dawned.

Clutching the clothes, he chuckled. "A-Xu’s all grown up."

Huaixu, humiliated and furious, struggled wildly. "We’re the same age!"

Jing Zhengxuan laughed, placing the underwear in the sink and turning on the faucet, one hand still effortlessly restraining Huaixu’s wrists.

Huaixu’s face was now the color of steamed crab shell, his words scalding. "You—let go! I’ll wash them!"

Jing Zhengxuan ruffled his hair. "No need to be shy. This is normal."

Huaixu’s struggling abruptly stopped. "You’ve… had this happen too?"

Jing Zhengxuan’s gaze darkened, his voice low. "Mn."

Huaixu didn’t know how to respond, staring at his own hands instead.

After a beat of silence, Huaixu glanced at the sink, still mortified. "Let go. I’ll wash them."

Jing Zhengxuan did release his wrists—only to step in front of the sink himself, scrubbing Huaixu’s underwear under the running water.

Huaixu, witnessing this: "…"

His face burned hotter. 

"Jing Zhengxuan! I said I’d do it!"

His frame and strength were no match—Jing Zhengxuan remained immovable, his veins occasionally standing out as he worked the soap into the fabric, the sight making Huaixu look away.

For some reason, watching Jing Zhengxuan wash those clothes stirred something strange in him.

It was as if he were the one being handled—those large, domineering hands roaming freely over his body.

Huaixu’s throat went dry, his entire body burning. He was sure his neck was flushed too.

"I… I need water," he stammered, fleeing the scene.

If he couldn’t stop Jing Zhengxuan, at least he wouldn’t have to watch.

Huaixu gulped down a full glass, drinking until his stomach ached.

Yet the heat inside him didn’t subside. Fanning himself with his collar, he realized something horrifying—

Had Jing Zhengxuan always hand-washed his underwear?!

Tiptoeing back, he peeked inside.

Jing Zhengxuan had finished scrubbing and was transferring the clothes to a small dryer. Noticing Huaixu, he tilted his head. 

"What?"

Like a child caught misbehaving, Huaixu fiddled with his pajama hem. 

"Have you always… washed them… like this?"

Jing Zhengxuan smiled. 

"No."

Huaixu exhaled in relief. 

Thank goodness—otherwise, he wouldn’t know how to face him.

But then Jing Zhengxuan added, 

"Stains like these only come out with hand-washing."

Huaixu’s heart lurched again. "…!"

He knew?!

"I… didn’t—" 

Huaixu weakly protested.

Jing Zhengxuan humored him. 

"Of course not."

Huaixu: "…"

His pajama hem was now crumpled from his grip. 

As he debated between bolting or feigning a faint, the dryer beeped.

Jing Zhengxuan unfolded the freshly dried underwear, folded it neatly, and handed it to Huaixu. "Yours."

Huaixu: "…"

This—

Ah!!!

His face burned anew. 

Avoiding Jing Zhengxuan’s gaze and the underwear, he fixed his eyes on his friend’s Adam’s apple instead.

His arm felt leaden, requiring several attempts before he could lift it. 

"Th… thanks."

The underwear was still warm from the dryer—comfortable, yet it scorched his fingers. He held it awkwardly, unsure what to do.

"No need for thanks." 

Jing Zhengxuan patted his head, his voice light with inexplicable amusement, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke.

Suddenly, Huaixu wanted to touch it.

By the time he realized, his hand was already halfway there.

Startled, he tried to pull back—but Jing Zhengxuan caught it, brow raised. 

"What’s wrong?"

His gaze was tender, full of concern.

Huaixu yanked his hand free—this time, Jing Zhengxuan’s grip was loose. 

"Nothing," he muttered, hiding the hand behind his back. 

"Get some rest."

A glance at the clock while drinking water had shown it was already 3 a.m.

3 a.m., and he’d woken Jing Zhengxuan up to wash his stained underwear…

The whole situation felt surreal.

Even more surreal was Jing Zhengxuan’s reaction—he’d seemed…

Happy?

—

After that, Huaixu found himself spacing out in class—sometimes thinking of Jing Zhengxuan’s wallpaper, other times their profile pictures, or the image of Jing Zhengxuan stubbornly washing his underwear…

Huaixu felt like he was losing his mind. The human body was truly mysterious—not just its intricate structure, but also its complex emotions, more baffling than any textbook.

Huaixu had never faced a problem he couldn’t solve—he’d always excelled at untangling even the toughest questions.

But these puzzles about Jing Zhengxuan? He couldn’t crack a single one. He didn’t even have the courage to write "Solution:" at the top.

What lay at the end of solving them?

Would they drift apart, or was there something else?

And what was that "something else"?

He couldn’t discuss this with anyone—partly out of embarrassment, partly because some things were just too humiliating (cough the underwear incident cough).

At the thought, his face burned again.

Right now, he was wearing that very pair…

His fair skin made blushes painfully obvious. Zhang Yilang, sitting beside him, noticed immediately. Waiting for the professor to turn and write on the board, he whispered, 

"You okay?"

Huaixu’s flush deepened, his ears turning the same ripe-peach red. "I’m fine," he mumbled, then buried his face in his arms.

His poor health meant frequent stomachaches, so when he slumped over, the professor panicked. 

"Huaixu! Are you unwell? Do you need the infirmary?"

Huaixu lifted his head, his face still feverish. 

"No, Professor, I’m fine."

But the professor only grew more concerned. 

"Someone take him to the infirmary—he might have a fever."

His roommates leaped up. 

"We’ll go!"

Political Science was dull, and few wanted to sit through it—though their main concern was Huaixu.

The professor pointed at two. 

"You two, escort him. Return only after he’s cleared."

With everyone making such a fuss, Huaixu decided a quiet infirmary sounded nice. He let Zhang Yilang and Chen Pan support him out.

The moment they left, Wu Ke texted Jing Zhengxuan.

Back in freshman year, Jing Zhengxuan had added Huaixu’s roommates for emergencies like this.

The message sent him rushing over.

—

In the infirmary, the campus doctor recognized Huaixu instantly.

Between his fragile health and frequent visits (often with Jing Zhengxuan in tow), he was a familiar face. Seeing him escorted by strangers, the doctor grew serious. 

"What’s wrong?"

Huaixu: "…"

Trapped, he muttered, "Heart discomfort."

Which wasn’t entirely false.

Zhang Yilang and Chen Pan helped him onto the examination chair. 

The doctor felt his forehead. 

"So hot! And this flush—even your neck is red!"

Zhang Yilang added, 

"He suddenly got like this in class, even slumped over."

Huaixu wished the ground would swallow him.

The doctor checked his temperature. 

"No fever. Let’s test blood pressure and heart rate."

After a full examination, the doctor frowned. 

"Everything’s normal. What’s going on?"

"Maybe… rest will help," 

Huaixu offered weakly.

The doctor took his pulse, then sighed. 

"Ah, it is a heart issue."

Huaixu stiffened. 

Could pulse-reading detect that?

Then the doctor said sagely, 

"Excessive heart-fire, unfulfilled desires. Young man, it’s time to fall in love."

Huaixu: "?"

Zhang Yilang and Chen Pan gaped. 

"You can get sick from not dating?"

The doctor shrugged. 

"Of course. Youth should involve romance and passion."

Huaixu listened numbly, feeling the world grow even more surreal.

He knew emotions could affect health, but this was new.

Zhang Yilang patted his shoulder. 

"Don’t worry. If you wanted to date, you’d have no trouble."

"Right, just crook your finger, and suitors would line up," 

Chen Pang chimed in.

Huaixu glanced between them and the doctor, speechless.

Just then, a voice laced with amusement cut in. 

"Who’s dating?"

Everyone turned.

Jing Zhengxuan stood in the doorway, smiling—yet his aura was icy.

Zhang Yilang and Chen Pang shivered.

The doctor, oblivious, nodded at Jing Zhengxuan. 

"Controlled romance is healthy at your age."

Zhang Yilang and Chen Pang exchanged confused looks.

Jing Zhengxuan approached Huaixu, crouching to feel his forehead. 

"No fever. You want to date?"

Huaixu’s barely faded blush reignited, his ears burning.

Meeting Jing Zhengxuan’s gaze, he shot to his feet and bolted.

He had to escape—or his heart might explode.

Because when Jing Zhengxuan looked at him like that, his pulse went wild.

Jing Zhengxuan caught up in seconds, gripping his shoulders. 

"If you’re dating anyone, it should be me."

Huaixu: "?"

---

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