Isn't This a Contract Marriage? Why Are You Sneaking Kisses! - Chapter 18

Shang Jichen caught the toy ball his hound brought back.

The German Shepherd returning the ball had a coat of black fur, but silver streaks had already climbed through the glossy black, and the fur around its hind legs was sparse.

The ball was covered in soil from the garden.

Shang Jichen set down his bound documents, picked up a tissue, wiped the dirty ball clean, and placed it beside him. He then stroked the dog several times.

Being petted by its master, the hound was clearly happy; its clouded eyes narrowed slightly as it let out a comfortable purr.

It was very old. After the physical exertion, its aged body panted heavily; its tail swept the ground feebly a couple of times before drooping again, as it crouched obediently at the man’s feet.

The air in the mountainside estate, far from the city center, was exceptionally good. The specially cultivated roses had already begun to bloom in clusters this season, climbing the wrought-iron railings to grow wildly. Flower buds were appearing on the crabapple trees, and the peach trees had sprouted tiny blossoms.

A plate of sliced oranges sat on a small table.

Shang Jichen reclined on the garden bench. After confirming his dog had no issues other than some mud on its paws, he picked up his files to resume reading.

He flipped through the pages.

One page featuring a photograph was folded back. The aging dog stared at the printed photo of the youth on the page, and the murky haze in its eyes brightened for a fleeting moment.

After a long while, it lowered its head, resting its chin on its front paws. Enveloped by the fragrance of flowers and oranges, it slowly closed its eyes.

The screen of the phone placed next to the fruit plate lit up. Shang Jichen glanced at it and picked it up.

[Shang Jichen: Are you free lately to let me treat you to a meal? Also, you can pick up the clothes and umbrella from last time. (^ω^)]

[Shen Silie: Sorry, I’ve had a cold for a couple of days that hasn’t cleared up. I’m coughing quite badly and might be contagious. I’m planning to head to the hospital, so I probably won’t have time.]

[Shang Jichen: The seasons are changing; it’s easy to get sick when it fluctuates like this. Take care of yourself. (＾＿＾)]

[Shen Silie: Thanks for the clothes and umbrella. I’ll have them cleaned and returned to you. I’m not sure when I’ll be better, so just give me an address; once they’re ready, I’ll find a courier to send them over.]

Shang Jichen’s gaze lingered on the screen for a few seconds. His slender fingers hovered over the keyboard before finally typing a brief reply.

[Shang Jichen: No need to rush. Wait until you’re recovered.]

Without giving the other side a chance to refuse, he added:

[Shang Jichen: I’m in a meeting. Let’s talk more when we meet next time.]

After sending the message, he put the phone back, but his gaze instinctively fell on the oranges in the fruit plate.

Half were peeled, half were sliced into wedges with small forks.

Shang Jichen reached out and took a slice. The soft pulp released moist juice against his fingertips, and a faint sweetness spread through his mouth.

The dog moved at his feet, its nose lightly nuzzling his pant leg with a series of low whimpers. Shang Jichen looked down at the old dog and handed it the orange slice from his hand. The dog sniffed it, ate it in one bite, and then lay back down quietly.

A few peach petals fell onto the open “book” on his lap. The inner pages listed a person’s life and social network with a detail that could only be described as exhaustive.

A breeze blew, and the petals flew away with the wind.

Continuous sounds of retching mixed with the instinctive sobs of someone suffering to the extreme.

God knows how long it took for this torture to end.

Shen Silie’s glazed vision followed the willow catkins drifting outside the window. He coughed up a large amount of vomit—pills he had taken mixed with stomach acid and streaks of blood.

Cold sweat soaked his hair, sticking it to his forehead. The smell of medicine mixed with the sour stench of decay swirled in his nose; his palate was coated in a greasy, acidic taste.

After cleaning up the mess in the sink, Shen Silie tremblingly fished out his phone.

The screen was still on the chat interface with Shang Jichen. Seeing the last message, Shen Silie caught his breath, exited the page, and didn’t reply.

There was a piercing itch in his lungs; his throat and even his ears were itchy. His abdomen was sour and painful. Just a light cough would trigger a chain reaction that he couldn’t stop. He wished he could reach into his throat and scratch it.

Leaning against the sink, it took a long while for him to stabilize before he could leave the bathroom.

Time flew by, and soon it was March.

The coughing weakened on the seventh day, ended completely on the thirteenth, and by the seventeenth day—having stayed home for half a month doing nothing but commission work—his spirits were finally better.

Feeling like he was about to sprout moss from staying inside, Shen Silie poked his head out from under the covers. Seeing the message from the dry cleaners saying the items were ready, and the many days of consecutive greetings on his phone, he hesitated for a while before opening the chat.

[Shen Silie: Morning! I watched that movie you recommended last night; it was wonderful. I ended up finishing the whole series. (Happy Cat JPG.)]

The reply came quickly.

[Shang Jichen: I’m glad you liked it. I was worried you’d find me too oversharing or think those movies were too childish.]

[Shen Silie: Not at all. I actually quite like these old films.]

Shen Silie paused in front of the screen.

Their meeting was a bit awkward at first. Usually, in social relationships with such a large class disparity, even if the other person doesn’t show it openly, an underlying sense of superiority or arrogance is almost inevitable.

He had originally treated it as a brief encounter; he didn’t have the energy to make friends and didn’t think it necessary to develop further. He figured the contact would just gather dust in his phone until they slowly forgot each other.

But this man really knew how to push his buttons—daily greetings, sharing trivia to launch a topic, and seamlessly transitioning from one subject to the next. There was the occasional inquiry, but it always stopped right at the line; it never felt offensive or exhausting. It was just right.

Plus, Shang Jichen’s personality was so good he had nothing to say—gentle, polite, and showing no strange reaction after learning about Silie’s profession. He merely made a few observations before returning to normal topics. Crucially, he was a great storyteller.

Even someone like Silie, who usually wanted to contact no one but his canvas when he was free, couldn’t help but listen to those stories. Even if there was a strange sense of alertness at the start that he couldn’t quite place, the man was truly someone impossible to dislike.

Being someone who habitually took care of others in close relationships, this was essentially the first time Silie had been treated with total care. If he didn’t know he had nothing worth scheming for, the way they met would have felt even stranger.

Shen Silie’s expression turned subtle as he burrowed back into his blanket.

[Shang Jichen: Is your illness better? The weather has been very nice lately.]

[Shen Silie: I’m all better. I almost coughed to death at home earlier, but I am strong. (Cat Paw Gesture)]

It was an instinctively intimate complaint.

On the other end, Shang Jichen stared at the occasional cat emoji on the screen and curled his lips, sending out his prepared invitation.

[Shang Jichen: I’ve booked a nice restaurant. The friend I was supposed to go with had a sudden change of plans, and I really have no desire to go alone. If you’re free, would you like to go together the day after tomorrow at noon?]

The “Typing…” indicator flickered for a few seconds.

[Shen Silie: OK.]

Shang Jichen’s brow smoothed out. He was about to send the address when:

[Shen Silie: Wait! It’s Chinese food, right? I don’t eat Western food… I really can’t swallow a single bite…]

Shang Jichen paused, then replied: [Don’t worry, it’s Chinese food.]

The reply was almost instant: [That’s good. Western food left me traumatized before; I don’t want to touch it at all now. (Cat Curled into a Ball)]

Shang Jichen couldn’t help but let out a laugh and moved the conversation to other topics.

By the end of the chat, they bid each other goodnight. Shang Jichen opened his contact list, his green eyes lifting without a ripple.

“Change the restaurant. Make it Chinese.”

The assistant on the other end asked about flavor preferences.

Shang Jichen thought seriously for a moment. Something suddenly came to mind, and he let out a very soft laugh.

“The head chef must be skilled at making spicy food.”