Isn't This a Contract Marriage? Why Are You Sneaking Kisses! - Chapter 21

Cold air, heavy with moisture and the faint scent of medicinal herbs, swirled into the car as Shang Jichen shook the water droplets from his umbrella and sat inside.

The vehicle started moving again.

Shang Jichen removed his black cashmere overcoat. He gently placed a plastic bag embossed with a pharmacy logo on the back seat, took out a tube of ointment, and turned to look at the youth.

Shen Silie froze.

Shang Jichen gave the ointment a slight shake, his green eyes shimmering with a soft, warm light. His voice tilted upward at the end: “Hand.”

Shen Silie stared at the pale blue tube in the man’s palm, his throat tightening. “I…”

Before he could finish, Shang Jichen had already grasped his wrist. The movement was gentle yet unyielding.

The moment the cool ointment touched his skin, Shen Silie instinctively flinched, but his wrist was held steady by the man’s other hand.

“Don’t pull away.”

The man’s voice was low, carrying the distinct pheromones of a mature male—there was a strange, almost seductive quality to his tone.

Shen Silie obeyed and stopped moving.

The lighting in the back seat wasn’t bright, but one could still see a swollen, red ring around his right wrist, with faint purplish-black finger marks starting to emerge.

“He has quite a grip,” Shang Jichen murmured. He looked down, focused on applying the cream, his voice low as if offering a casual complaint.

Shen Silie lowered his head and remained silent.

Shang Jichen’s fingertips moved in circular motions along the red marks, his movements practiced, as if he had done this countless times. The warmth of his touch melted the ointment, allowing it to slowly seep into the skin with every breath.

A tingling sensation crawled up Shen Silie’s spine. His eyelashes trembled, and his fingers curled into a fist involuntarily.

Once finished, Shang Jichen tidied the packaging and placed the tube back into the plastic bag.

“Apply it three times a day. Use the ice pack inside for the first 24 hours. If it still hurts after that, use a warm towel after 48 hours.”

Shang Jichen finished his instructions, tied the bag, and placed it beside Shen Silie so he could easily take it when he got out.

Shen Silie looked down and whispered, “Thank you.”

Shang Jichen simply shook his head.

The car fell into silence.

Then, Shang Jichen spoke: “Does he always treat you like this?”

Shen Silie didn’t react immediately.

“Your… friend.”

Ji Yunshen.

Shang Jichen’s voice paused, drawing out the end of the sentence with a lingering, nonchalant tone that was laced with an imperceptible hostility.

“He seems to have violent tendencies. Is he harassing you?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, as if realizing he had overstepped, Shang Jichen let out a soft sigh and said apologetically, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry into your privacy; it’s just a friend’s concern.”

Shang Jichen stared intently into the youth’s eyes.

His gaze was gentle, devoid of pressure, and soft. It didn’t allow Silie to look away for even a second. It seemed to hold nothing but sincerity and worry.

Shen Silie’s eyelashes fluttered violently. He stared at his medicated wrist, where the warmth of the man’s palm still lingered.

After a long while, Shen Silie spoke: “It’s okay.”

“He used to… treat me very well.”

It was a response that was hard to define—either an explanation or an evasion. After saying it, Shen Silie looked away.

Used to.

Shang Jichen whispered the words to himself, let out a light laugh, and turned his gaze toward the window.

The black Bentley stopped outside the residential area. Shang Jichen handed over the umbrella and smiled. “See you next time.”

Shen Silie took the umbrella and nodded, waving goodbye. The umbrella popped open, and his silhouette vanished into the curtain of rain.

In the bathroom, the sound of rushing water continued until it eventually stopped. As the steam slowly dissipated, Shang Jichen walked out wrapped in a black bath towel. Water droplets slid from his shoulders, winding down his lean, firm torso.

Swish—

The curtains were drawn, blocking out the rainy view outside.

Shang Jichen picked up a towel to dry his hair carelessly and walked toward the bed. His gaze paused on a bag sitting on the nightstand—the clothes Shen Silie had returned today.

He reached in to open the bag. Upon seeing what was inside, the habitually calm expression on his face went blank for a moment.

Inside the carry bag were two transparent pouches. The overcoat was packaged in one; the other contained a small bag of orange gummies and several boxes of homemade pudding.

Shang Jichen took out a pudding box.

A cartoon sticker of a grey wolf was pasted onto the plastic container. Next to a little cat was a string of elegant handwriting:

“I heard you mention before that you wanted to taste the candy and pudding the wolf mother made for her cub. I tried to recreate the steps from the movie at home. After a few attempts and some small modifications, the taste is quite good.”

At the end was a doodle of a cat wearing toy wolf ears, its tail wagging happily: “A successful day of guest-starring as a Wolf Mama.”

Shang Jichen stared blankly at the box of pudding. His deep green eyes were like still water—no ripples, no emotion, just an abnormal calm.

The beat his heart skipped went unnoticed by anyone.

After a long time, Shang Jichen put the pudding back into the bag and carried it to the living room.

He played that movie from over twenty years ago again. A movie that only he was watching.

The silver screen, with its aged and blurry picture, felt like a bridge between past and present. The wolf mother carried an orange stolen from the village by the wolf father, humming a nursery rhyme while they made gummies together. The young wolf cub picked berries accompanied by its new friend, a little cat.

Outside the lively images on the screen, Shang Jichen stared at the display as if in a trance.

On the wall behind him, in the oil painting he had marked, a little cat was curled into a quiet ball amidst a golden sea of flowers, resting peacefully behind a man. Sunflowers clustered around it.

Shen Silie poked his head out from behind a large bouquet of sunflowers and tossed his keys onto the entryway table.

It was still drizzling outside. Shen Silie stepped into his home, placed the sunflowers in a vase, and finally took out his phone to check the messages he hadn’t replied to.

[Shang Jichen: The candy and pudding were delicious. Thank you.]

[Shen Silie: You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked them.]

The “Typing…” indicator on the other end flickered for a long time.

Shen Silie lifted his finger and sent the invitation he had already prepared.

[Shen Silie: If you have time, let me treat you to a meal next time. I know a hot pot place that tastes great, though it can’t compare to high-end restaurants. If you’re interested in hot pot.]

After sending the invite, Shen Silie set his phone down. He didn’t think the man would agree to such a proposal and had already prepared himself for a rejection.

Shen Silie carried the vase of sunflowers to the balcony, set up his easel, and prepared to paint.

Ding.

His phone rang. Shen Silie walked back to it unhurriedly.

[Shang Jichen: Okay. You pick the time.]