YMW CH 42

Jealous Husband

Cen Wu and Xie Guilan walked home together. Xie Guilan had borrowed a motorcycle from Ji Changyu to give him a ride, and they parked it at the back entrance of Blue Night. From there, it was at most a fifteen-minute walk.

October was approaching fast, and Huai Jing’s temperature was dropping rapidly. By night, some people had already pulled out their wool coats.

Cen Wu lowered his head and tugged his jacket collar higher, yet his face remained burning hot, the corners of his eyes tinged with a misty red. Saying he cared was one thing—brothers could care about each other.

But saying he liked him? That was way too ambiguous.

The original novel was a classic power-fantasy story, and Cen Wu had never once questioned Xie Guilan’s sexual orientation. Even if the sky collapsed, Xie Guilan was undoubtedly straight.

Otherwise, it would make a joke out of the three-million-word novel he’d painstakingly memorized.

He always believed that getting too close to a straight guy could only end in disaster. No matter how aloof, straight men never seemed to understand boundaries. Xie Guilan’s dark, piercing peach-blossom eyes were deep and intense—when he stared at someone with such focus, it was easy to mistake it for something more.

Cen Wu almost thought Xie Guilan liked him.

His mind was a mess. As his hand hung loosely by his side, it accidentally brushed against Xie Guilan’s. Xie Guilan’s cold fingers twitched slightly, hesitating for a moment. But under the night sky, stiff and unreadable, he suddenly grasped Cen Wu’s fingertips.

Xie Guilan’s fingers were ice-cold, but his palm burned with heat. Slowly, he wrapped Cen Wu’s hand in his own, holding it tightly.

Cen Wu: ???

Brother, act normal. You’re scaring me.

Cen Wu tried to pull away, not even struggling that hard—just a tentative attempt to withdraw—but the moment he did, Xie Guilan’s whole demeanor darkened, a quiet, withdrawn chill settling over him.

His pale, strikingly handsome face showed no emotion, long lashes casting shadows over his eyes as he slowly let go. He had always been indifferent, never caring about anyone’s feelings, yet he chose to retreat.

Something softened in Cen Wu’s heart. He felt his own boundaries slipping further and further back—he could never stay mad at Xie Guilan. Before Xie Guilan could fully release him, Cen Wu took his hand again.

It’s just holding hands. It’s not like I’ll die from it.

Xie Guilan paused for a beat, then gripped him back. But he was stubborn—he wouldn’t let Cen Wu hold him; he had to be the one holding Cen Wu.

And it wasn’t some gentle hand-holding. His palm was noticeably larger, engulfing Cen Wu’s hand completely, gripping it tightly, fingers pressing against his bones.

Like he wanted to crush him.

Cen Wu: “……”

What else can I do but forgive you, just like a father forgives his unruly child?

The neon lights outside Blue Night’s back entrance flickered in the night. Xie Guilan placed a helmet on Cen Wu’s head, and as Cen Wu swung his leg over the motorcycle’s back seat, he wrapped his arms around Xie Guilan’s waist. Xie Guilan took hold of Cen Wu’s cold hands, breathed warm air onto them, then tucked them into his own coat pocket.

Cen Wu felt uneasy. When Xie Guilan treated him poorly, he worried that Xie Guilan hated him. But when Xie Guilan was too kind to him, that felt just as unsettling.

The night wind howled past. When the bike finally stopped outside the Cen family’s villa, Cen Wu sniffled quietly. Xie Guilan immediately tightened his grip on Cen Wu’s hand and asked in a low voice, “Are you cold?”

“N-No.” Cen Wu shook his head.

Xie Guilan pressed his lips together and looked at him. “Young Master, hurry inside. Good night.”

Cen Wu hummed in response and ran toward the house.

The original Cen Wu had always been timid. The Cen family’s estate was always brightly lit at night, creating a warm glow in the darkness. Under the lights, Cen Wu’s hair looked soft, a warm shade of chestnut.

The reflection of the villa’s lights flickered in Xie Guilan’s dark eyes, out of place—like a sudden, misplaced brightness in the thick of night, something that didn’t belong, something that only brought a dull ache.

Xie Guilan watched Cen Wu’s back until he was safely inside before leaving.

Once the school’s anniversary gala ended, the long holiday break would begin. Cen Wu wanted to make some money, but getting a part-time job was out of the question. If the second young master of the Cen family fell to that level, rumors would spread that the Cen family was going bankrupt.

Father Cen and Mother Cen definitely wouldn’t allow it either.

So, he planned to spend the break writing a few scripts to submit anonymously. He had to stay anonymous—once Xie Guilan started his film company, they’d be in the same industry. It would be too easy for Xie Guilan to find out.

Fortunately, his acting career was already over. He couldn’t appear on screen anymore, or else he might feel a little regret. Once he left the Cen family, he had to stay out of Xie Guilan’s sight. Acting was out of the question.

The entire school anniversary gala would be livestreamed, and they had been given an extra day for rehearsal. Everything had to follow the full program schedule, including costume changes.

The next day, when Cen Wu arrived at school, the dressing room was in chaos, packed with students helping each other do their makeup and change. He tugged on Xie Guilan’s sleeve, pulling him aside to help tie the satin ribbon on the back of his dress.

The emerald green velvet skirt was voluminous, gathered in his arms as he stood there. He knew the ribbon was loosely tied, leaving most of his back exposed. But Xie Guilan had already seen him before, so it didn’t matter if he saw him again.

“It’s almost our turn,” class president Zhou Wenqing hurried in to remind them. “Get ready!”

The school auditorium had limited dressing rooms, nowhere near as convenient as a costume rental shop. The girls got priority, while the boys had to change quickly and leave.

Cen Wu and Xie Guilan moved to a secluded spot near the curtains. With Xie Guilan’s tall frame looming over him, Cen Wu felt oddly embarrassed. He pressed a hand against the strapless bodice, his bare back arching slightly as Xie Guilan held him in place. The green velvet skirt cascaded down, brushing against Xie Guilan’s legs before pooling near his shoes.

Xie Guilan hooked a few fingers around the satin ribbon, slowly tightening it. Cen Wu felt his waist being cinched inch by inch, but even after a long wait, it still wasn’t done. Then, Xie Guilan’s cold fingers pressed against his spine, his voice low and husky. “Don’t move.”

Cen Wu nearly suspected he was doing it on purpose, but he had no proof. Flushing red, he urged, “Hurry… hurry up.”

Lu Wang passed by, cradling his mascot headpiece.

“……”

It’s happening again?!

Lu Wang’s face turned bright red. Anytime Cen Wu and Xie Guilan were together, things felt weird—like something was about to happen. How could they act like this at school?!

But for the sake of brotherhood, he had to do something. Clutching the mascot head, he stood guard, blocking anyone from approaching the curtain.

The other students looked over, confused.

Cen Wu felt tortured, convinced that Xie Guilan was playing with him. And to be fair, Xie Guilan was toying with him, twirling the ribbon between his fingers as his deep black eyes gazed downward. Every time he tugged the ribbon, Cen Wu’s back tensed, sending a wicked thrill through Xie Guilan.

If only they weren’t at school, if only there weren’t so many people outside. Otherwise, he’d undo those ribbons just to tie them again. Maybe a few times. He wondered if Cen Wu would cry.

Cen Wu had a bit of a temper—he’d probably cry while stomping on him, trembling as he cursed at him.

What would he call him?

Would he call him a dog?

Xie Guilan curled his finger, brushing it against the delicate ridge of Cen Wu’s spine. But the moment He Yao and a group of athletes from the neighboring class walked in, he abruptly sped up his movements.

Cen Wu felt like he’d been packaged up in a second.

Cen Wu: ???

He Yao, who had been intimidated by Xie Guilan at the hotpot restaurant, had once suspected they were dating. But after observing them for a while, he now felt… they probably hadn’t gotten together. Yet.

So if they weren’t together, that meant anyone could pursue him?

Unwilling to give up, He Yao glanced over when he saw Cen Wu in a dress, but before he could get a clear look, a blur of white flashed past his eyes. Xie Guilan had shifted subtly, blocking his view entirely. His dark, almond-shaped eyes were cold and sharp, like a wolf jealously guarding its meal as he stared He Yao down.

He Yao: “……”

Who was he trying to intimidate?

Jealous bastard.

A rebellious streak surged up in He Yao. If Xie Guilan didn’t want him to look, then he had to take a peek. He slowly put down his basketball, grabbed his outfit for the performance, and deliberately walked around Cen Wu in an exaggeratedly casual manner.

What? I’m looking. So what?

Xie Guilan: “……”

Cen Wu had been adjusting the petticoat under his dress when, out of nowhere, a large, still-warm school jacket was thrown over him, wrapping him up completely. With the already oversized skirt pooling around him and the jacket cinching his upper body, he was now covered from head to toe—so tightly it even hurt a little.

Cen Wu: “……”

First, you refuse to follow men’s etiquette, and now you’re forcing it onto me?

Expression cold, Xie Guilan bent down and adjusted the hem of Cen Wu’s dress. Only then did Cen Wu notice He Yao circling nearby.

He wasn’t oblivious. He could tell that He Yao had some interest in him, but teenage feelings at seventeen or eighteen were as fleeting as the evening breeze. Since He Yao hadn’t confessed, Cen Wu simply pretended not to notice.

What he didn’t expect was for Xie Guilan to care about this too.

Xie Guilan was sensitive and starved for love. He looked hard and cold on the outside, and his heart was just as indifferent, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care—if anything, he was very difficult to deal with. If you offended him, he wouldn’t say anything. He would simply remember. Every slight, carved into his bones. Forgiveness wasn’t in his vocabulary.

Xie Guilan held grudges equally against everyone, repaying every offense with vengeance. He was ruthless. In the original novel, hundreds of thousands of words were dedicated to him bathing Huai Jing in blood—even the Cen family couldn’t escape the carnage, let alone the elite families that had crossed him.

Being around him was like walking on a knife’s edge, exhausting and terrifying. One wrong step, and there was no going back.

And yet, for some reason, Cen Wu didn’t feel exhausted at all. If anything, he just felt… softhearted. Because he knew that if you wiped the blood from Xie Guilan’s hands, all you’d find underneath were wounds.

He could feel Xie Guilan’s possessiveness toward him, but once Xie Guilan returned home, things would settle. There were plenty of people who loved him—eventually, he would realize that Cen Wu wasn’t all that important.

He Yao, still circling smugly, suddenly poked his head over and grinned. “Er Shao, I got you some milk tea. Your favorite—lychee.”

Xie Guilan’s long lashes cast a deep shadow over his expression. His entire body radiated suppressed hostility, his fists clenched so tightly they turned pale. It took everything in him not to throw a punch.

Cen Wu reached out and hugged him, soothingly patting his back. Then, he turned Xie Guilan’s face toward him, forcing him to meet his gaze.

Playing Scarlett O’Hara, Cen Wu was wearing green contact lenses. His curled lashes framed eyes as bright as a songbird’s. In a soft, coaxing voice, he murmured, “Don’t be mad, don’t be mad. Let’s just ignore him.”

It was the kind of tone used to soothe a child.

Xie Guilan’s cold eyes flickered before he looked away, clearly uncomfortable. But he still zipped up the jacket all the way to the top.

Cen Wu: “……”

Fine. I’ll wear it.

He Yao: “……”

He Yao was stunned. It was like Cen Wu had been cursed—why else would he willingly coddle a 6’2″ walking menace with fists strong enough to break bones?

Where was his gentle, doting beauty?!

One by one, each class took turns rehearsing. Lu Wang, dressed as the Ugly Duckling, was struggling—his costume’s duck tail was too bulky for him to sit comfortably, so he had to stand with his butt awkwardly stuck out.

Xu Lingling and Zhang Yuanzhou were the main leads in their performance, so the makeup artists prioritized them. Cen Wu, leaning against a wall, watched them work, growing increasingly uncomfortable.

Huai Jing First High was already one of the best schools around, but at the end of the day, these were just high schoolers putting on a play. From the script to the makeup, everything felt rough and amateurish. It had been a long time since Cen Wu had experienced this kind of secondhand embarrassment.

Before transmigrating into the novel, he hadn’t filmed anything for half a year—not only that, he hadn’t even left his house in that time. Not even once.

Even food delivery was left at his door.

If the delivery driver didn’t leave, he wouldn’t open the door.

The mere thought of seeing people made him nauseous.

Sometimes, Lu Lian would drop by to check on him and take out his trash, but Cen Wu never saw him, either.

Xu Lingling was getting her makeup done. She was playing a soprano singer and wore a white gown with a long, cold-brown curly wig. Her already delicate features were further emphasized with bold, dramatic contouring.

Halfway through, she noticed Cen Wu watching and lifted her head in confusion. “What’s wrong, Er Shao?”

Cen Wu hadn’t planned on interfering. But the thought of no longer being able to act, of being reduced to a mere spectator—it made him feel like he was rotting.

His voice was tight as he finally spoke. “Your makeup…” He hesitated, then sighed. “Let me fix it for you.”

Xu Lingling hadn’t expected Cen Wu to know anything about makeup, but then again, his mother, Guan Xue, was a legendary actress. It wasn’t surprising that he had some experience with film work.

She trusted Cen Wu. She prided herself on her ability to read people—and just like she’d seen something in Xie Guilan when the rest of the class shunned him, she also believed in Cen Wu now.

The performance was about to start, so even if he messed up her makeup, she wouldn’t have time to fix it. Still, she handed over her eyeshadow palette and brow pencil without hesitation.

Cen Wu only made a few adjustments—her brows, eyeshadow, and contouring. Xu Lingling had soft, delicate features, and trying to force Western-style makeup onto her face only created a jarring effect.

The school had hired makeup artists, but they churned out the same heavy, generic look for everyone. Cen Wu wasn’t a professional, but he was still leagues ahead of them.

In less than ten minutes, he was done. When Xu Lingling looked up at the mirror, she was momentarily stunned. The thick, almost muddy makeup was gone, replaced with a fresh, natural glow.

Cen Wu had subtly deepened the shadows around her eyes and given her a soft, smoky effect, adding an almost ethereal depth to her gaze. Her nose bridge looked sharper, her features more refined.

People had always said Cen Wu was cold and arrogant, incapable of listening to others.

But standing before her now, brush in hand, was someone who, in a single stroke, could transform a face—not with harsh, heavy lines, but with understanding.

Cen Wu thought his past life was far behind him, but seeing Xu Lingling being so obedient, he realized he hadn’t changed at all.

After the rehearsal ended, those who wanted to continue practicing could do so, but since it was already mealtime, Zhou Wenqing urged them to eat first.

Zhou Wenqing had a pale and delicate appearance, wore glasses, and took care of everything in class. In private, many people called him “Mom.”

Zhou Wenqing and Xu Lingling were in charge of the evening performance, and at noon, they also went to buy lunch. When they returned with the boxed meals, Xu Lingling first went to the girls in class.

“Dinner’s ready, sisters!” she called out.

Then she went to find Cen Wu and Xie Guilan, handing them a portion of sweet and sour pork ribs. “Second Young Master, Brother Xie, this is for you two.”

Lastly, she went to the other boys in class. With a blank expression, she tossed the boxes onto the ground without handing them over.

“Hmph, come eat.”

The boys: “……”

All because they didn’t deserve it.

To broadcast the evening gala, the school had even set up a few camera cranes. After finishing his meal, Cen Wu went to check their positions.

Lu Wang trotted after him, scratching his head blankly. “What are you doing?”

“You… come here,” Cen Wu said.

Lu Wang played the Ugly Duckling looking for its mother. His role only required him to waddle in circles on stage with a duck tail. Since the stage was empty, Cen Wu turned on a few spotlights and told him to spin.

Lu Wang was obedient—the type that, if Cen Wu didn’t tell him to stop, he would keep spinning until he dropped from exhaustion.

Cen Wu recorded over ten takes before finally being satisfied. Then, he beckoned to Xu Lingling, “You too, come here.”

Xu Lingling played a crucial scene from《The Phantom of the Opera》, but Cen Wu didn’t ask her to perform everything—just the part where the female lead runs forward and looks back.

Xu Lingling lifted her skirt and ran through the scene dozens of times before Cen Wu finally nodded. His features were strikingly cool, and under the dim stage lights, his deep-set eyes gleamed with a cold luster. Whenever he filmed, his craving for a cigarette flared up. Unconsciously, he bit his lip, his thin red lips tinged with a hint of blood.

Lu Wang no longer felt like an Ugly Duckling—he was probably more like a quail. Cen Wu’s frosty expression made him too scared to speak.

It wasn’t until Xie Guilan approached and pressed his thumb against Cen Wu’s lips, stopping him from biting down, that Cen Wu froze. When his gaze met Xie Guilan’s, he suddenly snapped out of it, his whole demeanor shifting into something fragile and hesitant.

Cen Wu took the finished tape and switched to a new one. Since another class was about to rehearse, he didn’t hog the stage and followed Xie Guilan and the others backstage.

Cen Wu hadn’t said much the entire time. For some reason, this made Xie Guilan anxious. Occasionally, Cen Wu would glance at him with an almost distant, gentle gaze, giving him an inexplicable ache—like the sorrow of an impending farewell.

Xie Guilan didn’t really understand Cen Wu. He only knew that Cen Wu liked anything cat-themed and everything that tasted like lychee.

Beyond that, he knew nothing.

Like now—Cen Wu wasn’t speaking, and he had no idea why.

Holding the recorded tape, Cen Wu habitually took out his phone to send a message, only to remember that he couldn’t send anything anymore.

Honestly, whether he had traveled into this novel’s world or not made no difference to him. He hadn’t gone out much in his past life either. This life would probably be the same. The only thing that unsettled him was the handful of accounts he could no longer find.

That night when his parents left home, he had actually wanted to go with them. But he knew he wouldn’t be of any help—he’d only be a burden. His mother had held him at the door for a long time, stroking his head as she said:

“Mommy will come back for you very soon.”

“Our Wu-Wu doesn’t have to be brave. If you miss Mommy and Daddy, just give us a call.”

“Mommy will always be here.”

Cen Wu later developed a habit. After finishing a recording, he would send them a message. Seeing that “Mommy’s here” reply always tormented him, but next time, he still couldn’t resist sending another.

Now that he was forced to stop, he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Backstage, multiple classes squeezed together in a noisy jumble. Once the first-years finished their rehearsal, it would be time for the final chorus rehearsal, but there was still over half an hour to go.

Cen Wu’s costume was tight, making him inexplicably drowsy. There was only a worn-out sofa backstage, and no matter how he tried to sleep, he couldn’t get comfortable.

Xie Guilan lifted the hem of Cen Wu’s skirt, then sat down beside him. “Young Master, you can lean on me to sleep.”

Cen Wu hesitated. Many people were napping backstage, and some boys were even huddled together on a single couch.

But he wasn’t sure if it was the embarrassment of wearing a skirt or if Xie Guilan was just acting weird—when he leaned against Xie Guilan’s shoulder for a second, his scalp tingled, and he immediately sat up again.

What the hell.

A straight guy, slightly bent.

“F-forget it,” Cen Wu muttered, the tips of his snow-white ears tinged red. “I’m not that sleepy.”

Xie Guilan lowered his eyes, his voice carrying a hint of lazy disappointment as he murmured, “We’ve already kissed, and you’re still being distant.”

“Who kissed you—?!” Cen Wu’s fur bristled. There were a lot of people backstage, and his face turned crimson at the thought of anyone overhearing. Panicked, he reached out to cover Xie Guilan’s mouth.

Besides, when had he ever kissed Xie Guilan?! Did this dead-straight guy secretly kiss him while he was unaware?!

Cen Wu felt like he was going insane.

Xie Guilan’s lips curved slightly. He didn’t have a poker card in hand, but he grabbed a rolled-up script, placing it between them. Then, suddenly, he leaned in.

Cen Wu’s legs nearly gave out.

His mind flashed back to that night at Blue Night when Xie Guilan had kissed him.

Blushing, Cen Wu pushed him away, unsure what had gotten into Xie Guilan all of a sudden. But no matter how hard he shoved, Xie Guilan wouldn’t budge. Getting flustered and frustrated, Cen Wu lifted his skirt and stomped on Xie Guilan’s foot.

But Xie Guilan just caught him by the back of the knee and pulled him in closer.

With his palm cradling the back of Cen Wu’s head, he pressed him against his shoulder. “Sleep.”

Cen Wu wanted to struggle, but exhaustion took over. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep against Xie Guilan.

Backstage, most people had dozed off. Only a few were still reciting lines.

When Guan Hangxue arrived, she saw Cen Wu and Xie Guilan squeezed together on the couch.

Xie Guilan had also fallen asleep, holding Cen Wu’s hand.

But Cen Wu was fast asleep and unaware. His skirt hid their interlocked fingers, so Guan Hangxue didn’t notice either.

The Cen family had donated this auditorium to the school, so they could come and go as they pleased. That evening, Guan Xingxue passed by Huaijing No. 1 High School and, on a whim, decided to watch Cen Wu’s rehearsal.

She saw Cen Wu directing Lu Wang and the others. Sitting in the back row, she watched for a long time, unnoticed by him.

She had always been reluctant to admit it, but Cen Wu had indeed changed. No matter how well he pretended, she couldn’t fail to recognize the child she had spent every day with.

She had even considered the possibility of dissociative identity disorder. She wanted to ask him, but she could never bring herself to do it. Every time their eyes met, Cen Wu’s gaze held a quiet apprehension—like a lost child who couldn’t find his way home.

Guan Xingxue reached out and gently touched Cen Wu’s sleep-flushed cheek. Then, she picked up the nearby blanket and draped it over him.

Xie Guilan was sleeping next to him. Guan Xingxue hesitated for a moment before pulling up the blanket to cover him as well.