Shoutout to Kari for the commission!
The game released by Zhou Shirui’s studio became a huge hit within just a few months.
As its fame grew, so did the workload.
Le Cheng’s work accounts on every platform gained hundreds of thousands of followers, and quite a few teams even reached out to recruit him.
But Le Cheng rejected them all, saying that he didn’t like work that made him feel constrained.
Before he and Zhou Shirui were dating, Zhou Shirui had wanted him to join the studio. But after they actually started dating, he instead no longer had that idea.
Le Cheng happened to ask him about it one day, and Zhou Shirui’s reason was: “It’s too tiring, and it would limit your imagination.”
Le Cheng’s talent had a much higher ceiling than this. Repetitive work done for a specific purpose would wear away a person’s creativity and inspiration. Zhou Shirui thought that he shouldn’t selfishly clip Le Cheng’s wings.
In the end, though, Le Cheng still joined the studio during his junior year, in a rather unusual way. They used a revenue-sharing arrangement, essentially making him an inspiration consultant. He participated in the creation of the characters, style, and elements during the early stages of game development, but he wasn’t the lead artist. The studio expanded twice within just one year, and the office grew larger and larger.
So when they were particularly busy, Le Cheng and Zhou Shirui would each work at opposite ends of the study.
There was more than one study in their flat, but Le Cheng loved curling up together with Zhou Shirui. Zhou Shirui liked it too. He especially liked having Le Cheng within sight whenever he turned his head, which gave him a sense of peace and satisfaction. It also allowed him to supervise Le Cheng’s water intake.
As inspiration-driven creators, Le Cheng and Zhou Shirui had different ways of working from those who followed fixed schedules and completed tasks with high efficiency. Sometimes, when they were taking a break and getting intimate, inspiration would suddenly strike. One second, Le Cheng would still be sitting on his lap, and the next, his arms would be empty, with only his fluffy, round head disappearing into the distance as he called while jogging away, “I need to write down this inspiration! Wait for me!”
This was something Zhou Shirui could still tolerate.
Occasionally, when they were already overwhelmed with desire and things were about to happen, Zhou Shirui would suddenly feel the person beneath him fidgeting restlessly. He would slightly raise his eyes and see Le Cheng desperately reaching for the tablet beside them, his fingers stretched taut, his hair all mussed up. He would push Zhou Shirui away slightly while saying, “Give me three minutes. I just need to write it down. Just a second!”
When Le Cheng quickly finished recording his inspiration without wasting any time and turned around to see Zhou Shirui right beside him, his clothes half-open and his handsome face cold and expressionless, he could somehow detect a trace of resentment in his expression.
At times like this, Le Cheng would guiltily purse his lips into a smile, straddle his thigh, lower his head to peck his lips, and apologize while rubbing his cheek against him like a little dog. He would very unconvincingly promise, “It definitely won’t happen next time!”
Zhou Shirui raised his eyelids. “It definitely won’t happen next time?”
Le Cheng paused for a moment, then coughed. “Actually, you can’t be too absolute about these things. Those of us who do creative work have to keep our thinking flexible, right? So, next time this ‘definitely… mm?”
Zhou Shirui reached out with two fingers and pinched his cheeks, squeezing his mouth into a round little O. He stared at him with an amused yet knowing expression. “So that’s what next time this definitely means?”
Le Cheng felt extremely guilty about his own twisted logic, but when inspiration came, there was no stopping it. All he could do was say even more guiltily to Zhou Shirui, “Kiss me.”
It was like a way of shamelessly getting his way. Every time Le Cheng didn’t know what to say, he would do this. But it worked every single time. Zhou Shirui stared at him for two seconds before holding his cheeks and kissing him.
And just like that, the matter was dropped.
But Le Cheng also felt that doing this to Zhou Shirui was rather unfair. So clever as he was, he discovered that his inspiration tended to surge between around eight and ten in the morning and nine and eleven at night. Therefore, whenever those hours came, Le Cheng would reduce his excessive physical contact with Zhou Shirui, greatly improving the situation.
This also meant that he would do his creative work during those hours.
Sometimes Zhou Shirui would go out to work at the studio. Without his supervision, Le Cheng’s drawing posture would always become strange. His butt would wiggle around on the chair as he leaned over the desk. Sometimes he would purse his lips, sometimes slightly part them, and more often, he would bite down on the tiny bit of flesh on the inside of his lower lip.
Le Cheng’s chair had been specially custom-made by Zhou Shirui at considerable expense to help correct his posture. But as soon as Zhou Shirui wasn’t there in front of him, Le Cheng would automatically return to his old ways.
Zhou Shirui opened the door and stepped forward. Without the slightest hesitation, he naturally used his thumb to lift Le Cheng’s chin and his index finger to pry open his teeth and slip inside. His hands had just been washed and were still covered in droplets of water, forcing Le Cheng’s mouth open.
“Don’t bite,” Zhou Shirui said.
Le Cheng lightly bit down on his index finger, blinking his big eyes to indicate that he understood.
Only then did Zhou Shirui pull his hand back and let him sit properly to draw, before turning around to change his clothes.
But Le Cheng could only maintain it for ten or so minutes each time before returning to his old posture.
Zhou Shirui asked him why. Le Cheng had plenty of reasons and explained quite emphatically, “A posture that’s good for my lower back is really bad for my inspiration. When I sit up straight, it feels like I can’t draw anymore.”
Zhou Shirui had never heard such twisted logic before. He was so annoyed that the corner of his lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything.
Le Cheng felt that he might have achieved a temporary victory.
As he had said, sitting crookedly was a habit. Although he knew it wasn’t good, it was difficult to correct once he became absorbed in drawing. He often wanted to change it too, but all his attempts ended in failure.
A day later, Le Cheng was playing a game on the sofa when he heard the door open. He jumped down and scampered over in his slippers to greet him.
Seeing that Zhou Shirui was also carrying a box, Le Cheng tilted his head and asked what it was.
Zhou Shiru: “Yours.”
“Hm?” Le Cheng was surprised. “A gift you bought for me?”
“Sort of.” Zhou Shirui’s answer was rather vague. Le Cheng couldn’t figure it out. He took the box and opened it, and suddenly understood why.
Inside the box was a vest made of soft, breathable fabric, in pure black. Le Cheng stared at it in confusion as he held it up, looking at both the front and back. No matter how he looked at it, it seemed like… one of those posture-correcting braces?
Le Cheng suspected he had seen it wrong and cautiously asked, full of hope, “What is this?”
Zhou Shirui mercilessly answered, “A posture corrector.”
Le Cheng turned around and walked away.
Zhou Shirui reached out and easily caught him. Ignoring Le Cheng’s personal wishes, he insisted that Le Cheng wear it whenever he drew.
Le Cheng couldn’t believe that, as a twenty-year-old adult man, he still had to wear one of these. His face flushed red as he refused. “No, I don’t want to wear this. I’m not even hunched over.”
Influenced by the advertisements he had seen as a child, he stubbornly believed that these were something elementary school students wore.
Zhou Shirui said, “It’s to correct your sitting posture. You have to wear it.”
Before Le Cheng could argue further, Zhou Shirui added, “You’re so serious about supervising me, but when it comes to yourself, you refuse to cooperate?”
Le Cheng was rendered speechless. After stammering for a long while, he muttered, “You’re so annoying,” but still obediently put it on.
The posture corrector accentuated his waist, making it look especially slender, narrow yet supple. Zhou Shirui pulled him into his arms and praised him. “Isn’t it pretty good?”
Le Cheng didn’t say anything.
Zhou Shirui said, “You’ll have to wear it from now on.”
Le Cheng drooped. “Okay.”
But perhaps the posture corrector really did work wonders.
Under Zhou Shirui’s merciless supervision, the brace was so tight that it was difficult for Le Cheng to twist and squirm around as recklessly as before. After wearing it for a long time, he really did correct the habit. The only problem was that he still depended on the brace. After taking it off, he could only manage to sit properly for an hour before reverting to his old ways.
At this point, he became happy and praised himself using the same words he had used to praise Zhou Shirui. “I knew I could do it. If I keep it up a little longer, I’ll be able to completely correct it.”
Zhou Shirui was amused by him and smiled slightly, deliberately asking, “What else?”
“What else?” Le Cheng took a moment to react.
“Mhm,” Zhou Shirui said. “There’s something else.”
Le Cheng looked at him for several seconds, then his eyes curved. He pecked his lips, then kissed his eyes as well, smiling as he said, “Of course I have to thank you too!”
Zhou Shirui said, “Thank who?”
Le Cheng: “You. Thank you.”
Zhou Shirui said, “Okay then.” He lifted his chin slightly, signaling for Le Cheng to take the initiative and kiss him.
So Le Cheng kissed him, gently.
After the kiss, Zhou Shirui went to cook. Le Cheng actually knew that Zhou Shirui wanted him to call him something else, but it always felt too mushy, and he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
After dinner, when they worked together that evening, Le Cheng’s working hours were very flexible. He usually relied on how he felt, so whenever he was distracted, it was easy for his mind to wander. He would put down his stylus and turn his head to look at Zhou Shirui.
He was still working. A faint bluish glow illuminated his sharply defined brows and eyes, making him look cold and serious.
After glancing at the time, Le Cheng really couldn’t resist. He stood up with his cup, pretending to go get some water. He filled it, gulped it down, then returned to his seat, but he couldn’t draw at all.
He had no inspiration anymore and really wanted to poke Zhou Shirui, but seeing how seriously the other person was working made him feel that it wouldn’t be very nice.
After Le Cheng picked up his cup to drink water for the sixth time, Zhou Shirui took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose with his long fingers, and held out a hand toward him. “Chengcheng, come here.”
Le Cheng immediately scampered over. More accurately, he had already been bored for a long time. He straddled Zhou Shirui’s thighs but still pretended to ask, “Are you done working? Why do you suddenly want to hug me?”
Zhou Shirui stroked the back of his neck, where a bone protruded, then rubbed his stomach. He didn’t answer immediately. After a while, he said, “You’ve already drunk so much water.”
Le Cheng pretended not to understand. “Wasn’t it you who told me to drink more?”
Zhou Shirui looked at him. “Mhm. I told you to drink more.”
Le Cheng turned his head toward the screen. He saw a string of things he couldn’t understand. Different professions had different specialties, so he didn’t care. He grabbed Zhou Shirui’s hand, which was resting on his stomach, and after sitting there for a while, asked, “So, are you actually done working or not?”
Zhou Shirui neither said yes nor no. Instead, he asked, “Didn’t you want to come find me?”
Le Cheng had been seen through. He made a few unhappy little noises, reluctant to admit it, as if doing so would make him seem clingy.
After a while, Le Cheng added, “I didn’t wear the posture corrector today, and I didn’t sit crookedly.”
As he said this, his eyes were bright as he looked at Zhou Shirui, making him look especially well-behaved.
Zhou Shirui praised him. “Mhm. You’ve completely corrected it.”
Le Cheng didn’t want to actually disturb his work, so he got down and went to shower by himself first. When he lay in bed, he couldn’t help wondering whether he had simply been too idle lately, which was why he had become so clingy.
Shouldn’t a harmonious relationship between lovers be synchronized on both sides?
He didn’t even know where he had gotten that conclusion from. But as he thought about it, he became unbearably sleepy. By the time Zhou Shirui finished working and returned, Le Cheng was already curled up beneath the blankets, half of his fair face exposed, his thick, long eyelashes gently lowered as he slept soundly.
Zhou Shirui quietly walked over, lifted the blanket, and slowly turned Le Cheng over before gathering him into his arms.
This inevitably disturbed Le Cheng. He didn’t even open his eyes. Zhou Shirui had just finished showering and was warm all over. Le Cheng mumbled something and tried to roll away to the side.
But Zhou Shirui caught him around the waist and pulled him back.
Only then did Le Cheng slightly open his eyes. Still half-asleep and dazed, Zhou Shirui heard him seemingly mumbling something in his sleep. He leaned closer, only to realize that Le Cheng was saying, “Zhou Shirui, you’re so clingy too.”
