Chapter 100
This year, Orlanto’s summer collection was ambitious.
They had hired a rising international designer, meticulously planned a concept, and had been preparing for months. The search for a brand ambassador had started three months prior, sifting through international supermodels and major A-listers, yet none had been finalized.
Orlanto was a true blue-blood aristocrat among luxury brands, but in recent years, it had been criticized for being too set in its ways. The new designer was bold and decisive, driven solely by inspiration rather than convention. The choice, which should have been settled by the end of May, had dragged on until mid-June—until they saw Fang Huai.
*
1:30 PM
“Has he arrived?” The photographer checked the time. The shoot was scheduled for 2:30 PM, but Fang Huai would need time for makeup and discussions.
“He’s here,” the assistant wiped sweat from his forehead, hesitating before awkwardly adding, “but… he’s at the entrance…”
Fang Huai was outside—arguing with his boyfriend.
Or perhaps, arguing wasn’t the right word.
Last night, Fang Huai had stayed up late discussing the campaign with Orlanto’s team. He had caught a chill and woken up with a mild fever. Ye Yuyuan believed the endorsement should be postponed, but Fang Huai thought a slight fever wasn’t a big deal. That disagreement had led to a standoff.
“But this is my job.” Fang Huai leaned against the Maybach’s window, lowering his head as he tried to explain to the man in the driver’s seat. “We finalized this ages ago. Everyone’s already prepared.”
Ye Yuyuan was silent for a moment. He reached out to feel Fang Huai’s forehead, his brows furrowing even tighter.
“This is my job too,” Ye Yuyuan said calmly, rubbing his cufflink with his index finger. “Get in the car.”
“What job?” Fang Huai found it absurd.
It was almost midsummer. The sky was a brilliant blue, and the afternoon streets were nearly empty, save for Orlanto staff moving back and forth. Many of them couldn’t help but glance at the strikingly attractive couple.
Five minutes later.
The car door shut with a crisp snap. Fang Huai and Ye Yuyuan walked into the revolving glass doors one after the other, their gazes never meeting, as if they were just two strangers who happened to be going the same way.
“This is…?” The assistant handling the shoot wiped his forehead nervously and glanced at Ye Yuyuan.
If he wasn’t mistaken, this man was… the investor.
Neither of them spoke, simply watching their reflections in the elevator’s mirrored walls.
Ye Yuyuan: “Family.”
“…”
Half a minute later, Fang Huai muttered under his breath, “Family.”
Even with a low-grade fever, Fang Huai quickly shifted into work mode. He went to makeup to change into his first outfit, discussing concepts with the photographer as he got ready.
Since his debut, whether for music videos, acting, or endorsements, Fang Huai had always worn minimal makeup. His features were unique—youthful, like a mountain breeze. Heavy makeup would only dull that natural energy.
The entire summer campaign was themed around the East. If it were to be captured through scent, it would be amber, sandalwood, and laurel leaves interwoven into the warm summer night breeze, drifting into the dreams of July.
The first outfit closely resembled his promotional shoot for Interpretation—a modernized Song dynasty robe. Fang Huai had two books tucked into his sleeves, a calligraphy brush clamped between his lips, and a jade earring glinting on his ear as he leaned drowsily against a pile of books.
This shoot was mainly for the earring. The piece blended seamlessly with Fang Huai’s entire look—not effeminate, but rather elegant and effortlessly handsome.
Because Fang Huai’s family member—also known as the investor—was sitting nearby watching, everyone treaded carefully. Even the usually hot-tempered photographer was noticeably restrained.
Ye Yuyuan didn’t say much. He just… watched.
Working with Fang Huai was a comfortable experience. Unlike many who thought too highly of themselves, refusing this or that, he was incredibly professional and dedicated. The photographer didn’t even realize Fang Huai had a low-grade fever until an hour into the shoot.
The fever was stubborn and wouldn’t go away. Ye Yuyuan had been keeping an eye on him all day, but it kept coming back.
They continued with two or three more outfits, each with a different theme. One had Fang Huai as a young man in a suit, lost in a foreign metropolis; another was inspired by South Asian aesthetics. Thanks to Fang Huai’s full cooperation, the shoot progressed smoothly. Just as they were about to wrap up, the photographer had an idea:
“Fang Huai, do you want to shoot a set with someone else?”
They had already completed their main objectives. The dynamic of a solo shoot was different from a duo—some people naturally excelled in interacting with others, and the results could be surprisingly effective.
“If you’re interested, I know a few models in this building,” the photographer said after consulting with the designer, pulling out his phone. “Hmm… should we get a male or female model?”
The designer leaned toward a female model. Fang Huai’s youthful yet striking features would pair well with either a delicate girl or a powerful, confident woman. Finding a male model, however, was trickier—someone with a similar aura or the right chemistry with Fang Huai wasn’t easy to come by.
During the break, Fang Huai was feeling a little tired, sitting back while waiting for his boyfriend to feed him water and snacks.
Ye Yuyuan had been watching Fang Huai all afternoon, never once looking bored. Fang Huai, in turn, glanced at Ye Yuyuan—his sleeves rolled up, his broad shoulders and back flexing as he leaned forward, an unexpectedly attractive sight. A sudden thought popped into Fang Huai’s head:
“Does it have to be a model?”
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
Designer and photographer: “…………”
Everyone else: “?”
“This isn’t a good idea,” Shi Feiran immediately objected. “Not a good idea at all. I don’t recommend this.”
The photographer and designer, however, quickly started discussing it. Eventually, they reached a conclusion.
The photographer said, “I don’t have a problem with it, but he might not agree.”
“Oh,” Fang Huai raised an eyebrow and turned to Ye Yuyuan. “Teacher Ye, would you be willing?”
Thirty minutes later.
Shi Feiran anxiously paced back and forth. He had completely lost control of Fang Huai. Now was definitely not the best time to go public… The only saving grace was that this shoot might never be released, and the summer collection wouldn’t officially be announced for another month.
In the dressing room, Ye Yuyuan gently smoothed Fang Huai’s hair.
“Huaihuai,” he murmured, lowering his gaze. “What are you thinking?”
About taking on this endorsement.
Fang Huai replied, “Nothing in particular. I just wanted to take a picture with you. We’ve never had a proper photo together.”
It was true—they had been together for so long, yet never taken a serious photo together.
But there was another thought in Fang Huai’s mind—this was a rehearsal for their wedding photos.
He was certain they would look perfect together on camera. He didn’t want to wait until the wedding; he wanted to see it now.
Ye Yuyuan had done magazine shoots before, so he wasn’t completely inexperienced. But his previous shoots were nothing like this.
The photographer, feeling creative, decided not to dress them in matching outfits. Typically, in duo shoots, both models would wear similar styles for a cohesive look.
Instead, they dressed Ye Yuyuan in a sharp suit while Fang Huai wore the same Tang-style outfit from his first solo shoot, complete with a small braid tied at the back. As they changed, the staff whispered among themselves:
“President Ye and Fang Huai have totally different vibes. It’s hard to imagine how this will turn out.”
“I really can’t picture it.”
“President Ye has a strong presence. He might overshadow Fang Huai completely.”
As soon as the two of them stood in front of the camera, all the murmurs gradually faded away. Eventually, the entire space was engulfed in an eerie silence.
It was nearing dusk.
The last trace of lingering heat in the breeze was slowly woven into the golden-red hues of a June evening. The warm natural light streamed in through the windows, casting a glow over the backdrop of old bookshelves and scattered objects.
The shoot hadn’t even officially started yet. Fang Huai stood with his back to Ye Yuyuan, letting him straighten the collar at the back of his outfit. The young man, half-lidded eyes drowsy, had a clear, gentle sheen in his gaze. Behind him, Ye Yuyuan was quiet and restrained, his sharp edges softened, his lowered eyes painted in muted, warm tones.
Standing together, they exuded a unique kind of magnetism.
Familiar and intimate, yet not overly exaggerated or saccharine—fundamentally different from a deliberately staged romance.
The stars burned bright, the wind whispered on, crossing mountains and seas.
The photographer didn’t even have time to carefully adjust the settings or search for the perfect angle—on instinct, they pressed the shutter, capturing the moment in a single frame.
The entire shoot was completed in an unusually quiet atmosphere.
There was barely any need for detailed direction—just a simple explanation of the concept. Ye Yuyuan was significantly taller than Fang Huai, and their styles were starkly different, yet the contrast created an undeniable tension, bridging the gap between time and aesthetics.
There were no overly intimate or bold poses, yet even the simplest gestures, when frozen in a photograph, felt… enough to make someone’s face heat up.
After finishing this set, the photographer was still unsatisfied and eagerly requested another. This time, Fang Huai switched into a suit—single button fastened, bowtie neatly in place—exuding an effortless, youthful charm. Meanwhile, Ye Yuyuan changed into traditional Tang attire.
Fang Huai had never seen Ye Yuyuan wear this style before.
When the dressing room door opened, Fang Huai was momentarily dazed. Fleeting fragments of memory flashed through his mind, and suddenly, his heartbeat quickened.
“You look good,” Fang Huai said as he followed Ye Yuyuan out. “Really good. Baby, can I kiss you?”
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
His index finger twitched slightly before he halted his steps.
Fang Huai almost bumped into him. Ye Yuyuan turned slightly, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. The tips of his ears reddened as he lowered his head and kissed him briefly.
“You can.” He pressed his lips together, speaking softly.
Fang Huai: “…” I was joking.
Simply swapping their outfits had changed the entire dynamic between them once again.
Fang Huai’s outfit gave off the impression of a Chinese youth working in an old bookstore abroad, while Ye Yuyuan, on the other hand, had an entirely different aura. His natural demeanor was cold and sharp, but the carefully designed and modernized Tang suit transformed him into a refined gentleman, as elegant as jade.
The photographer tapped his chin.
“Fang Huai, any ideas?”
“No ideas. Everything looks great.” Fang Huai replied swiftly.
Photographer: “…” His survival instincts are too strong.
Fang Huai thought for a moment, then suddenly had a stroke of inspiration. He asked a staff member for a brush, dipped it in cinnabar paint, and lightly dotted a mark at the corner of Ye Yuyuan’s eye—like a natural tear mole. His originally indifferent features now carried a hint of charming allure.
Ye Yuyuan remained silent, letting Fang Huai do as he pleased. Fang Huai found this incredibly amusing—after all, Ye Yuyuan was usually the one helping him change clothes and fix his hair. This was probably the first time the roles were reversed, and he immediately felt a surge of pride.
After some thought, Fang Huai picked up Ye Yuyuan’s gold-rimmed glasses and put them on him.
The moment he did, he was stunned.
The photographer let out a sharp breath.
How should one put it… It was just too good.
Ye Yuyuan, with his sleeves slightly gathered, gazed at the camera with a calm, indifferent look. His natural aura, now tempered by the outfit, the tear mole, and the glasses, exuded an elegant and striking charm. When he nodded slightly, he looked like a figure straight out of a traditional Chinese painting or a meticulously sculpted statue.
Ye Yuyuan: “Hmm?”
The photographer snapped out of his daze, his mind instantly constructing countless potential compositions. They could create a contrast between the two sets of outfits… or frame Fang Huai and Ye Yuyuan on opposite sides for added tension… or—
Ideas flooded his mind as he instructed, “Fang Huai, step up onto the staircase. Ye, stay where you are for now. Adjust the lighting.”
The staircase was a spiral wooden one, designed to resemble an old loft from the last century. The entire backdrop was carefully crafted to match. Before the photographer could give further instructions, Fang Huai had already climbed two steps. He looked down at Ye Yuyuan, and suddenly, inspiration struck.
Fang Huai lowered his gaze, leaned down.
Ye Yuyuan, silent, closed his eyes.
The two exchanged a light yet perfectly synchronized kiss.
The lighting team hadn’t even finished adjusting. The evening light was dimming, casting a soft, shadowed glow over the space—like a century-old love poem, written on yellowed parchment.
Photographer: “…”
Staff: “…”
The photographer instinctively pressed the shutter.
At that moment, he had no idea that this casually captured photograph would later win him numerous international awards, be featured in countless magazines and newspapers—
And, for many years to come, remain a story people would never stop talking about.
