Resisting Arranged Marriages: Starting with Myself - Chapter 3

The production team moved quickly. From the moment they invited Le Xiao and Ye Jiming to join until the official start of filming, only a single week had passed.

The night before recording began, Le Xiao was lying upside down on his sofa. His face was covered by an A4 sheet of paper filled with Ye Jiming’s personal information as he blew out a breath in boredom. The paper fluttered up, revealing half of a lazy-looking face.

“Xiao Xiao, have you memorized the information on that paper?” Xiang Nan asked from the side.

“I’ve recited it a hundred times,” he drawled. “I know it by heart already.”

“It is good that you’ve mastered it. Filming starts tomorrow, and the interviewers might ask these questions. If you do not know the answers, we will be exposed,” Xiang Nan said.

“Alright, it is about time to head out.”

The production of The Weaver’s Heart was officially commencing tomorrow. To prevent the crew from performing a surprise inspection of the couple’s “love nest,” Le Xiao had to move into Ye Jiming’s home tonight to create the illusion of a long-term cohabitation. This was despite the fact that the two had not seen each other since the day they registered their marriage.

Le Xiao’s lifestyle assistant, Gan Tiantian, was in charge of driving. She led Le Xiao and Xiang Nan through the winding turns of Jing’anzhou for ten minutes before finally stopping in front of another villa. It just so happened that Ye Jiming’s private residence was in the same development.

Through the car window, Le Xiao saw Ye Jiming standing on the porch, waiting to welcome them personally. Perhaps he was still stewing over Ye Jiming posting their marriage certificate online, or perhaps he was committed to playing his “diva” persona to the end, but the moment Le Xiao stepped out of the car, he walked straight into the house as if it were his own. He did not give the man at the door so much as a glance.

The gentle smile on Ye Jiming’s face froze for a split second before immediately returning to normal as he followed Le Xiao inside. After getting things settled, Xiang Nan and the assistant departed, leaving only Le Xiao and Ye Jiming in the massive villa.

Le Xiao hung his head, awkwardly unsure of what to do. He felt his gland acting up again, and the temperature at the back of his neck rising faintly. Suddenly, his hand was taken. Ye Jiming held his fingertips lightly, his movements as soft as if he were handling precious porcelain, and led him toward the sofa.

“Xiao Xiao, I am sorry,” he said with a bitter smile. He watched Le Xiao, who looked like an uneasy small animal, lowering his eyes and slowly pulling his hand away to scoot further off. “I should not have ignored your wishes and posted the marriage certificate online. I am sorry for causing you trouble.”

Seemingly caught off guard by this apology, Le Xiao’s movements paused. He looked up in surprise, seeing only a pair of sincere eyes behind thin lenses. His heart gave a tiny stir. Le Xiao was almost seduced by this show of weakness and contrition, nearly letting his fake “spoiled diva” persona crumble. Fortunately, at the last second, he remembered his mission. He quickly stiffened his expression and let out a cold “Hmph” as a response.

Ye Jiming seemed to sense this subtle shift and took his hand again, holding it a bit tighter this time. Warmth radiated continuously from the large palm to his skin. Le Xiao felt that patch of skin, along with the gland at the back of his neck, begin to burn.

He quickly changed the subject: “Are you not going to pack your luggage yet?”

The crew had booked flights for them early the next morning to fly directly to the filming location. Tonight was their only time left to pack.

“Okay.” Seeing Le Xiao’s “tough front” act, looking very much like a kitten with its fur standing on end, Ye Jiming could not help but smile.

Le Xiao followed behind Ye Jiming into the third-floor master bedroom. The luggage had already been neatly organized by Gan Tiantian. His frequently worn clothes occupied half of the master bedroom’s wardrobe; the other half belonged to Ye Jiming. One side was casual and relaxed, the other was filled with suits and leather shoes. The boundary was clear. He only needed to pick out a few outfits to wear during filming.

Two 28-inch suitcases were spread out on the floor. The solid black suitcase was clean and sleek, with clothes folded into categories with such precision it was a dream for someone with obsessive-compulsive disorder. On the other side, the white suitcase was covered in a dizzying array of stickers on every possible corner. The interior was even more spectacular: clothes were piled into a mountain, tangled together in a mess that defied logic.

Le Xiao grabbed one last pile of clothes from the wardrobe, threw them into the suitcase, and shouted, “I am exhausted!”

With that, he used brute force to slam the suitcase shut, ignoring the fabric bulging from the seams. He sat on the lid and pulled the zipper with all his might, somehow managing to stuff everything inside. He truly did not understand. He did not feel like he was bringing that many clothes, yet the suitcase was always bursting.

Once the suitcase was finally closed, he sat on it and absentmindedly scrolled through his phone, catching Ye Jiming’s movements out of the corner of his eye. Ye Jiming was placing suppressants into his suitcase, along with rows of neat, white tin boxes that seemed to contain injectable vials.

Le Xiao’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You use that many?”

Common suppressants on the market come in three types: short-acting, medium-acting, and long-acting. The shortest lasts six hours, medium lasts 12, and long-acting lasts 24. For Le Xiao, if work coincided with his heat, he usually just injected a long-acting one; a few vials were more than enough.

“Better safe than sorry,” Ye Jiming smiled, offering no further explanation. Le Xiao stared at the mysterious white tin boxes and pursed his lips. Thinking of his “difficult” persona, he reached out recklessly and opened one. “What is this?”

Inside lay several small, exquisitely packaged vials. They looked nothing like the suppressants he had seen on the market. The liquid inside was a pale blue, shimmering with a faint glow like precious sapphires, or like the “blue tears” of bioluminescent plankton flickering by the sea at night.

“Xiao Xiao, do not be naughty,” Ye Jiming said, not at all annoyed. He coaxed him as if he were a child. “These are health supplements.”

“Supplements?” Le Xiao raised an eyebrow and said pointedly, “You have already reached the age where you need supplements?”

Ye Jiming’s eyes crinkled with laughter. He still was not angry; he simply stood up and ruffled Le Xiao’s hair. “I am indeed not as young as you anymore, Xiao Xiao.”

Le Xiao lost interest in the mysterious “supplements,” feeling that Ye Jiming was just being vague. Too lazy to ask more, he snapped the lid shut and tossed the tin box back into Ye Jiming’s suitcase.

By the time they finished packing, it was late at night. The two suitcases, one black and one white, stood quietly by the bedroom door. The solid black one was minimalist and professional, looking like it could be used for a luggage advertisement. The white one was plastered with gaudy stickers and bulging so much it looked like a bomb about to go off. Ye Jiming chuckled at the contrast and carried both suitcases downstairs.

Since they had a flight to catch early the next morning, they turned in early. Le Xiao finished washing up in the master bathroom and climbed into bed, huddling in the corner of the mattress like a small animal that had accidentally wandered into someone else’s territory.

The click of the bathroom door lock signaled Ye Jiming’s return. Le Xiao looked over. The mature, handsome Alpha was wearing black silk pajamas, drying his wet hair with a towel. A drop of water rolled down his cheek, paused at his sharp jawline, slid past his slightly protruding Adam’s apple and well-defined collarbone, and disappeared into his collar, leaving a dark wet patch.

Le Xiao looked at the Alpha’s tall, lean physique and the forbidden allure of the silk pajamas, then looked down at his own outfit: cotton pajamas printed with colorful cartoon bears. They were completely out of place. He quickly ducked under the covers, leaving only his eyes exposed, and turned his back to Ye Jiming.

Ye Jiming, having dried his hair, noticed and asked, “Ready for sleep?”

“Mm,” Le Xiao’s voice was muffled by the pillow.

The bed rustled as Ye Jiming lifted the covers and got in. “Goodnight,” he said, turning off the light.

Le Xiao was too nervous to even turn around, his body curled up and stiff. In the darkness, all senses beyond sight were magnified. He could hear Ye Jiming’s even breathing, smell the continuous, deep scent of cedarwood, and even feel the slightly higher body temperature coming from the man beside him. The physical warmth felt like an invisible cage, locking him in. No matter how he moved, he could not escape the heat emanating from behind him.

His gland began to act up again, but it was not a dull ache. It was a dense, prickling itch he had never experienced before. It felt as if someone were constantly teasing his gland with a feather. The itchy sensation spread like ripples, stirring him again and again. He tried to reach back to scratch it, but it was useless. He could only toss and turn quietly, trying to alleviate the feeling while worrying about disturbing Ye Jiming.

The bedside lamp suddenly clicked on. “Cannot sleep?” The soft light hit Ye Jiming’s face, casting warm shadows. Without his glasses, his vision seemed poor; his eyes were slightly narrowed and out of focus, making him appear unexpectedly gentler.

“Mm,” Le Xiao said, though he did not mention the strange sensation in his gland.

Ye Jiming assumed he was just having trouble adjusting to a new bed. “Be good, close your eyes and do not move. You will fall asleep soon.” With that, he turned the light off again.

In the dark, Le Xiao kept his eyes closed and tried to regulate his breathing. He listened to the rhythm of Ye Jiming’s breaths and tried to match them. The scent of cedarwood seemed to grow richer, wrapping around him like a gentle river. He felt like a small boat drifting on that water, swaying along with the current, drifting further into the river’s embrace. The itch in his gland gradually receded like a tide until it vanished.

He actually fell asleep without realizing it. In his dreams, there were towering pines covered in white snow. A small log cabin stood in the clearing, and the crackling wood in the fireplace lit the room, making it as warm as spring.

Hearing Le Xiao’s breathing turn slow and steady, Ye Jiming opened his eyes in the darkness. He traced the sleeping face with his gaze over and over, yet he did not withdraw the pheromones he was intentionally releasing. The smile and love in his eyes were nearly overflowing. He inhaled the faint, clean scent of mint, which was Le Xiao’s unconsciously released pheromones, with an almost obsessive intensity.

A familiar heat surged, spreading from his gland to his limbs until his very blood felt like it was boiling. This was followed by a sharp pain in his gland; the organ felt as if it had a life of its own, pulsing with a burning agony. He leaned quietly against the headboard, eyes closed, trying to fight the heat and pain through breathing.

However, after dozens of deep breaths, the boiling heat did not subside. The minty scent filling the room only added fuel to the fire, clawing away at his final shred of rationality. This feeling was all too familiar. Over the past decade, this unbearable heat and pain had become frequent uninvited guests in the night. He was used to it, and he knew how to handle it.

But tonight, the Le Xiao beside him was the ultimate variable. The sharp, fresh scent of mint was like a willful kitten’s claws, plucking at the last string of his sanity. His heavy breathing seemed to disturb Le Xiao, who turned over and let out an unconscious hum, the scent of his pheromones doubling in intensity.

Seeing that the string was about to snap, Ye Jiming flipped out of bed as fast as possible. He grabbed a white tin box from the drawer and fled into the bathroom as if running for his life. In the darkness, he took out a vial. The pale blue liquid shimmered. With trembling hands, he tore open the packaging and plunged the needle into his gland without hesitation.

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