Chapter 46 – The Senile Madam

Wei Lai ruffled Chu Yin’s hair and said, “You’re just perfectly my type. Saying that means you’re the one who’s crooked, no?”

Chu Yin tilted his head away, refusing to let Wei Lai touch him, and silently put on his clothes. “Hmph.”

“I’m exhausted. I have things to do this afternoon.” Wei Lai, who hadn’t slept all night, decided to lie down and catch up on sleep. “Take Orunju for a walk, alright? And don’t forget to eat breakfast.”

Chu Yin gave a noncommittal “Mm” and, before closing the door, enunciated very clearly, “Wei Lai.”

Wei Lai peacefully tucked himself under the blanket, put on his sleep mask, and drifted off drowsily. “…Hm?”

Chu Yin paused, then said in a tone that was deceptively light but carried a faint undercurrent of menace, “Yesterday was my birthday.”

Click.

The door closed softly. Wei Lai lay there with his eyes closed, digesting those words for a good ten seconds before bolting upright, his eyes wide as saucers, his mind suddenly as clear as if struck by lightning.

“FUCK!”

Wei Lai threw off the blanket like he was flinging open a coffin lid, didn’t even bother with shoes, and “thud-thud-thud” rushed out the door.

The house was empty.

The spacious home was devoid of meows, devoid of Chu Yin tinkering with his instruments—so quiet it was unsettling.

Wei Lai called Chu Yin, but the line kept ringing. Suddenly, he realized: he’d been blocked.

Luckily, Wei Lai had three phones.

He pulled out his work phone and frantically sent Chu Yin texts.

—”Chu Yin, last year you said you didn’t know your actual birth year, so we went with the one on your ID. Today isn’t your birthday! Where the hell are you???”

After a long wait, Chu Yin finally replied—”That’s not it.”

Wei Lai: “Then what is it???”

Chu Yin: “Figure it out yourself!”

Wei Lai: “…”

Dazed, Wei Lai wandered into the bathroom, slapped on a mint face mask, and sat stroking his leg hair in deep thought.

A minute later, a glimmer of understanding dawned on him.

After the filming of My Idol at Home wrapped, Wei Lai and Chu Yin had stayed in Australia for a few more days.

Back when Chu Yin was with Chen Meixian, he’d been worked nonstop, and even during rare breaks, he’d just hole up at home. But Wei Lai had done thorough research and took Chu Yin to Lake MacDonnell in South Australia.

Chu Yin, heavy-hearted, assumed Wei Lai was driving to the airport and sat in the passenger seat with an air of indifference—until he caught sight of the pink-purple salt lake and suddenly perked up.

Under the bright sun, a straight orange landmass split the view in two: one half a delicate pink-purple, the other a cool mint-green, like stepping into a macaron wonderland.

Wei Lai parked and said, “Come on, get out and take some photos for me.”

Chu Yin said coldly, “Posthumous portraits?”

Wei Lai: “What, you planning to drown me?”

Grudgingly, Chu Yin got out of the car and took Wei Lai’s phone to snap pictures.

Wei Lai had very influencer taste when it came to photos.

He refused to take ordinary tourist shots—everything had to be high-end. Side profile shots with vast skies and pink lakes, his sharp nose and long lashes perfectly framed; back shots with legs looking two meters long, walking down an endless road flanked by rainbow-cake waters.

But Chu Yin was someone who never took photos. He knew how to pose and had a natural sense for the camera, but his photography skills were painfully basic—the kind of guy who, when taking selfies, always aimed the lens straight at his chin.

After snapping away for a while, Wei Lai remained unsatisfied, while Chu Yin’s gaze grew increasingly murderous—like he was indeed taking posthumous portraits. In the end, Wei Lai had no choice but to pull out a selfie stick and do it himself.

“Alright, alright, let’s take a sisterly selfie!”

Wei Lai slung an arm around Chu Yin’s shoulders. “I’ll stand at the back—makes your face look smaller.”

Chu Yin kept a stony expression, folding four fingers and curling his thumb to half-heartedly flash half a heart at the camera. Meanwhile, Wei Lai grinned brightly, giving a thumbs-up.

The resulting photo was painfully awkward.

Wei Lai’s heart skipped a beat as he remembered that Chu Yin’s phone passcode was his own birthday. Tentatively, he said, “Your phone probably has better resolution. Let me take some for you—you can post them on Weibo.”

Chu Yin went, “Oh,” and handed his phone over.

Wei Lai asked, “…What’s the passcode again?”

Chu Yin answered without hesitation: “123456.”

Wei Lai: “…” Wait, wasn’t it my birthday?

He typed in ‘123456’—and the phone unlocked.

Wei Lai froze, a strange feeling washing over him—somewhere between disappointment and relief.

Chu Yin said, “The camera’s in the bottom right.”

Taking photos of Chu Yin went much smoother. One knew how to shoot, the other how to pose. As he snapped away, Wei Lai couldn’t help but tease, “Look at the crap you took of me earlier. If I weren’t this good-looking, who could pull that off?”

Chu Yin said coolly, “Me.”

Wei Lai: “…Bitch, have some shame.”

Chu Yin turned his head away, and Wei Lai said, “Hey, I’ll give you a present. Stop sulking, alright?”

Chu Yin said stiffly, “This is just my face. I’m not sulking.”

Wei Lai pulled a red-braided anklet from his pocket, threaded with a jade-carved protective charm.

“Here,” he said. “A gift.”

Chu Yin stood frozen for a moment before saying, “People only give gifts on birthdays. I don’t want it.”

Wei Lai: “Then pretend today is your birthday. Who says you can only celebrate once a year? You can have two!”

Chu Yin thought to himself: Just like in movies, where parents take their kid out for fun before abandoning them—so they can leave with a clear conscience.

Softly, he murmured, “But… you don’t owe me anything.”

Wei Lai: “Huh???”

Chu Yin took the anklet, his eyes reddening. “Thank you.”

Wei Lai: “No, no, don’t get too emotional—it wasn’t expensive!”

Chu Yin clenched the charm in his hand, convinced this was Wei Lai’s farewell gift, and said hoarsely, “If today is my birthday… can you give me one every year from now on?”

Wei Lai: “Sure!”

Six years later, Wei Lai sat on the sofa, stroking his leg hair, and thought: Life is full of pitfalls.

How did Chu Yin’s memory become so exceptional in this one regard?