Chapter 13 – Thinking of Grinding

Each house had a unique design with vastly different styles. Yu Zhen’s room embraced a pastoral theme with vibrant colors. The living room furniture leaned towards warm orange tones, complementing the flooring. In the corner stood a thriving schefflera plant, while the window curtains were layered—one sheer, one blackout. Entering this room felt like wandering through a forest.

The floor lamp by the sofa was an ironwork piece with a pomelo-shaped shade. This ambient light only illuminated a small area around the sofa and coffee table. The lamp had a tray holding a palm-sized vase with pink artificial tulips.

Yu Zhen didn’t ask his guest to remove their shoes, despite the freshly mopped floor. Observing proper hospitality, he said upon entering, “Let me get you some water.”

Zhou Daosen glanced around the room. He hadn’t paid much attention during his last visit and was surprised by the owner’s refined taste. When offered water, he declined, “No need.”

He was only here to return a favor, agreeing to help without wanting deeper involvement or friendship. He hoped they’d return to being indifferent neighbors after tonight.

His refusal went unheeded. Yu Zhen, immersed in his role as host, poured a full cup of scalding hot water at the tea table and set it down to cool—though how long that would take remained uncertain.

Zhou Daosen remained stationary after entering, displaying good manners. Both men wore simple attire at this late hour—Zhou in light gray casual wear that accentuated his model-like physique. Yu Zhen remembered the form-fitting black turtleneck he’d worn days earlier, revealing his muscular build—more impressive even than Qin Bei’s.

This man exuded mystery. His limited knowledge about Zhou fueled imagination. Even in casual clothes, his wild, untamed aura was unmistakable.

“What do you do for work?” Yu Zhen had long wondered what profession cultivated such an exceptional physique. He’d guessed fitness trainer like Qin Bei or gym enthusiast, but wanted confirmation. Zhou’s proportions were extraordinary, surpassing even professional male models.

“Is it important?” Zhou’s reluctance was palpable, his tone icy. “What do you need help with?”

He wanted to begin—more accurately, to finish. Feeling like a hooked fish about to be netted, Zhou didn’t consider himself ascetic. Many had offered their attractive bodies, and while not immune, his strong principles demanded constant vigilance against temptation.

Knowing rumors about Yu Zhen’s unconventional profession, Zhou neither fully believed neighborhood gossip nor blindly trusted a stranger who invited men into his home at night.

Yu Zhen offered cigarettes: “No rush.”

Again Zhou refused, eyeing his host warily—a wariness Yu Zhen didn’t miss.

Why the suspicion?

With his own physique, even if he had any intentions, he wouldn’t be able to overpower the other man. Zhou Daosen was so robust he could crush Yu Zhen at any moment.

Yu Zhen was rejected again, but it didn’t faze him. He put the cigarette box away and placed it back on the table. “Do you live with your friend? The one who came to get the keys from me the other day.”

Zhou Daosen no longer bothered with politeness and said bluntly, “No. I have something to do tomorrow—can we hurry this up?”

His displeasure was written all over his face.

Yu Zhen wasn’t interested in strangers’ living situations or social circles. When asking for a favor, one should at least have the right attitude. He had done his part, and if the other person wasn’t receptive, he couldn’t be blamed.

Yu Zhen had wanted to take things step by step, to give the man some mental preparation, but since he wasn’t cooperating, there was no point in wasting time. “Alright then, give me a moment,” he said.

He stepped into another room.

Zhou Daosen glanced at the cigarette box on the table—slim cigarettes. People who smoked these cared about appearances and were particular about looks. Easy to get along with but not casual. Lu Pingwei had once analyzed how to deal with this type of person, but Zhou Daosen hadn’t remembered any of it. Not because his memory was bad, but because he hadn’t bothered listening in the first place. He didn’t believe a cigarette box could define a person—that was too simplistic, too childish.

He was a materialist who didn’t even believe in astrology.

The other man had been inside for so long that Zhou Daosen could have justifiably lost his temper and left. But his upbringing wouldn’t allow it. Either refuse outright, or if you agreed, see it through properly. His personal code of conduct followed an unshakable, almost barbaric logic.

The tea on the table had cooled to the perfect drinking temperature, but Zhou Daosen didn’t touch it. Anything offered to him from the outside world fell under the category of temptation. The fact that he had known people like Lu Pingwei for so many years and still remained untainted was due to his extreme vigilance. He refused to be careless, and he never would be.

After another two minutes of waiting, there was finally movement at the door. The man who had disappeared inside for so long reemerged—except it wasn’t quite the same person anymore. Zhou Daosen stared at the vision before him: long, flowing hair, a hesitant yet alluring presence, a living, breathing beauty. For a moment, he forgot what the man had originally looked like.

Yu Zhen wasn’t wearing makeup. He stood in the doorway in a flesh-pink spaghetti-strap dress, the entire weight of the garment hanging from those two thin straps, as if they might snap at any moment and let the dress slip away, revealing the flawless jade body beneath.

The neckline of the dress was adorned with a ring of roses in full bloom, yet somehow, to Zhou Daosen, they gave the illusion of being tightly budded, on the verge of unfurling. “Delicate as a willow in the breeze”—the inexplicable phrase flashed through his mind.

Yu Zhen leaned against the doorframe. Logically, it should have been the other man sizing him up, scrutinizing him with judgmental eyes. But Yu Zhen himself was also staring straight into the man’s gaze, as if they were mutually assessing one another.

“Come in,” Yu Zhen said, his voice carrying a lingering tenderness, before stepping back into the room.

Zhou Daosen wasn’t surprised. He had already witnessed this man’s eccentric attire. He had a rough idea of what was coming next, so he hesitated briefly before following him inside.

Yu Zhen took the camera off the tripod and adjusted it. Glancing back, he saw the man approaching with light steps. Encouraged somehow, he grew bolder. He walked up to Zhou Daosen, took his hand, and said, “Help me take a few photos.”

This was Zhou Daosen’s task for the day.

Zhou Daosen held the camera, his gaze fixed straight ahead, not even sparing a glance at the other person, speaking only to the camera: “I don’t know how to take photos.”

Yu Zhen said, “It’s very simple—just press the shutter button.”

Zhou Daosen remained skeptical: “You have a tripod. You should be able to manage on your own.”

Yu Zhen explained, “Not really. I can handle fixed angles by myself, but for tricky shots, I still need someone’s help.”

Zhou Daosen wasn’t unfamiliar with cameras—he had even obtained a photography certificate in college—yet he asked like a complete beginner, “Where’s the shutter button?”

Yu Zhen enthusiastically pointed it out: “Here. You just need to press this.”

“Why take photos of these things?” The words slipped out before Zhou Daosen could stop himself.

Yu Zhen ignored the skepticism in his tone and didn’t offer any clarification, still speaking gently: “Because it’s my job. Someone’s waiting for them. Aren’t you in a hurry? Come on.”

What kind of job?

Zhou Daosen was aware of how certain niche groups marketed themselves—flaunting their figures on social media was a common tactic, sending videos or photos to clients for paid viewing or to facilitate transactions. But shouldn’t these people be taking their own risqué photos in private? Why would they openly involve others in such business?

“Is there a problem?” Yu Zhen asked, seeing his hesitation. He had already taken a seat on the chair.

Zhou Daosen glanced up briefly, holding the camera without a word. The moment he lifted it, he instantly exuded a professional demeanor, as if he had never needed any instruction in the first place.

Yu Zhen was slightly surprised, but the lens was already trained on him. As a model, he quickly shed all irrelevant thoughts and adjusted himself, clasping his hands behind the chair. At the sound of the shutter click, he swiftly shifted into another pose and expression.

Most people assumed cameras weren’t as sharp as the naked eye, but anyone in photography knew just how much more exaggerated a lens could be. A decent camera could capture facial pores from a distance. Though the brand of this one was unknown, the clarity told Zhou Daosen it wasn’t cheap—it was professional-grade equipment.

Since obtaining his photography certificate, he had never had the chance to showcase his skills—not even when his younger sister, Zhou Tanxi, had asked him to take a photo for her. Zhou Daosen hadn’t pursued these certifications to enter the industry; taking exams was second nature to him. As his father had said, it was best to obtain every possible qualification during school—time was precious, and there was no point saving it for later.

That time should be spent on more worthwhile pursuits.

Zhou Daosen had never dwelled on whether his father’s advice made sense. During his school years, he had plenty of idle hours, which he filled with what he considered interesting pursuits—exploring new things. He had no particular desire for cameras or photography, but his muscle memory was geared toward exams. He wanted to know how difficult the industry was, how cameras operated—he was inclined toward exploration.

Surrounded by exceptional individuals—from his parents to his friends—even the German Shepherd his grandfather kept was a retired police dog. Even someone like Lu Pingwei, who indulged in revelry, was a top-tier cadet at the aviation academy.

Zhou Daosen admitted that sometimes he could be overly harsh. The ways of the world were varied, and everyone had their own means of making a living. Some pursued the heights of spiritualism, while others relied on selling their bodies. People shouldn’t be ranked into hierarchies, but the methods of earning a living certainly had their distinctions.

He had never imagined that one day, he would be serving someone from the fringes of society—and worse, that he couldn’t bring himself to stop what he was doing, to cut short this shameful encounter.

Because the body behind the lens was beautiful.

Truly beautiful.

His expression was as if someone were toying with him down below—indecent. In that moment, Zhou Daosen believed the rumors in the hallway. This man couldn’t possibly have a respectable profession. Someone was waiting for his photos—who?

Who were these photos meant for? Who were they serving? And for whom was he putting on such an expression? What kind of look would he wear when no one was watching? What could that long skirt possibly hide? The more one tried to conceal, the more obvious it became—the curves of his delicate body were laid bare.

“My name is Yu Zhen.”

Suddenly, Zhou Daosen’s thoughts were interrupted. Through the lens, he saw the other man rise, lifting the long skirt and gathering it at his waist.

Yu Zhen leaned against the back of the chair, lifting one leg and kneeling on the seat with a single knee. The skirt fell back down, and in an instant, the plump thighs were hidden again beneath the soft gauze. His slender waist twisted toward the lens, but Zhou Daosen didn’t press the shutter.

He hesitated.

The heels of his feet were pink, as if dusted with blush.

The shimmering high heels were draped in delicate tulle, toes peeking through the cutouts, standing pertly. Yu Zhen draped an arm over the chairback, resting his head against it, his figure sinuous and alluring—like a coiled serpent.

Zhou Daosen was staring at Yu Zhen’s feet.

Yu Zhen was studying Zhou Daosen’s hands.

So many veins—he wanted to grind against them.

With a careless glance toward the lens, Yu Zhen’s voice trickled like a murmuring stream, muddying reason as it flowed past the camera.

“What’s your name?”