Xiang Zhen kept his hands neatly on his lap, his head tilted slightly to the left, his eyes shining as he looked at Zhou Sicheng.

Whenever he didn’t have anything important to do, his gaze always chased the “sun.”

Whenever Zhou Sicheng glanced at the rearview mirror, Xiang Zhen would immediately avert his eyes, as if caught in the act. He couldn’t be too obvious; it would look abnormal. The Guide to Adulthood stated that demons must restrain their gaze, especially those evolved from predators—don’t look at humans with a ravenous stare. Humans were very vigilant; ancient texts described scenes of demons siphoning the jingqi (vital essence) from scholars.

Every time Zhou Sicheng checked the mirror, he caught Xiang Zhen watching him. He kept his hands on the steering wheel, gaze fixed forward, his brow slowly smoothing out.

Traffic was jammed at the intersection ahead, a sea of red taillights. A taxi kept cutting lanes, trying to squeeze to the very front. Xiang Zhen glanced at Zhou Sicheng’s calm expression. Oh dear, my husband has such upright character, his driving style is so steady—no wonder he can’t compete with those nimble drivers.

Xiang Zhen felt he was a bit sharper than that, so he brought up a plan he’d been brewing for a long time: “Husband, I’m off the day after tomorrow. I’ll go with you to drive for the day.”

He could help Zhou Sicheng with navigation, snatching orders, scolding lane-cutters, and begging passengers for five-star reviews. That way, Zhou Sicheng could focus entirely on driving.

Zhou Sicheng remained calm. “When you’re off, just rest at home.”

Xiang Zhen didn’t explain his utility, fearing he’d hurt his husband’s pride. Instead, he said, “But it’s so hard to get a day off, I want to be with you the whole time.”

Zhou Sicheng, who hadn’t even registered for a ride-hailing app, replied, “Then I’ll take a day off too.” It was Monday, and there were two meetings—he’d let the Vice President handle them.

Xiang Zhen was determined to boost his husband’s career: “I’ll take the day after that off too, to keep you company.”

Zhou Sicheng: “Why?” He could accompany Xiang Zhen in the mundane life of groceries and rent, but he couldn’t possibly get so immersed in the roleplay that he actually started driving for ride-hailing services. They had only known each other for two days; there was no way he would indulge him without limits. He hadn’t lost his sanity yet.

Xiang Zhen’s eyes darted around. “Because you’re so handsome, husband. If I sit there, no passengers will harass you.”

Zhou Sicheng: “No one dares to harass me.”

Xiang Zhen pleaded softly, dragging out the last syllable: “Husbaaaand—”

Zhou Sicheng: “…”

Zhou Sicheng reasoned with him: “No ride-hailing driver brings family along. If four people hail a car, where would the extra person sit?”

That didn’t stump Xiang Zhen: “I can run behind the car. I run very fast.”

Zhou Sicheng realized he was dealing with a customer service agent who spent every day facing the most difficult, unreasonable humans. Xiang Zhen had probably learned bad habits. This job was detrimental to domestic harmony—he needed to find a way to make Xiang Zhen quit. “Passengers will mind having someone else in the car. They’ll complain, and it will affect my business.”

Heaven knows that Zhou Sicheng, who commanded the Zhoufu Group, had never used the word “business” to describe it.

Xiang Zhen felt the weight of the word “complain.” He was quiet for a while, then wouldn’t give up: “I saw a video before of a single-dad driver taking his child with him because there was no one to watch the kid at home. He put a note on the back seat and hung a bag of snacks to appease the passengers, and everyone understood.”

Xiang Zhen: “I can take some sunflower seeds from the company to put in the back seat!”

The light turned green, and Zhou Sicheng accelerated: “But you are an adult.”

Xiang Zhen: “You can tell them I’m your mentally disabled wife, and you’re worried about leaving me at home.”

Zhou Sicheng: “Do you think the passengers are mentally disabled?”

Xiang Zhen was a little angry. He crossed his arms and looked away, his cheeks slightly puffed out. It was strange—he never got angry at humans, but he heard the resistance in Zhou Sicheng’s tone, which felt even more hateful than hearing customers yell at him for no reason.

Zhou Sicheng hadn’t even said anything particularly harsh.

Zhou Sicheng pulled into the garage and saw Xiang Zhen still sitting there, pouting. He opened the trunk and took out two small cakes. “Want some cake?” He remembered Xiang Zhen’s profile said he loved desserts.

The scent of cream drifted to his nose. Xiang Zhen turned his head instantly. Zhou Sicheng hooked the cake box with his finger and pulled back, and Xiang Zhen followed him out of the car.

One sniff told Xiang Zhen it was a high-quality cake. “Husband, did you buy this for me?”

Zhou Sicheng: “Leftovers from a friend’s shop.”

Xiang Zhen hadn’t eaten lunch and couldn’t wait to open it in the elevator. He dug a large spoonful of chestnut cake: “Your friend is amazing!”

After saying that, he noticed Zhou Sicheng’s expression looked a bit sour, so he quickly tried to compensate: “I mean your friend’s skills are amazing, not that the leftovers are amazing.”

Zhou Sicheng’s expression didn’t improve: “What does he have to do with it?”

Xiang Zhen was lost in the joy of the cake. When they got home, he hurried to turn on the TV to watch an episode of the cartoon to fulfill his “task.” Because he was strapped for cash, Xiang Zhen had never eaten expensive desserts. He finished both pieces in one go and said to Zhou Sicheng, who had just come out of the shower, “Husband, where is your friend’s cake shop?” He heard that shops cleared out unsold cakes at the end of the day—he wanted to go guard the trash bin.

Zhou Sicheng: “It went out of business.”

Xiang Zhen felt very regretful: “I wish I’d known your friend sooner.”

Sooner? Zhou Sicheng thought. How much sooner? Sooner than me? Seeing the weather looked bad, he had left work early to pick Xiang Zhen up on his way home, leaving some work unfinished that he now had to handle on his phone.

He had no choice but to get into bed—the rental was incredibly cramped, and only the double bed was somewhat spacious. He leaned back against the headboard, his back cushioned by a 19.9-yuan pillow, and began processing a 1.9 billion deal.

Xiang Zhen finished the cartoon, turned off the TV, and watered his sunflowers. He held up two pots that hadn’t sprouted yet: “Husband, guess which one will sprout first?”

Zhou Sicheng didn’t look up: “The left one.”

Xiang Zhen: “You guessed right! You’re so smart!”

Zhou Sicheng had already adapted to living with this soil, these seeds, and these seedlings. In fact, he had adapted to the “sunflower invasion” even earlier. The feng shui master the AI team hired from somewhere had said the best energy was in front of the Zhoufu Group headquarters; to make the AI project successful, they needed to replace the lawn with sunflowers. May was the flowering season; Zhou Sicheng looked down from his office every day to see hundreds of sunflowers blooming in a vibrant gold. This superstition even trended, actually bringing more heat to the project.

Xiang Zhen finished tending to the sunflowers and got into bed. This was the downside of such a tiny place: as soon as you got off work, you could only huddle on the bed. Xiang Zhen crawled next to Zhou Sicheng: “Husband, what are you looking at?” It was dense text; he couldn’t understand it.

Zhou Sicheng pulled him into his arms, resting his chin on Xiang Zhen’s head. When someone said, “You can tell them I’m your mentally disabled wife,” it suggested they weren’t far off from it themselves. He brushed Xiang Zhen off easily: “Studying. I only started driving for ride-hailing because I was fired by a tech company.”

Xiang Zhen remembered his husband was a distinguished Master’s graduate; he would surely find a good office job later. He softened his breathing against his husband’s chest and silently browsed short videos.

Five minutes later, Zhou Sicheng’s attention drifted to Xiang Zhen’s hair. To bleach hair into such a beautiful gold, one usually had to bleach it, which left hair feeling dry and smelling of harsh chemicals. But Xiang Zhen’s hair was as lustrous as the finest silk, with no pungent smell—only a warm, faint fragrance.

Zhou Sicheng bowed his head, brushing against Xiang Zhen’s hair to take a deep breath. Realizing what he was doing, his expression turned unnatural for a second: “When did you dye your hair?”

Xiang Zhen: “I didn’t dye it.”

Zhou Sicheng also believed he hadn’t, because even Xiang Zhen’s roots were golden.

Xiang Zhen: “Actually, I’m a mixed-race person. My ancestors came from North America.” He wasn’t lying; sunflowers were introduced to China 400 years ago, taking root and blossoming generation after generation. It wasn’t until his generation that they gained sentience—a local demon.

Zhou Sicheng looked at his purely classical Eastern features. So you only mixed the hair part?

He couldn’t focus on work anymore. He put away his phone and stared down at Xiang Zhen.

Xiang Zhen swiped onto a parenting video. The vlogger said the sign of a child’s opening of wisdom was when they could say they’d already seen this episode of the cartoon. Xiang Zhen chuckled and swiped past it.

Zhou Sicheng recalled how Xiang Zhen always watched the first episode of the cartoon. His hand, which had been resting on Xiang Zhen’s slender waist, slowly moved back to his shoulder in a dignified manner.

Wisdom not yet opened?

The next video was a very shrewd-looking teacher teaching the audience how to manage household finances, how to check a man’s bank statements, and how to discover hidden male expenditures. This was a learning video, and it was interactive—the teacher urged the audience to immediately pick up their husband’s phone and start checking.

Xiang Zhen was completely focused. Following the rhythm of the livestream, he said to Zhou Sicheng: “Husband, can I see your ride-hailing transaction history?”

Zhou Sicheng: “…” Wisdom opened.

In the phone, the livestream teacher vowed: “If a man doesn’t give you his phone, he has a secret!”

Zhou Sicheng: “One moment, I’m going to the bathroom.”