WRA CH27

Chapter 27: Zhou Sicheng’s Day Three as Customer Service

Foliage beaten down and scattered in a torrential storm need only wait for the next day’s sun to emerge, standing straight, vibrant, and full of life. Once the dust is brushed away, the leaves turn greener, the new shoots tenderer, and the stalks far more supple.

Xiang Zhen was no different.

He propped the apartment door open with a bucket to keep the draft from slamming it shut, carrying the sunflowers up to the rooftop with both hands.

Standing by the doorway, Shi Ting asked politely, “Need a hand?”

Xiang Zhen’s mind had been completely consumed by the Sun God and thunderstorms for a full day and night. The moment Shi Ting spoke, he finally remembered that someone actually lived next door.

“The rain was so heavy yesterday. Did you guys sleep well?” Xiang Zhen managed to squeeze out after a long pause.

Shi Ting: “Slept great. In our line of work, we wear noise-canceling earplugs at night so rainy weather doesn’t disrupt our sleep.”

Xiang Zhen let out a breath of relief. To prove that his own sleep hadn’t been disrupted by solar storms either, and that he had plenty of strength to move things, he said, “No need, I’ll take it as exercise. As you know, I’m very good at running.”

Shi Ting nodded. Unlike Ye Yun, he wouldn’t show excessive enthusiasm toward their protection target. After all, his mission was physical security, not being a nanny—that was President Zhou’s job.

Shi Ting had also been genuinely astonished by how well Xiang Zhen could run. You really couldn’t tell from Xiang Zhen’s slender build that he possessed the stamina of a professional long-distance runner. Moreover, Shi Ting always felt that Xiang Zhen hadn’t even unleashed his full strength.

If Xiang Zhen ever sprinted at full throttle one day, would he and Ye Yun even be able to keep up?

Shi Ting lent Xiang Zhen a small utility cart, and Xiang Zhen hauled over a dozen trips in one go.

Up on the rooftop, there were actually dozens of empty flowerpots! And they were labeled specifically for sunflowers! Zhou Sicheng had prepared them!

Xiang Zhen’s face flushed red. Just how long had Zhou Sicheng been planning this?

People hung quilts to dry on the rooftop, and others grew vegetables. Every spot had been taken; if Zhou Sicheng hadn’t taken the initiative to buy flowerpots and stake out territory in advance, Xiang Zhen’s sunflowers wouldn’t have had anywhere to stand.

Alright then, Xiang Zhen forgave his husband.

He transplanted the sunflowers from the milk tea buckets into the flowerpots. With wider gaps between them, they were indeed far less cramped than in the bedroom.

Because he had lost half a bag of seeds, Xiang Zhen cherished these especially, always wanting to nurture them a little longer. In truth, they should have been moved outside long ago, rather than being secretly fed with his own solar power.

His husband pushing him to take this step had been right.

It was just the method of pushing that hadn’t been quite right.

Whenever Xiang Zhen recalled Zhou Sicheng effortlessly picking him up like holding a toddler to pee—his head towering above Zhou Sicheng’s, almost bumping against the ceiling—the sensation of dangling midair combined with pure humiliation made him want to cry.

Strange. Where had Zhou Sicheng learned that? The novels hadn’t taught that trick.

Zhou Sicheng truly hadn’t used a single prop. He didn’t need props at all to make Xiang Zhen hover between heaven and earth.

“Wifey.” Zhou Sicheng knocked on the rooftop’s iron door. After the union of body and soul, calling him “wifey” rolled off the tongue even smoother and more addictively. “Why didn’t you wait for me to help carry them?”

He had claimed to go out for groceries, but in reality, Secretary Gao had brought over two urgent documents for him to sign, and he had smoothly arranged several other matters along the way.

Zhou Sicheng strode closer, caught Xiang Zhen’s hand, checked it over, and gave it a squeeze. “Just stand and watch. I’ll bank the soil.”

Transplanting the sunflowers from milk tea buckets into large pots required adding plenty of nutrient soil. Zhou Sicheng had prepared all of this beforehand. As long as his wife stayed with him, he would love everything associated with him.

Xiang Zhen helped steady the sunflower stalks while Zhou Sicheng crouched down to pack the soil. Staring down at the cowlick on Zhou Sicheng’s head, he felt the pure joy of planting sunflowers together.

Sunflowers planted together were their children.

Zhou Sicheng’s technique was practiced and deft. Unafraid of dirt, his fingers loosened the soil directly before his palms patted it firm. The hand gripping the small trowel had just harvested a sunflower the previous night, having pressed and caressed every inch of Xiang Zhen’s body.

No matter the sunflower, it was easily encircled in his grasp.

Zhou Sicheng looked up to meet his wife’s fervent gaze. He had noticed long ago that Xiang Zhen loved looking at him—even in bed during rear entry, Xiang Zhen would twist his head back every so often, his watery dark eyes brimming with unspoken longing, his pale, delicate shoulder blades trembling. One glance told Zhou Sicheng his wife wanted to see him, so he would readily lean down to let his wife gaze at him, claiming a lingering kiss in return.

Getting Xiang Zhen to ride him never required any coaxing or deceit.

Looking at me again.

If he was indulging without restraint, Xiang Zhen bore 90% of the responsibility.

However, having already indulged during the daylight hours, Zhou Sicheng intended to let Xiang Zhen rest tonight.

“Do you want to go out this afternoon, or rest at home?” Zhou Sicheng asked.

Xiang Zhen: “Either is fine, hubby.”

Zhou Sicheng: “I’ll take you to get two sets of clothes tailored. You need formal wear working at a bank.”

Xiang Zhen: “Custom tailoring? Won’t that be expensive?”

Zhou Sicheng looked so handsome in a suit, and Xiang Zhen loved seeing it, though he had never worn one himself. Since the start of summer, he had just worn three-for-a-hundred white T-shirts bought online.

Zhou Sicheng: “Not expensive. Just an old-school tailor with no business. Machines have replaced manual labor across the garment industry now; giving him business is doing a good deed.”

Convinced by his husband’s logic, Xiang Zhen nodded. “Okay.”

The two headed down from the rooftop. Zhou Sicheng washed his hands at home before leading his wife down to the basement garage to get the car.

He was far more attentive than usual—not only opening the door for him, but personally scooping his wife up to carry him inside.

This was the beauty of a BYD SUV: simple, elegant, and spacious. Bending down, he could comfortably deliver his wife right into the seat. In a low-chassis car, that definitely wouldn’t work.

According to Zhou Sicheng’s medical knowledge, Xiang Zhen’s inner thighs would inevitably be screaming in pain over these couple of days, throbbing whenever he lifted a leg.

“Does it hurt?” Zhou Sicheng squeezed the flesh on Xiang Zhen’s thigh.

In a flash of inspiration, Xiang Zhen realized how a normal human was supposed to react. He nodded emphatically: “Hubby, it hurts a lot.”

Zhou Sicheng: “My fault. You’ll rest tonight.”

Once the car started, Xiang Zhen got hold of his phone for the first time that day. The red notification badges on WeChat flooded the screen like a customer service backend.

Xiang Zhen read through them one by one.

Yu Yueyue and Liu Xiaofang were asking what had happened last night. Was he not saving up to buy a house anymore? Had he really swapped husbands?

Feng Chujun was also asking whether the person who logged into his account was the new boyfriend who gave him the 52,000-yuan red packet, what his background was, and even whether 52,000 yuan would be enough to become his new boyfriend too.

Xiang Zhen looked utterly bewildered: “Hubby, what did you do last night?”

Zhou Sicheng explained smoothly, “It was Fan Hao. He wanted to test your daily workload to see if you could adapt to customer service at the bank.”

Xiang Zhen: “I can!”

“I told him that too, but he insisted on asking, so I let him log into your account to experience it.” Hitting a red light, Zhou Sicheng freed a hand to hold Xiang Zhen’s hand resting on his knee. “Customer service is a systematic profession. Look at him—a returnee from abroad, and all he knows is issuing full refunds without any technique.”

Xiang Zhen agreed wholeheartedly. “Full refunds are too clumsy. You have to start by offering a two-yuan compensation and work your way up. When offering five yuan, you make an excuse about needing supervisory approval to drag it out, making it look like I’m trying really hard.”

Zhou Sicheng: “My wife is the real expert at customer service. Working at the bank, you could save me ten to twenty million a year.”

Xiang Zhen only knew he was being praised by his husband. Curling his lips in a smile, he continued scrolling through messages: “Fan Hao just got married? He even sent ten thousand password red packets!”

Zhou Sicheng: “Mn, they’re looking at wedding dates.”

Xiang Zhen: “Liu Xiaofang and Yu Yueyue both snagged red packets.”

Zhou Sicheng: “Snag one too.”

Xiang Zhen: “Are there any left?”

Ten thousand red packets had been wiped clean in a dozen minutes. Taking advantage of Xiang Zhen not looking, Zhou Sicheng picked up his phone and topped it up with more, making the individual amounts even larger than the night before.

“520!” Xiang Zhen typed the password, his eyes sparkling. “My luck is so good!”

Zhou Sicheng: “Because I have the fate of bringing prosperity to my spouse.”

Xiang Zhen didn’t doubt it for a second. Ever since meeting his husband, his luck had indeed been wonderful.

Before this, he had always wondered how other Yao earned so much money to donate to the mutual aid fund. It turned out you just needed to find a good husband—when your luck improved, you could earn lots of money.

They arrived at the tailor shop, tucked inside an old residential building. In the entrance hall sat two conspicuous sewing machines, alongside a large tin filled with assorted outdated buttons, and a sign on the wall listing prices for down jacket repairs and trouser hemming.

Beside a sewing machine sat a middle-aged craftsman wearing reading glasses, reading a newspaper.

Zhou Sicheng: “Excuse me, I’d like to get two suits made for my wife. Please take his measurements.”

Xiang Zhen stood by the door looking around. His husband was right—getting clothes made here was an act of charity.

The veteran tailor set down the newspaper, pulled out his measuring tools, adjusted his glasses, and said, “Minimum order of four sets.”

Zhou Sicheng: “Done.”

Xiang Zhen: “How much per set?!”

The old tailor: “One hundred and fifty. Six hundred for four sets. Good fabrics are used.”

Xiang Zhen couldn’t bear to make a struggling craftsman’s life difficult, and thinking of the 520-yuan red packet he had just snatched, he agreed: “Then please make four sets for me.”

The old tailor measured Xiang Zhen’s height, arm length, inseam, and proportions.

Zhou Sicheng casually found a chair and sat down. Glancing over, he noticed a Rolex resting on the sewing table; with an imperceptible flick of his middle finger, he slid it beneath the newspaper.

The pants-hemming shop had been scouted on short notice by Secretary Gao, but the “old tailor” was a haute couture designer Zhou Sicheng had hired from a luxury brand.

“A perfect model,” the designer remarked with restrained admiration after finishing the measurements. Bold color palettes suited for Xiang Zhen’s golden hair flooded his mind, though President Zhou had emphasized that the model worked at a bank and could only wear black and gray.

Zhou Sicheng: “As soon as possible.”

Back in the car, Xiang Zhen said, “Hubby, I could tell he’s very skilled. It’s such a pity he was replaced by machines.”

Zhou Sicheng: “He’s near retirement age anyway, nothing to pity.”

Xiang Zhen thought that made sense; humans were always looking forward to retirement.

That afternoon, Xiang Zhen was ordered to rest in bed, watching with wide eyes as Zhou Sicheng crouched on the floor, scrubbing the space in front of the window like Cinderella.

After the milk tea buckets had been moved, rings of water stains remained. Zhou Sicheng wiped them with towels first, sanitized the area with hypochlorous acid, and finally wiped it down once with fragrance and once with purified water.

Every corner and tile seam was scrubbed pristine.

High-end housekeeping couldn’t do better.

At first, Xiang Zhen thought his husband was a neat freak, but Zhou Sicheng was never this meticulous with the frequently used stovetop—only matters related to him received this level of care.

The little sunflower shuddered, slowly piecing together a possibility.

When Zhou Sicheng pulled out a properly tailored white rug, Xiang Zhen’s suspicion was confirmed.

Zhou Sicheng was very pleased with the fruits of his labor. With the sunflowers gone, the air conditioner could be turned on, and lying on the wool rug wouldn’t feel hot.

Drenched in sweat from the chore, he unbuckled his leather belt, planning to shower and change into loungewear.

The sharp clicking of the belt buckle made Xiang Zhen’s scalp tingle.

He now felt that the process of his husband putting on his belt in the morning was his handsomest moment—crisp, effortless, and locking away that terrifying thing in a couple of swift motions.

Zhou Sicheng slid off the expensive belt, a sleek, slender strip of black leather.

Xiang Zhen: “Hubby, can we wait until tomorrow?”

Hanging the belt casually on the wall hook, Zhou Sicheng walked toward the bathroom. “Hmm?”

Xiang Zhen pulled the belt down. If his husband wasn’t going to use it, he would use it himself.

Unfortunately, his pajama pants didn’t have belt loops, so Xiang Zhen tied it tightly around his waistband, feeling much safer that way.