Obsessive Young Master Wei: My Beloved Loses Control Every Night

Wei Zixian watched her demonstrate the movements, hesitated for a moment, and then reached out his hand again.

This time, he slowly placed his entire palm onto the clay.

His movements were very light and careful, with all his attention focused on the small area where his palm touched the soil.

Bian Zhizhi slowly restarted the potter's wheel.

The two people's hands, separated by the spinning clay, together support the rough shape of the vase.

The machine rotated at a steady speed, and the slippery clay flowed between their palms.

His fingers would occasionally brush against hers unintentionally due to the irregular rotation of the clay.

When the first touch occurred, Wei Zixian's fingers jerked back, his entire arm stiffened, and his brows furrowed.

Bian Zhizhi's heart tightened, but she tried to remain calm, as if nothing had happened, and continued to give instructions in a soft voice.

"Yes, that's it. The clay is much more stable now... Young Master, could you tighten the pressure a little more towards the center?"

Wei Zixian paused for a few seconds, his breathing slightly rapid, as if trying to calm the discomfort he had just experienced.

Then, he slowly put his hands back on the clay, his movements more cautious than before.

The second time, when the rotation brought their fingertips close again, even briefly overlapping, he pulled back noticeably slower; his fingertips trembled slightly before he held back.

Third time, fourth time...

Wei Zixian instinctively wanted to pull back, but he held back at the last moment.

Maybe this is fine too.

The clay was cold and had an earthy smell.

But the fingertips that touched it seemed to carry a scorching heat.

He did not dodge again.

They didn't speak; only the hum of the potter's wheel and the subtle sound of clay rubbing against their fingertips filled the air.

Sunlight streamed through the half-open curtains, falling on the mound of earth they had been supporting together, and on their fingers that occasionally intertwined briefly before quickly separating.

A simple, even unattractive, prototype vase was slowly born from this process of touching and avoiding.

Dirty.

黏。

Uncomfortable.

Wash it clean immediately.

When Bian Zhizhi turned off the potter's wheel, looking at the ugly but complete blank, she felt a great sense of accomplishment.

She looked at Wei Zixian, who was looking down at his hands, which were covered in grayish-brown mud, his brows furrowed and his lips pressed into a line. He was clearly very uncomfortable with this "dirty" state.

"Thank you for your help, young master," Bian Zhizhi said sincerely.

"Without the young master's support, it definitely wouldn't be able to stand up; it would have collapsed long ago."

Wei Zixian didn't say anything, but went straight to the sink next to him, turned on the tap, and began to carefully wash his hands.

The sound of rushing water was loud and clear.

Bian Zhizhi watched his retreating figure, then glanced at the crooked vase on the table, and the corners of her lips unconsciously turned up.

Young master did it.

He overcame his aversion to unfamiliar touches and did this with me.

Young master, you are much braver than you think.

While Wei Zixian was vigorously rubbing his fingers, his gaze involuntarily drifted back to the crooked vase blank standing on the turntable.

That ugly shape seemed to have taken on a different meaning in his eyes at that moment.

It was unstable, imperfect, yet... it was something they accomplished together.

It doesn't seem so bad...

He quickly looked away, turned off the tap, carefully dried each finger with a towel, then went back to his sofa, picked up the book again, and buried himself in it.

The sunlight streaming in through the window cast a golden glow over everything in the room.

Bian Zhizhi tidied up the potter's wheel and the remaining clay, then wiped the tabletop with a damp cloth.

She glanced at her phone screen; there were still five minutes left until the end of her healing session for the day.

She straightened up and looked at the other end of the room, at the profile of someone deeply slumped in a beige sofa.

His long legs were crossed, and books were spread out on his lap.

The sunlight outlined the contours of his profile, revealing a high nose bridge and thin, pale lips.

Her long eyelashes drooped down, obscuring her eyes, which always seemed distant.

Bian Zhizhi's fingertips swiped across the phone screen.

Her gaze fell on the newly completed terracotta vase at the other end of the long table.

She hesitated for a moment, then moved a few steps toward the sofa.

She stopped about a meter away from the sofa.

This is a "safe distance" that she roughly figured out after several attempts.

Getting any closer, even just half a step, would trigger his unease.

She spoke softly, "Young Master, thank you for today..."

Wei Zixian didn't look up, not even his eyelashes trembled, as if he hadn't heard her voice at all.

He remained engrossed in reading.

A very faint blush was spreading uncontrollably beneath the thin layer of skin around his earlobe.

It's hard to notice; if the sunlight hadn't fallen at that exact angle, it would be almost invisible.

This quietly emerging touch of red caught Bian Zhizhi's eye.

She didn't say anything more, returned to the long table, and began to tidy up the remaining clay and painting tools on the table.

As she gently closed the door to the activity room, the sunlight streaming in from the window at the end of the corridor shone down on her without any obstruction.

She glanced at her watch; it read 5:03. She was a few minutes later than usual, but it was worth it.

She walked slowly down the carpeted corridor, silently making plans in her mind.

The Wei Group's board meeting is scheduled for less than two weeks.

Time, like sand slipping through your fingers, flies by so quickly that you can't hold onto it.

Any haste or pressure directed at Wei Zixian will only backfire, causing him to retreat even deeper into his shell.

but……

The scene from that afternoon resurfaced in Bian Zhizhi's mind.

He was already willing to touch the clay, and even... touched her hand.

Although it was only for a moment, it was the most proactive interaction Wei Zixian had had since accepting her as a "healer" to intervene in his life.

This is already a very big improvement.

Bian Zhizhi emphasized this to herself again in her heart.

Don't rush, take it slow.

It takes immense patience and gentleness to gradually dispel Wei Zixian's wariness.

Inside the activity room, after Bian Zhizhi left, the vibrant space she had deliberately maintained seemed to freeze instantly.

Wei Zixian kept his head down for a long time, so long that the sunlight outside the window shifted slightly, casting a longer shadow on the floor.

His gaze first fell blankly on a spot in front of him, and then, as if drawn by something invisible, slowly moved toward the long table in the center of the room.

More precisely, it landed on the empty potter's wheel near the door of the long table.

He spread his palms out, facing the light streaming in from the window.

His hands were beautiful, with long, slender fingers, distinct knuckles that were not large, and fair skin that had been deprived of sunlight for a long time, revealing pale blue veins underneath.

There was no mud left there; it had been washed clean.

But for some reason, that damp, cold, and sticky feeling seemed to linger.

Her hands were warm.

He closed his eyes, his mind not filled with the words on the pages of the book, but with the rhythmic vibrations of the clay spinning under his fingertips and the occasional pursing of her lips.

trouble.

It's a strange feeling, but I can't quite put my finger on it.