Obsessive Young Master Wei: My Beloved Loses Control Every Night

The next day, the weather remained fine.

Bian Zhizhi carefully carried the unglazed bisque-fired vase blanks, which had been air-dried, back to the activity room.

After initial firing, it loses its moist, dark brown color and reveals a light terracotta hue.

It is still crooked, the mouth of the bottle is not round, and you can even see irregular lines left by pressing with your fingers on the surface. It can hardly be called a beautiful work of art.

But Bian Zhizhi held it as if it were some precious treasure.

This is the result of their first "collaboration," and it carries extraordinary significance.

She placed it on the end of the long table closest to her, in a conspicuous but not obstructive spot.

She wanted Wei Zixian to see it, but not to feel that her territory had been invaded.

Wei Zixian is looking at an architectural atlas today.

As Bian Zhizhi placed the vase, his gaze lifted from the complex structural drawings and fell on the rough object.

His gaze lingered there for far longer than it had on any of Bian Zhizhi's previous works.

Bian Zhizhi pretended not to notice his gaze and began preparing the materials she might need for the day.

But she kept a close eye on Wei Zixian's reaction out of the corner of her eye.

Seeing that he did not show any obvious rejection or discomfort, she breathed a slight sigh of relief.

In the afternoon, Bian Zhizhi felt a little thirsty, so she temporarily left the activity room to get some water from the tea room next door.

Just minutes after she left, Wei Zixian's gaze once again drifted uncontrollably to the vase on the other side of the long table.

It stayed there, in the half of the territory belonging to Bianzhizhi, half-surrounded by a few open books and a pile of colored pencils.

In Wei Zixian's view, this "casual" placement made it look...particularly out of place.

It was at odds with the sense of order he had built up in his heart.

The feeling was like an inappropriate ink dot suddenly appearing in the center of a meticulously drawn geometric composition.

wrong.

It shouldn't be there.

He pursed his lips, his heart beginning to struggle.

Reason told him not to touch other people's things, especially hers.

But the urge to bring this collaborative creation into his own "order" was quietly pulling at him.

And that spot... his gaze fell on the other side of the room, where a tall walnut-colored shelf stood against the wall.

That was his "domain," where he would occasionally browse through books, a few simple geometric models, and some small objects whose purpose was unclear but were neatly arranged.

There is an empty space on the third shelf, near the middle.

The size... seems just right.

The position was also perfect, slightly to the right of his visual center, which matched his certain inner sense of balance.

Ultimately, the desire for "order" outweighed the concern about "transgressing boundaries."

The urge to bring the item under one's control becomes irresistible.

He closed the bird guide on his lap, stood up, and stopped at the long table, his gaze shifting back and forth twice between the rough vase and the empty space on the shelf in the distance.

It's like making a final confirmation and measurement.

He reached out, picked up the rough vase, and placed it in the empty space on the shelf.

After putting it down, he didn't leave immediately. Instead, he took a half step back, looked around, and then took another step forward to adjust the angle of the vase so that its center line was as parallel as possible to the vertical frame of the shelf.

He only breathed a sigh of relief when the vase perfectly met his standards, and the furrowed brows slowly relaxed.

That's good.

It was incorporated into his order.

Chaos was brought under control, and uncertainty was resolved.

The restlessness in my heart has subsided for the time being.

When Bian Zhizhi returned with the water glass, she immediately noticed the change in the vase's position.

The spot where the vase used to be is now empty.

She paused at the doorway, unable to articulate her feelings.

He moved it.

The unglazed vase on the walnut wood shelf now stands upright in its previously empty spot, surrounded by Wei Zixian's neatly arranged books and models.

It was there, seemingly so out of place, yet strangely... it blended in.

Bian Zhizhi forgot to put down the water glass in her hand, the warm glass soothing her palm.

He not only moved it, but also moved it to "his" domain, placing it in a position that he had clearly chosen carefully.

This is not just acceptance, it's... acknowledgment.

Bian Zhizhi's gaze slowly moved, finally landing on Wei Zixian's face, who was sitting on the sofa by the window.

He kept his head down.

However, the moment Bian Zhizhi's gaze lingered on his face, as if by telepathy, or as if he sensed that burning gaze, Wei Zixian raised his eyes without warning.

Eyes facing each other.

Bian Zhizhi was caught off guard and bumped into his light brown eyes.

At that moment, perhaps the sunlight outside the window was at the perfect angle, or perhaps it was her imagination, but the thin mist seemed to have dispersed a bit, revealing her slightly flustered figure.

The excuses that had been swirling in her mind to find a plausible reason for "moving" the vase were actually being considered.

For example, "Young master, did you put the vase there for me? Thank you," or "It is indeed safer to put it there."

At that moment, everything was stuck in his throat, and he couldn't utter a single word.

His gaze was so direct that any of her "strategic" words seemed hypocritical.

In a panic, she could only hastily change to something else to ease the atmosphere: "Put it there...it looks nice, it looks nice."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Bian Zhizhi wanted to bite off her tongue.

What is all this talk about?

A crooked and uneven bisque-fired clay body is far from being "beautiful".

That compliment was so clumsy it was laughable.

Wei Zixian didn't speak, but just stared at her quietly for about two or three seconds, a time so long that Bian Zhizhi almost wanted to run away before she silently looked away and returned her gaze to the pages of the book on her lap.

Bian Zhizhi watched him revert to his usual self-absorbed state, but she no longer felt as frustrated as before.

The tender shoots of hope have already broken through the soil.

In the following days, Bian Zhizhi began to boldly try to shrink the "invisible circle" centered on the sofa where Wei Zixian was sitting.

This circle represents the psychological safety boundary she roughly defined based on his reactions over a long period of time.

She no longer stays at the end of the long table; she adjusts the angle of the curtains to let the sunlight fill the room, naturally taking a small step closer to the sofa.

She would pretend to go to the bookshelf to get a picture book for reference, deliberately choosing a route that went around behind the sofa.

She would even "accidentally" drop a colored pencil on the carpet near the sofa, then walk over and bend down to pick it up.