Obsessive Young Master Wei: My Beloved Loses Control Every Night

As Wei Zixian walked through the cinema lobby again, he still kept his head slightly lowered, avoiding direct eye contact with the lights and crowd, and walked a half-beat faster than the average person.

But that stiff feeling of being on the verge of breaking has disappeared.

The cacophony of sounds still lingered, yet seemed to be separated by an invisible membrane.

That was the emotional buffer layer that the film left for him, a temporary refuge built by fictional stories.

He even paused slightly as he passed a standee of a character from a popular animated film, his gaze lingering on the brightly colored, exaggerated cartoon figure for half a second.

Bian Zhizhi saw it.

She also noticed Lu Fangchi's eyes suddenly light up.

Their eyes met, and without exchanging a word, they shared the same shock: this was the first time.

For the first time, something entertaining from the outside world captured his attention.

Dinner was arranged at a high-end Japanese restaurant on the top floor of the shopping mall, which Wei Yanqiu had booked in advance.

The entrance to the Japanese restaurant is hidden behind a dark bamboo curtain at the end of the rooftop gallery, requiring you to push open a matte black iron door.

Lu Fangchi pressed an inconspicuous blue stone button on the side of the door.

The door slid open, and warm light spilled out.

The corridor was extremely dark, with unpolished black basalt walls on both sides that absorbed most of the light.

Underfoot were bluestone slabs of varying widths, with fine white sand embedded in the gaps, and each step echoed solidly.

Shoes must be removed in the private rooms.

Wei Zixian paused in the entryway, watching Bian Zhizhi and Lu Fangchi naturally place the shoes into the low cabinet with the toes facing outwards.

He did as instructed, though he was a little slow.

As his socked feet stepped onto the bluestone slabs and then onto the slightly raised rush tatami mats, his toes curled up briefly before slowly unfolding.

The private room was very low, requiring you to bend over to enter.

In the center is a low cypress table, the tabletop displaying the natural grain of the tree's annual rings.

The only light source was a washi paper lamp hanging above the table. The lampshade was handmade with uneven texture, and the light it emitted was a warm, honey-colored hue with blurred edges, softening everyone's silhouettes.

The side facing the window is a full-length glass wall.

Wei Zixian sat down on the soft cushion by the window, as indicated by Bian Zhizhi.

The mat is well-filled, supporting the body's weight without sinking in excessively.

He unconsciously pressed his back against the wall, trying to give himself some sense of security.

Lu Fangchi was ordering food; he seemed like a regular at the restaurant, appearing quite at ease.

"Sea bream sashimi, white fish tempura, cod saikyo-yaki, chawanmushi, and, um, two servings of steamed egg..."

He deliberately avoided the strong-smelling wasabi and ginger slices, and instructed that the soy sauce be placed in a separate small dish.

The food was served quickly.

The lacquerware is warm and smooth, the pottery is simple and unadorned, and each dish occupies a proper place on the table.

Sea bream sashimi is laid out on chilled green bamboo leaves; the fish is almost transparent with iridescent edges.

The grilled eel is served on a rough earthenware plate, the sauce thick and glossy, its sweet and salty aroma activated by the heat, spreading out in wisps.

Wei Zixian picked up the black lacquered chopsticks, his fingers tightening.

He aimed at the very edge of the sashimi, extended the tip of his chopsticks, gently pinched it, and the fish meat slid open.

Try again, and the tips of the chopsticks slip on the smooth surface of the fish slices, as if touching melted oil.

The third time, the tip of the chopsticks pierced the edge of the fish.

He stopped.

His jawline tightened as he stared at the damaged sashimi.

Frustration began to creep up from my fingertips.

Just as Bian Zhizhi was about to say something, Lu Fangchi, who was standing next to her, handed her a small white porcelain spoon with a grin.

"Use this! Use this! The fish is so tender, it's like tofu. It's hard to pick up with chopsticks, but you can scoop it up with a spoon! Don't be ashamed, I always use a spoon!"

Wei Zixian glanced at Lu Fangchi, but instead of taking the spoon, he put down his chopsticks and stared silently at the sashimi, as if he were having a contest with it.

His fingers gripped the chopsticks tightly.

Bian Zhizhi sighed inwardly, knowing that his stubborn nature had resurfaced.

She didn't offer any words of advice, nor did she reach for the spoon.

She picked up the serving chopsticks.

With a steady chopstick, I picked up another piece of medium-sized sea bream and gently dipped it into the edge of a small earthenware dish filled with light golden soy sauce, ensuring that the sauce coated just half of the fish.

Then move it horizontally and place it into the empty celadon dish in front of Wei Zixian.

After doing all this, she took back the serving chopsticks and put them back in their place.

Pick up your chopsticks, take a slice of sashimi, put it in your mouth, and chew slowly.

Her gaze fell on the food on her plate, as if her previous action was merely a casual addition to her meal.

Wei Zixian raised his eyes and looked at her.

Bian Zhizhi tilted her head slightly, feeling the texture of the fish melting on her tongue.

The honey-colored light outlined the lines from her jaw to her neck, and her throat rose and fell with each swallow.

His gaze fell back to the sashimi dipped in soy sauce on his plate.

The brown-stained areas are slightly darker, creating a gradient with the unstained light pink.

He picked up his chopsticks again, and this time, the tips of the chopsticks nestled between the fish and the porcelain plate, lifting them up easily.

The tender fish melts in your mouth, carrying the fresh sweetness of the ocean and the perfect salty and savory flavor of soy sauce, along with a slightly pungent and refreshing taste of wasabi.

taste good.

He chewed slowly, the annoyance on his face gradually fading, and his brows relaxed.

Bian Zhizhi saw it out of the corner of her eye and breathed a sigh of relief.

For someone like Wei Zixian, silent actions are often more effective than verbal guidance, and less likely to hurt his sensitive and proud self-esteem.

Lu Fangchi began to recount scenes from the movie at length, criticizing the second male lead's exaggerated tears and imitating a line spoken off-key by the female lead.

His talkative nature played a huge role at this moment, filling any potential silences and keeping the atmosphere relaxed and engaging without being too noisy.

Wei Zixian rarely responded, but he would unconsciously slow down his eating speed when Lu Fangchi told a funny story.

His gaze would occasionally drift toward the person speaking, and although he still didn't make direct eye contact, the focus in his eyes was clear, and he would even smile for a moment.

Midway through the meal, the waiter gently opened the sliding door of the private room and brought in two steaming bowls of chawanmushi.

The small ceramic bowl has thick walls and good heat retention.

Lifting the lid reveals a pink shrimp curled into a semi-circle, two glistening ginkgo nuts, and a shiitake mushroom carved into the shape of a maple leaf, its edges slightly curled, resting on the surface of the golden steamed egg custard.

The rich aroma of the broth, combined with the warm fragrance of the heated egg liquid, is irresistible.

One was placed in front of Wei Zixian, and the other was placed in front of Bian Zhizhi.

Wei Zixian picked up the matching small porcelain spoon, scooped up a spoonful from the edge, and put it in his mouth.

The steamed egg is so tender that it hardly requires chewing. The temperature is just right, and the umami flavor of the broth is fully infused into the egg, making it light and delicious.

He took two bites, then suddenly stopped.

He raised his eyes and looked at Bian Zhizhi, who was sitting opposite him.

There was also a bowl of steamed tea in front of Bian Zhizhi.

She also scooped up a spoonful, but only touched it to her lips before putting it down.

Her face, even in the warm light, still lacked color; it wasn't pale, but rather a deathly pallor, as if all her energy had been completely drained.

She rested her left hand on her knee and pressed her right hand lightly against her upper abdomen, applying slight pressure with her fingertips.

She had just recovered from a cold, and then she was up all night again.

I was guiding him under immense mental strain, and I was probably just barely holding on myself.

She barely ate anything.

Most of the rice was left, only two slices of sashimi were touched, and the grilled food was left to cool.

Only hot tea is being consumed continuously.