Professor Xie, isn't this a case of forcing customers to buy products that don't match the

When Shang Song returned to the top of the clouds, Xie Jing was on the 86th floor restoring ancient books.

Shang Song knew that Xie Jing usually didn't like being disturbed at times like this.

He wouldn't bother them normally.

So today, he simply stood in front of the soundproof glass door, quietly watching inside.

Inside the restoration room, Xie Jing, dressed in cotton work clothes, wearing thin-rimmed glasses and pure white gloves, was slightly bent over in front of the large restoration table.

On the table in front of him lay a scroll of badly damaged ancient book pages.

The pages were frayed at the edges, and the ink on them was faded.

Xie Jing's movements were very slow, very slow.

In his left hand was a bone scalpel, and in his right hand was an extremely fine brush, the tip of which held an unknown reagent liquid.

In the cold light, his profile showed a taut jawline and a slight furrow in his brow, conveying a serious and focused expression.

Calm and focused, as if integrated with the ancient pages of the book, exuding an aura of craftsmanship that is almost detached from reality.

Shang Song just stood there, watching quietly through the glass.

Watching Xie Jing pick up the patch with tweezers, compare the texture, carefully apply a tiny bit of glue, and smooth the newly patched paper with his fingertips through the thin film...

Every movement was filled with indescribable patience and reverence.

This was the Xie Jing that Shang Song was familiar with, yet also someone he hadn't seen in a long time.

I am familiar with his extreme focus and control when he does anything, but I have long missed the kind of isolated solitude that he exudes at this moment.

He didn't like Xie Jing being as lonely as before.

Or rather, he wouldn't allow it.

Just as Shang Song was engrossed in watching, Xie Jing, who was in front of the repair table, seemed to sense something.

He finished what he was doing and then looked up, meeting Shang Song's gaze through the glass door.

He took off his white gloves, stood up, walked around the repair table, and headed towards the door.

The glass door slid open silently from one side.

"You're back." Xie Jing naturally reached out and brushed the stray hairs from Shang Song's forehead. "How was the wedding? Are you tired?"

Shang Song looked at the person so close to him, and suddenly his throat tightened.

He wanted to say that the wedding was very lively, Xu Zhao was overjoyed, and Shen Yan was very handsome.

He wanted to say that when he saw them exchange rings, he inexplicably felt like crying.

He wanted to ask, Xie Jing, are you lonely at home all by yourself?

He also wanted to ask, "Do you know what I heard today? Do you want to hear what I have to say?"

But in the end, with all his words stuck in his throat, all he could ask was:

"Xie Jing, how much longer until you're better?"

Xie Jing, how much longer until you are fully recovered?

Xie Jing glanced back at the tattered page on the restoration table before his gaze returned to Shang Song's face.

"It'll be a little while longer," he gently touched Shang Song's cheek with the back of his finger, "about an hour. Have you been standing all day? Are you tired? Why don't you take a shower and rest in bed for a bit?"

His tone was as gentle as ever.

But Shangsong didn't want to leave.

"I'm not tired." Shang Song pointed to the high stool next to the repair table. "Could I... sit there for a while? I promise I won't make a sound and won't disturb you."

Xie Jing's eyes flickered slightly behind his glasses, as if he was wondering what was wrong with Shang Song today. Then he sighed very softly and said, "It's boring."

"No," Shang Song immediately shook his head.

He slipped past Xie Jing and nimbly entered the repair room. He went straight to the high stool, climbed up on his hands and feet, and sat down. Then, he turned the stool around so that his back was to the repair table and his face was towards the door.

In this way, he would "not disturb" Xie Jing's work.

He even took his phone out of his pocket, put it on silent, to indicate that he had something to do.

Xie Jing watched his series of childish actions, said nothing more, walked back to the repair table, put her gloves back on, and picked up the tools.

His movements remained precise and steady, but in the gaps between his actions, his peripheral vision inevitably drifted to the quiet figure with its back to him.

Shang Song isn't usually like this.

After patiently repairing a critical section of damage and ensuring it could be safely placed, Xie Jing put down his tools.

He took off his white gloves, placed them on the workbench, then turned and walked toward the bar stool.

Shang Song was staring blankly at the blacked-out phone screen when he suddenly felt a shadow looming over him.

Before he could react, Xie Jing leaned down slightly, supporting his lower back with one hand and pulling him into his arms, while supporting Shang Song's buttocks with the other, and lifted him up face to face.

"Why?"

Shang Song's legs naturally wrapped around Xie Jing's waist, and his arms instinctively wrapped around Xie Jing's neck, clinging to him like a little bear.

"Don't move." Xie Jing adjusted his position so that Shang Song could hang on him more comfortably, with his head resting on his shoulder.

Then, holding Shang Song in his arms, he turned around and walked steadily towards the outside of the repair room.

"Xie Jing, I can walk by myself..." Shang Song's voice was muffled on Xie Jing's shoulder, a little unclear.

"Mm," Xie Jing responded, but didn't stop walking, step by step, toward the elevator.

The elevator reached the 88th floor, and the doors slid open silently.

Xie Jing carried him into the master bedroom and gently placed him on the large, soft bed.

Shang Song, however, refused to let go.

Just as Xie Jing was about to leave, she suddenly tightened her legs around his waist and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, refusing to let go.

"Huh?" Xie Jing was pulled forward slightly by his sudden movement, and only by bracing his arms on both sides of Shang Song's body could he maintain his balance.

Xie Jing lowered his eyes, looking at the person who had buried their face in his chest, and helplessly rubbed the back of Shang Song's head. "What's wrong? Did you suffer any grievances at the wedding?"

Shang Song didn't look up; he was still nestled in Xie Jing's arms.

He shook his head. "No. Nobody makes me feel wronged."

He paused, tightened his arms around Xie Jing's neck, and said in a low voice, "I just changed my mind."

"Change your mind?" Xie Jing's eyebrows twitched slightly.

After a while, Shang Song finally peeked out from over Xie Jing's shoulder.

His eyes darted around, and his cheeks were slowly turning red at a visible speed.

Then, under Xie Jing's calm gaze, he called out very softly:

"Woof woof."

Xie Jing was stunned for a moment before realizing what Shang Song meant.

His face showed little change in expression, but his usually calm eyes suddenly deepened.

Then, his Adam's apple bobbed, and as if to confirm, he hummed a low, questioning syllable:

"Um?"

Shang Song's face turned completely red, she was so embarrassed she felt like she was about to evaporate on the spot, but she still steeled herself and spoke even louder:

"Woof woof!"

He breathed too hard, his hot breath brushing against Xie Jing's face.

Xie Jing looked at him and chuckled softly.

He smiled, raised his hand and placed it on the back of Shang Song's head, giving it a light rub. "Shang Song, you're not a puppy."

Shang Song's cheeks immediately puffed up. "Xie Jing! That's so pointless! I've already gone this far, do you really want me to spell it out for you?"