Dai Lijun, although focused on his computer, spared some attention for Wang Qiqi. He noticed she was distracted. “Qiqi, why on earth do you want to do a photoshoot?” It just didn’t make sense to Dai Lijun; he never pictured Qiqi as someone who enjoyed having her picture taken. If Shi Man had suggested it, he wouldn't have batted an eye, but Qiqi initiating it baffled him completely.

“I just want to keep a memory,” Wang Qiqi admitted, aware of her less-than-ideal mood. “You know I’m not really a fan of photos.” She always felt her presence in front of the lens—especially against beautiful scenery or grand architecture—was jarring, ruining the aesthetic. “I don’t want to get old and realize I have no tangible memories of my youth. I can’t just rely on photo booth strips or graduation pictures, can I?” Those were either too silly or too stiffly serious. Wang Qiqi pictured looking back at such photos in old age and seeing only sources of embarrassment.

Those were valid reasons for taking pictures, indeed. “But aren't you worried when your skin gets wrinkled, and you compare it to your smooth skin in the photos? Won't that bother you?” Dai Lijun thought if he were in her shoes, he’d be ready to check out of life.

Wang Qiqi had considered that, too. “When people age, their skin naturally loses its fight. If my skin is still smooth and elastic when I’m eighty, I expect they’ll want to study me, or I’ll turn out to be a vampire.” Speaking of vampires, Wang Qiqi recalled a book about them, but she felt she lacked the literary skill to do it justice. Besides, she worried if she flapped that butterfly wing, it might alter too many things she already knew. She had to let that lucrative opportunity slip away. “Actually, Dummy, you should consider doing a set with your Weiwei someday. Looking back on those when you’re old will surely be meaningful.”

At Wang Qiqi’s suggestion, Dai Lijun shuddered violently. “I don’t want to be stimulated like that. I suspect looking at them would kill my will to live instantly.” He worried about other things too. “What if the kids find these things? Where would I hide my face? You could consider doing a set with Han Tao, although I think the chances of that are slim to none.” Han Tao agreeing to let Qiqi do a solo shoot was already a stretch; a couple’s shoot was out of the question, unless Qiqi managed to ask him when he was completely incoherent—say, right after some vigorous [Exercise Name] or while half-asleep.

Wang Qiqi would certainly consider Dai Lijun’s proposal, and it gave her an idea for how to get her own man to agree. “Don't worry, I’ll consider it.” The plan was to first suggest a couple’s shoot to Han Tao. He would definitely refuse, allowing her to pivot smoothly to a solo shoot, which would likely succeed. “Oh, and you don't need to tell Han Tao about this right now.” Some things required the element of surprise; keeping it quiet was essential, otherwise, if he was mentally prepared, success would be impossible.

Dai Lijun’s hands, flying across the keyboard, froze mid-motion when he heard Wang Qiqi’s words. After a long pause, he looked at her sheepishly. “Well, um… that…” Heavens, he felt so unlucky lately. He wondered if there was a temple nearby to burn some incense and ward off the bad luck. Then he corrected himself—there were probably more churches here. Sigh, attending church might work, but he suspected the effect would be even worse. Dai Lijun was truly vexed.

Seeing Dai Lijun’s expression, Wang Qiqi’s eyes immediately widened to twice their usual size. “You couldn't have been that quick! I asked you to clean up, and you went to sleep fast, but you managed to spread this gossip so quickly.” My God, the Fatty was being unusually proactive! “Did my Han Tao reply yet?” Wang Qiqi prayed that the man was too busy to chat, but she knew that was unlikely.

“He replied,” Dai Lijun muttered, figuring he had already offended Wang Qiqi enough. “Your man only asked one question: ‘What is an artistic photoshoot?’” Dai Lijun wondered if Han Tao was playing dumb. It made no sense; he understood it, so why wouldn't Han Tao? To avoid future retribution from Han Tao, Dai Lijun kindly provided his explanation of what an artistic photoshoot entailed.

“Don’t explain!” Wang Qiqi shrieked instantly, scrambling over to Dai Lijun to snatch the laptop away. But her speed couldn't match Dai Lijun’s practiced fingers, honed by years of typing Chinese characters. By the time she reached him, he had already hit the send button. Seeing the message appear in the chat window, Wang Qiqi was intensely grateful that they were communicating in Chinese; otherwise, she wouldn't have had the face to bring Han Tao food later. Although Westerners tended to be more open-minded about such things, Wang Qiqi still felt it would be profoundly weird.

Even knowing that whoever was at the computer wouldn't understand the meaning of the characters, Wang Qiqi wasn't letting Dai Lijun off the hook. She clamped her hands around his neck. “Telling Han Tao! Selling me out! Have you forgotten who knew you first?”

“I was worried history would repeat itself. I was afraid Han Tao wouldn't give me a nice reception,” Dai Lijun thought, feeling utterly miserable. Both couples were trouble to cross.

As they argued, Han Tao’s reply came through. Wang Qiqi let go of the fight with Dai Lijun, realizing further argument was pointless. She leaned in to see Han Tao’s response: Why does Qiqi have this idea?

Dai Lijun saw the question and knew he absolutely couldn't let Wang Qiqi take control of the computer. If he replied, he would give an objective account, detailing the entire sequence of events, including how wronged he felt.

Wang Qiqi certainly understood Dai Lijun’s thinking. She quickly pinned him down, snatched the laptop, and took charge. However, she knew she couldn't reply slowly; it had to be quick, sharp, and precise. Wang Qiqi quickly typed a few characters: It’s because of my influence. Since Wang Qiqi was using Dai Lijun’s connection, she didn’t type Dai Lijun’s name, which also saved two characters of input time.

Upon seeing Wang Qiqi’s input, Dai Lijun’s struggle intensified. Ignoring the fact that she was a woman, he shoved her aside, grabbed the computer, and rapidly typed out more information. Since Qiqi had already disclosed the core reason, he naturally had to embellish it a bit, hoping to lighten Han Tao’s eventual wrath.

Han Tao had been genuinely busy, which was why he’d initially told Qiqi he’d be home for dinner only to change plans last minute. Thus, when he first saw the message from Dai Lijun, he hadn't thought much of it. But when he read Dai Lijun’s detailed response, he was thoroughly unsettled. He felt like his eyes were playing tricks on him. As far as he knew, Qiqi disliked photoshoots, so why would she suddenly want an artistic one? He couldn't understand it. He concluded Qiqi must have been affected by some external factor, likely something that happened after she went to Boston with Shi Man. He suspected Shi Man might have encouraged it. Yet, Dai Lijun’s reply actually stated that he was the cause.

Han Tao stared blankly at the screen. His wife wanted an artistic photoshoot because of Dai Lijun? If he hadn't known the two of them so well, anyone would jump to wild conclusions about their relationship. As he pondered what Dai Lijun might have said or implied to steer his picture-averse girlfriend toward this idea, Dai Lijun’s messages kept pouring in.

Dai Lijun: Brother, your wife feels she should capture more photos while she's young so we can look back at them later. Also, so you, old man, can see what your old lady’s graceful figure used to look like. (Han Tao thought: When we're white-haired, looking at these photos will just be torture. Plus, comparing his young, smooth-skinned wife to the one beside him, with loose skin and missing teeth—that gap might give one thoughts of jumping off a building. Even if his wife’s intentions were good, Han Tao truly felt he didn't want this kind of 'stimulation'.)

The subsequent messages detailed how Dai Lijun was bullied by the three of them while in Boston, and how Qiqi had captured a picture of his most embarrassing moment. In short, he sent plenty of material to make Han Tao understand that the key reason for the photoshoot was Dai Lijun bragging that his physique had earned praise from Wang Qiqi.

The fact that his wife praised another man's physique deeply displeased Han Tao. He roared internally: Damn it! Is my body really worse than that of a fat guy who used to weigh nearly 200 pounds? Even though he’d lost weight now, Han Tao had seen the Fatty’s body before. Okay, maybe his wife was just trying to be polite and make the other guy forget about the compromising film roll, but she didn't have to say that. Han Tao’s anger flared hotter. He decided then and there: he absolutely had to do a half-nude photoshoot, so his wife could properly compare whose physique was better—his or Dummy’s.

Wang Qiqi was unaware that a single sentence from Dai Lijun had made her husband less resistant to the idea of an artistic photoshoot. What enraged her now was that Dai Lijun had actually sent the part where she praised Dummy’s physique. Wang Qiqi felt she was courting death today. Why did she even bring this up with the Dummy? And why did she say things she didn't mean just to distract him from the film incident? Wang Qiqi gave up arguing with Dai Lijun. She quietly let go of him, returned to the kitchen, and started preparing dinner. She figured since Han Tao knew the situation, any further explanation would just sound like an excuse. It was better to cook something delicious for him so that the exquisite food might coax him into agreeing to her request. As for the gloating man tapping away at the keyboard, Wang Qiqi thought with simmering resentment: Little punk, I shouldn't have been nice to you! The moment I treat you well, you forget why the flowers bloom so red.

Though Dai Lijun didn't turn to look at Wang Qiqi, he could feel her resentful, cobra-like glare. He kept telling himself that since he’d already offended her, he shouldn't worry about her feelings; at least Han Tao was on his side. But when he saw Han Tao’s next reply, a chill shot through him, like plunging prematurely from summer into winter. (To be continued)