The neighborhood wasn’t far away, and Wen Jiaxuan followed Wu Zehao, quickly returning to the grand villa he had visited before.
Though Wen Jiaxuan suspected Wu Zehao was a liar, being with him eased his sense of aimlessness. In the end, he relied on this apparent fraudster for his financial support.
Wu Zehao’s residence resembled an expanded loft apartment, split into two floors. The first floor served as a functional living room, while the second floor had an undivided bedroom. Lying on the upper floor’s bed allowed a clear view of the happenings below.
“Stay on the first floor; you’re not allowed on the second,” Wu Zehao ordered. With those words, he ascended the stairs to retrieve clothing and headed to the bathroom on the first floor.
On the first floor, Wen Jiaxuan idly examined his surroundings and quickly became intrigued by the workbench situated in the corner.
Although officially labeled as “Zeyou Travel” headquarters, the office vibe seemed nonexistent—except for the workbench.
The workbench featured a curved design, holding two iMacs, three cameras, and an abundance of documents and photos. Wen Jiaxuan picked up a photograph—a vibrant Cuban street scene, known as a prominent photography location.
Although not a photography enthusiast, Wen Jiaxuan possessed some knowledge. His father, Wenhua, a reporter with a penchant for SLRs, ensured a collection of SLRs, mirrorless cameras, and assorted lenses resided at their home.
When Wen Jiaxuan resided in Japan, Wenhua frequently led him in photography sessions during free moments. Consequently, Wen Jiaxuan developed a peculiar fondness for cameras. Grasping a camera, he examined it—a professional Canon SLR with an unremoved lens, substantial in weight.
A sound emerged from the bathroom’s direction, accompanied by pattering footsteps.
In response, Wen Jiaxuan set down the camera, swiveling around. In the next instant, he took an involuntary step backward, colliding with the workbench.
“Why aren’t you dressed?!”
Wen Jiaxuan held no fear of undressed men, recognizing his own gender; naked men of the same gender did not astound him. However…
Wu Zehao’s physique struck him—wheat-toned skin accentuating his muscular frame, along with an imposing stature, forming a human embodiment of testosterone. Witnessing this spectacle, Wen Jiaxuan felt his head spin.
Furthermore…
Wu Zehao sported loose sweatpants, and the faint mermaid line seized Wen Jiaxuan’s attention, eventually wandering to the undulating hills.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
Is he even human? Why’s it so conspicuous?
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“Vajcv atfgf, vbc’a wbnf,” Qe Iftjb vlgfmafv, raglvlcu abkjgvr Qfc Aljzejc. Cczlbercfrr fcnfibqfv Qfc Aljzejc; tlr atbeutar rklgifv lcab mbcoerlbc. Qts kjr atlr qfgrbc jqqgbjmtlcu gluta joafg j rtbkfg?
“Vajs jkjs,” Qfc Aljzejc mjealbcfv, sfa atf kbgxyfcmt yftlcv tlw ilwlafv tlr gfagfja.
“I told you not to move!” Wu Zehao advanced swiftly, compounding Wen Jiaxuan’s panic. Bewilderment clouded Wen Jiaxuan, uncertain of Wu Zehao’s intentions. An array of disjointed fears cluttered his mind.
Did Wu Zehao intend to harm him, looking so menacing?
Wide-eyed, Wen Jiaxuan shivered uncontrollably, anxiety mounting, until…
A snap echoed.
An object collided with the floor.
Instinctively, Wen Jiaxuan turned, discovering the camera he had handled moments before in an awkward position on the ground.
Wu Zehao stood directly before Wen Jiaxuan, nearly crouched, attempting to catch the camera mid-air—alas, a fraction too late.
Cameras were valuable, susceptible to damage from dust, moisture, and falls.
However, Wen Jiaxuan had dropped Wu Zehao’s camera.
The camera, a non-trivial investment, displayed two amounts projected within Wen Jiaxuan’s vision: ¥17,000 and ¥12,000, hovering over the body and lens, resembling an augmented reality interface.
Wen Jiaxuan pivoted to Wu Zehao, observing him as he inhaled deeply, eyes closed, suppressing an impending outburst.
“Didn’t I tell you not to move?” Wu Zehao’s voice quivered.
Wen Jiaxuan, if correct, surmised that Wu Zehao teetered on the brink of fury.
“…You startled me without any clothes,” Wen Jiaxuan mumbled, lacking conviction, voice as soft as a mosquito’s buzz.
“Am I not wearing pants?”
“…You are.”
“Then what’s there to be afraid of?”
Wen Jiaxuan dared not retort.
He dared not confess that his mind had run wild due to a supplement, as Wu Zehao might genuinely lash out if confronted with this revelation.
Bending to retrieve the fallen camera, Wu Zehao stretched his back’s muscles. Wen Jiaxuan stared, momentarily distracted, pondering when he could attain such physicality.
Their proximity intensified, and water vapor from Wu Zehao’s body brushed Wen Jiaxuan’s face. Cheeks aflame, he voiced concern, “Um, did the camera break?”
“UV filter cracked.” Wu Zehao removed the filter, capturing a few shots of the yard through the door. “Focus issue—I’ll take it to the shop tomorrow.”
Wen Jiaxuan looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated. Wu Zehao seemed to sense his concern and bluntly said, “If it’s damaged, you’ll pay for it.”
Wen Jiaxuan was on the verge of tears. He traveled a long way to demand his salary, but it seemed like he might end up losing all his money instead.
“And,” Wu Zehao put down the camera, picked up a cotton T-shirt draped over the office chair, and then, as if carrying a chick, he grabbed Wen Jiaxuan’s arm and led him to the sofa in the living room, saying, “Your current range of activity is limited to here.”
Wen Jiaxuan, aware of his guilt, didn’t dare to resist. He held onto the straps of his backpack and looked pitifully at Wu Zehao, saying, “My phone is running out of battery. Can I charge it?”
Wu Zehao replied emotionlessly, “Go.”
Wen Jiaxuan took out a charger from his backpack and plugged it into the socket near the TV. He casually checked the time; it was just a little past nine, so there should be some TV programs to watch. He glanced at Wu Zehao, who was sitting at the worktable, and tentatively asked, “May I watch TV?”
Without turning his head, Wu Zehao said, “Not allowed.”
Wen Jiaxuan sighed and reluctantly lay down on the sofa. He had plugged in his phone to charge, but with nothing to watch on TV and growing boredom, he soon peeked his head out from behind the sofa and watched Wu Zehao who was organizing documents.
“Is your company staffed with only you?” Wen Jiaxuan asked.
Wu Zehao glanced at him and continued to focus on the documents, saying, “My team is scattered across the country, and we operate online.”
“I see,” Wen Jiaxuan nodded in realization. Although he wasn’t entirely clear about the specific details, he had heard of this emerging way of working. After some thought, he asked, “What do you need me to translate game text for?”
Wu Zehao’s hand paused while flipping through the documents. He rubbed his temples with a look of frustration and said, “How many times do I have to say it? I’m not the one deceiving you.”
Wen Jiaxuan rested his chin on the back of the sofa chair and remained silent.
He suddenly felt that Wu Zehao didn’t seem like he was lying.
Earlier, at the bar entrance, he had almost been hit by a car, but it was Wu Zehao who had pulled him back.
He had damaged Wu Zehao’s phone, but Wu Zehao didn’t entirely blame him and had taken some responsibility himself. This didn’t seem like the behavior of a scammer.
He didn’t have an ID, and he had nowhere else to go, so it was Wu Zehao who had brought him back. If Wu Zehao were truly a scammer, he could have just ignored him.
Moreover, he didn’t like the smell of smoke, and Wu Zehao had noticed and refrained from smoking inside the house. This not only didn’t resemble the behavior of a scammer but also made him seem well-mannered.
Wen Jiaxuan glanced again at Wu Zehao’s worktable, where the equipment alone was worth at least tens of thousands. If these things didn’t prove anything, at the very least, the lighter Wu Zehao used suggested that he wasn’t short on money.
It was a Dupont lighter, with the cheaper ones costing thousands and the more expensive ones tens of thousands. Wen Jiaxuan’s dad also had one that a friend had given him, and he treated it like a precious treasure.
So, why would someone like this delay paying him over twenty thousand for his work?
Wen Jiaxuan lay on the sofa, gazing blankly at the ceiling. He suddenly felt a sense of fear. Because demanding payment from Wu Zehao was the only thing he could currently do, if this endeavor was wrong from the start, it would mean he had completely lost his direction forward.
Reason told Wen Jiaxuan that he might have chosen the wrong person, but deep inside, he hoped he hadn’t.
If Wu Zehao wasn’t deceiving him, then where else could he go to demand his salary?
I hope that scumbag that scammed him gets what he deserves, I’m having anxiety just reading this 😭
+1