*Fashion Weekly* had always positioned itself as a magazine defined by fashion, luxury, visual indulgence, and the celebration of beauty. These core values elevated the magazine’s status right from its inception. In an era where beauty was more potent than weaponry, *Fashion Weekly* swiftly rose to dominate the magazine industry, thanks in no small part to the elite professionals it recruited. Talented individuals like Hu Qi, a top-tier photographer, and skilled post-production staff responsible for editing, coloring, and layout, ensured the magazine’s place at the pinnacle of visual media.
Duan Xiubo agreed readily to Hu Qi’s request for some additional shots. His generosity and affable nature earned Hu Qi’s gratitude, with the photographer thanking him profusely, even extending his politeness to Luo Ding.
“Move closer, align with the lights, look at the camera. Luo Ding, don’t smile!” Hu Qi meticulously adjusted his angles, taking several shots before frowning at the results.
Luo Ding’s performance surprised him.
Given Luo’s gentle and refreshing appearance when he entered the studio, the stylist had dressed him in a somewhat youthful suit—an English checkered vest with a tailored jacket. It matched his relaxed demeanor when he had been sitting quietly off-camera, but once he was in front of the lens, something felt off.
Hu Qi had aimed to capture the striking contrast between the mature masculinity of Duan Xiubo and the youthful vigor of Luo Ding, positioning Luo to pull on Duan’s tie while Duan looked down at him, intending to evoke a sense of tension. However, the aura Luo Ding exuded in front of the camera was far more intense than Hu Qi had anticipated.
It was as if, the moment the light hit him, Luo’s entire presence sharpened. Despite his height and his subtle smile, a palpable sense of authority radiated from his slender frame, almost as if power was seeping from every pore. His gaze locked with Duan Xiubo’s, and Hu Qi could almost hear the sparks flying between them.
This effect was excellent, but… the outfit just didn’t match. Hu Qi realized the problem as soon as he examined the photos: the suit looked more like children’s clothing in this context.
Putting down his camera, Hu Qi gravely stared at Luo Ding.
“What’s wrong?” Luo Ding asked, confused by the sudden halt.
Hu Qi circled around Luo with a critical eye, then suddenly said, “Luo Ding, take off your jacket.”
“…Is the theme changing?” Luo Ding raised an eyebrow as he began undoing his buttons. As an actor, revealing skin was nothing unusual for him. Early in his career, when the film industry’s censorship wasn’t as strict, actresses often had scenes showing more skin, and Luo himself had filmed scenes with his back exposed. Initially, he had felt shy, but over time, he had come to realize that professionalism meant setting aside such concerns.
Luo Ding’s professionalism impressed Hu Qi. Many actors would feel some level of embarrassment when asked to show skin, but Luo’s calm and cooperative attitude reflected his training and experience. A willing model who could ease into the flow of the shoot was every photographer’s dream.
“The suit looks like it’s made for a child,” Hu Qi briefly explained, watching as Luo Ding shrugged off the jacket with his assistants’ help. As Luo stood shirtless before the camera, Hu Qi’s eyebrows shot up.
Luo Ding’s physique wasn’t conventionally impressive by the usual standards for men. Most people expected a muscular build, tanned skin, chest hair, sweat—signs of pure masculinity. However, as a seasoned professional, Hu Qi’s eye for beauty transcended gender norms, and he immediately recognized Luo Ding’s distinct appeal.
Luo was lean, like many young male stars, who often followed the current trend of being slender rather than muscular. Yet, unlike others whose physiques bordered on unhealthy thinness, Luo had a layer of taut muscle beneath his pale skin. His frame was delicate but strong, exuding a subtle masculinity. His skin was remarkably fair, almost glowing under the lights, and his body hair was minimal, leaving a smooth surface. The cool temperature in the studio had caused his nipples to perk slightly.
Hu Qi observed him with an appraising gaze. As the room fell silent, Luo Ding, noticing no one was speaking, stretched his limbs and spun around, breaking the tension.
Hu Qi frowned and directed the wardrobe assistant, “Get him a pair of jeans. Tight, light-colored, something that emphasizes his waist and hips.”
Luo Ding was quickly wrapped in a coat and hurried off to change. As he disappeared from view, Duan Xiubo finally allowed his tense body to relax.
“Water,” he said. A bottle was pressed into his hand, and he gulped it down, feeling the tightness in his throat begin to ease.
Hu Qi approached Duan with a far more cautious demeanor. “Duan Ge, would you mind collaborating on the next set? You don’t need to go shirtless like Luo Ding, but could you remove your jacket and shoot in just the shirt?”
Duan’s reaction was slower than usual, and after a brief pause, he responded, “Remove the jacket?”
Hu Qi thought Duan was rejecting the idea, so he smiled awkwardly, “If it’s too much trouble, then—”
“No trouble?” Duan repeated, before adding, “Oh, no, it’s fine.”
Hu Qi wasn’t sure what to make of Duan’s hesitation but was relieved he had agreed. As the photographer prepared the set, Duan’s grip on his water bottle tightened until his knuckles turned white. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the vivid mental image of Luo Ding—his smooth, pale skin, slender neck, and lightly toned muscles. It wasn’t the first time Duan had seen Luo’s body. He had glimpsed it during a drunken incident in a hotel room, but at the time, he had been too careful and too intoxicated to really dwell on it.
But this… Luo had unbuttoned his own shirt right in front of him, revealing his chest piece by piece, as if those hands of his were caressing each button with deliberate slowness.
Duan Xiubo knew something wasn’t right with him.
Mi Rui, noticing Duan’s distracted state, quietly asked, “Are you exhausted? If this is too much, we can leave. You don’t have to agree to unreasonable requests. You’ve got filming early tomorrow, so an early night wouldn’t hurt.”
Duan wasn’t remotely tired—he felt more alert than ever. He waved Mi Rui off, then spent a good few moments coaching himself back to a more composed state.
Luo Ding returned.
Having switched into the tight jeans, he now looked even more relaxed. Duan gave him a brief, cursory glance, not daring to look for too long. His mind was left with the image of those slender legs wrapped in denim.
Feeling uncomfortably warm, Duan stood and casually slipped off his jacket, leaving himself in his white shirt and tie, his tall, muscular frame looking even more imposing.
Luo Ding tugged at the waistband of his jeans. Though he was already quite slim, the jeans felt like they were a size too small.
He caught a glimpse of Duan Xiubo, who was still smiling as usual, though his smile seemed tinged with subtle impatience. It was only natural. After all, Duan was renowned for his good-natured patience, but anyone would get frustrated after being held up for so long. Luo Ding gave him an apologetic smile and quickly adjusted his posture, preparing for the next shot.
For a while, the shoot proceeded smoothly. Duan concentrated solely on hitting the best angles, finally feeling some sense of relief. But Hu Qi’s next request shattered his calm.
“Put your hand on his waist,” Hu Qi directed, guiding Duan’s large hand to rest lightly on Luo Ding’s side. The smooth, cool skin under Duan’s fingers made his pulse race. Meanwhile, Luo, with his back to the camera, was instructed to wrap his arm around Duan’s waist.
Hu Qi was brimming with excitement, bouncing on his feet as he snapped away. “Perfect! Keep that posture. Luo Ding, sink your hips a little more, look more relaxed—yes, yes, perfect!”
After several rounds of enthusiastic direction and countless clicks of the camera, Hu Qi finally exhaled. “Great! That was a smooth shoot! Duan Ge, I can’t thank you enough!”
Luo Ding, still gripping Duan’s waist, chuckled and gave it a playful squeeze. “Duan Ge, you’re in great shape.”
“…”
Duan Xiubo felt like he’d been electrocuted. His awkward laugh sounded forced, and he quickly grabbed the jacket Mi Rui handed him, hurriedly throwing it over his shoulders to hide his face. Without turning back, he muttered something about remembering to eat well, then practically sprinted out of the studio.
Luo Ding, watching him flee, turned to see Hu Qi approaching, beaming with satisfaction. “Duan Ge is such a stand-up guy. So easygoing, generous, and humble! Look at him rushing off—he must have other commitments, but he still stuck around to help us out. There aren’t many in this industry like him.”
Luo Ding smiled politely in agreement, but his mind replayed Duan’s near stumble over the camera cords as he made his hasty exit. It was as if he were fleeing from a disaster. Knowing Duan’s usual calm demeanor, Luo would never have suspected anything else, but today, he couldn’t help but wonder. Duan had really gone out of his way to stay for the shoot.
“I’ll treat him to dinner next time,” Luo thought, making a mental note.
********
Ji Jiahe was flipping through the draft photos for the upcoming issue of
*Fashion Weekly*, his brows rising with each turn of the page.
Duan Xiubo had always struck him as the epitome of restraint. Though he often wore a gentle smile, his friend knew that Duan maintained a strict code of conduct. Always clad in tailored suits, Duan’s magazine appearances usually conveyed that same aura—refined, polished, and untouchable.
Tall, handsome, exuding sophistication—whether adjusting his watch or smiling for the camera, Duan was a commanding presence.
But the next page revealed a shift.
Here, Duan had shed his suit jacket, leaving just his white shirt and tie. He looked far more relaxed, with his neck extended awkwardly as someone out of frame tugged on his tie. His gaze had softened, the warmth in his eyes much more accessible than before.
Ji Jiahe flipped to the next page, his curiosity piqued.
Duan’s tie was gone now, the top buttons of his shirt undone to expose a sliver of chest. He was facing someone, his sharp eyes locked in a challenging stare.
Hu Qi beamed with pride, waiting for the approval that was sure to come.
Ji Jiahe gave him a nod of recognition, loosened his own tie, and took a sip of tea, doing his best to remain composed. To be honest, being friends with someone like Duan Xiubo was no easy feat. Ji Jiahe, a man known for his appreciation of beauty, had to constantly resist the temptation to simply admire Duan up close.
With a reluctant sigh, Ji Jiahe turned another page, but the moment his eyes landed on the next photograph, the tea lodged in his throat. He began to choke violently, coughing so hard his eyes watered, but his gaze remained glued to the image before him.
“What the…?! This is not the theme I had in mind! Where’s the jazz-inspired vibe I wanted?!” he exclaimed, pointing at the image of a half-naked, smiling Luo Ding. “What is this?! English elegance?!”
In the photograph, Luo Ding’s delicate features had been flawlessly retouched, his sharp eyes drawing the viewer in. Though shirtless, there was nothing vulgar about the image—on the contrary, Luo exuded a captivating charm that transcended gender norms.
It was… beautiful.
Yes, beautiful was the right word. His cheerful smile seemed to radiate off the page, the lively energy infecting anyone who looked at the photo. Luo’s charisma brought a flat, two-dimensional image to life. From the moment Ji Jiahe laid eyes on it, he couldn’t look away. It was an entirely different kind of allure from Duan Xiubo’s rugged masculinity. Duan invoked a primal, masculine appeal, while Luo embodied a pure, almost ethereal beauty.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Hu Qi, clearly pleased with himself, slapped his hand on the table. “You’ve got a good eye! When I first heard you picked him, I wasn’t so sure. When I saw him, I thought, ‘Okay, he’s a decent model.’ But the moment he stepped in front of the camera—my God! Do you know how I felt when he locked eyes with Duan Xiubo? I was so nervous, I could barely press the shutter button! That whole English look we initially planned was too weak for him. It didn’t fit at all! In the heat of the moment, I just thought, ‘Let’s try something different,’ and asked him to take off his shirt…”
Ji Jiahe raised a hand, silencing Hu Qi’s rambling, his disbelief still etched on his face as he stared at the series of photographs.
Could Luo Ding really look like this in front of the camera?
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thank you for the chapter 🫶🏽☺️