“The President's Surrogacy”.

7

The call repeatedly yielded the same automated message: “The number you dialed is powered off. Please try again later…” Xia Yaqing stood in a quiet corner, anxiously redialing Zixin’s number. Every attempt ended with the same response. A creeping unease tightened its grip on her. Could Zixin have changed her mind? As the thought crossed her mind, a wave of foreboding swept through her. She raised the phone again, preparing to try once more.

Before she could dial, Luo Yiwei approached. Yaqing swiftly tucked the phone into her bag.

“Yaqing, why are you hiding in the corner? Is this not your kind of event? If you don’t enjoy these occasions, I won’t bring you next time,” he said gently, wrapping an arm around her waist with tender concern.

“No, that’s not it. It’s precisely events like this where I need to show up,” she replied, her expression shifting from tense to cheerful. “I want those women coveting you to understand that I am your wife.” Her smile was radiant, though her heart still carried its worry. She silently prayed for Zixin to call back soon.

“Where are you taking me?” Xia Zixin demanded, attempting to wrench her arm free as they walked down a corridor. Her struggles were futile against his strength, and she eventually gave up with a resigned sigh.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Han Zhengxi replied with a mischievous smile. His grip remained firm as he pushed open a door, revealing a bustling scene within. The room was illuminated by rows of dazzling lights affixed to elegant vanity mirrors. Staff scurried about, engulfed in a whirlwind of activity. Models with enviable figures were busy preparing to take the stage.

Zhengxi positioned himself behind Zixin, silencing the staff who were about to greet him with a quick gesture. Lowering his gaze, he looked at the wide-eyed girl in front of him, a smirk playing on his lips.

Zixin, thoroughly confused, turned to him. “Hey, what’s going on? Why did you bring me here?”

Pressing his palms together in mock supplication, Zhengxi adopted a boyish demeanor. “If you don’t help me, I’ll definitely get fired,” he pleaded in his imperfect Mandarin.

“Help you? How?” Zixin asked warily.

“Put this on.” He took a garment handed over by his assistant, JIN, and held it up in front of her.

“You mean…you want me to be a model?” Zixin gestured incredulously between the dress and herself, disbelief etched across her face.

Zhengxi nodded enthusiastically, his head bobbing like a marionette.

“No way! Absolutely not!” she exclaimed, shoving the dress back at him. “This has to be a joke. Look at me—how could I possibly be a model?”

“If you don’t help me, I’ll lose my job. Could you really bear to let that happen?” Zhengxi’s exaggeratedly pitiful expression and dramatic tone made him resemble a mischievous child.

Zixin hesitated, torn between irritation and amusement. Just as she opened her mouth to reject him again, he pointed toward his assistant, Piao Xiancheng. “See him over there? That’s my boss. Look at his terrifying expression—my job’s as good as gone…” Zhengxi sighed theatrically, his puppy-dog eyes brimming with mock despair.

The staff around them stifled giggles. It was rare to see their director behaving so playfully, like a child throwing a tantrum.

Zixin glanced at Xiancheng’s stern face, then back at Zhengxi, who looked as though the world was ending. Was she really going to abandon him to his fate? Taking a deep breath, she resolved to take the plunge. “Fine, I’ll do it. But let me be clear: if anything goes wrong, I take no responsibility.”

Zhengxi’s face lit up with a dazzling smile. “Deal!”

When Zixin stepped out of the fitting room, the room fell silent. She wore a white gown adorned with delicate red lines that flowed gracefully to the hem, where they bloomed into a sea of vibrant flowers. The fabric embraced her figure like it had been crafted solely for her. She hesitantly walked toward a mirror, lifting the hem slightly as she moved.

“It’s as though this dress was made for her,” JIN murmured, admiration evident in his voice. The colors, the texture, and the way the gown complemented her alabaster skin were breathtaking. “But…something still feels amiss.”

“The hair,” Zhengxi said decisively. He motioned for Zixin to sit in front of the vanity. Standing behind her, he gently began adjusting her hair, preparing to gather it into an elegant updo.

“No!” Zixin cried, gripping his hands tightly.

It was too late. Her red birthmark, usually hidden beneath her bangs, was now exposed. A tense silence blanketed the room as the staff exchanged uneasy glances.

“This…” Xiancheng’s expression darkened. Though he said nothing, the disapproval was plain on his face.

Zixin lowered her head, fists clenched. The weight of their stares made her feel like a spectacle on display.

Then, she felt a warm, reassuring hand envelop hers. Zhengxi crouched in front of her, his gaze steady and sincere. “Don’t worry about what others think. Trust me, okay?”

His voice, filled with conviction, momentarily disarmed her.

“I…I can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head. She stood abruptly, intending to retreat to the fitting room and remove the dress. “Find someone else.”

Zhengxi’s hands landed firmly on her shoulders, guiding her back into the chair. His tone turned serious, his words heavy with meaning. “Last time you turned me down, it was your way of running away. And that’s exactly what this is—another escape.”

“I’m not running away!” she snapped, her voice breaking with frustration.

“Prove it, then,” he said, gripping her hands tightly. “Trust me.”

Those words again. Trust me.

After a long pause, Zixin nodded hesitantly. For the first time, she decided to place her faith in him.

JIN approached with a heavy case, setting it down before Zhengxi with a knowing smile. “I think this is what you’ll need,” he said in Korean.

Zhengxi’s eyes met JIN’s, gratitude flickering between them. Opening the case, he addressed the makeup artist in swift Korean. “Her complexion is flawless—skip the foundation and focus on brightening key areas. Accent her eyes. Work quickly; we’re running out of time.”

“Understood,” the makeup artist replied, working with swift precision.

Zixin sat quietly as the team transformed her. Zhengxi, armed with paints and brushes, delicately traced intricate designs across her skin. His strokes were masterful, each line enhancing her natural elegance.

The staff watched in awe. It wasn’t often they witnessed their director’s hidden talent. Though renowned as a fashion prodigy, few knew that Zhengxi had once been a gifted body artist. His family’s business had steered him toward clothing design, and years had passed since he last practiced this craft.

Tonight, however, he was reclaiming his art—and Zixin was his canvas.