Chapter 24
Murong Cheng woke up thirsty.
He had dreamt of wandering in a desert, his throat parched, desperately searching for water, but every canteen he found was empty.
“Cough, cough…”
His body woke before his mind. He reached for his water glass but found nothing. He blinked, realizing he wasn’t in his apartment in A City, but in a hotel room in a foreign country.
“Want some water?”
A gentle voice sounded beside him, and a glass of water appeared at his lips.
He drank it all in one gulp, then blinked and looked up at Murong Yan.
“You…”
Was he back, or hadn’t he left yet?
He looked out the window. It was dark.
“It’s evening,” Murong Yan said, as if reading his mind.
Murong Cheng: “Did you finish at the factory? How did it go?”
Murong Yan nodded. “Yes, it went well.”
Murong Cheng rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”
Murong Yan: “Almost 8:00 pm.”
He stretched, then slowly sat up in bed.
Why did his body ache all over? He tried to stand, a sharp pain shooting through him. Memories of the earlier encounter flooded back.
He swayed, almost falling. Murong Yan quickly caught him, his arm instinctively going around his waist.
Murong Cheng blushed and pulled away.
But he was still weak and couldn’t escape Murong Yan’s grasp.
The CEO raised an eyebrow, a questioning look in his eyes.
His cheeks and ears burned. He waved his hands, assuring him he was fine, and steadied himself.
“Are you hungry?” Murong Yan asked, also standing up.
Murong Cheng: “A little.”
“Most restaurants were closed this morning, so we had to make do with hotel food. I can take you somewhere else now.”
“Okay,” he agreed readily.
He regretted his decision the moment he sat down in the car.
For personal trips, Murong Yan preferred to drive himself.
Murong Cheng fidgeted in his seat, unable to comfortably fasten his seatbelt.
Murong Yan leaned over and adjusted the seat. “Would lying down be more comfortable?”
Murong Cheng glared at him, pouting. “This is your fault.”
“I’m sorry,” Murong Yan apologized, a playful smirk on his lips as he glanced at Murong Cheng’s neck.
Noticing his gaze, Murong Cheng quickly zipped up his jacket. “Let’s go! I’m starving.”
“Okay,” Murong Yan replied, then leaned in and kissed his cheek.
In his current state, crowded restaurants were out of the question. He asked Murong Yan to get takeout and bring it back to the car.
The car was parked near a large shopping mall. People bustled along the streets, the colorful neon lights reflecting off their faces. The festive atmosphere was infectious.
Europe was beautiful during the holiday season.
Murong Cheng smiled.
He yawned and saw Murong Yan returning with two large paper bags. He opened the back door and placed the food inside.
“I’m taking you somewhere.”
He got in and drove away.
A few minutes later, they arrived at a bustling Christmas market. Stalls lined the square in front of a church, decorated with red and green ornaments.
Murong Yan parked, grabbed the food, and took his hand.
“Come on.”
He led Murong Cheng towards a building next to the church.
A marionette theater.
The show was about to start. People holding tickets filed into the theater.
Murong Yan led him to a private box on the second floor.
The view from the box was excellent. A row of sofas faced the stage, a coffee table laden with fruit and nuts in front of them. Murong Yan unpacked the takeout.
Crispy pork knuckle.
The aroma filled the box.
This was far superior to the hotel breakfast, both in presentation and flavor.
So Germany did have good food.
Murong Cheng took a bite of the tender pork, the crispy skin crackling satisfyingly. He offered a piece to Murong Yan.
“You eat first,” Murong Yan said, focusing on dividing the pork knuckle.
“You too,” Murong Cheng insisted.
Murong Yan ate the piece he offered.
“How is it? Good?” Murong Cheng asked, his eyes shining.
“Yes, delicious,” Murong Yan nodded, smiling.
The crispy skin was salty, complementing the unseasoned meat inside. The sauerkraut provided a refreshing contrast, and the mashed potatoes, seasoned with black pepper, were much better than the bland roasted potatoes from breakfast. The bread, however, was just as hard as the morning’s offering.
Murong Yan finished dividing the pork knuckle just as the theater lights dimmed, and the show began.
This was Murong Cheng’s first time watching a marionette show since childhood.
His parents used to take him to marionette shows every weekend when he was in elementary school. Back then, he had little homework and spent his days playing with Chi Yu, returning home to a warm meal prepared by his mother. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Now, he was far away in A City, only returning home during long holidays. His hometown had become a place of only summers and winters, no springs or autumns. Even seeing Chi Yu had become a rare occasion.
The marionettes on stage depicted a nautical adventure. There was no dialogue, which was fortunate, as Murong Cheng didn’t understand German. The little animal puppets were adorable, and he could hear children laughing in the audience.
But his mind wandered.
Chinese New Year was approaching, and he hadn’t booked his flight home yet. If he went home, he wouldn’t see Murong Yan for another week. But his parents were waiting for him. He couldn’t possibly not go home for the New Year.
He wondered when he could bring his parents to A City.
But the housing prices were exorbitant. He could barely afford a small, old apartment with Mu Haoqiong, let alone a place big enough for his parents.
Murong Yan, sensing his distraction, turned to him. “What’s wrong?”
Murong Cheng shook his head in the darkness. A moment later, he felt Murong Yan’s arm around his shoulder.
“Tired? Shall we go back?” he asked, starting to stand up.
Murong Cheng grabbed his arm. “No.”
Murong Yan: “Don’t you like marionette shows?”
Murong Cheng shook his head again. “I do.”
“Then what’s wrong?” he asked, looking at him intently.
“My parents used to take me to see marionette shows when I was little,” Murong Cheng murmured.
“Homesick?” Murong Yan asked gently.
Murong Cheng: “A little.”
Murong Yan: “Have you booked your flight home for Chinese New Year?”
“Not yet,” he mumbled, biting his lip.
Murong Yan: “Haven’t decided when to go back? The company usually announces the holiday schedule a few days in advance. You can book a flight for the 26th or 27th. Or if you want to go back earlier, we can return to China after I finish here, and you can take a few days off.”
“No need,” Murong Cheng waved his hand. “I don’t want special treatment.”
The real reason he hadn’t booked his flight was the exorbitant price. He had been monitoring the prices since returning from the National Day holiday, hoping for a drop, but they had only gone up.
Murong Yan took out the credit card Murong Cheng had refused earlier.
“Take this,” he pressed the card into his hand, stopping his protest before he could even speak. “Use it to book your flight home. If you refuse, I’ll have Duan Shao book you a first-class ticket. I agreed to keep our relationship private in public, but you’re my boyfriend. I don’t want you to draw lines between us in private.”
Murong Cheng hesitated, his fingers curling around the card.
“Ah Cheng, I don’t want you to worry about these things. It hurts me to see you struggling,” Murong Yan’s voice was low and gentle. He covered Murong Cheng’s hand with his own. “Promise me, okay?”
Applause erupted from downstairs as the first act ended.
The curtain closed, then opened again, the stage bathed in bright light, symbolizing the morning sun.
Murong Yan insisted, and the money clearly wasn’t a big deal to him. Murong Cheng finally nodded. “Okay, thank you, Yan-ge.”
“I don’t like hearing you thank me. It sounds distant,” Murong Yan said, gently pinching his cheek.
“Then what do you want to hear?” Murong Cheng asked, looking at him intently.
“I want to hear—” a playful glint flashed in Murong Yan’s eyes. He leaned in and kissed his lips. “I want to hear you say you love me.”
“I love you, Ah Cheng,” he said, his gaze unwavering.
Although he had heard those words before, being looked at so intently made Murong Cheng blush.
He squeezed Murong Yan’s hand. “I love you too, Yan-ge.”
The theater was still bustling with people after the show.
“Can you walk? Want to explore the market?” Murong Yan asked.
“Of course, I can,” Murong Cheng said, glaring at him playfully, and walked towards the market stalls.
He could walk, just not very quickly, and with a lingering ache. He should have never entered Murong Yan’s suite this morning. Who knew a seemingly innocent breakfast could lead to this?
Unlike the vibrant food stalls at Chinese temple fairs, the Munich Christmas market mostly sold handicrafts, with only a few food vendors.
But it was still enjoyable.
The handicrafts were beautiful and unique. To Murong Cheng’s untrained eye, they were almost as captivating as the jewelry at the auction.
The cold night air chilled him after a while. He stopped at a mulled wine stall and looked at Murong Yan expectantly.
“Want some?” Murong Yan asked, as if questioning his alcohol tolerance.
Murong Cheng nodded enthusiastically.
It was just a small cup. He wouldn’t get drunk.
Since Murong Yan was driving, they only bought one.
The warm mulled wine smelled of fruit and cinnamon, the taste sweet and comforting.
He took a sip, feeling a wave of warmth, and continued exploring the market.
He bought two scented candles, a pair of colorful mugs, a jar of homemade jam, a bag of gingerbread cookies, two scarves with reindeer patterns, a bag of chocolate-covered nuts, and a handful of fridge magnets. Seeing Murong Yan’s hands full of shopping bags, he reluctantly agreed to leave.
He had finished the mulled wine without realizing it.
The cold air hadn’t affected him earlier, but now, back in the warm car, he felt his head spinning.
He had spoken too soon. He was drunk again.
After just one small cup.
Murong Yan started the car, turned on the heater, and looked at him.
“Back to the hotel?”
Murong Cheng nodded groggily, then shook his head.
“Want to go somewhere else, kid?” Murong Yan asked gently.
Murong Cheng mumbled something in response.
Murong Yan chuckled and fastened his seatbelt, the young man already dozing off.
The drive back to the hotel felt long.
Murong Yan seemed to have stopped somewhere along the way. He woke up briefly, feeling the stillness of the car, then drifted off again.
He felt the car stop, and Murong Yan lifted him into his arms.
He tried to wake up and walk on his own, but his eyelids felt heavy.
Murong Yan gently removed his coat and shoes, then tucked him into bed.
He snuggled under the covers, then felt the CEO approaching.
Something wasn’t right.
The covers were pulled back, the cool air chilling his skin. He shivered. Murong Yan’s cold fingers touched his lower back.
He flinched, his eyes flying open.
“Don’t…”
The lingering pain from earlier made him instinctively recoil from Murong Yan’s touch.
But then he felt a cool sensation. Murong Yan was applying ointment, his touch gentle and soothing, nothing more.
“Go back to sleep, my love. I won’t touch you,” he whispered against his ear.
His warm breath and gentle voice calmed him.
The pain subsided under the cooling ointment.
He relaxed and drifted back to sleep.
