Chapter 22: Love Revealed

In the bedroom, fragments of the phone screen were embedded in the carpet, reflecting light under the illumination.

Wei Tingxia’s eyes took on a deeper ink-black hue in the somewhat dim environment. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze not falling on the mess, but precisely focusing on the holographic line chart floating to the left of his hand.

Sometimes, data revealed the heart more clearly than words. Yan Xinfeng had clearly been driven mad just now, trembling with a determination to go down with Wei Tingxia, to die together. The red curve had jumped wildly as a result, the alarm piercingly shrill, a field of near-collapse crimson.

Recalling the argument from moments ago, Wei Tingxia drank a sip of water expressionlessly. There was no trace of drunkenness in his eyes—clear-headed and sharp. The corner of his brow still seemed to retain a trace of the near-scorching warmth left by Yan Xinfeng’s fingertip touch earlier.

In his ear, 0188 asked cautiously: [Why did you deliberately provoke him?]

He knew the words would anger Yan Xinfeng, yet Wei Tingxia had pressed on regardless, as if only that could achieve some purpose no one else understood.

0188 had worked with him for centuries and knew Wei Tingxia was not capricious. He always had a purpose and measure in his actions.

“I wanted to see what he would say when pushed to his limit,” Wei Tingxia replied, taking another sip of water. “I wanted to hear his true feelings.”

He turned his face expressionlessly toward the window.

Dusk gathered, thick shadows silently devouring the daylight, spilling over the window frame and pressing Wei Tingxia in the room into deep grayness along with the last light. The view outside rapidly lost color, sinking into a oppressive, restless silence.

The estate covered about three hundred acres, roughly thirty soccer fields, plus various buildings and facilities. By City A’s prices, Yan Xinfeng had to pay one billion or more.

Tens of millions could be dismissed as trifling amusements to coax someone, and Wei Tingxia had seen plenty, received plenty himself. But Yan Xinfeng casually dropping billions…

His thoughts drifted back unbidden to their earlier quarrel. Even in recollection, Yan Xinfeng’s sorrow and self-loathing were starkly evident, almost shockingly so.

It was not the annoyance of feeling one’s efforts unrewarded, but a deeper anguish, as if his sincere heart had been treated as filth, thrown to the ground and trampled twice.

“…”

A flash of insight surfaced amid layers of confusion, like glimpsing clarity after struggling through fog.

Wei Tingxia saw something in Yan Xinfeng’s anger and resentment.

“Does Yan Xinfeng really love me that much?” he asked 0188 softly.

0188’s core logic could not parse “love,” a non-quantifiable variable. It had no answer. But it searched its vast local database and gave a cold, fact-based response:

[In traceable records of this world, no other individual has gifted a lover an estate asset of equivalent scale and value.]

It was not the right answer, but it was close.

Wei Tingxia suddenly understood.

Yan Xinfeng loved him.

This realization came too late—five full years late, perhaps longer. Yet when it finally crystallized, Wei Tingxia felt no surprise, not even the slightest shock.

It was as if Yan Xinfeng had silently planted this feeling in every glance, every murmur, every silence of the past, and Wei Tingxia had only now deigned to lower his head and see the barren soil where it had long taken root and sprouted.

“He loves me.” Wei Tingxia said it again, as if informing 0188, or reminding himself.

And 0188 posed a question: [When he first gave you a gift, did you smile?]

“I did.”

He had smiled happily, because the protagonist had walked right into the trap, saving him the effort of engineering chance encounters.

But that pleased smile hid his intent. Wei Tingxia smiled at Yan Xinfeng’s self-entrapment, while Yan Xinfeng thought he was accepting his love.

They had gone wrong from the start.

Gifts and money were never toys to tease a pet with, but Yan Xinfeng’s carefully offered sincerity. Perhaps he had long seen Wei Tingxia had no intention of staying, so he always submitted humbly and subserviently, then lashed out in frustrated resentment.

Love me, stay. The moment he gave the gift, he prayed silently from his heart.

Look at me.

But Wei Tingxia had not looked. The moment the time was ripe, he left.

He accepted Yan Xinfeng’s sincerity, then gave him a nightmare in return.

…

Leaving the suite, Wei Tingxia saw Hu Yao waiting at the door.

They had argued fiercely just now, so the bodyguard captain must have heard. The look he gave was disapproving.

Wei Tingxia asked, “Where is he?”

Hu Yao jerked his chin toward the distance: “Gone drinking.”

Well then. He had just sobered up, and now it was Yan Xinfeng’s turn.

Wei Tingxia calculated the time in his mind and realized that if Yan Xinfeng was truly angry, he must be drunk by now.

“I’ll go find him,” he told Hu Yao. “If there’s any noise inside, don’t come in right away.”

Hu Yao’s brow twitched. He asked first, “Are you going to drive him to death?”

He asked sincerely, deeply worried, clearly scarred by their antics these past days.

Wei Tingxia gave him a helpless look: “No, I’m going to dote on him.”

Hu Yao was skeptical but didn’t press. He led Wei Tingxia to another room’s door and stood aside in the corridor like a statue.

Wei Tingxia pushed the door open.

The room was unlit, curtains parted only by a slit. The light filtering in was dim and hazy, illuminating an empty wine bottle rolled to the floor by the bed.

Wei Tingxia stepped over it, circled halfway around, and saw Yan Xinfeng sitting on the carpet by the bed.

He was drunk, arm propped on his bent knee, head hanging low, shadows concealing his eyes, exuding weary desolation. Hearing Wei Tingxia enter, he merely lifted his head slightly, making no other move.

Wei Tingxia kicked away the bottle at his feet and sat silently beside him. Their breaths mingled.

After a long silence, Wei Tingxia asked softly, “What are you thinking?”

“Thinking why I’m so pathetic,” Yan Xinfeng mumbled in reply, “and why you’re so heartless.”

Drunk, but his words were still clear enough.

Wei Tingxia nodded, acknowledging it, and silence fell between them again.

Then, driven by the alcohol, Yan Xinfeng leaned sideways, resting against Wei Tingxia’s shoulder, his face burying into his neck.

Wei Tingxia swayed under the weight but couldn’t push him off: “What are you doing?”

Yan Xinfeng didn’t answer, just nuzzled deeply into Wei Tingxia’s neck, then murmured softly, “I’ll hate myself tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t love myself.” Yan Xinfeng replied.

“That’s not your fault,” Wei Tingxia comforted, patting his arm, then asked, “Do you hate me?”

Yan Xinfeng shook his head, then nodded. He couldn’t sort it out himself.

He hated him, but it wasn’t that simple.

Rather than hating Wei Tingxia for toying with him, it was hating that he didn’t love back as deeply, couldn’t match his devotion.

Wei Tingxia asked, “Is it really that bad?”

Yan Xinfeng nodded.

“Alright,” Wei Tingxia sighed, patting his head consolingly again. “I’m sorry.”

“…”

Helplessness surged like a tide, and Yan Xinfeng couldn’t resist. He couldn’t muster the anger or resentment he should have felt. He was too tired. Looking at Wei Tingxia, feeling him, brought only exhaustion.

It was the feeling a mortal had gazing at a mountain peak he could never climb in his lifetime. He was too small, too lowly. Apart from annoyance at himself, he dared not show any other emotion.

Because it wasn’t the mountain’s fault, nor Wei Tingxia’s.

Yan Xinfeng sank silently into his emotions, so when he heard Wei Tingxia call his name, he was still muddled.

“Yan Xinfeng.” Wei Tingxia called again, louder.

This guy was a real bastard—spending his money, eating his food, deceiving him for wealth and sex. Yan Xinfeng had let it go, but now he felt so awful, and Wei Tingxia couldn’t even pretend to be gentle and coax him to keep getting money and sex.

Did he think he had him pinned for life, so he could be this cold and ruthless?

Yan Xinfeng was annoyed but lifted his head anyway: “What?”

Wei Tingxia coughed, looking somewhat awkward.

He asked, “Do you really love me that much?”

The question was like asking an adult male bald eagle—weighing four kilograms, wingspan 2.4 meters, healthy and young with rich hunting experience—whether it could fly.

Yan Xinfeng kept a straight face, unwilling to answer such a humiliating question: “No, I don’t love you.”

Wei Tingxia laughed: “Then why didn’t you throw me into the sea?”

Yeah, why?

Yan Xinfeng sighed wearily and leaned back against Wei Tingxia: “I hate you to death.”

Wei Tingxia chuckled: “I figured.”

His tone was cheerful, as if drawing ample joy from Yan Xinfeng’s pain—heartless and unjust.

But since Yan Xinfeng’s life was doomed to be humiliated by Wei Tingxia, there was no point in struggling on his deathbed.

“I love you,” he said softly. “Don’t remind me tomorrow that I said this.”

His voice was tiny, almost a whisper at the ear.

Nine years, time grinding away, and Yan Xinfeng had lost the ability to declare his love loudly.

Fortunately, Wei Tingxia heard it this time.

“Young Master, thank you.” He said. “I didn’t know before.”

Didn’t know what?

Yan Xinfeng couldn’t comprehend, his gaze dazed. He wanted to ask, but Wei Tingxia moved quickly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep.”

Wei Tingxia’s voice faded into the distance. Alcohol drowned his consciousness, and Yan Xinfeng passed out with the question lingering.

Just before truly losing awareness, he vaguely felt something off in the conversation, but his muddled thoughts couldn’t unravel it. He dimly resolved in his heart to think it over properly tomorrow.