Chapter 8: Go Find Song Cheng’an

Lin Jianxi knew that though Song Cheng’an’s words sounded harsh, he was really just trying to help him escape this sea of suffering.

The kid had never been able to express his emotions properly.

Lin Jianxi swallowed the itch in his throat and slowly leaned his head on the other’s shoulder. He could feel Song Cheng’an’s body stiffen, but he couldn’t be bothered with all that mess. He was just too exhausted. It seemed like no one in this world was willing to stand by his side.

Song Cheng’an was the only one he could rely on.

But only to this extent—leaning on his shoulder.

He didn’t want to demand anything more from this kid who had been through so much.

Lin Jianxi murmured softly, “Just let me lean for a bit. It’s too noisy out there. It’s quiet here.”

The scolding voices, the crying, the teasing—all too loud.

It was like he was locked in a room with white walls on all sides, blinding lights overhead, and deafening music blasting in his ears. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest even for a second. Because the moment he closed his eyes, everyone around him—and himself—would plunge into hell.

He felt someone embrace him, arms slowly tightening, breath drawing closer, brushing against the hollow of his neck.

“Lin Jianxi.”

“…Hm?” Lin Jianxi was already drifting off.

“You’re burning up.”

~~~

Lin Jianxi wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep or passed out. When he opened his eyes again, he was in a hospital room, surrounded by white.

Voices sounded faint and distant around him. He vaguely heard someone say,

“Keep him here a few more days. Charge it to my account. No visitors allowed.”

“He’s sensitive to noise. Keep things quiet.”

Lin Jianxi opened his eyes and saw Song Cheng’an talking with the doctor at the door. He tried to sit up, but his body had no strength left. He could only watch helplessly as Song Cheng’an finished giving instructions and silently left his line of sight.

He fell asleep again.

When he woke next, the doctor was checking on him, informing him that he had to quit smoking and drinking—his lungs and stomach were in bad shape. Lin Jianxi ate some porridge that someone had brought, nodding with a smile. The moment the doctor left, he reached for his pocket to grab a cigarette.

But his pockets were empty.

Ah…

They’d all been confiscated.

Once something became an addiction, it was damn hard to kick. Lin Jianxi felt miserable all over. To distract himself, he could only sleep.

Eat, sleep, wake up and eat again, then sleep some more. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and asked the doctor if he could go for a short walk—just a walk, no buying smokes.

And there he was at the little shop, cigarette in his left hand, booze in his right, locking eyes with Song Cheng’an, who leaned quietly against the doorframe watching him.

Lin Jianxi: “…”

Song Cheng’an stepped forward, gave him a once-over, and said, “You’ve put on a little weight. Time to check out.”

A strange feeling stirred in Lin Jianxi’s chest. Normally, that line should have come from him to Song Cheng’an. Hearing it the other way around just sounded off. Before he could recover, Song Cheng’an added,

“Stay at my place for the next few days. Don’t forget you still owe me eight million. Consider this paying off your debt.”

“…As a nanny?”

“As my honored guest.” Song Cheng’an took the cigarette and booze from his hands. He was clearly in a foul mood—not at all like the cute kid from before. Ice-cold. “Every normal check-up result, and I’ll knock off a million.”

“…” Lin Jianxi couldn’t help but chuckle.

Ah, his words were still pretty cute.

~~~

Song Cheng’an’s place was huge. Beyond that, Lin Jianxi didn’t notice much else.

Song Cheng’an had prepared a whole closet of clothes for him. Lin Jianxi glanced at them, silently wondering how long he was expected to stay.

He changed into pajamas. Song Cheng’an was on the sofa, legs crossed, reviewing some documents.

Lin Jianxi felt a bit hungry and didn’t want to bother him. Just like three years ago, he headed to the kitchen to make something himself. Knowing his cooking was a disaster, he wisely settled for boiling water for instant noodles. But after one bite, Song Cheng’an snatched the bowl and dumped it all.

Song Cheng’an bent down, their noses almost touching. “Need me to read you your check-up report again?”

Lin Jianxi held his chopsticks, didn’t dodge, and said frankly, “I made one for you too.”

Song Cheng’an finished the noodles, shoved a box of strawberries into his arms, then went to the kitchen to cook. Lin Jianxi sat on the sofa and ate.

Delicious.

Lin Jianxi narrowed his eyes slightly. After about half the box, Song Cheng’an came back and confiscated the rest. Lin Jianxi’s patience snapped. Just as he opened his mouth, Song Cheng’an bent down, stared into his eyes, and gripped his chin with his right hand.

Song Cheng’an suddenly leaned in. Lin Jianxi immediately turned his head to dodge the kiss.

The moment it missed, Song Cheng’an let out a laugh—not joyful, not angry, but a kind of expected sorrow.

Song Cheng’an fell silent for a moment, then whispered in his ear, “Lin Jianxi, if you’re even scared of a kiss, I don’t believe you’re not scared of dying. So be good. Take care of your health.”

His body really was in terrible shape—Lin Jianxi had no rebuttal. He could only go to bed.

He lay there for ten minutes before getting up again from the sofa. By then, Song Cheng’an had finished cooking. At the dining table, Lin Jianxi saw a bowl of porridge.

Porridge again…

And it looked exactly like the hospital’s. Had Song Cheng’an made that too?

Really…

Why hadn’t he said anything?

Lin Jianxi let out a helpless chuckle.

Always saying things that grated on the ears.

The porridge actually tasted fine, but eating it every day got old fast. After two bites, Lin Jianxi couldn’t stomach more. Song Cheng’an noticed and wordlessly returned to the kitchen to make something else.

“The doctor said you need liquids for now,” Song Cheng’an said, flipping through a recipe book. “Egg drop soup okay?”

Lin Jianxi followed behind and watched Song Cheng’an roll up his sleeves. He frowned slightly.

There were more scars on those arms than three years ago—even some fresh ones.

“…”

You haven’t grown up properly at all.

Lin Jianxi’s heart ached. “These three years… haven’t been easy, have they?”

“…” Song Cheng’an’s hand froze mid-air, water running over it nonstop, his fingertips trembling faintly.

Lin Jianxi pulled Song Cheng’an’s hand out from under the faucet. “Go tend to those wounds. I’ll keep drinking the porridge. It’s pretty good.”

Song Cheng’an stared at Lin Jianxi in a daze. Lin Jianxi raised a brow. “What? Moved to tears?”

“Lin Jianxi,” Song Cheng’an finally smiled naturally, pulling him into a hug—the motion full of dependence. “Lin Jianxi…”

Lin Jianxi knew Song Cheng’an couldn’t say anything normal, so he didn’t expect much. He just earnestly responded to each soft call of his name until Song Cheng’an left the kitchen and obediently fetched the medicine kit.

A moment later, a voice drifted from afar: “Lin Jianxi, do you only like the pitiful ones?”

~~~

Do you like pitiful people?

Not really. It was just that everyone around him happened to be quite pitiful.

Lin Jianxi couldn’t resist any of Song Cheng’an’s decisions. He truly felt that once a son grew up, even his mother couldn’t control him in the slightest. All he could do was wander aimlessly through Song Cheng’an’s house. Bored out of his mind, he changed outfits three times a day. When Shen Ze called to ask where he’d vanished to, Lin Jianxi said bluntly, “I’m at someone else’s place, playing pet.”

Shen Ze: “…”

Tired of changing clothes, Lin Jianxi slumped on the sofa, lost in worry.

He wanted a smoke.

He wanted a drink.

Song Cheng’an came home, and Lin Jianxi opened the door for him. As usual, Song Cheng’an pinned him against the wall and sniffed at his scent.

“No smoking?”

“Your nose is sharp enough. Asking me is just redundant.”

Song Cheng’an chuckled and nuzzled his cheek. Lin Jianxi remarked that he was like a little dog, but Song Cheng’an didn’t argue.

Song Cheng’an was obsessed with brewing medicine for him and cooking porridge. Lin Jianxi draped himself over the back of the sofa, gazing at the nape of Song Cheng’an’s neck. “If you don’t let me go back soon, I’ll end up a widower.”

Gu Heng’s situation was precarious. They’d once faced it together, but now he was on his own. Lin Jianxi didn’t even know if Gu Heng was still alive.

During the years when things went wrong for Gu Heng, countless people had approached him, urging divorce. Back then, Lin Jianxi had wondered: if they truly divorced, what would the reason be?

Because his husband had fallen from grace?

Because too many people coveted him?

Neither was a valid reason. There was no reason at all—and no reason meant he shouldn’t divorce. That would be profoundly irresponsible. These past few days recuperating at Song Cheng’an’s had done him a world of good. Unlike before, when his spirits were low and his health so frail he might faint at any moment. Now, apart from his daily cravings for smokes and booze that nearly drove him mad, he had no other complaints.

He might as well faint whenever he wanted.

Lin Jianxi was counting the days like a prisoner.

Song Cheng’an said nothing, just had him step on the scale and get a full checkup at the hospital. The results showed improvement, so he eased up considerably.

Lin Jianxi had slept far too much. Some nights he couldn’t sleep and would get up. Around two or three in the morning, he often spotted light spilling from under Song Cheng’an’s study door. He would stand there silently, peering at the scene within.

Song Cheng’an sat with his eyes closed, fingertips drumming a steady rhythm on the desk. Lin Jianxi’s medical report lay spread out before him, as if he were deep in thought. Every so often, his gaze drifted to the desk calendar nearby.

Lin Jianxi narrowed his eyes and gripped the door handle tightly.

Beside the calendar sat a knife.

It hadn’t been cleaned in ages. The blade was caked with dried, oxidized brownish bloodstains.

Lin Jianxi’s lips parted, but in the end, he said nothing and slipped away quietly.

Song Cheng’an let him leave.

The rain outside poured in sheets. Lin Jianxi sat under the convenience store’s awning. He’d bought smokes and booze again. He longed for a cigarette but couldn’t find a lighter. He wanted a drink, but he’d yanked the tab clean off the can.

Lin Jianxi shoved the smokes and booze aside, staring blankly at the puddle on the ground.

His own health had improved markedly, but Song Cheng’an…

Lin Jianxi thought of the knife again.

He couldn’t even be bothered to wash it. Did he see himself as human at all?

What was Song Cheng’an even living for?

If it was revenge, he’d already succeeded.

If it was something else… what could his current status and position not obtain?

Lin Jianxi lowered his gaze and rose, popping open his umbrella as he headed home.

A tall figure approached, one hand tucked in his pocket.

A silhouette he knew all too well.

It was Gu Heng.

The two halted in perfect unison, as if exchanging some silent message.

Lin Jianxi stood there in the rain, shrouded in mist. The sky was pitch black, raindrops cascading from the edge of his dark umbrella, weaving between their lines of sight.

~~~

Lin Jianxi couldn’t put a name to the feeling—upon learning that Gu Heng might spend years behind bars.

They sat on the sofa at home. Lin Jianxi pulled Gu Heng into an embrace. “It’s fine. A few years from now, when you get out, everything will be okay.”

Gu Heng: “Let’s divorce.”

Lin Jianxi met his eyes. “What’s the reason?”

Gu Heng: “It’s pointless. No reason matters anymore.”

Lin Jianxi repeated softly, “I’m asking you—what’s the reason?”

“…”

Lin Jianxi spoke slowly, his voice as gentle as ever, carrying a note of inquiry. “Do you think divorce would give me a better life? How many of your enemies don’t know who I am?”

“…………”

Gu Heng buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

He bowed his head and fell silent for ages—so long that Lin Jianxi wondered if his hearing had failed and he’d missed it. At last, Gu Heng spoke.

“Go find Song Cheng’an.”

“…”

There was something more in that tone.

The malice and desire lurking in the shadows—swallowed by Gu Heng, concealed from him all this time—wrapped in Song Cheng’an’s beautiful facade.