Chapter 44: Lovers Part 2

Scammers did that.

The lonely Li Ran snapped awake, no longer lonely. His mind filled with his mom’s warnings not to get too close to guys. Chi Mo didn’t sound like a girl’s name. Li Ran broke out in cold sweat, blocked and deleted him without a word, and returned to normal life.

Only now did the memories after reuniting with Chi Mo at seventeen flood back. Chi Mo had once said: “Since that’s the case, you probably won’t do something like pretending not to know me and deleting my contact again, right?”

He had used “again.”

Li Ran had thought it was just casual, but it turned out to be from personal experience.

Li Ran said, “Bro, I think I remember now…”

What did remembering change?

Chi Mo had already finished spanking.

With Li Ran’s timid nature, even if Chi Mo had raised him bigger now, he wouldn’t dare say “hit me back.”

“What did you remember? Tell me.” Chi Mo, satisfied after his biased spanking, felt refreshed. “I’ll correct anything wrong.”

Li Ran turned around and lunged forward out of nowhere, wrapping Chi Mo in a tight hug.

Chi Mo froze.

The unsealed memories restarted, and the sadness they brought Li Ran hadn’t diminished one bit.

Time had weight. In that day-after-day silence, he finally dared to clearly feel that his fourteen-year-old self had been aggrieved too—unwilling to be sensible, just wanting to be happy.

But now he felt even sadder, more heartbroken. He thought of Chi Mo, who had just returned from the conversion therapy center, unable to come in person because his wings weren’t strong enough yet, quietly reaching out. Barely after getting accepted, before they could even chat, Li Ran had deleted him. How difficult and despairing must that have been for him.

If he cared, it hurt.

Li Ran hugged Chi Mo tightly, burying his whole face in his chest. His breathing came light one moment, heavy the next. Soon, Chi Mo felt a small patch of warmth on his chest.

The kid was crying.

Light breaths meant silent tears; heavy ones meant stifled sniffles.

“Silly child,” Chi Mo said softly.

His large hand pressed on Li Ran’s head, rubbing it. After so long, he could still cry like this—truly fragile.

But he said nothing, taking all of Li Ran’s fragility upon himself and turning it into gentle coaxing: “Cry it out. But after you’re done, no more tears over this—be good, baby.”

After an unreasonable cry, Li Ran’s emotions cleared. Embarrassment surged back, his head drooping nearly to his chest.

Then, without a word, he gently pushed Chi Mo out, not uttering half a syllable.

The door closed.

Chi Mo, who had stood dazed in the doorway for a while, wanted to laugh again, his teeth itching with anger. He really wanted to bite Li Ran’s neck to grind his teeth and ask if his head was filled with wood!

After sending off the uninvited guests, Chi Wei—who had coldly held the fort in the living room—saw Chi Mo seemingly kicked out of the room. His mood improved greatly, and he said smugly, “A drowned rat.”

Chi Mo: “…”

While showering, Li Ran saw his eyes red like a rabbit’s in the mirror, though not swollen—otherwise, how ugly that would be.

If Chi Mo saw… He couldn’t let his bro see.

He never imagined how countless the chances would be later for Chi Mo to see him cry.

Facing him while crying, holding him up while crying, from behind while crying, pinning him against the wall while crying… All kinds of crying, endlessly varied without repetition.

His hair dripped wet. Li Ran toweled it half-dry, then blow-dried it fluffy.

He didn’t dare sleep without drying it, or his bro would scold him again. When living alone before, Li Ran had taken good care of himself—eating and sleeping well, never getting sick. But living solo always bred unique bad habits.

Like never blow-drying his hair after washing.

Sometimes he didn’t even towel it properly, just roughly wiped and left it to air-dry, no matter the season.

He disliked blow dryers—that thing blowing back and forth on his head always made it buzz, and he feared it exploding, taking him with it.

Most importantly, the hot air pouring from his head into his clothes made his whole body feel electrified, especially his waist—numb and tingling inexplicably, like being touched by several hands at once. Li Ran was too sensitive for it.

After moving to the Chi family home to live with his bro, Chi Mo discovered one night that he was about to sleep without drying his hair. With a cold face, he dragged him to sit on the bed’s edge and blow-dried it for him personally.

That time, it had nearly blown Li Ran into jumping up and fleeing on the spot. He already found blow-drying his own hair itchy enough; having someone else do it amplified the sensation even more.

He had the illusion that Chi Mo was stroking him…

“Buzz, buzz.”

His phone vibrated twice, pulling Li Ran’s thoughts—always drifting back to Chi Mo every few moments—back to reality. He coiled up the hairdryer’s cord neatly and stowed it away in the drawer before checking his messages.

Bai Qingqing: [Xiao Ran, today your Uncle Zhao told me that you seemed a bit unhappy when you left home on New Year’s Eve.]

Bai Qingqing: [Your Uncle Zhao said he forgot what he had said, but he felt it was because of him, so don’t take it to heart. You didn’t take it to heart, right?]

On New Year’s Eve, Bai Qingqing had wanted Li Ran to stay at her place, just like in previous years. Li Ran didn’t want to impose on their family, so he decided to go home and celebrate with his brother, naturally refusing.

Bai Qingqing got upset.

At the time, Li Ran didn’t understand why his mom was angry. He went back and vented to his brother, then spent the whole night thinking it over before realizing that his mom had probably misunderstood him as thinking his wings had hardened and he was ready to fly away, feeling that sad “children grow up and no longer need their mother” sentiment. He pieced together multiple layers of meaning, growing sadder and angrier the more he thought about it, and ended up not seeing Li Ran off before returning to her room.

But Li Ran really only meant one thing.

He just wanted to celebrate the New Year with his brother.

On New Year’s Day, Li Ran sent New Year greetings to his dad and mom, received their red envelopes, and cheerfully said some blessings without mentioning any of the unhappiness.

It wasn’t until after the first day of the New Year that Li Ran explained to Bai Qingqing that his words had no other meaning and that he didn’t disregard his mom at all. Only then did Bai Qingqing cheer up.

Looking at the messages from Bai Qingqing, Li Ran didn’t know exactly what Zhao Zeyang had said to her in that gentle tone, but he could imagine that in adults’ eyes, these were just trivial matters.

Li Ran had always been sensible from a young age and would definitely say he didn’t mind, that he absolutely wouldn’t take it to heart.

But today, he felt different. He didn’t say those sensible words.

Typing on a phone screen couldn’t convey emotions well, and Li Ran didn’t want his mom to misunderstand, so he pressed the voice message button and said softly, “I did take it to heart back then, and I even cried because of it. My brother coaxed me for a long time.”

Bai Qingqing was suddenly startled.

She had never heard Li Ran express himself like this before. In that instant, she was more surprised by how much her son had changed than by the fact that he had been so upset he cried. She played the voice message back and forth three times before belatedly registering the part about crying, and only then did ripples of dense, lingering pain well up in her heart.

The two of them had a phone call.

“What did he say? How did he upset you this much?” Bai Qingqing said. “He wasn’t even staying with you, yet he still badmouthed you like that. Xiao Ran, your sisters are still young, and I’m usually busy too. I know there are many ways I’ve failed to take care of you—I’m sorry. So if anything happens, you have to tell Mom proactively, okay?”

“No, Mom, you’ve been great to me.” Saying one or two sentences was venting emotions; saying five or ten was stirring up trouble. Li Ran definitely wouldn’t badmouth anyone, and from Zhao Zeyang’s perspective, hinting that he wasn’t his biological son and couldn’t be fully raised that way wasn’t wrong. Li Ran didn’t want to empathize with him, but he also wouldn’t disrupt their current family harmony. Softly, he added, “I forgot the specifics of what he said anyway. It wasn’t a big deal; it’s long past.”

“Don’t dwell on things that are already over. It’s fine.”

When they finally hung up, Li Ran said in his usual obedient tone, “Mom, I want you to be well and safe and healthy. So… at your age now, it’s not suitable to have another baby. The risks are too high, really.”