We Can’t Go Back 65

Chapter 65

Less than an hour ago, in the kitchen.

Song Shuci placed the prepared salad on the coffee table, glanced at the clock, and turned to marinate the steak.

The frying pan, the beef that had been brought to room temperature, and a chef skilled at grilling steak, everything was perfect, until he realized the black pepper grinder was empty.

He vaguely recalled that there wasn’t much black pepper left the last time he made steak, and he had planned to buy more but had forgotten.

This realization brought a slight flicker of annoyance. He didn’t like making mistakes in such details, even a momentary lapse in memory. He composed himself, washed his hands again, and prepared to go downstairs to buy some, but before he could open the door, a knock came.

He opened the door and saw a worker in a maintenance uniform, then remembered another thing he had forgotten.

He had been playing video games with Jian Wu in his bedroom a while ago and noticed the warped floorboards by the window, then belatedly remembered the rainy day he had forbidden Jian Wu from riding his motorcycle. Feeling guilty, he offered to have it repaired, and the appointment was today.

Song Shuci thought, he must be a little tired lately. He rarely forgot things so frequently, and these two consecutive lapses in memory made him slightly tense.

He let the worker in and led him to Jian Wu’s bedroom. Jian Wenming, who had been flying around the living room, also followed them into the bedroom.

It seemed even more purposeful than the worker, heading straight for Jian Wu’s wardrobe drawers. Song Shuci was discussing the floorboards with the worker, while the bird kept pecking at the drawers, creating a constant noise. Afraid it would damage Jian Wu’s wardrobe, Song Shuci walked over to remove it, but as soon as he approached, Jian Wenming turned around and bit his shirt.

Since he saved Jian Wenming, their relationship had greatly improved. The little bird would sometimes perch on his shoulder like it did on Jian Wu’s, but this was the first time it had grabbed his shirt like this. Song Shuci looked at it curiously: “What’s wrong?”

Jian Wenming’s vocabulary was suddenly filled with flattery: “Congratulations and be prosperous, may all your wishes come true!”

But Song Shuci hadn’t interacted with it enough to understand its intentions, thinking it just wanted to chew on something. He tried to remove it while explaining: “This is Jian Wu’s wardrobe, you can’t chew on this.”

But Jian Wenming was determined not to let him go and refused to let go of his shirt. Afraid of hurting it by pulling it off forcefully, Song Shuci patiently decided to address its needs first and asked again: “What do you want?”

Jian Wenming immediately let go and flapped its wings excitedly. It flew back to Jian Wu’s wardrobe and grabbed the drawer handle with its feet, occasionally looking back at Song Shuci.

It wanted to open the drawer.

Song Shuci took out his phone to tell Jian Wu, but the alert Jian Wenming immediately flew over and pecked at his phone until he put it away.

Song Shuci understood. There must be something in Jian Wu’s drawer that it wanted, but Jian Wu wouldn’t give it to him, so it was secretly seeking his help while Jian Wu wasn’t home. He sighed: “You’re making this very difficult for me.”

Jian Wenming, whether it understood or not, continued to fly between his hand and the drawer handle.

The worker, watching the scene with amusement, chuckled: “Your bird is quite smart, I bet you have food hidden in the drawer, just open it for him, or he won’t give up.”

After a moment of hesitation, Song Shuci opened the drawer for him: “Get whatever you want, but this is the only time, don’t do this again.”

The little parrot zoomed into the drawer.

However, Song Shuci clearly underestimated Jian Wenming’s ability to create chaos and Jian Wu’s ability to hoard junk.

In just half a minute, Jian Wenming dragged out countless items from Jian Wu’s small drawer, including but not limited to various bird toys, bottles with unknown contents, small notebooks, scissors, unused disposable chopsticks, and even a few pain relief patches. Soon, it pulled out a crumpled shirt, which Song Shuci quickly recognized as the one Jian Wu wore the day they met again.

“…” Seriously?

He took out the shirt, intending to wash it later. And Jian Wenming, after rummaging through the pile of junk, finally pulled out a box with a lovesick look in its eyes.

The worker had guessed correctly, it was indeed food.

Song Shuci looked and saw it was the pet treats Jian Wu had bought for him. When he was recovering from his injury, Jian Wu, feeling sorry for him, had bought him some treats. Although they were tasty, too many weren’t good for his health, so Jian Wu put them away after he recovered.

Perhaps no species could resist the allure of junk food. After secretly craving them for days, he finally had his chance.

Just let him eat some then.

Song Shuci thought, reaching for the box, but the contents inside were too messy, and the box snagged on a book. Song Shuci lost his grip, and just as he took out the box, the book fell to the floor. He sighed, took a treat stick from the box, and gave it to Jian Wenming. Seeing it happily fly away, clutching the treat stick in its claws, he added: “Remember to finish it before Jian Wu comes back.”

Then he picked up the book.

He quickly recognized it as the book Xiang Zhuo wrote for Jian Wu.

The book had fallen face down, and the pages were open in the middle. As he picked it up, he glanced at it and noticed a key word—”hospital.”

“This floor… isn’t easy to fix. I think it’s best to replace these warped sections,” the worker finished his inspection and stood up, “The holiday is coming soon, I’ll go back and check our inventory for matching floorboards, then I’ll come over and install them for you during the holiday?”

Song Shuci’s eyes were fixed on the book, not hearing what he was saying.

The worker, not realizing this, continued: “Are you free the day after tomorrow? Or should we contact each other on WeChat? Let me add you.”

After receiving no response again, the worker finally noticed something was wrong. He looked at Song Shuci’s expression, rubbed his hands, and asked: “What’s wrong? Are you not satisfied with my plan? You look a little pale.”

Song Shuci said “It’s nothing,” only to realize his voice was unusually hoarse.

He repeated “It’s nothing,” as if to reassure himself, or perhaps the worker.

“That’s good,” the worker breathed a sigh of relief and offered his WeChat QR code again, “Then… can I add you?”

Song Shuci was stunned for a moment, then handed over his phone. After adding the worker on WeChat, he saw him out, went downstairs to buy black pepper, and then methodically put the book and the things Jian Wenming had dragged out back into Jian Wu’s drawer, appearing very calm throughout.

It wasn’t until he accidentally cut his finger while slicing the beef that his first expression appeared.

—A wince of pain.

He put down the knife and looked at his bleeding finger.

At the same time, his phone chimed with a notification.

Song Shuci, as if suddenly snapping out of a daze, reached for his phone. It was a message from Jian Wu saying he would be home late.

Jian Wenming was still happily eating his treat stick, and Song Shuci, staring at Jian Wu’s message, found he couldn’t control his hand to type properly.

He had never seen his hand tremble like this before.

He tried to think whether his hand was shaking because he had cut a nerve or tendon, or for some other reason, but he quickly realized he couldn’t think.

Until almost half an hour later, a click sounded, the key turning in the lock, Jian Wu was back.

“Why didn’t you reply to my message?”

Jian Wu glanced at the man on the sofa and walked in, changing his shoes.

Having calmed down downstairs before coming up, he appeared very composed, the turbulent emotions from earlier no longer visible. But his mood was still complex. He wanted to talk to Song Shuci about everything he had been thinking about, to ask if he was still trapped in the shadows of his youth, but he was afraid of being counterproductive.

With these conflicting thoughts, he didn’t immediately notice Song Shuci’s unusual state.

Until he walked into the kitchen and saw the bloodstains on the cleaver.

Clearly, it wasn’t from the beef.

He immediately stopped his overthinking, hurriedly turned to look at Song Shuci, who was sitting on the sofa, and saw the man holding his hand over the trash can, the scent of blood filling the air.

“You cut your hand!?” He immediately went to the TV cabinet, rummaged through the drawers, and found gauze and iodine. Song Shuci, seeing this, said softly: “It’s fine, it’s already stopped bleeding.” Although he said so, Jian Wu still opened the iodine, sat beside him, and, as he gently dabbed the wound with an iodine-soaked cotton swab, said: “Why didn’t you treat it?”

After wrapping Song Shuci’s finger like a mummy, he finally looked at his face.

Then he noticed Song Shuci was covered in cold sweat, as if dehydrated.

“Does it hurt that much?” Jian Wu said, “Should we go get a tetanus shot?”

Song Shuci’s voice was still low: “It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt, the cut isn’t deep, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“I think you should still get—”

“Jian Wu.”

Jian Wu’s words were interrupted by Song Shuci. Song Shuci called his name, his tone strange.

Jian Wu inexplicably felt the atmosphere become tense.

“What’s wrong?” he asked Song Shuci.

But the man didn’t answer. Song Shuci just stared into his eyes, his gaze filled with deep, complex emotions.

Jian Wu gripped the sofa cushion.

Before he could speak again, Song Shuci suddenly stood up. Jian Wu leaned forward and saw Song Shuci turn and close the curtains between the living room and the balcony.

The light in the room dimmed.

He watched Song Shuci’s back, his hand still gripping the curtains, wanting to say something, but Song Shuci, as if finally making a decision, suddenly turned around, grabbed his wrist, and pushed him down onto the sofa.

The sofa was soft, and Song Shuci even cushioned his head. Jian Wu instinctively shouted: “Be careful of your hand!”

Song Shuci’s gaze fell on his waist and abdomen, and he said, his tone unclear: “How much blood did my hand even lose?”

Jian Wu’s heart skipped a beat.

He thought he knew what was going on.

But he clearly wasn’t ready for Song Shuci to know about this.

Jian Wu could feel his heart racing. He nervously tried to struggle, and Song Shuci pressed down on his legs and grabbed the hem of his shirt.

Jian Wu swallowed and looked down at the hand gripping his shirt.

Song Shuci’s hand trembled slightly, his fingers on the bottom button. He seemed to have intended to unbutton them one by one, but perhaps because his hand was shaking too much, or perhaps because he didn’t have the courage to repeat the action.

He suddenly, as if breaking down, grabbed both sides of his shirt and ripped it open.

Jian Wu heard the sound of tearing fabric and snapping buttons. At the same time, exposed before Song Shuci, was his abdomen, rising and falling with his breath, and on his smooth skin, an old scar.

It was a surgical scar, never a tattoo.