POTINS 38

Meng Chuan sulked for the entire day, only daring to say heartfelt things when Wen Zhongyi was asleep—like a pitiful little puppy full of grievance.

Wen Zhongyi’s eyelashes trembled ever so slightly. The spot on the back of his hand where Meng Chuan had kissed still felt warm.

He wanted to lift his hand to pat Meng Chuan’s head, but the moment his fingers twitched, Meng Chuan held his breath and shrank back slightly.

Wen Zhongyi had no doubt that if he opened his eyes the next second, Meng Chuan would instantly dive under the bed and pretend he didn’t exist.

To protect Meng Chuan’s fragile pride and dignity, Wen Zhongyi kindly kept pretending to sleep.

Meng Chuan silently watched him for a while. Only after a long pause did he finally let out a soft breath.

He turned the salt bag’s temperature to low, tucked Wen Zhongyi in more snugly, hesitated for a moment, and then quietly left.

The snow outside the window was falling harder and harder, but Wen Zhongyi didn’t feel a thing. The warmth on his knees was just right, and he had a good night’s sleep.

The next morning, after Wen Zhongyi finished washing up, Meng Chuan finally came out of the room, leaning against tvisit our sitehe doorframe with a tired face.

Given his considerate behavior the night before, Wen Zhongyi took the initiative to show a bit of concern. “Still not fully awake?”

Meng Chuan mumbled, “No.”

“Then go lie down for another ten minutes,” Wen Zhongyi said. “It’s still early.”

“Forget it.” Meng Chuan talked with Wen Zhongyi, but didn’t really feel sleepy anymore. He turned to the bathroom, and after washing his face, felt much more refreshed.

The two had breakfast together. The bruise on Meng Chuan’s cheekbone had become more prominent. Yesterday it had only been a faint mark; today, it looked a bit alarming.

Wen Zhongyi couldn’t help but ask again, “What happened to your face?”

Meng Chuan slurped his soy milk and deflected with a question, “Are you worried about me?”

Wen Zhongyi paused speechlessly. “Just answer.”

He obviously couldn’t tell the truth—Wen [visit our site]Zhongyi would laugh at him. So Meng Chuan made up an excuse: “Accidentally bumped into something.”

“Bumped into what?” Wen Zhongyi narrowed his eyes. “It looks like someone hit you.”

“Bumped into the car door,” Meng Chuan said with a straight face. “Who would dare hit me?” Then he added, “Except you.”

Wen Zhongyi rejected the slander: “When have I ever hit you?”

“Plenty of times,” Meng Chuan said, righteously digging up old grudges. “Once you body-slammed me, twice you kicked me off the bed, and there’s been elbow strikes—countless times.”

“You deserved it,” Wen Zhongyi said bluntly. “That body-slam was because you pulled me down with you. Why don’t you mention that?”

Meng Chuan was speechless.

Wen Zhongyi snorted and didn’t continue the topic.

After breakfast, Meng Chuan cleared the table while Wen Zhongyi rummaged through a cabinet under the TV and pulled out a tube of ointment. He handed it to Meng Chuan and said, “Put some on that bruise.”

Meng Chuan was startled, then a little surprised by the kindness. “You’ll put it on for me?”

Wen Zhongyi tossed him the tube. “Do it yourself.”

Meng Chuan muttered, “Fine.”

Wen Zhongyi went into the bedroom to change. Since it was snowing and cold, he put on an extra thermal layer.

The clothes were snug, outlining his nearly four-month baby bump quite clearly.

The pregnancy had entered the second trimester. The early symptoms had eased a lot, and Wen Zhongyi could feel that his appetite had improved lately. His weight was slowly going up, too.

He looked at himself in the full-length mirror for a while, then pulled on a loose sweater to cover his belly.

When leaving the house, Wen Zhongyi noticed Meng Chuan was only wearing a coat. “Aren’t you cold, dressed like that?”

Meng Chuan had been waiting for that question. He acted nonchalant and said, “No.”

Wen Zhongyi glanced at the temperature [unauthorized copy]on his phone and frowned. “No. Go put on a thicker coat.”

Meng Chuan forced a straight face and said reluctantly, “Fine.”

He trotted back inside to change into a thicker coat, then went downstairs with Wen Zhongyi.

The snow didn’t last long—it gradually stopped around noon.

The bookstore was warm. Snowy days meant fewer customers. After finishing his tasks, Wen Zhongyi found a quiet corner to read a professional architecture book.

A blanket and a salt bag rested on his legs—items Meng Chuan had especially prepared for him before leaving.

Wen Zhongyi was reading attentively. He replied briefly to a message Meng Chuan sent.

His response was taken as a sign of reconciliation. Meng Chuan quickly sent several more messages. Wen Zhongyi thought he was being annoying and stopped replying.

After a while, the curtain at the bookstore’s entrance was lifted, and the bell jingled softly.

Wen Zhongyi instinctively looked up and froze when he saw the visitor.

Jiang Ye looked equally surprised, seemingly unaware that Wen Zhongyi worked here. He smiled and greeted him, “What a coincidence.”

Wen Zhongyi’s attitude was much colder than before. He gave a brief nod and said nothing.

Jiang Ye took the initiative: “I was just driving by and saw this place sold coffee, so I thought I’d come in for a cup.”

He wandered over to the beverage area, glanced around, and finally looked at Wen Zhongyi. “So you work here.”

A staff member soon handed Jiang Ye a steaming cup of coffee. He took it and walked to the lounge area, sitting in the chair across from Wen Zhongyi.

“Still mad about what I said last time?” Jiang Ye clasped his hands on the table and looked at him, speaking sincerely. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

Wen Zhongyi rubbed the edge of his book and replied emotionlessly, “I’m not mad.”

“Really?” Jiang Ye raised an eyebrow slightly and smiled. “Want some coffee? I’ll get you a cup.”

Wen Zhongyi shook his head. “No.”

Then he lowered his head again to continue reading, clearly not interested in chatting.

Jiang Ye didn’t say anything else and quietly sipped his coffee.

Wen Zhongyi could feel him staring. He frowned ever so slightly.

Jiang Ye sipped his coffee slowly. Wen Zhongyi was nearly done with his book, and Jiang Ye was still nursing his drink—clearly stalling.

Wen Zhongyi didn’t believe their many “coincidental” encounters were really coincidences, but he couldn’t kick Jiang Ye out—he was a customer, after all.

With a snap, Wen Zhongyi closed his book.

“Finished?” Jiang Ye glanced at the title on the spine and asked naturally, “You interested in architecture?”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t answer. He stood, returned the book to the shelf, went to the staff room to change clothes, then came back to grab the salt bag and blanket, ready to leave.

Jiang Ye stepped in his path, still smiling. “Where are you headed?”

Wen Zhongyi said, “None of your business.”

His attitude was already very clear, but Jiang Ye acted as if nothing had happened and said, “It’s hard to get a cab around this time. I can give you a ride.”

“No need.” Wen Zhongyi walked around him, left the bookstore, and called the driver.

The car arrived quickly. Wen Zhongyi opened the door and got in without looking back.

In the bookstore, Jiang Ye leisurely finished his coffee. Looking at the now-empty seat across from him, he smiled faintly and shook his head.

Such intense hostility—just because he said a few bad things about Meng Chuan?

Jiang Ye found it all quite amusing.

But the cold war between Meng Chuan and Wen Zhongyi didn’t last long, because all Wen Zhongyi had to do was show the slightest bit of concern, and Meng Chuan would take it as an attempt to make up with him.

After two or three times, Meng Chuan was completely soothed.

He moved back into the master bedroom again, breathed in the rose fragrance on Wen Zhongyi’s blanket, and let out a satisfied sigh.

When Wen Zhongyi came out of the shower and saw him on the bed, he was a little surprised.

Neither of them mentioned the ring again.

When the lights went out, Meng Chuan shuffled over to Wen Zhongyi in the dark. He reached out and pulled the other man—lying on his back—into his arms.

Wen Zhongyi didn’t move. He just blinked quietly in the darkness.

Their bodies pressed close, warmth seeping through layers of fabric. Staring at Wen Zhongyi’s face so close at hand, Meng Chuan said softly, “I went to the hospital today.”

Wen Zhongyi tilted his head slightly. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

“No,” Meng Chuan said, turning to nuzzle his ear, “I want to get my lost memories back.”

Wen Zhongyi froze.

Meng Chuan continued beside his ear, “Actually, I’ve seen a doctor before and taken some medicine, but it didn’t work. Today the doctor told me I need to do more rehabilitation training, try to recall the past more often, visit places I used to go.”

He reached out and gently tapped the bridge of Wen Zhongyi’s nose. “So can you tell me more about the past? Go into detail—maybe I’ll remember something.”

Wen Zhongyi closed his eyes briefly. “Okay.”

Meng Chuan added, “You have to start from when we first met. Tell me every night before bed—like a bedtime story.”

“Okay,” Wen Zhongyi replied.

“And don’t leave anything out,” Meng Chuan said, still brooding. “Last time you told me things, you were clearly hiding a lot. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Wen Zhongyi curved his lips slightly, thinking, You’re quite sharp, and said again, “Okay.”

“First time I’ve seen you this obedient,” Meng Chuan muttered. He tightened his arms, pulling Wen Zhongyi closer. Their heartbeats slowly synchronized.

“Actually, I don’t think I’m so bad the way I am now,” Meng Chuan suddenly said.

He gave Wen Zhongyi’s nose a light pinch. His voice paused for a beat, then dropped lower. “But if you really miss the old me that much, I’ll try my best to bring him back for you.”

The pinch made Wen Zhongyi’s nose a little sore. After a while, he softly replied, “Mm.”

Just as Meng Chuan said, every night before bed, Wen Zhongyi told him a bit about the past.

While listening, Meng Chuan would interrupt with questions: “What were you wearing that day?”

Wen Zhongyi, annoyed at being cut off, said, “How would I remember what I was wearing?”

“The doctor said I need to reconstruct the scene in my mind,” Meng Chuan argued seriously. “If you don’t give me details, how am I supposed to picture it?”

Wen Zhongyi tried to recall, but he really couldn’t remember what he was wearing that day.

But he clearly remembered what Meng Chuan wore, even the subtle expressions on his face.

In Wen Zhongyi’s retelling, the old Meng Chuan was mature, dependable, brave in battle, and sometimes just as childish as now. But more often than not, he played the ​stolen content​role of protector, giving Wen Zhongyi a strong sense of security.

To the current Meng Chuan, listening felt like hearing stories about someone else.

He suddenly yawned. “Ah, I’m sleepy. Don’t wanna listen anymore. Let’s sleep.”

“But I’m not done yet,” Wen Zhongyi said, still immersed in the story.

“Tomorrow,” Meng Chuan said, patting him while holding him close. “Sleep now.”

Before closing his eyes, Wen Zhongyi asked, “Did you remember anything?”

Meng Chuan was silent for a moment, then said, “No.”

“Alright,” Wen Zhongyi sighed softly. It was unclear if he was trying to comfort himself or Meng Chuan. “It’s okay.”

Soon, the end of the month arrived.

Meng Chuan took Wen Zhongyi to the hospital for a prenatal checkup. Zhou Lu went with them.

The two sat in the back seat. Zhou Lu adjusted Wen Zhongyi’s collar and said, “You’re dressed too lightly. It’ll be cold.”

“I’m not cold,” Wen Zhongyi replied. “I have a scarf.”

“A scarf only covers your neck. You need more layers.” Zhou Lu patted his thigh. “These long johns are too thin. I’ll buy you a thicker pair later.”

Before Wen Zhongyi could respond, Meng Chuan snorted up front and said, “Ever heard the saying? ‘There’s a kind of cold called your mom thinks you’re cold.’ Even if you wrap yourself up like a rice dumpling, she’ll think you’re streaking.”

Zhou Lu flicked the back of his head. “Can’t you talk properly? Just drive.”

“Exactly,” Wen Zhongyi chimed in.

The car pulled into the hospital. Before getting out, Zhou Lu helped Wen Zhongyi tie his scarf into a neat knot.

Meng Chuan accompanied him into the exam room. Zhou Lu waited outside.

At four months, the fetus’s sex could already be determined. Although the doctor didn’t say it outright, Meng Chuan could already tell from Read onthe image and asked tentatively, “Is it a boy?”

The doctor glanced at him and gave a slight nod.

Meng Chuan immediately leaned down and said to Wen Zhongyi, “Look, your son is doing the splits in your belly.”

Wen Zhongyi lay flat on the bed, turned his head for a glance, couldn’t really make it out, and looked away. “Are you sure it’s a boy?”

“Yeah,” Meng Chuan asked, “Would you have preferred a girl?”

“No,” Wen Zhongyi said. “Just wanted to confirm.”

When they came out of the exam room, Meng Chuan told Zhou Lu the news. She was thrilled and pulled the doctor aside to ask more detailed questions about Wen Zhongyi’s condition.

On the way home, they passed a maternity store. Zhou Lu cheerfully went in and came out with a huge haul.

Some of it was for Wen Zhongyi, some for the baby.

Meng Chuan dropped Zhou Lu off at the villa first, then drove home with the carload of items.

“I can already imagine how spoiled this kid’s gonna be,” Meng Chuan grunted as he carried things upstairs. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he said to Wen Zhongyi, “We’ve got to be strict. Boys shouldn’t be overly pampered, or they’ll be a nightmare when they grow up.”

Wen Zhongyi gave him a look. “Like you?”

“Huh?” Meng Chuan didn’t get it at first, then protested, “They didn’t spoil me! You have no idea how many beatings I took growing up.”

“I meant you’re the nightmare,” Wen Zhongyi said.

Meng Chuan refused to admit it. “I’m not that bad. I’m already very obedient with you.”

That afternoon, the two of them sorted out everything Zhou Lu bought. Wen Zhongyi sat cross-legged on a blanket, organizing pacifiers, bottles, breast pumps, handkerchiefs, burp cloths, and more into boxes.

There were also some small toys. Finding them interesting, he started playing with them.

When Meng Chuan came out of the bathroom, this was what he saw.

Wen Zhongyi was in his pajamas, visit our site sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his fair arms, fiddling with a toy car.

His clothes were thin and soft. The house was warm, and Wen Zhongyi had undone two buttons. The fabric clung to his body, and the curve of his belly was visible.

His hair had grown a bit long, covering the nape of his neck. He looked gentle and peaceful.

After he’d had enough of the toy car, Wen Zhongyi dug out a bunch of roly-poly toys and lined them up on the floor, poking each one.

Meng Chuan couldn’t hold back a laugh. Wen Zhongyi turned at the sound and saw him squatting on the floor, holding up his phone.

“What are you filming me for?” Wen Zhongyi asked.

Meng Chuan grinned. “No reason. Just felt like it.”

Wen Zhongyi turned back around, ignoring him, and continued playing with the roly-polies.

Meng Chuan squatted there filming for a long while. Only after Wen Zhongyi packed up the toys did he stop recording.

He braced his knee to stand, but his legs went numb. Halfway up, he unauthorized copycollapsed with a thud, hitting the wall behind him.

He let out a muffled grunt as his brain blanked out.

“What happened?” Wen Zhongyi got up quickly and helped him. “Did you hit your head? Don’t move. Rest for a second.”

Meng Chuan clutched the back of his head, eyes closed. After a long pause, he exhaled and said, “It’s fine. Just a little dizzy.”