Reply to Keats - Chap 67
67. You Can Understand It As Love
Zhao Shengge was already difficult enough to understand. In this world, if he truly wanted to shut someone out, that person would never again be able to get even the slightest bit closer.
Chen Wan’s ability to distinguish himself by knowing Zhao Shengge’s habits, preferences, and thoughts wasn’t because he was particularly intelligent, meticulous, or observant. Even if he were, the real reason had always been Zhao Shengge’s indulgence—his tacit permission and honesty.
Losing that privilege meant fading into the crowd.
Chen Wan’s breathing began to quicken.
Zhao Shengge looked at the unraveling Chen Wan without emotion, neither fierce nor blaming, and calmly said, “Chen Wan, you don’t need to feel bad.”
“This is how you treated me.”
“You caught fireflies for me, made a Christmas tree shot, gave me peonies and hydrangeas. You said you wanted me to be happy.”
“But I wasn’t happy.”
“Chen Wan.”
“Today is the saddest day of my life.”
Chen Wan’s eyes turned red.
When Zhao Shengge said he didn’t like something, Chen Wan hadn’t cried.
But Zhao Shengge said he wasn’t happy.
He wasn’t happy.
Chen Wan felt a sharp, real pain in his chest.
Zhao Shengge had no intention of offering comfort.
Taming Chen Wan through appeasement, temptation, or guidance no longer worked.
Now, he had to stab him with what he cared about most. If it didn’t hurt, how could it work?
Zhao Shengge said, “When I was a kid, I thought I might never have the happiness others got so easily.”
“Later, I figured love must be just as hard.”
“And now it seems I won’t even have a bit of trust.”
Chen Wan’s chest was heaving.
Zhao Shengge didn’t need to look to know he was crying. Even Chen Wan’s tears made no sound.
He said “I’m sorry” again.
Zhao Shengge didn’t even reply with a “It’s okay.”
The rain fell harder and harder, like thick black ink slashing across the car windows, making it difficult to see the darkness outside. Chen Wan couldn’t see a path forward either, so he asked again, “Zhao Shengge.”
“Then can I still pursue you?”
It was as if he didn’t know how to say anything else, only repeating this one sentence over and over.
The night sky was oppressively heavy, clouds thick with thunder, the wind howling.
Zhao Shengge turned to look at him and said calmly, “Better not.”
Chen Wan went still. His eyes moved slowly, and his whole body trembled like a white bird soaked by rain.
“I see,” he replied sluggishly. Countless crazed, dark thoughts flashed through his mind—how to make kidnapping and imprisonment faster, more feasible.
But obviously, his consciousness could no longer control his body. His symptoms began to show, and his hands and lips started to tremble.
Zhao Shengge just watched, waiting until Chen Wan’s breathing turned ragged and his expression twisted with pain. Then he finally said, “If you don’t know how to pursue someone, don’t do it.”
“Let me do it.”
Chen Wan’s head remained lowered. A few seconds passed before his chest drew in air again, and he slowly registered what had just been said. In a low voice, he asked, “What?”
Zhao Shengge didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at him, waiting for him to calm down and catch up. Then he repeated, “I said, you really don’t know how to pursue someone. No matter how many times I try to teach you, you never get it. So let me do it instead.”
A moment later, Chen Wan’s crying finally made a sound.
Zhao Shengge didn’t comfort him right away. He simply watched, calm and composed, letting Chen Wan cry on his own for a while before finally reaching out his hand and asking, “Want to come over?”
Chen Wan immediately said yes.
Zhao Shengge adjusted the driver’s seat backward and gently lifted Chen Wan from the passenger seat onto his lap.
Chen Wan’s mind was hazy. He was eager to hug Zhao Shengge, but Zhao Shengge pushed his shoulder and didn’t allow it.
Chen Wan’s heart leaped into his throat. He didn’t even dare to blink. His body trembled like a puppet—his joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness all hanging by the string in the other man’s hand.
Zhao Shengge simply watched his anxiety build, waiting until he was nearly at his breaking point before finally granting him a light hug.
Even if it wasn’t deep, to Chen Wan it felt like rain falling on parched earth. His heart began to beat with life again.
He looked at Zhao Shengge without blinking, yet it felt as if he were the one being scrutinized—his breath and heartbeat entirely dictated by the other.
Zhao Shengge only held him briefly before pushing him away again. “Chen Wan.”
“I won’t say we should break up.” Chen Wan’s briefly eased heart tightened again. “But from now on, I’ll treat you the way you treat me.”
Zhao Shengge’s voice was gentle but cold. “From now on, if you keep one thing from me, I’ll keep ten from you.”
“If you keep ten from me, I’ll keep a hundred.”
“If we keep hiding things from each other, we’ll grow distant.”
“And in the end, we’ll just break up.”
“Are you going to break up with me, Chen Wan?”
Chen Wan’s hands clenched. His gaze didn’t waver.
Zhao Shengge felt a drop of water land on his face. Chen Wan didn’t cry, except in bed.
Zhao Shengge looked at him for a long moment, then placed a hand on his back and let out a slow tsk. “You made such a big mistake, and now you’re crying?”
The tears Chen Wan had never shed since childhood, he shed all at once today.
Zhao Shengge didn’t try to coax him. Chen Wan understood: being able to cry in front of Zhao Shengge was already a kind of grace.
Zhao Shengge withdrew his hand and looked at him coolly. “If I’m the one pursuing you, then we do it my way. Do you agree?”
“Mm.” Chen Wan’s eyes were red.
Zhao Shengge, though supposedly the one pursuing, was full of demands. “When I’m pursuing someone, I don’t hide it. I don’t do anything sneaky. Can you accept that?”
His tone, expression, and manner were all domineering and absolute. He had clearly made all the decisions already, yet still asked if Chen Wan agreed.
“Mm.”
Even his confession sounded cold and mechanical, like clauses in a contract.
“When I’m pursuing someone, I’m not into making sacrifices or lowering myself. We share the benefits and shoulder the risks together. Agree?”
“Mm.”
“You’ve committed too many offenses against me, and now you’re acting so fearlessly. It’s hard for me to trust you again.”
Suddenly, he seized Chen Wan’s hand, lifted his chin slightly, and calmly ordered in a soft voice, “Chen Wan, swear an oath.”
On the rainy night, Zhao Shengge’s face seemed dark and grim, as though he were a messenger from the underworld, towering above. Word by word, he said, “If Chen Wan repeats his offense, Zhao Shengge shall never again be happy or have his wishes fulfilled.”
A deafening clap of thunder tore through the night sky. Lightning slashed the heavens into shards. Chen Wan turned pale with fright, shaking his head desperately, struggling to wrench his hand from Zhao Shengge’s grasp.
But it was no use. Zhao Shengge held him in a grip of iron. White light flashed across his face, casting him like a merciless ghost as he pronounced, “Someone up there heard it. The oath is made.”
His tone was solemn, his expression grave as if the oath were real. Chen Wan broke down crying again, soaking Zhao Shengge’s shirt.
After his earlier sternness, Zhao Shengge softened somewhat, gently stroking his back. “Chen Wan, if you try anything again, I really will lock you up.”
Chen Wan was willing to accept all of it. But for the first and perhaps only time, he asked, “Zhao Shengge, do you really like me?”
This time, Zhao Shengge was silent for a long while. Then he said slowly, “Chen Wan, you can understand it as love, as—”
“I love you, Chen Wan.”
Chen Wan’s eyes turned red in an instant, the color blooming like the rain-drenched petals of the bauhinia flower outside the window.
Even he had never said “love” to Zhao Shengge.
Zhao Shengge could tell he was struggling to breathe again, so he kissed the corner of his eye. His warm, soft lips brushed against the damp skin, carrying a sense of mutual support on this rainy night. “Otherwise, I couldn’t have been deceived by the same person so many times.”
“I loved you first, Zhao Shengge.” Chen Wan suddenly became emotional, as if the one thing he’d been holding onto had been taken from him. “I love you the most.”
Zhao Shengge soothed him, “I know.” Chen Wan was the person most qualified in this world to say that sentence.
“I believe you.”
Chen Wan still kept crying.
Zhao Shengge kissed him over and over, holding him tightly, but nothing seemed to soothe him. This was perhaps the most willful, most honest, and most real Chen Wan had ever been in front of Zhao Shengge.
Zhao Shengge sighed inwardly, rocked him in his arms, and said, “Chen Wan, you really love to cry.”
Chen Wan hadn’t meant to lose control like this. But after holding on for so long, the sudden release caused his emotions to swing wildly, and the physical symptoms of his illness appeared more severe than usual.
Zhao Shengge knew he was having an episode, but he only asked, “What’s wrong?”
Chen Wan hesitated for a moment before finally admitting honestly, “Zhao Shengge, I’m sorry. I’m sick.”
Zhao Shengge seemed satisfied with the answer. He reached into Chen Wan’s pocket, pulled out the pill case, and said, “Then take your medicine.”
Chen Wan couldn’t read anything from his face, and could only say “I’m sorry” again because he had wanted to give Zhao Shengge a healthy, undamaged Chen Wan.
Zhao Shengge gave him a deliberately strange look and said coolly, “You’re saying sorry for taking medicine?”
Chen Wan was at a loss for words.
Zhao Shengge took the pills out, twisted open a bottle of water, and held it up to Chen Wan’s lips. “Who doesn’t get sick?”
With him, nothing ever seemed like a big deal.
After taking the medicine, Chen Wan calmed down significantly. He looked at Zhao Shengge’s indifferent expression for a while, then finally wrapped his arms gently around his neck, hugged him, and whispered, “Thank you.”
Zhao Shengge didn’t say “No need to thank me.” He simply held him firmly.
After the rain, night birds reemerged, flying in flocks. One landed on the rearview mirror. Zhao Shengge could tell Chen Wan still wasn’t in a good mood. He’d never really comforted anyone before, so after thinking for a second, he pointed outside and said, “Chen Wan, do you think it can see you?”
“Tell it to stop looking.” Chen Wan belatedly felt embarrassed. He wiped his face and sighed. “Crying like this at almost thirty.” Chen Wan, a grown man, had never lost control in front of anyone like this. The shame came to him only afterward.
“There’s no rule that says you can’t cry at thirty,” Zhao Shengge told him. “You could cry with me even at sixty.”
Zhao Shengge’s steady presence felt like that of an older brother you could rely on. Chen Wan’s heart gradually settled, and he held him tighter.
Outside, the rain had completely stopped. In the winter fog, the Chen family villa loomed like a mirage above the sea—precarious and ready to collapse at any moment.
“Chen Wan, did you grow up here?”
Chen Wan had his head buried in the crook of Zhao Shengge’s neck. He nodded, then pointed in a direction and said, “That’s the Chen family’s doghouse.”
“Mm.” Zhao Shengge held him a little tighter.
“There used to be three Siberian Huskies and a Saint Bernard inside.”
“Mm.”
“I lived there for a year and a half.”
Zhao Shengge was silent for a long time, suppressing the darkness in his gaze. Then he asked softly, “Before you went to Xiaolan Mountain?”
Chen Wan paused, but he wasn’t particularly surprised. If Zhao Shengge wanted to investigate something, he would never stop at the surface.
He lowered his head to look at Zhao Shengge and said softly, “Do you pity me right now?”
Zhao Shengge slowly shook his head. “It’s not pity. If I had to describe it, I’d want you to understand it as compassion.”
Compassion, affection, and cherishing are also forms of love.
Chen Wan curved his lips faintly. “You don’t need to think I’m pitiful. I caused them a lot of trouble every day. In the end, it was hard to tell who tortured who more. And—”
“I saw you there for the first time. But you probably don’t remember.”
Zhao Shengge asked, “Can you tell me?”
“In my third year there, some officials came to pick people.” Xiaolan Mountain was a breeding ground for sex crimes. Regular “offerings” made in exchange for protection through power-for-sex deals were an open secret among the upper class in Haishi. “I ran away. They sent many people to find me. That day, you happened to be attending a charity event at the welfare center in Phase Two of Xiaolan Mountain.”
How ironic—the welfare home and asylum were built side by side.
A cold, murderous intent surfaced in Zhao Shengge’s eyes, but his voice remained steady. “Did I run into you?”
“I barged into your lounge while running aimlessly because I saw a knife on the table through the window.”
Even though it was just a fruit knife.
“You were dozing off, and I accidentally woke you. You looked at me for a bit, thought I was eyeing the fruit, and casually handed me a mangosteen.”
Back then, Zhao Shengge was still in his youth, not yet the cold, aloof man he would become.
“I didn’t eat it. You thought I didn’t know how, so you explained to peel off the black outer skin and eat the white flesh inside.”
Zhao Shengge was silent for a moment. His dry lips brushed against Chen Wan’s cheek, and his hoarse voice spread like heavy ink in the darkness. “Did we talk?”
“You might’ve thought I was a kid from the welfare home and asked how I ended up there.”
“And did you tell me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It was the fourth day of my high fever. My tonsils were inflamed and my throat was burned out, so I hadn’t spoken in a long time.” And more than that, Chen Wan couldn’t bring himself to say it. He wasn’t a welfare home child. He was the lunatic from the mental hospital next door.
“You were called away soon after. They told you the charity ceremony was about to begin. Before you left, you said I could take any of the fruit from the table.”
But Chen Wan didn’t. Not even the mangosteen that had already been peeled. He only took that fruit knife.
Twelve-year-old Chen Wan, trapped in a mental asylum, didn’t need sweet, fragrant fruit. He needed a fruit knife he could use in self-defense.
And it was with that very knife that Chen Wan stabbed the beast who tried to drag him into the abyss.
Although in the end, the knife was confiscated.
Zhao Shengge had already forgotten whether he’d asked the staff at the welfare home about that child after giving his speech. Most likely, he hadn’t. Zhao Shengge wasn’t the type to meddle, and someone like Zhao Maozheng, for whom time was money, wouldn’t have given him the chance to do something so “meaningless.” Even if he had asked, Chen Wan’s name wouldn’t have been on the list anyway.
Yet for the first time, Zhao Shengge regretted his own indifference and arrogance.
But Chen Wan lifted his head, eyes shining, and said to him, “Back then, I didn’t think I’d make it out of Xiaolan Mountain alive. Even if I did, it would’ve just been another cage. But—”
“I didn’t get the chance to ask your name.”
Zhao Shengge paused for a long time before finally letting out an “Mm.” Deep emotion surged behind his eyes as he said, “My name is Zhao Shengge.”
Author’s Note:
Wan’s idealized view of Ge’s kindness and integrity begins from this moment at Xiaolan Mountain.
