Chapter 97: I Thought of It Myself
Little Wen Ling placed his blood-stained hand in front of his nose and sniffed. Suddenly, Cheng Ge’s nasal cavity was filled with the scent of medicinal oil mixed with the metallic tang of blood—stinging, unpleasant, and even a bit nauseating.
Cheng Ge seemed to suddenly understand something.
Little Wen Ling’s fist clenched tightly once more. Cheng Ge touched his own chest; his heartbeat had sped up, his fear and terror intensifying, as did his revulsion.
With another “thud,” Cheng Ge felt as if the bones in his own fingers had snapped.
But he couldn’t process much at that moment; he could only stare blankly at Wen Ling—at the hand Wen Ling had slammed against the mirror.
The mirror cracked beneath the fist, stained with blood.
Little Wen Ling glared at his reflection in the mirror, staring at those large eyes, his heart filled with even more fear and loathing.
Cheng Ge’s heart ached terribly. He desperately wanted to pull Wen Ling into a tight hug, to tell him not to be afraid, not to hate himself.
But no matter what he did, he couldn’t reach the helpless, bewildered child in front of him. Every embrace was naught but empty air.
This time, the process of exiting the dream was much calmer than before. He was out as soon as he closed his eyes, yet Cheng Ge hesitated to open them for a long time.
This was perhaps Wen Ling’s most ordinary and quiet dream, yet Cheng Ge felt a suffocating weight on his chest, his heart twisting in pain.
He finally knew why Wen Ling had such a misconception about his own appearance, why he didn’t like looking in mirrors, and why he hated red medicinal oil. He finally understood why Wen Ling had looked at their photo and said his own eyes were so big they were “scary.”
But he still didn’t know why a young Wen Ling had been locked in a box, why he was covered in injuries, or why he would punch a mirror until his hand bled without even blinking.
Did it not hurt? How could it not?
And why was Wen Ling so thin?
Cheng Ge tightened his hold on the person in his arms. Even though he had been taking care of him for so long and Wen Ling had gained some weight, he was still thin. Despite being so tall, he still felt like a small thing in Cheng Ge’s arms, weighing almost nothing.
Perhaps because he was being held too tightly, Wen Ling shifted his body. His hand, which was wrapped around Cheng Ge’s waist, curled slightly, and his warm little face rubbed against Cheng Ge’s neck as he let out two incoherent mumbles in his sleep.
It was only Wen Ling’s affectionate movements that finally pulled Cheng Ge out of his suffocating emotions. He slowly lifted his eyelids, gazing at the person in his arms.
Cheng Ge’s gaze quietly traced Wen Ling’s features. He lightly stroked the places that had been injured in the dream, kissed them again, and finally placed a soft kiss on Wen Ling’s eyelid.
He arched his back, lowering his head until their noses touched. He carefully nuzzled him, closing his eyes to wait for dawn.
Wen Ling slept very comfortably. By the time he woke up, it was already past eight o’clock, and the sun was high in the sky.
Actually, Wen Ling had a habit of lingering in bed when he woke up—provided Cheng Ge was by his side. If there was no one there, he would get up to look for him. Once he found him, he would hug him tight and doze off against Cheng Ge’s back.
Wen Ling’s eyes were still closed as he reached out to feel the space beside him, but the bed was already cold.
He pouted slightly, feeling a bit unhappy and a sense of unease. He opened his eyes and looked around the room, immediately spotting Cheng Ge’s back.
Wen Ling flipped over and sprawled on the bed, slowly arching his back and sticking his bottom up as he prepared to crawl out of bed.
The process didn’t go very smoothly, however. Halfway through his arch, his upper buttock was given a light, firm slap. There was no one else who would do that but Cheng Ge, so Wen Ling wasn’t angry. He took the opportunity to flop back down onto the bed.
Cheng Ge had long since noticed the movement over there. He turned down the power on the appliance, covered the pot, and went over to join the fun.
Every time he saw Wen Ling wake up like this, Cheng Ge didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He had never seen anyone wake up this way; he looked like some kind of unidentified creature about to mutate.
Cheng Ge supported Wen Ling and flipped him over. Seeing that his eyelids were still drooping as if he couldn’t decide whether to wake up, he let out a low chuckle. “If you’re tired, just keep sleeping. Why force yourself?”
Wen Ling fumbled for Cheng Ge’s hand, grabbing his wrist and sliding up to his elbow. Supported by Cheng Ge, he gave a hard pull and sat himself up.
Cheng Ge leaned over, kissing the corner of Wen Ling’s eye before squeezing the back of Wen Ling’s neck. “Are you getting up now?”
Wen Ling squinted his eyes comfortably, tilting his head back to touch Cheng Ge’s Adam’s apple with the tip of his nose, but he didn’t speak.
Cheng Ge felt an itch—and a surge of restlessness. He stumbled slightly as he tried to pull away, only to find himself with an extra attachment.
Wen Ling’s arms were wrapped around Cheng Ge’s neck, and his legs were hooked around his waist. He clung to Cheng Ge like a koala, bringing the two of them even closer.
“You gave me a fright.” Cheng Ge held Wen Ling steadily, feeling a lingering unease. Wen Ling’s jump had been too sudden. If Wen Ling hadn’t been so light, Cheng Ge really might have lost his balance and fallen straight down. Wen Ling would have definitely hit the bed, and if his head had hit a corner, what would have happened then?
“Tell me in advance next time! I might not stand steady. What if you hit your head? So reckless, just like a child.”
Cheng Ge’s brow was furrowed, making him look fierce as if he were scolding him, but his tone was clearly full of worried indulgence. Besides, Wen Ling had his head tucked into Cheng Ge’s shoulder and couldn’t even see his “fierce” expression.
After listening to Cheng Ge’s long-winded rambling, Wen Ling simply replied, “I’m not a child,” which nearly made Cheng Ge laugh in exasperation.
“Good morning, Cheng Ge,” Wen Ling said suddenly, rubbing his cheek against Cheng Ge’s ear.
It sounded sudden, but considering Cheng Ge had taken the initiative to say “Good night” the previous evening, there was a clear precedent.
He was learning by example again.
“Good morning, good morning.”
Cheng Ge patted Wen Ling’s leg. “Get down first. I need to make breakfast. What do you look like, acting like this?”
“Why do I need to ‘look’ like anything?” Wen Ling asked righteously.
Cheng Ge was amused by him. “How am I supposed to cook like this? If I open the lid, all the steam will hit you, won’t it? It’ll scald you.”
Wen Ling knew he didn’t have much of an argument, but he insisted on being clingy for a while before he was willing to let go.
Cheng Ge grumbled, “Clingy ghost.”
This morning, Wen Ling was indeed excessively clingy, but he was quite smug about it and didn’t feel the least bit shy.
Wasn’t he just influenced by Cheng Ge?
If Cheng Ge hadn’t taken the initiative to kiss him so early and been so intimate with him—rambling but clearly indulging him—he wouldn’t have had the passion to be so bold.
It felt like after last night, something had changed. Their relationship seemed even closer, perhaps even too close. Cheng Ge was still Cheng Ge, but Wen Ling liked him even more now.
For breakfast, they had Wen Ling’s favorite—egg and vegetable noodle soup. Wen Ling ate two bowls, feeling thoroughly satisfied.
After eating, Cheng Ge was washing dishes on the balcony while Wen Ling paced back and forth behind him. “When are we going to pick up the glasses?”
Cheng Ge glanced at Wen Ling’s pacing figure through the reflection in the window and smiled. To be honest, he couldn’t help teasing him: “You’re like an ant on a hot griddle.”
Wen Ling glanced at Cheng Ge. “You’re the ant.”
“Fine, fine, fine. I am, you’re not.”
Being different from Cheng Ge made Wen Ling unhappy. “Then I am too.”
Cheng Ge laughed, wanting to ask “How are you one again?”, but fearing the topic would never end, he didn’t argue with Wen Ling, saying “Yes, yes, yes.”
After a quick cleanup, the two left the dorm. In the elevator, Cheng Ge held Wen Ling’s hand. Wen Ling gave it a shake, then suddenly said with a mix of pride and silliness: “Our little life is going quite ‘moistly’ (comfortably).”
Initially, Cheng Ge misheard “little life” (Xiao Ri Zi) as “Little Japan” (Xiao Ri Ben), thinking Wen Ling was being inexplicable. Then he processed it for two seconds—and that processing was quite something. It nearly made him fall to the floor laughing.
Cheng Ge couldn’t hold back his laughter as he stepped out of the elevator. “I say, Comrade Xiao Wen, where did you learn these expressions?”
Wen Ling didn’t know what Cheng Ge was laughing at, but seeing Cheng Ge laugh made him want to laugh too. His eyes were sparkling. “I thought of it myself.”
That proud little tone.
“Collapsed, it’s collapsed. It’s completely collapsed.”
Wen Ling followed up with a question: “What’s collapsed?”
“Your character setting.”
Not to mention being cute and clingy—he used to be dazed too—that was collapsed enough. How had he become so funny now?
“You’re always talking about my character setting. What is a character setting? What is mine?”
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