Chapter 97: Meng Wen’s Past

Chapter 97: Meng Wen's Past

Meng Wen was caught off guard by the embrace, staggering backward and thumping against the wall, a muffled groan escaping him involuntarily.

Yet, the next second he found himself deeply immersed in the kiss.

It's unclear what this kiss truly means. Is it the longing of being apart for so long, or the tumultuous sweetness of falling in love... Teeth and tongues turn into weapons in their battle, as they intertwine desperately like dying beasts, unable to see tomorrow's sun, in a mix of biting, gnawing, pain, and entanglement...

Yan Si relentlessly kneads Meng Wen's chest, waist, and hips with his palm, pressing hard enough to almost bruise the skin, as if only such intensity could release his overwhelming emotions.

Just a kiss left him drenched in sweat and tears. Despite his efforts to forget this man while partying wildly and surrounded by others on a yacht, staring at the sunset over the sea, he couldn't. It was like a crazed challenge, lost in indulgence, almost lawless.

But now, seeing Meng Wen again, those days of reckless driving and drunken revelry pale in comparison to the thrill of this single kiss.

Unable to hold back his tears, Yan Si bites Meng Wen's lips, leaving one wound after another. The strong taste of blood blooms in his mouth, mixing with saliva, swallowed like some intoxicating, heart-breaking poison, igniting a fiery wave in his veins, yet tearing him apart inside.

"Bastard..." Yan Si buries his head deep in Meng Wen's neck, his throat struggling to swallow, sobbing, "You damn bastard..."

Meng Wen's lips are marked with bite wounds, bleeding profusely. He listens to Yan Si's choking accusations without speaking, just gently embracing him, like a weary traveler returning in a snowy night, bringing a chill and a world of weariness to lean on him, his voice hoarse, "Don't move..."

"...Let me hold you."

But it wasn't a time for heartfelt confessions. They embraced silently for a few seconds before Meng Wen suddenly pushed Yan Si away, took off his coat to drape over him, pulled the hood down to cover most of Yan Si's face, and removed all electronic devices from him.

Meng Wen gazes at Yan Si's face, gently touching the tear stains near his eyes, "Qingshi Lane, No. 118, second floor, the room at the very end of the corridor."

"Wait for me."

Yan Si's throat catches, clearly wanting to ask more, "You..."

"Don't ask now." Meng Wen's dark eyes seem to hold a firm resolve, "I'll explain everything to you."

He grabs Yan Si's hand, leading him quickly down the stairs, out the door, pushing him forward, "Run."

Yan Si obviously wants to look back at him, but Meng Wen's large hand grips the back of his neck, preventing him from turning, "Trust me."

With no other choice, Yan Si runs away without looking back.

The address Meng Wen mentioned was two whole blocks away from the scene. In an era where you're lost without a phone, Yan Si ran until he was out of breath, finally finding the place—a nondescript, unmarked black hotel.

After entering, Yan Si gave the room number to the landlord, who tossed him a key without so much as a second glance.

He walked along the dilapidated corridor to the end of the second floor, trembling as he unlocked the door. As it opened, a shower of erotic cards fell to the floor, all advertisements from streetwalkers.

The room was cramped and reeked of decay and mold. The mattress, uncleaned for who knows how long, was stained and damp.

Yan Si desperately needed some light for comfort. But when he drew the curtains, he stood frozen as if struck by lightning.

The window of this corner room overlooked the bustling lights and traffic of Shanghai. A familiar route for Yan Si, it was his way home.

He would often stop at a convenience store along this road when drunk, buying a bowl of chicken soup with glass noodles to warm his stomach.

At that moment, Yan Si's eyes involuntarily moistened. On countless nights, Meng Wen had sat sleepless in this small hotel room, just waiting to see his silhouette returning home.

The night was too tumultuous. Lying cautiously in bed, Yan Si replayed the events like a movie in his mind. Yet, what stood out wasn't the life-or-death moment but Meng Wen's hoarse plea, "Let me hold you."

Yan Si didn't realize he had fallen asleep. Half-conscious, he suddenly heard knocking at the door, jerking awake like a resurrected fish, he lunged towards it, "Who is it?"

A familiar deep voice answered from outside, "It's me."

Yan Si cautiously cracked open the door to see Meng Wen standing there. His heart plummeted back into his chest.

He opened the door wider. Meng Wen, shrouded in cold, damp air, stumbled into the room, pressing down on Yan Si like a collapsing mountain.

"You..." Yan Si's pupils dilated in shock. As a doctor, he quickly detected the smell of blood in the air. "You're injured..."

"Yeah." Meng Wen grunted, pulling Yan Si's hand to his lips for a kiss, "Came to find a doctor."

In the dim light seeping through the curtain gaps, Yan Si could see that Meng Wen's face was pale. Touching his forehead, he seemed feverish, likely from an infected wound.

He hurriedly helped Meng Wen lie down on the bed. Meng Wen pointed to a cabinet in the corner, "There are medicines and bandages in there."

Yan Si rolled up Meng Wen's shirt to reveal a thick bandage soaked with blood around his waist. Unwrapping it, a deep, swollen wound was revealed. Yan Si was angry enough to grit his teeth but knew he couldn't ignore him. He turned to fetch alcohol, bandages, and suturing tools from the cabinet.

As if venting his anger, Yan Si pressed the alcohol-soaked bandage hard against the wound, roaring in a low growl, "What the hell happened!"

The alcohol searing into the swollen, inflamed wound sent waves of excruciating pain through Meng Wen. His muscles tensed sharply, and his neck arched back, pulling at the veins crisscrossing his skin, "You..."

Yan Si's eyes were bloodshot as he disinfected his hands before treating Meng Wen's wound, "Start by telling me who you are."

"I..." Without anesthetics on hand, Meng Wen endured the agony, gasping for air, "am just as you see..."

"...I was once the ace of CYO—deputy leader of the Alpha Squad."

Yan Si's brows twitched sharply, "Then you... and Rong Xiao..."

"Our squad was called the ace because we specialized in various assassination missions." Meng Wen's dark eyes bore into Yan Si, "But during our last mission..."

He still couldn't bear to recall that day. Even speaking these words, his trembling pupils involuntarily conjured images of a battlefield strewn with corpses, "...our entire team was annihilated."

Meng Wen's voice was laden with deep pain, "I was shot in the chest and abdomen, fell into the river, and was washed ashore. When I regained consciousness and struggled to find my past, I found that none of my teammates had survived; they were all silenced..."

"And my captain..."

At the mention of "captain," Yan Si's mind suddenly conjured the image of the handsome man with a high ponytail he had seen on the computer.

It was a moment of indescribable emotion for him, as he couldn't forget the first time he doubted Meng Wen's identity, triggered by Meng Wen mistaking him wearing a wig and calling him "captain" while he wore a high ponytail.

Meng Wen's eyes were blood-red, swirling with intense hatred, "He was pinned to the wall by a black dagger through his skull, eyes wide open in death..."

A thunderous boom echoed as if the gods themselves were striking the earth with their drumsticks, and the piercing lightning seemed to split the sky open like the dawn of creation.

Three years ago, Meng Wen, clutching his profusely bleeding chest wound, struggled forward in the pouring rain, desperately calling out, "Captain—!"

In his hand was a pistol with just one bullet left, not even enough for self-defense, only to be used to end his own life when faced with the enemy.

The relentless downpour couldn't stop his staggering steps. His footprints, deep and shallow, filled with blood-stained rainwater, painted a picture of both tragedy and valor.

Following the path in his memory to the mission location, when Meng Wen parted the last bush obstructing his view, a lightning bolt suddenly illuminated the sky and earth—

Before him, leaning against a tree trunk, was the corpse of a handsome man, his usually high ponytail possibly broken in the struggle, his long hair drenched and clinging to his body, adding to his disheveled appearance.

A black dagger had penetrated his skull; blood trailed down his forehead like little snakes, winding down his cheeks. The man's eyes, open and fixed on a point in the void, were bloodshot, unable to close even in death.

Memories flooded back, and even today, Meng Wen's adam's apple bobbed with difficulty, looking at Yan Si with an indescribably complex gaze. He gripped Yan Si's wrist tightly, as if drawing strength from this contact to continue speaking.

But just as he parted his lips to speak, a steady knock at the door suddenly broke the silence, sounding like a harbinger of death—

Thud, thud, thud—!