Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Ji Qingyu was half-asleep, his wrist feeling cold. A hand pressed against his forehead. He had clearly overestimated his physical condition; the next day, he developed a high fever.

The family doctor arrived early, prescribed fever-reducing medication, and bandaged his wrist.

It was a rare beautiful day, with a gentle breeze rustling the treetops. The lawn and trees outside the window were bathed in a golden light. He opened the window, gazing out at the scenery to clear his mind.

Fu Han was gone again, vanished as always. He did whatever he wanted, acting on whims.

Recovering from his illness at home for a few days, Ji Qingyu noticed new equipment in the piano room—much of it used in their recent stage play. Someone approached him to compose music for a new theatrical production. It wasn't a major project, but having nothing better to do, he accepted.

He met the person in charge at a café, listened to the requirements—just a few simple melodies—and verbally agreed after settling on a reasonable fee.

On his way, Ji Qingyu visited Luo Sheng. It was his first time at Luo Sheng’s home.

Luo Sheng’s small house sat halfway up the mountainside, surrounded by a little garden. When Ji Qingyu arrived, Luo Sheng was planting saplings, so Ji Qingyu helped out.

"Uncle, would you like to participate in the stage play project? They still need a choreographer. You’re so professional—I could recommend you," Ji Qingyu said, using his uninjured hand to fill the hole with soil and pat down the earth around the tree.

"I won't join in the fun. At my age, aside from occasional indulgences, I’ve reached a point of being without desires or demands," Luo Sheng replied, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He seemed in much better spirits now.

"But you," Luo Sheng continued, "you’re still young. Don’t end up like this old man—life should have some passion. Look at you, always looking unhappy."

Ji Qingyu thought to himself, *If I come help you cut trees every day, maybe I won’t dwell on things that bring me down.*

They spent the afternoon silently planting a row of saplings. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Ji Qingyu looked at the trees with a sense of accomplishment.

"Xiao Yu, you should come by more often. I could use your help," Luo Sheng said, patting Ji Qingyu’s shoulder. "What happened to your hand? It wasn’t Fu Han, was it? If he dared do something like that, I’ll deal with him."

"It wasn’t him," Ji Qingyu shook his head weakly. Luo Sheng, as always, offered him a cigarette, which Ji Qingyu declined. For some reason, he felt his energy waning lately, and the smell of smoke seemed particularly harsh.

"Uncle, how did you manage to escape back then?" Ji Qingyu had always been curious about this.

"Me?" Luo Sheng glanced at Ji Qingyu, then poured himself a glass of wine. "I left on a day when Fu Yunbai was sound asleep. I had scouted the route in advance, and the servants helped me."

"Ah, I promised to quit smoking and drinking," Luo Sheng mused, though he showed no intention of putting out his cigarette. "Qingyu, asking me this—are you still planning to leave?"

Birds flew through the forest canopy. Ji Qingyu sat on a tree stump, breathing in the fresh mountain air. He lowered his head, drawing in the gravel with a small branch, remaining silent.

"Alright then," Luo Sheng stubbed out his cigarette. "You and Xiao Han still have a chance to turn things around. Are you really not going to reconsider?"

Ji Qingyu shook his head. Feelings were unpredictable. When love was strong, no persuasion could pull them apart, but once he felt he’d reached his limit, no amount of persuasion could make him stay.

They sat together a while longer as evening descended. Luo Sheng went inside to cook, leaving Ji Qingyu alone to gaze at the vast mountains, his heart feeling desolate.

During dinner, Ji Qingyu poked at his mushroom soup and bread with a fork before finally speaking. "Uncle, did you and Fu Han have a good relationship?"

"Very. He was nothing like he is now when he was little—very clingy, actually. I preferred him back then. Nowadays, he doesn't get close to people," Luo Sheng complained. "You wouldn't believe how cute he was as a child. Even Fu Yunbai sometimes couldn’t handle how attached he was."

"Really?" Ji Qingyu couldn’t imagine it. In his mind, Fu Han was always aloof, unyielding, arrogant, and fierce—nothing like the word "clingy."

His phone rang again. Lately, Fu Han had been contacting him unusually often, likely driven by that strange possessiveness. He answered, and sure enough, the voice on the other end demanded, "Where are you? It’s already 7 PM."

"I’m at Uncle Luo’s," Ji Qingyu replied softly, not in the mood to engage, his tone gentle but evasive.

Luo Sheng looked up at him. Ji Qingyu was dressed simply today—a white cashmere sweater, hair falling to his shoulders. Whether it was Fu Han’s doing or not, he wore his wedding ring. His expression held a hint of impatience. Noticing Luo Sheng’s gaze, Ji Qingyu smiled slightly, curling his fingers so the wedding ring was hidden. More noticeable was the bandage on his wrist.

Luo Sheng had prepared chicken mushroom soup for dinner, worried Ji Qingyu might not be used to it, so he also made Yangchun noodles, sliced some homemade coarse wheat bread, and poured a glass of iced sparkling water.

Ji Qingyu seemed uninterested. Whatever was being said on the phone, he responded with vague replies.

The atmosphere between them felt like the oppressive calm before a storm.

Outside, light rain began to fall. After a moment of silence, Fu Han said calmly, "I’m still at the office. I’ll drop by on my way home."

"There’s no need. I can stay at Uncle Luo’s tonight. You’re busy with work, and it’s raining heavily. The journey here isn't safe," Ji Qingyu said, his fingers tracing the rim of the glass, tiny bubbles in the sparkling water.

Luo Sheng reached over, covering Ji Qingyu’s hand with his own.

The small wooden house felt like an isolated island in the intensifying rain. The TV played news—some trivial entertainment gossip.

"Ji Ran and Fu Han’s copyright dispute has concluded. According to insiders, the brothers came to blows at a banquet, possibly fighting over Fu Han."

"I’m coming to pick you up. We’re spending the night at home," Fu Han stated, not consulting him. Sounds of discussions and rustling papers could be heard in the background as someone consulted him. Fu Han exchanged a few cold, firm words with them before reiterating, "Wait for me there."

Luo Sheng noticed the worry on Ji Qingyu’s face. He seemed to have gotten thinner recently, despite appearing better during the stage play. Something must have happened again.

Luo Sheng patted Ji Qingyu’s hand. "Qingyu, if you don’t want to go back, I’ll have a proper talk with him. He still listens to me to some extent."

Ji Qingyu lowered his gaze and shook his head. His hands clenched, lost in thought, he stood up and said, "Uncle Luo, I’ll wash the dishes."

Luo Sheng sensed Ji Qingyu had been preoccupied all day, as if there was something he wanted to say but hadn’t.

After dinner, Ji Qingyu curled up on the sofa in Luo Sheng’s cabin, reviewing the collaboration proposal for the stage play. He needed to read through the script.

The play centered on a love triangle: a young female omega falls in love with an older married female omega, who is in a happy marriage with a male alpha.

Sitting on the sofa, Ji Qingyu unconsciously bit his finger. The theme was morally transgressive, full of dramatic tension—completely different from fairy tales, more suited for adults.

Personally, he wasn’t experienced with such themes, but he had always wanted to try.

Fu Han said he would come, but with the heavy rain, the mountain roads were treacherous. Ji Qingyu didn’t want him taking such risks. Besides, even if he returned, what would they have to say to each other?

Lost in thought, he lowered his head to the script. The young girl says to the older woman, "Teacher, I love you. I know our relationship defies norms, I know it’s unacceptable, but I love you."

Ji Qingyu’s stylus tapped absently on his tablet. Luo Sheng sat down beside him at some point, handing him a glass of warm water.

Ji Qingyu looked up, slightly dazed. "What has you so engrossed?" Luo Sheng asked.

The warm and bright lighting in the small cabin enveloped them. Luo Sheng, perhaps because Fu Han made him get regular treatments, looked much healthier.

"Uncle, I want a divorce," Ji Qingyu said, flipping to the last page of the script. The characters didn’t get a happy ending—the young girl died, and the teacher never left her marriage.

"Qingyu, you need to think it through carefully and plan everything out," Luo Sheng advised. "Sometimes, we think giving our all will lead to a good outcome, but in the end, it only hurts everyone involved. It’s better to cut losses early and walk away."

"You came today to seek my opinion, didn’t you?" Luo Sheng said. "Don’t worry. Even though life after escaping had its challenges, I’ve never regretted it."

Before Luo Sheng could finish, a flash of lightning lit up the window.

The rain continued relentlessly. A knock sounded at the cabin door. Outside stood a figure under a black umbrella. He stepped inside, bringing with him a damp, chilly breeze.

Ji Qingyu’s fingers curled slightly, and he instinctively shifted away. Luo Sheng’s cigarette still smoldered. Fu Han nodded to Luo Sheng, then immediately reached for Ji Qingyu’s arm.

"Let’s go. Come home with me."

Ji Qingyu glanced back at Luo Sheng, who smiled at him. Love exists in this world, but in the moment it feels eternal—yet how long can that passionate flame truly burn?

Ji Qingyu didn't know; he could only feel the gnawing pain. If possible, he wished he had never met Fu Han at eighteen—he could have lived peacefully on his own.

"Fu Han." Ji Qingyu was pulled away. The black umbrella was a bit cramped, forcing the two to press close together. Ji Qingyu lagged half a step behind, blankly calling out to the Alpha. In the rainy night, he could only see Fu Han's broad back. Fu Han didn't turn around or respond.

Fu Han's palm was warm, and being held like this brought some comfort to his heart. Ji Qingyu lowered his head to look at their intertwined hands.

After a few moments of dazed hesitation, perhaps because of Luo Sheng, Ji Qingyu finally mustered the courage. He opened his mouth and continued on his own: "Fu Han, listen to me. By marrying me, you brought trouble on yourself. I—we don’t need to continue like this, do we? You’ve already established ties with the Ji family. With or without me, it doesn’t make much difference."

Sneakers made faint rustling sounds on the grass. Ji Qingyu lowered his head, swallowing lightly, his Adam's apple bobbing. Fu Han's steps slowed for two seconds, then continued forward as if he hadn't heard.

Thinking his voice was too soft, Ji Qingyu repeated himself louder, trying once more to persuade Fu Han to see reason.

"Now, at home, we’re both uncomfortable, always arguing. For your own well-being, why don’t we… find a time to… get a divorce?" By the end, Ji Qingyu's voice grew softer. He didn’t know why, but he actually felt somewhat guilty.

The damp, biting cold in the air spread once more. The light from the small cabin behind them grew increasingly distant. Ji Qingyu hadn’t expected Fu Han to stop abruptly. He had been looking down at Fu Han’s shadow and ended up crashing into his back. His nose ached, the pain bringing tears to his eyes.

He raised a hand to cover his face, tears welling up.

Fu Han turned around, without expression grabbed Ji Qingyu's forearm, and slammed him against the car door.

The door was wet with rain, soaking Ji Qingyu's back entirely. Fu Han's umbrella still covered them overhead, raindrops pounding heavily on the car roof.

Fu Han lowered his gaze and spoke the longest sentence since they’d met: "Ji Qingyu, you think you can toy with me and then just divorce? Since when was it that simple? You can’t just come and go as you please. Do you think you can leave whenever you say?"

Ji Qingyu didn’t know why he was so perceptive. Fu Han’s expression was impenetrable as steel, but the hand at his side was trembling.

So Ji Qingyu’s heart was seized by a vague dread, trembling in sync with Fu Han’s hand. He opened his mouth but couldn’t utter a single word.