Chapter 65

Chapter 65

Since childhood, Song Nian had always been the kind of person who only shared the good news and kept the bad to himself.

Whether as the child of busy working parents or as an older brother, every role demanded he be mature.

When he was young, his parents were busy working to make a living, and even when he felt hurt or wronged and wanted to confide in his parents, he couldn't always see them.

Even when he did, seeing the fatigue on their faces made him too ashamed to speak up, so he swallowed his words, unable to burden them with his negative emotions.

Later, when his frail younger brother was born, as the older brother, he had to be even more mature and never show vulnerability, because he also had to take on the responsibility of caring for his younger brother.

Gradually, Song Nian learned to solve problems on his own and deal with his emotions on his own.

Independent, mature, obedient—that was the perfect image everyone had of him.

But in reality, within a family, the more considerate a person is, the easier it is to be overlooked.

Song Nian's parents were absent from his upbringing. Later, when their financial situation improved, they showered on their younger son all the attention they had withheld from their eldest, once again forgetting Song Nian's feelings.

They thought that a child as worry-free as Song Nian would understand their past actions and wouldn't hold a grudge.

Song Nian, the most well-behaved, was naturally the one who got overlooked.

Unlike his brother, who could freely throw tantrums and act spoiled, at home, he was always the child who never admitted he was hurt, the one who never made anyone worry.

Thus, if he didn't actively voice his emotions, no one would notice what was going on inside him.

A strong desire to share grew within him, almost as if he was fooling himself into believing that this would win his family's attention.

Over time, he developed a habit of eagerly sharing everything. Whether with family or friends, he had an eager urge to talk, wanting to chime in on everything.

After so many years of pretending, even Song Nian himself had almost forgotten the last time he sought comfort from someone.

When he encountered the online bullying this time, it never even crossed his mind to ask Li Yanchuan for help.

But Li Yanchuan noticed it on his own. Without asking anything, he simply said, "You can let it out."

Completely enveloped in the man's broad embrace, Song Nian's nose tingled, and he could no longer hold back. He hugged him tight and sobbed loudly.

Compared to the stifled sobbing at the beginning, this wailing was a much better release for the pent-up frustration in his heart, like a gradually intensifying storm that showed no sign of stopping.

"It's okay. Let it all out. I'll be right here with you."

Even though his shirt was soaked through with tears and wrinkled, Li Yanchuan didn't even frown. He patiently held the person, his usually cold voice unusually gentle, his hand gently stroking his back in soothing circles.

The low, comforting voice, the warm, reassuring hand, the firm and steady embrace—everything about it was so reassuring and secure.

It was like lying back on a sofa, completely enveloped by the ebb and flow of the tide.

Song Nian didn't know how long he cried. By the end, he was so tired he could barely open his eyes, yet he still lay in the man's arms without getting up.

Muffled against his chest, he whispered, "Li Yanchuan, I want to sleep for a while."

And Li Yanchuan said, "Okay."

Then he settled him on his lap and carried him back to the bedroom on the second floor.

Sinking into the familiar big bed, Song Nian quickly grew drowsy. In his hazy state, he felt as if he kept waking up over and over again.

Each time he woke, the sky outside seemed darker, and as if the clock hands had raced ahead.

But the only constant was Li Yanchuan, keeping watch by the bedside.

The last time he woke up, it was already late at night.

Outside, the night sky was low, dotted with stars, and a full moon hung high, having taken the place of the sun.

Inside the room, only the warm yellow glow of a desk lamp was on, its dim light casting the silhouette of the figure who had been keeping watch by the bed.

Indistinct and soft, yet feeling so dependable and safe.

As the light and shadows flickered, Song Nian's heart suddenly gave a heavy lurch, skipping a beat for no reason.

Feeling the eyes on him, the figure turned his head, his voice dropped to barely a whisper, so gentle it seemed to drip with tenderness:

"Still want to sleep?"

Seeing him shake his head, Li Yanchuan reached out and gently smoothed the tousled hair at his temples.

His voice was still raspy from sleep, and his mouth felt dry while his eyes were sore and swollen.

Before he could say a word, a gentle reminder came:

"Close your eyes."

Then, a cool ice pack was pressed against his eyelids.

"Ow, so cold."

Song Nian couldn't help but gasp.

"Bear with it."

Despite his words, Li Yanchuan made his already gentle touch even lighter, carefully pressing the compress to the swollen eyelids so that the next day he wouldn't be in pain opening his eyes.

After applying the ice pack, he carefully propped him up against the headboard and helped him drink water from his hand.

"Did I sleep for a long time?"

"Not long. It's evening."

Strictly speaking, it was eight o'clock in the evening. Song Nian had slept for nearly six hours.

During that time, Li Yanchuan never once mentioned that he had stayed by the bedside the entire time, even when he had to make work calls, he kept his voice down so as not to disturb the sleeping person.

Song Nian fired off all kinds of questions—"Don't you have to go to the office this afternoon?" or "Are you tired?"—and Li Yanchuan gave patient answers.

He showed no impatience at all, staying as quietly by his side as he had been the whole time.

"Do you want to sleep a little more, or get up and have something to eat?"

Li Yanchuan reached out and gently caressed the person's cheek.

"I wanna lie down a bit longer."

Song Nian shook his head, then voluntarily pressed his face into the large, warm palm, nuzzling against it, completely dependent on him.

His big, warm palm could nearly cover half of Song Nian's face. It was slightly cool, but still carried a reassuring strength.

The two were silent, but the air was not awkward, filled instead with wordless companionship.

Finally, it was Song Nian who broke the silence first:

"Honey, you know, you're the first person who told me it was okay to cry."

"When I was little, my parents were always busy. I didn't dare tell them about my troubles, afraid of distracting them."

Everything he said was true, and Song Nian knew that Li Yanchuan could easily detect something amiss.

But at this moment, he couldn't hold back the urge to open up. The tough shell he'd built cracked open, widening until the hidden vulnerability spilled out, threatening to engulf him.

Dim lighting, a quiet environment, and a trustworthy person.

The atmosphere was just right—a perfect time to pour out his heart.

These words had been buried deep inside him for too many years, like a tiny thorn under the skin, hidden so long he'd nearly forgotten its existence.

But no matter how much he deceived himself, he couldn't erase the fact that it was still rooted in his being.

Until one day, someone appeared, reached out, pulled it out, and told him it was okay to cry if it hurt.

So Song Nian couldn't help but want to let out all the pent-up feelings from these years at once.

He thought, if it were Li Yanchuan, he definitely wouldn't think he was being a bother, right?

Thinking this, he sneaked a nervous glance at his reaction.

Upon hearing this, Li Yanchuan lowered his eyes, his deep, unblinking gaze fixed on the other man, inscrutable and unreadable.

But the heartache in his eyes was plain to see.

Because he knew well that what Song Nian said was not the experience of the original owner—it didn't match the information he'd gathered at all.

So this must be the man's true past.

Such a sunny, warm person actually had a childhood of neglect, forced to be independent.

"Song Nian."

The light in his deep eyes fell only on one person. Li Yanchuan cupped his face and said slowly and deliberately.

"I have never found you to be a bother, so you can rely on me and ask me for anything you want."

In other words, if your life could need me deeply, I'd be even happier.

A powerful desire never rejects intense need—in fact, it craves it.

"Leave this matter to me. You don't need to worry about a thing, just rest well at home."

Having said that, Li Yanchuan lifted the man's hand and bowed his head to place a kiss on the fair skin of the back of his hand.

As devoted as a knight pledging his life to a prince.

The warm, moist lips touched the surface of the skin, tickling and soft.

Not hot, but an inexplicable heat rose from the kissed spot, traveling up the arm all the way to his face, flushed with a burning heat.

It even seemed to quicken his heartbeat, thumping as if about to leap out of his chest.

Fortunately, the room's lighting was dim enough that it wouldn't show the blush on his face.

The romantic tension in the air, nurtured by the night, swelled rapidly, coloring everything in sight with a hazy glow.

"I..."

He gulped, his heart pounded so hard it seemed about to leap out of his throat. His voice came out hoarse, unable to form words.

He gathered his courage, about to open his mouth to answer fully, when an even louder sound interrupted him.

"Growl—"

His empty stomach let out a feeble protest.

Instantly, a brief silence fell over the room.

Then, Li Yanchuan's low laughter reached his ears.

Embarrassed, Song Nian blushed and lowered his head.

"I had my assistant bring some food. Let's go downstairs first."

Suppressing a smile, Li Yanchuan covered his mouth with his fist and spoke with a hint of a smile.

—

What Song Nian hadn't expected was that, besides the assistant who brought the late-night snack, Li Yanchuan had also summoned their agent, Brother Wang.

"Chairman Li, you called for me?"

Nervously, Brother Wang wiped his sweat as he entered the room—half from hurrying, half from a cold sweat of fear.

Because he could probably guess that the formidable and ruthless Chairman Li had called him about Song Nian.

As soon as he was ushered into the room by the assistant, he saw the two on the sofa.

By then, Li Yanchuan had moved to sit on the living room sofa, casting a cold glance at him. His fierce gaze was like a sharp blade, making him shudder involuntarily.

From this posture, if it weren't for the wheelchair against the wall, who could tell he had difficulty moving?

Meanwhile, Song Nian sat on the sofa with his legs tucked up, holding a bowl of fragrant food, eating intently with his head down—small bites, chewing slowly, like a little hamster.

Even when the agent arrived, he didn't look up, still upset, ignoring everything else, and focused solely on eating.

The two sat side by side. Li Yanchuan's hand rested on Song Nian, his arm draped over his shoulder, like a big wolf shielding a little hamster.

"You're here?"

Li Yanchuan glanced at him, his cold voice and sharp gaze both directed at the agent, making him shrink like a quail.

"Now, let's have a good talk about Song Nian's situation."