Chapter 24

Chapter 24

The call ended and the screen went dark. Huo Yanshen set his phone on the nightstand and sat by the bed for a while, watching Shen Ling, who was curled up under the covers, sleeping soundly, his lashes at rest, his breathing long and even.

Yesterday Shen Ling had delivered the final piece to Zhou Lin and didn't get back until past midnight—very late for Shen Ling. He'd collapsed onto the bed the second he walked in, his hair still dusted with silver polish, and Huo Yanshen had been the one to carry him to the shower.

Huo Yanshen reached out. "Baby."

Shen Ling gave no reaction.

"Baby, wake up."

Shen Ling furrowed his brow and buried his face deeper into the pillow, humming a muffled "Mmm—" from his nose, clearly still wanting to sleep.

Huo Yanshen rubbed his earlobe again. "Sit up first."

Shen Ling finally managed to pry his eyelids open, revealing hazy, misty eyes. Before his eyes could focus, he rubbed them with the back of his hand, then closed them again, making little incoherent sounds.

Huo Yanshen didn't rush him. He placed the water glass and pills on the nightstand, then supported the back of Shen Ling's head and lifted him from the pillow.

Shen Ling was completely limp, unable to sit up straight, his head lolling into the crook of Huo Yanshen's shoulder like a ragdoll cat that had been picked up but wasn't powered on yet.

Huo Yanshen held the pill to his lips. Shen Ling opened his mouth and took it, taking a sip of water from his hand, swallowing it with a frown, then licking his lips and mumbling, "Tastes bad..."

There weren't many meds he could take during pregnancy, and these pills were a formula Wen Pei had specially tweaked—they really didn't taste great.

After taking the medicine, Shen Ling's brain was still half-asleep. He instinctively draped himself over Huo Yanshen, wrapping both arms around his neck and hooking his legs around him, hanging onto Huo Yanshen's chest like a koala.

This was his favorite position—he could smell Huo Yanshen's scent, hear the steady beat of his pulse in his neck, feel his body heat through his clothes, like a temperature-controlled blanket wrapping around all his senses.

Shen Ling kept his eyes closed, waiting for Huo Yanshen to hold him and lie down with him as usual, his palm settling on Shen Ling's lower back and rubbing it slowly. That touch would quickly send him back to sleep.

But Huo Yanshen didn't budge.

Shen Ling twisted his waist, nuzzling his face further into his neck, letting out a whine of dissatisfaction.

He was hanging on pretty securely in this position, but Huo Yanshen's arms were only loosely around him, with no intention of lying down with him.

Huo Yanshen gently pried Shen Ling off himself. He set Shen Ling back down on the mattress, his head falling back onto the pillow, the blanket pulled up to his chest.

The warmth suddenly withdrew, and Shen Ling's brow furrowed.

He couldn't feel Huo Yanshen's presence anymore.

Soon, Shen Ling was fully awake.

He opened his eyes and stared at Huo Yanshen, not moving.

His eyes, just roused from sleep, held a silent resentment.

Huo Yanshen saw his expression and sighed. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

Shen Ling didn't speak, waiting for him to continue.

"Dr. Song called this morning," Huo Yanshen said. "She said your current condition calls for a more systematic treatment plan. There's going to be a dedicated course of therapy starting soon—you'll need to talk to the doctor by yourself, and I'll wait outside for you."

Shen Ling's pupils shrank slightly.

He licked his lips and asked carefully, "Can't you come in? I want you in there. I'm scared."

In the past, when Shen Ling said that, Huo Yanshen's heart would soften.

At every session last month, Huo Yanshen would pull up a chair and sit next to him, holding Shen Ling's hand in his palm from start to finish, never letting go.

Song Zhengqing had objected to this but never stopped it, because at that time, Shen Ling's dependency hadn't yet been officially classified as a symptom.

But this time, Huo Yanshen didn't respond with the "okay" Shen Ling had expected.

Huo Yanshen said, "The doctor said I can't go in."

A flicker of panic crossed Shen Ling's eyes. He rolled over in the blankets, reached out, and squeezed Huo Yanshen's index finger, shaking it. "Go talk to Dr. Song, will you? She'll listen to you. Just tell her I'll be good if you're in there, I won't cause any trouble."

Huo Yanshen looked down at him, his dark eyes showing no sign of yielding.

"Baby, the doctor said you're a bit too dependent on me."

Shen Ling quickly interjected, "That was because of the medication withdrawal. I'm much better now, I can control it, really. And with you there, what could possibly happen to me?"

"...Maybe it's precisely because I'm here that the hallucinations cling to you." Huo Yanshen lowered his head and said.

Shen Ling stared at him blankly, his heart sinking little by little.

Those scenes that played out over and over in his hallucinations... he would have to face them alone, with no one to shield him.

Huo Yanshen's phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a message from Song Zhengqing.

He glanced down at it, then set the phone aside and looked back at Shen Ling. "Baby, it starts in ten days. Once we're back on the mainland, it begins. Dr. Song has already arranged everything."

Ten days.

Hearing that deadline, Shen Ling breathed a slight sigh of relief.

He still had ten days to stall.

But he was still unhappy.

He pulled the blanket up over himself, curling into it, then rolled over with his back to Huo Yanshen, saying sullenly, "Don't call me baby."

Huo Yanshen's brow furrowed slightly. "Why?"

Shen Ling's voice came out muffled from under the blanket. "Aren't I a baby? Babies should have a guardian accompany them to the doctor. You two decided all this on your own and just threw me in there—so what kind of baby am I, then?"

Huo Yanshen, "..."

He patted Shen Ling's back gently through the blanket. Shen Ling wrapped himself up even tighter, shrinking into a delicious burrito.

Huo Yanshen leaned down and said in a low voice, "Then what should I call you? Shen Ling."

A muffled "Hmph" came from under the blanket.

Huo Yanshen, "Wife."

"..."

The blanket suddenly went quiet.

A crack opened at the edge of the burrito, revealing one of Shen Ling's ears, slowly turning pink, then deepening into a darker crimson.

Shen Ling yanked the blanket up and buried himself completely.

He extended a hand from under the blanket, awkwardly patting Huo Yanshen to push him away, then quickly retreated back inside, wrapping himself up like a rolled pancake again.

Huo Yanshen caught that mischievous hand and pulled the whole bundle—blanket and all—into his arms. "Baby, I'll call you whatever you want, but you have to do this treatment in ten days."

"You can't stop your medication right now—the hallucinations will only get more frequent. Dr. Song said that if you don't learn to face these on your own, it'll be even harder after you give birth. She's a professional, and she'll be mindful of your emotions. She won't upset you too much."

Shen Ling went rigid in his arms for a moment, saying nothing, but he stopped struggling.

After a long while, a finger emerged from the blanket and gently looped around Huo Yanshen's cuff.

*

Over the next ten days, Shen Ling launched into his final celebration before the big day.

Shen Ling packed his schedule to the brim. Once he got home, he went out with Awen every day, exhausting himself so thoroughly that it conveniently cured his insomnia.

Huo Yanshen assigned two bodyguards to follow him. Shen Ling coaxed and tricked the two of them into the mall to try the claw machine, pushing a shopping cart full of prizes until even the mall manager came over to watch.

Awen stood nearby quietly holding up his phone to record. In the shot, Shen Ling crouched on the floor, pulling a gray wolf plush out of the prize chute, holding it up above his head to examine it under the light for a good while, then suddenly breaking into a smile. "This one's for Huo Yanshen."

He then fished a white rabbit plush out of the cart—long ears drooping down, a tiny pom-pom sewn onto its fluffy tail.

Shen Ling set it side by side with the little wolf, curved the corner of his mouth in satisfaction, and said, "The rabbit's mine."

Over those few days, the bedroom looked different every single day.

The suite Huo Yanshen originally lived in was standard high-end cold minimalist luxury, but with Shen Ling doing this, Huo Yanshen would come home every night to find more stuff in the room.

Huo Yanshen certainly wasn't going to complain—he even put the little wolf plush Shen Ling had given him on the nightstand.

Shen Ling came out of the bathroom just in time to see that, standing at the door wrapped in a towel and smirking secretly. "Are you bonding with it?"

Huo Yanshen reached out and adjusted the wolf plush's position a bit more, making its nose point exactly at the rabbit's nose tip.

Shen Ling walked over, picked up the rabbit, and gently touched it to the wolf's mouth. "Kiss."

Then he placed the two plushies side by side between the pillows, and crawled under the covers himself, lying on his side to look at them.

Shen Ling felt content, as if stuffing every corner with these fluffy things could seal off all the fear of the unknown inside him.

The ten days were soon up.

Early in the morning, Shen Ling was forcibly shoved into the car by Huo Yanshen.

He sat in despair on the sofa outside the consultation room, hands folded over his lower abdomen—an unconscious protective gesture.

His belly had already changed a bit. It used to be just slightly firm; now, with a little more careful touch, you could clearly feel a rounded curve, pushing against his T-shirt, no longer flat and soft to the touch.

He pressed his palm over it and could feel a faint tightness underneath.

The consultation room door was still closed, with faint voices drifting out—probably Dr. Song wrapping up with the previous patient.

Shen Ling made a desperate last attempt. "Husband."

Huo Yanshen. "Mm."

"Can you go tell Dr. Song that my stomach is upset today?" Shen Ling pressed his hand against his belly. "Maybe the baby doesn't want to go—he's scared."

Huo Yanshen looked down at him, with no give in his dark eyes. "I already asked the doctor. It won't affect the baby."

Shen Ling pouted. "But he really is kicking me."

"..."

Huo Yanshen said helplessly, "He's only two months old. He doesn't have the strength to kick."

"How would you know?" Shen Ling muttered. "You've never been pregnant either."

Huo Yanshen quickly changed the subject, gently pinching Shen Ling's earlobe.

Shen Ling's earlobes were very soft—two pinches and they'd turn red, like small cooked pearls.

"Baby, just talk with Dr. Song. I'll wait for you outside. I'm not going anywhere—right here."

Shen Ling's struggle was futile. In despair, he removed his hand from his belly and clenched his fist. "Fine."

The consultation room door opened, and the previous patient walked out.

Song Zhengqing stood at the door, holding a medical chart folder, and smiled at Shen Ling. "Shen Ling, come on in."

Shen Ling turned and walked into the consultation room.

The therapy room was softer than the hallway—the curtains were off-white linen, an armchair sat across from the sofa, and in the corner stood a low cabinet with several plush toys of different sizes neatly arranged on top.

Song Zhengqing didn't immediately start asking questions. She had Shen Ling sit on the sofa while she settled into the armchair, keeping a measured distance between them.

Song Zhengqing spoke calmly. "Shen Ling, you look well today. Have you been sleeping well these past few days?"

Shen Ling thought for a moment. "Not bad. I wake up a few times at night, but no hallucinations."

Song Zhengqing nodded. She rose, picked up a gray-blue bunny plush from the low cabinet, and handed it to Shen Ling. "For your first independent session—this is for you. Hold it if you want, or set it aside if you don't."

Shen Ling took it, placed it on his lap, and adjusted its position slightly so the rabbit's back leaned against his lower belly.

Song Zhengqing. "Today we'll talk about some earlier things, is that okay?"

Shen Ling's fingers tightened slightly, and he nodded.

"Tell me about your childhood," Song Zhengqing asked. "What's your earliest memory?"

Shen Ling lowered his head, his gaze landing on the rabbit's gray-blue fur. "The earliest..." He paused. "Around two or three years old."

Song Zhengqing. "Do you remember any specific scene?"

Shen Ling narrowed his eyes, looking through time at something very distant.

"My mom was airing out the quilt in the yard. I buried my face in it. The bedsheet smelled like laundry soap—it smelled really nice."

Song Zhengqing didn't interrupt him. She just leaned back slightly in her chair, letting Shen Ling know she wouldn't rush him.

Shen Ling's voice began to falter, breaking off now and then.

His memories started from around age three.

At that time, they lived in the old house in Xuncheng's countryside. Behind the house was a small vegetable patch where they grew greens and tomatoes.

Every morning, his mother would get up to pick vegetables, and there was always dirt in the creases of her fingers. But her nails were trimmed clean, and she'd wash her fingers clean—because those hands had to turn pages.

There was a thick art book at home, its cover already worn out from flipping, filled with pictures of buildings he couldn't understand. His mother would point at the stained-glass windows and tell him, this is a church, this is a vaulted ceiling, this is what an architect draws.

His mother's young face had already grown somewhat blurry in his memory, but he still remembered her voice.

Meng Yuan never spoke loudly. When telling stories, she would press her lips against his forehead, her warm breath brushing over his skin, and Shen Ling would giggle, then reach out with his small hands to touch her face.

Back then, Shen Guoliang hadn't gotten that bad yet. He was out driving a truck during the day, and when he came home at night, he would lift Shen Ling onto his shoulders and run around the courtyard with him.

In the autumn of the year he turned four, his mom got a bright red grad school acceptance letter. From that day on, the fighting got more frequent.

Over those two years, Shen Guoliang had picked up a gambling habit, losing way more than he won. When he came home, he was either reeking of booze or spoiling for a fight.

His mom started keeping Shen Ling's door shut tight. Sometimes, waking up in the middle of the night, Shen Ling could hear muffled yelling through the walls—rising and falling, with the sound of stuff getting thrown.

The winter he turned five, Xuncheng got a rare snowfall.

On New Year's Eve, as it got dark, the snow suddenly started coming down hard. Shen Ling sprawled on the windowsill watching for ages, then dragged his little sister out into the yard to see the snow.

His sister was still tiny, just learning to walk, in a red padded jacket, stumbling around the yard chasing snowflakes. Shen Ling crouched down, scooping up snow with his frozen-red fingers to build a crooked little snowman.

He found some twigs and stuck them in the snowman's sides for arms, then ran back inside to dig up two black beans to press into the snowman's face as eyes. It took him almost an hour to finish, his fingers gone numb from the cold.

He ran inside to grab his mom's hand, insisting on dragging her out to the yard to see what he'd made.

She let him pull her out, wearing that washed-out blue cotton jacket, her hair just tossed over her shoulders.

She crouched down, took a good look at the snowman, and said Lingling's snowman was prettier than anything she could've made.

Shen Ling stood next to her, beaming, hands on his hips, telling Meng Yuan he was gonna be a great artist one day, and that when he had his own snowman exhibit, she had to come see it.

Meng Yuan pinched Shen Ling's chubby cheek and said she'd definitely be there.

His mom and grandma made the New Year's Eve dinner. Shen Ling perched at the table watching the two of them work in the kitchen all afternoon.

During dinner, the TV was on, the Spring Festival Gala drifting in from the living room—drums and cymbals mixed with the hosts' laughter, all lively and warm.

Shen Guoliang never came home that night.

His mom called a few times, but he never picked up. His grandma said not to wait for him, just eat first.

His mom hesitated for a second, then sat down and served everyone rice. Shen Ling remembered she smiled the whole night—serving his grandma, wiping his sister's mouth, asking him if his teacher had praised him that semester.

That night, after his grandparents went to bed and his sister fell asleep, his mom sat on the couch knitting a scarf. Shen Ling leaned against her shoulder, still watching the Gala, getting sleepier and sleepier, his eyelids heavier and heavier, but he wouldn't give in—he insisted on waiting for his dad to come home so they could ring in the new year together.

And then...

Shen Ling's face suddenly changed. He clutched the rabbit tight against his chest, nearly crushing it.

"I'm sorry." Shen Ling lowered his head, burying his face in the rabbit's fur. In a tiny voice, he said it again, "I'm sorry, Doctor."

Song Zhengqing watched him quietly. "It's okay."

Song Zhengqing saw that Shen Ling's breathing had steadied a bit, then pushed the four cards on the low table a little closer to him.

"Shen Ling, we'll stop here for today," Song Zhengqing said. "But before we stop, I want you to look at a few things."

She laid the four cards out in a line on the low table.

"These four pictures don't have a right answer," Song Zhengqing said. "Pick one."

Shen Ling loosened his grip on the rabbit a little and looked down at the four cards.

He reached out and pulled the third one over.

The third card showed a figure in a black cloak, face hidden, holding a long-handled scythe. The blade's curve was drawn with sharp precision, a cold silver-gray light coming off the image.

The card that symbolized violence.

Song Zhengqing nodded. "Okay, I understand."

Shen Ling hugged the rabbit tighter, pressing his chin into its head. He swallowed hard, his breathing picking up.

Song Zhengqing said softly, "After that... did you ever make another snowman for your mom?"

Shen Ling flinched hard, shrinking back, curling himself into a tiny ball on the couch.

"I don't want to do this anymore," he said, his voice shaking, pleading. "Doctor Song, I don't want to do this."

Song Zhengqing leaned back a little, giving Shen Ling more room.

"Shen Ling, you can stop anytime. Anytime at all," she said.

Shen Ling stood up, clutching the rabbit. The card on his lap slid to the floor. When he bent to pick it up, his hands were still shaking—his fingertips grazed the carpet twice before he got a grip on it. He straightened up and bolted for the door.

When he got to the door, he stopped. His hand was already on the handle, but he didn't push it down.

Shen Ling suddenly froze. He didn't turn around. "I woke up that night. I didn't go back to sleep."

"I was awake the whole time. I knew what he was doing. I knew my mom was crying."

"But I... I didn't go out there."

His fingers tightened on the door handle.

"I should've gone out. I should've protected her. If I'd pushed him—if Shen Guoliang didn't want to kill someone, he would've at least held back. But I did nothing."

"Later, I heard from the ticket clerk that my mom limped over, kowtowing to everyone she passed, just to get a bus ticket out of our home."

Shen Ling finally turned and looked at Song Zhengqing, his eyes flat. "To this day, I still wonder—maybe because I didn't go out that night, everything that happened after was punishment."

Then he pushed the door open and walked out.

The waiting room was way brighter than the therapy room. When Shen Ling stepped out, he raised his hand to block the light. Before he could lower it, he was pulled into a familiar embrace.

Huo Yanshen's scent and warmth wrapped around him at once, pressing Shen Ling against his chest harder than usual. Huo Yanshen was tense.

"Baby," Huo Yanshen murmured, his lips against Shen Ling's damp temple.

Shen Ling didn't answer. He buried his face in the crook of Huo Yanshen's neck, letting his whole weight sink into him.

Song Zhengqing came out a moment later, closing the therapy room door behind her.

Huo Yanshen looked up at her, barely hiding the urgency in his eyes.

Song Zhengqing said, "Shen Ling did well today. He was very cooperative."

Huo Yanshen's arms tightened instinctively. Shen Ling let out a muffled sound from inside the hug but didn't struggle.

"I'll set up sessions every three days going forward," Song Zhengqing said, jotting a few lines in her notebook. "The pace won't be too intense, and we'll work from deeper to lighter material—we won't start with the hardest stuff."

Song Zhengqing added, "Also, if Mr. Huo has time, it might be good to help him reconnect with his family."

Huo Yanshen frowned. "Family?"

"Not from Shen Guoliang's side," Song Zhengqing added. "I'm talking about people who can provide positive emotional support—like a mother, or a grandmother."

Huo Yanshen paused for a beat, then nodded. "I'll arrange it."

Song Zhengqing hesitated, glanced at Shen Ling, and confirmed that he was immersed in his own emotions and wouldn't notice his surroundings for now. She shot Huo Yanshen a text.

Song Zhengqing: About what you asked me last time—about confessing that you don't have... that problem. I'd suggest not rushing things at this stage.

Huo Yanshen: Reason.

Song Zhengqing: His entire sense of security right now is built on the premise that you don't remember that night. If you suddenly tell him you remember, his guilt will just keep growing. He needs to process his trauma to a certain degree first—at least go through one or two full releases of grief, be able to cry on his own. Only then should you even think about confessing.

Song Zhengqing added: But he absolutely cannot find out about this. The impact of you telling him yourself versus him finding out on his own is completely different. If it's the latter, there's no telling what he might do out of sheer guilt.

Huo Yanshen's fingers hesitated, then he typed: Okay.

After leaving Song Zhengqing's office, Shen Ling barely said a word the whole way home.

*

Once they got home, Huo Yanshen carried him out of the car, all the way into the bedroom, and set him on the bed.

Shen Ling clung to his neck and wouldn't let go, so Huo Yanshen just let him, staying bent over in that position for a while, one hand patting his back in a steady rhythm.

"Dr. Song told me today," Huo Yanshen said softly, "that you were very cooperative. She's really happy with you."

Shen Ling buried his face deeper into the crook of his neck, his tone a little like he was fishing for praise. "I talked a lot today."

"Baby did great," Huo Yanshen said, his palm slowly stroking down from the back of his head, smoothing over and over.

Huo Yanshen helped Shen Ling change into his pajamas, then went to the bathroom to wring out a warm towel and wipe his face with it.

The warm towel moved down his face, and Shen Ling kept his eyes closed, leaning into Huo Yanshen, his forehead resting against his shoulder.

After his shower that night, Shen Ling climbed into bed in his pajamas and automatically burrowed into Huo Yanshen's arms.

Huo Yanshen put down the papers in his hand, wrapped an arm around his waist, and pulled him against his chest, his palm slowly rubbing his lower back.

Shen Ling buried his face in his chest and took a deep breath—all shower gel and Huo Yanshen's natural scent, so good it made his head spin.

He snuck his leg over Huo Yanshen's hip, his ankle brushing against his calf.

Huo Yanshen caught that restless leg, gently tucked it back under the covers, and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

"Sleep," Huo Yanshen said.

Shen Ling blinked. He waited a beat, then squirmed in Huo Yanshen's arms.

He realized something wasn't right.

Huo Yanshen seemed to be taking Song Zhengqing's words way too seriously—he was treating him like he was made of glass.

"Close your eyes." Huo Yanshen's voice had gone a little husky, but his movements stayed perfectly still.

Shen Ling stared wide-eyed from under the covers.

Huo Yanshen wasn't like this before. Before, all he had to do was lean in, and Huo Yanshen would grab his chin and kiss him until his lips went numb and his head spun before letting go.

And now? Now he was practically hanging all over him, and Huo Yanshen was just tucking him in.

Shen Ling reached a hand out from under the covers and tugged at Huo Yanshen's sleeve. "Hold me."

Huo Yanshen pulled him in closer.

Shen Ling said, "Kiss me."

Huo Yanshen pressed his lips to his forehead, held it there briefly, then pulled away.

Shen Ling felt like his forehead was going to be kissed raw at this rate.

He turned over sulkily, giving Huo Yanshen his back, curling up with a corner of the blanket in his arms.

Huo Yanshen's hand came around from behind, settling over his lower belly, palm warm, guarding the slight curve there.

Shen Ling loved when Huo Yanshen touched his belly like this. He buried his face in Huo Yanshen's chest, pressing his thighs together around the corner of the blanket, biting his lower lip to keep from making a sound.

He cursed himself inwardly—Huo Yanshen was completely focused on his health, and here he was, thinking about that kind of stuff.

He also knew Huo Yanshen was following Dr. Song's advice—to give him space, to let him gradually build the ability to regulate his emotions on his own, not to let all his sense of security hinge on physical intimacy.

He got the logic.

But his body didn't care about logic.

Especially after every therapy session. Those memories and emotions stirred up in the consultation room only settled down when he was pressed close enough to Huo Yanshen. Hugs weren't enough—he needed that feeling of being completely controlled, completely owned.

But now Huo Yanshen wouldn't even give him tongue.

Shen Ling's mind involuntarily drifted back to certain scenes.

Huo Yanshen pinning him down on the bed, one hand gripping his wrist, the other roaming over his body, rough and fierce, that overwhelming feeling of being completely dominated washing over him. He'd bitten the corner of the pillow, unable to even cry, but looking back afterward, it felt like a kind of safety he'd never known before.

It had been so long since he'd felt that.

Just thinking about it made his legs go weak. He slapped the pillow beside him over his face, not wanting to face this cold, cruel world.

🙁

He lay in bed until past ten, finally giving in and picking up his phone to open Caibao.

Shen Ling's typing speed hit an all-time high in that moment—fingers flying across the screen, typing, deleting, retyping, until he finally sent out a message carefully crafted after much deliberation.

"So... what do you do if you really want it during pregnancy? My husband now only hugs me and kisses my forehead. I'm literally crying out of frustration."

Sent.

==========Author's Note:==========

Went out for a couple of days and feel like I can't get the update time back to 6 PM. From now on, I'll update at 10:30 PM instead.

Daily updates—I'll guarantee at least 3K words, aiming for 6K.