The Disliked Shou and the Charming Gong : Chapter 26: Han Qing Got Hit by a Car, Calm Down

Wen Junhe’s whole face was soaked. He Ning’s fingers rubbed against his cheek.

“What are you crying for?” He Ning murmured to himself.

In his memory, when Wen Junhe got angry he would at most furrow his brow. If it got worse he’d slam the door and leave. Now this person was like a child whose toy had been snatched away, crying so hard his shoulders shook.

He Ning suddenly found it absurd. They had done the most intimate things, yet at this moment they seemed like total strangers. Wen Junhe’s breath hit the side of his neck, carrying an abnormal tremor, his fingers still gripping He Ning’s wrist tightly, as if afraid he would run away.

Chaotic thoughts drifted through his mind. He seemed to have no space to think about what Wen Junhe was sad about.

Wen Junhe: “You don’t want me anymore?”

He Ning looked down at him: “I’m right here.”

Wen Junhe’s eyes were terrifyingly red, looking up at He Ning: “I’m not the only one anymore, right?”

He Ning didn’t answer, only reaching out to push aside the wet bangs on Wen Junhe’s forehead, his gaze like he was looking at something pitiful.

At this point in the conversation, there was no need to speak further.

Wen Junhe suddenly didn’t want to hear any explanation from He Ning. He was afraid of hearing an even crueler answer.

Desire surged up like a tide, washing away those sour emotions. Wen Junhe turned He Ning’s shoulders and pressed him hard into his embrace. He Ning’s face was buried in the crook of his neck, his breath hitting the skin, burning hot.

He wanted to lift his head to see Wen Junhe’s expression clearly, but his eyelids were too heavy to raise. All that remained in his vision was a blurry outline.

Wen Junhe held him too tightly. He Ning could feel the other person’s heartbeat coming through his chest, fast and chaotic.

He blinked his eyes in vain, and finally gave up.

The hour hand on the wall went round and round.

When He Ning opened his eyes again, he couldn’t tell if it was light or dark outside. He tried to move his arm, and a sore sensation immediately shot from his shoulder to his fingertips. The pajamas on his body were sticking damply to his back, stuffy enough to make his temples throb.

He propped himself up with difficulty and looked around. It wasn’t a hotel. It was Wen Junhe’s bedroom.

The bedside lamp was on, casting a circle of dim yellow light on the wall. He Ning had just wanted to get out of bed when his knees went weak and he fell back into the covers, the mattress letting out a groan under the strain.

When Wen Junhe pushed the door open he was holding a glass of water. Seeing He Ning awake, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

He sat by the bed, his fingers brushing He Ning’s cheek: “Drink some water, eat something?”

His voice was a few degrees hoarser than usual.

When He Ning nodded it pulled at the bite marks on his neck, making him hiss in pain.

Wen Junhe turned and went out, returning shortly with a bowl of soup. He scooped up a spoonful, blew on it to cool it, then brought it to his lips.

He Ning drank half a bowl from his hand, the steam making his eyelids heavy.

He Ning’s constitution had always been poor. Now that the drug’s effects had worn off, his whole body was tucked in Wen Junhe’s embrace, shaking. He was allergic to many things and usually didn’t pay attention. Last night had been too much, and now even his fingertips were ice cold. Wen Junhe pulled him closer, his palm pressing against his back and slowly rubbing warmth into him.

He Ning suddenly raised his hand to rest on the back of Wen Junhe’s neck, the movement as light as sleepwalking. He remembered some scattered fragments and said offhandedly: “Don’t make trouble for Jin Mi. He was just doing a job for money.”

He stared at He Ning’s pale face, suddenly feeling like there was an invisible gun pressed against his temple, and the person pulling the trigger was leaning in his arms.

“You took a liking to him?” Every word from Wen Junhe seemed squeezed out from between his teeth.

He Ning didn’t answer, only shrinking further into his embrace, his eyelashes casting small shadows beneath his eyes.

Countless ways to make that small celebrity disappear flashed through Wen Junhe’s mind. He Ning sensed his mood, his fingers lightly pinching his earlobe with a hint of soothing meaning: “Don’t take it so seriously.”

“If I hadn’t come,” Wen Junhe suddenly pinched He Ning’s chin, forcing him to look up, “would you really have slept with him?”

He Ning didn’t answer, only looking at him quietly, the meaning in his eyes more than obvious.

Yes.

Wen Junhe remembered that he really had no standing to demand He Ning keep himself pure. Even the legitimate husband had tacitly approved of this matter. What right did a lover have to point fingers?

Wen Junhe pulled out a cold laugh: “Zhou Ji sent someone to serve you. You two really know how to spice up your married life.”

The words carried thorns, pricking even himself.

He Ning said slowly: “He shoving someone at me is his business. I just don’t touch them and that’s that.”

Said so lightly, making Wen Junhe seem like he was making a mountain out of a molehill.

Wen Junhe’s lips were pulled tight as a drum.

He Ning ate his fill and slept again. When he woke up he casually grabbed one of Wen Junhe’s jackets and threw it on.

The living room lights weren’t on. Only the projector’s light flickered on and off. Wen Junhe sat alone in front of the sofa, his back seeming to melt into the darkness.

He Ning felt around on the display cabinet for the cigarette pack, had just put one in his mouth when Wen Junhe strode over and snatched it away: “Don’t smoke. You don’t want another asthma attack, do you.”

His tone was stiff as a board.

“Watch a movie with me.”

These words sounded familiar. Before, it was always He Ning making this request of Wen Junhe.

The projector’s light fell on Wen Junhe’s face. He Ning suddenly realized that at some point, their roles had completely flipped. Everything Wen Junhe was doing now was like returning all the kindness He Ning had shown him back then, piece by piece, exactly the same.

Wen Junhe tucked two soft cushions behind He Ning.

He Ning glanced at the medicine box on the coffee table. It was the asthma medication specially prepared for him. And in the corner were his slippers, and on the bookshelf were books, all arranged according to his preferences.

There were too many details in this room, so many that in a daze he felt like this was his second home.

Wen Junhe’s arm came around from behind, pulling He Ning into his embrace. He Ning’s back pressed against his chest, clearly feeling the other person’s heartbeat.

The images on the screen kept changing, patches of light drifting across their faces.

“What movie?” He Ning’s voice was still a bit hoarse.

Wen Junhe’s chin rubbed against the top of his head: “Contact, science fiction, similar type to Interstellar.”

His tone was calm, as if last night’s loss of control had never happened.

He Ning stared at the images on the screen, suddenly remembering that before it was always him shamelessly clinging to Wen Junhe to watch movies.

So when you give your whole heart, your sincerity gets taken for granted like this? Only when you’re distant and hard to pin down do people treasure you like some precious gem?

So it turned out that cold people were the ones who worried more about gains and losses. Wen Junhe’s breath hit the back of his ear, yet his arm was held very tight, as if afraid he would run away.

He Ning couldn’t get into this science fiction stuff, and his eyelids soon grew too heavy to keep open. Wen Junhe’s fingers threaded through his, the force of their interlaced fingers somewhat tight.

Only when the breathing of the person in his arms grew long and steady did Wen Junhe pull out his phone and dial a number.

“I agree to your conditions,” his voice was pressed extremely low, his eyes still fixed on He Ning’s sleeping face, “but you have to make good on your promise first. Let him regain his freedom first.”

When He Ning returned to the Zhou residence it was already evening.

At six o’clock sharp, Zhou Ji’s sedan drove into the courtyard. Continuous business trips had left him looking utterly exhausted.

The housekeeper took his coat. He Ning went to greet him: “I was planning to pick you up at the airport. Didn’t expect you to head out first.”

Zhou Ji waved his hand to show it didn’t matter, then turned to direct people to carry several gift boxes out from the trunk.

Rainwater dripped from his hair onto his collar, soaking dark marks into the cashmere scarf. The box he handed to He Ning contained a wristwatch, the dial gleaming with cold metallic luster under the light.

He Ning thanked him.

Zhou Chong had rarely come back. He took his gift and sat in the corner of the sofa hugging the box, not making a sound as he stared at He Ning and Zhou Ji for a while, before finally getting up and returning to his own room.

Zhou Ji frowned: “He’s been in a strange mood lately.”

After dinner, He Ning and Zhou Ji stood on the small balcony smoking.

The air after the rain carried a damp chill. He Ning flicked his cigarette ash: “Brother Ji, give me a break, stop shoving people at me.”

His tone was half joking, but his eyes were serious. Zhou Ji heard about Jin Mi drugging him, his eyebrows shooting up high. He exhaled a smoke ring: “He had that much guts? I just told him to keep you company and chat. But Wen Junhe’s personality, he’s too proud. He needs someone to keep him in check. You alone can’t handle him.”

He Ning was silent for a while: “Someone like him… for him to go this far for me, it’s already out of character.”

He Ning suddenly remembered Wen Junhe’s tearful appearance, that person who had always been so proud, crying like a child before him. His chest felt inexplicably tight. So the sincerity of their youth had long been worn down into mutual torment by them.

Zhou Ji flicked his cigarette ash, his voice a bit hoarse: “Zhou Chong just said that before I only brought gifts for him alone. He said he won’t bother me anymore from now on.”

He Ning: “Are you happy?”

Zhou Ji didn’t answer for a long time, finally stubbing out his cigarette: “I don’t know.”

When news of Han Qing’s detention came, He Ning was at work.

On the day the intermediate court opened, Meng Xuan still appeared to testify.

Han Qing on the defendant’s bench finally shed that arrogant expression, his face deathly pale as he listened to the three year prison sentence. His lawyer immediately filed an appeal, throwing out a stack of hospital documents, depression, schizophrenia, claiming the violent act was committed under a pathological mental state.

The court announced a recess to verify evidence. When He Ning walked out of the courthouse his ears were still ringing.

Han Qing’s provocative gaze made him clench his fists. The lawyer beside him said “calm down” several times in a row.

Wen Junhe draped his coat over He Ning’s shoulders, his voice very steady: “Don’t rush. Let’s talk to the lawyer first.”

They spent the whole afternoon at the law firm.

The lawyer pushed up his glasses and said if the medical records were genuine, Han Qing might very well avoid prison.

He Ning irritably pulled out his cigarette pack. Wen Junhe didn’t stop him, only driving the car especially steadily.

The light fell on He Ning’s face, showing his pale complexion. He took a hard drag, the ember flickering between his fingers: “That bastard Han Qing sure has good luck. I knew the Han family wouldn’t let him sit in jail. This morning in court I really wanted to rush up and beat him.”

Wen Junhe looked at his profile blurred by smoke, suddenly remembering how he used to think this person was hateful. He Ning just had a bad temper, but he had never actively harmed anyone.

What had happened had happened. Regret was useless.

Fortunately He Ning had been rescued back then. But those wrongs couldn’t be suffered in vain. Someone had to pay.

He Ning looked fine now, but Wen Junhe remembered Zhou Ji saying that before he had been so thin his bones showed, could be blown over by a gust of wind, all the baby fat gone from his face, fragile as a sheet of paper.

Wen Junhe used to think He Ning was simple and naive, but he had never wanted him to face the cruelty of this world.

“Han Qing won’t get away.” Wen Junhe’s voice was low, but every word was bitten off clearly, “What he owes, he won’t miss a single one.”

He Ning didn’t respond.

Although it was an empty comfort, strangely his heart did feel a bit better.

The day of the court’s verdict the sunlight was blinding. Han Qing relied on his psychiatric documents to be released on the spot.

He Ning sat in the gallery without moving, listening to Han Qing’s lawyer quibble there, saying something about not being in his right mind at the time of the crime, not bearing criminal responsibility.

Wen Junhe was beside him discussing the continued appeal with the lawyer in a low voice, his brow furrowed enough to crush a fly.

He Ning’s phone suddenly vibrated. He received an anonymous video.

Opening it he saw a dimly lit scene where Han Qing was being held by the back of his neck by a tall man, the distance between the two strangely close. That black jade thumb ring on the man’s thumb was too familiar to He Ning. It was the one He Hongxing never took off.

In the video He Hongxing suddenly turned his head, his gaze cold as a knife, stabbing straight at the camera: “What are you filming?”

His tone carried his usual impatience.

The sender also attached a message. The more explosive stuff was all destroyed by your dad. This is all that’s left. Miss him? Pull it out and take a look.

He Ning’s fingers trembled, nearly dropping his phone.

He slammed the screen dark, his chest feeling like a stone was pressing on it.

Wen Junhe sensed something was wrong and turned to look at him: “What’s wrong?”

He Ning shook his head and shoved his phone hard back into his pocket. Looking up he saw Han Qing flash him a provocative smile, the corner of his mouth pulled wide and blinding.

He Ning’s blood froze all over.

The whole world seemed to collapse in that instant. Han Qing knew too well how to destroy him.

His father, He Hongxing, had actually had that kind of relationship with Han Qing.

This realization was more fatal than any blow. He couldn’t even feel the pain of his nails digging into his palm.

He shoved through the crowd and rushed outward. Wen Junhe shouted his name behind him, catching up and grabbing his arm.

He Ning turned and slapped him, his finger pointing at Wen Junhe’s nose, his eyes completely red: “You fucking knew all along, didn’t you? What He Cheng, what couldn’t find anything, it was all bullshit!”

He shook off Wen Junhe and ran toward the door.

Han Qing was being escorted out by bailiffs, the lawyer chattering away about something beside him.

Han Qing walked at the very front, that smug expression still hanging on his face. He had just stepped out of the courthouse door a few paces when suddenly a silver van shot out from the side intersection, the engine roaring ear splittingly, tires screeching against the pavement sending up white smoke, charging straight at Han Qing.

With a dull thud, Han Qing was sent flying several meters, crashing heavily onto the cement ground.

Blood immediately pooled out from beneath him, red and blinding in the sunlight, slowly spreading along the gaps in the pavement tiles.

His lawyer was so frightened his briefcase dropped, standing frozen in place.

The surrounding crowd instantly exploded, screams and footsteps chaos.

The wail of an ambulance pierced the air, red and blue lights flashing alternately.

Wen Junhe grabbed He Ning, his arm pressing against his ribs so hard it hurt: “Han Qing got hit by a car, calm down!”

His voice carried the gasping of someone who had been running hard.

And He Ning looked at the distant scene of frantic activity, and at Han Qing’s fingers hanging limply on the ground.

At the same time, the sunlight in the prison yard was just right.

He Hongxing leaned against the wall, listening to the person beside him speak in a low voice. He narrowed his eyes, his thumb unconsciously rubbing his knuckle, where the habitual jade thumb ring was missing.

“Old Wu’s favor,” his tone was flat, “consider it repaid.”