The Disliked Shou and the Charming Gong : Chapter 28: Let Me Go in Your Place, Wen Junhe

Wen Junhe’s voice was pulled as tight as a bowstring: “Ningning, what do you mean?”

The night wind pressed his shirt tight against his body, outlining stiff shoulder lines.

“Exactly what it sounds like.” He Ning, “I’m sick of it. Han Qing is crippled now, Meng Xuan is going to prison, and no one can touch me anymore. You’ve worked hard during this time.”

Wen Junhe: “Where did I do wrong…”

He Ning’s chest felt tight. This wasn’t the Wen Junhe he wanted to see. He shouldn’t be looking so submissive.

Everything was wrong.

It had been wrong from the day he dragged Wen Junhe down with him.

He Ning suddenly started thinking about how he originally just wanted to be a useless rich kid who ate and waited to die.

He Hongxing’s bloody example was right there in front of him. The higher you climb, the harder you fall.

He didn’t want to see Wen Junhe end up like that too.

If Wen Junhe had never met He Ning, he probably would have lived out the most standard template of someone else’s kid. Though from an ordinary background, with that stubborn streak of his, he would have climbed up step by step. Graduated from a top school, entered the best company, wearing crisp clothes every day. Exercising after work, meeting friends on weekends, living a regular and clean life.

He would have met a girl of matching character, maybe introduced by a colleague, maybe through a blind date. That girl would probably also be the serious type. They would buy a small apartment, have a child, take the kid to fly kites in the park on weekends.

No blood, no scheming, and none of those shady dealings. He wouldn’t have to bow his head for anyone, wouldn’t have to violate his principles, would always live with his head held high. That was the life Wen Junhe should have had, not like now, tormenting each other in this twisted relationship.

At first He Ning really did harbor thoughts of revenge. Why could Wen Junhe treat him coldly back then, but now put on an act of deep feelings? But when he truly dragged Wen Junhe down, his heart felt empty instead, like punching into cotton.

He wasn’t He Hongxing after all, unable to be ruthless and calculating. Nor did he have Wen Junhe’s ability, that kind of strong mental fortitude.

He Ning was just an ordinary person, which was why he had nearly lost his life getting caught up in all those schemes and calculations.

Now looking back, that pleasure of revenge was like cheap alcohol. It hit fast, the aftertaste was strong, and in the end all that remained was bitterness filling his mouth.

Their relationship had been wrong from the very start. What he was taking revenge on wasn’t Wen Junhe, but that powerless version of himself.

Wen Junhe’s expression was pained: “Is it… is there nothing I can do anymore?”

He Ning turned his face away: “It’s been over for a long time. Live your life well from now on. For the rest of your life, live openly and honestly.”

Wen Junhe suddenly reached out, only managing to grab a corner of He Ning’s clothes.

In the instant the fabric slipped through his fingers, he remembered many years ago, how He Ning had also grabbed his sleeve many times, only to be shaken off by him.

Now their positions were reversed, and he finally understood how much that gesture hurt.

He Ning dragged Wen Junhe’s phone number and WeChat into the blacklist.

The day he visited him in prison, he sat across from He Hongxing through the glass, the silence between them lasting a full minute.

In the end it was He Hongxing who spoke first, the corner of his mouth carrying that familiar smile: “Feel better now?”

He Ning stared at his father. The corners of this man’s eyes had wrinkles now, his gaze carrying the sharpness of his youth, yet no longer like a wolf ready to pounce at any moment, but like an old wolf in its twilight years.

He Ning: “I don’t feel any better.”

He Hongxing softened his tone, even carrying a hint of trying to please: “It was Dad’s fault, I was too much of a bastard before…”

He didn’t finish before He Ning interrupted him: “I’ll handle my own affairs from now on. Don’t drag Wen Junhe into this anymore. He’s not the same kind of person as you.”

He Hongxing suddenly laughed, his gaze gradually sharpening: “To be honest, when he came to see me it really gave me a shock.”

He Hongxing’s voice came through the visitation window, carrying a few parts helpless smile: “Ningning, no one in this world is an exception. Power, money, lust, who can escape them?”

Indeed there was no one who was different. Once people reached a certain age and had been in the world long enough, the desire for power, profit, and lust would all surge over them with greedy force.

He Ning stared at the new wrinkles at the corners of his father’s eyes. He Hongxing continued speaking: “Don’t expect anyone to stay clean forever, and even less think you can change anyone. Baby, how is it that in the end, you’re still the most naive one?”

“Wen Junhe used to fear my power and hate me, but now he’s discovered that it really is a good thing. Otherwise he can’t even protect the person he loves. Your mother was a living example. Back then Dad swore he would never fall into that kind of humiliating situation again…”

“Now my greatest wish is for you to be happy. Wen Junhe is no ordinary talent. Before I opposed you two being together, I just thought his stubborn pride was laughable. He looked down on my son He Hongxing. Now it’s different.”

He Hongxing looked at He Ning through the glass: “He has truly submitted to you.”

He Ning knew, how could there be anyone who stays clean coming out of the mud? Hadn’t Wen Junhe also step by step become what he was now?

But he just couldn’t accept it.

“Shut up!” He Ning suddenly stood up, the chair scraping against the floor with an ear splitting sound, his eyes completely red: “Why should he think anything of me? Are we some kind of good people?”

“I really hate all of you to death. You never knew what I wanted, it was all just for yourselves. So selfish, using me as what kind of excuse!”

After speaking He Ning was about to leave. He Hongxing called out Ningning.

He Ning: “You shouldn’t have let Wen Junhe start down that path. I’m really done living that life of constant fear. Your reckless actions destroyed our family! How do you have the nerve to bring up Mom? Don’t touch Wen Junhe anymore, or I’ll never see you again!”

He Ning turned and left.

He Hongxing called his childhood nickname from behind, his voice suddenly sounding ten years older.

He Hongxing suddenly stood up, but was pressed back into his chair by a prison guard.

“My soft hearted silly child…” He Hongxing shook off the guard’s hand and turned to walk toward the cell block himself. His slippers slapped against the cement floor, the pat pat footsteps growing more distant, finally disappearing completely behind the iron door.

His wife’s face had already blurred into a haze in He Hongxing’s memories of many years in prison. He only remembered she was a gentle woman.

When He Ning was little he was always pestering him with questions about Mom. He could talk for a long time, starting from his mother Huiyun’s name.

He pulled out an old photo, the corners already yellowed and curled. In the photo a woman held infant He Ning in her arms, her smile gentle.

He Hongxing’s fingers unconsciously rubbed the photo, remembering the last time he saw her was in the morgue. If he hadn’t been so greedy back then, would they still be a family of three together now.

He Hongxing stuffed the photo back under his pillow. What use was regret? He chose his own path.

Zhou Ji rarely rested. He sat in the courtyard leisurely flipping through a book, a pot of tea placed before him.

Zhou Chong had just woken up and looked somewhat disheveled, his hair a mess from being grabbed at, even his slippers only half on.

He wandered over to Zhou Ji, didn’t even look and reached out to grab a tea pastry and stuff it in his mouth. He had always been spoiled, his food and clothing all separately prepared, even the sugar content of his tea pastries measured down to the gram.

Zhou Ji’s brow furrowed, his tone cold: “Eat less sugar.”

Ever since getting married, he had maintained a deliberate distance from Zhou Chong, as if drawing a line between the two of them, neither allowed to cross it.

He fulfilled his responsibilities as an older brother, but beyond that, nothing more. It was as if only by doing so could he keep both of them nailed to their proper positions, preventing any inappropriate thoughts from growing.

Zhou Chong chewed the tea pastry, the sweet taste melting on his tongue. He looked up at Zhou Ji, pulled at the corner of his mouth: “Didn’t you say you don’t care whether I live or die?”

Zhou Ji’s brow furrowed even tighter. He just wanted to be an ordinary older brother, but Zhou Chong kept crossing the line again and again, complicating what should have been a simple relationship.

Zhou Chong glanced at the book in his hand, the gilt philosophy title on the cover reflecting cold light under the lamp. He let out a scoff, his tone carrying deliberate flippancy: “You’ve read so much wisdom, Brother, have you figured out how to live?”

Zhou Ji closed the book: “If you’re feeling better, go to work. Don’t loaf around all day.”

A trace of mockery flashed through Zhou Chong’s eyes: “I did go to work. At He Ning’s place.”

He tilted his head, smiling provocatively: “I threw the evidence of his cheating right in your face, and you just sat there calm as a mountain, completely unmoved.”

“He is my partner.” Zhou Ji’s voice turned cold, “Our life is none of your business.”

He raised his eyes: “Behave yourself. Don’t make Dad and Mom worry.”

Zhou Chong suddenly leaned in close, his breath almost hitting Zhou Ji’s ear, his lowered voice carrying malicious pleasure: “I’m behaving very well. On the contrary, your ‘partner’ recently got his heart broken, didn’t you notice?”

But Zhou Ji didn’t even change his expression, taking his book and turning to go upstairs.

Zhou Chong stood in place, his chest heaving violently, his eyes red from staring, suddenly raising his voice: “Yes! I’m the one who never gives anyone peace of mind! But what about you? You lied to me back then, said as long as I got better we’d be together. I believed you. I changed. And then you ran away!”

His voice carried a tremor, as if pouring out all the resentment he had bottled up over the years: “That night abroad was a lie too, right? Zhou Ji you’re a coward, you always just want to run away. You all locked me up like a madman, watched me twenty four hours a day, is this what you wanted to see?”

Pang Rao stood to one side, a pink shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her brow furrowed, wanting to step forward but not daring.

He Ning was just coming down the stairs, heard the commotion, and his footsteps paused.

Zhou Ji didn’t get angry, didn’t even turn his head, only indifferently tossing out a sentence: “Only children think the whole world should revolve around them.”

His tone was as calm as stating the simplest fact: “Zhou Chong, haven’t you grown up yet?”

After speaking, he went straight upstairs. Zhou Chong stood in place, his fingers gripping white, his breathing rapid and heavy. Pang Rao hurried forward, carefully touching his arm: “Xiaochong, are you okay?”

Zhou Chong didn’t answer, only staring fixedly at the direction where Zhou Ji disappeared.

Zhou Chong suddenly shook off Pang Rao’s hand, the force so great it made her stumble back half a step.

Pang Rao sighed: “How did you end up falling for your own brother? Your father will never agree to it no matter what.”

She lowered her voice, like persuasion yet also like a warning: “The master we invited last time said it might be a problem with the ancestral grave feng shui. Your father already sent people to move it.”

“It’s inborn.” Zhou Chong pulled at the corner of his mouth in a cold laugh, the bottom of his eyes red, “Whether it’s exorcism or rehab centers, nothing can cure it.”

He turned to look in the direction of the second floor, his voice hoarse: “Anyway he has two sons, neither one lives up to his expectations. In the end just drive one to death and that’s that. Don’t go torment my brother.”

Pang Rao suddenly covered Zhou Chong’s mouth, turning her head to meet He Ning’s inquiring gaze. Zhou Chong shook off her hand and walked out without looking back.

He Ning watched that furious back disappear around the corner, then turned to ask Pang Rao: “Mom, are you okay?”

Pang Rao waved her hand, the tassels on her shawl swaying gently with the movement. Before she could speak, she heard He Ning ask again: “The rehab center Zhou Chong just mentioned… what kind of place is that?”

The place where Zhou Moufu made his fortune was conservative and feudal, with the stubbornness of old style clans carved into its bones. After all these years they still couldn’t shake the habit of believing in feng shui and superstition.

Back then facing the entanglement between his two sons, this father ultimately made a compromise decision. He allowed his eldest son to marry a man, but never acknowledged the true nature of this relationship.

Pang Rao gathered her shawl, her brow slightly furrowed: “Zhou Chong wasn’t quite right when he was fifteen, very stubborn, only listened to his brother. He was sent there for three months. Other people’s kids came out all obedient, but him…”

Fifteen?

But Zhou Ji told him that it wasn’t until they were adults that this relationship was discovered?

He Ning stared at Pang Rao’s well maintained face, suddenly interrupting: “Do you know how that kind of place does ‘correction’?”

“It’s just… some physical punishment, that’s all.” Pang Rao waved her hand lightly.

He Ning: “Just physical punishment?”

Pang Rao made a vague “mm” sound, her fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of her shawl and pulling it up: “His father mentioned some auxiliary treatment methods… all very gentle.”

Her speech suddenly sped up: “Ahchong has a heart condition, how would we dare mess around? They were all formal medical institutions, with scientific basis.”

He Ning stared at her hand movements.

Pang Rao was still explaining: “We just wanted him to be like a normal person…”

Her words suddenly caught halfway, as if she herself realized this phrasing wasn’t quite appropriate.

“Aunt Pang,” He Ning’s voice tightened, “have you seen the news about those rehab centers?”

“Those were all unregulated!” Pang Rao suddenly raised her voice, her shawl slipping off half her shoulder, “His father found top experts, they were expensive.”

As she spoke her voice softened again, as if trying to convince herself, “They’ve cured many people…”

He Ning stared at Pang Rao’s face with its exquisite makeup, the certainty still in the corners of her brows and eyes, ignorant yet confident.

He remembered the family portrait on the wall. In the photos Zhou Chong as a teenager still knew how to smile, leaning against Zhou Ji’s shoulder, his eyes bright like stars.

But in later photos, his gaze grew heavier and heavier, like a stagnant pool of water, making people’s backs go cold when he looked at them.

Zhou Chong’s obsessive, crazy behavior, it turned out all had traces to follow. Everyone in this house had added fuel to that fire, and now they were blaming the flames for burning too high. After hearing Pang Rao’s words, He Ning’s chest felt blocked and tight. He circled the kitchen twice, picking up and putting down a water glass, finally going straight upstairs and knocking on Zhou Ji’s door: “Let’s move out.”

Said cleanly, leaving no room for discussion.

On moving day, Zhou Chong’s door stayed tightly shut the entire day. In the evening Pang Rao stood outside the door carrying a tray, had just knocked twice when she heard a crash of something being thrown inside: “Let me starve to death!”

Zhou Chong’s voice came through the door panel, hoarse beyond recognition: “Anyway no one cares whether I live or die!”

Pang Rao paced anxiously in the hallway. The next day the situation was even worse. She had no choice but to seek help from Zhou Moufu. When the call came through to Zhou Ji’s phone, He Ning saw the veins bulging on the back of his hand where it braced against the table edge. After hanging up, Zhou Ji grabbed his coat and was about to go out.

“Perhaps as an outsider I see more clearly.” He Ning suddenly spoke, “Your treatment of Zhou Chong…”

He weighed his words: “Both cold and indulgent.”

Zhou Ji: “…I can’t just ignore him, his heart has always had problems.”

He Ning lowered his eyes: “And then?”

He gently shook his head: “He acts up, you give in. It looks like soft heartedness, but Zhou Chong’s greed is all nurtured by your own hand. As an outsider stuck in the middle, besides reminding you to keep your distance.”

“Ah Ji, I’m willing to keep playing this middle role, but this isn’t a solution. Zhou Chong is a living person, not something you can organize and put in order. One day you’ll drive him crazy.”

He Ning stared at Zhou Ji’s taut jawline: “Your mom said she sent Zhou Chong to a rehab center… did you know about this?”

Zhou Ji: “What rehab center?”

“It’s similar to those internet addiction camps,” He Ning, “Your parents’ reaction was so calm when you came out… maybe they had already been hit with something even more shocking.”

The moment these words came out, they struck an expression of disbelief onto Zhou Ji’s face.

Zhou Ji’s thoughts raced, frames of memory from the day he came out flashing back one by one. The dinner table was terrifyingly quiet, his mother’s lips moved then closed, and finally it was Zhou Chong who first asked “who is it.”

When he said who his lover was at the time, various expressions flashed across the whole family’s faces, but none of them showed shock at the fact of “homosexuality” itself.

His father was clearly such a feudal person.

Now looking back, that eerie calm finally had an explanation.

His mother’s hesitant gaze at the time, his father’s unusual silence, even Zhou Chong’s strange urgency when pressing for answers. It turned out they had already experienced an even more violent shock through their other son.

Zhou Ji remembered the Zhou Chong who used to follow him step by step from before, that teenager’s eyes bright like stars, who would never go west if he said east.

He didn’t know when it started, probably after he went to college, those eyes gradually dimmed, like an oil lamp nearly spent, where the slightest breeze could make it flicker violently.

Zhou Chong’s temper grew more and more strange, like a cat that would explode at any moment.

Later such scenes became more and more frequent, smashing cups, slamming doors, not coming home all night. After each outburst, Zhou Chong would come to him with red eyes, like a child who had done something wrong.

He had fled the Zhou family back then because perhaps Zhou Chong’s rebellion had always been aimed only at him alone. Like the final struggle of a trapped beast, both wanting to escape and unable to bear truly going far.

The next day He Ning heard the news that Zhou Chong had fallen from the second floor. It was said that day workers had come to renovate the lawn, and the newly laid sod was very soft, like a thick layer of velvet carpet. It was this cushioning that saved his life, preventing him from truly getting seriously injured.

When He Ning visited him, Zhou Chong was leaning against the raised hospital bed. On the bedside table sat four or five kinds of exquisite breakfast. Zhou Ji held a white porcelain bowl, feeding him congee.

When Zhou Chong saw He Ning, he suddenly pulled the covers over his head.

When Zhou Ji put down the bowl, he only lifted his chin toward He Ning to indicate they should talk outside.

“…You were right. Him becoming like this today, I can’t escape responsibility.”

He said that when he was in college, his parents had sent Zhou Chong to that rehab center on the outskirts of the city. After three months when he returned, Zhou Chong wasn’t quite right anymore, often waking up in the middle of the night. Zhou Chong never mentioned these things to him later.

Zhou Chong had discovered in high school that he and Zhou Ji weren’t biological brothers. He very seriously told Pang Rao that he liked his brother, asked if he could be together with his brother.

Pang Rao and Zhou Moufu had complicated feelings toward this adopted son. So many years of pampering weren’t fake. On one hand they felt they hadn’t raised him well, on the other hand they wondered if there was a problem with their education.

They could be strict with Zhou Ji, but they had no way with Zhou Chong.

Zhou Ji’s knuckles pressed against his temple: “I saw the scars on his hands, normally hidden by his watch.”

Beneath that custom watch’s metal band, several hideous wounds ran across.

He Ning: “Ah Ji, the South American branch needs someone to hold things down, right? Let me go in your place.”

“It’s not that I want a divorce. After all this identity is still quite useful. I just feel I shouldn’t stay here provoking Zhou Chong anymore. If he keeps acting up like this, he’ll lose his little life.”