The Disliked Shou and the Charming Gong : Chapter 11: I Waited So Long, But You Never Came

He Ning had just finished accompanying Zhou Ji in greeting a round of guests. He took advantage of a trip to the restroom to catch his breath, dried his hands, and turned around only to find Wen Junhe blocking him at the sink.

“Move.” He Ning stepped back. “Wen Junhe, get clear on what occasion this is. Today is my wedding day.”

In the mirror, the two confronting figures were reflected. Wen Junhe’s suit was still impeccable, though his tie was slightly askew.

From outside came the faint melody of the wedding march, along with the crackle of the emcee testing the microphone.

He Ning reached out to push Wen Junhe away, but his wrist was seized in a grip so tight it made him frown.

Wen Junhe let out a cold laugh, mockery surfacing in his eyes. “Husband? Another one of those wedding-only deals? Then wouldn’t that make you a bigamist?”

“We’re going abroad to get the certificate,” He Ning answered crisply, his gaze so frank it was blinding. “The kind the law recognizes.”

He Ning had always been like this; whatever he thought showed on his face. If he liked someone, he’d eagerly draw close. If he hated someone, he couldn’t even be bothered to pretend. Wen Junhe was the exact opposite.

“You think he loves you?” Wen Junhe stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “He’s just using you.”

He Ning: “I know. But I’m willing. Wen Junhe, you wouldn’t understand. I just want to do something for the person who’s been good to me.”

“Don’t judge me by your standards.” He Ning’s voice went hoarse. “I’ve had enough of scraping by under your disgusted gaze.”

“Back then everyone said I was hateful. Wen Junhe, weren’t you hateful too? You clearly knew I was despicable and greedy. You should have shaken me off long ago. Why did you give me hope? I let go on my own accord. What are you coming back for?”

Wen Junhe suddenly grabbed his shoulders, his grip so tight it felt like it could crush bone. “You don’t love me anymore?”

The rare vulnerability and disbelief in his tone made He Ning freeze in place.

In the mirror reflected Wen Junhe’s reddened eyes, and He Ning’s own trembling fingertips.

He Ning thought of that college wedding, of the vows the officiant had spoken: “for richer or for poorer.”

There would never again be anyone like He Ning, who had offered up his whole heart to Wen Junhe without reservation, even going against his principles, laying down his dignity, stubbornly loving him.

That kind of near-blind acceptance and persistence was something Wen Junhe had never again found in anyone else these past years.

Wen Junhe’s eyes were still so dark, deep as a pond; look a second too long and you’d drown. He Ning hurriedly averted his gaze. He shoved Wen Junhe away hard and fled like his life depended on it, returning to Zhou Ji’s side.

Zhou Ji leaned down to ask him with concern what was wrong, but He Ning only shook his head.

Wen Junhe stood in a corner of the banquet hall, his gaze heavy and locked onto He Ning and Zhou Ji’s retreating figures. He murmured under his breath: “Clearly he still loves me, yet he’s marrying someone else. What husband? Nonsense.”

Meng Xuan had somehow wandered over to his side. “Oh, the top student came too?”

He deliberately looked around. “Young Master Han didn’t come with?”

Wen Junhe frowned at Meng Xuan. He remembered the first time he saw Meng Xuan, back when He Ning was the center of attention and Meng Xuan was the most loyal among the group of followers sucking up to He Ning.

That time, someone had deliberately led him to the private room door. From his angle, through the crack in the door, he saw He Ning being held on the sofa by Meng Xuan.

Meng Xuan had a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He Ning frowned and told him to put it out, and Meng Xuan obediently stubbed it out in the crystal ashtray beside him.

“What’s so good about Wen Junhe?” Meng Xuan handed over a glass of milk. “Cold and inhuman. Whoever you want, I can get for you.”

He Ning held the milk glass, his school uniform collar slightly open, revealing a stretch of fair neck. Under the lights, his skin was like fine porcelain, glowing with a delicate luster the very image of a pampered little prince.

Back then, He Ning had been willful and bright, burning like a flame.

“What’s it to you?” He Ning had wrinkled his nose then, pushing Meng Xuan away with a look of disgust. “I want him, and only him. You reek of smoke. Stay away from me.”

Meng Xuan wasn’t annoyed either. He sank lazily into the sofa, but his arm rested loosely behind He Ning, like he was marking territory.

“Fine, fine, I won’t smoke anymore, okay?” He smiled meaningfully. “Wanting Wen Junhe isn’t simple? Who in this school would dare refuse you, Young Master He?”

Later, Wen Junhe indeed never saw Meng Xuan smoke in front of He Ning again.

When He Ning heard Meng Xuan’s promise, his eyes lit up at once: “I want him to be my boyfriend. Han Qing likes him too? But he can forget about it.”

Outside the private room, Wen Junhe listened to this conversation and inexplicably thought of He Ning’s eyes whenever he stole glances at him those overly bright eyes. Back then, He Ning had been proud and direct. If he liked something, he’d openly fight for it and snatch it.

Later, Meng Xuan secretly pursued Wen Junhe, and Wen Junhe was nauseated to the core. That queasy feeling shot straight up from the bottom of his heart.

What a mess.

These “friends” He Ning had bought with money, each one more disgusting than the last.

At the time, Wen Junhe thought of He Ning’s words in the private room, “I want him to be my boyfriend,” and only wondered what he counted as in He Ning’s eyes? A trophy to compete with Han Qing over, or a collectible to show off to his cronies?

Meng Xuan swirled his champagne glass and suddenly let out a snort of laughter. “Speaking of which, today’s scene looks really familiar. Didn’t you two have a wedding back then too? You had that dead expression on your face, absolutely inauspicious.”

Wen Junhe’s gaze darkened. “Coincidentally, I was just looking for you.”

Meng Xuan raised an eyebrow and followed him to a quiet spot by the man-made lake.

Wen Junhe pulled a sheet of paper from his suit’s inner pocket, his voice cold as ice: “The injury on the back of He Ning’s head—you did it?”

The page fluttered slightly in the wind. Meng Xuan stared at the surging shadows in the other man’s eyes and suddenly laughed.

He casually flicked the paper, his tone flippant: “Top student, your news from abroad is slow. Didn’t you know we made up long ago? This matter’s ancient history. It was just an accident.”

Wen Junhe gripped the paper. “What kind of accident?”

Meng Xuan seemed to have heard a joke, bursting into laughter. “What, feeling heartbroken?”

He leaned in a step closer, malice gleaming in his eyes: “You couldn’t have actually fallen for He Ning, could you? Wen Junhe, you couldn’t be a masochist, right?”

Seeing Wen Junhe didn’t answer, Meng Xuan got more worked up, circling around him: “How sad Han Qing would be if he knew. Chased you for so many years, and here you are, still hung up on your ex. That face of yours really attracts people, no wonder they all can’t forget you.”

The chill in Wen Junhe’s eyes was almost solidifying into something tangible. “I’m asking one last time. How did the injury on the back of his head happen?”

Meng Xuan put on an exaggerated show of spreading his hands. “Go ask He Ning.”

He lifted his chin toward the banquet hall. “But he probably doesn’t have time for you right now. He’s busy entertaining guests with his new partner.”

Meng Xuan put on a look of sudden realization: “Oh right, he dumped you, didn’t he? I always thought you were the one who kicked him to the curb once the He family fell, quickly climbing up a higher branch.”

Wen Junhe’s face was already dark enough to drip water, but someone as shameless as Meng Xuan couldn’t read the room at all. He only got more fired up the more he talked: “Seriously, when I heard you two broke up, I was over the moon. Back then, to curry favor with He Ning, I did plenty of despicable things. Like having people trash that dump of a home of yours, breaking your uncle’s leg.”

“Ridiculous how He Ning was still dreaming of mutual love, completely unaware that you hated him to death, right?”

“Watching you being forcibly kept by his side, clearly disgusted but still playing devoted I was thrilled. Just like now. You clearly want to kill me, but you still have to hold it in.”

Meng Xuan was still chattering away: “Isn’t He Ning just lucky to be born into a good family? Since I was little, I had to be his follower. My parents forced me to make him happy. You have no idea how sick it made me.”

He loosened his tie, twisted light flashing in his eyes: “The day his dad went to prison, I was so happy I drank all night.”

“Actually, I quite liked him back then too. Too bad he didn’t play along. You’re pretty interesting too. Why don’t you stop wasting time with Han Qing and try me out instead?”

Wen Junhe’s expression gave away nothing. He suddenly raised his hand, his long fingers lightly brushing over Meng Xuan’s black tie, the movement as elegant as if he were adjusting a work of art.

Meng Xuan was just about to smile when those fingers suddenly tightened. The tie instantly dug into his neck. Before Meng Xuan could react, he was slammed to the ground. The back of his head hit the gravel path, and golden stars exploded before his eyes.

The next second, he was roughly dragged toward the lake. Wen Junhe’s strength was shockingly great.

When the icy lake water suddenly submerged his head, Meng Xuan finally realized what was happening. He struggled desperately, but only caused bigger splashes.

Wen Junhe knelt on the bank, his suit pants soaked by the lake water, his grip not loosening in the slightest. Expressionless, he held Meng Xuan’s head under the water. The side of Wen Junhe’s face was outlined in an almost cruel profile.

A car flashed by outside the low wall, but no one noticed this one-sided assault by the lake.

Meng Xuan flailed with all his limbs, water splashing onto Wen Junhe’s suit cuffs. By the time he was finally hauled up by the hair, he was coughing so hard his lungs felt like they were about to vomit out. His carefully styled hair was plastered across his face, like a comical water ghost.

Wen Junhe crouched down. “Last time I’m asking. How did He Ning’s injury happen?”

When He Ning arrived with Zhou Ji, this was the scene he saw: Meng Xuan collapsed on the wooden steps, drenched and half-dead, while several servants scrambled to wrap him in towels.

He Ning couldn’t figure out how a grown adult could have fallen into a lake.

And Wen Junhe stood a few steps away, slowly and methodically wiping his hands with a handkerchief, his knuckles rubbed red, as if he’d touched something filthy.

He Ning was just about to turn away when he suddenly heard Wen Junhe call his name.

He Ning turned back and saw Wen Junhe standing there, his pant legs soaked halfway up, the fabric sticking to his legs in dark and light patches. He looked at He Ning expressionlessly, his voice calm: “Can you take me to change clothes?”

With everyone watching, He Ning couldn’t refuse. He could only lead him toward the guest room.

The hallway carpet absorbed their footsteps, leaving only the sound of their faint breathing.

“So you’ve already gotten familiar with the Zhou household,” Wen Junhe suddenly spoke.

He Ning frowned, but didn’t detect the usual mockery.

He had someone find a pair of loose pants and hand them over. He was turning to leave when he was suddenly pulled into an embrace.

Wen Junhe’s nose pressed against the hollow of his shoulder, his breath hot through the fabric against his skin. He Ning froze in place. Wen Junhe’s body still carried the chill of the lake water, but his arms were locked tight.

“Let go of me.” He Ning’s voice went tight.

Wen Junhe took a deep breath, as if savoring He Ning’s scent. “He Ning, don’t get married.”

The guest room curtains weren’t fully drawn. Sunlight slanted across the floor, fusing their two shadows together, long and dark.

He Ning went completely rigid. He had always responded to soft rather than hard approaches. In the past, whenever Wen Junhe slightly lowered his stance and said a few kind words, He Ning would want to dig out his heart for him. Now, Wen Junhe’s near-pleading “don’t get married” made him lose focus for a moment.

The door wasn’t fully closed.

Suddenly, a snort of laughter came from outside. Zhou Chong leaned lazily against the wall, spinning his car keys on his finger: “Surnamed He, just finished greeting guests and already rushing to cuckold my brother?”

He Ning shoved Wen Junhe away hard. In his panic, he didn’t even see Zhou Chong’s expression before hurrying off.

Zhou Chong waited until He Ning was far away before slowly strolling up to Wen Junhe. He was a bit shorter than Wen Junhe, yet he stubbornly struck a posture of looking down at him: “Let’s chat. About my future sister-in-law.”

In the blink of an eye, it was the day He Ning and Zhou Ji were going abroad to get their marriage certificate. Zhou Ji hadn’t been joking, and He Ning also wanted to completely kill off certain lingering hopes.

The Zhou family sent over a thick stack of documents. He Ning signed them.

In the waiting lounge, Zhou Ji handed him a cup of freshly squeezed juice: “Sleep for a bit. There’ll be an in-flight meal later if you’re hungry.”

He Ning nodded. He was just about to speak when Zhou Ji’s phone suddenly lit up. The screen flashed nonstop. The caller ID showed the name “Zhou Chong.”

Zhou Ji stared at the phone without moving, his brows slightly furrowed. Zhou Chong had been making trouble nonstop these past days—either suddenly “having a heart attack” or “difficulty breathing” in the middle of the night. Each time, the goal was to call Zhou Ji away from He Ning’s side.

He Ning thought that if he were really with Zhou Ji, he’d probably want to strangle Zhou Chong.

“He’s acting up again?” He Ning looked at Zhou Ji’s tense profile. These past days, he’d truly witnessed Zhou Chong’s capabilities. That man could play the pity card like a pro. Tears fell at the drop of a hat. “Brother, don’t you want me anymore?” he said it like it was real.

That acting skill made even He Ning marvel.

He Ning tilted his head back and downed the juice in one go.

Zhou Chong lowered his eyes to look at the finally quiet phone. Zhou Chong had probably sent another message. He suddenly stood up: “I’ll step out for a moment.”

He Ning nodded.

The TV was playing boring financial news. He Ning watched and watched, when suddenly his eyelids grew heavy. He tried pinching himself to stay awake, but found his fingers already lacked strength. His vision gradually blurred, until it finally sank into complete darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, there was an unfamiliar ceiling. The cold-toned decor was somehow familiar—gray-blue curtains, dark brown solid wood furniture.

The door suddenly opened. He Ning instinctively shrank back. When he saw who it was, the corners of his mouth pulled into a stiff curve: “Wen Junhe? Why am I at your place?”

Wen Junhe was holding a bowl of hot soup in his hand, the white porcelain spoon lightly clinking against the bowl’s rim. He sat down by the bed and brought the spoon to He Ning’s lips: “Want some?”

The two were so close He Ning could smell that cold woody scent on Wen Junhe. He Ning’s chest heaved violently, but Wen Junhe was very calm: “Zhou Chong had me pick you up. Right about now, Zhou Ji should be on the plane with his brother.”

He Ning stared at him, his lips trembling slightly: “That was… the flight for Zhou Ji and me to get our certificate. How could you two do this.”

How could there be two such hateful people.

Wen Junhe suddenly pulled open the bedside drawer and took out a velvet box. He Ning watched with his own eyes as that familiar ring was slid back onto Wen Junhe’s ring finger the one He Ning had given Wen Junhe back then, the one that had been lost.

“You’re already married.”

He Ning’s mind was buzzing. His first reaction was to get out of this bed, this room. He staggered to push himself up, but Wen Junhe grabbed his wrist: “You won’t make the flight.”

He Ning subconsciously murmured: “Just book the next available ticket.”

Wen Junhe seemed unable to bear it, suddenly going fierce, slamming him back onto the bed. He Ning saw the surging darkness in his eyes: “Five years. Did you ever once rush to see me like this?”

He Ning: “Why would I go see you? Wen Junhe, we broke up! Broke up, do you understand?”

It was the first time in He Ning’s life he’d heard Wen Junhe curse.

“I know, of course I fucking know!” Wen Junhe’s voice shook. “I gave myself three chances. The first time, my documents were stolen at the airport. The second time, Han Qing sent me photos of you and Meng Xuan. The third time, this time.”

“I kept waiting for you to come see me.”

In the first two years, it had been the time when Wen Junhe’s finances were most strained. He scrimped and saved to put together airfare. He’d finally managed to gather enough, but right before boarding, his passport had inexplicably gone missing.

Later, when his finances were a bit more comfortable, Han Qing sent photos, photos of He Ning and Meng Xuan standing very close together. He said Young Master He clearly couldn’t stand poor living conditions. Wen Junhe stared at those photos for a long time.

He looked at the house he was clearly struggling to afford, not knowing what he was holding on for.

“I waited so long, but you never came once.”