The Disliked Shou and the Charming Gong : Chapter 12: Marriage Registration Completed

When He Ning met Wen Junhe’s eyes, his own were filled with nothing but blankness and confusion. This rare moment of Wen Junhe letting his emotions show left him completely speechless, all the words he’d prepared stuck in his throat.

“You… actually wanted to come find me, didn’t you?”

Wen Junhe nodded. A glimmer of hope had just surfaced in his eyes when he heard He Ning continue: “Since fate stopped you the first two times, Wen Junhe, isn’t it possible that this is just destiny?”

Wen Junhe pretended not to hear. “Zhou Chong won’t let you and Zhou Ji get married. That man… he’s terrifyingly obsessive.”

“He was the one who drugged me?” He Ning asked.

“Yeah. The motorcycle accident last time was his doing too. You’d best stay far away from those two brothers.”

He Ning threw off the covers to get out of bed and get dressed. Wen Junhe grabbed his wrist, his brows knitting tight: “Where are you going?”

“To get married.” He Ning couldn’t just leave Zhou Ji to be hounded by Zhou Chong.

The corner of Wen Junhe’s eye twitched, his voice suddenly rising: “Why can you never understand what people are saying? I’m back. What are you still getting married for? Those two Zhou brothers will chew you up and spit out the bones. Why do you always have to do such stupid things?”

The word “stupid” came crashing down.

He Ning looked up at him, suddenly remembering the year after graduation when he’d been at his lowest point. Back then he’d been working odd jobs at a cake shop, and every day after work he’d sit in his rented room staring at the few near-expiration breads he’d brought back. Occasionally a few unexplained deposits would show up in his bank account, but he didn’t even dare check where they came from. He’d walked the road to the prison so many times that even the guards looked at him with pity.

Those condescending gazes, so identical to Wen Junhe’s—he’d thought he’d built up immunity to them long ago.

“Right, I am stupid.” He Ning suddenly smiled, but large teardrops began falling one after another. “So please, do me a favor and stay away from me, okay?”

The scalding tears landed on the back of Wen Junhe’s hand, burning him so much that he abruptly loosened his grip. The pain flashing through He Ning’s eyes stabbed into Wen Junhe’s heart like a knife.

He’d never imagined he’d see such an emotion in He Ning’s eyes. That young master raised in an ivory tower should have remained carefree forever, full of innocent curiosity about the world.

Once upon a time, what Wen Junhe had hated most was exactly this side of He Ning.

Whatever He Ning wanted was just a thought away, obtained effortlessly. Meanwhile Wen Junhe had to give everything he had just to barely touch the edge of that world.

Though they had shared a bed, they had always lived in two different worlds.

He Ning would never understand where Wen Junhe’s occasional gloom came from, just as Wen Junhe would never understand how someone could live so naively and foolishly.

He Ning had somehow learned silence, learned to swallow his pain, learned to use tears in place of venting.

This was something he had once very much wanted to teach him.

When He Hongxing was arrested, He Ning had been skipping class that day, sitting under the patio umbrella on his terrace drinking coffee and eating breakfast.

At that same moment, in a university classroom, the student sitting next to Wen Junhe nudged his arm. He glanced at his phone screen and suddenly froze as if struck by lightning. The next second, he shot to his feet and rushed out the door. The professor called his name from behind, but the sound was quickly swallowed by the wind in the hallway.

When Wen Junhe arrived, He Ning hadn’t even been crying as hard as he was now. He’d simply sat there in a daze: “Did my dad really do so many bad things?”

No hysterics. No wailing. Just sitting there quietly, like a shattered glass statue.

Strangely, a sudden unfamiliar tightness and soreness welled up in Wen Junhe’s chest. When He Ning, red-rimmed eyes, grabbed his sleeve, he actually didn’t shake him off for the first time.

Later, Wen Junhe would often think back to that scene. When He Ning fell from the clouds into the mud, he should have felt satisfied. But truly looking at those eyes filmed over with mist, all the harsh words he’d prepared got stuck in his throat.

The day He Ning brought up breaking up, Wen Junhe had only found it absurd and laughable. He’d thought it was time this young master tasted some hardship—not everyone was obligated to revolve around him.

But when He Ning truly disappeared, he discovered things had spun out of control.

He Ning had deleted all his contact information, vanishing without a trace like a drop of water evaporating. Wen Junhe had to piece together bits of his recent situation from Han Qing’s offhand remarks.

For a time, Wen Junhe started having all kinds of nightmares. Like He Ning lying in a pool of blood after a car crash, or so destitute he was shivering while sleeping under a bridge. The worst one, he dreamed He Ning had been tricked into having his organs harvested, then thrown by a garbage heap like a piece of rag.

His first year studying abroad had been financially tight. Wen Junhe worked part-time while studying, saving for half a year before he could afford a plane ticket home. Right before leaving, all his luggage, passport, and documents disappeared.

In the past, He Hongxing had always looked at him with condescending contempt, saying without the He family, could He Ning rely on someone like Wen Junhe?

Wen Junhe had spent a full five years just to be able to stand before He Ning again—not as the poor student who’d been cast aside back then, but as a Wen Junhe powerful enough to make He Ning regret it.

Wen Junhe suddenly found it laughable. He’d thought their reunion would be a moment of triumph. He hadn’t expected it to end with just one sentence from He Ning: “stay away from me.”

Wen Junhe raised his hand, his fingertips touching He Ning’s face. The texture was still as soft and warm as in his memory, but much thinner than before. He Ning’s tears stained his fingertips, still carrying body heat.

He Ning turned his head away, raising his own hand to wipe his face, wiping away that vulnerability along with it: “I don’t need your pity. I’ll handle my own affairs.”

“What can you handle? That matter has nothing to do with you. You want to get married, right? I’ll marry you.”

He said it so easily, as if they were still that high school couple with no five years of separation between them.

Wen Junhe lowered his eyelashes, his voice low and even: “Live with me. I can give you the life you want, exactly the same life as before.”

He Ning thought Wen Junhe must not know that every word he spoke was like poison wrapped in honey—knowing it was fatal yet temptingly sweet. He dug his nails deep into his palm, using pain to force himself to stay clear-headed.

He remembered Wen Junhe saying “disgusting,” and the white pills Wen Junhe had swallowed behind his back before every intimate moment.

“Why?” He Ning’s throat tightened. “Weren’t you… the one who hated me most?”

In that moment, an absurd thought suddenly surfaced in He Ning’s heart: maybe, just maybe, Wen Junhe liked him a little? Just a tiny bit.

“He Ning, you didn’t have anyone go after my aunt’s family, did you?”

This sentence was like a basin of ice water, making He Ning shudder all over. He thought of Wen Junhe’s aunt. That woman who always wore an apron and smiled so gently at him. Back then he hadn’t understood things, boldly running over to claim he was Wen Junhe’s boyfriend, scaring her until her face went pale.

And Wen Junhe had stood not far away, looking at him as coldly as if he were a stranger.

“Did something… happen to them?” He Ning’s throat tightened.

Wen Junhe stared at him: “Back then Meng Xuan trashed my uncle’s shop and broke his leg. I always thought you were the one who ordered it.”

Several seconds of blankness flashed across He Ning’s face. He suddenly found his earlier delusion laughable to the extreme. His chest felt like a hole had been hollowed out, cold wind whistling through it: “I’m sorry… I really didn’t know.”

He’d never known that what he’d brought Wen Junhe was actually such harm.

Wen Junhe had been raised by his aunt. That family bond was thicker than blood. He Ning had always thought the other didn’t love him because he himself wasn’t good enough. But it turned out this relationship had been doomed from the very start, uprooted before it even had a chance to sprout.

If he’d known earlier… he would never have forcibly kept Wen Junhe by his side.

He Ning knew he wasn’t exactly a good person, but he’d never imagined that in Wen Junhe’s eyes, he could be this vicious. No wonder Han Qing’s casual instigation was enough to make Wen Junhe believe. No wonder all these years of cold words and harsh treatment. So Wen Junhe had truly believed he would lay hands on innocent family members.

If anyone else thought this of him, He Ning wouldn’t even bother lifting an eyelid. But this person was Wen Junhe, someone he’d once wanted to dig out his heart to show. He’d sentenced He Ning to death without even asking, without giving a chance to defend himself.

Back when Han Qing told him Wen Junhe had been threatened by He Hongxing, He Ning had felt guilty beyond measure, finally understanding why Wen Junhe hated his father so much. Only now did he learn that there was an even earlier grudge standing between them.

Wen Junhe believing Meng Xuan’s instigation meant he’d decided He Ning was rotten to the core.

He Ning thought of all those nights falling asleep in each other’s arms. When Wen Junhe was being held and kissed by this “rotten person,” what had been going through his mind? Had every minute, every second been spent enduring disgust?

He remembered what He Hongxing had said back then, that Wen Junhe wasn’t a good match, that one-sided longing wouldn’t last. At the time He Ning had naively argued back, saying all hearts were made of flesh, and someday it could be warmed.

Thinking back now, perhaps Wen Junhe’s heart was made of iron, a red-hot branding iron that would sear a scar with the slightest touch.

So now when Wen Junhe said he wanted to marry him, was it because he’d discovered he’d misunderstood him all these years and his conscience couldn’t bear it? He Ning stared at that old ring on Wen Junhe’s ring finger.

Later, when Wen Junhe looked back, that was probably the most calm and peaceful conversation they’d ever had since knowing each other.

He Ning kept saying “I’m sorry” over and over. He said there were many things he hadn’t known about back then.

Wen Junhe wanted to interrupt him but couldn’t get a word in.

“You can stay at my place for now,” Wen Junhe awkwardly changed the subject. “After the Zhou family matter blows over, if you still want to get married…”

“No, I don’t want to.” He Ning said.

Wen Junhe thought he’d given up on the idea of marrying Zhou Ji. His tense shoulders relaxed slightly: “Zhou Ji and his brother are tangled up in something messy. Sooner or later he’ll embarrass you.”

Wen Junhe said: “Also, how did the scar on the back of your head really happen? Meng Xuan keeps saying it was an accident. I don’t believe it.”

“Accident, it was an accident,” He Ning nodded, but his gaze drifted toward the window. “…I think I should go home and pack my things.”

The “home” He Ning spoke of clearly didn’t include this place.

Wen Junhe drove He Ning to the apartment building where he and Zhou Ji rented. When the car window rolled down, night wind rushed in, carrying the chill of early autumn: “Go back and pack your things. I’ll come pick you up in a couple days, okay?”

He Ning gave a vague response, then hurriedly got out of the car.

After returning home, He Ning dug out a neatly stacked pile of diaries from over the years. Every page was filled with Wen Junhe’s name. Things he’d written down for fear of forgetting. There was also a velvet box. Inside was a plain band ring, the inner wall engraved with the initials of both their names.

He Ning slid the ring onto his ring finger. The size was perfect.

The feeling of metal against skin was ice-cold, much like He Ning’s mood at that moment. He asked the empty room: “Wen Junhe, you stayed by my side for so long, was it just to torment me?”

He remembered back when Wen Junhe said he’d take him abroad, how he’d been moved like a fool. He remembered later enduring the pain to bring up breaking up, still thinking himself noble. Only now did he understand those moments of self-indulgent drama.

Wen Junhe returned home, took out a spare key, and placed it on the tray by the entrance. He cleared out half the closet. New slippers and matching rinse cups were placed side by side in the bathroom. Even the towels were chosen as a pair.

Looking at these paired-up objects, Wen Junhe stood in the middle of the living room in a daze.

On the morning of the third day, before the sky had fully brightened, he went out. He sat in the car for a long time before knocking on He Ning’s door. The knocking sound was especially clear in the silent hallway.

He waited ten minutes. No one opened the door.

Wen Junhe pulled out his phone. The screen lit up then dimmed.

A cold automated message came from the other end of the line saying the phone was turned off. His messages sank like stones into the sea. Wen Junhe’s heart sank bit by bit. When he reached the stairwell, out of the corner of his eye he spotted a lonely cardboard box in the corner.

He hadn’t paid attention at first, until he saw the stuffed toy poking halfway out—it was the little bear charm he’d given He Ning back then.

He crouched down and picked up a diary from the box that had been torn to pieces.

The handwriting on the first page was crooked, but the dates and events were written clearly.

“I’m sick, and my brain is even worse. Will I drag Wen Junhe down…”

“The hospital room has only me in it. It’s so scary. Those people keep coming to force me to sign things. My head feels like it’s going to explode. If I die, will he come see me even once?”

The last line of small characters was squeezed into a corner: “The doctor says my memory will slowly get very bad, so I have to write things down. Remember to change medication tomorrow. Don’t forget the antidepressants either.”

“I brought up breaking up. Wen Junhe was very angry. I didn’t cry during the phone call. I cried for a long time afterward. Won’t take anti-inflammatory medicine tomorrow. Last time the pills got stuck in my throat and it hurt.”

“Can’t hold on anymore. Still signed the settlement agreement in the end. Went to see Dad. He looks a bit older. Will there be a day when I can’t even remember Dad? He Ning, no matter what, you have to keep moving forward.”

…………….

“I saw the photo of him and Han Qing together. Hate it. The medicine is kicking in. My brain feels as heavy as if filled with lead. But when I close my eyes it’s all images of them. Tomorrow at eight there’s a quarterly report. Must remember to bring the USB drive with the design plans.”

Beneath those crumpled diaries lay a ring, lying quietly. Wen Junhe suddenly remembered what Sister Li from HR had said: He Ning’s brain isn’t good.

He Ning’s hippocampus had been damaged in that anesthesia accident, causing permanent cognitive decline. The light in the stairwell was dim, but those crooked characters were exceptionally clear in Wen Junhe’s eyes. Those things He Ning had repeatedly reminded himself “don’t forget,” those pains that needed increased medication to suppress.

Wen Junhe stood in the stairwell, his hands trembling. His forgotten birthdays, those aggressive accusations—all of it now turned into sharp boomerangs, stabbing viciously back into him.

The diary in the box lay open. Every one of He Ning’s characters scraped against his nerves.

His phone suddenly vibrated. The screen lit up with a push notification: The eldest son of the Zhou family and his lover surnamed He have completed marriage registration in Country X. A formal Western-style ceremony and wedding will be held in the coming days. The report was detailed: The Zhou family had been tight-lipped about this relationship, but when reporters pressed, Zhou Moufu still put on the pose of an open-minded parent, saying as long as his son liked the person and their character was upright, that was fine.

Zhou Ji, as the eldest son of Zhou Moufu and his first wife, had always kept a low profile. Now he had gone against his usual pattern, being unusually generous in publicly announcing the progress of this relationship.