The Disliked Shou and the Charming Gong : Chapter 34: This… Should We Film This Too?

The entire moon lamp was meticulously designed as a hanging structure. Countless crisscrossing beams of light poured down from above, continuously shifting angles and brightness according to programmed settings, perfectly simulating the trajectory of the moon’s orbit.

The interplay of light and shadow cast flowing, mottled patterns on the ground, sometimes like the radiance of a full moon, sometimes like the haze of a crescent.

The project Wen Junhe personally supervised wasn’t complicated, at least not for him. From the initial concept sketches to final execution, he rejected three designers’ proposals before simply taking over himself. He had originally considered building it outdoors, but to ensure the effect wouldn’t be compromised by weather, he even expanded the west wing of the villa and constructed a covered platform.

At the brightest point of the moonlight stood a nearly two-meter-tall brown teddy bear wearing a blue-and-white striped sailor shirt, a small hat tilted on its head, its glass eyes gleaming playfully under the lights. Beside it stood a life-sized crystal voodoo doll. He Ning had casually mentioned last month while flipping through a magazine that “the design looks pretty unique,” and Wen Junhe had remembered.

The entire space was carpeted with pale blue flowers,  snowball blossoms and hyacinths intertwined into a sea of petals, their crisp fragrance permeating the air. Scattered among the flowers were dozens of exquisitely wrapped gift boxes.

He Ning practically jumped toward the giant stuffed bear, sinking into its fluffy fur and rubbing his cheek against the soft belly.

“Wen Junhe!” His voice brimmed with uncontainable delight as he tugged at the bear’s ear. “I’ve only ever seen dolls this big at shopping malls.”

He turned and noticed the gift boxes covering the floor.

Wen Junhe looked at He Ning, the corners of his mouth rising unconsciously.

“Do you like it?”

He Ning suddenly spotted the crystal voodoo doll in the corner and cried out in surprise: “You bought this ugly thing too?”

He hugged the strangely designed doll like a treasure found: “I’m putting this on my nightstand so it’s the first thing I see every morning.”

“Okay,” Wen Junhe agreed quickly. The moon simulation lamp happened to switch to full moon mode, silvering the edges of He Ning’s hair. Holding the ugly doll, he looked like a boy who had never been hurt by anything.

A gentle evening breeze drifted through the courtyard, carrying the particular warmth of early summer.

That artificial moon hung quietly at the center of the dome, emitting a soft, non-glaring glow that enveloped the entire space in a hazy moonlight.

This was the first time Wen Junhe had prepared gifts with such solemn care he had even adjusted the corners of the wrapping paper three times over.

They had originally come from two completely different worlds. He Ning was like a hothouse rose that needed meticulous care, raised in luxury and finery, wilting without companionship. Wen Junhe was like a thorn grown wild in the wilderness, long accustomed to solitude, even taking enjoyment in being alone.

In the past, Wen Junhe had always struggled to understand He Ning’s delicate emotional fluctuations, just as He Ning could never comprehend the contentment behind his silence.

They were like two radio stations on different frequencies, yet through day and night together, they slowly tuned into similar wavelengths.

What once required deliberate compromise and consideration had now become second nature.

Wen Junhe didn’t know when he had finally realized that he could read the unspoken expectations in He Ning’s eyes.

When He Ning threw himself into Wen Junhe’s arms, his eyes still sparkled with excitement like a frolicking little animal. Wen Junhe’s arms caught him steadily, his palm pressed against the small of his back with just enough pressure to hold him without hurting: “Are you happy?”

He Ning nodded.

Only when the photographer raised the camera closer did He Ning notice. He instinctively smoothed his windblown bangs, the tips of his ears flushing slightly: “You’ve been filming this whole time? Why didn’t you tell me beforehand?”

His tone carried a hint of reproach, but the corners of his mouth were turned up.

Wen Junhe reached out to straighten a strand of hair sticking up: “You look beautiful.”

“Why film this?” He Ning asked, looking up and meeting Wen Junhe’s fathomless gaze.

Those eyes were like a pool of water, calm on the surface but hiding whirlpools beneath: “If we record it, we won’t forget.”

He Ning said oh.

He Ning’s brain damage Wen Junhe had consulted three specialists, and all gave the same cold conclusion: memory decline is irreversible.

Sometimes the signs were obvious. Last week, when he made dry-braised shrimp, He Ning bit his chopsticks and said the taste seemed familiar.

“You used to eat it all the time in college,” Wen Junhe reminded him. “You went several times a week back then.”

He Ning’s eyes went blank for a moment. He softly said, “Ah, really?” and lowered his head to eat.

At times like these, Wen Junhe had to act as if nothing was wrong, but the pain was unbearable.

Wen Junhe opened one of the gift boxes. Inside was a small notebook, bound together. These were things He Ning had discarded, which Wen Junhe had carefully collected. He had been recording in them every day since, organized by date.

The outlines of light and shadow swayed not far away as Wen Junhe gazed intently at He Ning.

“I’ll record everything for you. What can’t be written down, I’ll film. In ten years, eight years, we can take them out and look through them slowly. As long as I’m here, nothing will be forgotten.”

Night fell. The artificial moon lamp quietly lit up.

He Ning sat on the soft carpet, unwrapping the gift boxes one by one, exclaiming at each one.

Wen Junhe took the camera from the photographer, asked a few questions, and then began filming He Ning himself. The gifts were all kinds of things, jewelry, car keys, little figurines of anime characters He Ning loved. With each one he unwrapped, he would hold it up and kiss it, then explain what he would use it for.

“This is the doll Wen Junhe gave me. I’m hanging it on my keychain.”

He Ning’s smile was so bright and vivid that no one could look away.

It made Wen Junhe’s vision blur the person before him seemed to be that arrogant young man who had declared he would definitely win him over, who had never secretly cried in some unknown corner.

He Ning bustled about, moving all the gifts into the room, running back and forth more than a dozen times, fussing over everything. Wen Junhe accompanied him in moving them.

He placed the figurines in the most prominent spot on the bookshelf, put the car keys in the tray by the entrance, and actually attached the doll charm to his key ring. Every item had to be adjusted repeatedly until completely satisfactory.

“Don’t throw away those flowers,” he shouted, leaning against the doorframe to the housekeeper downstairs. “I’m making them into pressed flower specimens!”

He turned and tugged Wen Junhe’s sleeve. “We need to build a glass greenhouse-like shed over by the moon lamp.”

He rattled off a list of requests, tiny beads of sweat on the tip of his nose. Wen Junhe wiped his face while nodding.

By the time Wen Junhe came out of the shower, He Ning had already fallen asleep crookedly against the pillow. Half his face was buried in the goose-down pillow, his breathing light and even, his lashes casting tiny shadows beneath his eyes.

He still clutched the gaming console in his hand; the screen had automatically gone dark probably fell asleep after the battery died mid-game. The blanket only covered him to the waist, his legs startlingly pale. Lately, being supervised to sleep and wake early, he had gained a little weight. Wen Junhe reached out to brush aside the stray hairs on his forehead; the skin his fingertips touched was warm and slightly damp.

Wen Junhe crouched by the bedside, gazing at He Ning’s sleeping face, his fingers resting on that warm, delicate skin.

“Please, take good care of my son. Don’t let him be sad. Perhaps you can do better than me.”

The fallen He Hongxing had spoken to him for the first time in a tone close to begging.

Wen Junhe had only replied: I will take good care of my lover.

The bedding was in disarray. Wen Junhe gently pulled the gaming console from He Ning’s arms and set it aside. He Ning mumbled something and shifted position, but moved closer to where Wen Junhe was, his fingers brushing against the corner of his clothes.

When He Ning woke, he rubbed his eyes. The small lamp on the nightstand was on. He checked his phone he had only slept two hours but the space beside him was empty. Wen Junhe was nowhere to be found. He sat up; the mattress made a slight sound.

He Ning threw off the blanket, got out of bed, and opened the door. Wen Junhe had converted a room into a study.

He Ning opened the door. Sure enough, Wen Junhe was still wearing his blue-light glasses, staring at the computer screen. He looked up: “Awake?”

He Ning was wearing a sleep shirt, nothing on the bottom, which made his legs look long and straight.

“You tell me to sleep and wake early, but here you are staying up alone.”

Wen Junhe’s gaze followed that flash of pale skin. He Ning walked over and straddled his lap. With the movement, a familiar light scent drifted to Wen Junhe’s nose, like an electric current running through his entire body.

He Ning’s thighs were soft. Wen Junhe instinctively supported his bottom, leaning in to kiss the side of his neck: “Just looking at some documents. I’ll sleep soon. Let me rest here. Why can’t you sleep?”

He Ning shifted uncomfortably and said he didn’t know.

The man’s breath fell entirely on his skin, his nose deeply inhaling the scent of He Ning’s body. His hand moved from the base of his thigh to his hip bone, slipping beneath the hem, fingers touching the flat stomach and waist, pressing slightly.

He Ning let out an uncomfortable muffled sound. Wen Junhe turned his head to kiss his lower lip: “Did I hurt you?”

He Ning looked down at him. Wen Junhe wearing glasses looked refined and restrained, impossibly handsome.

He Ning looked down at him from above, leaned close to his ear, and whispered: “I was so happy yesterday. Let me make you happy too, okay?”

Wen Junhe was startled and hadn’t spoken when He Ning crouched down from his lap, reaching to pull down Wen Junhe’s sleep pants, fast and urgent.

Wen Junhe hadn’t expected He Ning to do this for him. He leaned back against the chair, his breathing deepening.

He Ning’s movements were indeed clumsy, because he had never done this before.

But it was precisely this inexperience that delivered an intense impact.

Afterward, Wen Junhe picked him up, pulled out a tissue, and held it to his mouth, coaxing: “Baby, spit it out.”

He Ning didn’t listen to him.

He Ning watched Wen Junhe’s gaze on him grow deeper. He pushed Wen Junhe to stand with his palm, then sat on him: “Don’t move. Tonight, without my permission, you’re not allowed to move.”

Wen Junhe’s eyes reddened, his arms braced against the desk, suddenly bumping into the camera from earlier. He Ning turned his head and saw it. His body went soft, his eyes carrying a seductive look as he asked Wen Junhe: “This… should we film this too?”