The Disliked Shou and the Charming Gong : Chapter 38: What If He Ning Lost His Memory (2)

The room was so quiet you could hear the faint rustle of curtains stirred by the wind, yet that small sound of fabric friction only made the air feel more stagnant. He Ning’s chest burned hot, his throat dry as if he had swallowed a leftover ember, terribly alluring.

Wen Junhe’s shirt had long come undone, the fabric hanging messily from his arms, his waist and abdominal lines tensing into sharp curves in the shadows.

When he had pressed down and bitten He Ning’s neck just now, he had used full force. The burning sensation of his canines grinding against skin still pulsed in He Ning’s veins.

He Ning came to his senses in time, pushed against Wen Junhe’s firm and elastic chest, and said in a determined tone: “…I came to look at photos. Show some self restraint.”

Wen Junhe didn’t speak. His gaze scraped from He Ning’s reddened earlobes to his taut mouth corners, then suddenly he let out a scoffing laugh, straightening up by pushing against the sofa behind him.

The moment Wen Junhe withdrew, He Ning’s vision suddenly opened up. That retreating figure was straight and upright. In a suit he was sharp and restrained, but today for some reason he had put on a silk shirt, the fabric hanging wide open, the material flowing over his body with a delicate sheen, moving like water.

It had just caused He Ning’s gaze to uncontrollably slide downward. Wen Junhe’s collarbones were clearly visible, the outline of his chest faintly discernible beneath the open collar.

He Ning’s nasal passages felt dry. He thought, this really was a bit slutty.

He Ning’s memory had been torn apart like paper over the past few years, with blank spaces remaining where fuzzy cracks showed. Standing on the fault line of his thoughts, he coolly examined that “former self” Wen Junhe spoke of, only finding it as unfamiliar as someone else’s story.

He detached himself, analyzing without any emotion.

He Ning felt Wen Junhe’s behavior didn’t look like deep love, more like some kind of obsession.

A version of himself watching coldly from the sidelines built up defenses, keeping that past “He Ning” at a safe distance.

He thought, if this relationship had been wrong from the start, then perhaps forgetting was a kind of mercy.

Wen Junhe’s room was like the man himself, with cold hard lines and distinct tones.

He Ning curiously tilted his head to examine Wen Junhe’s room. The deep walnut built in wardrobe fit seamlessly into the wall, every inch of space utilized just right. The gray toned bedding was spread flat without a single wrinkle. The minimalist lamp on the nightstand exuded precise industrial aesthetics.

The double layered curtains were half open, white sheer fabric filtering in daylight, the outer layer of dark gray blackout cloth gathered with meticulous care.

At least everything in this space silently proclaimed its owner’s traits: efficient, precise, never satisfied.

He Ning felt the two of them really didn’t match. One was forever chasing higher goals, the other content with the status quo and drifting with the current.

This contrast was too stark, to the point that He Ning truly doubted whether they had ever been together.

Who knew that right after he finished sighing, Wen Junhe came back in wearing that devastatingly attractive outfit, holding a tablet computer, and sat down beside him.

“Many of the photos are in cloud storage. They need to be downloaded.”

He Ning didn’t even dare let his eyes wander. He said awkwardly: “Why don’t you just send them to me, and I’ll look at them slowly when I get back.”

Wen Junhe said: “You’ve probably forgotten the circumstances under which all of these were taken. I’ll tell you, give you a deeper impression. Maybe you’ll remember faster.”

This method was quite good.

“No need, I think…”

Wen Junhe’s eyes dimmed: “You don’t want to remember?”

He Ning’s expression stiffened. He didn’t look at Wen Junhe, lowering his gaze: “It’s not about whether I want to or not. I can tell I really did like you quite a bit in the past, but you… probably didn’t value me that much. Otherwise, five years…”

Wen Junhe: “I didn’t look for you, not because I didn’t value you enough.”

Five years, Wen Junhe thought, really was too long. Time slowly ground against the nerves, yet the emotions hadn’t become blurred.

“It was because of my cowardice and pride.”

Most importantly, Wen Junhe’s fear.

He was afraid He Ning no longer loved him, afraid those youthful heartbeats had long been worn away by time.

Wen Junhe had held it in for too long. He had never vented many emotions. From a very young age, he was used to pressing all his feelings down inside, as if this could prove he was invincible.

“Yes, five years, He Ning. There were many things in between… We were apart for five years, and together for five years. But I don’t fall for someone easily. I really can’t figure out why I would get stuck on one person for ten years.”

Ten years of time was enough to carve a person into your very bones and blood. To try to strip them out after that would be like scraping poison from the bones.

Wen Junhe thought of what the secretary had said.

“President Wen, express yourself honestly, honestly express your feelings and thoughts. Don’t be afraid of rejection and criticism. Open your heart and let the other person feel your attitude.”

Wen Junhe looked at He Ning’s blank expression and opened the downloaded photos.

“When I was studying abroad, that city was rainy most of the time. The sky was always overcast. I missed you terribly back then.”

The sound of rain seemed to travel across time and space, damp memories flooding up the moment the words fell.

“He Ning, I’m not trying to persuade you to get back together with me. I’m asking you, can we get back together? I’ll protect you from now on.”

He Ning heard this and said: “I don’t need your protection. Why do I have to be with you? Although your conditions are indeed very good… I might not like your type anymore.”

“My taste at eighteen might have liked someone like you, but now it’s different. Also, I really don’t like your tone. It’s like you’re doing me a favor by being willing to be with me, like I’ve done many things wrong.”

Wen Junhe listened to He Ning now being able to calmly analyze problems and make decisions he considered wise, no longer swayed by emotions, no longer a child demanding love from him.

The prepared speech he had originally readied got stuck in his throat. Those promises about tolerance and change seemed so pale at this moment.

Because He Ning had cleanly and decisively cut off all his escape routes.

“Because you loved me very much.” He suddenly spoke, his voice carrying a kind of nearly stubborn certainty. “I know eighteen year old and twenty eight year old tastes are different, but even when you’re thirty eight you’ll still like me.”

With that Wen Junhe clicked open a photo. On the display screen, two teenagers in school uniforms stood beneath a parasol tree. The young He Ning had the corners of his eyes curved in a soft arc, sunlight filtering through leaves to cast fragmented light spots on his face. Standing beside him, Wen Junhe’s chin was slightly raised, and the outline of his brows already showed hints of his present appearance.

He Ning’s fingers were actively threaded through Wen Junhe’s fingers, the interlaced posture of their ten fingers intimately locked, allowing no argument.

Behind them was the school motto monument, the entire scene bathed in golden sunset light, exuding the particular vitality of youth.

He Ning’s fingers continued scrolling down. There was also a photo of them skiing together.

He Ning was wearing bright ski gear, facing a steep slope. He wore a helmet, held ski poles, feet apart, flashing a peace sign at the camera. Wen Junhe stood behind him, arms slightly spread, his lips pressed into a straight line beneath black ski goggles, his whole person presenting a tense posture of someone ready to catch him at any moment.

So many photos He Ning hadn’t been able to see in his accounts.

Wen Junhe’s phone album was like a silent memorial hall, displaying all the fragments he thought had long dissipated from memory.

All of them came roaring through five years of time, rushing straight at him.

Right at this moment, the company legal team suddenly called Wen Junhe. Wen Junhe frowned and glanced at the caller ID, then answered the call.

“Look carefully and think it over, okay?”

“Okay.”

From the terrace came the faint sound of Wen Junhe’s lowered voice, that habitual, commanding way of speaking in clipped sentences.

He Ning accidentally backed out, and when he clicked back in, he saw a private album in the directory. That locked folder sat quietly like Pandora’s box, requiring a password to open.

He thought about Wen Junhe’s birthday, but couldn’t remember.

He Ning thought he’d just take a look, so he tried his own birthday.

It actually opened. The unlock notification sounded, like a sudden buzzing struck against his eardrums.

When he clicked in, he was completely stunned.

Inside were nothing but photos of him.

The photos on the screen slid past one by one. He Ning saw himself sleeping sprawled across a desk, half his cheek pressed against a crumpled math test paper, the scratch paper still bearing several unfinished calculation traces. Sunlight leaked in through the curtain gap, coating his sticking up hair tips with a fuzzy golden edge, his mouth slightly open from the pressure, revealing a bit of pearly white canine tip.

The next was an afternoon at the city park. The young him stood by the fountain, clutching half a bag of bird feed, startled backward by pigeons suddenly swooping in, nearly falling over. The photo precisely captured the instant his eyes went round, his eyebrows comically raised, his mouth half open, several feathers stuck to his sweater collar.

These moments that could hardly be called attractive were preserved so intact. The photographer seemed to particularly love these imperfect moments, the lens stubbornly chasing after every vivid, lively, unguarded movement of his.

Like candid shots, the angles were tricky enough to be candid shots, basically at the level where they could be deleted as rejects, yet they exuded a kind of careful cherishing.

The most recent one showed it was taken last week, him smoking downstairs at the company, smoke blurring his outline, leaving only a lonely silhouette.

The further down he scrolled, the photos became more heated and private.

He Ning really didn’t understand how Wen Junhe could put pure love and pure sex side by side.

In the photos, He Ning was sunk in messy bedding, his hair tips still carrying undried beads of sweat. Half his face was buried in the pillow, the skin at the back of his neck carrying a faint pink, several ambiguous marks left openly and brazenly. The blanket hung precariously at his waist, revealing half of a full curve of buttocks and the hollow of his waistline, where several obvious red marks remained, strikingly vivid against porcelain white skin.

Who had left these marks in a moment of uncontrollable passion hardly needed saying.

A thin sheen of sweat under the light was like a layer of glaze coating his back. The undulation of He Ning’s arm muscles showed faint blue veins. His calves unconsciously rubbed against the bedsheet, the arches of his feet tensed into attractive curves, exuding post coital languor, every inch of muscle soaked in damp heat.

The shooting angle was clearly from above, the lens almost pressed against his spine.

He Ning was completely frozen watching, forgetting to move, until Wen Junhe’s breath suddenly enveloped him from behind, carrying that familiar cold woody scent, like cedar mixed with undispersed morning mist.

He subconsciously straightened his spine, but it was already too late. The man’s chest pressed tightly against his back, body heat transmitting through thin fabric, his arm crossing in front of his waist like an inescapable shackle.

“Like what you see?” Wen Junhe spoke in a low voice, his distinctly knuckled fingers resting on the back of He Ning’s hand.

He Ning jumped, almost instantly throwing aside the tablet, subconsciously wanting to get up and dodge, but the man’s arm locked him powerfully in place, making it impossible to break free.

Heat burned from his earlobes all the way to his neck. Those deliberately cropped out, even more private moments made He Ning’s imagination run wild.

These photos weren’t fantasies. They were real events, faithfully recorded intimacy captured by the lens.

Wen Junhe’s breath brushed past his ear, carrying a very familiar sensation that made his temples throb. Those forgotten touches seemed to be surging up from the depths of memory, stirring tiny electric currents across the surface of his skin.

Wen Junhe pressed him into the sofa. The tablet fell from He Ning’s hand to the side. Kisses landed on the back of his neck. Wen Junhe clamped his waist, making He Ning’s breath catch, but his strength was too powerful, completely impossible to break free from.

“Wait… Wen Junhe, I have amnesia…”

“I know.”

Wen Junhe pinned He Ning’s wrists with both hands and pulled at his clothes.

“Don’t you want to recover your memory? Let me help you recall your muscle memory first.”

What the hell, muscle memory. “Wait!”

Wen Junhe: “Wait for what?”

He Ning’s breathing had long lost its rhythm, fine sweat beading at the tip of his nose. Wen Junhe’s palm firmly cupped his jaw, his thumb pressing below the Adam’s apple, forcing him to tilt his head back and endure this nearly suffocating kiss. The entanglement of lips and tongue carried irresistible force, the tongue sweeping across the roof of his mouth and triggering a shiver, even the back of his head tingling with fine numbness.

He Ning could clearly feel the sensation of Wen Junhe’s eyelashes sweeping across his cheek, and the increasingly rich woody scent from the other person’s body, mixed with their interweaving gasps, continuously fermenting in the cramped space.

Until a slight sting came from his lips, and a dizzying sensation of oxygen deprivation surged to his temples, Wen Junhe suddenly withdrew his distance.

He Ning subconsciously chased after that bit of warmth by tilting his head up, his eyelashes fluttering wetly. Wen Junhe stopped at just the right distance, not coming half a step closer.

This abrupt halt made the air suddenly tense. He Ning’s fingertips unconsciously gripped the sofa armrest, leaving several shallow nail marks on the leather surface.

Wen Junhe’s gaze landed on his glistening lips, the color of his eyes deep as ink that couldn’t dissolve, yet he deliberately made no further move, allowing that unresolved tension to silently spread between them.

Wen Junhe: “…How could you look at my privacy without my permission… Looking comes with a price.”

He Ning turned his head to look at Wen Junhe’s ears, burning hot and red, and stammered: “You took photos of me! I’m not even angry. Did you take even more extreme ones?”

Wen Junhe then gave him a subtle expression.

He Ning was at a loss for words: “You really took them?”

Wen Junhe made a sound of agreement: “Want to see? One of a kind.”

He Ning was furious with embarrassment: “…You… I… you pervert! Let go of me first…”

But Wen Junhe had a completely reckless appearance, one hand cupping his buttock while making fierce threats: “If you don’t get back together with me, I’ll send the photos to that boyfriend of yours.”

He Ning: “How could you do that!”

Before Wen Junhe’s words finished, he felt the person in his arms suddenly tremble. He Ning’s widened eyes rapidly flooded with a layer of mist. Seeing that He Ning was truly angry, all his hardness instantly crumbled to dust. Wen Junhe’s kisses immediately softened, apologetically rubbing against the corner of his lips, hurriedly lowering his stance: “I’m sorry, Ningning, I was joking. Hit me. How could I do something like that? Let’s get back together, okay?”

His palm wrapped around He Ning’s clenched fist and brought it to his own chest: “I said the wrong thing. Hit me.”

He Ning hurriedly wanted to push the man away, but he was held too tightly.

Wen Junhe kept saying sorry while lighting fires on his body.

In the gaps between apologies, calloused fingertips slowly moved up his spine, pressing and rubbing with just the right pressure at the sensitive small of his back.

This contradictory tenderness was more leg weakening than threats.

He Ning’s breathing uncontrollably quickened.

The man’s hoarse “okay?” mixed with kisses landing by his ear was like some kind of sweet torture.

Wen Junhe said “okay?” several more times. He Ning couldn’t take it anymore and said I agree, stop this.

Before the words finished, he felt the world spin. Wen Junhe’s movements were so fast he had no time to react, his pupils suddenly contracting, his fingertips unconsciously gripping the bedsheet tight.

The strange sensation coming from deep within his body made his whole body tremble, his mouth open but unable to produce complete sounds. The sofa cushion let out a muffled sound of being overburdened. Wen Junhe’s outline blurred into a haze in his shaking vision, only the force gripping his wrists terrifyingly real. The belated realization arrived several beats late, flooding into his mind. He Ning stared blankly at the ceiling, moisture gathering and dispersing in his eye sockets.

He Ning’s body trembled slightly, his eyes full of disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe Wen Junhe had really done it.

What exactly had he agreed to?!!!

A dull sound thudded out from beneath him.

“What, stunned stupid?” The muscles of Wen Junhe’s arm propped beside his ear tensed into sharp lines, his voice wrapped in gasps as it crashed down. Sweat droplets dripped from his jawline onto He Ning’s collarbone, burning hot.