POTINS 9

Fifteen minutes later, a silver sports car roared up and came to a neat stop right in front of Wen Zhongyi.

Meng Chuan unbuckled his seatbelt and got out, pulling his coat tighter as he walked around to the other side. Backlit by the streetlights, his figure looked especially tall.

“Do you know how jammed the roads are at this hour? You have to wait forever at every red light. It’s only because my car looks intimidating enough that no one dares cut me off. Otherwise, you’d still be standing here waiting…”

Wen Zhongyi cut him off impatiently. “The suitcase.”

“What suitcase?” Meng Chuan was caught off guard for a second, then realized Wen Zhongyi meant for him to carry it. He chuckled. “You really don’t bother with pleasantries, huh? Just treating me like your assistant now.”

Wen Zhongyi ignored his rambling and pushed the suitcase forward. Meng Chuan instinctively reached out to take it, and their fingers brushed briefly. Meng Chuan looked up at him. “Why are your hands so cold?”

Wen Zhongyi was wearing Meng Chuan’s coat. It was a bit too big for him, making him look even thinner. A passing car’s headlights briefly lit up his delicate, angular jawline with a sheen of cold light.

Just looking at him made Meng Chuan feel cold. He quickly stuffed the suitcase into the trunk, then opened the passenger door for him. “Get in.”

The car was warm inside, and Meng Chuan drove slowly. Wen Zhongyi seemed quite satisfied.

He looked out at the night scenery through the window. Then Meng Chuan asked, “What would you have done if I hadn’t come?”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t even turn his head. “You would’ve come.”

“You know me that well?” Meng Chuan said. “Sounds like our relationship these past four years wasn’t so bad.”

Wen Zhongyi’s eyelashes fluttered slightly, but his gaze stayed on the city outside.

Meng Chuan glanced at him and gave a vague smile. “Since I’m helping you unconditionally like this, how about answering a few questions in return?”

The scent in the car was a mix of roses and bitter coffee. Streetlights slid across the interior one by one, then fell back into darkness.

Maybe it was because the scene felt too familiar—so much so that for a brief moment, Wen Zhongyi thought he’d returned to Sanka.

Back then, Meng Chuan hadn’t gone missing yet. They were still each other’s closest lovers. On a regular evening, Meng Chuan would take him for a drive around the city, and on the way home, buy his favorite chestnut pastries.

It had only happened a month ago, but now it felt like a past life.

After a long silence, Wen Zhongyi finally broke it. “What do you want to ask?”

At a red light, Meng Chuan stepped on the brake and asked, “You don’t have an ID?”

Wen Zhongyi nodded.

“How come?” Meng Chuan gave him a curious look. “Are you undocumented or something?”

“I’m not from here,” Wen Zhongyi replied.

“What do you mean, you’re a foreigner?” The light turned green, and Meng Chuan released the handbrake and gently hit the gas. “Which country?”

Wen Zhongyi said, “Sanka.”

“The hell?” Meng Chuan was stunned for a second. “Which hemisphere is that in?”

“I’m not from your world,” Wen Zhongyi said.

“…….”

Here we go again.

Meng Chuan really wanted to ask how he even came up with such an absurd world. Every time things got serious, he’d start spouting nonsense—and with such conviction.

Seeing his expression, Wen Zhongyi knew he didn’t believe him. He frowned. “I told you, but you don’t believe me.”

“Alright, alright,” Meng Chuan sighed, conceding a little. “Let’s say what you said is true…”

“It is true,” Wen Zhongyi said sharply, then turned his head away, giving Meng Chuan nothing but the back of his head—a clear sign that the conversation was over.

Meng Chuan looked at him for a while, then suddenly felt like laughing.

Wen Zhongyi really was a tough one to deal with. Calling him in the middle of the night, barking orders like he was a servant, getting annoyed the moment he asked a question, and now just outright ignoring him. Anyone else would’ve left him on the side of the road by now.

But Meng Chuan was magnanimous. He decided not to take it personally.

The car headed north, leaving the bustle of the city behind. Trees loomed tall and silent on either side under the night sky.

Meng Chuan’s craving for a cigarette kicked in. He really wanted to pull one out, but the guy next to him obviously hated the smell of smoke. He rubbed his fingers together and, in the end, resisted.

“Where are you taking me?” Wen Zhongyi suddenly asked.

Meng Chuan let out a low laugh, his voice a bit sinister. “Now you’re asking? Too late. I’m selling you.”

“……” Wen Zhongyi gave him a look like he was an idiot. “Childish.”

Meng Chuan chuckled twice.

The car pulled into a residential complex, headlights illuminating the road brightly. The grand buildings and cats crouching in the bushes had nowhere to hide.

“I bought this place a few years ago. Haven’t lived in it for a long time. It’s been sitting empty. You can stay here for now.” Meng Chuan smoothly parked in the garage, the empty space echoing with the sound of the engine.

He stopped the car but didn’t turn it off. The headlights were still on. Meng Chuan looked at Wen Zhongyi. “I have one more question.”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t really want to entertain him, but since Meng Chuan had given him a place to stay, he begrudgingly nodded. “What do you want to ask?”

Meng Chuan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, the sound slow and deliberate, as if weighing his words: “These past four years… did I date someone?”

Wen Zhongyi met his gaze. Meng Chuan’s expression was calm—none of his usual laziness or teasing. For once, he looked serious.

He seemed genuinely puzzled by the question. “When I woke up, I saw a ring on my hand. Platinum, with a small diamond. And it was on my ring finger. I don’t need to explain what that usually means. But I have no idea why it was there. I’ve never been one to wear rings. So… was I dating someone? Or was it something else? Can you tell me?”

Wen Zhongyi took a deep breath and turned his head away, no longer looking at him. His voice was hoarse. “…You really don’t remember anything?”

“Not a thing,” Meng Chuan said.

Wen Zhongyi was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Where’s the ring?”

“I lost it,” Meng Chuan admitted. “It felt weird just showing up on my hand, so I took it off and stuck it in my pocket. But when I got home, it was gone. Probably fell out on the way. I even went back to look for it, but no luck.”

He spoke casually, like it was nothing, but to Wen Zhongyi it felt like an unexpected, drawn-out torment.

That was their wedding ring—the one they had exchanged in front of a priest. And Meng Chuan had just lost it.

Wen Zhongyi said nothing more. His profile was shadowed and unreadable, falling into a long silence.

Meng Chuan glanced at him, catching the tight line of his jaw and the slight tremble of his lashes.

For some reason, Meng Chuan suddenly felt that Wen Zhongyi was very sad.

Why was he sad?

He was about to ask when Wen Zhongyi beat him to it: “I don’t know.” He cleared his throat, his voice regaining composure. He repeated, “I don’t know where that ring came from. I don’t know if you were in love with someone. You don’t even remember—why should anyone else remember for you?”

His tone was calm, void of blame or accusation, yet Meng Chuan’s chest tightened as if something had seized his heart, and for a long time he couldn’t speak.

After a while, Meng Chuan turned off the headlights. Darkness instantly swallowed everything. He said softly, “I’ll try to remember.”

After they got out of the car, Wen Zhongyi didn’t ask him to carry the suitcase, but Meng Chuan took it out anyway and naturally pushed it into the elevator.

The apartment was on the twelfth floor. Meng Chuan unlocked the door with his fingerprint, turned on the lights, and placed the suitcase against the wall. “It was cleaned last week. I’ll have someone come again tomorrow.”

The apartment was spacious, modern in style, and fully furnished, though it lacked any sign of life—like a showroom.

Meng Chuan checked the fridge and TV to make sure everything worked. Then he fished the WiFi password out from the depths of his memory and told Wen Zhongyi.

“You can remember that,” Wen Zhongyi said.

Hearing the sarcasm in his voice, Meng Chuan retorted, “I just lost four years of memory, not my brain.”

“Heh.” Wen Zhongyi gave a soft laugh and walked past him to get his suitcase.

He pushed it into the bedroom and, when he came out, saw Meng Chuan sitting on the couch watching TV.

It was already late. The trip from the motel to this upscale complex hadn’t been short. As Wen Zhongyi considered how to get to work the next day, he noticed Meng Chuan flipping through channels. “Are you staying here tonight?”

Meng Chuan couldn’t find anything worth watching and turned off the TV, tossing the remote onto the couch. “No. I’m heading out in a bit.”

Wen Zhongyi leaned against the doorframe, the dark gray sweater he wore looking refined under the light. He nodded, a simple acknowledgment.

Meng Chuan stood and glanced around the living room. “Feel free to stay here as long as you need. If you run into any problems, call me. Subway and bus stops are just around the corner to the right—really convenient.”

Wen Zhongyi nodded again and asked, “Can I bring someone over?”

“Someone?” Meng Chuan asked. “Who?”

“A friend,” Wen Zhongyi said.

“What kind of friend?” Meng Chuan’s expression shifted subtly, clearly misunderstanding. “Let me be clear, this place is for you only. Don’t go bringing in random people. This isn’t a hotel—I don’t want strangers here.”

Wen Zhongyi frowned. “What are you talking about? I said a friend.”

“Oh… just a regular friend,” Meng Chuan immediately backed down, coughing lightly. “Then no problem. Bring whoever you want. There’s plenty of guest rooms.”

Wen Zhongyi had lost interest in talking. He turned into the bedroom, took out a carton of milk, and headed to the kitchen.

Meng Chuan wandered behind him, watching as he took a glass from the cupboard, washed it, poured in the milk, and put it in the microwave. Every movement was smooth and practiced, with none of the awkwardness of someone in a new place.

The warm yellow light settled over Wen Zhongyi, casting a gentle glow on his back.

For a moment, Meng Chuan felt like the scene was oddly familiar—like he had seen it countless times before. But the feeling vanished the instant he tried to grasp it.

The microwave beeped. Wen Zhongyi carefully took out the milk and turned, only to find Meng Chuan standing there, staring at him blankly. “What are you zoning out for?”

Meng Chuan smiled like it was nothing. “Hot milk before bed—you really live delicately.”

Wen Zhongyi carried the milk to the sofa and sat down. Meng Chuan sat too, keeping a bit of distance between them.

“You’re still not leaving?” Wen Zhongyi glanced at the time and asked.

“This is my place,” Meng Chuan replied matter-of-factly.

Wen Zhongyi said nothing.

It was almost ten. Even Meng Chuan couldn’t quite understand why he was reluctant to leave.

He had only seen Wen Zhongyi a few times. Sure, they might’ve had something close before, but to this amnesiac Meng Chuan, Wen Zhongyi was just a vaguely familiar stranger.

He chalked up this strange reluctance to the scent of Wen Zhongyi’s cologne.

That rose fragrance had a natural pull on him, so much so that, without realizing it, Meng Chuan slowly inched closer to Wen Zhongyi.

Wen Zhongyi was drinking his milk, head bowed slightly, his long neck bent at a gentle angle. The dark gray sweater made his pale skin look even fairer, like a piece of polished white jade catching the light.

Suddenly, Meng Chuan’s gaze froze. “What’s this?”

Before Wen Zhongyi could react, the gland on the back of his neck was touched. His whole body jolted, and the milk in his hands nearly spilled. “What are you doing?!”