POTINS 15

By the time the police arrived, Meng Chuan had already gotten up from the ground and hauled the half-conscious men into a line against the wall, ordering them to squat down with their hands over their heads.

The officers paused in surprise at the sight, then chuckled. “Well, they’re pretty cooperative.”

The police car stopped at the entrance of the alley, and the red and blue lights reflected off Wen Zhongyi’s face. Meng Chuan looked over and finally noticed how pale he looked.

“You okay?” he asked, watching Wen Zhongyi’s expression. “Is it your stomach?”

Wen Zhongyi gave him a sidelong glance, his brows furrowed. The sharp contrast in his eyes showed not a hint of warmth.

A chill went through Meng Chuan.

If Wen Zhongyi had a gun right now, Meng Chuan had no doubt he’d pull the trigger.

To be honest, Meng Chuan didn’t really understand.

He was sure that when Wen Zhongyi fell, his entire body had landed squarely on him—there was practically no chance of injury. Maybe some discomfort, but certainly nothing worth that cold, accusatory stare.

Wen Zhongyi said nothing, and Meng Chuan didn’t press the matter.

The police told them to come to the station to give a statement. Wen Zhongyi got in the police car; Meng Chuan drove behind them.

At the station, Wen Zhongyi explained everything clearly.

Although he had been the one to use force, the surveillance footage showed both altercations had been initiated by the other party. His actions were self-defense.

After a few more questions, the police let them go.

Meng Chuan offered to drive him home, and Wen Zhongyi didn’t refuse.

The night was deep, and the wind chilled Wen Zhongyi’s fingers. He adjusted the seat after getting into the car, leaned back, and rested his hands on his abdomen, visibly tired.

Meng Chuan drove smoothly. He glanced sideways and said, “You’re pretty good at fighting. Have you trained before?”

Wen Zhongyi kept looking out the window. The dull, sinking pain in his abdomen made him frown.

Seeing he didn’t reply, Meng Chuan asked again, “Why do you keep holding your stomach? If it really hurts, I’ll take you to the hospital.”

Wen Zhongyi was silent for a few seconds before saying, “No need.”

Meng Chuan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “The affiliated hospital’s just nearby—it’s on the way. Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

Getting checked at a hospital would be ideal. But Wen Zhongyi knew what a man being pregnant meant in this world.

From everything he had researched, he was likely the first—and only—pregnant man here. It would be explosive news, drawing a mountain of trouble.

Maybe a private hospital with good confidentiality would be better, but he didn’t have an ID. He had thought about getting a fake one, but hadn’t found a way.

He shook his head. “Forget it.”

“Alright then.” Meng Chuan didn’t push.

The cabin was filled with the scent of pheromones, along with faint traces of alcohol and cigarettes.

After staying at the bar for so long, Meng Chuan had naturally picked up a lot of smells Wen Zhongyi didn’t like. With his sharp sense of smell, Wen Zhongyi even caught a trace of unfamiliar perfume.

Already in a bad mood, this only made it worse. His tone was harsh. “Open the window.”

“Bothering you again?” Meng Chuan cracked the window, sniffed his own collar, and said, “Yeah, kinda gross.”

The cold night breeze quickly cooled the inside of the car. Once most of the smell had dissipated, Meng Chuan rolled the window back up.

The car’s suspension was good, and Wen Zhongyi barely felt any shaking. He tilted his head against the seat, sleepiness washing over him.

He hadn’t rested much all day, and the fight had drained him—he was exhausted.

The discomfort in his belly had eased. Wen Zhongyi’s hand slowly slid down, eventually resting limply on his thigh. Before long, he was fast asleep.

In such a quiet, enclosed space, even the faintest sound was amplified.

Meng Chuan could hear his steady breathing. At a red light, he turned his head and studied him closely.

The streetlight outside lit up Wen Zhongyi’s profile. In just over a week, he seemed thinner. His long lashes cast soft shadows on his face, trembling faintly with each breath—like butterfly wings.

Wen Zhongyi was sound asleep, lips slightly parted. His breath moistened them, making them a pale pink.

His head slowly tilted toward Meng Chuan, as if subconsciously seeking a comfortable and safe posture.

He’s really beautiful, Meng Chuan thought suddenly.

Wen Zhongyi’s head drooped, hair falling toward him. It looked soft and fine.

Meng Chuan watched for a while. Then, on impulse, he leaned over and reached out to touch it. Just as his fingers were about to make contact, the red light turned green—and a car behind them honked.

Snapped out of the moment, Meng Chuan jerked back to reality, straightened up, and stepped on the gas.

Wen Zhongyi didn’t sleep for long. He woke up midway.

He shifted slightly. The discomfort in his stomach had lessened, and Wen Zhongyi let out a quiet breath.

The car was parked by the roadside.

Meng Chuan was gone.

Wen Zhongyi was just about to take out his phone to call when Meng Chuan returned carrying a bag.

“You’re awake?” Meng Chuan shut the car door, bringing with him a wave of cold air. He placed the bag into the console storage.

Wen Zhongyi saw the writing on the plastic bag and asked, “What medicine did you buy?”

His voice was still hoarse from sleep. Meng Chuan rubbed his ear and replied, “Some pain-relief ointment. You’ve got quite the strength—my back’s killing me after that fall.”

Wen Zhongyi pressed his lips together and turned away. “You shouldn’t have come up behind me without a word.”

He’d been completely on guard at the time—how was he supposed to know who was behind him?

And Meng Chuan had made him fall too. No sympathy deserved.

As the car passed the final traffic light, Wen Zhongyi couldn’t help but ask, “What were you doing at the bar?”

“Business,” Meng Chuan replied. As the car entered the residential complex, he rested one hand on the wheel, his tone helpless. “Some people insist on discussing business in bars—don’t even mind how noisy it is.”

Even though they’d booked a private room upstairs, the music couldn’t be completely shut out. If not for the sake of the person who introduced them, Meng Chuan would have left.

“What other reason could there be for meeting in a bar?” Wen Zhongyi gave a soft, scornful laugh.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not that kind of person—I didn’t even want to go,” Meng Chuan defended himself.

They pulled into the garage. Wen Zhongyi’s lips still curled in a mocking smile. “Didn’t want to go, yet you went. And even picked up someone else’s perfume on you.”

“…Really?” Meng Chuan lowered his head and sniffed. “There is?”

Wen Zhongyi shot him a cold look, unbuckled his seatbelt, and got out of the car.

After exiting the elevator, Wen Zhongyi unlocked the door with his fingerprint. Once it opened, Meng Chuan followed him inside.

“You’re not going back?” Wen Zhongyi asked while changing his shoes.

“I’ll leave later,” Meng Chuan replied. While changing shoes, he noticed a new pair of men’s slippers on the rack and asked, “Had a friend over?”

Wen Zhongyi gave a noncommittal hum, took off his coat and hung it on the rack, then padded toward the balcony in slippers to draw the curtains.

The heavy drapes shut out the night, leaving the room in silence.

Wen Zhongyi went to boil water in the kitchen. Soon, the whir of the kettle sounded.

The house no longer felt barren as it had when Wen Zhongyi first arrived.

There was a vase on the table—made from a drink bottle, but the roses inside it were lively and blooming.

Next to the television, a bag stuffed with snacks. A thin blanket folded on the sofa suggested Wen Zhongyi often sat there; the blanket was small, likely just for his legs.

Meng Chuan looked around. Strangely, he didn’t feel repelled by the sense of having “invaded someone else’s nest”, rather, it gave him a weird sense of satisfaction.

As if all he had done was offer Wen Zhongyi a barren garden, and Wen Zhongyi had filled it with blooming flowers.

The water soon boiled. Wen Zhongyi added cool water to adjust the temperature, tested it, then brought the cup to the sofa.

Meng Chuan watched as he pulled out several bottles from the storage box under the coffee table, swallowed a few tablets with water, and chewed another directly.

“What are you taking?” Meng Chuan asked curiously.

Wen Zhongyi finished the water and replied, “Calcium and folic acid.”

Folic acid was mostly taken by pregnant women in early pregnancy, if Meng Chuan had any medical knowledge, he might have caught on.

Unfortunately, he didn’t. He assumed it was just vitamins, nodded, and didn’t press.

After taking the medicine, Wen Zhongyi rinsed the cup and, as usual, went to warm some milk.

Meng Chuan lounged casually on the sofa. Every time he came over, he did nothing—but still didn’t want to leave.

The milk let off warm steam. Meng Chuan was actually a little thirsty, but knowing Wen Zhongyi wouldn’t offer him anything, he cleared his throat and asked, “Got any spare cups?”

“There are paper cups,” Wen Zhongyi said, cradling the milk.

“Let me use one.”

“There.” Wen Zhongyi nodded, signaling him to help himself.

Meng Chuan was used to his blunt tone, went to grab a paper cup, and poured himself some water.

Wen Zhongyi ignored him. His phone vibrated with new messages.

They were from the dessert shop owner, asking if he wanted to reserve some chestnut pastries. If he wanted, they could hold a portion for him tomorrow.

Because of how popular they were, each person was limited to six.

Wen Zhongyi replied: “Sure, I’ll reserve six. Thank you.”

Jiang Ye: “What time will you come pick them up?”

Wen Zhongyi thought a moment, then typed: “Around 6 p.m.”

Jiang Ye: “Alright, see you tomorrow.”

Wen Zhongyi: “Mm.”

He was typing with his head down, unaware that Meng Chuan was craning his neck to sneak a peek.

The screen reflected faintly, and Meng Chuan caught a glimpse of “see you tomorrow.” He asked, “Who’s that?”

Wen Zhongyi looked up and frowned. “Who said you could look at my phone?”

Meng Chuan tried to make an excuse. “Well, your screen’s so bright, I saw it by accident.”

Wen Zhongyi turned off the screen and sneered, “How very accidental of you.”

“Who is it?” Meng Chuan asked again.

Wen Zhongyi drained the milk, licked his lips, and said, “None of your business.”

Meng Chuan was about to respond, but his attention was suddenly caught by Wen Zhongyi’s pale-pink lips.

There was still a bead of white liquid clinging to them—not yet licked clean. Under the light, it looked vaguely suggestive. Meng Chuan couldn’t tear his gaze away.

Because of a subtle shift in emotion, the bitter coffee scent of his pheromones suddenly grew dense. Wen Zhongyi looked up in confusion and met his eyes.

Meng Chuan snapped back to reality and stammered, “Wh-what is it…”

Wen Zhongyi touched his gland, now faintly warm from the influence, and frowned. He stared at Meng Chuan suspiciously. “What were you thinking about?”