POTINS 24

Seeing that Wen Zhongyi had finished a glass of water, Meng Chuan got up and poured him another.

“Colonel Wen, don’t stay thirsty,” Meng Chuan said with a beaming smile.

There wasn’t the slightest trace of respect in the way he said the title, it sounded more like teasing.

Wen Zhongyi gave a low snort through his nose. His fingers touched the cup, then quickly let go. He frowned slightly, barely noticeably, and said critically, “It’s a bit cold. Add some hot water.”

Meng Chuan picked up the cup and tested the temperature, raising an eyebrow. “Cold? It’s pretty warm, isn’t it?”

Wen Zhongyi shook his head. “Not drinking it.”

Meng Chuan stared at him for two seconds, then let out a helpless laugh. “Alright, alright, you won’t drink it. I’ll go add hot water.”

He soon brought the cup back over. Wen Zhongyi took a sip this time and didn’t say anything.

The lights in the living room had been on for a while. Wen Zhongyi spoke up to the point where the war had ended, then stopped and checked the time. “That’s all for now.”

Meng Chuan still had a lot he wanted to ask, but seeing the weariness in Wen Zhongyi’s expression, he swallowed his words and said, “Okay.”

Wen Zhongyi stood up, and his body suddenly swayed.

“What’s wrong?” Meng Chuan startled and rushed over to catch him.

Wen Zhongyi shut his eyes tightly. Only when the dizziness faded did he slowly exhale and open his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Meng Chuan didn’t let go, afraid he’d sway again and fall. “You got up too fast. Next time, take it slow.”

“Mm,” Wen Zhongyi replied, shifting his arm slightly. Meng Chuan took the hint and released him.

It was late, time for Wen Zhongyi to rest.

Before he could say anything, Meng Chuan jumped in: “Just let me stay over.”

He spoke like it was only natural. “What if you feel unwell in the middle of the night, or something unexpected happens? It’s better if I’m here to look after you.”

“You? Take care of me?” Wen Zhongyi looked at him, unconvinced.

If it were the old Meng Chuan, maybe that line would’ve been believable. But this current Meng Chuan? Wen Zhongyi had doubts.

“Yeah! Why that face?” Meng Chuan, feeling his abilities being questioned, declared with confidence, “I can definitely take good care of you, trust me. Either way, no matter what you say, I’m not leaving. I’m staying tonight.”

With that, he dropped all pretense of caution, plopped down on the couch like he owned the place, and planted himself there with a look of “come hell or high water, I’m not leaving”—like a total rascal.

Wen Zhongyi gave a short laugh. “Suit yourself.”

In truth, he didn’t mind Meng Chuan staying. Having someone to order around wasn’t so bad.

This was the first time Wen Zhongyi didn’t outright kick Meng Chuan out. Meng Chuan had prepared for a fight, if hard didn’t work, he’d try soft—but hadn’t expected such a quick agreement, and was momentarily stunned.

Wen Zhongyi went into the bedroom, grabbed a bathrobe, and said before heading into the bathroom, “Sleep in the living room or the guest room.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to take care of you if we shared a room?” Meng Chuan proposed reasonably.

“Not necessary,” Wen Zhongyi replied, shooting him a distrustful look full of implication. “And I don’t want anything like last time happening again.”

Meng Chuan: “……”

Even if it had been his susceptible period that made him so handsy, facts were facts.

After hearing everything about the past, Meng Chuan couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of disconnection, like he’d been listening to someone else’s story. It was hard to believe that the man who’d charged across battlefields and taken a bullet for Wen Zhongyi was really him.

He hadn’t just lost four years of memory and feelings, but also the growth and experiences that came with them.

War changed people—it honed their temperament and taught them lessons life never could.

The Meng Chuan who had risen to Captain after three years of combat was fundamentally the same man as the current pampered, naive version of himself, but they were also different.

The biggest difference? That Meng Chuan had truly loved Wen Zhongyi. The current one was simply acting out of instinct.

After Wen Zhongyi went into the bathroom, Meng Chuan wandered around the apartment.

He had lived here for two years, after all, he was familiar with every corner and detail.

Every room bore traces of Wen Zhongyi’s presence. He was a bit of a neat freak, everything had to be put back exactly where it came from. Still, Meng Chuan noticed the changes.

For example, the study’s books had been completely reorganized.

No surprise, given Wen Zhongyi worked at a bookstore. The classification was detailed and meticulous. Meng Chuan couldn’t quite remember how the study used to be, but it had never been this orderly.

After browsing for a while, he went to the storage room, pulled out spare toiletries and bedding, and started making the bed in the guest room next to Wen Zhongyi’s.

The sound of running water from the bathroom finally stopped.

Wen Zhongyi stepped out, hair dried, wrapped in a thick bathrobe.

He padded out in slippers, the robe covering him from head to toe, only revealing a pair of long, clean legs.

The guest room door was slightly ajar. Meng Chuan was bending over, changing the bed sheets, when a pair of legs suddenly entered his field of vision, catching him off guard.

Wen Zhongyi stood at the doorway, his freshly washed face framed by sharp, defined features, glowing faintly under the light—so stunning it was almost unreal.

Meng Chuan straightened up, staring directly at him, all his attention focused on those opening and closing lips.

His lips are really red, Meng Chuan thought at the worst possible moment.

After Wen Zhongyi finished speaking, he noticed the other had no reaction at all, dazed for some reason.

He knocked on the doorframe and said in irritation, “Did you even hear what I just said?”

“Huh?” Meng Chuan snapped back to his senses, blinked, and swallowed. “What did you say?”

“…” Wen Zhongyi gave him an annoyed glare. “I said, when you take a shower, don’t splash water on the floor outside. If you do, wipe it dry. Got it?”

“Got it,” Meng Chuan replied, trying to act composed.

The quiet night amplified every small sound. Wen Zhongyi lay in bed, and from the bedroom he heard the “click” of a door closing next door, followed by faint footsteps outside.

Meng Chuan had probably gone to take a shower.

Wen Zhongyi stared at the dark ceiling, his eyes blinking silently.

The sound of running water came from the bathroom for a while, then stopped, but the door didn’t open for a long time.

After a while, the water started again.

Wen Zhongyi, already half-asleep, turned over drowsily when he heard it. He was used to sleeping on only one side of the bed, leaving the other half empty.

Moonlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, casting a soft beam on Wen Zhongyi’s profile, making it look tender. He seemed to be dreaming something nice, his lips curved slightly in a faint smile.

The next morning.

Wen Zhongyi woke up after nine.

It was Saturday, no work, so he let himself sleep in.

Just as he closed his eyes again, a clattering noise came from outside.

A question mark slowly popped up over his head.

His first reaction was that someone had broken in. Only after a few seconds of returning clarity did he remember, Meng Chuan was in the house.

This realization made Wen Zhongyi pause slightly.

In the kitchen, Meng Chuan tossed a burnt vegetable-egg pancake into the trash and started over.

It was his first time using an electric griddle, and he messed it up the first time. But he learned from the failure and made a flawless second one.

Meng Chuan was quite pleased. To preserve the illusion of competence, he bent down to tie up the trash bag, intending to discreetly dispose of the evidence. But when he turned around—

He met Wen Zhongyi’s pitch-black gaze.

“Shit!”

Meng Chuan froze in place like he’d been struck by lightning, his face a picture of shock. “When did you get up—no, why do you walk so quietly? You scared me!”

Wen Zhongyi, dressed in soft, clean pajamas, leaned against the kitchen doorway, a little groggy from just waking up. He asked in a mildly scolding tone, “Why are you making noise?”

Meng Chuan’s throat tightened at that lazy, raspy voice. He tried to keep cool and scratched his ear, saying, “I was making breakfast. Just finished, was about to call you.”

“Oh.” Wen Zhongyi didn’t even notice the trash bag in his hand. “Is there warm milk?”

“There is.”

Wen Zhongyi nodded in satisfaction and turned to leave, padding silently away in his cotton slippers and heading to the bathroom.

Meng Chuan: “…”

Now he didn’t just think Wen Zhongyi ate like a cat, he even walked like one.

By the time Wen Zhongyi finished washing up, Meng Chuan had already disposed of the incriminating trash downstairs.

The vegetable-egg pancake was made following an online recipe—supposedly rich in vitamins and good for pregnant people.

But Wen Zhongyi frowned at the sight of it and said, “I don’t eat carrots.”

“Huh?” Meng Chuan was caught completely off guard. “You’re a picky eater?”

“I don’t want to try it,” Wen Zhongyi said, not even glancing at the carrots.

He never forced himself to eat things he disliked. He just picked up the milk and took a sip, then said listlessly, “You eat it. I’m not that hungry, I’ll just wait for lunch.”

Meng Chuan clicked his tongue. “What did carrots ever do to you to make you hate them so much?”

He’d put in so much effort, and Wen Zhongyi wouldn’t even take one bite, it was a little discouraging. Trying to coax him, Meng Chuan said, “Close your eyes and pretend it’s not carrot.”

“…”

Wen Zhongyi gave him a look like he was an idiot. As Meng Chuan opened his mouth to persuade him again, Wen Zhongyi turned his head away and said, “You never forced me to eat things I didn’t like before.”

He said it calmly, without much expression on his face—no trace of blame, just stating a fact.

But Meng Chuan’s heart suddenly twisted, a dull ache spreading in his chest. He fell silent, then said lightly, “Okay, then don’t eat it. What do you want? I’ll make something else.”

So Meng Chuan made a new pancake without carrots for Wen Zhongyi and ate the carrot-filled one himself.

As they ate, Meng Chuan asked, “Are there other things you don’t like?”

“A lot,” Wen Zhongyi said.

He was a very picky eater. If something didn’t suit his taste, he wouldn’t even touch it.

As Meng Chuan listened, he thought, No wonder he’s so obsessed with creamy mushroom soup and chestnut puffs, there probably aren’t many things he’ll actually eat.

After Wen Zhongyi finished listing the foods he didn’t like, he looked at Meng Chuan across the table. “Did you remember all that?”

Meng Chuan nodded guiltily. “Mm-hm, I did.”

Wen Zhongyi: “Repeat it.”

Meng Chuan, a pancake in his mouth, looked up blankly. “Huh?”

Wen Zhongyi said patiently, “I said, repeat what I just told you.”