POTINS 31

Thanks to Meng Chuan’s care, Wen Zhongyi didn’t find this snowstorm particularly hard to endure.

He spent his days at home reading books, doing exercises, watering the plants, and occasionally, when the mood struck him, standing by the window to watch the heavy snow outside.

Meng Chuan, on the other hand, was out early and back late every day. He had many things to deal with. Although Wen Zhongyi never pried into his work, he could always catch bits and pieces through financial news reports.

Watching the suited-up Meng Chuan on the news, Wen Zhongyi couldn’t help but recall the blood-soaked Meng Chuan on the battlefield.

Meng Chuan made a fine CEO, no less impressive than when he had been a soldier, but he seemed a bit more at ease as a soldier.

Wen Zhongyi had once loved the feeling of fighting side by side with Meng Chuan—no need to look back, no need for any reservations. He could entrust his back to Meng Chuan without hesitation.

No one fit him better.

Of course, they had their disagreements too.

At his core, Meng Chuan was someone who resisted authority. Military training had worn down some of his temper, but he still retained his wild and unruly nature.

Wen Zhongyi had seen that in him early on.

When Meng Chuan had just joined the assault team, he was very much like he was now—somewhat childish, a bit arrogant. With no family in Sanka, he had no concerns holding him back. He was fiercer than the others, and also harder to manage.

He’d probably studied some military strategy, but not well enough to understand it—he always acted without considering consequences, focusing only on immediate gains.

As the commander of the combat team, Wen Zhongyi had a much broader perspective and had to think ahead.

Because of this, the two of them had quarreled more than a few times.

The most intense time, Meng Chuan slammed the table and argued with Wen Zhongyi. Wen Zhongyi didn’t go easy on him—when words didn’t work, he got physical.

Though Meng Chuan was arrogant, he wasn’t completely undisciplined. He endured several punches from Wen Zhongyi, face full of defiance.

After beating him up, Wen Zhongyi threw him in confinement and didn’t let him participate in that operation.

Later, events proved Wen Zhongyi’s decision right, the raid was a great success, and casualties were minimal.

Afterwards, Meng Chuan came to apologize with a thick-skinned grin, but Wen Zhongyi shut the door in his face.

He didn’t dare disturb him again, just squatted outside the command room, fiddling with little stones for ages.

When Wen Zhongyi came out, he saw the words “I’m sorry” clumsily spelled out on the ground in crooked little rocks.

He was going to kick it, but hesitated half a second before stepping over it with a cold face.

Wen Zhongyi couldn’t teach Meng Chuan. War would.

That wasn’t a training ground—it was a real battlefield with live ammo. No victory came easily. There was always blood and sacrifice.

Those who survived had to learn to accept loss, betrayal, and pain.

Meng Chuan’s growth surprised Wen Zhongyi.

It was as if the scars weren’t just on his body—they had pierced through his flesh and etched into the depths of his soul.

Those tumultuous years weren’t worth romanticizing, because Wen Zhongyi had lost much too. What he missed was the Meng Chuan who had both blood and reason in equal measure.

Then he thought of how this morning, before heading out, Meng Chuan had made him breakfast, washed fruit, and mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors until they sparkled.

He might be silly and immature, but not completely useless.

At the very least, once he’d learned the truth, he treated Wen Zhongyi well—no longer lashing out at him like before.

That evening, Meng Chuan returned from work with a bag of groceries. As soon as he stepped into the entryway, he froze.

The entire living room was filled with the rich aroma of meat broth. The table was set with bowls, chopsticks, and a plate of tomato scrambled eggs. The range hood in the kitchen was still humming, and white mist fogged up the glass windows.

It was freezing cold outside, but the place felt full of warmth—like home.

Hearing the door, Wen Zhongyi poked his head out of the kitchen and said, “Don’t just stand there—go wash your hands and come get the soup.”

“Oh, okay.” Meng Chuan snapped out of it like waking from a dream, washed his hands, and came into the kitchen to ladle out two bowls of broth.

He had planned to cook for Wen Zhongyi after coming home. He never expected Wen Zhongyi would take the initiative to cook.

Had the sun risen from the west today?

The soup was steaming hot. Meng Chuan gulped it down and went to get a second bowl.

Wen Zhongyi asked, “Is it good?”

“Really good.” Meng Chuan nodded enthusiastically, scooping half a plate of tomato scrambled eggs along with the rice. He couldn’t really taste the tomato, but his heart felt strangely satisfied. Smiling, he asked Wen Zhongyi, “What made you want to cook today?”

Wen Zhongyi looked up through the drifting steam. “I was bored, so I did it.”

Meng Chuan took another bite, his eyes glued to him. “Don’t do it again. You’re pregnant. Too much oil smoke isn’t good for the baby.”

“Got it,” Wen Zhongyi said.

After a moment, Meng Chuan asked shyly, “Did you used to cook for me before?”

Wen Zhongyi glanced at him. “Yeah, I did.”

“Was it this rich too?”

Wen Zhongyi paused a second. “You think this is rich?”

Back then, when the mood struck, he made much more than this.

Meng Chuan had been feeling cheerful, but now he suddenly felt a bit awkward. “You were really good to me back then.”

Wen Zhongyi countered, “Am I treating you badly now?”

Meng Chuan lowered his head and muttered, “…Not really.”

Wen Zhongyi put down his chopsticks. “Then hurry up and eat. Don’t leave any.”

“Okay.”

_____

Ji Shu noticed Meng Chuan had been acting strange lately.

Every time he called to hang out, Meng Chuan claimed he was busy. Even when they finally managed to have a meal together, he kept staring at his phone, completely distracted.

After catching Meng Chuan glancing at his screen for the Nth time, Ji Shu couldn’t help asking, “Who are you waiting to hear from?”

Meng Chuan showed no panic at being caught. He calmly locked his screen and said, “No one. Just checking.”

“There’s something off about you.”

Meng Chuan ignored him. Ji Shu leaned in and lowered his voice. “Stop pretending. Is it that person I saw at your place that morning?”

“Since when are you this nosy? Don’t block me.” Meng Chuan lifted his elbow to shove Ji Shu aside and casually picked up another bite of food.

Ji Shu glared. “Wow. Hiding someone at home and not telling your bros? Real nice.”

Their whispering started annoying the others at the table.

“What are you two whispering about? Come on, spill it so we can hear too.”

Everyone at the table had grown up together, so they were all close and spoke freely.

But if you had to rank their closeness, Ji Shu and Meng Chuan were the tightest.

It wasn’t that Meng Chuan didn’t want to tell Ji Shu the truth.

The thing was, last time they talked about Wen Zhongyi, he had made all kinds of bold claims about having a solid plan. Then just a few days later—boom—suddenly he had a wife and a kid.

Try explaining that to Ji Shu. He probably wouldn’t even believe it—just laugh and call him a dumbass who planned so hard he planned himself into it.

Wen Zhongyi calling him a dumbass was fine—at least it stayed behind closed doors. But he couldn’t lose face in front of others.

By the end of the meal, Meng Chuan still hadn’t gotten a message from Wen Zhongyi.

Everyone else had either been called away by their partners or had other things to do and left early—even Ji Shu got called home by Ji Ying.

Only Meng Chuan was left sitting there, holding his phone with an awkward look on his face.

Back in the quiet, spacious living room, Wen Zhongyi was curled up on the couch reading. When he heard the door, he looked up. “You’re back?”

“Yeah,” Meng Chuan said.

Wen Zhongyi picked up on the mood in his voice and closed his book. “What’s wrong?”

Meng Chuan silently took off his shoes and coat, practically broadcasting I’m upset on his face.

Wen Zhongyi couldn’t help laughing. “Who got on your nerves?”

Meng Chuan glanced at him, hesitated for a few seconds, then finally muttered in an awkward tone, “Why didn’t you message or call me?”

“Hm?” Wen Zhongyi didn’t understand. “Didn’t you say you were eating out tonight and I didn’t need to wait?”

He had assumed Meng Chuan wouldn’t be home for dinner, so he handled it himself. After eating, he had just stayed on the couch reading until Meng Chuan came back.

“What’s up with you?” Wen Zhongyi didn’t get what kind of tantrum he was throwing.

Meng Chuan stared at him for a while, then turned his head and sulked, “Everyone else got a call… only I didn’t.”

Wen Zhongyi needed two seconds to register the implication—then couldn’t help laughing, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “So that’s what you’re upset about?”

Meng Chuan insisted, “It’s not like I really care that much.”

Wen Zhongyi almost laughed. “I just thought it was still early. If you hadn’t come home in another half hour, I would’ve called you.”

Meng Chuan’s expression softened. “Really?”

“Really.” Wen Zhongyi couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.

He realized that Meng Chuan had become truly childish—getting worked up over something so trivial.

Meng Chuan, clearly comforted, cheered up and walked over to the coat rack. He fished something out of his overcoat pocket and said mysteriously, “Guess what I brought you.”

Wen Zhongyi played along. “Chestnut pastries?”

“Wrong!” Meng Chuan grinned as he unwrapped a plastic bag and took out a square takeout box filled with small cakes.

He wasn’t much for sweets himself, but Ji Shu had mentioned these cakes tasted pretty good. Meng Chuan figured Wen Zhongyi would like them, so before leaving, he asked the waiter for another set to take home.

Wen Zhongyi was already quite full from dinner and couldn’t eat much more. He took only one.

After finishing the cake, he walked a couple of laps around the living room to help digest.

Having been home for so long, Wen Zhongyi felt like his limbs had gone stiff.

He strolled slowly, rubbing his belly, feeling a bit regretful as he thought about the abs he used to have—they were gone now. He wondered if he could get them back after giving birth.

Before bed, Meng Chuan, as usual, brought him a cup of hot milk, then massaged him with a warm compress.

Every time Wen Zhongyi showed signs of sleepiness, Meng Chuan would quickly turn off the lights, then stay squatting by the bed, saying he wanted to massage a little longer—but in truth, he was just waiting for Wen Zhongyi to fall asleep so he could sneakily touch his belly.

Wen Zhongyi had pretended to be asleep many times before, occasionally jerking slightly to startle Meng Chuan—he found it pretty amusing.

But that night, Meng Chuan was unexpectedly bold. Even after Wen Zhongyi moved, he didn’t pull his hand away, as if convinced Wen Zhongyi wouldn’t wake up.

“…”

Wen Zhongyi held back for a while, but couldn’t keep up the act anymore. He opened his lips slightly and mumbled like he was talking in his sleep, “What are you doing here…”

As expected, Meng Chuan jumped in fright and quickly withdrew his hand, peering at him in the dark with suspicion.

Wen Zhongyi rolled over in time, turning his back to Meng Chuan—denying him further access to his belly.

With no choice, Meng Chuan carefully tucked the blanket around him and tiptoed out of the room.

Once the snow piled up on the roads began to melt, Meng Chuan drove Wen Zhongyi to the hospital for a prenatal check-up.

It was the same private hospital, the same doctor.

The doctor must have done a lot of mental preparation to accept the idea of a pregnant man. By now, he could smile at them with ease.

Wen Zhongyi lay on the exam bed, lifting his shirt to reveal his slightly rounded belly.

Even though Meng Chuan had secretly touched it many times late at night, seeing the pregnancy bump this clearly still made him freeze for a moment.

The doctor applied gel to Wen Zhongyi’s belly, pressed the probe to it, and the fetal image immediately appeared on the screen.

Unlike the vague blob from two months ago, the three-month-old fetus already had a clearly defined head and body.

As Meng Chuan put it, “Finally starting to look like a person.”

Wen Zhongyi turned his head toward the screen. The tiny child looked like it was sleeping peacefully inside his belly—quiet and well-behaved.

He stared without blinking, unable to look away.

The doctor carefully examined the fetus’s head, neck, and abdomen, then nodded. “The baby is developing well. No issues.”

Three months was just the right time for the NT scan, an important screening for Down syndrome.

Fortunately, this child’s NT measurement was within the normal range.

Meng Chuan was visibly excited, pointing at the screen and firing off questions. Wen Zhongyi just listened quietly, not saying a word.

Meng Chuan glanced down at him and saw him dazedly staring at the screen. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“I was wondering about the baby’s gender,” Wen Zhongyi replied.

Meng Chuan blinked, then turned to the doctor. “Can you tell the gender yet?”

Although the fetus’s external genitalia had begun forming, it was still too small, and the doctor couldn’t give a definite answer.

Meng Chuan turned to Wen Zhongyi. “Do you want a boy or a girl?”

“Either is fine,” Wen Zhongyi said.

But what he was really wondering wasn’t about being a boy or girl—it was the child’s secondary gender.

In their world, differentiation usually occurred around age ten, triggered by a high fever, after which the child’s true secondary gender would be determined.

Wen Zhongyi had once thought any outcome would be fine, but now he hoped the child wouldn’t differentiate into an alpha or omega. It would be best if they were just a perfectly ordinary beta, like everyone else in this world.

He couldn’t be sure if only he and Meng Chuan had glands. If that were the case, and the child turned out to be an alpha or omega, their susceptibility period or heat would cause endless trouble in the future.

He looked at the tiny figure on the screen and, in that moment, hoped with all his heart that this child would be a healthy, happy beta.

After leaving the hospital, Meng Chuan took Wen Zhongyi to a high-end restaurant.

Wen Zhongyi ordered a few dishes. Looking up and seeing Meng Chuan typing on his phone, he asked casually, “Who are you chatting with?”

“Oh?” Meng Chuan looked up with a grin mid-text, teasing, “Starting to check in on me already?”

“…” Wen Zhongyi was speechless.

Meng Chuan explained of his own accord, “I’m talking to Ji Shu. He asked where I am.”

Then, as if to prove it, he held up his phone to show Wen Zhongyi. Wen Zhongyi didn’t bother to look and turned his head away. “Take it away, take it away.”

The stormy weather had passed. The next day, Wen Zhongyi had to go to work at the bookstore.

Meng Chuan tried to talk him out of it the whole night, to no avail. In the end, he could only helplessly drive him there himself.

On the way, Meng Chuan was still nagging. “In this cold weather, wouldn’t it be better to stay home? Why do you have to go to that lousy job? How much can you even make?”

Wen Zhongyi snorted. “Why do you care how much I make? I want to work because I enjoy it.”

Meng Chuan said, “First time I’ve heard of someone actually enjoying work.”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t respond. He loosened the scarf around his neck and turned to look out the window.

He wanted to work at the bookstore simply because staying home alone was too stifling. Comfortable, yes—but after too long, it got annoying.

Meng Chuan dropped him off at the bookstore entrance and told him, “Lunch will be delivered. In the afternoon, I’ll send a driver to take you to the library.”

He’d already figured out Wen Zhongyi’s routine: work in the morning, study in the afternoon. Even pregnant, he could spend a full six hours in the library—like a clockwork machine.

Wen Zhongyi refused, “No need to pick me up. I can get a taxi.”

Meng Chuan ignored him, waved, and drove off.

New Year’s Day arrived. Wen Zhongyi had thought the library wouldn’t be crowded, but when he got there, it was packed.

The three-day holiday felt more like a battle for college students. After the break came exam week. Yang Jiaran had been cramming day and night for three straight days, to the point of near collapse, leaving Wen Zhongyi thoroughly impressed.

“In my next life, I swear I won’t major in law again…” Yang Jiaran gasped out what sounded like a last confession, then slumped over the desk and pretended to die.

But five minutes later, he revived and resumed his desperate cramming.

The reading room was way too noisy, so Wen Zhongyi left after a short while.

After finishing his memorization, Yang Jiaran went upstairs to find Wen Zhongyi and sat across from him.

The college entrance exam material here was vastly different from what Wen Zhongyi had learned in Sanka. He had to start from the first year of high school, but luckily he was quick to grasp concepts and didn’t find the material too difficult.

Wen Zhongyi was watching online lectures with focus and didn’t notice Yang Jiaran signaling to him with his eyes.

Only when a notification popped up on his phone did Wen Zhongyi glance up.

Yang Jiaran: Look behind you!

Wen Zhongyi read the message, turned in confusion, and froze when he saw Meng Chuan.

Meng Chuan was lounging at an empty desk, fingers interlaced on the tabletop, long legs crossed, looking relaxed and lazy as he raised an eyebrow at Wen Zhongyi with a grin.

Everyone around them was busy with their own tasks. Only Meng Chuan sat there with nothing in front of him, clearly not here to study.

Wen Zhongyi’s lips moved slightly but he said nothing. After watching for a moment, he turned his head and went back to his lecture.

Still, the stare from behind was so obvious he didn’t even need to turn around to know Meng Chuan was looking at him the entire time.

Why is he here? Wen Zhongyi couldn’t help but lose focus for a second.

Meng Chuan was asking himself the same question. What had gotten into him? He finally had a day off—he could’ve relaxed properly, yet here he was, looking for Wen Zhongyi.

He had never liked studying. The number of times he’d stepped into a library could be counted on one hand. Five minutes inside and he’d be itching to leave.

But this time, he didn’t leave.

Not only did he stay, he even went to the nearby shelf and grabbed a book to pretend to read—just to avoid looking completely idle.

Wen Zhongyi finished a lecture, removed his headphones, rubbed his neck, and glanced behind him.

There, the energetic Meng Chuan from half an hour ago was now slumped over the desk, sound asleep, a book tucked under his arm.

Wen Zhongyi had expected nothing less from him and gave a helpless smile.

He’d planned to wake him up at lunch, but someone soon came over and kicked Meng Chuan out—he hadn’t reserved a seat.

Still half-asleep, Meng Chuan stood up, shoved the half-open The Red and the Black back onto the shelf, and wandered around looking for a seat. Failing to find one, he left in defeat.

At lunch, the three of them ate together. Meng Chuan had a membership card for the fifth floor of the cafeteria and booked a private room.

This time, Yang Jiaran consciously kept some distance from Wen Zhongyi and didn’t lean too close.

Meng Chuan found him much more pleasing to the eye and waved generously. “Order whatever you want, my treat.”

Yang Jiaran held the menu in awe and looked at Wen Zhongyi. “Really? Anything?”

“Go ahead,” Wen Zhongyi said with a smile.

And so Yang Jiaran enjoyed the best meal he’d ever had in the cafeteria since enrolling.

He even witnessed the entire process of Meng Chuan peeling shrimp—pinching off the head and tail, removing the vein, then placing the meat on Wen Zhongyi’s plate.

Wen Zhongyi only had to eat—everything else, Meng Chuan handled automatically.

Yang Jiaran snuck glances at the two for a while, then lowered his head and couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

Wen Zhongyi looked at the mountain of shrimp piling up in front of him and said, “That’s too much. I can’t finish it.”

He picked up his chopsticks to give some to Yang Jiaran, but Yang Jiaran quickly shielded his plate and shook his head. “You eat! I’ll peel my own.”

No way he’d dare eat shrimp peeled by Meng Chuan.

Sure enough, sitting diagonally from Yang Jiaran, Meng Chuan nodded with satisfaction and gave him an approving look.

Wen Zhongyi then turned and pushed the plate toward Meng Chuan, letting him handle the leftovers. Then he tilted his chin toward the fruit platter and said, “I want an orange.”

He could’ve easily reached it himself but didn’t, his meaning was clear.

Meng Chuan peeled the orange for him, thought for a moment, then tossed a whole one over to Yang Jiaran.

After eating the orange, Wen Zhongyi rubbed his belly—a habitual gesture by now.

He asked, “You full?”

Yang Jiaran nodded like a pecking chick. “Full, full.”

Not just his stomach, even his shipper’s soul was satisfied.

Yang Jiaran had once worried whether Meng Chuan, having lost his memory, would still treat Wen Zhongyi well. But now, that fear felt unnecessary.

Meng Chuan had only lost his memory—not his personality. He was still the same person. Falling in love with Wen Zhongyi again wasn’t out of the question at all.

After New Year’s, Meng Chuan had to leave town for a business trip. He told Wen Zhongyi over dinner.

Wen Zhongyi paused with his chopsticks and asked, “When are you leaving?”

“Day after tomorrow,” Meng Chuan replied.

“Can’t you leave a few days later?”

“Oh? You’ll miss me?” Meng Chuan grinned and winked. “How about you act cute for me, maybe I’ll go soft and stay?”

Wen Zhongyi gave him a look like he was crazy. “Who would miss you.”

“See? Still acting tough.”

“…” Wen Zhongyi rolled his eyes silently and muttered, “Idiot.”

It didn’t take long for Meng Chuan to figure out why Wen Zhongyi had asked him to delay the trip.

The next evening, Wen Zhongyi got a call from Meng Chuan while at the library.

He took a cab home. The moment he stepped through the door, he smelled the sharp, almost choking scent of bitter coffee pheromones.

Meng Chuan wasn’t in the living room, nor in the guest room.

Wen Zhongyi stopped in front of the master bedroom door. He braced himself, held his breath slightly, and turned the doorknob.