Chapter 55 – Rather You Were

It had been too long since Li Tang had let himself cry with such abandon, stirring every emotion within him. His body reacted with alarm, the intensity of his sobs triggering palpitations and dizziness. He couldn’t stop trembling, even the simplest act of removing his glasses became a struggle. Jiang Lou took hold of his hand, helping him take off his glasses and place them on the table. He urged Li Tang to stop crying, covering his mouth and nose to help him breathe slowly.

But Li Tang was beyond caring.

Eventually, even his ears began to ring, and Li Tang could neither see nor hear clearly. Desperate, he resorted to scratching at his numb skin, relying on physical pain to confirm his consciousness.

A voice called out to him, “Li Tang…it’s not your fault…don’t hurt yourself…”

That faintly discernible voice was the thread holding onto his last shred of sanity. Li Tang wanted to break free, to descend alone, but the grip on his wrist was firm, preventing any movement.

He still couldn’t understand, how could someone be so foolish?

Killing demands retribution, it’s the natural order of things. Why won’t you let me die? Why do you say “I’m sorry”?

Time passed in a haze, and Li Tang’s consciousness drifted, returning to the layered story once more.

This time, the cottage at the foot of the mountain wasn’t lit, everything enveloped in darkness, a frozen snowscape that shouldn’t have appeared in the southern city, even in deep winter.

Inside the cottage, the chill was bone-piercing. Following the sole source of light, it came from a butterfly.

Yet, the butterfly was grievously wounded, its tattered wings drooping in the cage, the faint glow emanating from its body growing weaker.

The cage door stood open, fresh nectar placed beside it, but the butterfly’s life was fading rapidly, lacking the strength to lift its wings again.

A drop fell onto the butterfly’s body, followed by another.

They weren’t water, they were tears.

Tears shed by a boy.

The boy stood before the cage, looking down at the dying butterfly, cracks spider-webbing through the ice in his eyes.

No, not spider webs.

Stepping back, further back, until the whole figure of the boy was visible, it became clear that he was ensnared in a vast web, covering him from head to toe. The mesh was so fine, it seemed to block even the slightest breath of air.

When oxygen ran out, unable to breathe, the boy would perish alongside the butterfly.

Upon waking, Li Tang found his breath uneven, noticing first that his IV-dripped hand was warmly enclosed.

Jiang Lou stood by the bed, a towel in his other hand, gently wiping away the sweat from Li Tang’s forehead and neck.

“Woke up?”

Seeing Li Tang open his eyes, he didn’t show any excess emotion, as if Li Tang hadn’t fainted but simply awakened from sleep.

Thus, even though familiar scents and surroundings confirmed he was in a hospital, Li Tang didn’t tense up as he did in the past. Instead, he exhaled softly.

For his “resurrection,” for not seeing the story’s conclusion yet.

Just as he sat up to drink some water, the normally quiet hospital corridor stirred with commotion.

Friends who had attended the wedding arrived in a flurry, eager to visit the patient but stopped by the on-duty nurse citing the need for rest and recovery.

After checking his temperature and pulse, confirming all vital signs were stable, two representatives were allowed to enter the ward.

Li Zichu rushed in, “Let me see him!”

Li Tang lacked the strength, allowing himself to be turned over like a pancake under Li Zichu’s scrutiny, feeling somewhat uneasy. Fortunately, Jiang Lou didn’t disturb them, stepping outside the ward instead. Su Qinhan approached hesitantly, her face full of apology. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have said anything, I didn’t expect such a strong reaction from you…”

Li Tang shook his head, saying it was alright.

Even he hadn’t anticipated ending up in the hospital.

He asked Li Zichu, “Why did you hide it from me before?”

“Because you’re too soft-hearted,” sighed Li Zichu. “Who knows if he’s setting up some scheme, playing the victim card?”

Li Tang replied, “He wouldn’t do that.”

Li Zichu snorted, “A leopard can’t change its spots, unless he signs a contract like he does with business deals.”

Li Tang understood his concern, appreciating his goodwill, but the matter between him and Jiang Lou was complex, far from being explained in a few sentences.

So Li Tang pondered, “Then later, I’ll ask him if he can write one.”

Li Zichu was shocked, struggling to imagine Jiang Lou drafting such a document.

His stance and attitude unwavering, Li Zichu kept a stern face. “Even then, it can’t be written casually, I’ll have to scrutinize it word by word, just like reviewing a contract.”

Hearing that even the bride and groom had come, Li Tang tried to get out of bed to apologize to them. But Li Zichu pushed him back down.

Su Qinhan made a video call to Sun Yuxiang outside, Li Tang sent his wedding wishes to the couple on the phone. Bride Li Yuanyuan smiled, saying, “I’m relieved to see you’re alright.”

Groom Sun Yuxiang, flushed with happiness, said, “We’ll make up for the meal you missed next time we’re in Xucheng, just for you.”

Li Tang agreed, “Okay.”

As people came and went, after the nurse removed the IV, the ward returned to tranquility.

Initially planning to stay and care for him, Li Zichu was convinced by Li Tang’s reassurance, “There’s surveillance in the ward, no one will harm me.” He also persuaded Jiang Lou to go back, but Jiang Lou seemed to ignore him, leaving and returning in less than five minutes with toothbrushes, towels, and other daily necessities.

Li Tang left him to it, closing his eyes to rest further.

Although he couldn’t sleep at all.

Annoyed at his acute hearing for once, he could distinctly hear the sound of Jiang Lou removing his coat and placing it on the chair, changing the water in the bedside cup, and the deliberate softness of his footsteps.

And the vibration of a cell phone.

Just as Li Tang was about to sit up, Jiang Lou gestured for him to remain lying down. Turning around, he picked up his coat, weighing it in his hands, retrieving the vibrating phone from the pocket.

Taking the phone from Jiang Lou, Li Tang saw the caller’s name, pausing momentarily.

Whether Jiang Lou noticed or pretended not to, he turned and walked outside, leaving space for Li Tang.

Moistening his slightly dry lips, Li Tang answered the call.

He didn’t know how to address the person on the other end, not knowing for seven years, so he remained silent after answering.

Fortunately, the person spoke first, “I heard you were hospitalized, what happened, are you unwell anywhere?”

“No…” Li Tang told a harmless lie, “Maybe I’ve just been working too hard recently.”

Hearing his weak voice but clear mind, Zhang Zhaoyue sighed in relief. “Don’t push yourself too hard at work, nothing is more important than your health.”

Zhang Zhaoyue usually only sent text messages, not making calls. Li Tang guessed she learned about his hospitalization from Li Zichu, possibly asking Li Zichu to bring soup, during which Li Zichu mentioned it.

Not that he didn’t appreciate Zhang Zhaoyue’s efforts over the years. When he studied abroad, she accompanied him through the first half year. She was the only elder who cared for him, showing warmth and concern. Even after the twenty-year agreement had long passed, she continued to play the role of a mother, filling the void in an essential position in Li Tang’s growth.

So even when she deliberately distanced herself, believing Li Tang shared her guilt and didn’t deserve happiness, Li Tang cherished her kindness, never harboring any resentment.

But now, Li Tang felt a bit resentful towards her.

“You should call him,” Li Tang said, “He needs more care than I do.”

Zhang Zhaoyue knew whom he referred to, “Both of you are my children, I—”

“Why didn’t you treat him better when I asked you to?”

Li Tang’s nose tingled, for his unfulfilled “last words,” for his previous assumption that Jiang Lou was living well.

How could there be so many people, unaware of the inhuman suffering he endured?

When Jiang Lou returned to the ward, Li Tang had already hung up the phone.

Glancing at the time, it was nearly time for medication, so he refilled the cup with hot water.

Taking the medicine from Jiang Lou, Li Tang noticed the pill had been split in half. Memories flashed back to that year after the sports meet, when he had a fever, barely able to speak, lamenting that the pill was too large to swallow. Jiang Lou, expressionless as if finding it troublesome, still patiently, wiped his hands with a wet wipe, breaking the pill in half.

And many times treating his wounds, even after they’d just had a cold war or a “breakup,” his actions were always gentle and tender.

Actions spoke louder than words, it was always so with him.

After taking the medicine, Jiang Lou asked if he was hungry. Li Tang said he was a little, so Jiang Lou turned around, pulling a snack from a supermarket bag.

Li Tang looked down at the “cat ears” on the packaging, feeling disoriented, unsure of the passage of time.

No wonder he felt like Jiang Lou was a brother.

Li Tang’s appetite was poor, eating only out of necessity to sustain life, so he was satisfied after a few bites.

Before lying down again, Li Tang thought for a moment, asking, “Are you tired?”

Jiang Lou said, “A little.”

Li Tang suspected he was mimicking him, but without proof, he could only say, “Do you want to go back and sleep for a while?”

Jiang Lou said, “I won’t go back.”

Li Tang nodded, meaning he was free to do as he pleased.

No one was more independent or decisive than Jiang Lou, never controlled by others, only doing what he truly wanted.

So Li Tang watched as Jiang Lou moved the folding bed from the bedside, unfolded it, and lay down fully dressed.

He could somewhat understand why Jiang Lou didn’t share the bed with him, as it was too narrow for Li Tang to even turn over.

But this was a double room, with an empty bed beside him.

Li Tang turned his face, blinking his eyes.

Beside him, Jiang Lou blinked slowly as well.

Eyelashes thick like wings, pupils deep as the sea, reminding Li Tang of the butterfly in his dream, and the weeping boy.

Distracted for a moment, Jiang Lou seized the opportunity.

“Sleep.”

With that, Jiang Lou removed his hearing aid from his left ear, placing it on the bedside table next to Li Tang’s glasses.

Now, Li Tang couldn’t sleep even more.

Despite the calming effects of the medication he’d just taken, similar to most sleeping pills.

He guessed the person beside him wasn’t asleep either, so he coughed dryly. Indeed, the person was awake, reaching over to lightly touch the back of his hand, checking his body temperature.

“Shouldn’t you know by now?” At this point, Li Tang spoke, “I’m not your younger brother.”

This question might be inappropriate, but Li Tang pondered and concluded that there was no perfect timing for it.

He guessed that over the years, Zhang Zhaoyue should have mentioned it to Jiang Lou. If unfortunately not, then he would clarify it today.

Li Tang continued, “So you don’t have to feel guilty toward me, nor do you have to bear an unfulfilled sense of responsibility.”

He began to empathize with Jiang Lou’s conflicted feelings back then. Whether hatred or reluctance, who could bear such a burden toward their own flesh and blood sibling?

But Jiang Lou said, “I wish you were my younger brother.”

It’s often said that people’s thoughts and views evolve with age. For instance, at ten, one craves play, dreaming of scoring a hundred points without effort. At twenty, hormones surge, seeking romantic love. By thirty, maturity sets in, desiring a job to support life and a lighted window upon returning home each day.

Jiang Lou was different. Before nineteen, he only wanted to survive, wanting to escape the dark wasteland, frequently pondering where tuition fees for the next semester would come from, and what to do when there was no money for food.

Between nineteen and twenty, he briefly left the harsh reality, tasting love through countless smiles directed at him and tears shed for him. It was the first and only time he harbored unrealistic fantasies, wishing he wasn’t his brother, hoping there weren’t insurmountable mountains separating them.

Later, his wish came true, but the mirage collapsed overnight, revealed as an illusion.

From twenty onwards until now, he returned to the wasteland, reaffirming the truth—that nothing in this world is eternal, everything would eventually be lost.

The world taught him to adapt to loss prematurely, but didn’t teach him how to face a regained person.

Only now, cautiously testing the waters, inching closer step by step.

Even hearing his delirious words when he fainted, saying, “This is hell, you shouldn’t be here.”

And, “Let me pay the price…so I don’t owe you anymore.”

There was no room for rebuttal.

Therefore—

“I wish, you were my biological younger brother.” Jiang Lou turned to look at Li Tang, sketching his features in the dim light, “Sharing the same blood, bones connected by tendons, even if you don’t want to see me, you can’t change the established fact of our blood relationship.”

“Thus, wherever you go, I can find you, I can rightfully guard you.”

“If anyone asks, I’ll say, we depend on each other, we belong together.”