CTS 46

Shen Mo really did sleep well that night.

When he woke up the next morning, the man was still asleep on the sofa. One leg was propped up, the other hanging down to the floor. The blanket only covered him up to the waist, and his shirt was all wrinkled. Shen Mo then noticed he hadn’t changed into pajamas and had just made do like that for the night.

Afraid of waking him, Shen Mo tiptoed into the kitchen. His right hand still hadn’t fully healed, so he wasn’t very dexterous, but he still managed to cook two bowls of noodles. By the time he brought the noodles to the table, the man had already gotten up, washed up, and was on the phone asking someone to bring over a change of clothes.

Shen Mo sat at the table and waited. After hanging up, the man joined him and began eating.

While eating, Shen Mo asked, “Does it taste good?”

The man glanced up briefly, expressionless. “It’s alright.”

But he finished the bowl in just a few bites.

Shen Mo couldn’t explain why, but that made him really happy.

The man was indeed busy with work. After finishing breakfast and changing clothes, he went straight to the office. But every time Shen Mo had a follow-up appointment, he always showed up on time. At first, he only stayed the night on those days, but when he realized Shen Mo still had nightmares almost every night, he began staying more often.

The small sofa in the living room was soon replaced with a sofa bed. Sometimes, the man would sit there working, and he had two assistants who helped him regularly. They both called him Mr. Ji. Shen Mo didn’t really understand what that title meant, nor could he tell the two assistants apart. But it didn’t matter. Only his Zhou Yang was special.

He often sat quietly beside him, just watching his handsome side profile made him feel safe.

As for the matter of sleeping in separate rooms, Shen Mo had protested many times, but every time the man brushed it off with reasons like “You’re still recovering” or “I’m too busy with work.” Eventually, when Shen Mo became too persistent, the man simply said, “What if I can’t get it up?”

Shen Mo had no choice but to retreat in defeat.

With the man accompanying him every night, the nightmares became less frequent. He ate well, slept well, even gained a little weight, and his right hand gradually healed.

Shen Mo began thinking about going back to work. He had already secured a position with a company related to art, but had to delay due to his hand injury.

Thankfully, he could still draw.

It was the only thing he was good at.

His art supplies had been unused for a long time. They were tucked away in a cabinet and covered in dust. That day, after the man left for work, Shen Mo pulled everything out to clean and organize. He thought about what to draw.

At first, he wanted to draw Zhou Yang. But for some reason, Zhou Yang’s face always seemed shrouded in mist in his memory, blurry and indistinct.

Forget it, Shen Mo thought. He could just wait until Zhou Yang got back and ask him to pose as a model.

After thinking for a while, Shen Mo finally decided to draw the sofa bed in the living room. He hummed as he prepared his tools. Everything felt calm and pleasant, until he gripped the pencil.

His healed right hand suddenly flared with sharp pain. His grip loosened, and the pencil fell to the floor.

Shen Mo quickly bent down to pick it up, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t grasp the pencil. His fingers throbbed as if they were going to shatter. Gritting his teeth, flashes of images suddenly ran through his mind.

He was pinned to the ground. A man with a scarred face stomped on his hand, grinding down hard while laughing and saying something.

Then the image shifted to a hospital ward. A stranger was speaking to him, saying similar things, and telling him that his right hand was seriously injured. It might leave lasting damage that could affect his daily life.

What exactly had happened?

How did his hand get injured?

Shen Mo collapsed to the floor in confusion, curling up from the pain in his right hand. After a few breaths, he still tried to grip the pencil again. The moment he did, his fingers began trembling uncontrollably.

The pain was unbearable.

He could only let go and try again, over and over. Eventually, he gave up on this pointless act altogether.

He still couldn’t remember anything clearly, but deep down, he knew that he would never be able to draw again.

Shen Mo lay on the floor for a long time. Long enough that the sun had already set. Then, the sound of the door opening came from outside.

Zhou Yang had come back.

Shen Mo finally gathered a bit of strength and scrambled up, hurriedly trying to clean up. He didn’t want Zhou Yang to know what had happened. But just halfway through cleaning, the familiar figure was already standing at the doorway.

The man glanced around and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, I… I was just tidying up.”

Shen Mo hugged the art supplies to his chest, trying to stuff them back into the cabinet all at once. But in his panic, he bumped into the table. Everything he was holding spilled onto the floor.

A total mess.

Paintbrushes scattered across the ground.

Shen Mo panicked, afraid Zhou Yang would notice something. He bent down and used his left hand to pick them up one by one, thinking that once he picked up the last one, he would never touch them again. His head remained lowered, and his movements grew slower and slower. When he finally reached for the last brush, the man suddenly stepped on it.

Shen Mo froze, unsure whether he should keep reaching for it.

Then the man reached out and gently pinched Shen Mo’s chin, forcing him to lift his head.

Their eyes met, and something fierce flickered in the man’s expression.

Shen Mo felt confused. “What’s wrong?”

The man didn’t speak. He just looked at him.

Shen Mo suddenly had a feeling. He reached up to touch his own face and felt that it was wet and cold.