CTS 55

Shen Mo woke the next morning in a warm embrace. He didn’t know how he had fallen asleep, but at some point during the night, he had rolled back into the man’s arms.

The man had woken earlier than him. He leaned down and kissed the top of Shen Mo’s head. “I have to work some overtime the next two days. But I get Saturday off. I’ll take you out somewhere.”

Saturday was Shen Mo’s birthday.

Something stirred inside him, but he said nothing as he lay quietly in the man’s arms.

Then the man said, “Do you remember a painting you once did? It was of the kind of home you dreamed of having.”

Shen Mo gave a distracted reply. “Did I? I don’t remember.”

That kind of themed piece was probably an assignment from school. Even Shen Mo couldn’t recall it clearly. How could anyone else remember?

But the man wrapped his arms gently around him and said with certainty, “You did. I remember it clearly.”

His chest was pressed against Shen Mo’s back. Their heartbeats seemed to sync together as one.

Shen Mo nearly let himself be swept away by the warmth. But after the man left for work, he still got up, washed up, and went to the hospital. He sought out his regular doctor. After some checks, the results showed that his condition was stable, though he still needed to continue taking his medication.

Shen Mo asked carefully, “If someone has this illness… is it possible for them to mistake someone for someone else?”

The doctor answered cautiously, “Someone who’s suffered severe psychological trauma may choose to block things out. They might forget events or people. As for mistaking someone for someone else, it really depends on the case.”

Hearing this, Shen Mo already had a guess in his heart.

He had definitely lost part of his memory. But what had happened that made him forget Zhou Yang’s face? What had happened that made it possible he could mistake a stranger for Zhou Yang?

The most direct way to confirm was to ask the man himself. But the man had been working late the past few days, leaving early and coming home late. Shen Mo hadn’t even seen his face.

It wasn’t until Friday night that he finally came home early. As soon as he walked in, he asked, “Should we order a cake for tomorrow?”

Still thinking about his birthday.

Shen Mo shook his head. “No need. I’ll just cook a few more dishes.”

He looked at the man’s face and asked on purpose, “What kind of dishes do you like?”

The man didn’t think much of it and casually listed a few.

Shen Mo quietly compared the names of the dishes in his mind. They weren’t the ones Zhou Yang used to like. The truth was already staring him in the face, yet he hesitated. He didn’t have the courage to expose it just yet.

The man had compressed several days of work into one to make time for Shen Mo’s birthday. Even now, he still wasn’t done. He took out his laptop again and began sending emails.

Shen Mo sat quietly beside him and watched. Just like on so many nights before, he stared at the man’s profile, thinking about how to compose that unfinished painting.

But he never got the chance to draw it.

A dull ache settled in Shen Mo’s chest. At last, he called out softly, “Zhou Yang.”

The man paused, lifting his head slowly. He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at Shen Mo — those dark eyes clear and cold, like a winter night heavy with snow, cutting straight into Shen Mo’s heart.

It felt like a cold hand had reached into his chest and gripped his heart. The pain radiated through his bones. Shen Mo heard himself speak, voice dry and hoarse. “You’re not Zhou Yang.”

The man still said nothing.

The living room was utterly silent. Only the ticking of the clock on the wall filled the air. Shen Mo had never realized how slowly time could pass. After a long moment, the man closed his laptop, loosened his tie, and said calmly, “That’s right. I’m not.”

Shen Mo had been preparing himself for this, but even so, his ears rang, and his thoughts scattered. It took him a long time to come back to his senses.

The man stood from the sofa and stepped in front of him. “Shen Mo?”

He reached out to touch his face.

Shen Mo flinched instinctively and stepped back.

The man’s hand froze in midair before slowly falling back.

Shen Mo looked up and asked, “If you’re not Zhou Yang, then why pretend to be him?”

“I pretended?” The man let out a low laugh, as if amused. “Wasn’t it you who mistook me from the start?”

Shen Mo had no response. It was true. From the very beginning, he had been the one to see Zhou Yang in this man. He even vaguely remembered the man denying it at first. But what sense does a sick mind have?

“You could’ve just left me to fend for myself. Or, if you were being kind, sent me to the hospital. Why stay and act like Zhou Yang?”

The man took Shen Mo’s hand. His right hand had healed, but some faint scars remained. The man brushed over them gently and said, “At first, I was worried you’d starve in that apartment. So I dropped by now and then. Then I realized how stubborn and difficult you were. That made it even harder to walk away. And then…”

Shen Mo asked, “And then what?”

The man brought Shen Mo’s hand to his lips, holding it there as if kissing it. His eyes fixed on Shen Mo. “You really don’t know why I stayed by your side?”

Something stirred in Shen Mo’s heart. He whispered, “Don’t say it…”

But the man leaned in and kissed him, softly murmuring, “Because I like you, Shen Mo.”