POTINS 12

Yang Jiaran showed up carrying two big bags of snacks.

Wen Zhongyi looked a little surprised and asked, “Why’d you buy so much?”

“You promised to attend the lecture for me, and I said I’d treat you to a big meal. But you keep dodging dinner, so I had to bring it to you instead.”

He’d bought all kinds of things, mostly sweets. The two of them had known each other for a while now, and Yang Jiaran had already figured out Wen Zhongyi’s taste.

Wen Zhongyi poured him a glass of water, helped him unload the bags, and smiled. “Why be so polite with me? This must’ve cost a lot.”

“Who’s being polite? I’m eating with you.”

Yang Jiaran gulped down the water, then looked around the place and exclaimed, “This apartment’s huge!”

Since he seemed interested, Wen Zhongyi went ahead and gave him a tour of every room.

Yang Jiaran kept gasping like someone who’d never seen the world. When he turned and saw Wen Zhongyi’s calm expression, he finally seemed to realize something. His face turned serious. “Hey, tell me the truth.”

Wen Zhongyi blinked. “About what?”

“This place is actually yours, isn’t it?” Yang Jiaran said.

Wen Zhongyi replied, “It really isn’t.”

“Don’t lie. I’m not stupid.”

Yang Jiaran’s tone shifted from questioning to certain, like he’d uncovered some big secret. He lowered his voice. “You’re actually a rich heir, right? But you had a falling-out with your family, got kicked out to experience real life, had all your documents confiscated, so now you’re broke and forced to live in shady motels—am I right?”

Wen Zhongyi sat down on the couch, smiling as he shook his head. “You’ve really got a talent for making up stories.”

“I’m being serious.” Yang Jiaran sat cross-legged beside him, getting more and more convinced. He sighed in realization. “No wonder I thought you were different the moment I saw you—your vibe’s nothing like other people’s. I even wondered if you were a celebrity or something, just couldn’t remember where I’d seen you… mmph.”

Wen Zhongyi opened a bag of popcorn and stuffed a handful into his mouth. “Enough already. I’m really not some rich heir.” He was in Sanka, but not here.

Yang Jiaran puffed up his cheeks, looking understanding. He blinked and said, “It’s okay, I get it. You’ve got your reasons.” That’s how it always went in novels.

Wen Zhongyi gave up trying to argue. He sighed and said helplessly, “…Sure, whatever you say.”

They snacked while watching a movie, Yang Jiaran’s pick. It was a sci-fi film, full of wild ideas.

“You think parallel universes really exist?” Yang Jiaran asked.

The glow of the screen reflected in Wen Zhongyi’s eyes as he calmly said, “They do.”

“You sound sure.” Yang Jiaran crunched a chip. “I think they exist too, but current science can’t fully prove it yet.”

Wen Zhongyi slowly nibbled on a chip without replying.

The parallel universe depicted in the movie made him think of his days in Sanka.

He thought of his father and dad.

He had considered going back.

On many sleepless nights when he was tormented by longing and morning sickness, he’d asked himself that question.

He’d come here because of a car crash. So, would he need to use the same method to return?

Maybe Meng Chuan knew the correct way to cross time and space. But in the current situation, even if he asked, Meng Chuan would just think he was talking nonsense.

If only time machines were real, Wen Zhongyi thought as he watched the movie.

After the movie ended, Yang Jiaran hung around a little while longer, then left.

As usual, Wen Zhongyi heated up a glass of milk. After washing up, he sat on the bed with a book. He’d already finished the chapters on early pregnancy and had made many notes in the margins.

The bookstore was running a promotion lately, and he’d picked up a few other books as well.

Wen Zhongyi once dreamed of becoming an architect, but that goal didn’t suit the turbulent times he lived in.

After entering military school, most of his time was spent training. Only in rare moments of free time would he pick up architecture books to read.

There were many parts he didn’t understand, but nothing he couldn’t manage. He watched explanatory videos to help him learn. By now, he’d grasped quite a few principles. Just the basics—but he found it interesting.

The childhood dream that hadn’t come true in Sanka was showing signs of rekindling here.

Maybe it was time to plan for the future, Wen Zhongyi thought. He couldn’t stay a temp worker at the bookstore forever.

In the second half of the night, it rained lightly. The ache in his knees kept him from sleeping well, and he woke up early.

He used a hot water bottle to warm his knees, then sat on the bed and stared out at the rain.

The rain came and went over the next three days, and the air had already taken on the biting chill of early winter.

Meng Chuan returned home on a sunny afternoon after the rain.

Zhou Lu was tending to the flowers in the garden. She held a few freshly picked roses and asked Meng Chuan to bring her a vase.

“Come smell this, son,” Zhou Lu said, holding the flowers out to him. “They bloomed the best this year. I almost couldn’t bear to pick them.”

Meng Chuan leaned in for a sniff and nodded with exaggerated approval. “They smell great!”

Zhou Lu beamed with joy. She arranged the flowers carefully in the vase and said, “Put them in the living room.”

Meng Chuan took the vase and asked, “Where’s Dad?”

“Playing chess with your Uncle Ji.” Zhou Lu continued trimming the plants. “Xiao Shu’s here too. We’ll have dinner together tonight.”

Meng Chuan entered the house holding the vase, gave a pat to the golden retriever wagging its tail at him, then greeted the two men playing chess.

“Dad, Uncle Ji. I’m back.”

His dad was deep in thought over the chessboard and didn’t respond. Uncle Ji smiled at him. “You’re back, Xiao Chuan.”

“Been waiting for you forever.” Ji Shu sat up from the couch and jerked his chin toward upstairs. “Wanna game?”

“Let me sit down first.” Meng Chuan set the vase on the table, shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the coat rack, then plopped down beside Ji Shu, grabbing two grapes to pop into his mouth.

The golden retriever was lying at their feet. Meng Chuan looked at Ji Shu and said, “You sure have a lot of free time, coming here just to game with me.”

“I’m not like you. I just hold a placeholder job at the company.” Ji Shu grinned.

They’d grown up together, and their families often collaborated in business. Ji Shu’s family was in medical equipment. He had an older sister who handled most of the company affairs, so he only had to run errands or go on the occasional business trip for her.

As an only child, Meng Chuan was honestly jealous.

They grabbed the grapes and headed upstairs. Since Meng Chuan didn’t come home often, his room didn’t have much stuff. They both sat cross-legged on the carpet, each grabbing a game controller.

They’d been playing this game since middle school—no matter how many times they played, it never got old.

Ji Shu lit a cigarette and handed one to Meng Chuan. The room quickly filled with smoke, which drifted out through the half-open window.

Meng Chuan operated the controller smoothly, pinning Ji Shu’s character to the ground and beating the crap out of it.

“Damn,” Ji Shu couldn’t fight back and lost the round pathetically. “You’ve still got it. Four years without playing and you’re still this good.”

Meng Chuan smiled, set down the controller, and took a sip of water. “The mind forgets, the body remembers.”

Even though he hadn’t played in ages, once he held the controller, the muscle memory came rushing back like instinct.

Meng Chuan fell quiet for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.

Ji Shu started a new round and asked, as if suddenly remembering something, “Hey, what happened with that guy you ran into outside the hotel? Find anything out?”

“Nope.” Meng Chuan sounded frustrated. “Couldn’t dig up anything.”

“There’s someone even you can’t dig up?” Ji Shu whistled. “What’s his deal? Could he be someone from a rival company sent to get close to you?”

Meng Chuan let out a small, dismissive laugh. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Tch.” Ji Shu clicked his tongue. “But he’s the only one so far who says he knows what happened to you these past four years. Don’t you think that’s weird? The cops and private investigators couldn’t find a single clue, but he somehow knows? And he’s not even telling you the truth. Have you gotten anything useful out of him at all?”

Meng Chuan stared at the cartoon avatar on screen and slowly shook his head. “He made up some stories at first. Later on, he wouldn’t even talk to me.”

While he was distracted, Ji Shu quickly turned the tables and pummeled his character to the ground, laughing smugly. “I’m telling you, just stop dealing with him. I told you from the start, he’s not up to anything good.”

Meng Chuan didn’t respond, just watched his character get KO’d. He leaned against the edge of the bed. The cigarette in his hand was burning out, and ash fell neatly into the crystal ashtray.

“Honestly, I think whether or not you’ve lost your memory doesn’t really matter,” Ji Shu said, popping a grape into his mouth. “Everyone went crazy looking for you those four years, but at least you came back safe. As for what happened during that time, if you really can’t remember, then just move on. Focus on living well now and in the future.”

He patted Meng Chuan’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.

Ji Shu was a carefree person—never one to dwell. When he ran into problems he couldn’t solve, his first instinct was to give up. So he thought obsessing over lost memories wasn’t worth it.

Meng Chuan stubbed out his cigarette. After a moment, he said, “It does matter.”

“Huh?”

Ji Shu blinked, not quite catching it. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Meng Chuan ran a hand through his hair, frowning, as if he himself didn’t fully understand. He thought for a moment and said, “What if it’s something really important?”

What if he had forgotten something—or someone—that mattered deeply? He couldn’t yet assess the value of that missing time, but he wasn’t ready to give up on it.

“I want to remember,” Meng Chuan said.

The hospital treatments hadn’t helped at all. The only possible way to recover his memory was through Wen Zhongyi.

Ji Shu shrugged. “Whatever. Knock yourself out, just don’t get taken for a ride.”

Meng Chuan gave a short “mm,” then restarted the game. This time he stayed focused, quickly knocking Ji Shu’s character flat. “You’re as bad as ever.”

“Damn it, I’m done.” Ji Shu had had enough losses and tossed the controller on the carpet. He flopped back against the bed. “So, what’s your plan with this guy?”

Meng Chuan said, “Play it by ear.”

“How much do you know about him?”

Meng Chuan thought about it. Even though they hadn’t spent that much time together recently, he’d already picked up quite a lot about Wen Zhongyi.

“He likes rose-scented perfume. Looks a bit thin. Bossy. Likes chestnut pastries. Hates cigarette smoke. Gets bad motion sickness. Average cooking skills.” Meng Chuan also recalled Wen Zhongyi’s long, elegant fingers as he peeled an apple. For some reason, that image stuck with him. He added, “His fingers are long—very pretty.”

“…What?” Ji Shu sat up, eyes wide in disbelief. “Who asked you all that?”

Meng Chuan stared at him blankly. “That’s what I know about him right now.”

“…”

Ji Shu’s mouth twitched. “Don’t you think all of that is way too personal? I meant info like his ID or where he lives.”

“I know his name. And his address,” Meng Chuan said honestly. “Don’t know anything else.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Ji Shu gave him a thumbs-up, looking exasperated. “You didn’t find out anything important, but you’ve got all the useless stuff down pat. If I didn’t know you were straight, I’d think you had a thing for him.”

Meng Chuan scoffed. “How could I like a guy?”

Ji Shu snorted. “You better not.”

A while later, Zhou Lu’s voice called from downstairs for them to come eat.

Meng Chuan stood up and pulled Ji Shu up too. They packed up the console, and Ji Shu asked, “What’s his name?”

“Wen Zhongyi.”

“Where does he live?”

Meng Chuan shot him a look. “Why do you want to know?”

“So I can check him out for you.”

“No need. Don’t have anyone tail him,” Meng Chuan said.

Ji Shu was about to reply when Meng Chuan added, “He lives at Hushang.”

“Hushang?” Ji Shu frowned. “Didn’t you use to live there too?”

Meng Chuan nodded. “Yeah, I gave him my apartment.”

“…”

Ji Shu was stunned. He seriously thought Meng Chuan needed to get his brain checked.

“Seriously, what were you thinking?” Ji Shu asked, full of question marks. “Why would you give him your place?”

“He had nowhere to stay and asked me for help,” Meng Chuan said like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“So you just handed over your own place?” Ji Shu let out a dry laugh and mocked, “Why don’t you go start a charity? Open up a shelter. Hand out houses to anyone who needs one. That way, the rival companies don’t even need to bother toppling Huanyu—it’ll collapse on its own in a few years.”

“It’s not that bad. Huanyu won’t go under that easily.” Meng Chuan still had the energy to argue, and then added indifferently, “It’s just one apartment. I wasn’t living there anyway. It was sitting empty.”

Ji Shu looked like he wanted to keep going, but Meng Chuan cut him off, annoyed. “Why are you so naggy? I’ve got my own plan. Butt out.”