POTINS 23

Meng Chuan took a deep breath, still hearing Wen Zhongyi’s words echoing in his mind. He realized he simply couldn’t comprehend the sentence. In a softer voice, he asked tentatively, “Are you joking with me?”

“Joke your ass.” Wen Zhongyi, despite the pain, was as sharp-tongued as ever. “Believe it or not, just focus on driving.”

Meng Chuan stepped on the gas and drove through the intersection. His palms were sweating on the steering wheel. He was barely holding it together, the car was going slow, but his thoughts were racing at 180 miles per hour.

He’d thought last night that the scariest thing was realizing he might like men.

Turned out there was something even scarier.

A man getting pregnant?

Was this still Earth?

Wen Zhongyi had no idea what was going through Meng Chuan’s head. To avoid another sudden brake that might throw him off the seat, he braced against the seat and slowly sat up.

The rest of the ride passed in silence.

After nearly taking two wrong turns, Meng Chuan finally got them to the private hospital safely.

He pulled into a parking spot, yanked the handbrake, unbuckled his seatbelt, and forced himself to calm down before saying, “We’re here.”

Wen Zhongyi was still in intense pain and didn’t move.

Meng Chuan got out, leaned in, and carefully lifted him out of the car. He instinctively looked down at Wen Zhongyi’s abdomen.

With clothes in the way, nothing was visible.

To be honest, Meng Chuan didn’t quite believe it.

After all, Wen Zhongyi often said things that were off the wall, Meng Chuan was used to his bizarre way of talking.

But Wen Zhongyi’s expression and tone had been so serious, so serious that Meng Chuan couldn’t help but start considering the possibility of male pregnancy.

He’d been thinking about it the entire ride, and couldn’t make sense of it no matter how hard he tried.

This just wasn’t something the human brain was built to understand.

Carrying Wen Zhongyi into the outpatient clinic, Meng Chuan drew quite a few stares.

Wen Zhongyi didn’t like being looked at like that. He buried his face in Meng Chuan’s chest and mumbled, “Put me down.”

“Can you walk?” Meng Chuan didn’t let go and looked down at him. Wen Zhongyi’s face was pale, but the tips of his ears were tinged red.

“I can.” Wen Zhongyi shifted slightly and urged, “Hurry up.”

Meng Chuan had no choice but to put him down.

This was a very high-end private hospital, with far better facilities and privacy than most.

Meng Chuan came here often, many of the doctors and nurses recognized him.

A duty nurse came over warmly and asked Wen Zhongyi what was wrong.

“His stomach hurts.” Meng Chuan held onto Wen Zhongyi with one hand, rubbed his forehead with the other, and tried to find a way to say it without sounding insane. “Uh… this might sound unbelievable, but…”

Just then, a familiar voice called from behind: “Meng Chuan?”

Meng Chuan turned and saw who it was. He blinked, then let out a relieved breath. “Sis.”

Ji Ying was wearing a white coat and high heels, her makeup flawless and elegant.

She smiled at Meng Chuan, then looked at Wen Zhongyi, clearly in discomfort, and raised her brows slightly. “What’s going on?”

Wen Zhongyi, seated, looked up and immediately recognized her as the woman who’d been so familiar with Meng Chuan that night.

He’d thought she was a blind date. Turns out, she was his sister.

It had been too dark to see clearly before, but now he could.

Ji Ying’s features resembled Ji Shu’s a lot. And that high schooler who used to come to the bookstore to copy homework—clearly all siblings.

Meng Chuan pulled Ji Ying aside and whispered, “He’s a friend of mine. His stomach really hurts. He wants to get an ultrasound… in the obstetrics department.”

Ji Ying thought she’d misheard. “Ultrasound in OB? But he’s a man.”

“He is. But…” Meng Chuan trailed off, then said, “I can’t really explain. Let’s just get him checked first.”

Ji Ying frowned suspiciously, but trusted him enough not to ask further. She gave a few instructions to the nurse, who soon brought over a wheelchair and pushed Wen Zhongyi into the exam room.

At this point, it was clear—this private hospital belonged to Ji Ying.

The Ji family was in the medical equipment business. Ji Ying owned several private hospitals. She didn’t often come to this one, but today she had business here and happened to run into them.

Meng Chuan wheeled Wen Zhongyi into the ultrasound room. The doctor glanced at the patient, clearly a man, and was momentarily stunned. “He’s here for the scan?”

“Yeah.” Meng Chuan helped Wen Zhongyi onto the exam bed.

He wasn’t completely calm, but tried to act composed. “Please take care of him.”

There was no one else in the room. Meng Chuan stayed, watching closely.

The doctor, clearly seasoned, didn’t ask much. He asked Wen Zhongyi to lift his shirt and applied the gel to his lower abdomen.

Wen Zhongyi’s stomach still hurt. The cold gel made him flinch. Meng Chuan said, “Don’t be nervous. Just relax.”

But judging by the look on his face, Meng Chuan was the one who needed to relax.

Aside from his pale face and furrowed brows, Wen Zhongyi showed little emotion.

The ultrasound probe pressed against his skin, cold and slippery. Wen Zhongyi endured the pain and shifted his gaze to the black-and-white screen.

Meng Chuan stared too. Moments later, he murmured in shock, “What’s that?”

The doctor’s calm face cracked slightly. “…Gestational sac.”

Not just a gestational sac. There was also an embryo and fetal heartbeat. Even with all his experience, the doctor had never seen these things appear in a man’s body.

Meng Chuan looked dazed. He half understood, half didn’t.

Logic told him this was impossible. But the ultrasound image was right there in front of him.

Of course, one possibility was that the machine was broken. Or the doctor was incompetent.

Clearly the doctor had the same doubts. He scanned several more times before confirming it wasn’t a mistake.

The results showed that the fetus in Wen Zhongyi’s womb was 8 weeks old, very healthy, and without abnormalities.

Wen Zhongyi let out a breath of relief. “Good.”

After the ultrasound, he underwent further tests.

The final diagnosis was acute gastroenteritis.

He’d eaten just two bites of an egg-stuffed flatbread and immediately took cephalosporin, which had irritated his stomach and triggered a relapse of his old illness. His panic had made him mistake it for a problem with the pregnancy.

Knowing the baby was fine, Wen Zhongyi visibly relaxed.

A nurse wheeled him to the lobby for an IV drip, and Meng Chuan went to the pharmacy to get the rest of his medication.

Ji Ying was sitting on a bench near the pharmacy, finishing a phone call. When she saw Meng Chuan, she stood and asked, “What did the exam say?”

Meng Chuan clutched the test reports. Knowing he couldn’t hide it, he handed the papers over expressionlessly.

Ji Ying read them, and her eyes widened.

Facing her stunned expression, Meng Chuan rubbed his temples, exhausted. “Don’t ask me. I want to know too.”

“This is insane.” Ji Ying pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to process it. “If this gets out, it’ll shake the entire medical world… no, the entire world.”

“It can’t get out,” Meng Chuan said seriously.

“Don’t worry.” Ji Ying handed the reports back. She understood his concerns and reassured him firmly, “No one will hear about this.”

Her word carried weight. Meng Chuan said, “Thanks, sis,” and was about to go find Wen Zhongyi when she stopped him.

“Is the baby yours?”

Meng Chuan instinctively denied it. “No.”

“Not yours?” Ji Ying was even more surprised. “Then what’s your relationship?”

Meng Chuan pressed his lips together and didn’t know how to describe it. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated?” Ji Ying raised an eyebrow. Her gaze dropped to the bite mark on his lower lip, a spot he clearly couldn’t have bitten himself.

Thinking about his usual flippant behavior, she figured he’d just gotten carried away and was now scared to admit it. Her tone turned serious. “There’s nothing complicated about it. If it’s your kid, take responsibility. You’re not a child anymore.”

“…I’m still a virgin. What responsibility.” Meng Chuan was too tired to argue. He waved her off and quickened his pace.

Wen Zhongyi had finished the IV drip after half an hour. His stomach no longer hurt.

After all the commotion, his body was tired, but his complexion looked much better.

The nurse removed the needle and told him to press on the spot before leaving. Wen Zhongyi held the gauze against his hand and looked at Meng Chuan across from him.

Meng Chuan was flipping through the test reports again and again, so much that the paper was almost crumpled. He clearly still couldn’t process it.

If it had been the old Meng Chuan, he probably would’ve been overjoyed.

Wen Zhongyi told himself not to care about Meng Chuan’s reaction. But seeing him like this, he couldn’t help feeling a little hurt.

Meng Chuan looked up and met his gaze. Maybe he’d finally digested the reality, he no longer looked so lost. He asked, “Your stomach doesn’t hurt anymore?”

Wen Zhongyi nodded and said plainly, “I told you, I wasn’t lying.”

Meng Chuan had no words. He rubbed his face and let out a quiet sigh.

Wen Zhongyi really hadn’t lied to him. As Meng Chuan thought back to all the other outrageous things he’d said before, his heart began to waver.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask Wen Zhongyi, but this clearly wasn’t the place.

On the way home, Wen Zhongyi sat in the passenger seat with his eyes closed, resting.

Meng Chuan drove into the garage. He wanted badly to smoke a cigarette before going upstairs.

But after thinking for a moment, his hand loosened from the cigarette pack.

In the elevator, Meng Chuan stood behind Wen Zhongyi, silently gazing at him.

He was wearing an oversized sweater, hastily put on by Meng Chuan earlier, leaving a corner of his pajama collar exposed. He still had on pajama pants.

Despite the disheveled look, it didn’t seem out of place on Wen Zhongyi.

Unlike his pain-ridden, disoriented state from two hours ago, he had now regained his usual calm composure. His back was straight, his profile indifferent, and the line of his mouth betrayed no emotion at all.

It was hard to imagine he was carrying a child.

That thought stirred something in Meng Chuan, an indescribable feeling welling up from deep inside.

Now that he’d accepted the reality of Wen Zhongyi’s pregnancy, what he really wanted to know was, whose child was it?

Back home, Wen Zhongyi took off the sweater and changed into a clean set of pajamas in the bedroom.

He stayed inside for quite a while. Meng Chuan couldn’t sit still in the living room and went over to knock on the door. A voice came from inside: “Come in.”

Meng Chuan walked in and saw Wen Zhongyi tidying the bed.

He probably had some form of OCD—the quilt had to be folded perfectly, not a single wrinkle allowed on the sheets, and even the nightlight and water cup on the bedside table were lined up evenly.

Meng Chuan’s gaze couldn’t help drifting to his lower abdomen. Wen Zhongyi looked up and caught his hesitant expression. He asked, “What do you want to say?”

Meng Chuan stood by the door in silence for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, then asked quietly, “Whose child is it?”

Wen Zhongyi’s hands paused, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he asked, “Would you believe me if I told you?”

Meng Chuan thought for two seconds and nodded. “If you say it, I’ll believe it.”

His eyes no longer held suspicion or doubt—he simply looked at Wen Zhongyi, calm and steady, as if ready to accept whoever that person turned out to be.

But Wen Zhongyi still found it hard to say.

Admitting in front of Meng Chuan that the child was his felt absurd on every level.

He stayed silent for a long time. Meng Chuan didn’t push, just waited patiently.

Eventually, Wen Zhongyi said nothing. He put down the folded clothes, walked around the foot of the bed to the nightstand, and pulled open the bottom drawer.

Inside lay a ring, and a gun. Both were given to him by Meng Chuan.

In fact, Wen Zhongyi preferred the proposal ring over the wedding ring, but Meng Chuan had said it was too crude.

Back then, they were in a war zone, there wasn’t a jewelry store for miles. Meng Chuan had asked around and found an old craftsman who made a ring out of rare materials in a rush.

He’d had the ring ready for a long time but didn’t give it to him until after the war ended.

Later, Wen Zhongyi wore that ring with Meng Chuan when they attended the medal ceremony. In his heart, the ring was as precious as his medal.

But to match Meng Chuan’s wedding ring, he eventually switched to this one and carefully stored the proposal ring in a safe.

After arriving in this world, that ring existed only in his memory.

Meng Chuan clearly froze when he saw what Wen Zhongyi was holding. He asked, puzzled, “A ring?”

“Yes.” Wen Zhongyi held it in his palm and handed it to him.

Meng Chuan walked over, picked it up between his fingers. Under the bedroom light, it shimmered with a soft glow. Upon closer inspection, it looked exactly like the one he had lost.

His gaze drilled into the ring. His fingers trembled slightly, but his face still wore a forced calm. “So… this ring is a pair with the one I lost?”

Wen Zhongyi replied coldly, “You’ve got some nerve bringing that up.”

“…So that’s a yes.”

Meng Chuan took a deep breath and asked again, “The one who was in a relationship with me—was that you?”

Wen Zhongyi frowned and corrected his phrasing: “Not a relationship.”

Meng Chuan’s brain was fried. Everything in the past few days had gone completely beyond his understanding. He asked numbly, “Then what was it?”

Wen Zhongyi sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him. The light cloaked him, giving his eyes a touch of warmth.

Then Meng Chuan heard him say, slowly and clearly: “Marriage.”

“…”

Meng Chuan stood there, mouth hanging open, utterly dumbfounded.

This was even more ridiculous than finding out he might like men, or that men could get pregnant.

—He had once married a man. And that man was now pregnant with his child.

Thirty years of his worldview came crashing down in a single moment.

Either this world had gone insane, or he’d been cursed.

It took a long time, so long that Wen Zhongyi lost his patience and called his name—before Meng Chuan finally came back to himself, as if waking from a dream.

The shock hit so hard he could barely stand. He held onto the table and chair behind him, and in the silence, he could hear his own heart pounding out of control.

Wen Zhongyi had expected this reaction. He felt no surprise. He extended a hand and said, “Give me back the ring.”

Like a puppet on strings, Meng Chuan handed it back. His arm dropped to his side as he choked out, “…The child is mine?”

Wen Zhongyi tucked the ring away, his dark eyes locking on him. He countered, “Who else could it be?”

“….” Meng Chuan rubbed his face, unable to speak.

And at last, finally, he began to try to process what Wen Zhongyi had told him before.

—That four years ago, he’d crossed into a completely different world. One with six genders. That he’d met Wen Zhongyi there. That they got married. That Wen Zhongyi got pregnant with his child. Then he crossed back to this world—and lost all memory of those four years…

It was just too absurd.

If it had been anyone else saying this to him, Meng Chuan would’ve thought they were crazy, or trying to scam him.

After all, the only thing that proved their connection was a single ring.

But this person was Wen Zhongyi.

And Meng Chuan couldn’t explain his abnormal reactions to him—the instinctive concern, the compromise, the desire. Things he could never figure out before now suddenly had a reason.

His mind was a blank slate, but his body and emotions were still following old habits.

Yet no matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t remember.

Wen Zhongyi turned away and closed his eyes.

He had brought out the ring with a sliver of hope, that maybe Meng Chuan would recall something. But the result was clear. Meng Chuan’s eyes still held only confusion when he looked at him.

A faint pain seemed to shift from his stomach to his heart. Wen Zhongyi felt his emotions slipping out of control.

He wanted Meng Chuan to leave right now, to stop talking, to stop looking at him like that.

But Meng Chuan spoke again. He was still trying to hold on to some last shred of rational skepticism. His voice hoarse, he asked, “Do you have any other proof?”

“…What do you mean?”

Wen Zhongyi turned sharply, his face pale. “You don’t believe me?”

Seeing his reddened eyes, something in Meng Chuan’s chest twinged. He couldn’t bear to see him cry, so he said, “It’s not that I don’t believe you. I just… I just want to confirm it again. This whole thing is just too…”

He choked on the rest of the words, because Wen Zhongyi had pulled a gun from the drawer and aimed it at him.

Wen Zhongyi wasn’t listening anymore. His expression was icy, muscles tense. “Get out. Say one more word and I’ll shoot.”

Meng Chuan stared at the dark muzzle, stunned. His first thought was that it had to be a toy.

He didn’t even flinch, still standing where he was, trying to reason with him. “Seriously? You’re an adult and you’re pointing a toy gun at me? Can’t we just talk this out?”

Wen Zhongyi let out a cold laugh.

Then, with a click, he chambered a bullet.

Meng Chuan opened his mouth, but before he could say another word, Wen Zhongyi expressionlessly pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The gunshot rang out, and the bullet tore through the air, piercing the table and chair beside Meng Chuan.

The sound echoed in his ears. Splinters and debris from the shattered wood hit his face, wiping every trace of expression from it in an instant.

Meng Chuan: “…………”

Hello, 110? Someone here’s illegally carrying a firearm.

Still having missed the target, Wen Zhongyi pointed the gun at him again and coldly said just one word: “Out.”

“……”

Meng Chuan opened the door with the fastest reaction speed of his life and slipped outside without pausing for a second.

If he’d been even one second slower, his head might have exploded.

In the bedroom, Wen Zhongyi slowly lowered his raised arm. He stared blankly at the bullet hole in the furniture.

Even if Meng Chuan didn’t remember him now, didn’t believe him—he still couldn’t bring himself to actually pull the trigger.

Because he remembered everything.

Wen Zhongyi set down the gun, sat on the edge of the bed, lowered his head, and looked at his stomach. He blinked slowly a few times.

He didn’t know how long had passed when he heard Meng Chuan’s intentionally quiet footsteps outside, followed by the soft sound of the door opening and closing.

The whole house fell completely silent.

Meng Chuan had left.

Wen Zhongyi glanced toward the door. Something in his heart suddenly felt hollow.

It was already dark outside. The curtains hadn’t been drawn, and his quiet, thin figure reflected faintly in the window glass.

Maybe he wouldn’t come back.

That thought was strangely calming. As if he had already expected all of this.

Maybe for the amnesiac Meng Chuan, this was all too hard to accept. But for Wen Zhongyi, who had finally opened up, this departure meant Meng Chuan no longer deserved to be forgiven.

After a long time, the sound of the door lock opening came again.

Wen Zhongyi froze, then looked up, thinking he’d misheard.

Soon after, the bedroom door was lightly knocked, and Meng Chuan’s voice came from outside: “Eat something. You haven’t had dinner yet.”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t respond. Meng Chuan paused, then cautiously added, “Should I bring it in?”

There was a note of testing in his tone, as if afraid Wen Zhongyi was still angry. He leaned in and peeked through the crack in the door, just in time to meet Wen Zhongyi’s eyes.

Under the warm yellow light, Wen Zhongyi sat there in pajamas, shoulders lowered, the corners of his eyes still tinged red. He looked a bit lonely, and a bit pitiful.

Even though he’d just pointed a gun at Meng Chuan with chilling coldness, it didn’t stop Meng Chuan from softening toward him in this moment, overwhelmed with guilt.

“I’ll bring it in,” Meng Chuan said, not waiting for permission.

He pushed the door open and walked in as if nothing had happened, placing the food down on the nightstand.

The gun was right there. Meng Chuan glanced at it, it was real.

He had no idea where Wen Zhongyi had gotten it from.

But he didn’t ask. He just unpacked the bags and took out a few takeout boxes.

Wen Zhongyi caught the scent of sweet chestnut pastries.

There was also pigeon soup. Meng Chuan unwrapped a pair of chopsticks and handed them to him. “Eat it while it’s hot.”

The rich aroma filled the air, easily stirring Wen Zhongyi’s appetite.

But he didn’t move, his expression still cold, as if no matter what Meng Chuan did, he would not yield.

Meng Chuan looked at him for a moment, then as if he had finally accepted something, he crouched slightly in front of Wen Zhongyi, looked up at him, and said softly, “I’m sorry.”

After a pause, he continued, “I don’t remember anything from before. Everything you told me, it’s just a lot to take in, not that I don’t believe you.”

Seeing no response, Meng Chuan carefully opened another pair of chopsticks, checked for any splinters, then handed them to Wen Zhongyi again. “Eat something. Don’t go hungry.”

His hand was still outstretched, and even though Wen Zhongyi didn’t take the chopsticks, Meng Chuan didn’t pull back.

They stayed frozen like that for nearly half a minute until Wen Zhongyi finally lowered his gaze and looked at him.

It was probably cold outside, Meng Chuan carried a faint chill, and the light scent of cigarettes lingered on him.

He had probably gone out for a smoke, waited until the smell faded before coming back up.

Wen Zhongyi met his tentative, almost pleading eyes. His own eyes flickered slightly, then finally, he silently took the chopsticks.

Meng Chuan let out a silent breath of relief and quietly moved to the side to make space for him to eat.

Wen Zhongyi ate almost soundlessly, very slowly. After finishing, he licked his lips lightly.

Meng Chuan remembered how red those lips had been last night from kissing, and awkwardly looked away.

After Wen Zhongyi drank some water and wiped his mouth, Meng Chuan sensibly gathered the empty containers and tidied everything up. Then he said, “I’ll stay tonight to look after you.”

“No need,” Wen Zhongyi replied, his voice hoarse.

“I…” Meng Chuan tried to negotiate, but as soon as he spoke, he saw Wen Zhongyi’s brows furrow.

He didn’t dare push further and wisely shut his mouth.

What had happened today had been overwhelming for both of them, they needed time and space to cool down.

Meng Chuan quietly took out the trash, looking back three times before finally leaving.

After he left, Wen Zhongyi sat alone on the sofa for a while.

Wen Zhongyi’s stomach no longer hurt. After eating a warm meal, his gut felt settled and comfortable.

He took his medicine and picked up the ultrasound report again for another look.

The child was already two months along, and now its father had finally learned of its existence.

Though that father was far from ideal—always making Wen Zhongyi angry and upset—his remorse had been so genuine, he seemed not entirely unforgivable.

But completely forgiving Meng Chuan… Wen Zhongyi still wasn’t ready.

If only Meng Chuan could recover his memories.

Wen Zhongyi pinched the edge of the paper and let out a quiet sigh.

______

Meng Chuan’s feelings about suddenly becoming a father were… complicated.

First, in his current understanding of himself, he was still a virgin. Being slapped with the title of “dad” out of nowhere was more than a little overwhelming. But the more he thought about it, the more he started to feel a bit floaty.

Second, he thought about what Wen Zhongyi had endured—carrying a child while crossing into another world—and then remembered all the crap he’d done: making him nauseous from car sickness, declaring in front of him that he didn’t like men, dragging him down in a fall, pinning him to the bed and making moves on him…

All that combined made Meng Chuan feel like he should dig a hole and bury himself.

Even though the memory loss wasn’t his fault, he really had said and done a lot of awful things. He owed Wen Zhongyi a huge apology.

Meng Chuan wasn’t someone who shirked responsibility. On the contrary, he had always taken responsibility seriously—otherwise, he wouldn’t have chosen to retire from the army to take over the family business.

So whether it was toward Wen Zhongyi or the child in his belly, Meng Chuan wanted to step up, make amends, and do what he should.

He lay in bed thinking for a long time, barely sleeping that night. Early the next morning, he drove straight to Wen Zhongyi’s home.

There were still so many things he wanted to know, things only Wen Zhongyi could answer.

But when he got there, Wen Zhongyi wasn’t home.

Meng Chuan called him. The phone rang until the very end before Wen Zhongyi finally picked up, his tone far from pleasant: “What is it?”

“Where are you?” Meng Chuan asked, his tone polite and mild.

Wen Zhongyi, busy organizing books, replied, “Work.”

Meng Chuan had almost forgotten he worked at a bookstore. “Oh,” he said with realization. “Okay.”

Then he asked, “Can I come over tonight? I want to talk.”

There was a pause. Wen Zhongyi asked, “Talk about what?”

“About what you told me before… the stuff I forgot during those four years,” Meng Chuan said quietly, fiddling with his phone case without realizing.

“Now you don’t think I was making it all up?” Wen Zhongyi retorted sarcastically.

He could hear Wen Zhongyi’s breathing through the speaker. Meng Chuan didn’t know what to say, so he mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

Wen Zhongyi answered with a bland “Mm,” then added, “Yeah, you really should be.”

Meng Chuan fell silent, knowing he was in the wrong.

After a night to cool off, Wen Zhongyi’s emotions had mostly settled. Seeing Meng Chuan being so careful now, he couldn’t help finding it a little funny.

He said, “I’ll be home after eight tonight.”

“Doesn’t the bookstore close at six?” Meng Chuan remembered that their first dinner together had been right after a 6 PM closing.

“After work, I’m going to the library.”

Meng Chuan was surprised. He was about to ask why, but then remembered the call from a few days ago—Wen Zhongyi had asked him for help getting an ID so he could register for exams.

At the time, Meng Chuan had been in a really bad mood and treated him coldly. Now, thinking back, he felt awful.

Just as he was about to apologize, Wen Zhongyi said, “There are still leftover ingredients in the fridge. I want creamy mushroom soup tonight.”

Meng Chuan: “…Okay.”

_____

At 8 PM, Wen Zhongyi returned home, exhausted.

The moment he walked through the door, he was hit by the rich aroma wafting through the apartment.

“You’re back?” Meng Chuan poked his head out from the kitchen.

He was wearing a shirt and dress pants, a blue apron—Wen Zhongyi’s, from before—tied around his waist, and a spatula in hand.

“Ten more minutes,” Meng Chuan said after checking the time. “I also made noodles. I meant to start cooking earlier, but something came up at the office, had to work overtime. If you’re hungry, have some chestnut pastries first.” He tilted his chin toward the coffee table. “Picked them up on the way. Should still be warm.”

He’d been in the kitchen ever since he got home, hadn’t even had a sip of water.

Wen Zhongyi stood by the entryway, watching him. His pupils reflected the warm glow of the living room lights, and his once-cold eyes now looked a little softer.

Outside was a freezing winter night. Inside, the heating was on, the curtains shut tight, sealing off the city night and leaving behind only this quiet, cozy space.

Wen Zhongyi took off his coat and sat on the sofa. With the delicious smell drifting in from the kitchen, he felt, for a moment, like he had returned to the past.

Every night spent with Meng Chuan had been just like this, peaceful and full of warmth.

It was the feeling of “home”, the kind that let you relax without effort.

When the food was ready, Meng Chuan brought the bowls and chopsticks to the table. “Try it. I think it came out better than last time.”

Wen Zhongyi poured two cups of hot water, sat down, and took a sip of soup.

Honestly, it still wasn’t as good as what he used to make in Sanka. But seeing Meng Chuan’s eager-for-praise expression, he still nodded and said, “Not bad.”

Meng Chuan immediately beamed with joy, tail practically wagging. “I think I’ve got real chef potential.”

“You’re overthinking it,” Wen Zhongyi replied flatly. “This is the only dish you make well. The rest are mediocre.”

“I don’t believe that,” Meng Chuan said. “Next time I’ll cook something else.”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t comment, just continued eating slowly. The steam blurred the sharp edges of his face, softening his usual chill with a bit of domestic warmth.

“And this,” Meng Chuan pushed another bowl toward him with genuine attentiveness, “bird’s nest soup. Good for the body.”

Wen Zhongyi glanced at it with little appetite but eventually forced himself to eat some.

Seeing that he’d eaten well and looked to be in a good mood, Meng Chuan figured there was hope, so he cleared his throat and tested the waters. “Can you tell me again… about that world with six genders?”

Wen Zhongyi sipped his water, and mocked, “Didn’t you not want to hear it last time?”

“…” Meng Chuan scratched his nose. “I want to now.”

Wen Zhongyi leaned back in his chair, hands resting on his belly like a boss, and said, “Go heat me some milk first.”

A few days ago, Meng Chuan would’ve scoffed at being ordered around like that. Now, though, he didn’t complain and obediently got up to warm the milk.

His willingness to yield brought a trace of satisfaction to Wen Zhongyi’s mood. He curled his lips ever so slightly, only to quickly smooth his expression when Meng Chuan looked over.

“How much?” Meng Chuan asked.

“One carton,” Wen Zhongyi replied.

There were three left. Meng Chuan took one, poured it into a cup, and put it in the microwave.

Ding—the milk was ready.

Meng Chuan brought the steaming cup to him, blew on his scalded fingers, and asked eagerly, “Can I hear the story now?”

Maybe out of consideration for the milk and the full table of food, Wen Zhongyi didn’t leave him hanging. He began with a calm explanation of the ABO dynamics.

Meng Chuan listened in stunned silence. When he heard that omegas could get pregnant, his eyes lit up in realization: “So you’re an omega?”

Wen Zhongyi nodded. “Yes.”

“No wonder,” Meng Chuan leaned on his chin, half-dazed. “Am I a beta?”

“You were at first,” Wen Zhongyi said, looking at him.

Meng Chuan blinked. “And later?”

“Later,” Wen Zhongyi rubbed the cup, the warmth seeping into his palms. “Later you had a gland implant. You became an alpha.”

In the warmly lit living room, the two sat face to face. Wen Zhongyi looked through the rising steam of the milk at Meng Chuan’s stunned expression and said, “When you had that fever a few days ago, didn’t you feel something strange at the back of your neck?”

Meng Chuan instinctively reached up. That bump there throbbed faintly under his fingertips.

He stiffly nodded. “Yeah.”

“That’s your alpha gland. Bitter coffee is your pheromone,” Wen Zhongyi said. “Alphas go into rut. The fever came from that.”

Meng Chuan’s eyes widened.

No wonder the fever reducers didn’t work.

A few seconds later, he asked uncertainly, “Other than fever… are there other symptoms?”

“There are psychological and physical shifts,” Wen Zhongyi said calmly. “Like irritability, insecurity, and craving your partner’s pheromone.”

“…No wonder I lost control when I smelled your rose scent.” Meng Chuan asked again, “How often does it happen?”

“Once a month.”

“No meds?”

“Inhibitors exist,” Wen Zhongyi said. “But not in this world.”

“So I just have to go through this every month?”

“Yep.”

“…Let me process that.”

Silence fell over the room.

The milk had cooled a bit. Wen Zhongyi drank a few sips, then looked across at Meng Chuan—who was still mentally reeling.

Wen Zhongyi waited patiently, then asked, “Hard to accept?”

Meng Chuan finally exhaled like waking from a dream. “Your world is way too abstract.”

“It’s not so bad,” Wen Zhongyi said, then added thoughtfully, “Your world’s pretty abstract too.”

He held the cup and said matter-of-factly, “Like how you and I are clearly a straight couple, but here people say we’re gay.”

Meng Chuan choked. He had no comeback.

Then he asked the most pressing question: “So how did we end up together?”

“You want to know?” Wen Zhongyi asked.

Meng Chuan nodded eagerly.

“Then go pour me a glass of water.”

“…”

No one else could order Meng Chuan around like this, but Wen Zhongyi could.

And Meng Chuan couldn’t even argue, only trudged off to pour hot water and delivered it with both hands like a respectful junior: “Water, sir.”

Wen Zhongyi’s lips curled slightly, and then he began recounting their past.

He spoke of the war in Sanka, of every scar on Meng Chuan’s body.

They had met in a time of gunfire and death. Their story, inevitably, carried a weight of solemnity. It wasn’t lighthearted or romantic.

When he heard that he had taken a bullet for Wen Zhongyi, Meng Chuan was visibly stunned, surprised he’d ever loved someone so deeply.

Wen Zhongyi spoke steadily and without emotion, like a bystander narrating a story that had nothing to do with him.

He didn’t say much, skipped many details.

“In the third winter of the war, you were captured during a mission. Two days later, I got you out,” he said casually.

But the truth was, when Meng Chuan was captured, the situation was so dangerous and unclear that the higher-ups refused Wen Zhongyi’s rescue request.

In those 24 hours without news, Wen Zhongyi had fought tooth and nail to get permission—only to be denied.

So he defied orders and went alone to rescue Meng Chuan.

He didn’t know if he would come back. If he did, he’d face punishment. If he didn’t, he’d die with Meng Chuan. Either was fine.

That rescue left Wen Zhongyi with a knee injury that would never fully heal.

Confessing feelings to someone who’s lost their memory was incredibly difficult. Wen Zhongyi didn’t want to see the shock on Meng Chuan’s face when he learned the truth.

So he buried all that deep emotion behind a few vague words.

And Meng Chuan, remained completely unaware.