POTINS 41

Meng Chuan held the bouquet in a daze, feeling like he was dreaming.

The floral scent was light and delicate. He buried his entire face into it and took a deep sniff, thinking it smelled very similar to Wen Zhongyi’s pheromones—so fragrant it left him dizzy.

Wen Zhongyi had already walked into the living room, took off his coat and hung it on the rack. Seeing Meng Chuan clinging to the bouquet like it was his lifeline, he curled his lips and mocked him on purpose: “Didn’t you say you didn’t want to see that thing? If you don’t like it, don’t force yourself. Go ahead and throw it out.”

“I like it!” Meng Chuan refused to let go of the flowers, his face openly full of joy. “Why’d you suddenly give me flowers? Is today some kind of special day?”

Wen Zhongyi clicked his tongue and pointed at the foot he was about to step into the living room with. “Change your shoes.”

“Oh.”

Only then did Meng Chuan set the bouquet down, change his shoes, take off his coat, and pick the flowers back up again, swaying slightly as he walked toward Wen Zhongyi. “Why do I feel a little dizzy?”

Wen Zhongyi was pouring hot water. Hearing that, he glanced at him and said, “Of course you’re dizzy, you’re running a fever. Come take your medicine.”

Meng Chuan sat on the sofa. Wen Zhongyi popped out a fever-reducing pill and placed it in his hand. As he passed him the hot water, he almost got poked in the face by the bouquet. He sighed, helpless. “How long are you planning to hold that thing? Put it on the coffee table first.”

“I can still eat like this.”

Meng Chuan shifted the bouquet into the crook of his left arm, took the medicine with his right, then licked the corner of his mouth with a dramatic sigh. “Even if that was poison, I’d die without regrets.”

“So dramatic. Who even wants to poison you?” Wen Zhongyi looked at his goofy expression and couldn’t help but laugh. “Pig.”

Meng Chuan, who could easily idolize Piggy Hero, was quite happy to be called a pig.

Wen Zhongyi poured him another cup of hot water and made him finish it, then sat beside him and released a little pheromone to soothe him.

Meng Chuan didn’t pester him for an explanation anymore—the flowers already said everything.

But even if he didn’t ask, Wen Zhongyi still took the initiative to say, “I ran into Jiang Ye on the road today.”

He briefly explained what had happened. When he got to the part where he nearly fell, Meng Chuan tensed up and interrupted, “What did the doctor say? Is it serious?”

“It’s fine. Just need to rest well,” Wen Zhongyi replied. “I didn’t explain on the phone because I was afraid Jiang Ye might catch on. It’s better to keep the pregnancy a secret from outsiders for now.”

After hearing that, Meng Chuan felt deeply unsettled and lowered his head to apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know any of that. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Wen Zhongyi knew he was emotionally unstable because of his susceptibility period, so he didn’t take it to heart. He pushed Meng Chuan’s head away and said, “Don’t annoy me tonight and I’ll forgive you.”

Every time Meng Chuan came back from a business trip, he always had to cling to Wen Zhongyi for a while, which Wen Zhongyi found exhausting—but he just couldn’t do anything about it.

“…Then maybe don’t forgive me,” Meng Chuan muttered like a mosquito.

Wen Zhongyi pinched his thigh without mercy. Meng Chuan yelped and instantly shut up.

Suddenly, Wen Zhongyi’s phone rang—it was the delivery guy.

He got up to open the door and thanked the delivery man, then carried the package back inside.

When Meng Chuan saw the box, he froze. “A cake?”

Wen Zhongyi lifted the box and gave it a look. He was quite satisfied. “Looks good.”

“Why’d you buy a cake?” Meng Chuan’s brain couldn’t keep up.

First flowers, now a cake—it was like they were celebrating something. But it wasn’t Valentine’s Day, not Qixi, and definitely not either of their birthdays.

What could be so important that Wen Zhongyi would go to such lengths?

Wen Zhongyi placed the cake on the coffee table and smiled at him. “Guess.”

“To celebrate me coming home from a business trip?” Meng Chuan guessed.

Wen Zhongyi shook his head lightly.

“To celebrate Liuyi reaching five months?”

“Nope.”

Meng Chuan couldn’t figure it out, so he tossed out something ridiculous: “Don’t tell me it’s to celebrate the last Wednesday of the month?”

Wen Zhongyi replied dryly, “You sure do have the calendar memorized.”

“Then what is it? Tell me!” Meng Chuan was practically scratching at his heart with impatience. “Come on!”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t answer right away. He first lowered his head and opened the cake box.

Inside was a four-inch heart-shaped cake, dainty and delicate, sprinkled all over with rose petals.

It was the first time Wen Zhongyi had ever picked out a cake. He’d spent a long time choosing this one. He had even asked the shop to include a small number 2 candle.

He stuck the candle into the center of the cake, then looked up at Meng Chuan.

Meng Chuan still looked completely lost.

What date had anything to do with the number 2?

Two days? Two months? Two years?

He furrowed his brow, then suddenly looked up at Wen Zhongyi as something seemed to click.

The guess was so dreamy that he didn’t dare speak it aloud. He was afraid he was imagining things—but his eyes were already growing hot.

“…So today is our wedding anniversary?”

Wen Zhongyi smiled, those black-and-white eyes curving into crescents—so beautiful under the amber light they made one’s heart stir.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Happy second wedding anniversary.”

Even if he was the only one who remembered the date, he still prepared flowers and cake, giving Meng Chuan a surprise.

Only then did Meng Chuan finally understand why Wen Zhongyi had asked multiple times if he could come home today. He had thought Wen Zhongyi was just worried about his susceptibility period—he hadn’t expected it to be such a special day.

Holding the bouquet, Meng Chuan looked into his eyes, his voice tinged with a nasal tremor, “Happy second wedding anniversary.”

Wen Zhongyi saw the growing redness around his eyes and felt a soft ache in his heart. He gently said, “Dummy.”

Meng Chuan sniffled and scooted closer to him, lowering his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me in advance? I didn’t even prepare a gift for you.”

The last gift he gave was that ring—and they’d ended up arguing right afterward. Wen Zhongyi hadn’t dared to hope for another gift from him. But mostly, he just wanted to see this surprised and moved expression on Meng Chuan’s face.

Preparing a surprise was its own kind of happiness—especially when he saw Meng Chuan’s reaction. It made Wen Zhongyi feel even more joy than Meng Chuan did.

Meng Chuan got up to find a lighter, finally willing to set the bouquet aside as he lit the candle.

He knelt beside the coffee table, while Wen Zhongyi sat on the sofa. The candlelight flickered gently, illuminating both their faces.

Meng Chuan’s eyes were bloodshot. Wen Zhongyi’s eyes, too, were tinged with heat from the flame.

They were often bickering, rarely speaking from the heart.

Wen Zhongyi wasn’t a sentimental person. He didn’t say sweet things, let alone romantic words.

But perhaps the pregnancy hormones were making him overflow with emotion. At least today, Wen Zhongyi wanted to say the things he hadn’t said before.

“Meng Chuan,” he said gently, “today marks exactly two years since we got married. Do you remember what you said when you proposed to me?”

Meng Chuan looked at him with tear-filled eyes and shook his head.

Wen Zhongyi knew he wouldn’t remember, but he continued without pause. “You made all sorts of silly promises and said that if you broke them, I could kill you.”

Meng Chuan’s lashes trembled—he knew he’d probably broken quite a few of those promises. His throat bobbed as he choked out, “I’m sorry…”

Wen Zhongyi shook his head lightly. “I don’t blame you anymore.”

He had pointed a gun at Meng Chuan many times, even pulled the trigger—but never once had he really meant to kill him.

Because he remembered everything they’d been through—all the sweet and touching moments.

The Meng Chuan now might have lost his memory, but in truth, he was just like he’d been when they first met: silly, sincere, and honest. Wen Zhongyi had been drawn to him then, and still was now.

He lifted his hand to gently stroke Meng Chuan’s cheek, speaking under his burning gaze: “Even if you can’t remember for now, it doesn’t matter. You’re still you. And the one I love has always been you.”

Meng Chuan’s vision blurred with tears, his throat too tight to speak. He trembled as he whispered, “Baby…”

Wen Zhongyi cupped his face, pressed their foreheads together, closed his eyes, and clearly said, “Happy anniversary. I love you.”

As soon as he finished, Meng Chuan pulled him in by the back of the head and kissed him.

The candle burned quietly, its warm yellow glow lighting up their little world.

Wen Zhongyi was held close, their tongues entwined, their lips sucked tenderly, breath exchanged in heat.

A drop of salty liquid landed on Wen Zhongyi’s face, fell into the seam of their lips, and was swept away by a tongue, turning into something deeper and sweeter.

As they caught their breath, Meng Chuan said thickly, “I love you too.”

The kiss lasted a long time. When they finally parted, their chests heaved violently, lips moist, gazes burning.

Wen Zhongyi’s cheeks were flushed, breath uneven. He smiled and said, “Your kissing’s improved.”

Pleased by the praise, Meng Chuan’s eyes sparkled as he leaned in again. Wen Zhongyi quickly pushed his chest away. “Enough, enough. Blow out the candle first—if it burns anymore, the wax will drip on the cake.”

They blew out the candle together, turned on the light, and cut two slices of cake.

Wen Zhongyi couldn’t eat much, so he only cut a small piece. Meng Chuan, still feverish, didn’t have much of an appetite either.

“Should’ve known not to get such a big one,” Wen Zhongyi said, licking cream from the corner of his mouth and picking up a glass of water. “There’s no way we’ll finish it.”

“We will!” Meng Chuan panicked at the thought of wasting it. “Put it in the fridge. I’ll eat the rest tomorrow.”

“You really are a pig,” Wen Zhongyi laughed.

Meng Chuan’s eyes were still red. It was the first time in his life he’d cried this much. Embarrassed, he lowered his head and shyly asked, “Is ‘pig’ your pet name for me?”

Wen Zhongyi nearly choked on his water, staring at him in disbelief, unsure if the fever had fried his brain.

After the cake, Meng Chuan cleaned the coffee table and put the leftovers in the fridge.

He didn’t even want to throw away the candle, and even considered keeping the box, until Wen Zhongyi stopped him.

“Put the trash down,” Wen Zhongyi said. “I’ll take it out later.”

Reluctantly, Meng Chuan put it down. “I’ll do it.”

Then he shuffled over to hug Wen Zhongyi again and, for who-knows-what-number time, said, “I love you.”

He loved and loved and just kept loving. The first time Wen Zhongyi heard it, he felt a rush in his heart. But after hearing it over and over, he was numb. He scowled. “Stop chanting and go shower.”

Chased into the bathroom, Meng Chuan entered the bedroom later—carrying the bouquet.

Wen Zhongyi saw him bring the flowers to bed and gave up. “Are you planning to cuddle it tonight?”

Meng Chuan placed the bouquet at the bedside table, examined every flower with care, then turned to Wen Zhongyi on the bed. “Of course not. I want to cuddle you.”

Wen Zhongyi wrapped himself tightly in the blanket and glared. “Go cuddle your flowers. Don’t touch me.”

Laughing, Meng Chuan climbed into bed and kissed his exposed forehead. “I won’t touch you. Sleep now. Good night.”