POTINS 43

Strictly speaking, the child’s features really did resemble Wen Zhongyi more.

Meng Chuan thought that was great—and if the child’s personality turned out like Wen Zhongyi’s too, even better.

Then he’d definitely be a sweet, gentle, well-behaved little boy.

The checkup showed everything was normal. The doctor put away the probe and asked Wen Zhongyi if there had been any other physical changes lately.

Wen Zhongyi hesitated, unsure whether to say anything. He glanced at Meng Chuan, then opened his mouth after a brief pause, faltering a little: “…Sometimes my chest hurts, and it’s a bit wet.”

This had only started a couple of days ago—he had noticed two obvious wet patches on his clothes when undressing at night.

Like his belly, his chest had become slightly fuller, and the color had darkened significantly.

The soreness had happened before, but this was the first time he’d started lactating. If he pressed it, a little would come out—not much, but accompanied by a clear stinging pain.

Meng Chuan had nearly lost control when he saw this. It had taken all his willpower to restrain himself. He’d knelt beside the bed to gently massage Wen Zhongyi and then helped him clean up with warm water.

When the doctor heard what he said, she paused for a moment, probably finding it a little astonishing, but soon explained, “That’s normal. It’s caused by increased pregnancy hormones and hCG levels. Just make sure to keep the area clean, massage gently, and wear comfortable bras to prevent chafing from clothing.”

Wen Zhongyi nodded and agreed.

After leaving the exam room, Zhou Lu stayed behind chatting with the doctor while Meng Chuan stepped over to the window to make a phone call.

Wen Zhongyi caught a few words and guessed he was calling Ji Ying.

Meng Chuan glanced back toward Wen Zhongyi and lowered his voice to say to Ji Ying, “We were followed today. No idea who they’re with.”

Ji Ying was alarmed and asked for details. Then she reassured him, saying the hospital was very strict about confidentiality—patient-related privacy wouldn’t be leaked. Even if someone tried to investigate, they wouldn’t be able to find anything.

After leaving the hospital, Meng Chuan drove to a maternity and baby store. Before getting out of the car, he looked around carefully. There weren’t any suspicious vehicles or pedestrians.

Wen Zhongyi put on a mask, his medium-length hair hanging along his cheeks. Meng Chuan reached up and tucked it behind his ear.

Zhou Lu was still enthusiastically exploring pacifiers and baby bottles, following a store clerk around. Wen Zhongyi and Meng Chuan, meanwhile, headed to the lingerie section.

The store had underwear specifically designed for pregnant women—soft, comfortable fabrics in all sorts of styles.

The clerk in that section seemed like it was her first time seeing two men shopping for this. She kept looking like she wanted to say something but held back.

Wen Zhongyi could feel the clerk and other customers glancing at him, which made him self-conscious. He quickly picked a white cotton bra in under thirty seconds, but Meng Chuan said black would look better.

Wen Zhongyi didn’t understand what the difference was, so he put back the white one, grabbed the black one, and tugged Meng Chuan away from the area.

Meng Chuan asked if he wanted to try it on in the fitting room. Wen Zhongyi declined.

He tightened his coat around his belly—he didn’t want to be treated like a freak.

Originally, he’d wanted to leave the store quickly, but as they passed the baby clothes section, he couldn’t help being drawn in.

He stopped and picked out a few outfits for boys.

As he browsed, he couldn’t stop imagining what Little Liuyi would look like wearing them. Before he realized it, he’d bought more than he intended.

Meng Chuan didn’t stop him. He carried two huge shopping bags to the car and said with a laugh, “The nursery’s running out of space.”

“I was just thinking that,” Zhou Lu chimed in. “The house you’re living in now isn’t big enough. That villa your dad bought for you is still empty—why not move there?”

Wen Zhongyi and Meng Chuan exchanged a glance. They both thought of the incident earlier with the stalker. Wen Zhongyi nodded to Zhou Lu. “Alright.”

They had lunch at Meng Chuan’s parents’ house, and the next day, Meng Chuan contacted a moving company.

Most of the move was just the contents of the nursery and Wen Zhongyi’s plants—furniture wasn’t needed, since the villa was already furnished.

It was regularly cleaned and always ready for someone to live in.

Art prints lined the walls. When Wen Zhongyi entered, he looked up with interest and said to Meng Chuan, “Didn’t expect you to have such taste.”

“My dad picked them,” Meng Chuan said. “I wanted to hang something else, but he wouldn’t let me.”

“What did you want to hang?” Wen Zhongyi asked, then twitched his mouth. “Don’t tell me it was your idol?”

Meng Chuan lit up. “How’d you know? Want me to change them now?”

Wen Zhongyi rolled his eyes. “Do it and I’ll throw you out.”

The bedroom was on the second floor, and the stairs were carpeted, muffling every step.

Wen Zhongyi opened the bedroom door. The afternoon sun streamed in, landing on the large, soft bed.

The bedding had all been changed. His packed clothes were still behind the door, untouched. Wen Zhongyi said he wanted a nap and asked Meng Chuan to find his pajamas.

Meng Chuan crouched down to rummage through the bag, pulling out the pajamas, and passed along the new bra they’d bought the day before.

“It’s dry now—you can wear it,” Meng Chuan said.

Wen Zhongyi sat on the bed, took off his top, held up the little piece of clothing against himself for size, then raised his arms to slip on the straps.

The fabric carried a pleasant scent from the laundry detergent and felt soft and gentle even against his sore chest.

He reached behind to fasten the clasp, but unfamiliar with the motion, he struggled and couldn’t get it hooked.

Meng Chuan had been watching him closely the whole time. Seeing this, he couldn’t hold back anymore. With obvious ulterior motives, he leaned in and said, “Let me help.”

Wen Zhongyi let go, turned slightly to the side, and said, “Hook the outermost one.”

“Okay.”

Meng Chuan lowered his head and quickly fastened the clasp for him.

Wen Zhongyi’s back was slim and straight, the lines of his shoulder blades clear and beautiful. The black fabric made his skin look even paler—and even more enticing.

The garment was very light, barely constrictive. Meng Chuan adjusted the straps a bit, then came around to face Wen Zhongyi.

Wen Zhongyi was lowering his head, fiddling with the lace trim on the front. His chin was suddenly lifted.

Before he could react, his lips were kissed.

Meng Chuan’s fingers slipped into the newly fastened bra, his palm pressing against it with practiced tenderness.

Wen Zhongyi resisted slightly, but eventually softened, sinking into the fluffy softness of the bed like a cloud.

Meng Chuan picked him up and settled him in his lap, kissing upward from beneath.

One strap slipped off his shoulder, dangling loosely against his body. Something spilled out and trailed down from his chest to his rounded belly, a glistening white line.

Meng Chuan buried his head in Wen Zhongyi’s chest. Wen Zhongyi’s breathing was ragged, and his cheeks flushed a deep red, almost dripping blood.

After a long while, Meng Chuan finally lifted his head, licked his lips, and said, “A little sweet… and a little sour.”

Soon after, Wen Zhongyi tasted that flavor in Meng Chuan’s mouth.

That afternoon, Wen Zhongyi slept nearly two hours—over thirty minutes longer than usual.

The curtains shut out the glaring sun, leaving the room shrouded in soft, dim light, quiet and calm.

Wen Zhongyi lay in the middle of the bed, covered by a thin blanket. His silky black hair spread across the pillow, lips slightly parted, and the blush on his face still hadn’t fully faded.

Meng Chuan sat quietly beside him, watching. To him, this moment was more beautiful than any painting.

After moving into the villa, Wen Zhongyi’s daily life didn’t change much.

He still read and did exercises each day, counted fetal kicks and heartbeats, and when he’d had enough of staying indoors, he went to visit Yang Jiaran.

There was a large garden out front, long enough for a good walk, and no strangers would come disturb him.

The only difference was: Meng Chuan had assigned him a bodyguard.

Whenever Wen Zhongyi left the house, the bodyguard would follow silently behind.

Wen Zhongyi never thought he’d have a day when he needed a bodyguard.

But given his physical condition, if danger really struck, he could no longer fight back like he once had.

The bodyguard didn’t talk to him, kept a low profile, but the moment anyone tried to approach Wen Zhongyi, he would immediately step between them, blocking any threat that might cause harm.

Meng Chuan had tracked down the car that followed them that day—it belonged to someone named □□, and the driver was that same photographer.

It was clearly a deliberate hire, and the target was Wen Zhongyi. Someone had sensed something and was trying to make trouble using Wen Zhongyi’s pregnancy.

As for who that someone was, Meng Chuan didn’t even need to check—he already had a good guess.

And sure enough, the evidence came swiftly. The person Meng Chuan had assigned to watch the photographer sent him a photo. At 3:00 p.m., the photographer entered a café, and twenty minutes later, Jiang Ming walked in.

That surprised Meng Chuan—he had assumed it would be Jiang Ye investigating Wen Zhongyi, not Jiang Ming.

But it also made sense: if Jiang Ming could get proof of the pregnancy, he’d be holding Meng Chuan’s Achilles’ heel.

Meng Chuan kept someone tailing the photographer, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice should he make any move.

He had never taken Jiang Ming seriously before, but now he felt uneasy.

Jiang Ming’s tactics were insidious and ruthless—Meng Chuan couldn’t predict what he might do to Wen Zhongyi. So all he could do was ensure Wen Zhongyi’s safety while accelerating his efforts to find leverage against Jiang Ming.

And if things really reached a dead end, Meng Chuan wouldn’t mind dragging him to hell together.

That Friday, Wen Zhongyi received a call from Yang Jiaran.

“I’m free this afternoon and want to see a movie. Want to come with me?” she asked cheerfully.

Wen Zhongyi happened to be a bit bored and nodded. “I’d love to.”

“Yay!” Yang Jiaran was delighted. “It’s a movie about pets—not scary or intense at all. Perfect for pregnant viewers.”

Wen Zhongyi chuckled. “Alright.”

They planned to meet at the same theater they always went to.

After a nap, Wen Zhongyi got ready quickly. A loose sweater and coat helped mask his figure. He also brought another jacket to drape in front of himself, making it less noticeable from the front.

As soon as he stepped out the door, the bodyguard followed.

“Mr. Wen, heading out?” he asked.

Wen Zhongyi nodded. “Could you give me a ride?”

“Of course, not a problem.”

The bodyguard went to the garage to fetch the car. Wen Zhongyi got into the back seat and told him the address.

“Going to a movie?” the bodyguard asked.

“Mm,” Wen Zhongyi responded. “With a friend.”

The bodyguard didn’t hesitate. He said he’d buy a ticket and go in with him later.

Wen Zhongyi understood this was part of his job and didn’t object.

Partway through the drive, the bodyguard began glancing repeatedly at the rearview mirror.

Wen Zhongyi noticed and looked out the window but couldn’t see anything. He asked calmly, “Are we being followed?”

“Yes. A white sedan.”

Since the motive for the tail was unclear, the bodyguard didn’t stick to the planned route. He turned the steering wheel and tried to shake the car.

The vehicle sped up, rocking Wen Zhongyi from side to side. His face paled slightly. He pulled out his phone to call Meng Chuan, but the bodyguard had already reached for his own and dialed faster.

“President Meng,” he said coolly. “We’re being followed.”