POTINS 46

Wen Zhongyi cried on Meng Chuan’s shoulder for a long time.

As if he wanted to cry out every last tear, to release all his emotions.

Meng Chuan raised his unbandaged hand and gently stroked Wen Zhongyi’s back, tracing his spine slowly, again and again. He was comforting Wen Zhongyi, and also restraining himself.

Only after Wen Zhongyi had let everything out and cried himself tired did Meng Chuan pat his waist and rasp, “No more crying. Sit down and let’s talk.”

Wen Zhongyi’s breathing was heavy. He slowly straightened up. His eyes were red all over, so pitiful it was hard to look at.

Meng Chuan raised a hand to wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes, smiling gently. “You’ve cried yourself into a bunny.”

Wen Zhongyi was still sniffling a bit. He sat down on the chair and only gradually calmed down.

Meng Chuan pulled out a tissue to wipe his face for him, but Wen Zhongyi didn’t let him—he took it and wiped himself.

This release had been a long time coming. After crying, Wen Zhongyi felt wrung out. His mind was sluggish and a little empty. But as soon as he met Meng Chuan’s eyes again, he felt another wave of tears coming on.

Seeing this, Meng Chuan sighed. “Crying again?”

“I don’t want to either,” Wen Zhongyi said with a stuffy nose. “Don’t look at me. Close your eyes.”

Meng Chuan obeyed. “Okay.” Then he closed his eyes, the corners of his lips faintly curved.

After all, this was a hospital room, not their home. People could walk in at any time. Wen Zhongyi didn’t want anyone to see him with red-rimmed eyes. Once he got control of himself again, he went to the bathroom and washed his face.

The water was warm. After washing, he felt much more awake, and the urge to cry was fully suppressed.

When he came out, Meng Chuan was still sitting there with his eyes shut. He asked seriously, “Can I open them now?”

Wen Zhongyi walked over and sat down in the chair. “You can open them.”

Meng Chuan opened his eyes obediently. The instant their gazes met, both of them smiled.

Wen Zhongyi said, “I thought it’d take you a long time to get your memories back. I didn’t expect…”

“Didn’t expect a car crash would knock my brain back into shape,” Meng Chuan joked. “A blessing in disguise.”

“Don’t say that,” Wen Zhongyi frowned. “Peace and safety are what matter most.”

No one had expected that the car crash would bring Meng Chuan’s memory back.

But if it meant remembering through such a traumatic event, Wen Zhongyi would’ve rather waited longer—he never wanted to see Meng Chuan unconscious and covered in blood again.

Perhaps sensing Wen Zhongyi’s emotional shift, the baby in his belly suddenly moved.

Wen Zhongyi instinctively placed a hand on his belly and said to Meng Chuan, “He’s saying hi to you.”

“Liuyi?” Meng Chuan raised an eyebrow. “Can I touch him?”

“You can.”

Wen Zhongyi scooted the chair forward a little. Meng Chuan placed his palm gently on his belly. Even through the sweater, he could clearly feel the baby’s movements.

Wen Zhongyi smiled. “Feels like he’s doing somersaults in there.”

“Yeah?” Meng Chuan smiled too. He didn’t move his hand until the movement stopped. Then he let out a soft sigh. “You’ve really been through a lot.”

Wen Zhongyi looked at him, and after a pause, said, “It has been tough.”

Pregnancy had brought tremendous changes to both his body and his mood. From the very beginning, he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep. First it was nausea and cramps, now it was back pain, constant need to pee, chest discomfort—he couldn’t run or jump. He, who once strode with confidence, had been forced to learn to slow his steps.

Every prenatal check-up filled him with worry—fear that something might be wrong, that the indicators wouldn’t be up to standard, that the baby wasn’t doing well inside.

Whenever he had a moment, he would count kicks and listen to the heartbeat. If the baby moved too much, he feared oxygen deprivation; if too little, he feared something was wrong.

He had never spoken about any of this before, but now he wanted to share it all with Meng Chuan. In the end, he gave a small smile and added, “But I’m also very happy.”

Carrying a child wasn’t easy, and Meng Chuan couldn’t help carry the burden. His guilt only deepened.

He shifted over on the hospital bed to make room and patted the space beside him. “Lie down a bit. You’ve been sitting too long—come rest your back.”

The bed was big enough for two, but Wen Zhongyi didn’t move. He shook his head. “No need.”

After all, Meng Chuan was the patient. How could he squeeze in with someone who was supposed to be resting?

“Come on up,” Meng Chuan coaxed.

“Stop worrying about me. You lie down.” Wen Zhongyi looked at his still-pale face with concern. “How’s your head? Does it hurt? Should I call a nurse?”

Just as Meng Chuan was about to say “It doesn’t hurt,” the door to the room suddenly swung open—the duty nurse walked in.

Seeing that he was not only sitting up with his head bandaged, but his IV line was backflowing, the nurse lost it on the spot. “You’re awake and didn’t press the call button?! Lie down, lie down, lie down! Don’t move your hand!”

Her voice was so loud it brought in the other nurses—and Zhou Lu, who had been on the phone.

In an instant the room was full. They all rushed to press Meng Chuan back onto the bed.

Their emotions had run too high earlier—they hadn’t noticed the IV had begun to backflow. Wen Zhongyi stepped aside, giving space for the medical staff to work.

Zhou Lu looked at her now-awake son and exclaimed, “Finally! You nearly scared me to death, do you know that?”

“I’m fine now, Mom.” Meng Chuan smiled at her, then turned his head to look for Wen Zhongyi—but he was hidden behind the nurses.

They repositioned his arm, and the blood in the IV line slowly returned to normal.

The gauze on his head was faintly stained again. The nurse replaced it with clean dressing and scolded him with a stern face, “You just woke up and you’re already moving around. What if the wound got worse? Stay down and don’t move!”

Now that his emotions had calmed, Meng Chuan finally began to feel the throbbing pain on his head.

After the nurse left, Wen Zhongyi wanted to stay with him a little longer. But seeing that Meng Chuan was growing sleepy, he said, “Get some rest. Sleep a bit more.”

Meng Chuan didn’t really want to sleep. He still wanted to talk and look at him. But the dizziness won out in the end—he closed his eyes and drifted off.

This time, he slept soundly. No more chaotic dreams—just deep, peaceful rest.

Wen Zhongyi looked at the way pain creased his brows and released a bit of calming pheromones. Soon, Meng Chuan’s expression visibly relaxed.

Zhou Lu sat on the other side of the bed, looked at Meng Chuan, sighed, wiped her eyes, and said to Wen Zhongyi, “You should go rest, Xiao Wen. Sitting like this for too long isn’t good for your body.”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t really want to leave. He nodded toward the sofa. “I can sleep there.”

Zhou Lu glanced at it and shook her head. “That won’t do. What if you roll off? Go to the room next door. It’s already night. He probably won’t wake until tomorrow. I’ll come get you as soon as he does, alright?”

Even though Wen Zhongyi said “not alright,” it didn’t matter. Zhou Lu still coaxed and half-dragged him away.

The hospital’s VIP floor had only two levels. This floor housed only Meng Chuan, so the hallway was quiet.

Even though the nurses noticed Wen Zhongyi’s round belly, none thought much of it—just assumed he was overweight. His pregnancy had been kept strictly confidential within the obstetrics department, and no one else had caught wind of it.

The beds in the rooms were large and soft. Zhou Lu, worried he wouldn’t sleep well, even brought over a U-shaped pillow and salt bag from home.

Lying on the bed, Wen Zhongyi felt the baby in his belly flipping around. The movement was strong. He lifted his shirt, watched his belly rise and fall, and murmured, “Your father’s back. Are you happy?”

As if in response, Liuyi gave a little push against his belly.

Wen Zhongyi smiled and whispered, “Daddy’s happy too.”

Because of Wen Zhongyi’s fluctuating emotions these past few days, Liuyi had been very active in the womb, especially at night.

Wen Zhongyi felt a bit guilty. Stroking his belly, he said, “I made you worry with me. I’m sorry.”

Liuyi tapped again on his left side, as if to say, “It’s okay.”

Wen Zhongyi had originally planned to just lie down for a while in that room before heading back to see Meng Chuan—but he ended up falling asleep.

In the middle of the night, he was woken by the urge to pee. Groggily getting up, he realized he hadn’t even washed up or changed into pajamas.

That night, Wen Zhongyi got up four times. Every time, he could feel the baby moving in his belly. The last time, he was so tired he couldn’t take it anymore and lightly patted his stomach, murmuring, “Can you behave, please?”

The quiet little Liuyi who used to stay still in his belly was long gone. He was becoming more and more energetic, which made Wen Zhongyi rather worried.

He had thought the child would take after him in temperament—according to his dad, when he was pregnant with Wen Zhongyi, he hadn’t suffered much at all. Wen Zhongyi had been lazy and not fond of moving.

So how had Liuyi ended up this lively?

Wen Zhongyi sighed and finally fell into a deep sleep again around 3 a.m.

Meanwhile, next door, Meng Chuan woke up.

The wound on his head both hurt and itched—it was so irritating he wanted to bang his head against the wall.

Outside the room, the nurse station lights were still on. The light filtered in through the glass on the door, casting a dim, murky glow into the room.

Meng Chuan reached for the bedside table and found the phone that had survived the car crash.

There were several new cracks on the screen, and the touchscreen was less responsive. But the battery was full.

Using the hand without the IV, Meng Chuan tapped a few times. His messages and call logs were flooded with unread items—all from rich-kid friends sending him their regards.

These second-generation heirs had nothing better to do, so of course the news of his car crash hadn’t escaped them.

Meng Chuan didn’t feel like replying to each one.

If he replied, they’d send more. Back and forth—it’d be endless. He figured it’d be easier just to make a WeChat post.

He lifted his phone toward the dim ceiling, snapped a photo, and posted it with the caption: Didn’t die, still alive.

The post was barely up for a second before someone liked it. Meng Chuan immediately exited the screen. He meant to check his call history, but the screen lagged—and he ended up opening the notes app.

Inside were densely packed lines of text.

Meng Chuan stared blankly for a second, then remembered—he’d written all of this himself.

After losing his memory, he hadn’t been able to recall Wen Zhongyi’s preferences, so he had secretly observed him and recorded all his findings on his phone.

Things like—

Loves anything lychee-flavored. Said it’s sweet. Wanted to buy lychees, but doctor said pregnant people shouldn’t eat them. Doesn’t eat boiled eggs. I made four today and ended up eating them all myself. Likes things that glow—like fireworks and night lights. Taking him to catch fireflies this summer would probably make him really happy. Can’t sleep with light or sound at night. (If I toss and turn too much, he yells at me.) Likes watching goldfish blow bubbles. But after changing to a bigger tank, they stopped. Turns out they only bubbled because of low oxygen. He felt a bit guilty and said he wouldn’t watch anymore.

There were so many notes like this, scrolling down took ages.

And there were also some entries that read like inner monologues.

Meng Chuan hadn’t realized he had such a rich emotional world.

He scrolled through them, cringing.

A note from a month ago read: I remembered a few more things today. I think I’ll have everything back soon. It’s a weird feeling. I told Wen Zhongyi, but he didn’t get it—just called me a pig. Still, I really feel like the person I used to be and the person I am now aren’t the same. Once I get all my memories back, I should be better at making him happy. I’ll try harder to remember more.

Meng Chuan’s mouth twitched. “…”

His head hurt even more.

He was tempted to delete all these sappy entries. His finger hovered over the delete button for a few seconds—but in the end, he didn’t press it.

He set the phone face down and let out a soft sigh.

The next morning, Wen Zhongyi pushed open the door to Meng Chuan’s hospital room.

Meng Chuan had just come out of the bathroom, slowly steadying himself against the wall. He smiled at him. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Wen Zhongyi replied, moving to help him.

“No need, I’m fine.” Meng Chuan waved him off.

During morning rounds, the doctor had said he could move around a bit—as long as he didn’t overexert himself and took care not to bump his head again.

Meng Chuan shuffled slowly back to bed and looked at Wen Zhongyi. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Not yet,” Wen Zhongyi said.

His breakfasts these past few days had all been lovingly prepared by Zhou Lu. She picked ingredients carefully and only made things Wen Zhongyi liked and that were nutritious.

Even though Wen Zhongyi insisted on staying in the hospital to keep Meng Chuan company, Zhou Lu still went home to cook and brought the food back for him.

As for the patient himself, Meng Chuan just ate the hospital’s nutrition meals.

He wasn’t picky—he could eat anything.

Meng Chuan smiled. “My mom’s really treating you like a precious treasure.”

Wen Zhongyi raised an eyebrow slightly. “Isn’t that true?”

“Ai, yeah yeah.” Meng Chuan’s smile deepened. “Who could deny that?”

Wen Zhongyi smiled with pressed lips.

Today, he wore a dark gray turtleneck sweater that covered part of his chin, making him look especially gentle.

Pregnancy had softened his aura—his once cool, aloof features had become more tender. Especially when he touched his belly or looked at Meng Chuan, his eyes were always warm.

Meng Chuan looked at him for a moment and beckoned. “Come here.”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t know why, so he leaned over. “What?”

Meng Chuan raised his hand, cupped the back of Wen Zhongyi’s head, and kissed him.

One sitting, one standing—afraid Wen Zhongyi might be uncomfortable bending over too long, Meng Chuan moved quickly and confidently, parting his lips to plunder. His fingers slid into Wen Zhongyi’s hair, gently tightening—a forceful yet tender touch.

After pulling back slightly, Meng Chuan asked, “How’s my kissing now?”

The question sounded familiar.

Back when he had amnesia, Meng Chuan had been childish—always comparing himself to his past self.

But now, the same question didn’t sound childish. Instead, it had a teasing edge, as if he just wanted to see Wen Zhongyi blush.

And it worked—Wen Zhongyi’s cheeks flushed. He lowered his voice. “Impressive.”

Meng Chuan smiled and leaned in again, sucking gently on his lower lip until it glistened.

Not long after, Zhou Lu’s voice could be heard faintly from the hallway—she was talking on the phone.

Soon, she pushed the door open with a stack of lunchboxes in hand, smiling brightly. “I knew you’d be in here, Xiao Wen. Come eat while it’s hot!”

Wen Zhongyi straightened up like nothing had happened. He kept his head down and met Meng Chuan’s gaze—who was looking completely smug.

Wen Zhongyi shot him a glare, then turned to Zhou Lu. “I’ll go wash my hands first.”

He stood up quickly. Zhou Lu didn’t notice anything amiss and turned to Meng Chuan. “How are you feeling today? Does your head still hurt?”

“It’s better than yesterday—mostly just dizzy.”

“Did you tell the doctor?” Zhou Lu asked.

“I did,” Meng Chuan replied. “He said it’s normal.”

“That’s good.” Zhou Lu opened the lunchboxes, pulled out two pairs of chopsticks, and said, “Eat some more.”

“You even brought a portion for me?” Meng Chuan grinned. “Should’ve told me—I already ate.”

Home-cooked meals were still better than hospital food, so Meng Chuan ended up eating another round.

As Wen Zhongyi was drinking water, Zhou Lu noticed his lips. “Xiao Wen, why are your lips swollen?”

“I bit them eating too fast.” Wen Zhongyi stayed calm.

“Eat slower—don’t rush,” Zhou Lu said.

“Mm.” Wen Zhongyi nodded.

Meng Chuan chuckled silently.

After breakfast, a nurse came in to change Meng Chuan’s IV, and Zhou Lu took a phone call.

She didn’t step out—just stayed in the room. From the conversation, it sounded like she was speaking to a lawyer.

Wen Zhongyi was peeling an apple with his head lowered. His fingers were long, skin fair, knuckles distinct. His nails were a healthy, smooth pink.

Meng Chuan listened to Zhou Lu’s voice while watching Wen Zhongyi’s hands.

After finishing the apple, Wen Zhongyi cut a small piece and held it to Meng Chuan’s mouth. “Open up.”

Meng Chuan obediently bit down—taking the apple along with Wen Zhongyi’s fingertip.

Wen Zhongyi’s eyes widened slightly. He instinctively looked at Zhou Lu, who had her back to them on the phone, and whispered, “Don’t mess around.”

Meng Chuan’s lower teeth pressed lightly against the pad of his finger—not hard, just enough to curve his eyes as he calmly gave it a gentle lick.