POTINS 47

Zhou Lu finished her call, then turned to them and said, “The matter with the car accident is almost dealt with. The driver woke up yesterday and has already told the police everything about being hired by someone.”

But the driver had only taken the money to do a job. He didn’t know who gave him the money, nor who the person he was following was.

Jiang Ming had been extremely cautious. The payment was made in cash, and the person who showed up at the driver’s house had been completely wrapped up, leaving no gaps. By the time the police identified the man, he had already left the country four days earlier.

Originally, the driver had refused to admit he was acting under someone’s orders and even claimed he would sue. But Zhou Lu offered him an astronomical sum of money.

Even if he sued and won compensation, he could never have gotten that much.

A gambler is easily swayed by money, and he immediately agreed to tell everything he knew.

But it was still far from enough.

Ji Shu had been furious and tried to pull off a similar car accident as revenge. Unexpectedly, Jiang Ming had already taken precautions—Ji Shu only ended up with a broken arm.

If someone had actually died, it would’ve been impossible to clean up the mess, so Ji Shu had no choice but to back down.

The best revenge wasn’t just making Jiang Ming suffer physically—it was destroying everything he cared about so that he could never recover.

“Leave this to me,” Meng Chuan said.

Zhou Lu replied, “You should focus on recovering. Let us handle it.”

“No.” Meng Chuan shook his head. “You don’t understand him.”

He and Jiang Ming had taken over their family companies around the same time and had been competing for years. He had long since figured out Jiang Ming’s personality and tactics.

What Meng Chuan knew went far beyond what they could dig up.

After Zhou Lu left, Meng Chuan called his secretary and gave a few instructions.

Wen Zhongyi had just finished eating an apple, washed the fruit knife clean, and placed it in the drawer. He looked up at the IV bottle. “It’s almost empty.”

Meng Chuan set down his phone and followed his gaze.

Sunlight filled the room with a clear, warm glow. The IV tube hanging in the air shimmered as it slowly fed medicine into his body.

Wen Zhongyi seemed to find the evenly dripping liquid quite interesting. He tilted his head and just stared at it.

Meng Chuan’s gaze shifted to Wen Zhongyi’s face and quietly lingered there.

During the sleepless hours of the night, Meng Chuan had thought about many things—most of them related to Wen Zhongyi.

When he had first crossed over into the ABO world, he’d felt a strong sense of alienation.

He knew he didn’t belong there, so no matter who he interacted with, he rarely spoke much or showed emotion. He was always prepared to leave at any moment.

Until he met Wen Zhongyi.

Meng Chuan never expected that his initial curiosity and interest in Wen Zhongyi would spiral so far out of control.

He had thought it was just a fleeting fascination—but hadn’t anticipated how hard it would become to let go.

Because of Wen Zhongyi, he found himself more and more entangled in that world, and more and more unwilling to leave it.

He often felt anxious and fearful, but could never find the words to express it.

He thought of some films he’d seen—stories of people who traveled to other times and places. Most of them would return to their original world in the end.

Some might discover a way to travel back and return one day without warning.

Others never reunited—ending in tragedy.

There always seemed to be a day when separation was inevitable.

In a sense, Meng Chuan was lucky.

He had returned to his own world—and for reasons still unknown, Wen Zhongyi had crossed over too.

But now their roles were reversed. Wen Zhongyi had become the outsider.

Yet unlike Meng Chuan back then, Wen Zhongyi wasn’t a stranger to this world. He carried four years of memories, bore a child, endured the pain of being forgotten—and wandered through a place he didn’t know.

Just the thought of it made Meng Chuan’s chest ache so badly he could hardly breathe.

Someone as proud and aloof as Wen Zhongyi had suffered so much because of him.

A person who barely ever shed tears in Sanka had cried again and again in this world.

The guilt was overwhelming. No amount of making up for it felt enough.

If possible, Meng Chuan wanted to go back to Sanka with Wen Zhongyi.

If one of them had to be the one to leave their home, he wanted it to be himself.

Wen Zhongyi watched as the medicine in the IV bottle ran dry and pressed the call button.

A nurse came in and removed the needle from Meng Chuan’s hand, telling him to hold down the site to stop the bleeding.

Just as Meng Chuan was about to reach for it, Wen Zhongyi said, “I’ll do it.”

His thumb gently pressed on the back of Meng Chuan’s hand. After so many needle insertions, his hand was marked with obvious bruising and had grown thinner.

Wen Zhongyi lowered his head and stroked his hand softly, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Zhongyi,” Meng Chuan suddenly said.

Wen Zhongyi looked up. “What is it?”

Meng Chuan flipped his hand to grasp his, paused, and then said, “There’s something I was going to wait to tell you until I had confirmation. I didn’t want to get your hopes up—or be wrong. But I also want to cheer you up a bit.”

Wen Zhongyi looked into his eyes and sensed that what Meng Chuan was about to say was very important. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. “What is it?”

“I might’ve found a way to travel through time and space,” Meng Chuan said.

Wen Zhongyi’s pupils contracted sharply. A look of disbelief instantly spread across his face.

Meng Chuan gave a small smile, gently rubbing his fingers. “Don’t get too excited yet. I’m not sure. I need to find the thing again to verify it.”

He began to recount what had happened the day he suddenly vanished.

That afternoon, he had just returned from a business trip. His debriefing with the military was scheduled for the next day, so he had the afternoon off—a rare break.

Meng Chuan had stood on the balcony and called Wen Zhongyi, saying he planned to make his favorite cream of mushroom soup that night and asking what time he’d be home.

“Around seven. I’ve got something to take care of today,” Wen Zhongyi had said.

Meng Chuan hadn’t asked what it was. He only said, “Okay, I’ll come pick you up.”

Wen Zhongyi had seemed to be in a car—Meng Chuan vaguely heard car horns in the background. He’d said, “I also want chestnut puffs.”

Meng Chuan had laughed. “Already bought them for you.”

They chatted a little longer, then hung up. It was 4:00 p.m. exactly.

At 4:15, Meng Chuan had put on a coat and gone downstairs to take out the trash. When he shoved his hand into his pocket, he felt something hard.

On the last day of his trip, he had attended a seaside banquet. After eating and drinking, he had wandered alone to a quiet stretch of beach.

There, he had seen something glowing in the sand.

At first, he thought it was just broken glass catching the light. But when he went closer, he realized it wasn’t. It was a pitch-black stone, about the size of a quail egg, with a rough surface and a faint silver shimmer, like a luminous pearl.

If it had just been curiosity, he wouldn’t have brought the stone home.

He had only picked it up because he remembered that Wen Zhongyi liked little things that glowed. He thought that if he polished the stone into a smooth, lustrous gem, Wen Zhongyi would be delighted to receive it.

At 4:30, Meng Chuan returned home, dug out some tools from the storage room, and sat on the floor to begin polishing it.

While using a file, he accidentally cut his hand.

There was already a wound on his finger that hadn’t fully healed; the file scraped off the newly formed scab, and blood dripped onto the stone.

Then Meng Chuan noticed the stone’s glow changing—from silver to a strange blue hue.

At first, he thought it was just his imagination.

He didn’t even wipe the blood off. Holding it up in the fading sunlight, he examined the mysterious stone closely.

It began to heat up in his palm.

Meng Chuan realized that this probably wasn’t just an ordinary stone. Before he could let go, he felt a jolt of electricity shoot from his fingertips to his arm.

A tingling numbness, stabbing pain, dizziness.

Everything in front of him warped and twisted—and then he lost consciousness.

“When I opened my eyes again, I was back here,” Meng Chuan said softly.

Unfortunately, having lost his memory, he hadn’t understood why he was holding a stone in his hand. He’d casually tossed it into the bushes, his attention focused entirely on the ring on his fourth finger.

Unfortunately, he lost the ring too.

Meng Chuan felt Wen Zhongyi’s fingers trembling and gently tightened his grip to steady him, speaking in a soothing voice: “I’ve already sent someone to look for it. That park is remote and not very frequented, so there’s a good chance the stone is still there.”

Wen Zhongyi’s mind was going numb. His heart beat fast and heavy, his entire body trembling uncontrollably.

He opened his mouth, took a breath to calm himself, and slowly said, “If we find the stone… does that mean we can…”

“In theory, yes,” Meng Chuan nodded. “You just have to drip blood on it.”

Wen Zhongyi fell silent, seeming to take his time digesting this reality.

—The reality that it might be possible to return to Sanka.

Just that thought made Wen Zhongyi’s heart clench.

His long, curled lashes slowly closed, and when they opened again, they shimmered with tears.

His eyes turned red as he softly, almost seeking confirmation, asked again, “Really?”

Meng Chuan didn’t say “in theory” or “I’m not sure” this time. He cupped Wen Zhongyi’s face, and with gentle certainty, said, “Yes. Really.”

He knew that what Wen Zhongyi needed right now wasn’t a guarantee—just reassurance as he instinctively hesitated in the face of hope.

Meng Chuan used his thumb to wipe away the tear at the corner of his eye and said, “When the time comes, I’ll go back with you.”

Then he pulled Wen Zhongyi onto the bed.

Wen Zhongyi hadn’t fully come back to his senses yet. He just did whatever Meng Chuan told him to, not really aware of what he was doing.

It wasn’t until he was lying side by side with Meng Chuan that Wen Zhongyi regained some clarity.

“How did I get up here?” he asked in a daze.

Meng Chuan chuckled. “Wake up—don’t sleepwalk.”

Wen Zhongyi tried to get up, but Meng Chuan held his hand to stop him.

The hospital bed was wide enough for both of them. Meng Chuan lay close to one edge to give Wen Zhongyi plenty of space.

“It’s fine, just lie down,” he said. “The doctors just made their rounds this morning. No one will come right now.”

Since he wasn’t on an IV drip, it didn’t matter that Wen Zhongyi was there. Most of all, Meng Chuan just wanted to be closer to him.

Wen Zhongyi carefully inched down, worried about bumping his head, and ended up resting his head on Meng Chuan’s shoulder.

It was a sunny day. Through the window, they could see the blue sky and white clouds, and faintly hear the sounds of cars passing outside.

Sunlight spilled over the bed, warming Wen Zhongyi’s legs and feet.

Meng Chuan threaded his fingers through Wen Zhongyi’s, interlacing them. In the quiet hospital room, surrounded by pheromones, they whispered to each other.

“Meng Chuan,” Wen Zhongyi suddenly said.

Meng Chuan hummed and turned his head slightly, unable to see his eyes from this angle—only those dark lashes blinking softly.

“Promise you’ll tell me the moment the stone is found,” he said.

Meng Chuan smiled. “I promise.”

Wen Zhongyi was quiet for a moment, and scenes of Sanka began to rise unbidden in his mind.

The streets of Sanka, its trees, its houses—and most importantly, the people he left behind.

That was his familiar hometown, where the ones he missed most lived.

“I had a dream once,” Wen Zhongyi said. “I dreamed that Father and Dad had forgotten me.”

His voice was very soft, emotionless on the surface, but it still made Meng Chuan’s heart ache. He consoled him, “You said it yourself—it was just a dream.”

Wen Zhongyi shook his head gently and asked, “If we go back, will they remember me?”

“They will,” Meng Chuan replied without hesitation.

Wen Zhongyi asked again, “Really?”

He didn’t quite believe he could be that lucky.

Meng Chuan regaining his memories was already an enormous surprise to him. The idea of going back to Sanka felt like something too good to even dream of.

Could such luck really come twice? Could he have just a little more?

He didn’t need everyone to remember him—just his Father and Dad.

“They will,” Meng Chuan said again patiently. “I remembered.”

That brought Wen Zhongyi a bit of comfort. He visibly relaxed.

Meng Chuan gently stroked the back of his hand. Worried that he might get his hopes too high and be crushed if it failed, he added delicately, “Once we find the stone, we’ll try.”

“Okay,” Wen Zhongyi replied.

He was already prepared for whatever might come. Having hope was a good thing—better than having none at all.

The sun seemed to shift, casting a broader beam of light that landed on Wen Zhongyi’s stomach.

Lying on his back, he could clearly feel the baby moving inside.

He raised their clasped hands to his belly and said, “He’s turning over again.”

Meng Chuan blinked. “He moves that much?”

“Who knows why,” Wen Zhongyi said, helpless. “He’s been pretty restless these past few weeks. Not quiet like before.”

The left side of his belly visibly bulged out—a little foot, probably.

Meng Chuan touched the bump and scolded, “That’s enough. Papa’s very tired.”

Wen Zhongyi smiled. “He can’t understand.”

He often talked to little Liuyi like that, knowing it made no difference—but he couldn’t help himself.

After a bit more tumbling, Liuyi finally calmed down. Meng Chuan muttered, “His temperament better not be like mine.”

“You were like this as a kid too?” Wen Zhongyi asked.

“My mom said I was a real handful,” Meng Chuan replied with a tight-lipped smile.

And it wasn’t just in the womb. He’d been even worse after being born.

Meng Chuan knew he’d been a nightmare child, and the thought of raising a kid just like himself made his head spin.

“How did your parents raise you?” Wen Zhongyi asked.

“You mean our parents,” Meng Chuan corrected with a smile. Then added, “They beat me, of course. My mom always believed that sparing the rod spoiled the child. Broke more than a few sticks on me. I was a rascal—hated school. They’d drop me off, and I’d sneak out over the wall during recess. Scared the teachers so badly they called the police. My mom found me and kicked me face-first into the ground…”

Wen Zhongyi had started out frowning, but by the end, he nodded in agreement. “Sounds like you deserved it.”

Meng Chuan shifted his hand over Wen Zhongyi’s stomach and joked, “So if Liuyi turns out just as naughty, we’ll spank him.”

“No way.”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t agree with that kind of parenting. He’d been raised by his Father and Dad with gentle care. They’d never so much as raised their voices to him, let alone a hand.

“Then what should we do?” Meng Chuan asked.

“No hitting or yelling. If he misbehaves, we teach him properly.” Wen Zhongyi looked serious. “You’re not allowed to hit him. If you do, I’ll hit you.”

Meng Chuan had only been joking, but he laughed. “Okay, no hitting. We’ll do it your way.”

“Or we can send him to my dads,” Wen Zhongyi suggested.

He couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to return to Sanka.

His Father and Dad would definitely adore their little grandson. Everything Wen Zhongyi had growing up, Liu Yi would have too—and more.

Meng Chuan rubbed his chin lightly against Wen Zhongyi’s hair and said softly, “Alright.”

Wen Zhongyi continued, “When I was little, we even had a cat. Father didn’t like having animals at home, but I wanted one, so he let me. He really spoiled me. Just didn’t say it out loud.”

“I can tell,” Meng Chuan said. “Both your dads love you.”

Wen Zhongyi gave a small hum of agreement, blinked quickly, then looked at Meng Chuan and said, “So you have to find that stone as soon as possible.” He paused. “And that ring.”