Chapter 20: The Veil of Maya (20)

Since Wen Mingwei said he was unavailable, Gu Jing naturally replied that he was not.

He euphemistically refined the phrasing, saying, "Mingwei is not with me at the moment; I will be in touch with you later."

However, before this short sentence was even finished, Tan Zhao hung up the phone with a sharp "click." Judging by the speed of the disconnection, it was clearly impatience—he was unwilling to wait even a single second longer.

Gu Jing glanced back at Wen Mingwei, who acted as if nothing had happened and pointed to a new destination: "Let's go eat first, we'll head back later."

"Head back later."

At first, Gu Jing did not understand whether this meant returning to their temporary residence or returning to Xijing, but he soon had his answer—Wen Mingwei lingered for another day, only leaving Longdu City on the 15th after packing up Jian Qingzheng’s belongings to begin the journey home.

During those nearly two days, Wen Mingwei had not sent a single word back to Tan Zhao, and Tan Zhao had not reached out again. Gu Jing did not understand what Wen Mingwei meant by this; it did not seem like a calculated move, but rather that he was simply tired and lacked the energy to deal with Tan Zhao.

In truth, Gu Jing was the one who knew best why Wen Mingwei had treated Tan Zhao as a stand-in. He was also aware that the reason Wen Mingwei had secretly observed Tan Zhao for years before finally pursuing him this year was because Tan Zhao had turned twenty-four.

Jian Qingzheng had passed away at the age of twenty-four; at that age, Tan Zhao looked most like him.

Wen Mingwei had originally rejected the complications of intimacy and did not want to get close to Tan Zhao, but in the end, he could not resist and had caught the tail end of his twenty-fourth year.

Today was August 15th, and Tan Zhao was already twenty-five.

It was an age that the person frozen in Wen Mingwei’s memory would never reach.

Considering this, it was unlikely that Wen Mingwei was in any mood to celebrate Tan Zhao's birthday. Gu Jing even suspected that he intended to put an end to things here and cease developing the relationship with Tan Zhao. However, as an outsider, he could not ask such questions, and nothing was ever revealed in Wen Mingwei’s almost perpetually unchanging expression.

They began their journey back to the capital on the afternoon of the 15th. Because of urgent work, Jian Xinning had left earlier by plane, leaving only Wen Mingwei and Gu Jing in the car.

Gu Jing drove in silence, and Wen Mingwei was even quieter. They barely spoke during the trip; the only sound in the back seat was the slight rustle of paper as Wen Mingwei flipped through the pages of a book.

It was one of Jian Qingzheng’s belongings: a diary.

It was barely a diary, as it contained no private content that couldn't be seen by others. Jian Qingzheng liked to record his daily life, and everything he recorded was related to Wen Mingwei. For example, "Today I accompanied Mingwei to a certain place; he liked the local snacks very much. He bought two portions saying they were for me, but actually, he ate them all himself," or, "We agreed to meet at ten, but Mingwei was angry because I was a minute late. He is very strict, but also very cute," followed by a drawn smiley face and the addendum: "I know I was wrong."

Wen Mingwei had read these entries many times, almost knowing them by heart, yet he still found them fresh each time, experiencing different feelings every year. The biggest difference was that while reading them in years past had been unbearably heartbreaking, now he couldn't help but ponder: why did he seem so cute and childish in Jian Qingzheng’s eyes? Was that person really him? It was completely different from his own impression of himself.

He was precocious, calculating, ambitious, silent, and dull; he never stopped until his goals were met. In short, he had nothing to do with being cute or childish. Wen Mingwei pondered this question not just to figure out whether Jian Qingzheng had truly loved him back then, but primarily because he felt he couldn't see himself clearly. This state of "not being able to see himself" had actually persisted for many years.

A living person cannot be without a temperament; temperament is a reflection of one's nature.

For instance, Tan Zhao loved to lose his temper. If he encountered something slightly disagreeable, he would put on a cold face; if things were more serious, he would issue verbal warnings. Every expression and every line he spoke leaked his preferences, his thoughts, and even his bottom line. The more temperamental a person is, the easier they are to read—that is what it means to lack depth.

Wen Mingwei was the exact opposite: he had no temper and never flared with rage. Not only could outsiders not grasp his nature, but he himself found it increasingly difficult to locate where his true nature lay. Except when he was in pain, it was hard for him to feel his own existence.

He had discussed this question of "existence" with someone before.

The person was the director of the Zongli Association who had gifted him a painting last time—a polymath who had brought a copy of *The Veil of Maya* to his door, asserting before even showing it to Wen Mingwei that he would certainly like it. Wen Mingwei did indeed like it—but that was a later story.

At the time, Wen Mingwei had mentioned that pain could make the sense of "existence" more intense. The director did not understand, so he gave a crude and simple example: people usually do not notice the existence of their hands or feet because they are accustomed to them and feel nothing. But if one day your hand or foot were suddenly severed, you would intensely realize through the pain that it no longer existed.

Non-existence is a reflection of existence.

Wen Mingwei was expressionless when he said this, but the director had broken into a cold sweat. Although the director was involved in religious studies, he was not mentally ill, and every interaction with Wen Mingwei—a profoundly mentally ill patient—was incredibly stressful. Fortunately, the director had extensive experience and was not entirely unable to understand. He believed the root of Wen Mingwei’s problem was that he had nothing he cared about.

If you like a flower and it is picked by someone else, you feel regret. If you like a person and they are taken away, you feel jealousy. Regret and jealousy make you understand your desires and feel the existence of your self.

If you do not care about that flower or that person, you feel no regret and no jealousy; your inner heart remains as still as an ancient well. Naturally, you cannot touch your own self and can only manufacture pain, gaining some physiological sense of existence through the pain you create yourself.

This was why Wen Mingwei was always taking medication; the director could roughly guess what he was taking. The conversation had gone too deep that day, and the director had blurted out, "Since you don't care about anything, what are you living for?"

Wen Mingwei paused and did not answer. The director realized he had been too offensive and did not dare to visit again for a long time. The next time he came, it was to deliver *The Veil of Maya*.

The question of living or dying was not something Wen Mingwei usually thought about intentionally. But today was different from the past. Someone had just passed their death anniversary, and someone else was celebrating a birthday. The distance between life and death was only a ten-hour drive. He had traveled from one to the other, and the meaning of his journey seemed only to be to transmit the deathly aura of a memory onto a living person, letting the other party be stained by the mustiness of the past and become a part of the pain he used to seek a sense of self-existence.

It seemed a bit unnecessary.

The dead were already dead, and the living were living well. A person like him, who was neither dead nor alive, didn't really fit into either side.

But thinking about these things was pointless.

Wen Mingwei felt lethargic and let his thoughts drift freely. It was only after a long time that he suddenly realized the reason he was thinking these things was that he had recently stopped his medication; as soon as he left his medication, his mental state became unstable.

Wen Mingwei glanced out the window. It was past ten at night, and the darkness was profound. Judging by the surroundings, they were about to enter Xijing City; it would be about an hour before they were home.

He sat up a little straighter and asked Gu Jing in the front, "Is there any medication in the car?"

"..."

Gu Jing was startled by the request. He subconsciously slowed the car and asked, "Has something happened?"

"No," Wen Mingwei said. "I'm not feeling very well. Just give me two pills; I remember there being some, right?"

Gu Jing was silent for a moment. He rummaged through the storage compartment with one hand, checking the labels on the bottles, and said, "These are spare meds from a few batches ago; it might not be appropriate to use them now..."

"It doesn't matter. Give them to me."

Wen Mingwei didn't even look, simply poured out two pills, swallowed them with the water Gu Jing handed him, and closed his eyes to sleep. He did not give Gu Jing the order to find Tan Zhao; as soon as they entered the city, Gu Jing naturally drove toward Haiyuan—to go home.

His sleep could barely be considered peaceful. Unexpectedly, he had a dream. He didn't dream of Jian Qingzheng, but of Tan Zhao.

It was from several years ago, the first time he had met the grown-up Tan Zhao. It was also Jian Qingzheng’s death anniversary, and also such a dismal night.

However, before the dream could unfold and help him relive that unforgettable scene from back then, the car suddenly slammed on the brakes. Wen Mingwei swayed with the momentum in his sleep and was jolted awake.

A few seconds later, he slowly lifted his heavy eyelids and looked ahead.

It was already past eleven. They were on the internal roads of the Haiyuan residential area, and his home was not much further ahead.

He saw the streetlights glowing dimly in the middle of the night, and a person standing in the middle of the road: a white shirt, black dress pants, his tie loosened sloppily. He looked somewhat decadent, but his face under the glare of the headlights was extremely cold, a diamond in his left ear glinting—who else could it be but Tan Zhao?

Wen Mingwei finally woke up. He hadn't expected Tan Zhao to appear here. He was silent for a moment, then instructed Gu Jing, "Stop the car here, you go back first."

He handed the box containing the belongings from the back seat to the front, "Take this."

Gu Jing replied, "Yes," and turned off the engine before leaving.

The headlights were abruptly extinguished, leaving only the dim light of the streetlights. The stifling, gloomy aura that Tan Zhao couldn't suppress immediately spread from several meters away to right in front of Wen Mingwei.

But he didn't move, nor did he speak, as if whoever reacted first would lose.

Wen Mingwei didn't care about winning or losing. He wanted to get out of the car to talk to him, but perhaps influenced by the medication he had just taken, he suddenly felt his hands and feet trembling as he tried to get up, and he failed to stand.

Wen Mingwei pushed the car door open and said to the outside, "Are you coming up?"

Tan Zhao didn't move. They remained in a stalemate for perhaps a minute. Wen Mingwei asked again, and only then did Tan Zhao finally walk over with a foul expression, get into the car, and sit beside him.

"So, you're still alive?" Tan Zhao said with a sneer.

"I was delayed by something."

"Oh, delayed." Tan Zhao savored this excuse. "Delayed to the point of having no time to check your phone for days, not even sending the birthday gift you promised me, having your secretary make excuses for you, playing dead, and going missing."

"..."

"Are you trying to give up because you can't catch me, or are you playing hard to get? What do you take me for, Wen Mingwei?"

Tan Zhao suddenly grabbed his arm, the veins on the back of his hand bulging. His eyes seemed a bit red, but the light in the car was too dim to see clearly.

Wen Mingwei did not answer.

He should have smiled as he usually did, using his practiced skills of coaxing to soothe Tan Zhao—the young master looked tough on the surface, but the look in his eyes was clearly like a homeless puppy; if he didn't get taken in today, he really didn't know where he would be able to go in the future.

But Wen Mingwei couldn't smile, and his thinking was sluggish from the medication. It was a long time before he said, "I went to a friend's funeral."

He thought about whether it was necessary to continue, but before he could reach a conclusion, the second half of the sentence slipped out, "I was very busy, and I wasn't in a good mood—"