Chapter 35: Soul (5)

If Xijing is the city of future technology, then Longdu is the city of religion. People from Xijing find it hard to comprehend how much the local culture of Xinzhou values one’s faith during life and the rites after death.

No, perhaps Tan Zhao does not fail to understand; it is precisely because he understands that he acts this way on purpose.

Wen Mingwei puts his full strength into a resounding slap that knocks Tan Zhao’s face to the side. His two subordinates behind them flinch, not daring to look closely. Today, Wen Mingwei did not bring a gun; otherwise, it likely would not have ended with just a slap.

In an instant, all the fury in Tan Zhao’s heart turns cold. It is not that he hadn’t imagined Wen Mingwei might lose his temper, but Wen Mingwei is always smiling, calmly holding his hand, gently leaning against his shoulder, kissing him with doting affection—so much so that Tan Zhao’s imagination was impoverished, unable to conjure what Wen Mingwei looked like when truly angry.

This gave him the illusion that he could do whatever he pleased, as if no matter what he did, Wen Mingwei would at most lightly furrow his brows and say, "Don't do this next time." Even knowing he was a substitute, wearing that ring custom-made for him, he couldn't help but feel that Wen Mingwei had been watching him for six years, and his feelings were not entirely because of Jian Qingzheng; they truly had a "next time."

Tan Zhao stands stiff, unable to speak. Wen Mingwei’s hand is still trembling as he pulls it back. He walks past Tan Zhao to the exploded tomb to personally inspect the coffin exposed beneath the rubble. There are no other graves near Jian Qingzheng’s; the area is filled with flowers and plants, each with a specific symbolic meaning, all planted by Wen Mingwei himself years ago.

Now, the greenery is scattered, and the ground is littered with mud and debris. Because the stone tomb was built thick, the coffin has barely remained intact without damage to the inside, but the surface is cracked in several places, requiring a different day to replace the coffin and re-inter it.

The sight of the cracks stings Wen Mingwei’s eyes. Unwilling to look at the wreckage any longer, he turns back to face Tan Zhao and strikes him across the face again with a loud crack.

"If you have a grudge, take it out on me! Why drag him into this?"

Wen Mingwei grabs Tan Zhao by the collar and drags him toward the grave, forcing him to kneel. "Apologize!"

But not hitting back while being beaten is already Tan Zhao’s limit; kneeling to admit fault is absolutely impossible. Wen Mingwei is shoved away by him, and after a few bouts of tugging, both of them have reddened eyes.

Tan Zhao seals his stinging eyes with anger, refusing to bow his head. "It was all your fault!"

"Everything is caused by you. If anyone should apologize, it’s you."

Tan Zhao sneers. "Do you mean what you say? You won't regret it? Only the heartless have no reservations, daring to say such hurtful things. Do you think I don't know what you’re thinking, Wen Mingwei?"

"..."

"You were just waiting for me to make a mistake. Anyway, no matter how you hurt me, you feel neither pain nor itch, but as long as I do something wrong, you can feel justified and not owe me anything! Since that’s the case, isn't what I did exactly what you wanted?"

"..." Wen Mingwei is overcome with rage and has no desire to argue with him. His vision swimming and the persistent tinnitus in his ears prevent him from arguing with Tan Zhao in front of Jian Qingzheng’s grave.

He hasn't experienced such violent emotional fluctuations in many years, and he is unaccustomed to it himself. His body and mind feel faint—the precursor to an episode. Wen Mingwei doesn't have a sudden acute illness, but having consumed so many "poisons" over the years, his body has become like a cultivated gu; it would be no surprise if it reacted to anything.

He forces himself to call out "Gu Jing," wanting Gu Jing to shove Tan Zhao into the car to be dealt with later; he needs to calm his emotions first. But the moment the sound leaves his throat, it is as soft as a whisper. Gu Jing doesn't hear it; only Tan Zhao does.

Tan Zhao supports his swaying body, and seeing him on the verge of collapse, his eyes ache even more. "Wen Mingwei, do you love him that much?"

Wen Mingwei intends to strike Tan Zhao a third time, but his hand is pinned before he can even raise it. Tan Zhao, finally pushed to his limit, says with a choked voice, "You’ve gone back on your word. Are you going to break up with me for his sake?"

"..."

"Since you don't love me at all and are only thinking of him when you're intimate with me, then why do you call my name?"

The sounds from the past still echo in his ears: Wen Mingwei, obsessed and infatuated, moaning "Tan Zhao" against his lips. In that moment, in that second, who was the person in his eyes?

Tan Zhao grips his waist, locking that long hair in the crook of his arm, and uses one hand to forcibly tilt Wen Mingwei’s face toward the coffin, kissing him forcefully. Wen Mingwei’s head swims, and he trembles violently, trying to push Tan Zhao away.

"Why are you dodging?" Tan Zhao mocks. "Afraid he’ll see? Why weren't you afraid when you were looking for a substitute? Why weren't you afraid when you were sleeping with me? Now you know to be afraid?"

Tan Zhao kisses him deeply, his locked arms like a cage. Wen Mingwei, in the poor state of an episode, is held down and forcibly kissed for dozens of seconds before he finally gathers the strength to break free, raising his right hand to strike him across the face!

Three slaps have landed in the same spot. Tan Zhao’s lip is split and bleeding, but the blow also brings him to his senses.

"...Fine, it’s all my fault."

Everything before this seems like a dream or a bubble, shattering in the blink of an eye. Tan Zhao says with self-mockery, "If I hadn't fallen for you, you wouldn't have pursued me, and none of this would have happened, right?"

"You are blameless, and he is even more so. You are both clean and innocent to the end. Only I am cheap and immoral, deserving to be hurt and still take your slaps. I should just accept my bad luck and let you both go, or continue to be a substitute without complaint, fulfilling your deep affection. Anyway, I can't compare to him—"

"You were never a match for him to begin with!"

Wen Mingwei remains silent for a long time before suddenly speaking, but these are the words that come out: "In what way could you ever compare to him? Even having you as a substitute is an insult to him."

"..."

Tan Zhao’s face turns deathly pale, and he is struck dumb.

Wen Mingwei takes a few deep breaths, trying to regain his composure and quell the rage in his heart, but fails. That was clearly an angry remark, but perhaps at certain moments—when Tan Zhao was being difficult, willful, or demanding more affection—Wen Mingwei might have truly thought that.

He is as cold now as he was gentle before. Tan Zhao realizes in a daze that he never truly understood him. Everything about Wen Mingwei was a facade, including his temperament.

"Then why..."

Why continue to pay attention to me for so many years, pursue me with gentleness, and accompany me with such patience? Could it be just to "insult" him? Was there no joy at all?

Tan Zhao does not ask it aloud, but Wen Mingwei knows what he wants to ask.

They remain in silent opposition for what might have been minutes, or perhaps longer. As the sky gradually darkens, Wen Mingwei finally speaks: "You want to know? I’ll tell you."

Six years ago—

In the distant past, the year Wen Mingwei had not yet freed himself from the agony of Jian Qingzheng’s passing, he returned to Xinzhou as was his custom for the third anniversary of his old friend’s death. It was on that day that he saw Tan Zhao.

If one doesn't count the insignificant encounters in their youth, that was their first meeting in the true sense. In the mainstream religious customs of Xinzhou, the third anniversary of a death is the "soul’s return" day for the deceased.

The so-called "soul’s return" refers to the deceased returning to the world of the living one last time before reincarnation to bid a thorough farewell to friends and family. After that, whether it was grace or grudge, love or hate, it is all concluded, and there is no further connection between them.

At that time, Wen Mingwei was in the early-to-mid stages of his medication, his mental state fluctuating between good and bad. When he was "good," he didn't believe in such superstitions; he was calm and indifferent, clearly understanding that when a person dies, the light goes out, and whatever happens afterward has nothing to do with the dead.

But he was rarely "good." Most of the time, he was obsessed with religion, taking Jian Qingzheng’s soul-return day very seriously, and firmly believing that it was impossible for Jian Qingzheng not to return to see him.

On the day of the anniversary, he arrived at the grave early to wait bitterly, going without a drop of water for the entire day. Regrettably, he did not wait for the "soul" he wanted to see. When Gu Jing helped him back into the car, he was utterly disheartened, nearly losing the ability to speak.

By then, the night was deep. Gu Jing wanted to console him but was powerless, so he took the initiative and brought him out to eat. Longdu had been prosperous for many years, no less so than the capital, Xijing. Late at night was the most lively hour; the commercial streets were ablaze with lights, and various billboards hung in every corner visible to the eye.

A cinema in the center of the square was crowded with people, and countless holographic images were projected into the throng, dyeing the faces—some excited, some indifferent—in vibrant colors.

At that very moment, Wen Mingwei saw Tan Zhao outside the car window.

A young face, remarkably similar to the photograph on the tombstone, appeared beneath the holographic beauty. The moment Wen Mingwei raised his eyes, dazzling light grazed the other’s perfect bridge of the nose; virtual seabirds fell upon his broad shoulders, and waves of water submerged him up to the familiar jawline. A gust of wind swept past, the tide receded—

Tan Zhao was still standing there, as if he had already experienced the vicissitudes of life. He was the returning soul who had come back, appearing suddenly in the dead of night to keep an appointment with Wen Mingwei.

Wen Mingwei opened the car door with trembling hands and rushed out. Gu Jing was terrified and wanted to stop him, but it was too late; he watched helplessly as he went toward that person, seemingly about to do something extreme.

However, Wen Mingwei did nothing.

He stopped by the roadside and bought a bouquet of roses from an automated flower vending machine.

Holding the roses, Wen Mingwei watched from afar as Tan Zhao walked into the cinema without noticing him. He didn't initiate a greeting; he didn't give him the flowers.

It was as if, at the slightest sound, that soul would be startled by the living and vanish into thin air.

He waited outside the cinema for more than two hours. From the roadside, he returned to the car and kept watching the continuous stream of people in front of the cinema until Tan Zhao emerged.

That year, Tan Zhao was eighteen. He seemed to be in Longdu for a visit, accompanied by two friends, a boy and a girl, roughly his age. Those two were clearly centered around him; their eyes were on him whenever they spoke, full of praise and laughter.

Tan Zhao didn't laugh much, but while he was aloof, he was not cold. His whole being radiated a confident vitality and an untamed, burgeoning life force. He was like a tree that had never been pruned, growing wantonly according to its own will, with no one able to stop him.

He was very sharp and, sensing someone staring in the dark, suddenly turned his head and swept a glance at Wen Mingwei’s car.

The car windows were one-way glass; nothing could be seen from the outside.

Yet Wen Mingwei was scorched by that single glance, and from then on, a medicine named "Tan Zhao" was added to his prescription.

In the six years since, Tan Zhao became Jian Qingzheng’s substitute, but strictly speaking, it might not be a substitute in the literal sense. Wen Mingwei knew very well that he and Jian Qingzheng were two different people. Rather than calling him a substitute, it was more like Tan Zhao was Jian Qingzheng’s "reincarnation," or a "borrowed body for a returning soul"—that is what Wen Mingwei thought.

Therefore, Wen Mingwei did not deliberately seek out similarities between them. Tan Zhao was the medicine, the spiritual sustenance, and the person Wen Mingwei wanted to see most after waking up from his nightmares.

Wen Mingwei paid attention to everything about him and understood his personality. Sometimes, hearing that he had once again mercilessly rejected a suitor, or had hurt someone over some matter, he couldn't help but shake his head, lamenting that the young master’s pampered temper was truly annoying.

But this annoyance was also somewhat cute, much like a pet cat or dog one has raised scratching someone else; at most, the owner can only sigh.