Chapter 41: The Lion (1)

It was past ten o'clock on the night of September 15th when Tan Zhao returned home.

Before he arrived, Wen Mingwei had just finished washing his hair. Dressed in pajamas with his long hair hanging loose, he sat quietly in a chair by the bedroom window. Hearing the sound of a car, he glanced down at the street and said to Gu Jing, who stood behind him, "You may go and rest."

Gu Jing had come to deliver medication.

It was a new drug, labeled "No. 19E," still part of the "19" series. The reason the line remained at "19" and could not progress to "20" was that recent research and development at the laboratory had hit a bottleneck, failing to produce any groundbreaking new formulas.

Wen Mingwei held the bottle, unconsciously turning it over in his hand. The pills rattled against the plastic container. He flipped it back and forth as if playing with dice, listening to the sound of Gu Jing’s retreating footsteps and the door closing. Finally, he shook out a pill and swallowed it.

This drug was an improved version of another he had taken previously. Its specific effect was to induce a form of gastric distress, allowing him to experience the symptoms of a stomach ailment without actually having one. The improvement lay in its rapid onset and equally quick dissipation, making it convenient for him to receive "comfort" when he felt distressed, without the time-consuming burden of prolonged illness.

However, since it was merely an improvement rather than something fresh, Wen Mingwei felt little interest. He did not blame the researchers; nothing could develop at high speed forever. The closer one approached the limit, the harder it was to break through, and hitting a bottleneck was inevitable. He was simply disappointed. Taking medicine was his way of coping with a sense of void, and even this path seemed to be nearing its end.

Wen Mingwei did not drink any water, and the pill felt uncomfortable stuck in his throat. Hearing the door open, he didn't look back and said, "Tan Zhao, pour me a glass of water."

"..."

Behind him came the rustle of a coat being removed, the sound of car keys dropping onto the table, and the noise of his partner picking up a glass and filling it with warm water from the dispenser. Then, wrapped in the scent of the autumn night, the person approached the window and held out the glass.

Wen Mingwei turned. Tan Zhao’s distinct, bony fingers gripped the rim of the glass unsteadily, the water surface rippling slightly. Wen Mingwei’s gaze traveled from the man’s fingers up to his face, meeting Tan Zhao’s silent eyes.

"Where did you go?" Wen Mingwei asked.

"..." Tan Zhao wanted to put the glass down, but seeing Wen Mingwei’s silent disapproval, he held his ground and said, "Do you not know where I went?"

"I don't. I haven't been monitoring you lately."

Wen Mingwei said it lightly, as if joking, but his expression was serious. The way he looked up from below clearly expressed a specific demand. Tan Zhao understood; dominated by that silent pressure, he held the glass steady and fed him the water himself.

The pill finally slid down into his stomach. Feeling a bit more comfortable, Wen Mingwei asked again, "Where did you go?"

"A bar, to meet a friend," Tan Zhao replied. "You never said I couldn't socialize."

Wen Mingwei offered no comment, leaving the window to return to bed. He was waiting for the drug to take effect. Tan Zhao stripped and went to shower, then returned to lie down beside him. Just as Wen Mingwei began to suffer from stomach cramps, his expression remained as calm as if he felt nothing at all; only the slightly trembling fingers beneath the quilt betrayed the intense physiological pain he was enduring.

Tan Zhao was already well-acquainted with his penchant for pain. Others sought pain for pleasure, but Wen Mingwei was different—he seemed to derive no pleasure, only enjoying the suffering itself.

Tan Zhao didn't understand it, nor did he want to. But tonight, that persistent thought of "not wanting to love" lingered in his heart. He couldn't shake it off, nor could he dispel the feelings of love it stirred up. It was as if Wen Mingwei’s pain was spreading to him, making him feel physically ill, until he couldn't help but demand, "Can you stop going crazy?"

If you want to be insane, do it alone. Can’t you leave others out of it?

No, Wen Mingwei would not let him go.

Tan Zhao used to think that Wen Mingwei loved him so much he wanted him to be buried alongside him. Now, he felt that if Wen Mingwei were to die first, it would be he who was dragged into the coffin to serve as a companion. And the tombstone wouldn't be inscribed with "Tan Zhao," but rather "The Soul of Jian Qingzheng."

Tan Zhao’s hands also began to tremble. He clenched them tightly until his knuckles turned white, running through his mental mantra of endurance—he could withstand the mockery of Jian Xinning, but in the face of Wen Mingwei, his anger was always harder to control. Perhaps because hidden beneath the anger was a sense of grievance.

In this awkward situation where even feeling aggrieved was a humiliation, what reason was there for love to continue? Yet it refused to die, like an incurable disease—arriving like a mountain collapsing and leaving like a thread being pulled, with no telling how long it would take to finish.

Tan Zhao took a deep breath and turned away, feeling slightly better once he had distanced himself from Wen Mingwei. He avoided the direction where Wen Mingwei might see him and picked up his phone.

Li Yue had already sent over the contact information. That person claimed to be an intelligence broker. When they had drunk together in the past, he had heard the man boast that as long as one had money, there wasn't a name or a person whose details couldn't be unearthed.

Tan Zhao knew it might not be entirely reliable—the man certainly couldn't find out Wen Mingzhe's current status—but details about his past influence, the key figures around him, who was most likely to have saved him, and his public reputation were all things Wen Mingwei had never mentioned. Even if knowing this wouldn't necessarily be useful, it was better than remaining entirely in the dark.

Tan Zhao desperately needed to do something concrete to find a way out. As for what would happen afterward, that was a problem for later. For now, he could only walk forward along the only path in front of him. He sent his request to the contact and waited for a reply.

Suddenly, Wen Mingwei opened his eyes and glanced at him. The intense stomach pain had not yet passed; Wen Mingwei was pale, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, one hand resting unconsciously on his abdomen. He didn't look like he was particularly enjoying it.

Tan Zhao didn't want to pay attention to him, but this drug was different from yesterday's; his reaction was more pronounced, impossible to ignore.

*Is it a new drug?* Tan Zhao opened his mouth, but only asked in his heart, making no sound.

Wen Mingwei naturally couldn't hear his thoughts. Another wave of sharp pain struck, and unable to bear it, he turned and clicked off the light.

"..."

In the darkness, Tan Zhao listened to his deliberately suppressed gasps and felt a bit breathless himself. He suddenly recalled a time when Wen Mingwei had joked, "Actually, I don't like taking medicine; I don't need to when I'm with you." So why did he have to take it every day now?

Was he not being cooperative enough? Was he unable to provide him with the physical pleasure and emotional value he required?

The phone vibrated. Tan Zhao hesitated before picking it up; it was a price quote from the intelligence broker. He replied with a simple "Okay."

Wen Mingwei was facing away from him, completely oblivious. Although Wen Mingwei was controlling, he had never checked Tan Zhao’s phone, nor did he care who Tan Zhao contacted, perhaps because he knew Tan Zhao had few private connections and saw no need to check.

Tan Zhao exchanged a few more messages. The sound of the man’s pained breathing beside him gradually leveled out; the effects of the drug seemed to be fading, allowing him to catch his breath. Then, Wen Mingwei pulled the quilt tight, covering himself as if completing a bedtime ritual, finally ready to sleep.

But one thing was missing—they hadn't been together today, nor had they kissed. Even the conversation was less than in previous days, which felt somewhat disorienting.

Tan Zhao wanted to speak, but nothing came out. He knew clearly that whether Wen Mingwei clung to him or distanced himself, the reason had nothing to do with him as an individual. Just as a master might tease a pet when in a good mood and ignore it when in a bad one, there was no need to ask why, and he didn't want to know.

They lay back-to-back, neither asleep. Suddenly, the phone vibrated again—another message from the broker. Tan Zhao glanced at it but didn't reply. Wen Mingwei was finally disturbed by the noise and said, "Turn it off."

"..." Tan Zhao switched it to sleep mode and set it aside.

"Who are you in contact with?"

"A friend."

"Which friend?"

"...Li Yue."

Wen Mingwei didn't ask further. He turned over and pressed his hand onto Tan Zhao’s shoulder. This was an intimate gesture. As soon as Tan Zhao turned back, he was kissed, but it was just a light, fleeting touch—a simple goodnight kiss. There was no further action. Wen Mingwei lay back on his pillow, reached for a bottle of medicine on the nightstand, and swallowed another pill.

There were several different bottles there, and without the lights on, it was impossible to see the labels. Tan Zhao suspected that he didn't even know what he was taking, nor did he care; he would just take any random one.

Tan Zhao couldn't stand it anymore. "Can you stop taking those?"

Wen Mingwei glanced at him.

"If you have a mental illness, go get it treated. Does taking this stuff make you happy?"

"..."

The word "happy" seemed to have nothing to do with Wen Mingwei. Tan Zhao realized belatedly: he simply wasn't happy. It was just that he was usually so calm, his stable emotions and condescending attitude acting as a mask, preventing anyone from discovering his unhappiness.

"What exactly do you want?"

Tan Zhao struggled to control his emotions, keeping his tone suppressed. "At your level, you've attained everything you could want, and what you haven't, you're close to getting. What desire could you possibly have left unfulfilled? Could it be that someone who died nearly ten years ago is still torturing you like this?"

"..."

These were things he shouldn't have said, but they were out, and water once spilled cannot be gathered back. Tan Zhao didn't want to look at his sickly face and those eyes that were almost devoid of vitality. Anyone who fell in love with a man like him was cursed, and unfortunately, Tan Zhao was that cursed soul.

Yet, Wen Mingwei still looked at him with that same calmness. There was no sorrow or sadness on his face, nor any shame for making others worry about him. He examined Tan Zhao in silence, and whatever he concluded, he suddenly leaned in and kissed him again.

This kiss was longer than the last. Wen Mingwei gripped Tan Zhao’s face, forcefully quelling his angry trembling. He seemed to see through the grievance hidden beneath the anger, kissing him gently and lingeringly, offering the utmost comfort.

After kissing him repeatedly, Wen Mingwei didn't explain his previous actions. Pressing down on Tan Zhao’s shoulder, his fingers caressed his neck as he said affectionately, "If you treat me a little better, I won't take the medicine."

"..."

Tan Zhao choked. How could he have the gall to say such a thing? Which one of them was treating the other poorly? It was a complete reversal of truth, a nonsensical accusation.

Tan Zhao turned his face away, avoiding Wen Mingwei’s gaze. But his chin was pulled back, and he was kissed once more.

"I have to go on a long trip tomorrow. I originally wanted to go alone, without you," Wen Mingwei said. "But I’ve changed my mind. You’re coming with me."

"Where to?"

"To see my second brother, Wen Mingzhe."

"..."

Tan Zhao’s heart skipped a beat. "You found him?"