Chapter 47: The Lion (7)

Everything in the world has a logic, but love does not.

Wen Mingwei used to say that love is controlled by hormones, and those chemical substances affect a person's heartbeat, blood pressure, respiratory rate, and emotional state.

Yet, has he ever considered why those hormones are only secreted in massive amounts when a specific person appears?

Tan Zhao sat by the bedside, his wound throbbing persistently. But when he heard the words "you are simply you," perhaps due to a sudden surge of adrenaline that acted as a painkiller, for a few brief seconds, it didn't hurt at all.

"Are you serious?"

Tan Zhao found it hard to believe. "Since you're kindly taking pity on a wounded man, please stop playing games with me, alright?"

"What reason do I have to lie to you?"

"…Who knows."

Tan Zhao looked at Wen Mingwei with a complicated gaze, tracing the outlines of his face with his eyes.

If Tan Zhao had to choose the person most suited to be a con artist, it would undoubtedly be Wen Mingwei.

It had nothing to do with whether his deceptive techniques were brilliant or not; Wen Mingwei possessed a steady emotional baseline, high emotional intelligence, never panicked or felt guilty, and was exceptionally skilled at understanding others.

"Understanding" possessed a devastating lethality.

Normal people all have hidden distresses and vulnerabilities, desperately craving to be understood. As long as Wen Mingwei was willing, he could soothe anyone, including Tan Zhao. Yet, for Tan Zhao to understand him in return proved exceedingly difficult.

"Why?"

Feeling that the irrationality driven by hormones had temporarily subsided, Tan Zhao offered a self-deprecating smile. "Are you just casually coaxing me out of pity, or on a whim to try a different game?"

"No," Wen Mingwei mused, seemingly contemplating it as well, "because I also want to try. Perhaps things could develop differently between us."

"What kind of development do you want?"

When pressed further, Wen Mingwei smiled faintly. "Being in a relationship like any other couple? We have never truly dated properly."

Tan Zhao averted his gaze. "You were the one who wasn't serious; I've always been serious."

Wen Mingwei nodded. "You're right, which is why I want to give it a try. If you must ask why, consider it a way to make myself a little happier."

"…" The fact that he didn't claim to be doing it for Tan Zhao actually made his words far more believable.

Tan Zhao fell silent, his pale face revealing no overt emotions, save for a slight shift in his gaze that betrayed his wavering heart.

Wen Mingwei watched him with patience, suddenly realizing that Tan Zhao was much steadier now than before. The most obvious change was in his expressions—anger, sorrow, affection, or shyness were no longer as clearly visible as they once were.

In truth, looking at it purely from a chronological standpoint, not that much time had passed.

Yet too many things had happened within a short, dense span, exerting a greater impact on a person than misfortunes spread out over a long period—before the previous wound had even healed, he was forced to reconstruct his inner self to welcome the next injury.

Thus, Tan Zhao had cultivated a layer of defense; he was no longer the naive young master who would fall for Wen Mingwei's tricks at a mere wave of his hand.

Wen Mingwei pried open Tan Zhao's fingers, interlacing his hand tightly with his, and said, "Actually, you know what I want."

"I don't."

"You do," Wen Mingwei insisted. "You just don't believe it."

"…"

"I said before, I don't want to take my medicine anymore. Compared to medicine, I need you more."

Leaning in close, Wen Mingwei's face was almost pressed against Tan Zhao's. Though his tone was calm, it carried a rare edge of aggression.

He said, "It's not just about being in a relationship. A relationship is nothing more than mutual concern, jealousy, and a little sexual pleasure? None of those move me. What moves me is—"

He suddenly stopped.

Just moments ago, he had insisted that Tan Zhao knew what he wanted, but when it came to voicing it himself, he seemed uncertain even of his own mind.

Yet no one is truly unaware of what they desire; they are merely unwilling to say it directly or refuse to admit it to themselves in their subconscious.

Wen Mingwei gripped the side of Tan Zhao's neck, pressing against his pulse, feeling the steady thrum, yet the rest of his sentence remained unspoken.

He hesitated, but even in his hesitation, he did not let go, as if he meant to hold Tan Zhao by the throat no matter what. Then, tightening his grip, skin pressing against skin, he unknowingly kissed Tan Zhao's neck, his lips slowly moving upward from his Adam's apple to his jawline, as though savoring a possession of his own. He bit down firmly on Tan Zhao's lips, adding a fresh hint of iron-tasting blood to the medicinal scent radiating from the wound.

Tan Zhao found it hard to resist, unable to move. Being "savored" by Wen Mingwei was a sensation that was both painful and exquisitely pleasant; his status had shifted from a pet to a medicine, though whether that constituted a promotion or a demotion remained unclear.

Setting status aside, they were not even spiritual equals.

Equality is built upon mutual understanding, especially within emotional relationships. Because only through understanding can one discover the other's pain points or preferences, and thereby "control" the other's emotions—the very definition of seizing the initiative.

Right now, Tan Zhao could only be controlled; he held no initiative.

Over the past two days, they had traveled to Pubang on a business trip. Although Wen Mingwei had brought his medication, circumstances had left him with no opportunity to take it. Perhaps precisely because he had missed his doses, his emotions remained pent-up, and uncertain whether he should continue taking them tonight, tomorrow, or in the future, he had chosen this moment to thoroughly upend the status quo.

Was that it?

So, he truly was being serious? Not lying?

"…" Meeting Wen Mingwei's flickering gaze through the kiss, Tan Zhao felt his mind being hollowed out, conscious only of the slightly trembling eyelashes of the man before him in his state of intoxication. They fluttered like dark raven feathers, lifting and falling, stirring up a hurricane within the heart of the one being kissed.

If he were to be loved by Wen Mingwei, to wrest the initiative from his hands, to be relied upon rather than merely controlled, while also understanding him, savoring him, and cherishing him—what kind of feeling would that be?

It took a great deal of effort for Tan Zhao to break free from the numbing intoxication of the deep kiss, forcing his mind to regain some clarity. "I know you need me, but your need stems from Jian Qingzheng. Even if I want a fresh start, can you actually do it? Can you forget him?"

Expecting this question to be exceptionally difficult to answer, Wen Mingwei instead posed a counter-question: "Do you know why I can't forget him?"

"…I don't know." Tan Zhao averted his eyes, thinking to himself: And I don't want to know. Don't tell me.

Yet Wen Mingwei insisted on saying it anyway. "Tan Zhao, tell me, if a person is always floating mid-air, wouldn't they need to grab onto something just to keep from falling?"

Tan Zhao looked back at him.

"I may look like I have everything right now, but there are very few things I can actually grasp. Do you understand?"

"…"

He didn't understand.

Yet he didn't entirely fail to understand, either.

"So you want to grab onto him?" Tan Zhao paused. "And now—"

"Now I want to grab onto you. Are you willing?"

Wen Mingwei smiled faintly. He had been so earnest just a moment ago, allowing people a direct glimpse into his true inner self, but the moment he smiled, the atmosphere shifted, making him seem deceitful once again.

Tan Zhao felt as though he were being pulled close and then pushed away, dizzy and unstable in his blood pressure—heaven knows what kind of hormones were torturing him.

"I need to think about it," Tan Zhao said calmly. "We'll talk later."

"Alright." Wen Mingwei nodded, finally stepping away from him. Under Tan Zhao's gaze, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and turned to head into the bathroom.

Once the sound of running water began, the faint, clean scent of shower gel drifted through the partially ajar bathroom door. It was a woody fragrance, belonging to the same series as the room diffuser—fresh and pleasant to the senses.

Though Tan Zhao had claimed he needed to think, in reality, his mind had simply gone blank. Inhaling the fragrance of the diffuser, his eyes drifted to the chair by the bedroom window where Wen Mingwei habitually sat. He slowly stood up, walked over, and took a seat.

Having a wound on his upper body was troublesome, but at least it didn't hinder his ability to walk. He carefully moved his fingers, trying to find a way to exert force without straining his shoulder injury, picked up the pen on the desk, and began to write on a blank sheet of paper.

"Wen Mingwei."

Tan Zhao wrote it without a second thought. Then, with a flick of his pen, he wrote it again: "Wen Mingwei."

According to Wen Mingwei, romance did not move him; mutual concern, jealousy, and sexual pleasure were all superficial.

Perhaps their superficiality lay in the fact that they could be manufactured by anyone else, replicated with a different partner, and were never truly irreplaceable.

What is truly irreplaceable is the person who has exerted the deepest influence upon your life.

Your deepest needs can only be fulfilled by them.

For Wen Mingwei, was Jian Qingzheng that person?

—Of course not. He had already been "replaced."

Tan Zhao let out a scoff, mocking Jian Qingzheng, and mocking himself as well.

He wrote the name "Wen Mingwei" repeatedly across the paper until there was no space left to press the pen. Just then, the bathroom door pushed open, and Wen Mingwei emerged wrapped in a bathrobe, his damp, long hair clinging to the sides of his face. He casually swept it aside, leaving a streak of water droplets upon his translucent skin.

Tan Zhao watched him quietly for a long moment before asking, "Can you throw away everything related to him?"

Wen Mingwei's motion of drying his hair paused.

Tan Zhao continued, "You have several boxes in your study, all belonging to him. Whether you can sweep him clean from your heart, I don't know—that might take some time. But at least tidy away these superficial things, can you? I don't want to see them anymore."

Wen Mingwei glanced at him. "You've agreed?"

Tan Zhao lowered his head, crumpled the paper covered in Wen Mingwei's name into a ball, tossed it into the wastebasket, and murmured, "Is my agreement not within your expectations?"

"It is." Wen Mingwei smiled, finishing off the perfunctory task of drying and combing his hair with uncharacteristic impatience.

Tan Zhao watched him in silence from the side for a long time before abruptly blurting out, "What about Jian Xinning?"

"What about her?"

"I don't want to see her."

Tan Zhao absentmindedly scratched across a fresh sheet of paper. "You said I don't have to be treated as Jian Qingzheng, but you have so many things around you connected to him, and people..."

Wen Mingwei interrupted him. "Things can be removed, but people can't just be disposed of at will. Xinning has given a lot for me over the years; business is business, and she has nothing to do with us."

"Whether she has anything to do with us, you know better than I do," Tan Zhao finally voiced the thought he had been suppressing. "If she weren't Jian Qingzheng's sister, would she have had such a golden opportunity to rise to the position she holds today?"

"..." Wen Mingwei did not entirely deny it. "Her identity did indeed grant her the opportunity, but opportunity is merely a starting point. I would never keep someone incompetent by my side."

Tan Zhao did not respond, his expression dark and unreadable. Disliking the look on his face, Wen Mingwei added, "You should learn to separate the professional from the personal. To take a step back, you won't have much contact with her anyway."

The unspoken implication was: out of sight, out of mind.

Yet, unexpectedly, Tan Zhao posed a question: "Wen Mingwei, are you willing to give me an opportunity as well?"

"What?"

"If you give me the chance to work for you, I'll make sure to do it properly."

Wen Mingwei looked slightly surprised.

Tan Zhao stood up, slowly walking over to his side. "Didn't you bring me to Pubang and introduce me to those people precisely for this reason?"