Chapter 66: Rose Fragments (4)

On an island lost to time zone confusion, in an unfamiliar city and biting rain, the intense sense of detachment from reality felt like a man-made, immersive experience.

When Tan Zhao suddenly poured out his heart, it felt as though it were part of the experience as well. The calm, composed version of him in the outside world had nothing to do with the man right before him, whose emotions were breaching their banks at the very first words.

Wen Mingwei allowed himself to be held, momentarily at a blur of what to say.

If this could also be considered a "surprise," Tan Zhao had once again caught him completely off guard.

For dozens of seconds, Wen Mingwei's mind went completely blank. He overturned every judgment he had made about Tan Zhao over this period, wondering if the young master's maturity was merely a facade. Even if he could coldly stab Wen Mingzhe four times with blood splashing all over his body, the moment he returned home, he remained nothing more than a sensitive, fragile hothouse plant that needed to be watered with love.

Seeing that he remained silent for a long time, Tan Zhao seemed to sober up a bit. He withdrew his arms, lowered his gaze, and murmured, "Should I not have asked? Saying all that out of nowhere probably ruins the vacation mood."

"No," Wen Mingwei replied. "Vacations are meant for casting aside work and returning to life. There is nothing wrong with it."

Maintaining the posture of the embrace, he tilted his head and placed a soothing kiss on the side of Tan Zhao's neck.

It was a very warm kiss that chased away the cold wind and rain. Tan Zhao shivered all over, wanting to prolong the kiss, but Wen Mingwei took the umbrella from his hand and pointed toward the entrance of the sensory experience store across the street. "The rain isn't going to stop. Let's head inside first and talk slowly."

They folded their umbrellas and walked through the doors one after the other.

It was a massive establishment, resembling a five-star hotel. The lobby was spacious with an exquisite ambiance. A male receptionist in uniform—finally, a living human being—greeted them warmly. "Good day, sirs. How may we assist you?"

Perhaps aware that they had booked the entire island, he was forced to tread carefully. Yet, to avoid disrupting the "experience," he could not be overly eager either; his smile was stiff, with tension written all across his face.

Composing his emotions, Tan Zhao cut straight to the point. "Can we get a room?"

"Of course," the staff member replied smoothly. "I will prepare a deluxe VIP suite for you. The room is equipped with our most advanced sensory experience devices. You may check the instruction manual at any time and experience it at your leisure. Simply summon me whenever you need assistance..."

As he spoke, he led them toward the elevator and handed over a room key.

Tan Zhao had previously specified that he disliked being disturbed. The employee escorted them to the door, made a polite "after you" gesture, and tactfully took his leave.

Wen Mingwei unlocked the door. The moment the room key was inserted, every light in the room illuminated simultaneously. Dominating the nearly one-hundred-square-meter living room were two nearly three-meter-tall sensory experience pods, connected by cables and tilted open with their hatches waiting, each designed to accommodate one person.

Wen Mingwei walked over to the equipment, studying its complex internal structure. Before he could examine it closely, Tan Zhao suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bedroom.

"There's another one in here," Tan Zhao said, having researched it beforehand, pointing to the bed in the bedroom—if that apparatus could even be called a "bed." "A dual-person setup. We can lie on it together, hook up those miscellaneous sensory transceivers, and experience each other's states in real time."

"Really?"

"Perhaps. That's what they told me."

This was quite different from the science fiction stories Tan Zhao had previously described. After all, the advanced "recording" technology capable of capturing and replaying someone's true experiences did not yet exist. The "sensory experience" here was actually much closer to a technology that monitored human heart rate, body temperature, breathing frequency, and brainwaves in real time, analyzed the data, simulated the effects, and transmitted them synchronously to the other party.

In other words, it was more like simulating "synesthesia."

When most people saw such equipment, their first reaction would be about safety and potential health risks—for instance, that heart patients should not use it casually.

However, Wen Mingwei did not care. He spent a few minutes studying the user manual with keen interest, turned back to Tan Zhao, and asked, "Shall we try it?"

Tan Zhao had come specifically for this. More proactive than Wen Mingwei, he stripped off his clothes and was the first to get onto the bed.

The mattress was very soft, made of a special material dotted with unknown contact points. The moment skin came into contact with them, the equipment's sensory hub would generate data. In addition, there were several micro-sensors shaped like small circular disks that needed to be attached to critical areas such as the temples, the heart, and the wrists.

Tan Zhao attached them to himself, closed his eyes, and lay down.

Following his example, Wen Mingwei stripped off his clothes as well and lay down on the other side.

The instant the connection was completed, an electric current seemed to course through his entire body. Wen Mingwei gave a slight shudder, and his heartbeat began to accelerate.

He felt it for several seconds before realizing belatedly—this must be Tan Zhao's heartbeat, transmitted synchronously to him by the equipment.

...A very subtle experience.

Suddenly, it felt as though they had no secrets left between them.

"You're very nervous," Wen Mingwei said. "Shall we continue our conversation from just now?"

He reached out and turned off the lights. The spacious room plunged into darkness. Having forgotten to close the curtains earlier, fine streams of rain traced down the glass window, reflecting the faint light of the billboard on the opposite building—a tiny, weak patch like an orange square imprinted on Tan Zhao's face.

Wen Mingwei watched the illuminated bridge of his nose from the side. Tan Zhao kept his eyes closed and his expression calm, but his heart rate accelerated again, his chest tightening. What was transmitted to Wen Mingwei was an asthma-like sensation of being unable to catch one's breath.

Tan Zhao suddenly spoke. "Now, let's each ask the other a question and take turns answering. How about that?"

"Very well."

"All right, I'll go first."

Receiving permission, Tan Zhao asked without any warning, "Do you still love Jian Qingzheng?"

"..."

So he was using this equipment as a lie detector. Yet, Wen Mingwei's vital signs remained stable, showing almost no fluctuation. "I love when I want to love, and I stop loving when I don't want to anymore."

"Is it the same for me?" Tan Zhao asked.

"That's the second question," Wen Mingwei countered. "Why did you suddenly decide to lay all your cards on the table today?"

Tan Zhao's heartbeat slowed down slightly, as if he were deliberately suppressing his emotions. "Because I... no longer want to maintain the illusion of a loving couple."

Wen Mingwei paused slightly.

"Perhaps in your eyes it isn't an illusion, but a normal state of affairs. Even when Jian Qingzheng was alive, he never gained one hundred percent of your trust and reliance. But I—"

The second half of what he wanted to say had already been transmitted to Wen Mingwei via the sensory equipment, bringing an even stronger sense of suffocation than before.

"The day I wanted to marry you was also because I wanted to improve our relationship. But marriage is a terrible idea; a marriage certificate is dispensable and could never fundamentally change anything."

Wen Mingwei listened quietly, like a blank sheet of paper, yielding no abnormal data to analyze.

"..." Tan Zhao muttered for a few seconds. "Are you deliberately controlling your emotions?"

"You could say that. I'm used to it." Wen Mingwei abided by the rules of the game without dodging the question. "Emotions can all be managed. It's quite simple once you learn how."

Tan Zhao fell silent.

Wen Mingwei glanced at him again, guessing that he might be hurt—having poured his heart out in a near-loss of control, only to receive such a pale response.

Wen Mingwei asked, "Tan Zhao, what kind of relationship do you want to build between us?"

"Just like an ordinary couple," Tan Zhao said. "For instance, if you're angry, say it directly instead of tolerating me. If you don't like me doing certain things, say so too, rather than enduring it while secretly doubting me..."

His voice trembled slightly. "When you don't miss me, don't pretend that you do. Let me know which times are real so I can actually be happy. Otherwise, every time you say you want to see me, I worry that it's a lie, or that your illness is acting up again and it's merely a physiological need."

"..."

Wen Mingwei's data finally flickered, but it was a fleeting, passing touch—a momentary spark of current, so swift that Tan Zhao had no time to catch it.

Even so, it felt like a form of encouragement. Tan Zhao grabbed his hand, leaned over, and pressed close.

When it was his turn for the next question, Tan Zhao already realized how difficult it was to extract a declaration of love or lack thereof from the man's mouth; Wen Mingwei's definition of love differed from that of ordinary people.

"Wen Mingwei, will you truly never leave me?"

"..."

The person in his arms possessed a native composure that would remain unshaken even if the mountains collapsed. Yet beneath that calm facade, brainwaves carrying some unidentifiable emotion began to vibrate violently. Tan Zhao felt extremely uncomfortable, as if the equipment had malfunctioned and could not parse what those signals meant, leaving him with no choice but to continuously stimulate him.

At that very moment, Wen Mingwei, wearing an expressionless face, pulled off the sensor patches. "Of course. I keep my word—let's end this experience here for now."