Chapter 12

The blue ribbon was untied, and twelve red roses were scattered on the table.

It was obvious that each rose was carefully selected, with soft and intact petals and beautifully shaped branches. However, due to lack of water, the flowers were drooping.

Shang Mu took a pair of small scissors and carefully trimmed the branches, removing the excess green leaves. After trimming all twelve branches, he placed the bouquet in a vase in the hotel.

After a while, the rose branches, now fully watered, regained their vitality, their petals unfolded and raised their heads in contentment. Twelve roses clustered together, resplendent as a brocade.

The phone in his pocket rang happily. Shang Mu saw the caller ID and answered the call without any surprise. He called softly, "Aunt Cheng."

"Mumu, are you asleep?" Cheng Yunxuan asked, "I hope I didn't disturb you."

"No." Shang Mu leaned back on the bed, his fingers inserted into the soft hair, stroking the ends of the hair with his fingertips, his voice a little lazy, "I'm in the hotel and I'm going to sleep. You're not feeling well, so you should go to bed early too."

Cheng Yunxuan didn't ask why he was in the hotel. She never interfered with the relationship between them. She just said softly, "If you encounter anything unhappy at work or in life, you can talk to your aunt."

"Thank you. I will."

Shang Mu muttered in response, a sense of grievance welling up in him, almost wanting to speak out. But he was also surprised that the same words, spoken by different people, had such different effects. When Zhou Wangchuan said this to him, he was filled with anger and resentment.

He changed the subject: "Aunt, the draft of the autumn clothes is ready. I will revise it in the next two days and send it to you."

"Okay, no rush." ​​Cheng Yunxuan said softly, "Just take your time with work. Mid-Autumn Festival is at the end of the month, so remember to come over for dinner."

When they first met many years ago, Cheng Yunxuan was amazed by Shang Mu's aesthetics and design talent, and they added each other on WeChat to discuss things frequently. Later, another level of connection developed: she treated Shang Mu like her own child, and after learning about his family situation, she felt even more compassion for him.

"Thank you, Auntie." Shang Mu said, but did not agree immediately. He was still unclear about the situation between him and Zhou Wangchuan, and he could not make any promises that he could not keep.

Cheng Yunxuan understood what he meant, so she just said, "Okay, go to bed early."

After hanging up the phone, Shang Mu moved the vase on the table to the bedside. In the rich scent of roses, he tried to sleep, but he couldn't fall asleep.

The hotel bed was cold and hard. He tossed and turned for a long time, but still couldn't get warm. After a long time, he turned over and lay on the bed, picked up his phone and checked it.

There was a friend verification message on WeChat with the note: "Let's talk."

Shang Mu looked at it expressionlessly for a while and clicked "Reject".

He removed Zhou Wangchuan's mobile phone number from the blacklist and saw the text messages he had sent before.

Two hours ago: "I'm on duty at the hospital. If you don't want to see me, I won't be back tonight. Remember to get a good rest." Estimated time, this message was sent by the other party after he left the restaurant.

Shang Mu stared at the message and snorted coldly.

Half an hour ago: "Did you bring enough clothes? Do you need me to bring you some thick clothes?"

Ten minutes ago: "If you change your mind, just send me a random punctuation mark and I'll pick you up."

Shang Mu looked at it quietly for a while and added the number to the blacklist again.

The fashion world is busiest during the changing of seasons. Shang Mu spent the next few days in the office working overtime, busy selecting products, adjusting colors, and designing new pieces.

Every night when he couldn't sleep because of the discomfort of the hotel bed, he would briefly remove Zhou Wangchuan from the blacklist and check his text messages.

"The weather is getting cold. Give me the hotel and room number, and I'll bring you some warm clothes."

"I bought your favorite cake. Would you like to come back and have a bite?"

"Baby, I really know I was wrong."

Every time Shang Mu finished reading the text messages, he would sleep better.

After this busy period, it's the weekend again.

Shang Mu asked the assistant in the live broadcast room to contact in advance and made an appointment with the third place on the list to practice.

In the past, Zhou Wangchuan would meticulously investigate the other party's background during each practice, ensuring that there was no risk of error before agreeing to let him go. Shang Mu felt that this was unnecessary, but Zhou Wangchuan refused to give in.

On Saturday afternoon, Shang Mu came to room 1205 of the Yinhui Hotel, and the third place on the list soon arrived.

The third on the list was a young man in his twenties, good-looking and well-built. Shang Mu remembered that his ID in the livestreaming room was Qingye.

Qingye seemed a little reserved after entering. It was the first time he saw the host without the mask, and his eyes were filled with amazement.

Shang Mu was casually dressed today in an off-white cardigan and washed-out white jeans. He was lazily leaning against the headboard, smoking, his eyes wandering.

He always felt that the hotel room had a smell, and he would try to suppress it with cigarettes, but he hated the strong smell of tobacco, so he used to just smoke a light mint cigarette.

"Come on." Shang Mu casually dusted off the ash from his cigarette and said.

Qingye came over somewhat stiffly, went to the tea table in the corner to boil some water, and said, "Why don't you drink some water and take a rest first?"

Shang Mu's eyes flashed with impatience, and his handsome brows slightly frowned: "I like to be direct." He then suppressed his emotions and asked, "Is it your first time?"

“…Yes.” Qingye said.

Shang Mu pointed to the chair next to him and said, "You can think about it first, but it's better to be quick. I have something else to do tonight."

Qingye said: "I'm going to the bathroom."

Shang Mu frowned and tutted impatiently. This was the first time he had encountered such a slow-paced person.

After Qingye came out of the bathroom, he walked straight to the tea table in the corner. He poured boiling water into the paper cup containing tea leaves. His right hand, blocked by his body, moved away for a moment, making it difficult to see the movement.

Shang Mu's eyes swept over him casually, and he casually flicked off the cigarette ash.

Qingye came over with two cups of tea and said, "Drink some tea first while I brew it."

As he spoke, his eyes drifted casually into Shang Mu's collar. Shang Mu loved wearing shirts, and underneath his cardigan was a thin, pure white shirt. With two buttons undone, his jade-white collarbone was faintly visible.

Shang Mu looked at the tea handed to him and said with a half-smile, "I practice with others and never take anything orally."

Qingye's expression remained unchanged: "This is my first time, I need to drink some tea and relax."

Shang Mu's face suddenly turned cold and he grabbed his wrist. Qingye screamed in pain and the cup fell to the ground and broke into pieces.

"What did you put in the tea?"

Qingye's face changed, and he said while trying to endure the pain: "It's nothing, let me go." Realizing that the strength on his wrist was definitely not that of an ordinary person, Qingye cursed inwardly, knowing that he had hit a tough guy.

"Sure enough, Lao Zhou's review is effective." Shang Mu said this without any context.

With a snap, Qingye's wrist dislocated. Shang Mu was still sitting there lazily, not exerting much strength. It seemed that he was not breaking a wrist, but just picking up a petal or a feather.

Qing Ye knew his plan was exposed, so he didn't save face and started to fight back. Although one of his hands was dislocated, his movements were surprisingly precise and swift, clearly a martial artist.

Shang Mu sneered and knocked Qing Ye down in a few moves. He even had the cigarette in his hand.

Qing Ye was unable to move as he stepped on her chest. She felt annoyed and embarrassed, so she just let out a loud curse: "Why are you pretending to be so noble?! You have a face like a slut, and you're here under the guise of a practice appointment. Who doesn't know you're here to get fucked? Your grandfather gave you hundreds of thousands of dollars, so what's wrong with a little fucking?!"

Shang Mu looked at him in surprise and punched him. Qing Ye's face suddenly swelled up. He tilted his head and spat out a mouthful of saliva containing broken teeth and blood.

Qing Ye continued to curse, "With a face like that, who would believe you're here purely for practice? You think you're a small streamer and think you're great, right? If it were anywhere else, your grandfather would have spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on you, and you should be kowtow to him and beg him to fuck you!"

Shang Mu punched him again, turning his head into a symmetrical pig's head.

"You *****, □□****!!!!" Qingye's mouth was full of blood and he cursed without thinking.

"Hundreds of thousands, huh?"

Shang Mu took out his cell phone and dialed a number, and the other party picked up immediately.

"Hello?"

Hearing the familiar yet unfamiliar voice, Shang Mu paused, suddenly remembering that they were in a cold war. But Qingye's yelling and cursing continued, so he had no choice but to say stiffly, "Send me the money, a few hundred thousand."

After the call ended, a text message came in immediately. Shang Mu, cigarette in hand, asked Qing Ye, "Card number."

Qingye was stunned for a moment and reported a string of numbers.

Shang Mu handed the money over, took the cigarette from between his lips with two fingers, flicked it lightly, and the ash flew all over Qingye's face.

"Don't start talking about fucking right away. It's very uncultured." Shang Mu said, pressing the cigarette butt on Qingye's arm. Amid Qingye's heart-wrenching screams, he said coldly, "Also, I'm number 1."

He stood up, threw the burnt cigarette butt at Qingye, and left the room.

Today's practice was ruined. Shang Mu became more and more angry. After returning to the hotel, he swallowed the new medicine sent from abroad.

A foreign company was dedicated to producing medication for people like them, a drug that burned their stomachs and caused immense pain. Shang Mu had purchased it multiple times and had become a VIP beta tester.

The properties of the medicine were still unclear, so he shouldn't have taken it. However, in his extremely depressed mood, he swallowed two pills.

At first, it had no effect, but after half an hour, the pain overwhelmed him. He was so sensitive and familiar with pain, but he also felt that this pain was different from the previous internal and external pain, and was completely beyond his control.

From his throat to his stomach and intestines, he felt a severe burning sensation like sulfuric acid. He gasped for breath and stumbled to the bathroom. He lay over the sink and drank cold water in big gulps, but the burning in his abdomen became worse.

He gasped for breath, unable to suppress a groan of pain. His throat was blocked and itchy, but what came out was bright red blood.

Shang Mu used his last bit of strength to get to the bedside and dialed the first number in his address book. Then, he completely lost consciousness.

After an unknown amount of time, my consciousness, which had been hovering in the air, gradually returned to normal.

Shang Mu could smell the hospital's disinfectant. Someone was whispering in the corridor beside him. High heels made a crisp sound on the hospital tiles.

There was a slight burning sensation in his stomach and a hoarseness in his throat. This was the feeling after gastric lavage, and he was very familiar with it. In the past few years, he had sent himself to the hospital countless times, either for gastric lavage, induced vomiting, or hospitalization.

As soon as he moved, a hand gently stroked his face, and a familiar and tired voice rang in his ears: "Baby, where do you feel uncomfortable?"

Shang Mu didn't open his eyes. He imagined the scene of Zhou Wangchuan going to the hotel to rescue him - he was already unconscious, lying in a pool of blood he vomited, a mess.

Zhou Wangchuan had saved him countless times and had seen his filth and ugliness, so unrefined, so pitiful and pathetic. He was no longer the sunny and lovely junior in Zhou Wangchuan's mind.

As Shang Mu thought about this, a line of tears flowed down the corners of his eyes and sank into the pillow.

Zhou Wangchuan had saved him so many times that he would eventually tire of it. His love faded, leaving only his doctor's responsibility and conscience.

The hand that was caressing his cheek paused, then fell to his jaw, gently stroking it with her fingertips.

"I've lost weight." Zhou Wangchuan said.

Then, Zhou Wangchuan reached into the quilt and rubbed his waist: "Your waist has become thinner, is it because you haven't eaten well?"

Shang Mu still had his eyes closed, and asked in a hoarse voice, "When you look at my body now, is it the same as when you look at other patients' bodies? It's the same as when you look at the body of a 70- or 80-year-old man, or the same as when you look at the body of a middle-aged woman, right?"

"When you look at me right now, are you just thinking, 'I'm thinner here, maybe there's something wrong with an organ,' and 'I'm thinner there, I need to eat something to replenish it.' When you look at a 70- or 80-year-old, or any other patient, you think the same thing, right? You evaluate them with a doctor's careful perspective and offer your advice. Right?"

Zhou Wangchuan reached out and gently rubbed his soft hair.

"No." Zhou Wangchuan said softly, "I think you are beautiful."

Shang Mu bit the corner of the quilt tightly and tears fell.

Zhou Wangchuan wiped his tears and asked gently, "Come home with me, okay?"

Shang Mu's tears flowed even more violently.

Every farce would end with Zhou Wangchuan's gentle tolerance. He didn't know how many times Zhou Wangchuan could tolerate him, and every time seemed like the last time.

He held his heart as if he were holding his life. If he was not careful, he would fall from a height of ten thousand meters and his body would be gone.

Love will eventually fade away, especially if it fades away like this day after day.

This time, he still has a home. But next time, he might become a little snail carrying a shell on his back, wandering in search of his next home.