Chapter 33

They both returned home and showered. Zhou Wangchuan was reading in the living room, waiting for news from the hospital. Shang Mu was revising a design in the study.

This winter was cold, and the heating at home was on full blast. They both wore thick fleece pajamas. They were couple's, Zhou Wangchuan's dark blue, Shang Mu's pure white, both with the same □□ bear pattern printed on the back.

The pajamas were bought by Shang Mu, he especially loves □□ bears.

Zhou Wangchuan sat on the living room sofa, casually reading a medical book. From his vantage point, he could just see the desk in the study. Under the bright, warm glow of the desk lamp, Shang Mu was working on a manuscript with his head down.

As if noticing his gaze, Shang Mu raised his head and said, "Turn on the TV."

"Won't it disturb you?" Zhou Wangchuan asked, standing up and walking towards the study.

"Won't."

Shang Mu didn't like silence at home; it terrified him. He loved the bright lights in the living room, the humming of the TV, and the sight of his doctor sitting on the sofa. It reminded him of that summer night when he was dragged by the wrist into the small clinic, noisy but real.

Zhou Wangchuan stopped behind him and inserted his fingers into his soft hair to feel it: "The hair is almost dry."

"Yeah." Shang Mu looked up at him and rubbed his palm.

Zhou Wangchuan glanced at the draft on his desk. It was covered in dense traces of revisions, with scribbled, multicolored marks and scribbled words betraying his frustration. He asked, "Will this take longer?"

Shang Mu looked a bit impatient and upset, and his mood was not good. "I always feel like it can be improved, but I can't find the point. I have no inspiration."

"Take your time."

Zhou Wangchuan massaged his shoulders, poured him a cup of hot milk, tiptoed back to the living room, and turned on the TV.

In his study, Shang Mu listened to the TV and slowly drank half a cup of hot milk. Then he closed his eyes and leaned back, sinking his waist into the soft pillow. After a few minutes, he calmed down a little and picked up a pen to revise the design.

But it doesn't work.

After forcing himself to be quiet for a few minutes, Shang Mu's irritability and anxiety reached a peak. With a swishing sound, the pen tore through the paper, breaking the strings in his heart.

He stood up suddenly, strode into the living room, opened the wine cabinet door before Zhou Wangchuan could react, took out a bottle of red wine, knocked off the bottle cap, tilted his head back and poured the wine into his mouth in big gulps.

Most of the wine was poured into his throat, and the remaining dark red wine dripped down his chin into his pajamas, soaking his neck.

Zhou Wangchuan came to his senses after a brief moment of shock. He quickly walked over, grabbed the bottle, and said in a negotiating tone, "Put it down first."

Shang Mu didn't let go, and even increased his strength. Zhou Wangchuan was afraid that the sharp glass of the bottle mouth would hurt him, so he didn't dare to use force and tried to comfort him: "Baby, let go first, sit down and let's talk."

The bottle was empty. Shang Mu had drunk most of it, except for the liquid that had flowed onto his clothes. He staggered, his eyes tearing up as he looked over. "You know what I need."

Zhou Wangchuan was afraid of irritating him, so he said gently, "Well, I know." At the same time, he increased the strength of his hand, took the bottle of wine, and placed it on the TV cabinet.

Shang Mu was held in his arms and walked towards the sofa, muttering, "I can't help it... I've tried... Do you know what it feels like to have ten thousand ants crawling on your body..."

"I know, I know." Zhou Wangchuan took him to sit on the sofa and wiped the wine off his lips and neck with a tissue.

"I've tried everything... I can't concentrate on my work. It's itchy, my whole body is itchy..." Shang Mu said in a low, incoherent voice, "The competition is next week, and the design draft must be finalized tonight, and then the finished product must be rushed out. But I can't concentrate, I will fail, I have already failed..."

He exuded the rich aroma of red wine, looked a little drunk, and his eyes were unfocused.

"If I can't submit my design tonight, I'll lose the competition and my career will be over," he demanded, almost rudely, "unless you help me. Will you help me?"

Zhou Wangchuan looked at the man in front of him. He had recently read a lot of psychology books and consulted with colleagues in the psychology department and university professors. He was now confident that if Shang Mu told him the secret, he could find the right remedy and gradually correct this habit.

Shang Mu was so drunk that his body went limp. He slid down the sofa and lay down on the cashmere carpet, giving up on himself: "Forget it, let me fail and let everyone laugh at me."

Zhou Wangchuan squatted down, helped him up and leaned against him, and said slowly and gently: "I will help you, but you have to tell me what happened back then."

"What's up……"

Shang Mu's face flushed slightly from drunkenness. He opened his drunken eyes and muttered, "Violence can fill the void. When you can't avoid pain, you can only transform it into pleasure... just like when you light a candle, it fills the entire room..."

Zhou Wangchuan frowned. He had already guessed that this hobby was due to the trauma of childhood. If the trauma came from violent beatings, then why did Shang Mu only like to be beaten in the abdomen and not other parts of the body?

He asked, “Can you be more specific?”

Shang Mu suddenly exploded, pushed him away, and stood up shakily on the floor: "I've already told you, what else do you want?!"

"You're just bullying me! You clearly promised me... You clearly promised me... and now you're going back on your word..."

He took a few steps back and leaned against the wall, then squatted down and curled himself into a ball. He was so aggrieved that his voice was almost inaudible: "You bully me... Even you bully me..."

Zhou Wangchuan walked over, put his arms around his shoulders and knees, and carried him to the sofa. Knowing that he was emotionally unstable and drunk, Zhou Wangchuan could only comfort him, saying in a soft voice, "I have no regrets. Tell me where you want me to hit you."

Hearing this, Shang Mu finally calmed down a little and raised his wet eyes: "Really?"

Zhou Wangchuan brushed aside the soft hair on his forehead and rubbed his burning cheek with his knuckles: "When have I ever lied to you?"

Shang Mu believed it a little. He lifted the hem of his pajamas, took Zhou Wangchuan's hand, rolled it into a fist, and placed it against his abdomen. He held the hand and moved it around his stomach, finally stopping just below his belly button, at the base of his abdomen. His voice was damp and nasal, "Here."

Zhou Wangchuan felt his knuckles press against his soft lower abdomen, and Shang Mu pressed them inwards, digging his knuckles into his skin. The touch was magical, like touching the fine, moist sand of the seashore.

He lowered his head slightly and looked. The skin there was extremely white. Because he had drunk a lot of wine, his lower abdomen was slightly bulging, with a beautiful curve.

Seeing that he remained silent, Shang Mu said in a nasal voice: "You can't bully me. You lied to me about my story and you can't regret it."

Zhou Wangchuan sighed slightly: "No regrets."

Shang Mu said again: "Just hit him once, don't be perfunctory, use force. It's useless to scratch the itch through the shoe." He sniffed, his eyes were a little red, and he looked extremely aggrieved.

"Okay." Zhou Wangchuan said.

He spread out his palm and rubbed his lower abdomen. In the past, when Shang Mu had abdominal pain, he would often massage Shang Mu to relieve the pain, but now, he had to inflict the pain himself.

He hadn't anticipated this day, and therefore constantly prepared himself mentally. He knew that nothing could be achieved overnight. Addictions to cigarettes and drugs couldn't be overcome overnight, and the same was true for this hobby. He couldn't act like a cold-blooded doctor; he had to give his lover enough time to adjust and guide her slowly.

But now he still needs some time to prepare before he can really take action.

Shang Mu stared at him eagerly.

Zhou Wangchuan took a deep breath and started chatting about other topics. His voice was soft and slow, as if he was trying to relax and encourage himself.

Shang Mu cooperated and started chatting with him.

In the middle of their casual chat, Shang Mu suddenly stopped talking and opened his eyes wide. He had been waiting for the fist to come, and he knew it would definitely come, so he waited anxiously and expectantly.

The punch was fast, fierce and accurate, and came suddenly.

Shang Mu's mind went blank for a moment, and he thought of the alley outside the school and the six big men blocking the road.

The young and handsome senior calmly rolled up his sleeves, punched like the wind, and quickly knocked down the three big men.

He had longed for these hands since then.

If we count from that day, it has been nearly seven years.

After seven years, he finally got that hand.