Chapter 45: For us I don’t want to compete, I just want you…
Wen Mu clutched the man's collar tightly, as if afraid that he would disappear if he let go.
Song Xingran knelt on one knee beside the bed, holding her face with one hand and gently rubbing her long hair.
"Don't be afraid, honey, don't be afraid."
"I'm back, I'm here."
Wen Mu hugged him tighter, punched his shoulder, and asked him hoarsely, "Why did you come back? What about your competition?"
Song Xingran grabbed her hand, leaned over, rested his forehead against hers, his breath hot.
"I don't want to compete."
"I only want you."
He brushed his fingers against her hot cheek, feeling something wet.
"Wife, why are you crying?"
"Don't cry, don't cry."
Wen Mu lowered her head, wiping away the tears. She felt like a popped balloon, all her emotions escaping. She clearly didn't want to cry, but Song Xingran's appearance shattered all her forced composure.
The man wiped her face in a hurry, and seemed to be too flustered, leaving several red marks on her face.
Finally, he simply pulled her into his arms, gently patting her back like he was coaxing a child: "Alright, alright, don't cry. I'm here."
Wen Mu buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of cedar mixed with the dusty, sweaty smell of his body. Only then did she notice that he was still wearing his racing team training uniform, even his shoes, and that there were spots of mud on his trouser legs.
"How did you get back?"
"Drive. Three hours."
Wen Mu suddenly looked up: "Are you crazy?!"
The three-hour drive from Brussels to Zurich meant he was speeding the entire way.
Song Xingran smiled and pinched her nose: "Yeah, crazy."
His eyes were unnaturally gentle, but Wen Mu felt even more uncomfortable.
She lowered her head and said in a muffled voice, "I'm sorry."
"Why apologize?"
"I'm sorry for delaying your game."
Song Xingran sighed and held her face: "Wen Mu, look at me."
She slowly raised her eyes.
"You are more important than the game. Much more important. Do you understand?"
The woman's eyelashes trembled and she lowered her head again.
Song Xingran smiled helplessly and lowered his head to kiss the corner of her eyes.
His lips were soft, gently brushing against her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and finally landing on the corner of her lips. Wen Mu subconsciously closed her eyes, feeling his gentle touch.
"Are you still feeling uncomfortable?" he asked in a low voice.
Wen Mu nodded.
"Where does it hurt?"
"Headache."
Song Xingran reached out and touched her forehead, frowning even more tightly: "The fever hasn't subsided yet."
He stood up to get the antipyretic medicine, but Wen Mu grabbed his wrist: "Don't go..."
Song Xingran was stunned for a moment, then smiled: "I'm not leaving, I'm just going to get some medicine."
He returned shortly, pills and a glass of water in his hand.
Wen Mu took one look at the brown-black pill and immediately frowned: "It's bitter."
Song Xingran raised an eyebrow: "When did Teacher Wen become afraid of hardship?"
Wen Mu didn't say anything, just looked at him with wet eyes.
Song Xingran sighed, put the pill in his mouth, drank some water, and leaned over to kiss her lips.
Wen Mu opened her eyes wide, feeling the bitter pill being passed in. She tried to hide, but the man grabbed the back of her head and didn't let go until he was sure she had swallowed the pill.
"asshole."
She cursed him softly, but her voice seemed weak and powerless due to the fever.
Song Xingran chuckled, fed her a few more sips of water, and then patted her back gently: "Go to sleep, I'm here."
Wen Mu was indeed tired. The drug was taking effect, and her eyelids were getting heavier, but her hand was still tightly grasping the corner of the man's clothes.
Song Xingran watched her breathing gradually become steady, and his eyes slowly darkened.
After confirming that Wen Mu was asleep, the man gently pulled his hand away, tucked the corners of the quilt for her, and then closed the door quietly.
He stood in the corridor, took out his cell phone and called Yu Mo.
Surprisingly, the call was answered almost immediately.
"Young Master Song." Yu Mo's voice was clear, without any trace of sleepiness from being woken up in the middle of the night.
Song Xingran's eyes turned cold instantly.
"Why are you calling so late? Is there something wrong?" Yu Mo asked calmly.
Song Xingran leaned against the wall and lowered his voice: "Wen Mu has a fever."
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a second: "Is it serious?"
"39.2 degrees Celsius," Song Xingran said. "The doctor said it was due to excessive fatigue and the effects of alcohol."
Another silence.
"Did she drink?" Yu Mo finally asked.
"Yeah." Song Xingran's voice was very soft, but it carried a sense of oppression that could not be ignored. "Vodka."
The breathing on the other end of the phone visibly hitched.
Song Xingran continued: "She never drinks."
"I know."
"So," his voice was as cold as ice, "can you tell me what happened?"
"Amu, didn't I tell you?"
"I want to hear you say it."
"Sorry, Mr. Song."
"This is Wen Mu's private matter. I don't think I have the right to say anything."
Song Xingran laughed, and that laugh sent a chill down Yu Mo's spine. "Ms. Yu, do you know why I called you directly?"
"Why?"
"Because I know you'll answer."
The man said slowly.
"Because you are waiting for this call too."
There was a sound of cups colliding from the other end of the phone, as if Yu Mo accidentally knocked something over.
"I don't understand you." Her voice was a little panicked.
"you understand."
Song Xingran's voice was soft, but every word was as sharp as a knife.
"Since last night, you have been waiting for news from Wen Mu, waiting for her to tell me what happened, and then waiting for me to call and ask you."
"you--"
"So now, tell me."
"Who is Ming Yang?"
"How do you know—" Yu Mo braked suddenly, but it was too late.
With a "pop", the silver-glowing lighter fell and lay helplessly on the cold marble tiles.
The man suppressed all his emotions and said, "Thank you, sorry for the trouble."
He hung up the phone decisively and dialed another number.
"Master." A respectful male voice came from the other end of the phone.
"Check someone." Song Xingran's voice was as cold as ice. "Ming Yang, a Chinese-British mixed-race student at ETH Zurich."
"yes."
"I want to know where he's been for the past five years, what he's been doing, and why he suddenly came back." Song Xingran paused, "Also, what's his relationship with Wen Mu?"
"clear."
The phone was hung up mercilessly. The man stood at the window, looking at the night outside with a terribly gloomy expression.
When he first learned the name, he couldn't sleep for a whole week.
The final decision was not to investigate.
He always believed in her, but he never believed in himself.
He knew he would lose control.
Just like now.
I don't know when the rain started.
The raindrops hit the pane, like countless tiny needles penetrating into the heart and leaving only intense pain.
*
When Wen Mu woke up again, it was already dawn.
She opened her eyes drowsily and found that one of her hands was still firmly held by Song Xingran. He was leaning against the headboard, eyes closed, brows furrowed, as if he was restless even in his sleep.
Wen Mu moved his fingers gently, and the man immediately opened his eyes.
"Awake?" His voice was a little hoarse. He leaned over and touched her forehead. "The fever has subsided a little."
Wen Mu nodded, his throat too dry to speak.
Song Xingran immediately brought warm water and helped her drink it slowly.
"Are you hungry?" he asked. "I made some porridge."
Wen Mu shook his head, but then nodded.
Song Xingran smiled and gently pinched her face: "Are you hungry?"
"Hungry."
Song Xingran got up and went to the kitchen, and soon came back with a bowl of white porridge.
He sat on the bed, scooped a spoonful, blew it gently to cool it down, and then brought it to her mouth: "Be careful, it's hot."
Wen Mu opened his mouth obediently. The porridge was cooked soft and had a faint rice aroma.
She ate in small bites, and Song Xingran fed her spoonful by spoonful, occasionally wiping rice grains from the corners of her mouth with his thumb.
"Do you want more?" he asked after finishing the bowl.
Wen Mu shook his head.
Song Xingran put down the bowl and took out the medicine: "It's time to take the medicine."
Wen Mu looked at the capsule and frowned again.
"I know it's bitter." He smiled helplessly, "But I have to eat it."
Wen Mu hesitated for a moment, but still took the pill and swallowed it with her eyes closed. The man immediately handed her some water and peeled a candy and put it in her mouth.
"Is it sweet?" he asked.
Wen Mu nodded. The candy was strawberry flavored and cloyingly sweet.
Song Xingran looked at her wrinkled face and couldn't help laughing: "Is it so unpalatable?"
"It is too sweet."
"Then spit it out?"
Wen Mu shook his head and said nothing while holding the candy in his mouth.
Song Xingran sighed softly and stroked her hair: "Wen Mu."
"Um?"
"What on earth happened yesterday?"
The person in his arms visibly stiffened.
She lowered her head, her fingers twisting the corner of the quilt unconsciously. After a while, she replied, "Nothing, just too tired from work."
Song Xingran looked at her quietly with complicated eyes.
"And then?" he asked softly.
"Then, I drank some wine." Wen Mu's voice became quieter and quieter. "I accidentally drank too much."
The man didn't say anything, just said "hmm" softly.
Wen Mu secretly raised his eyes to look at him, but saw that his expression was calm, but his eyes were so deep that they were hard to read.
"Are you still feeling bad?" he asked in a normal tone.
Wen Mu shook his head.
Song Xingran helped her lie down and tucked the quilt in for her: "Sleep a little longer."
Wen Mu grabbed his wrist: "Where are you going?"
"Not going anywhere." The man smiled, "I'll just stay here with you."
Wen Mu then let go of his hand and slowly closed his eyes.
He stopped when her breathing became even and looked at her quietly.
Disappointed?
Are you sad?
Are you heartbroken?
He didn't even know which word to choose to describe his current mood.
After so long, she finally let down all her defenses in front of him and was willing to show her vulnerability, letting him take care of her and protect her. But the source of all this was because of the man who once made her fall in love.
Song Xingran felt that his brain was not working, and all his rationality and emotions were swept away by jealousy.
He only knew—
She didn't want to tell him.
She chose to lie.
Outside the window, the rain is still falling.
Song Xingran stared at Wen Mu's sleeping profile, his knuckles unconsciously tightening, rubbing the sheets into deep wrinkles. The sound of rain outside the window intensified, each drop pounding like a throbbing pain on his temples.
He remembered Yu Mo's unexpected pause and the crisp sound of the glass falling over on the other end of the phone.
Ming Yang - this name was like a rusty iron nail, which pierced into Wen Mu's heart inch by inch as his eyelashes trembled when he lied.
"It's just that the work is too tiring." She said lightly.
She didn't even dare to look up at him. Her long eyelashes cast shadows on her pale face, like two crow feathers about to fall.
How ridiculous! His wife, Dr. Wen, who was always able to debate with scholars at academic conferences, could now tell even the simplest lies, which were full of loopholes.
Song Xingran suddenly stood up, his Adam's apple rolling violently.
He needed air, needed to get away from this bed that still smelled of the bitter smell of fever-reducing drugs.
A strange face was reflected in the bathroom mirror, with bloodshot eyes and a twisted smile at the corners of his mouth.
He was actually laughing.
So this is what jealousy tastes like. Like a sip of vodka, it burns from the tip of your tongue to your stomach, and finally explodes in your chest like a ball of fire coated in shards of glass.
He slammed his fist into the marble, the dull pain from his knuckles unable to drown out the images that surged through his mind: five years ago in Zurich, a summer he hadn't been a part of. His wife, perhaps pinned against the library stacks by another man in the same position. That man might have brushed her eyelashes in the same way, heard her nervous, rapid breathing. And now, those hands were placing the blue wind chime on her desk, remembering she'd ordered double milk for her coffee.
"Bang!"
He threw another punch, his knuckles already seeping blood. The mirror reflected his scarlet eyes, rage and pain tearing madly in them.
He suddenly felt it was ironic.
It was he who put the wedding ring on her hand, and it was he who kissed her under the aurora, but now, he didn't even have the right to question.
She didn't even want to give him an excuse to be jealous.
The water washed away the bloodstains, and Song Xingran stared blankly at the center of the vortex. Drops of water dripped down his chin, much like the tears Wen Mu had shed on the back of his hand this morning.
At that moment she cried so hard, as if she wanted to vomit out all her internal organs, but from beginning to end, she never mentioned that name at all.
She was protecting the man.
She was still protecting him till now.
The thought darted up like a venomous snake, its fangs piercing his most vulnerable soft spot. Song Xingran suddenly turned off the faucet, and water droplets slid down his tense jawline, shattering into eight pieces on the tile. A flash of lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the sinister look in his eyes.
He wants to get to the bottom of it.
She needed to find out how Ming Yang could still make her so upset five years later. She needed to find out about the flowers, the coffee, and who was spying on his wife every day he was away.
Blood oozed out of his knuckles again, but Song Xingran felt no pain.
Compared to the silent betrayal that I might have to face in the worst case scenario, this little pain is just like a tickle.
He grabbed a towel and wiped his hands roughly, but when he turned around he froze in place.
Wen Mu stood barefoot at the bathroom door, the hem of her nightgown wet from the rain, sticking to her slender ankles.
She held his coat in her arms, her lips trembling as she opened them: "Your phone keeps ringing."
Lightning struck again, illuminating half of the room, and Song Xingran could clearly see the tear marks on her face.
How much had she heard? How much had she seen? Would she be afraid of him? Would she leave him?
The blood in my body froze in an instant.
"The team is urging you to go back to training?" Wen Mu handed over the coat, the fabric still smelling of the car's aromatherapy.
The man looked very bad, and seemed no different from her, a sick person.
"I'm fine, you..."
Song Xingran suddenly strode forward and pressed her hard into his arms. His palm clasped the back of her head, the force so strong that it almost hurt. Warm liquid seeped into the fabric of her shoulder, and he realized that he was trembling.
"Song Xingran?"
"Don't move." His voice was hoarse and out of tune. "Just hold me for a while."
The sound of rain swallowed up the remaining sobs.
Wen Mu's hands hesitantly wrapped around the man's waist, but froze when he touched the tense muscles on his back.
It was all wet there, I couldn't tell if it was sweat or rain.
They were like two daggers that hurt each other. The secret she hid under her pillow and the questions he pressed on the root of his tongue all turned into sharp weapons, cutting the embrace into blood.
*
Wen Mu rested at home for a whole week.
Song Xingran took care of her every step of the way. From the moment she opened her eyes in the early morning to the moment she fell asleep late at night, she could always see him guarding her bedside, either bringing her hot porridge or holding pills, his eyes so focused as if she were fragile glass.
She was actually almost recovered, but Song Xingran insisted on letting her rest more.
Until one morning, she saw the news on the hot search -
#Song Xingran withdraws from the competition#
#Silver ArrowStatement#
#Song Xingran's hand injury#
Her fingertips paused, and she clicked on the entry, and a flood of comments instantly flooded into her eyes.
[Withdrawing? Withdrawing the day before the competition? Playing big?]
[Hand injury? An excuse?]
Song Xingran's recent form has been really bad. He made a mistake in Bahrain. Is he not running this time?
[Shut up! Didn't you read the team's statement? He's really injured!]
[Fans, stop trying to deceive me. I'm withdrawing from the competition. I'm just being cowardly.]
Her heart suddenly tightened and she looked up at Song Xingran who was cooking porridge in the kitchen.
He had his back to her, his right wrist wrapped in thick gauze, but his movements were still agile.
It was a three-hour drive, and I was speeding all the way.
He rushed back without even treating his hand injury.
Wen Mu's throat tightened and his eyes instantly became hot.
"Song Xingran."
She called him softly.
He turned around, a smile still on his face: "Are you awake? The porridge will be ready soon."
She walked up to him, reached out and gently touched the gauze on his wrist, her voice low and hoarse.
"sorry."
Song Xingran was stunned for a moment, then put down the spoon and held her face with his uninjured hand: "What nonsense are you talking about?"
Wen Mu shook his head and kept apologizing: "I'm sorry for distracting you and causing you to get scolded."
He chuckled, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb, his eyes gentle but firm.
"If you miss the competition, there will be another one. If you miss the championship, there will be another one."
"But if anything happens to you, I will never forgive myself in my life."
Wen Mu's eyelashes trembled and tears almost fell.
She had never felt so vulnerable, so useless.
But now, when she saw this man, she couldn't help but shrink herself and couldn't help but want to hide in his arms.
She opened her mouth and wanted to say something, but in the end she just lowered her head and said "hmm" softly.
The man ruffled her hair and turned back to continue cooking porridge.
Wen Mu stood behind him, looking at his back, with indescribable emotions surging in his heart.
Guilt, emotion, heartache, and a hint of indescribable bitterness.
She suddenly wanted to hug him.
But she didn't move in the end.
She didn't know if she was qualified, and didn't know if she could give him a sincere hug.
*
A week later, Wen Mu returned to school.
Having just recovered from a serious illness, she had lost a lot of weight, and her shirts, which once fitted her well, now looked a little loose. Her face was paler than usual. When her colleagues greeted her with concern, she just smiled and said she was fine.
After the group meeting in the afternoon, she packed up her materials and prepared to leave, but Ming Yang was standing at the door waiting for her.
"Wen Mu." He called her.
She looked up, her eyes calm: "What's the matter?"
Ming Yang looked at her thin face and frowned slightly: "You still don't look well."
"I'm fine."
"Let's talk."
"There's nothing to talk about." She picked up her bag and walked around him to go out.
Ming Yang followed up: "Just five minutes."
Wen Mu didn't stop.
"Three minutes."
She still ignored him.
"Wen Mu." His voice suddenly dropped, pleading. "Just consider it as an explanation to our past selves."
Wen Mu finally stopped.
She turned her back to him, remained silent for a few seconds, and finally sighed softly: "Go ahead."
Ming Yang's eyes lit up, and he quickly walked to her side, keeping just the right distance so that she wouldn't feel oppressed, nor would she seem distant.
"Go to the coffee shop at the school gate?" he asked.
Wen Mu didn't answer, but just continued walking forward, which was considered as tacit consent.
Ming Yang followed behind her, his eyes fixed on her slender back with a complicated look.
She has lost weight.
Is it because of the illness, or because of... him?
The thought made his chest feel tight.
The cell phone rang.
Wen Mu stopped and took out her cell phone from her bag. The word "husband" appeared on the screen.
Ming Yang also stopped and stood two steps behind her, looking at her back quietly.
She took a deep breath and answered the phone: "Hello."
"Wife, where are you?" Song Xingran's voice came through the receiver, low and gentle.
“At school.”
"Aren't you home yet? You're not fully recovered yet, so you can't be too tired."
"I'll be right back." She paused. "Are you, training?"
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment, followed by a low laugh: "Yeah, I'm at Silverstone now."
Wen Mu said "hmm".
"What are we having for dinner?" he asked.
"Go home and eat."
"Alone?"
Wen Mu was subconsciously stuck and turned his head to the side, and saw the slender figure in his peripheral vision.
She pursed her lips: "Well, alone."
Song Xingran smiled: "I made some dumplings for you and froze them in the refrigerator. Just cook them."
"good."
"Hang up."
"Um."
After hanging up the phone, Wen Mu put the phone back into his bag and continued walking.
Ming Yang also started walking again, and the two of them walked towards the school gate in silence, one in front and one behind.
Outside the school gate, a black Corvette was parked quietly on the side of the road.
Inside the car, Song Xingran put down his phone and looked through the windshield at the two figures.
One in front and one behind, keeping a distance, but walking towards the same place tacitly.
His fingers tapped the steering wheel unconsciously, and his eyes gradually turned cold.
After a while, the man laughed at himself and murmured softly:
"Is he so important in your heart?"
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The author has something to say: We'll meet in the next chapter [shut up]
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