Chapter 41 A Lifelong Search
The floor was wet and a light mist was rising in the bathroom.
Zhou Wangchuan always knew that Shang Mu loved his own appearance very much.
She admired herself in the mirror in the morning while washing up, and admired herself in the evening while showering. Oh, and by the way—that fancy, colorful, full-length dressing mirror in the bathroom was bought by Shang Mu specifically. Not to mention her daily routine: every strand of her hair was exquisitely styled, her outfits were simple yet full of charm, and she put a lot of effort into even the smallest details.
He protects his appearance and figure like a beautiful flower.
But since being hospitalized, Zhou Wangchuan has never seen him show off again. His usual silence and resistance seem more like a desperate and self-destructive despair.
At this moment, seeing Shang Mu's eyes glancing into the mirror again and again, Zhou Wangchuan couldn't help laughing.
"Aren't you allowed to hug me? You're not even allowed to touch me," he said.
Shang Mu was in a good mood, with the corners of his lips raised: "Pay money and let me touch you."
"When will it be your turn to sell your body for money in our family?" Zhou Wangchuan took a towel from the shelf, wrapped it around his naked body, and wiped his hair with it. "Don't get cold."
Shang Mu was a little depressed.
After drying his hair, Zhou Wangchuan helped Shang Mu back to bed. The new sheets and pillowcases exuded a pleasant fragrance.
After many days, the two finally shared the same bed, their bodies close together. Zhou Wangchuan was looking through some documents, while Shang Mu was reading a magazine beside him. From time to time, they exchanged a kiss.
The kisses became more frequent, lasting longer and shorter, and the intervals between them becoming shorter and shorter. Finally, Zhou Wangchuan's files and Shang Mu's magazines fell to the ground, scattering all over the floor.
Twenty days after their separation, they kissed, both of them completely lost in the kiss. Zhou Wangchuan still had a shred of reason left in him, and fearing he would damage the wound in Shang Mu's abdomen, he wrapped his arms around his waist, protecting the wound while softening the kiss. It was gradual, but the aftertaste lingered.
Shang Mu was exhausted and fell asleep quickly.
Perhaps he'd caught a cold in the shower, he developed a low-grade fever that night. It wasn't severe, but he felt drowsy. Zhou Wangchuan gave him an injection and held him in his arms as he slept through the night. Shang Mu had long missed that embrace, and he slept soundly. His fever was gone by the next morning.
When Shang Mu felt better and didn't need to be watched all day, Zhou Wangchuan went back to work and saw patients. In his free time, he borrowed the hospital kitchen and made special nutritious meals for Shang Mu, who always ate them obediently.
Although the nutritious meal was healthy and balanced, Shang Mu preferred strong-flavored food after all. After a few days, he couldn't help it and asked Zhou Wangchuan to add more oil and spicy food.
Zhou Wangchuan coaxed him patiently: "You haven't recovered yet, so you should eat a light diet."
After three times, Shang Mu got angry and covered himself with the quilt in bed, pretending to be asleep and ignoring everyone.
After careful consideration, Zhou Wangchuan returned home. That evening at dinner time, he took out a bottle of chili sauce.
“One spoonful only.”
Shang Mu's eyes lit up when he saw the red chili oil, and he licked his lips. But he became alert and asked, "Why are you so easy to talk to?"
Zhou Wangchuan said, "You've recovered well. Although it's not advisable to eat spicy food right now, it's even more inappropriate to let yourself feel depressed, as your mood will affect your recovery."
Zhou Wangchuan unscrewed the cap of the chili sauce bottle, and the fragrant aroma of red oil hit him. Shang Mu looked at him eagerly: "One spoonful is a full spoonful, not a small spoonful."
"How about you do it yourself?" Zhou Wangchuan handed him the white porcelain spoon. "I'll supervise."
Shang Mu said: "No."
He softened his voice and said, "If I were to do it myself, I might consider my health and scoop out very little. But if it were you—I know you wouldn't want me to feel unhappy or upset. So you would give me a big spoonful."
Zhou Wangchuan: “…”
He glanced at the bedside, and there, indeed, was "Red Rose and White Rose" with a bookmark in the middle. He thought helplessly that he shouldn't have brought this book. Shang Mu had learned Jiao Rui's innocent and bright mind to the fullest -
Then use it on him.
At that dinner, Zhou Wangchuan scooped a full spoonful of chili sauce and poured it over the rice and vegetables.
Shang Mu finished his meal contentedly, then finally remembered to ask, "You're not so kind as to let me eat chili sauce for nothing. Tell me, what do you want me to do?"
Zhou Wangchuan said with a smile: "You can let me hold you for a while."
Shang Mu pretended to be in deep thought, and after a while he said, "Is one enough? How about two?"
Zhou Wangchuan said, "It's not impossible to hold her all night long."
"No, it's been too long."
"I'll give you another spoonful of chili tomorrow."
“…You’re offering a bribe.”
That night, a vigorous exercise, approved by the attending physician, took place in the ward. Nurse Aunt Zhong, who had been knocking on the door for a long time, was about to ask the security guard to open the door, worried about what had happened, when Zhou Wangchuan opened the door from the inside. His breathing was a little unsteady, and his hair was a little messy.
"What's up?"
His tone was as calm and polite as usual, but Aunt Zhong was keenly aware that her presence at this moment seemed rather intrusive. She handed over the insulated box and said, "Doctor, this is freshly made chicken soup. I'll leave you alone for now and come back tomorrow morning."
Zhou Wangchuan took the thermal box and said, "Thank you."
Aunt Zhong noticed that his watch was missing, which he always wore neatly on his wrist.
Zhou Wangchuan nodded slightly at her, smiled politely, and closed the door.
Aunt Zhong heard the door being locked, but even after returning home, she was still puzzled and muttered, "Why are they locking the door?"
When spring came and flowers bloomed, Zhou Wangchuan examined Shang Mu and finally decided to discharge him from the hospital and let him recuperate at home.
Both of them were nervous on the day the stitches were removed. The gauze was removed, revealing the scar - a scar about two centimeters long running across the originally smooth and flawless skin.
Before Shang Mu could tense up, Zhou Wangchuan held his hand and said, "I've made up my mind. After you've recovered for a while, I'll take you to get a tattoo."
Shang Mu let him hold his hand, neither letting go nor tightening it, his expression unpredictable, his voice cold and hard: "Will a pedantic scholar like you agree to let me get a tattoo?"
"I've already contacted a tattoo artist. His skills are excellent." Zhou Wangchuan kissed his forehead. "As long as it makes you happy."
Shang Mu was still sulking all night. When the gauze was covering his face, he could still deceive himself, but once it was removed, he found that he couldn't help but care.
He had a dream all night. He dreamed that Zhou Wangchuan stared at his scar coldly, despised him for no longer being beautiful, and left him.
When he woke up the next day, the pillowcase was wet with tears. Zhou Wangchuan was sitting beside the bed, looking at him sadly.
Shang Mu wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes on the pillow, turned over with his back to him, and ignored him coldly.
But by the afternoon, Shang Mu's temper had subsided. He'd spoken online with many people who'd had the surgery, and his scar was the smallest. He supposed it was the result of Zhou Wangchuan's hard work on the operating table.
After returning home from the hospital, Zhou Wangchuan asked Shang Mu for annual leave. The combined time from previous years' leave totaled six months. Shang Mu accepted his arrangement, raising birds, reading, occasionally revising design drafts, and participating in the company's online meetings.
But the thing that Shang Mu spent the most time on was modifying the tattoo sketch.
He had decided to cover the scar with a tattoo, applying it with the most seriousness and passion ever. He altered the small pattern, a little over two centimeters square, over and over again, adjusting the color countless times.
Zhou Wangchuan wanted to know the pattern, but was rejected by Shang Mu.
"You'll find out," he said.
At first, Zhou Wangchuan was worried that Shang Mu would be too exhausted and affect his recovery. But after observing him, he found that when Shang Mu was fully engaged, he felt extremely relaxed and happy, which was actually beneficial to his recovery. So he let him go.
Both of them understood it tacitly, but there was still an unresolved contradiction - about the special hobby formed by the shadow of childhood.
After the surgery, the abdominal organs needed more careful care, so Zhou Wangchuan wouldn't let Shang Mu abuse his abdomen again. Fortunately, Shang Mu hadn't mentioned it again during this period.
But what happens after you’ve fully recovered?
Zhou Wangchuan continued to use psychological methods for treatment, but this time, he thought that he would no longer proceed step by step, but would do it all at once.
One early summer evening, Zhou Wangchuan took Shang Mu to a tattoo shop.
Zhou Wangchuan was waiting in the lounge outside, drinking tea, flipping through the books on the iron shelf, and guessing at the pattern. He was almost certain of it.
Two hours later, Shang Mu sent him a message to come in. He saw the pattern.
A small, bright red rose, each petal delicate and dotted with crystal morning dew, embellished the upper left abdomen.
Her abdomen rose and fell slightly with her breathing, and the rose seemed to come alive and was about to jump out.
The tattoo artist, wearing a tank top and swinging his tattooed arms, raised an eyebrow. "How is it? Are you satisfied? Your design is very beautiful. Of course, it also requires my skills to achieve such an effect."
He hummed a song proudly and went outside.
Zhou Wangchuan couldn't take his eyes off Rose. Standing by the bed, he reached out his fingers and gently stroked the reddened skin around the tattoo. "Does it hurt?" he asked.
Shang Mu blinked: "It doesn't hurt."
The little rose is not in the middle, but on the left abdomen below the ribs. The position is irregular, but it has a casual and unrestrained beauty.
Zhou Wangchuan looked out the window. The setting sun was warm. That year, in early summer, a young student walked into the school hospital and spoke to him. He could hear the sound of the setting sun falling on rose petals.
"You said before that lighting a candle can fill the entire room." Zhou Wangchuan looked deeply at the person in front of him and said, "But you know what? Filling emptiness doesn't necessarily require violence and pain. Other things may also be able to do it."
As he spoke, he leaned over and placed a kiss on the rose.
Shang Mu trembled all over, his stomach felt gentle, and he was in a trance for a moment.
I feel butterflies in my stomach.
But not because of nervousness, but because of heartbeat.
He was transported back to the empty home of his childhood, the sounds of beatings, scolding, and crying lingering in his ears. The cold kitchen floor made him tremble, the greasy food in the bowl tasted bitter, and hunger made him shiver with emptiness, the pain like a maggot in his tarsal bones.
Three days and three nights in the kitchen left his fragile stomach with a bottomless pit that could never be filled, leaving him forever hungry and empty.
Since then, he has spent his entire life searching for something to fill that emptiness.
He tried to use violence and drugs to light the candle of pain and fill his stomach, but the pain would dissipate, and once the candle went out, he was left with emptiness again.
But now, as the kiss fell, he felt the long-lost fulfillment and satisfaction - just like when he was very young and came home from school hungry, ate the twice-cooked pork made by his mother, and then rubbed his stomach and burped after eating.
He was no longer hungry, cold, or desperate.
After this kiss, his stomach felt full.
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