BSS CH 29

Troublesome

Lately, Cheng Jing has become clingier than before.

He had always been an independent person, almost to the point of being aloof. But ever since Liang Jingmin returned from Singapore, he began acting a little differently.

That night, Liang Jingmin had indeed blacked out from drinking. When he woke up to find Cheng Jing sleeping soundly in the crook of his arm, he was utterly bewildered. Due to a flight to catch, he had no choice but to leave the villa before Cheng Jing woke up. Before leaving, he even made sure to teach Auntie Wang his secret recipe for noodles so that Cheng Jing could have a proper meal when he awoke.

Cheng Jing’s health never fully recovered—he remained sickly and weak. Strangely, whenever Liang Jingmin was home, he seemed even more listless, coughing three times with every step he took. Every time Auntie Wang saw him out for a walk, her heart would race with worry, afraid he might cough himself apart.

He was sensitive to heat and cold, far pickier than before, and even more finicky about food. Once, he barely touched his dinner, and Liang Jingmin, unable to tolerate it any longer, slammed his bowl down and cooked for him instead. Surprisingly, Cheng Jing ate a few more bites that time, and from then on, Liang Jingmin took over preparing his dinners.

This experience proved something unexpected—Liang Jingmin was surprisingly skilled at cooking. One day, the meal he made suited Cheng Jing’s taste so well that he ate quickly, though his chewing seemed strained, almost painful.

Recently, Cheng Jing had been vomiting less and sleeping slightly better, so Liang Jingmin didn’t think much of it at first, simply watching from the side. Though he found it odd that Cheng Jing refused to chew his food thoroughly, he couldn’t help feeling a little smug about it.

But when Cheng Jing, cheeks already bulging, continued shoveling food into his overstuffed mouth, Liang Jingmin finally sensed something was wrong. It reminded him of the incident with the noodles.

Frowning, he reached out and cupped his hand under Cheng Jing’s mouth. “Don’t take another bite if you haven’t finished chewing. Don’t choke.”

As if deliberately defying him, the next second, Cheng Jing vomited up everything in his mouth and stomach.

Fortunately, this time wasn’t as severe as before—no need to call a doctor.

Once the retching finally stopped, Cheng Jing was completely drained, lying weakly against Liang Jingmin as he whispered an apology. Then, with great urgency, he added, “Don’t let anyone else come…”

Liang Jingmin softened his voice, soothing him as if he were a baby. “Alright, no one else. I’ll clean you up.”

After washing away the mess and changing Cheng Jing into soft pajamas, Liang Jingmin tucked him into bed. The bedroom was filled with a warm, familiar atmosphere—everything felt like a reenactment of the past, yet somehow entirely different.

By the time he finished, even Liang Jingmin was exhausted. He wasn’t used to serving others, yet when Cheng Jing weakly asked him to stay, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. So he lay beside him, keeping him company until late into the night.

Cheng Jing nestled limply against Liang Jingmin’s shoulder. Despite the summer heat, the air conditioning was cranked up high, and they huddled under a thick quilt. Half-asleep, Cheng Jing nuzzled against Liang Jingmin’s neck.

Illness often makes people more vulnerable, more in need of companionship. Though Cheng Jing remained as reticent as ever, lately—perhaps because he often felt cold at night—he would unconsciously burrow into Liang Jingmin’s arms once asleep, waking in the morning nestled peacefully against him, his sleeping face soft and serene.

Now, seeing him lean close even while awake, completely unguarded, Liang Jingmin stiffened for a moment before relaxing, silently letting him rest there.

He suddenly said to Cheng Jing, “You need to fast for tomorrow’s medical screening. No more eating after this.”

Cheng Jing closed his eyes and nodded. He hated seeing doctors and seemed resistant.

Seeing his lack of response, Liang Jingmin pressed more firmly, “You threw up your dinner. If you’re hungry, eat now.”

“I don’t want to,” Cheng Jing murmured, eyes still shut.

Liang Jingmin couldn’t force him and, unusually, didn’t want to ruin the night’s peace. So he stopped insisting, turning instead to his phone to reply to messages before scrolling through the day’s reports.

Cheng Jing suddenly rolled over and said, “I’m cold. Can you get me another blanket?”

Silently, Liang Jingmin got up and went downstairs, retrieving the blanket Cheng Jing had left in the living room earlier. He draped it gently over him before sitting back down on the bed and resuming his scrolling.

Cheng Jing pretended to sleep for a while, then opened his eyes again. “I want to watch TV. Can you pass me the remote?”

Liang Jingmin glanced at him. “I thought you were sleeping?”

“I’m not tired anymore. I want to watch something now.”

The bedroom had a TV, so Liang Jingmin got up again, rummaged through the nightstand for the remote, and turned it on for him. “What do you want to watch? I can cast it for you.”

“No need. Just put on the news broadcast.”

Liang Jingmin narrowed his eyes. “The news broadcast?”

Cheng Jing said flatly, “It’s soporific.”

Liang Jingmin sighed and sat back down, switching to another work group’s daily reports.

Five minutes later, Cheng Jing glanced sideways at Liang Jingmin, who was absorbed in reading.

“Liang Jingmin, I feel sick. Get me the trash can.”

Liang Jingmin immediately stood to fetch it, but when he placed it in front of Cheng Jing, the latter paused, then looked up and said, “Sorry, I don’t feel like throwing up anymore.”

Finally catching on, Liang Jingmin crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, studying Cheng Jing with a sigh. “What are you doing?”

“Couldn’t keep it up?” Cheng Jing gave him a half-smile. “Liang Jingmin, you’re just not cut out for waiting on people, are you?”

By Liang Jingmin’s usual behavior, this should have been the moment he lost his temper. But lately, he had been too composed—every time Cheng Jing provoked him, it felt like punching cotton. So Cheng Jing had deliberately pushed to test his limits.

Yet Liang Jingmin only turned his head away, his expression unreadable.

Then he walked around to the other side of the bed, sat down beside Cheng Jing again, and lightly brushed his fingers through Cheng Jing’s hair—almost like a pat—before murmuring, “Go to sleep.”

Cheng Jing frowned, peeking out from the mountain of blankets, his voice hollow with something like sadness. “Liang Jingmin… are you suddenly being so gentle because of the baby in my stomach?”

Liang Jingmin turned to him, puzzled. “No. If anything, I’m still angry about that. Why would I—”

He cut himself off, shaking his head before rephrasing. “No. It’s because of this baby that I can finally be openly gentle with you.”

When Cheng Jing met his gaze, Liang Jingmin’s eyes were so deep they seemed to pull him in, making his heart skip a beat. So he could also play the part of someone this tender and romantic.

Cheng Jing recalled Liang Jingmin’s drunken confession that night and, without realizing it, felt his own expression soften impossibly.

Unable to hold back, he murmured his true thoughts: “Actually… having a child might not be so bad, right?”

Just like when he was young. A nearly ordinary couple, loving each other plainly, bringing into the world a child who symbolized happiness, watching them grow up.

Liang Jingmin had once been so outstanding, and Cheng Jing wasn’t exactly lacking either. He rested a hand on his stomach, unable to feel any movement yet, but he thought—this would surely be a clever child.

But cleverness wasn’t even that important. If he could make a wish, what Cheng Jing wanted most was for this child to be healthy, preferably with black hair and black eyes, looking as much like Liang Jingmin as possible.

Giving birth to them would be atonement. Maybe then, Liang Jingmin would grant him freedom. He could hold his child’s hand and walk through the streets of Xijing, telling them how he used to wander these same roads in his youth, how bright and full the moon had been ten years ago. He could teach them the life lessons he’d learned from crashing headfirst into walls, read them the sad love story of the Little Prince and his rose before bed.

For a couple who didn’t love each other enough, a child was a shackle that locked them together. But for those in love, a child made a family whole.

Were they in love? Cheng Jing thought back to Liang Jingmin’s words, calculating meticulously.

The probability of him loving Liang Jingmin was 100% in youth, minus 90% from heartbreak, then multiplied by 300% from that night’s resurgence of feeling. As for Liang Jingmin loving him—that depended on the sincerity of his drunken confession. Let’s say 20%.

The chance of rolling any number from one to six on a die was 16.67%. The chance of flipping tails on a coin was 50%. The chance of them loving each other was 6%.

A 6% probability wasn’t enough for any rational decision-maker to draw a definitive conclusion. But for a pessimist like Cheng Jing, it carried enough weight.

A 6% chance was enough to keep enduring the pain, to tentatively hope for a future that might never be happy.

His heart repeated it again:

Actually, having a child might not be so bad, right?

Liang Jingmin didn’t answer immediately.

His lowered lashes veiled his dark eyes, doing little to stem the quiet sorrow—like trying to cut flowing water with a knife.

Liang Jingmin watched Cheng Jing’s increasingly prominent stomach, witnessing the reality he refused to accept take tangible form. Like it or not, he had to face it: in a few months, this child would be born.

To him, this child carried Cheng Jing and Liang Yulin’s blood. Though he and Liang Yulin shared half their genes, that didn’t make him the biological father.

It pained him that Cheng Jing wasn’t distressed by this. It pained him more that reality had dealt them such a cruel hand.

Every time he stayed by Cheng Jing’s side, every time he saw the swell of his abdomen, every time he accompanied him to prenatal checkups and heard the fetus’s strong heartbeat—Liang Jingmin’s heart shattered a little more.

This was the price he had to pay for the willfulness of his past life. No matter what Liang Yulin’s original intentions had been, Liang Jingmin had to admit—he had succeeded.

Occasionally, he would think: allowing this fetus to be born was, in fact, another form of cruelty—a more insidious murder. How innocent was this child, forced to bear the grudges of the previous generation the moment it entered the world? A mother who was no mother, a father who was no father. And if luck were worse, it might inherit Liang Yulin’s madness.

Liang Jingmin pondered whether there might be some correct, effective method. Seduction, deception, any underhanded means… A fetus was fragile. Before birth, there were countless ways for it to perish.

Liang Jingmin’s life creed was that violence and coercion were the universal solutions to all problems—yet this panacea was useless against Cheng Jing. He had made countless meticulous plans, down to the finest detail, but the moment he saw Cheng Jing, all his hatred would fizzle out.

Painfully, he had to admit: this fetus was Cheng Jing’s flesh and blood. Love for the one extended to the other—he couldn’t bring himself to harm it. Worse still, it was attached to Cheng Jing’s life. Liang Jingmin didn’t dare take the risk.

Even so, none of this would change him. It wouldn’t make him love this child.

Countless times in the dead of night, he had been seized by twisted impulses he shouldn’t have—like dragging Cheng Jing to the hospital to forcibly remove the fetus, like carving away every trace Liang Yulin had left on Cheng Jing with his own hands.

He had dreamed countless such bloody dreams. Upon waking, he would find himself gripping a knife or cradling a formless child, while an unconscious Cheng Jing lay in a pool of blood.

He seemed to be smiling—Liang Jingmin wouldn’t mind getting his hands dirty. Deep down, he believed everything could be reborn in a baptism of blood. He and Cheng Jing could start anew, drenched in gore.

But now, watching as Cheng Jing’s hollow eyes flickered back to life—like a long-dead tree sprouting new buds—his throat tightened. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything to ruin the moment.

Suddenly, he realized: as long as Cheng Jing was willing to look at him like this, he would keep up the act. If necessary, he could play the role of a good husband, a good father—as long as Cheng Jing was willing to lean against his shoulder again, unreservedly.

After hearing Cheng Jing’s question, he gently took his wrist. His fingers traced lightly, concluding that Cheng Jing had gained a little weight compared to his previous skeletal thinness. This gave Liang Jingmin a strange illusion—as if by agreeing to all of Cheng Jing’s wishes, he could bring him back to life.

So Liang Jingmin stayed silent for a long time before finally forcing out a lie:

“Yes, Cheng Jing. Having a child… might not be so bad after all.”