BSS CH 7

Proposal

It was a rare heavy rain. Cheng Jing didn’t remember how long he had sat there. He only felt that the sky was dim and that it resembled the end of the world.

Because of the rain, the high fever that had previously subsided felt as though it might return. Cheng Jing’s body, which had been injured multiple times before, was weak, but he simply no longer cared.

Before the storm, he had felt a vague sense of excitement, one that was difficult to explain. It was as though the extreme weather mirrored his internal chaos. While everyone else had fled indoors, the vast world seemed to belong to him alone.

Back in high school, whenever Cheng Jing couldn’t focus on his evening self-study or did poorly on a quiz, he would sit in the hallway watching the rain, just like now. It was strange—these moments of reflection often coincided with storms, and thus watching the rain had become a habit.

However, the younger Cheng Jing had been more cautious, ensuring he wouldn’t get soaked. Now, he didn’t care. He let himself be drenched.

The heavy rain fell down his pale lashes and over his jaw. He remained silent, still as a statue, like a beautiful corpse.

He remembered how painful those three years of high school had been. Competitive students were inevitably more stressed. With nearly no holidays and monthly elimination exams, the constant pressure wore on his will.

When he eventually became the last one left in the group, he had been surprisingly calm. He quickly forgot the struggles he had endured and even dared to hold onto hopeful expectations. If everything went well, by May—when summer should have just begun—he might have secured a spot.

It was almost as though he had been sustained by a single breath. He trained relentlessly, day and night, eventually winning a gold medal but falling just short of making it onto the national team. Despite everything, he still had to sit for the college entrance exams.

When the results came in, he was calm. He had rehearsed the outcome in his mind countless times. It wasn’t a bad result, after all. But what he hadn’t anticipated was the aftershock of regret and sadness. By dawn, the weight of it all came crashing down. Overwhelmed, he swallowed half a bottle of pills. He was rushed to the central hospital for gastric lavage.

Breaking up with Liang Jingmin, Cheng Jing realized, felt eerily similar to losing a competition. The long-term anticipation, the suffering, all in the hope of a happy ending, and in the end, it had all been for nothing.

The pain had its own lifespan—some long, some short—and now, Cheng Jing knew, his time had come. He should have known it was over the moment he saw Liang Jingmin embracing that other girl. But only now did it truly sink in that it was finished. The years of silent suffering, of gritting his teeth and swallowing bitterness, had all been in vain. A cruel joke.

Sitting there in the rain, Cheng Jing thought of all this, and the memories became unbearable. He stood, intending to leave, as if to escape. But his legs felt like they were made of cotton, and after a few steps, he stumbled.

His body collapsed as if it had been emptied of all support, falling lifelessly to the ground.

The sky spun, and everything around him blurred into streaks of water. In his haze, he thought he saw a figure—Liang Jingmin. A familiar pair of hands and a black umbrella appeared, shielding him from the gloomy sky.

Cheng Jing felt as though he were hallucinating, as if Liang Jingmin’s cold hand was holding the back of his neck, steadying him.

The strong wind made him shiver uncontrollably. In the last moment before he lost consciousness, his thoughts became muddled, and he murmured something he would never say while awake: “Take me home, Liang Jingmin… I want to go home.”

But the person in front of him didn’t respond. Cheng Jing didn’t know that he had tried, but the words hadn’t truly left his lips.

Liang Jingmin’s hands were trembling, but he still held Cheng Jing steadily in his arms. The black umbrella was tossed into the rain, lying upside down, eventually submerged in a pool of water, forming a pure black lake.

Yuecheng, Central Hospital

Because Cheng Jing had fallen unconscious, Liang Jingmin brought him to Yuecheng’s nearby hospital. Cheng Jing had been treated here during middle school, so Liang Jingmin was familiar with the place.

The doctor shone a light down Cheng Jing’s throat, looking surprised as he addressed Liang Jingmin, who was holding him. “His throat is all festering. How has he been eating?”

Liang Jingmin lowered his head, unable to answer, guilt written across his face.

The doctor shook his head.

Fortunately, Cheng Jing’s condition wasn’t serious. He had caught a cold after a previous severe illness, resulting in another high fever, but there were no life-threatening injuries. The doctor prescribed an IV drip and placed him in a single room to rest. Meanwhile, Liang Jingmin made phone calls in the corridor, while the housekeeper stayed by Cheng Jing’s bedside.

The housekeeper knew very well that this time, Liang Jingmin was truly angry.

It wasn’t just because Cheng Jing had left without saying a word, nor simply because he had been disobedient. Every time Cheng Jing ended up in the hospital, Liang Jingmin’s mood would darken considerably.

But there was something else, something deeper. Liang Jingmin likely didn’t realize it himself, but the way Cheng Jing had reacted after learning about his engagement was the real source of his irritation. The neatly written note Cheng Jing had left behind was like a thorn stuck in his throat.

That so-called “engagement” had only been a strategic move—a convenient lie. Originally, Liang Jingmin had intended to keep it from Cheng Jing. But if Cheng Jing had been upset, started a cold war, or acted out in any way, it might not have bothered him so much.

Instead, Cheng Jing had chosen the most infuriating path—leaving behind a cold, detached blessing and then walking away without a second glance.

Liang Jingmin’s temples throbbed with frustration. He nearly lost his temper.

He wanted to storm into the room, to use the hospital’s X-ray machine to peer into Cheng Jing’s brain, to see what he was thinking.

But his phone kept ringing, and every call had to be answered. If he took them inside the room, they would disturb Cheng Jing’s rest, so he was forced to wait outside. Before he left, though, he had carefully instructed the housekeeper: if Cheng Jing woke up and asked for him, to notify him immediately.

Finally, during a brief ten-minute break between calls and video conferences, Liang Jingmin sat on a bench outside the ward. He hesitated to go in, feeling restless and anxious, as he aimlessly scrolled through his phone.

The housekeeper emerged then, quietly closing the door behind him.

Liang Jingmin looked up at once. He didn’t say anything, but his burning gaze seemed to ask, “Did he ask for me?”

He thought, if Cheng Jing called his name, he would rush in immediately.

What did it matter if he had run away from home? What did those stupid blessings mean? As long as Cheng Jing was alright, everything else could be ignored.

But the housekeeper only spoke calmly: “He woke up several times but hasn’t fully regained consciousness. He didn’t say anything.”

Liang Jingmin’s eyes dimmed, and he leaned back in his chair, his expression turning cold.

Meanwhile, Cheng Jing was not resting well.

Before he even opened his eyes, he knew he was in the hospital. But the sounds around him were different from the places he frequented, different from the villa’s guest rooms where he usually rested.

After all, Cheng Jing had been injured many times. Liang Jingmin had even installed a simple medical room in the lakeside villa, equipped with the same facilities as his father’s. This way, if Cheng Jing ever got hurt and couldn’t make it to the hospital, he could receive treatment at home.

Even though he was in a coma, Cheng Jing’s memory was intact. His last memory before losing consciousness was of Liang Jingmin holding him. His wet clothes had probably stained Liang Jingmin’s expensive coat.

Liang Jingmin had actually come.

But why? Cheng Jing couldn’t think of a reason.

When Liang Yulin had told him about Liang Jingmin’s engagement, Cheng Jing’s first reaction had been disbelief. They were legally married, after all. With a marriage certificate, legal obligations, and the facts of their relationship, it wasn’t something that could simply be erased. Cheng Jing knew what kind of person Liang Yulin was, so at first, he hadn’t believed it.

But Liang Yulin had provided evidence—solid proof that left Cheng Jing speechless.

Perhaps no one cared whether their “marriage” was real or not, as long as the public opinion and business interests aligned.

Once Cheng Jing had asked and confirmed the situation with his own eyes, he had no choice but to accept it. But now, with Liang Jingmin’s unexpected appearance, a glimmer of hope sparked within him—had he come to explain?

This fragile hope was the only thing keeping Cheng Jing awake. He tried to focus on the clock in the distance, though his poor vision made it difficult to make out the time.

Relying on his blurred sight, he tracked the passage of time, silently praying that his hope wasn’t misplaced.

Over the course of one hour, Cheng Jing woke up five times, each time slipping back into unconsciousness soon after. Every time he woke, the housekeeper was there, but not Liang Jingmin.

The housekeeper cared for him meticulously, adding warmth to his hands, changing the towels. But the one person Cheng Jing longed to see never appeared.

Each time Cheng Jing awoke, his will to keep waiting weakened. In his blurred vision, the thick black hour hand had turned 90 degrees. At that moment, he knew with certainty—Liang Jingmin was not coming.

The apology, the care—it had all been a fantasy, a wishful hope on his part. There was never such a bond between them, no genuine emotional connection, just business and empty promises.

A deep sense of regret washed over him.

Cheng Jing’s eyes slowly closed, and he drifted off into another cold, dreamless sleep, this time one void of any illusions about love.

But this time, in his dreams, something unexpected surfaced—a distant memory from long ago. It was from when he was still working. One day, Liang Jingmin’s assistant, Stella, had called and asked Cheng Jing to come to the office.

It had been late afternoon, the sun casting a brilliant twilight over the skyline of Xijing outside the towering glass windows. The sky had been painted with vibrant clouds and the golden hues of sunset, yet Cheng Jing had found his attention drawn entirely to Liang Jingmin’s eyes.

Cheng Jing had been standing, while Liang Jingmin remained seated, flipping through a document. Without even looking up, he had spoken in that cold, detached voice of his: “Marry me.”

Cheng Jing had been shocked. He remembered feeling a sharp jolt in his heart, his voice barely containing his surprise as he stammered, “What?”

“You can consider this a proposal,” Liang Jingmin had replied casually, as though he were merely confirming an appointment for a meeting.

Cheng Jing, still reeling from the shock, had blurted out, “Aren’t you supposed to kneel when proposing?”

Liang Jingmin had finally looked up, his dark eyes piercing through Cheng Jing, as though he could see right through him. Cheng Jing had forgotten what emotion he had felt at that moment, but he remembered vividly how his hands had begun to tremble.

They say that ten fingers are connected to the heart, and at that moment, Cheng Jing had truly understood how deeply his heart and lungs were affected by that single gesture. His fingers had been trembling uncontrollably, reflecting the storm of emotions inside him.

Liang Jingmin’s tone had grown more impatient, almost as if the proposal was an annoyance to him. “So,” he had asked, “do you agree or not?”