MW CH24

Chapter 24: I Really, Really Didn’t Mess Around

Mochuan brushed stream water from under his eye with a fingertip—the faint smile on his face gone.

“No chance,” he said.

“Bai… Bai Yin?” Ming Zhuo scrambled up from the water, flustered, finally using his upstairs brain. “No, you’ve got it wrong—nothing happened!”

Though that upstairs brain didn’t seem too sharp.

“In my whole damn life, I hate flip-flopping scumbags the most.” I scooped a fist-sized rock from the stream, hefted it, glared at him cold.

Ming Zhuo freaked, backing off step by step. “Lust’s human nature—you forced me into this! I didn’t want it… don’t come closer!”

Even his excuse screamed textbook sleaze—never his fault, always someone else’s.

Rage flooded my head—booze fanning it hotter.

Anyone but him… why Mochuan, of all people?!

Rock in hand, I lunged—mid-swing, a wrist grabbed me from behind.

Only one guy back there—but why the hell stop me?

“Let go!” My free fist flew—caught just as easy.

Uneven pebbles underfoot—I stumbled forward, crashing into Mochuan’s chest.

“You’re drunk.”

A soft breeze grazed my ear—I twisted away, struggling. His grip tightened—my arm went numb. I grunted; the rock slipped, splashed into the stream.

“I… I’m out! Bai Yin, we’ll talk tomorrow when you’re sober!” Ming Zhuo saw his shot—bolted, water sloshing, leaving just wind, stream, and our breathing.

He’s barely taller, limbs just a bit longer—how’s his strength this different? I stewed, but with my anger caged, I had no answers.

“Let me go,” I pulled back, demanded again.

This time, Mochuan didn’t hesitate—fingers sprang open.

Rubbing my sore wrist, I stepped away fast. “He’s him, I’m me—don’t lump all gays with that shameless prick.” Wrong’s got a name—this was Ming Zhuo’s mess. I wasn’t here to drag anyone else down. “I’m done.” Calm, I turned to leave.

Few steps in, Mochuan’s voice hit my back: “Birds of a feather, flock together. Don’t want the stench? Walk straight, steer clear of trash.”

Do I pick garbage to date? Why’s every screw-up pinned on me?

Assholes—all of them!

Fury erupted—booze or old grudges, who knows? I roared, spun, charged—fist landed square on his face before he could react.

He staggered back, head jerked aside—blood seeped from his lip fast.

“When I sent you cash and candy way back, you didn’t call me trash then! Gay’s not the ‘right path,’ huh? Yours is?” My brain shut off—words spewed raw, cutting deeper. “You’re so noble, so grand! You think I’m gross? I think you’re a fake-ass hypocrite!”

Grabbing his collar, icy water splashed up—I swung again. This time, he didn’t let it land.

He pinned my arm, flipped me down into the stream.

It’s shallow—barely past my soles—but I thrashed hard. Soon, shirt, pants, hair—all soaked.

“You remember me?” My words froze him—his shock confirmed it: he’d known me all along.

“Yeah, always have…” Right arm locked, left in the water—fingers dug into sand, clenched slow. I sneered. “But like you, I found you so damn annoying, I played dumb too!”

No clue if that stung—but his grip slacked for a split second, like he’d blanked out.

I didn’t miss it—pushed off the sand, twisted, slammed him down instead.

Roles flipped—I straddled him, panting hard, hands clamping his wrists, pinning them by his head.

“I helped you—this is my thanks?” I leaned in slow, pressed.

Mochuan’s clothes drenched—shirt lost a button in the scuffle, collar gaping, chest half-bared. Blood from his lip swirled in the water, bright like smeared lipstick.

Messy, trapped—not the usual him.

“I thanked you,” he said—eyes still fierce, unyielding, same as that eleven-year-old I met.

So damn righteous—like I’m the one fishing for payback.

Yeah, he thanked me—what more do I want? The noble “divine son” to hold hands and be buddies? Am I worthy?

“Fine…” I sat up—anger drained for real this time. “I helped you once, punched you once—call it even. From now on, bridges are bridges, roads are roads—you stay out of my face, I stay out of yours. Deal?”

Long exhale—I let go, stood.

He rose too—water dripped from his hair. He frowned, raked it back—no yes, no no—just a vague: “Same elective, same friend.”

Head down, he unbuttoned his shirt, wrung it out slow. Dim light—muscles glistened, water tracing lines, sinking past his abs.

My thin tee—see-through now—clung cold and wet. Two guys fresh from a fight, half-naked by a creek? Weird as hell—didn’t care. Copied him, peeled it off, wrung it. “Can’t avoid it? Keep acting—you’re good at it.”

Used the tee like a towel—wiped hair, body—wrung again, shook it out, threw it on, left.

Good thing I’d packed spare clothes—snuck back, changed in the tent, no one stirred.

Booze plus wet hair—adrenaline hid it, but calm hit, headache kicked in. Outside laughed on—I crawled into my sleeping bag, done.

No idea when Mochuan got back—fell asleep alone, woke up alone. If not for his used sleeping bag, I’d swear he never slept there.

Sober, I half-regretted losing it on him—no clue why I snapped. Too late—pride wouldn’t let me apologize. Let it go.

We’d never been tight—worse wouldn’t kill me.

Post-trip, I dumped Ming Zhuo—never saw him again. Knew he was Haicheng local, but two months didn’t last a semester—no chance to map his haunts.

Nearly ten years—who’d guess he’d pop up today? Not a day early, not late—today.

Cigs piled up—ash mountain in the tray. No clue how long—stir-fry joint’s door swung open from inside. Mochuan’s crew filed out, done eating.

I bolted upright, eyes glued to the door—ten meters out, no Mochuan.

Gone? No way.

Puzzled, I nearly went in—then a long, bony hand pushed the door. Mochuan stepped out.

He lingered roadside—not toward Haicheng Uni—like he’s waiting for a ride. I started the car, crept up, leaned out. “Where you headed?”

Usually, one standing, one in a car—bending down’s normal for chat. Not him—no hunch, no tilt—just eyeballs rolling my way.

“Quite a coincidence,” he said.

I’d drop 500K USD on a rock without blinking—his two words spooked me cold.

What’s “quite a coincidence”? Us meeting post-meal roadside? Or him glossing over seeing me with Ming Zhuo, pretending this is our first run-in today?

Wait—damn it, I wasn’t eating with Ming Zhuo!

“Not a date—just ran into him. No idea why he’s here,” I explained.

He nodded. “Meeting after all these years—guess your bond’s strong.”

Sub-ten-degree day—my palms sweated. “Twenty-plus years in one city, one meet-up—what bond? I really, really didn’t mess around.”

Ming Zhuo, that plague—if this were ancient times, I’d bang a drum for justice, demand he clear my name.

He stood unmoved—doubt plain—I panicked, grabbed his arm. “Where you going? I’ll drive you.”

He eyed my hand, then me. “You’re so busy—don’t waste your time.” He lifted his arm, broke free.

Since when’s he this snarky?

Fingers clenched—he reached for his coat pocket. Gritting my teeth, I lunged, gripped tight. First time his hand felt warm—or maybe mine’s just ice.

“Not busy.” Eyes locked, unblinking. “Drove twenty-plus kilometers—from river’s end to here—for lunch. Busy with what? Wherever you’re going, I’m free.”

His fingers twitched—silent—slipped free slow, stepped off.

I froze, hand dropped—slumped back in, pissed. Next second, passenger door yanked open—Mochuan swung in, long legs folding.

Buckling up, he rattled off an address.

Heart a mess—I stared, still.

He didn’t look. “Weren’t you driving me?”

Snapped my gaze away—punched the address into the nav. Hands on the wheel—Ming Zhuo’s crap faded. Staring at the bright road, I grinned—then stifled it, lest I look dumb.

His spot—an ancient residential block. Guessed he’s visiting—friend, elder maybe. Not a young girl with a kid.

Clear Cenglu features—she hugged the child, opened the door, gaped at Mochuan. “Pin… Pinjia?”