MW CH60

Chapter 60: Can’t Stand Me Anymore?

I didn’t think I was wrong—didn’t go to Mochuan that night, or even the next day. Wanted us both to cool off.

My odd behavior? Not just Yan Chuwen—Guo Shu caught it too.

“You didn’t hit the temple today?” Guo Shu glanced at the sky outside. “Sun rising from the west?”

Erqian circled my feet. I peeled peanuts at the table, tossing one down now and then. It always sniffed it out—gulped it like Zhu Bajie swallowing ginseng fruit, no clue if it tasted anything.

“Gotta have some personal space, right?” I pointed at the pad nearby—gonna sketch later.

Guo Shu nodded. “Fair. I don’t get why you’re so into chess—young, but hooked bad.”

I used chess as my temple excuse—so to Guo Shu, I’m a Go nut. Lucky Yan Chuwen often played Mochuan too—kept my act from looking too weird.

She chatted a bit, left. Later, Yan Chuwen passed with a water cup—eyed the dog, then me.

“Fight?”

I hummed low.

“You two—bickering since kids. Adults now—sort it quick, skip the cold war crap.” He blew on his hot water, dropped that wisdom, and went back to wrestle his thesis.

Who wants a cold war? He’s the one warring—I don’t even know why he’s mad. Good deed, bad rap.

Crack—smashed a peanut, tossed the kernel to Erqian waiting obediently by the chair.

Day three—to not seem desperate—I went post-lunch.

Ate a locked door.

Deer King Temple’s dark red gate had a brush-written notice:

[Pinjia out—closed today]

Mochuan’s gone?

Stepped back, tiptoed, peered in—yard dead quiet, no one.

An old lady, back hunched, basket slung, shuffled by—saw me staring, kindly said: “Pinjia, Bazhai!”

Her words mushy, accent thick—didn’t catch it at first. She kept repeating, pointed at the notice—finally clicked.

“Pinjia went to Bazhai?”

She grinned, nodded hard.

Hands clasped, I bowed thanks—trudged back down.

Mochuan at Bazhai—someone died?

Not home day—night, sure. To avoid another bust, I waited till eight p.m. to hit the temple.

Pushed the gate—locked from inside. Pouted—old trick it is—climbed the wall.

Landed light—practice makes silent.

Far off, a white figure stepped from the bathroom, headed to the hall. I sped up—grabbed his hand as he crossed the threshold.

“Mochuan!”

Sandalwood hung thick—stronger than usual—hit me even outside.

Caught off guard, he turned, startled—instinctively raised a hand to break free. Saw me—froze mid-move.

Hair wet, dripping down pale skin into his neck. Top two shirt buttons undone—water-glossed collarbone peeked out. Closer look—rest buttoned wrong.

That white undershirt? His sleep gear—nothing odd. Odd was—he was cold, ice-cold.

Like… he’d taken a long, long cold shower.

Frowned. “Why’re you so cold?”

Temple’s water heater’s tank-style—limited hot water, enough for one. Summer break, fine—but now, just him—50 liters should cut it.

“Don’t come near me.” Snapped to—swatted my hand, backed off—two meters plus between us.

Cold or exhaustion—his face bloodless, lips paler than usual.

Stared at my empty hand—clenched it, pulled back. His harsh rejection churned me again.

Yan Chuwen said—adults, no cold wars. I don’t want one—does he look ready to talk?

“Two days—you still mad?” Stood outside, didn’t push closer. “If it’s Jiang Boshu—I swear, I’ll never see him again, no private contact. Said I’d consider him just to piss you off—nothing’s there.”

“You still don’t get it.” Rubbed his nose bridge—voice hoarse. “Come tomorrow—tired tonight, not up for this.”

His words—almost laughed from rage.

Kicking me out? Over some petty shit—he’s mad for no reason, cold-warring me—I try peace, and he boots me?

“Fine—you said it—no chat, no chat.” I like him—would drop tons for him—not my temper.

Even clay dolls got some grit—my fuse ain’t great to start.

Stomped toward the wall—realized I didn’t need to climb—cursed under breath, hit the gate.

Yanked the bolt—shoved it open, fury-fueled—fought the urge to look back, stormed out.

Tossed all night—four a.m., no sleep. Six, roosters crowed, birds chirped—dozing off—Sun Manman called.

Weird hour—not her norm. Heart sank—bad vibe.

Proved right—line connected, her sobs gasped out.

“Bro… Bro, Dad’s taken—they say… say he’s corrupt… Mom fainted—I’m at the hospital with her—I’m scared—what do I do, Bro?”

Brain exploded—shot up, yanked on clothes. “Don’t freak—slow down. I’m in Pengge—grabbing a flight to Haicheng now.”

She’s a college kid—knew little. Half-heard her story—luggage packed.

“Should hit by tonight—hanging up.” Cut the call—banged on Yan Chuwen’s door.

Ten-plus knocks—he shuffled out, rubbing eyes. “What’s up?”

Yawning, slipping on glasses—half-awake.

“My dad’s nabbed—you gotta get me to the airport fast.” Gripped my phone—dead serious.

Mid-yawn—he froze, sharpened. Scanned me—dressed, no joke—spun back, threw on clothes.

“What happened?”

Phone pinged—Sun Manman’s texts. Typed, answered him. “Details fuzzy—but him screwing up? No shock.”

Bai Qifeng’s old father-in-law died two years back—connections cooled, his snobby ass cut Sun’s side-branch ties. Sun Manman’s got two aunts—both abroad. No wonder she hit me first.

“Let’s go!” Two minutes out there—Yan Chuwen emerged, no wash-up, grabbed keys, drove me.

Calmed Sun Manman—called lawyer pals—booked a ticket—talked Sun Lin once she woke. Morning, phone never stopped—takeoff, 5% battery.

No juice mid-flight—I prepped to shut down—remembered Mochuan.

[Dad’s in trouble—off to Haicheng, back when done.]

“Sir, we’re taking off—flight mode, please.” Stewardess saw me typing—nudged.

Nodded—hit send fast—no time to check—killed the phone under her watch.

December Haicheng—endless winter rain, chill seeping everywhere. Ran around—caught years’ worth of damp cold in days.

Used to Cuoyansong’s weather—Haicheng’s winter’s lethal—rheumatism before I’m old.

“Corruption cases like this—rock-solid evidence, ten-out-of-ten certainty before arrest,” a fortyish lawyer said. “Fighting’s pointless—confess, leniency’s the shot.”

Meeting lawyers—routine now.

Cai—criminal defense, seasoned, sharp—words carried weight.

He said it—Bai Qifeng’s innocence odds near zero. Sun Manman, her mom, and I aligned quick—push him to plead.

“We’ll head out then.” Set the next Bai Qifeng meet’s tone—late—I rose with Cai, leaving Sun’s place.

Cai left first—I trailed. Sun Manman and her mom saw us to the door—I waved them in. “Cold out—shut it.”

“Thanks this time, Xiao Yin—really.” Sun Lin grabbed my hand—held long, let go.

Back then, she didn’t know Bai Qifeng was married—found out preggo with Sun Manman. Real talk—she and my mom, both victims. No hate from me.

Years, guilt weighed her—didn’t mind Bai Qifeng bringing me home, Sun Manman and me hanging, but never warm. First time she’s called me “Xiao Yin.”

Home—past eleven. Elevator dinged—muffled coughs hit.

Stepped out slow—coughs kept on, like the drizzle outside—endless—made you wonder if their throat’d bleed next.

Middle of the night—not home—who’s hacking in the hall?

Thought it—turned the corner—saw him: leaning on the wall, fist at lips, coughing non-stop.

Wearing the suit I got him—tie on, my stud in his ear.

Stopped—stared, blinked hard—real, not a trick.

Not January yet—how’s he… in Haicheng? Meeting bumped up?

“Mochuan?”

Coughs eased—he looked up, eye corners red from the fit.

Stood at hall’s ends—locked eyes—no moves. Ceiling sensor light flicked off—his muffled coughs lit it back.

Frowned—wanted to ask why he’s coughing so bad. “You—”

“Can’t stand me anymore?” Fist dropped—face blank—he asked.