MW CH61

Chapter 61: Just Be Mochuan

I hadn’t gotten over his showing up—now his words stunned me.

Can’t stand him? What’s that mean?

“I… didn’t.” I blanked.

His gaze locked on me—unwavering—like he’s sussing out a lie. “Then why leave without a word?”

“Without a word?” I blanked harder. “I sent—”

Hit me—dug out my phone, checked.

Sure enough—that message to Mochuan: “Failed to send.” Never went through.

These days, folks like him skipping WeChat are rare. I only text him—barely open the Messages app otherwise. Plus, these two days—swamped—zero time to reach out. We’d fought before I left Pengge—thought his silence was him still mad, not a glitch.

“I sent you a message—guess the airport signal sucked, didn’t go through.” I shoved the phone at him, frantic.

He glanced—face stayed flat, no words—straightened to leave.

I grabbed him. “Where you going?”

He’s dressed light—yet his hand’s dry, warm… even a bit hot.

Wait—his temp’s off.

Mochuan’s never warm—summers, he’s cool to touch, sweat-free. Only during that—he’d heat up like normal, scalding, sweaty, wired.

“Back.” He tugged his hand.

This temp’s wrong—let him go? No way. He trekked all this way just to ask me that?

Tightened my grip—dragged him to my door.

“Why didn’t you call? Not cold waiting out there?” Fingerprint unlock—I yanked him in, sat him on the sofa.

He didn’t fight—sat docile—answered just the last bit. “Not cold.”

Cranked the AC—max blast—grabbed the ear thermometer, back to him.

Checked—40.5°C. Fever, no doubt.

No wonder he didn’t feel cold.

Pulled him up. “You know you’re burning up?”

Into the bedroom—sat him on the bed. Dug through drawers—sleep pants, oversized long-sleeve tee—dropped them beside him.

“Change.” Headed to the living room for meds.

Last cold—where’d I stash those drugs? Any fever stuff…

Squatted by the cabinet—flipped through labels—found fever meds. Phone rang.

Yan Chuwen.

“Hey?”

“Texted you on WeChat—no reply. Seen Mochuan?” Edge in his tone.

“Yeah—just got home. Was at my sister’s with the lawyer.” Stood—phone in one hand, kitchen-bound.

Big sigh from him. “Good you saw him.”

Then he spilled how Mochuan ended up at my door.

“Today, Mochuan calls outta nowhere—says he’s sick, asks me to take him to the hospital.”

Yan Chuwen clocked it odd from jump—Mochuan’s type hits the clinic over a hospital, asks Niepeng over him.

Picked him up—odder still. Suited up, tie on—like he’s off to a gala. Minus the coughs and pale face, hospital didn’t fit.

“I’m weirded out—he sees me, weirded out too. Halfway in the car, he finally asks—where’s Bai Yin?” Yan Chuwen half-laughed, half-groaned. “Blanks me out. I say—Bai Yin’s back in Haicheng, right? He freezes—man, you didn’t see that face—just a notch above when he heard you were stuck on the snow mountain.”

Rest of the ride—silence. Yan Chuwen drove—wondering why I hadn’t told Mochuan I’d left.

“Didn’t not tell—I thought the message sent, but it failed.” Poured warm water into a cup.

“Figured it’s a mix-up—you’re not the fight-and-ghost type,” he said.

Plan was hospital—then, highway, Mochuan spots the airport sign—switches gears, no warning—tells Yan Chuwen to hit the airport.

“Knew he’s after you—asked a bunch if he’s sure—just ‘mm.’ No choice—dropped him there.”

Watched him pass security—Yan Chuwen pinged me on WeChat—radio silence till he’s back in Pengge. Freaked him out.

“Pinjia calling in sick’s happened—but not long. Four, five days tops—or I’m worried it’ll stir shit,” he wrapped up.

“Got it.” Sighed. “He’s real sick—once he’s better, I’ll nudge him back.”

Hung—grabbed the cup, ibuprofen—back to the bedroom. “Mo—” One syllable—clamped it.

Suit, shirt, tie—Mochuan’s clothes strewn on the floor. Him—in my stuff, curled under the blanket, out cold.

Set the cup down soft—hand brushed his cheek—patted his shoulder, trying to rouse him.

Patted ages—he stirred—eyes focused slow.

Held the cup to his lips. “Meds, then sleep.”

Meek as hell—swallowed the pill with my help—flopped back, out again.

“That day—I wasn’t mad, kicking you out.”

Set the cup on the nightstand—jerked to him, shocked. Eyes shut, voice muffled—sickly weak.

“Just back from Bazhai—bathed forever—smell still bad—didn’t want you near… I’ll tell Qia Gu about He Mingbo… don’t be mad…” Fading—voice slurred—breaths deepened—two lines, asleep again.

Cold shower—caught a chill. That icy temp that night—hit me now.

This guy—who said he’d forget me if I didn’t come back? Who assumed I’d ghosted—raced here to call me out, no call to check?

Fiddled with his bangs—heart swelled sour.

Annoyed, maybe—brows twitched faint—burrowed deeper into the blanket.

Next morning—a strange ring jolted me awake.

Eyes cracked—his sleeping face, inches away. Froze—tried scooting back—locked tight, him plastered top-to-bottom, leg wedged between mine, tangled.

Alarm didn’t faze him—move to leave? Brows knit—pulled me closer.

Felt his forehead—cooler, maybe. Grabbed his hand under the covers, coaxed soft. “Mochuan—I’ll kill the alarm, back fast—let go.”

Buried his face in my neck—awake or not—arms eased, leg slipped free.

Slid out—hit the coat rack—fished his still-jangling phone from the suit pocket—silenced it.

Old phone—college relic. Offered a new one once—shot down. “Works, won’t swap,” he’d said.

No lock—killed the alarm—screen jumped to yesterday’s last page.

Browser—search bar blazed my name—bottom right, 50+ tabs open.

Your lover googling you—whose curiosity wouldn’t blow?

Hesitated—couldn’t resist—swore one peek—tapped the tabs quick.

Reverse order—How to fix a couple’s fight; Ending a cold war; What’s Bai Yin’s rep in the biz; Jeweler vs. starlet drama; Pinewood Stream’s worth; Shock! Bai Yin’s wedding necklace for Gu’s heiress hits this price…

Bai Yin… Bai Yin…

All me—or tied to me.

Bed creaked—Mochuan rolled, rustled. Guilty—hand shook—somehow hit the home screen.

Familiar-strange icon—chibi dude hoisting a fish—Quiz Island below. Stared—traced it in the air—wild thought—Mochuan… kept this phone for that?

Dropped it back—slid into bed, nestled close.

Like a skittish beast—eyes snapped open at my nearness. Half-there—stared ages—mumbled, lost. “…Bai Yin?” Like—why’m I here?

“Me.” Stroked his cheek—soft answer.

Rubbed against me—checking I’m real. Confirmed—not a ghost—slept easy.

Stayed with him all morning—afternoon, Zhao Laidong called from the studio—urgent contract needs my signature—left a note on the nightstand, drove over.

Cleared the backlog—past four. Heading home—Wan Yi called—knew I’d been slammed with Bai Qifeng’s mess—stewed chicken soup, wants to drop it off.

Mochuan’s at my place—collision’d spook ‘em both. “I’ll grab it? Just off work—can swing by.”

“Good—saves me the trip,” she said.

Traffic crawled—hit Wan Yi’s by five-plus. Worried Mochuan’d fret—tried calling—no pick-up, maybe sleeping.

Texted instead—gonna be late.

“Wait a sec—added matsutake—needs more simmering,” Wan Yi called from the kitchen.

“No rush—take your time.” Pocketed the phone—smiled at her.

Professor Yan’s out on biz—just her home. Asked about Bai Qifeng—spilled what I knew. She lit up—called it karma, heaven’s eyes, all that.

Karma or not—with Bai Qifeng’s character, trouble’s no shock.

“Your mom’s enlightened—watching from above—maybe your love’s next!” she chirped.

Her words—suddenly itching to talk Mochuan.

“Wan Yi—got a friend, long-distance with their partner—fought over something small…”

She’s half a mom to me—life smarts, people skills—leagues above me. Stumped? She’s gold.

He Mingbo—I thought Mochuan’s mad over Jiang Boshu ties—but that night, he said I still didn’t get it. Get what? Need a pointer.

Laid it out—asked, “Why’s the other pissed? My friend can’t figure it.”

She heard—straight shot. “I’d be pissed too.”

Arms crossed, leaning on the kitchen door—raised a brow. “Why?”

“Long-distance,” she said—lifted the lid, ladled soup, sipped. “Couples—what’s key?”

“Love?”

Nodded—put the lid back—simmered low. “Love’s big.” Pulled me to the table. “Your Uncle Yan—research took him everywhere. Other stuff, maybe not—but this? I’ve got cred.”

“Normal couples—love’s tops. Long-distance? Trust trumps. I’m here—you’re out there. That world—I don’t know—you tell me. I buy it—no doubts.”

“Then one day—you say you hid something four months—mixed with tricky folks. You meant well—but you chipped my trust. I’m not mad at the deed’s right or wrong—it’s the trust you burned.”

Voice of experience. “Today, four months—tomorrow, more? Day after—new lover? That fear—most can’t feel it.”

Half-got it. “So they’re mad ‘cause my… friend’s move cracked their trust?”

She hunted around—grabbed a ceramic cup off the shelf.

Pretty—blue ice-crackle glaze—one flaw: a mended seam.

“Love this cup—broke it, got it fixed.” Turned it. “Trust’s the cup—love’s the water. Small crack—fixable—water stays. Big crack—unfixable—water’s gone, never back.”

“Staying put’s insecure—you and Chuwen think Yan loves me more—you don’t know how I cried for him young.”

Her words—stared at that patched cup—chill crept in.

Good—me and Mochuan, just a scratch—not past fixing.

Grabbed her soup—home. Set the thermos down—shed my coat—tall figure pressed up behind.

Arms looped my waist—Mochuan, no gaps—voice taut. “Where’d you go?”

“Called you—why no answer?” Felt his hand—temp’s down—eased up. “Went to Yan Chuwen’s—his mom made soup, grabbed it.”

He stilled—voice softened. “Sweated tons—showering—missed it.”

Patted his hand—signaled release. “Hungry? Ordered takeout—should be here soon.”

No move—no words.

“Mochuan?” Patted again.

He let go—still glued close.

After—where I went, he trailed. Kitchen for bowls—he’s there. Bathroom to wash—he’s there. Takeout came—he sat plastered to me—wouldn’t budge opposite.

Post-meal—temp check: 37.8°C. Solid—way down.

“Bought cough syrup—should hit soon—take some when it does. I’m showering.” Stood—he stood.

Paused—tested toward the bedroom—he followed.

Laughed—turned. “Just a shower—won’t bolt.”

Eyes dropped—no words—struck me like a soaked pup in rain—ears down—pitiful.

He knows how to play me.

Sighed—grabbed his hand—caved fast. “Fine—follow—happy now?”

Ended up—he sat on the toilet lid—watched me shower through.

Done—cough meds arrived. Read the label—poured a dose—handed it to him on the sofa.

Gulped it—frowned—tilted back. “Bitter.”

Surprised. “Bitter?”

Chuanbei Pipa Gao—I’d chugged it for coughs—sweet as hell—where’s bitter?

“Bitter.” Frown deepened—eyes flashed annoyance—I didn’t buy it.

Sick taste buds, maybe.

“Hang on.” Darted to the kitchen—warm water—turned—nearly crashed into him behind me.

“Goddamn—you’re silent!” Clutching my chest—soul half-out.

Passed the cup. “Here—rinse—bitter’s gone.”

Eyed the cup—me—stunned. “…No candy?”

Blinked—clicked why he harped on bitter. Sick folks—candy’s the prize.

“You forgot.” Not just a wet pup—bowl-smashed pup now.

Hurt—wronged—mad—disbelief—swirled in his eyes. Coughing—he ignored me—stalked to the bedroom.

Bang! Door slammed—I flinched—snagged my coat—bolted out.

Wind sliced my face—knives—sprinted to the corner store—grabbed seven, eight candy types—raced back.

Five minutes round-trip—home—shed coat—straight to the bedroom.

Mochuan—back to me—on the bed—out or not?

Unwrapped toffee—sat by him. “Hey, got your candy.”

Still—then two coughs—no turn.

Outta moves—peeled the toffee—popped it in my mouth—turned his head—leaned down—passed it over.

Tough act—soft lips—I slid the candy in—he took it, no fight. Pulled back—he chased—tongue darted—like a desert trekker hitting a spring—greedy, desperate, scouring my mouth.

Sweetness bloomed—propped above—body warmed—waist went weak.

Keep kissing—can’t stop—he’s still feverish…

Forced myself up—his hand shadowed—hooked my neck—pushed for more.

“I know where I screwed up.” Threw a distraction.

Hand on my neck paused—stayed—no pull.

“Shouldn’t have hunted He Mingbo behind your back.” Spoke. “Should’ve asked you first—not decided, then asked.”

He’s not incurious—opposite—tons of it—googling me proves it. But he listens—won’t pry—even with me—thinks I’d never hide.

So—four months secret—boom—he blew.

“Won’t happen again—no more hiding—swear.”

Hand slid off—thumb rubbed my knuckles on the bed.

“My fault too—shouldn’t have snapped.” Candy slurred him. “Won’t do it—you don’t be mad.”

Him tough—I’d push back. Him soft—heart melted—how stay mad?

Stroked my hand—soft. “I’ll change—I’ll fix it…”

Stubborn with his foster dad—never bent—never sorry. One fight with me—he’s remaking his temper.

Grabbed his hand—heart didn’t just melt—ached raw. “No need—you’re fine—I love you as is—no changing for me.”

“Just be you.” Leaned—forehead to his—nose stung. “Just be Mochuan.”