YMW CH 34

Moonlight

Xie Guilan walked to the hospital’s first floor when Song Lingwei suddenly called—one call after another, the vibrations numbing his palm. He didn’t answer. Instead, he declined the calls, then turned off his phone.

It was too late.

Cen Wu had been messaging Xie Guilan, but there was no reply. He called a few times, but Xie Guilan never picked up.

He had planned to go home first and talk to his parents about the competition. But his heart was pounding so hard that, sitting in the car, he felt as if the entire vehicle was being swallowed by the storm. The only thing on his mind was finding Xie Guilan.

“Wait… wait,” Cen Wu’s throat tightened. He leaned against the car seat and told the driver, “Go to Blue Night first.”

When they arrived at Blue Night, Xie Guilan wasn’t there—but Ji Changyu was. He wasn’t in the mood to work anymore, leaning against a Roman pillar, smoking. When he saw Cen Wu, he initially had no intention of talking to him.

Who knew what Cen Wu was thinking? Maybe he just wanted to mock them, like he always had over the years.

Ji Changyu bit down on his cigarette, restless. The storm made his anxiety worse. He thought about how Xie Guilan had unexpectedly come to find him at the dorm last night. With a sharp flick, he crushed his cigarette and grabbed Cen Wu’s arm. “Second Young Master, I’m begging you. Can you check the racetrack…?”

He had long since cut ties with that group of rich kids. Even though he still had an entry pass, he didn’t have the qualifications to be a spectator if he wasn’t racing.

Cen Wu froze for a second. He remembered from the original story—that racetrack. In the pouring rain, Xie Guilan had crashed there and broken his leg.

Why? He had gone to the chemistry competition this time. So why was he still walking the same path?

Cen Wu didn’t dare waste another second. He immediately told the driver to go.

The racetrack was in the east of the city, far from the urban center, practically at the foot of the mountains. It had been abandoned for years, but a rich kid had bought it out and now held underground races there regularly.

Chu Zijian often hung out at that racetrack. Cen Wu sent him a message, and sure enough, Chu Zijian was there that night.

As soon as Chu Zijian heard that Cen Wu was coming, he rushed out to meet him. Holding an umbrella against the heavy rain, he was still drenched, wiping his face roughly. “Second Young Master, what are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night—”

He didn’t finish. Suddenly, something clicked in his mind. He had seen the race lineup for tonight. Xie Guilan’s name was on it.

“Sh*t,” Chu Zijian cursed under his breath. He led Cen Wu toward the stands. He had no idea what kind of spell Xie Guilan had cast on Cen Wu to make him chase after him like this.

The abandoned racetrack was flooded with bright lights, turning the stormy night into something dazzling. But the rain was too heavy—even with all the lights, the downpour blurred everything, making it difficult to see the track clearly.

The stands were packed. Just on Chu Zijian’s side alone, there were over a dozen people, some even bringing their girlfriends.

Then, a few piercing white beams illuminated the starting line. Cen Wu finally saw the racers. Xie Guilan was there.

His motorcycle was entirely black, blending into the night. His racing suit and helmet were black, too. Riding in this kind of weather was already dangerous enough—wearing black made him almost invisible in the dark, making it even more dangerous. Someone had deliberately given him that bike.

Cen Wu wanted to rush down and pull Xie Guilan off the track, but the way was blocked. Once inside, the only direct path was to the stands. To reach the track, he would have to take a long detour.

There were seven or eight racers lined up at the starting line, their motorcycles poised to launch the moment the starting gun fired. By the time Cen Wu got down there, they would already be gone.

His lips parted, wanting to call out Xie Guilan’s name. But his throat tightened, his back damp with cold sweat. His face grew paler and paler. No sound came out. It was like something had wedged itself in his throat, sealing away his ability to raise his voice in public.

“You… You get up,” Cen Wu, his face drained of color, grabbed Chu Zijian’s sleeve. “Call him back for me.”

Chu Zijian hesitated, looking troubled. “Second Young Master, in this rain, even if I yell, he won’t hear me. Besides, he came here on his own. Why do you care so much?”

“Are you going to yell or not?!” Cen Wu turned to him, his icy-white skin making his rain-darkened eyes seem even deeper.

Chu Zijian clenched his teeth. Damn it. This was probably the most humiliating thing he had ever done in his life. But Cen Wu was the boss—what else could he do? Taking a deep breath, he stood up and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Xie Guilan, get your ass back here!”

A nearby rich kid, lounging with his arm around a girl, turned his head in confusion and laughed. “Chu Zijian, what the hell are you doing?”

Since when were Chu Zijian and Xie Guilan this close?

“F*ck off,” Chu Zijian snapped impatiently. “Mind your own business.”

The rain pounded down even harder. Below them, aside from the sound of the starting gun, nothing else could be heard.

Cen Wu could feel his own heartbeat hammering in his chest. He ran over to the officials, grabbed a megaphone, shoved it into Chu Zijian’s hands, and pushed him forward. “K-Keep yelling!”

Chu Zijian outright refused this time. Standing here screaming Xie Guilan’s name? He’d be a laughingstock for life. But then he turned and saw Cen Wu’s eyes—red at the rims, desperate.

Sh*t.

“Alright, alright, don’t cry! I’ll do it!” Chu Zijian said in a panic.

With an expression like he was going to his execution, he took the megaphone, gritted his teeth, and bellowed into it. The entire venue turned to stare at him like he was insane.

Xie Guilan had just finished putting on his black gloves and was about to secure his helmet when he heard Chu Zijian’s voice. His brow furrowed, and he turned toward the night behind him.

Chu Zijian looked equally miserable.

They both felt like they had just swallowed something disgusting.

The distance was too far. Their faces were impossible to make out.

Afraid that Xie Guilan wouldn’t see him, Cen Wu bounced a few times under his umbrella.

Even in the freezing, relentless rain, when visibility was near zero, Xie Guilan spotted him instantly.

A tiny figure, huddled under an umbrella—like a little mushroom that had just sprouted, grayish and dripping wet.

The frigid night and the storm faded into the background. Xie Guilan stared at that little mushroom for a moment—then put on his helmet.

The gun fired.

Engines roared to life, the deafening sound cutting through the storm. The vibrations pressed down on every bone in their bodies, a suffocating tension filling the air. Then, like arrows released from their bows, the motorcycles shot forward.

Cen Wu was sure Xie Guilan had seen him. But he didn’t stop. The race had started. There was no turning back.

He had no choice but to sit in the stands, directing Chu Zijian to cheer for Xie Guilan.

Chu Zijian had long since gone numb. He had already embarrassed himself this much—what was a little more?

The motorcycles tore through the rain, skimming the track’s curves at impossible angles, their tires gripping the slick pavement with razor-thin precision. The racers were packed tightly together, one wrong move away from a deadly collision.

In these brutal conditions, one slip, one crash, and it would be over.

The stadium pulsed with screams and whistles, drowning beneath the rain but still carrying a wild, hysterical energy.

Everyone was thrilled.

Even though someone might actually die on this track tonight, the blood and the danger only heightened their adrenaline, feeding their pleasure in the chaos.

This abandoned racetrack was massive. Xie Guilan’s motorcycle disappeared into the night in an instant, leaving Cen Wu with only the distant glow of headlights weaving through the track, chasing and colliding.

Xie Guilan had been riding motorcycles since he was fifteen or sixteen. Back then, Xie Shangjing and the others forced him to race—if he didn’t go fast enough, he’d spend the night kneeling in the stables as punishment.

He had to push past the limits, past the speedometer’s breaking point. The bike hurtled forward, too fast to stop, yet the air was still filled with the deafening screams of the crowd.

They wouldn’t allow him to stop.

Tonight, by the rules, every racer had to complete three laps, and only the first-place winner would claim the prize money. Cen Wu stood under an umbrella, but the rain still dripped down his pale face, trembling on the tips of his lashes.

He wiped his face, and finally, at the far end of the track, he saw Xie Guilan’s black motorcycle emerge.

First place.

The bike behind him was relentless, pressing dangerously close, even attempting to force Xie Guilan off course. But Xie Guilan remained just a fraction faster, never giving his opponent a chance to overtake him. Without hesitation, he crossed the finish line, leaving the cold night in his wake.

Cen Wu let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, only to feel a numbness in his legs—he hadn’t moved from his stance the entire time.

He thought Xie Guilan would slow down after passing the finish line, that he’d stop once the momentum eased. But while the other racers pulled over near the end of the track, Xie Guilan’s black motorcycle veered past the bend and kept going.

Cen Wu’s mind went blank. His throat was dry as he grabbed Chu Zijian, demanding, “Why is he still going?!”

“You don’t know, Second Young Master?” Chu Zijian scratched his head. “He signed up for an extra race—he’s heading for the mountain road.”

The mountain road led up to a cliffside. Some came here to race, but few dared to take on the treacherous mountain pass. Only a handful of reckless thrill-seekers and rich kids looking for excitement had signed up to race tonight.

Rich people weren’t stupid. They played their games, but none would actually gamble their lives. Even the so-called daredevils weren’t in it to die.

So in the end, Xie Guilan was the only one who went up the mountain. The rules remained the same—win or die. If he made it to the finish line alive, he’d win half a million.

If not… well, that was fine too.

The rain came down in sheets, striking the ground so hard it hurt. Without an umbrella, one might as well have been pelted by stones. Everyone knew this was practically a death sentence. They were simply waiting—waiting for news of Xie Guilan’s death in half an hour.

After all, he was just an illegitimate son. And since he had chosen this himself, who would care whether he lived or died?

Chu Zijian spoke with a casual indifference, almost cruel in its coldness. He didn’t understand why Cen Wu seemed so tense. “Second Young Master, isn’t this a good thing? We won’t have to deal with him anymore.”

Cen Wu lifted his head, rain streaming down his pale cheeks. He stared at Chu Zijian, and then, in a sudden motion, snatched the motorcycle keys from his hands. Grabbing a helmet from the side, he turned and ran.

For a moment, Chu Zijian didn’t even react. When he finally did, his blood ran cold—he bolted after Cen Wu.

If something happened to Cen Wu, they were all as good as dead.

And for what? What the hell was Xie Guilan worth? That unlucky bastard wasn’t worth his boss throwing his life away.

But by the time Chu Zijian reached the edge of the racetrack, Cen Wu had already started the motorcycle, leaving only exhaust fumes in his wake.

Cen Wu wiped the rain from his face, put on the helmet, and without hesitation, sped toward the mountains.

The storm was so intense that the road ahead was barely visible. Xie Guilan had to follow the designated racing path, but Cen Wu could take a shortcut. If he was fast enough, he might reach him before the mountain pass.

The road outside the racetrack was an abandoned highway, another playground for these rich kids. It was empty—no need to worry about oncoming traffic. Cen Wu tightened his grip on the handlebars and pushed the speed higher. The engine roared through the rain, his muscles wound so tight it felt like his bones might shatter under the pressure.

In the vast downpour, he couldn’t even see Xie Guilan’s taillights. He had no idea where Xie Guilan was now, but he couldn’t afford to think. He could only chase.

Rain battered against his helmet, blurring his vision. His clothes were drenched, cold fabric clinging to his skin, stealing his body heat.

He tore through the deserted road, drawing closer to the mountain base. The air grew colder, the rain heavier. He looked up—there was no moon tonight—but in the distance, he suddenly caught sight of a pale white light.

Like a fallen moon in the storm.

Cen Wu couldn’t tell if the dampness on his back was rain or sweat. The mountain road was steep, slick, deadly. Death lurked just a misstep away.

He forced the throttle open a little more, cutting past the last stretch of paved road and launching onto the mountain path.

Even if he shouted, Xie Guilan wouldn’t hear him through the helmet. He could only hope that Xie Guilan would see his headlights and stop.

But to Xie Guilan, he was nothing. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to change his mind.

Cen Wu’s strength was running out. Ragged breaths fogged up the inside of his helmet, and his vision blurred. Up ahead, the motorcycle seemed to be slowing down.

His fingers were stiff and frozen, struggled to bend around the brakes. It took several attempts before he finally managed to slow down. In the icy rain, the black motorcycle came to a stop.

Xie Guilan got off and strode toward him.

Cen Wu wanted to get off as well, but the moment his foot touched the ground, his legs gave out like they were made of cotton. He nearly collapsed, bike and all, before Xie Guilan grabbed him by the waist and hauled him up.

Xie Guilan’s arm tightened around him, steadying both him and the bike. He pulled an umbrella from Cen Wu’s motorcycle before reaching up to remove Cen Wu’s helmet.

Cen Wu was completely frozen, his lashes trembling, lips pale and quivering. Rainwater traced along the cold curve of his neck.

Xie Guilan parted his lips slightly, looking at Cen Wu’s bloodless face, but in the end, he said nothing.

When Cen Wu had shown up at the racetrack, Xie Guilan had assumed he was like everyone else—just there to watch him die.

But he never expected Cen Wu to chase after him all the way here.

He thought Cen Wu would be angry, would blame him for leaving without a word, or maybe even curse him for being reckless. But instead, Cen Wu—soaked to the bone, his pale skin icy from the rain—just reached out and hugged him.

Xie Guilan froze.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Cen Wu murmured, holding him tighter. His cold lips brushed against Xie Guilan’s neck, and his trembling hand gently patted his back, soft and reassuring. “It’s over now.”

For a moment, Xie Guilan’s throat felt dry, as if no matter what he did, Cen Wu would always forgive him.

Cen Wu kept holding him until the tension finally drained from his rigid muscles. Only then did he take a shaky breath and let out a quiet, breathless laugh.

Xie Guilan lowered his head. The rain kept pouring, streaming down his pale, striking face. His dark, expressive eyes locked onto Cen Wu, his palm resting on the other’s trembling shoulder.

“So cold…” Cen Wu whispered, gazing up at him. His eyes, misted with rain and reflecting the glow of the headlights, looked like they were holding onto moonlight that would never fade. Then he bit Xie Guilan’s ear and grumbled bitterly, “Xie Guilan, you know I’m not in good health. If I get sick, it’s all your fault.”