YMW CH 68

I Love You

Xie Guilan didn’t understand what Cen Wu meant, but Cen Wu always looked at him with that gaze—as if he had been missing him for a long time, tender and distant.

Cen Wu hugged Xie Guilan, reached up to touch his face, and Xie Guilan lowered his head to let him.

Xie Guilan grabbed his hand, pressed it to his lips, and kissed it a few times. Then he wiped away Cen Wu’s tears, cupped his face, and pinched a soft little bulge of flesh, asking in a low voice, “What’s wrong, baby?”

Cen Wu: “…”

Who’s your baby?

Cen Wu’s ears instantly turned red. His tears stopped, and he felt a mix of embarrassment and anger. He pinched Xie Guilan’s abs hard, stammering, “N-nothing’s wrong. I want to go home.”

Xie Guilan bent over from the pinch—it really hurt—but he let out a low chuckle, pulled Cen Wu into his arms, and kissed him, his tall nose pressing against the soft flesh of Cen Wu’s cheek.

Cen Wu hadn’t expected him to suddenly act up and didn’t manage to dodge, getting thoroughly kissed several times until his lips were flushed.

Cen Wu: “…”

Unbelievable!!!

Furious and flustered, Cen Wu shoved him hard and strode forward. Xie Guilan chased after him, wrapping his arms around him again, clinging to him like a boneless creature.

Cen Wu glared at him angrily. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Mhm,” Xie Guilan remained unbothered by the insult, shamelessly replying, “Will you cure me?”

Cen Wu wished he could poison him to death.

Xie Guilan, however, reached into his pocket, saying he wanted to see what medicine he had. Cen Wu struggled for a long time, his snow-white cheeks flushed red, but he couldn’t break free. Xie Guilan slid his hand into his pocket, forcibly interlacing their fingers in a tight grip.

“L-let go.” Cen Wu tried to pry his wrist away, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t budge it. In frustration, he stomped on Xie Guilan’s foot.

Xie Guilan remained unmoved. The snow tonight came and went in intervals, and now it was falling again, dusting Xie Guilan’s shoulders with a thin layer of white. He traced circles on Cen Wu’s palm, his tone teasing and flirtatious as he said, “What’s the rush? Give me at least one treatment session first.”

Cen Wu gave up. He glanced up at Xie Guilan—his sharp brow bone, his tall, straight nose, the deep contours of his profile, his particularly pronounced eye sockets. But after all, he was only seventeen or eighteen, still carrying that youthful vigor, as if he were still growing into himself.

With such a cold, aloof face, who would have guessed he’d be forcefully gripping Cen Wu’s hand and insistently teasing his palm?

Cen Wu’s expression went numb. The original novel hadn’t written much about their high school days—he was far more familiar with the twenty-eight-year-old Xie Guilan: cold, restrained, exuding the domineering control of someone in power, the kind who only ever made others kneel before him.

Cen Wu never could have imagined that the eighteen-year-old Xie Guilan would say he wanted to be his puppy, or cling to him and act spoiled.

You’re breaking character, dude.

Lu Wang and the others were still at the hotpot restaurant. Cen Wu and Xie Guilan had left without their backpacks, so they turned back. But they had only taken a few steps when several people suddenly jumped out from the side with a loud bang!

Cen Wu was startled. His fingers instinctively tightened around Xie Guilan’s arm as he took a half-step behind him.

Xie Guilan paused, his dark, peach-blossom eyes curving slightly. He placed his palm over Cen Wu’s hand where it gripped his sleeve, holding it securely. Cen Wu didn’t even notice, acting on pure instinct—as if Xie Guilan’s side was the safest place in the world.

The hidden, possessive part of Xie Guilan’s heart was thoroughly satisfied. He loved it when Cen Wu got scared and burrowed into his arms, especially if he trembled with tears in his eyes.

But he didn’t actually want Cen Wu to be afraid. He’d much rather have him puff up in anger, bristling at him—just without the unnecessary tears.

Cen Wu shivered when startled, leaning against Xie Guilan without noticing how the darkness in Xie Guilan’s eyes deepened.

A vein stood out on Xie Guilan’s neck. He reached down to tug at the zipper of his down jacket—thankfully, it was long enough to cover things up.

He didn’t mind if Cen Wu saw, but everyone else? No thanks. He didn’t have that kind of exhibitionist streak.

Lu Wang, holding a party popper, let out a loud bang! as he sprayed Cen Wu and Xie Guilan with a shower of colorful streamers.

The small Christmas tree nearby was strung with twinkling lights. The thick snowfall and the streamers fluttered down together, the warm yellow glow reflecting off the snow. Cen Wu blinked in confusion amidst the flurry of colors.

“Holy shit,” Zhang Yuanzhou gaped, running over with Cen Wu and Xie Guilan’s backpacks. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Lu Wang had been practicing. He’d already discussed it with Xie Guilan—if Xie Guilan and Cen Wu ever got married, he would be in charge of the streamer cannons. And tonight’s snowy scene was just perfect for a wedding.

Cen Wu had no idea he’d just been married off. He lowered his head, picking at the streamers tangled in his hair, his lashes fluttering wildly, his whole appearance a complete mess.

Snow dusted his hair. Xie Guilan reached over to brush it off, then plucked away the remaining streamers.

Once freed, Cen Wu immediately lunged at Lu Wang for revenge.

Lu Wang hadn’t meant any harm, but his brain-to-mouth filter was practically nonexistent. Sometimes, he didn’t know his own strength. Caught up in the excitement, he rolled a snowball and hurled it straight at Cen Wu.

Cen Wu ducked behind Xie Guilan, who pulled him into his arms and raised an arm to block the snowball.

Even though they were only seventeen or eighteen, Xie Guilan felt it deep in his bones—he loved the eighteen-year-old Cen Wu, and he would love the twenty-eight-year-old Cen Wu just as much. On this snowy night, growing old together didn’t seem so far out of reach.

Holding Cen Wu like this, his chest swelled with emotion. When they were both old and gray, he would still tell Cen Wu I love you. Nothing else in this world mattered—as long as they were together.

Zhang Yuanzhou retaliated by spraying Lu Wang with a face full of streamers. By the time their snowball fight ended, the group of teenagers sheepishly picked up all the scattered streamers before finally heading home.

Cen Wu hadn’t drunk much, but his eyelids were flushed, his steps unsteady from the alcohol.

“Want me to carry you?” Xie Guilan caught his arm.

Cen Wu’s eyes were red-rimmed, glistening with a hazy mist. He felt like crying. He should keep his distance from Xie Guilan, avoid getting too close—but he really wanted Xie Guilan to carry him.

Without waiting for an answer, Xie Guilan grabbed his wrist, pulled him close, hooked an arm under his knees, and hoisted him up with ease. He carried him steadily through the heavy snowfall, heading home.

Cen Wu wrapped his arms tightly around Xie Guilan’s neck. Noticing how cold his skin felt, he loosened his own scarf and draped part of it over Xie Guilan before hugging him again.

Tears slipped silently down Cen Wu’s cheeks as he rested against Xie Guilan’s back. Xie Guilan felt something warm and wet trickling down his neck—only for Cen Wu to secretly wipe it away with the scarf.

Xie Guilan’s heart melted. How could someone be this well-behaved even when crying? And so sneaky about it too.

Drunk and restless, Cen Wu gently bumped his forehead against Xie Guilan’s, then nuzzled against him. Xie Guilan couldn’t hold back a laugh and lightly nudged him back.

But Cen Wu had double standards—he could bump Xie Guilan, but Xie Guilan wasn’t allowed to bump him. Suddenly displeased, he lifted his head and knocked into Xie Guilan hard enough to redden his own forehead. His tears fell faster, plip-plopping down.

Xie Guilan chuckled low in his chest, the vibrations rumbling against Cen Wu where he clung to his back.

Cen Wu’s snow-pale ears flushed red. He settled down—for about three seconds—before reaching up to pinch Xie Guilan’s frost-reddened ears, then leaning in to stare at his profile.

Xie Guilan knew Cen Wu must like his face. He was pragmatic about it—his looks were part of the package. If Cen Wu already liked his face, wasn’t it only a matter of time before he liked him too?

Xie Mingcheng and Song Lingwei had only done one decent thing in their lives: pass down decent genes. If Cen Wu ever agreed to marry him, he might even let them sit at the head table.

Xie Guilan’s eyelashes were long, and Cen Wu watched as a thin layer of snow settled on them. He reached out to touch them, and Xie Guilan turned his head to look at him, his crimson lips curving slightly. Tears still clung to Cen Wu’s face, but he was so mesmerized by that smile that he almost smiled back in a daze.

The Cen family villa was quite far from here, so they took the bus for a few stops. After getting off, Xie Guilan carried him on his back again, walking all the way to the entrance of the villa before finally setting him down.

Cen Wu swayed unsteadily. Xie Guilan pinched his chin, and Cen Wu thought he was about to kiss him—his mouth opened, ready to curse.

But Xie Guilan just lowered his head, his dark, peach-blossom eyes staring at him with unusual seriousness, and suddenly said, “I love you.”

“……”

Cen Wu froze.

Xie Guilan often said he liked him, but this time, he only said it once—those three words carried a weight far heavier than “I like you.” Probably no one could hear “I love you” and remain unmoved.

Cen Wu felt like he was about to cry again, but he couldn’t. He held it back, his gaze darting away as he muttered, “Y-you’re so cringe.”

Without waiting for Xie Guilan to respond, Cen Wu turned and ran home. He dashed straight to his bedroom, this time smart enough not to turn on the lights. Pressing against the window, he peeked down at Xie Guilan.

But Xie Guilan just waved at him, as if he knew Cen Wu would be watching. Only when Cen Wu, flushed with embarrassment, yanked the curtains shut did Xie Guilan chuckle and finally leave.

---

Xie Guilan was leaving the day after tomorrow for the national math competition training camp—a completely closed-off session with almost no phone access. After training, he’d go straight into the exam.

So before he left, he still had to go to the hospital.

Cen Wu planned to wait until Xie Guilan finished his exams before giving the paternity test results to his parents. Then, before Xie Guilan could return, he’d disappear. With less than two weeks left, he was afraid something might go wrong. So on Sunday, he accompanied Xie Guilan to the hospital.

When they arrived, Xie Mingcheng was already there. Song Lingwei’s eyes were red-rimmed, and Xie Mingcheng’s expression was dark, as if they’d been arguing.

“I-I’ll wait outside,” Cen Wu told Xie Guilan.

Xie Guilan reached out to ruffle his hair, but Cen Wu dodged nimbly. So Xie Guilan switched to pinching his cheek instead—only for Cen Wu to slap his hand away so hard it turned bright red.

Cen Wu: “…”

You enjoyed that, didn’t you?

Xie Guilan still had to go into the hospital room, so he resisted the urge to provoke him further and pushed the door open.

Xie Mingcheng’s face was stormy. The door had been slightly ajar earlier, and he’d heard Xie Guilan fooling around with Cen Wu.

How did I end up with two sons like this? Not only were they both into men, but they were both obsessed with the same person.

Disgraceful.

Since Xie Guilan refused to be used, Xie Mingcheng’s attitude toward Song Lingwei had cooled. He’d never wanted this child in the first place, and today, he was here to force her to get an abortion.

Song Lingwei knew the baby couldn’t be kept. But there was a difference between her choosing to terminate the pregnancy—or miscarrying naturally—and Xie Mingcheng coldly ordering her to abort, treating her like an inconvenience.

Xie Mingcheng’s expression darkened. “Do you really want to raise another ungrateful brat?” he said pointedly.

Song Lingwei lowered her head. Her pale face was haggard, her dark hair disheveled over her shoulders.

“Xie Guilan,” Xie Mingcheng cut to the chase, turning to him with a cold, venomous gaze, “everything you have now is because of me. Don’t push your luck. I don’t care how you convince her—this child will be dealt with by the day after tomorrow at the latest.”

He didn’t want to escalate things with Xie Guilan, so he at least spared Song Lingwei some dignity. Otherwise, he would’ve had someone drag her into surgery today—whether she wanted it or not.

Xie Guilan said nothing.

Cen Wu, eavesdropping outside the door, nearly rolled his eyes the moment Xie Mingcheng spoke. You should really shut up. The last dad who talked to Xie Guilan like that? The grass on his grave is taller than you.

Song Lingwei wiped her tears silently. The first time she’d met Xie Mingcheng in Huaijing, he hadn’t been like this.

They’d been each other’s first love.

Back in their impoverished mountain village, Xie Mingcheng had been the top student, handsome and ambitious. She’d been the prettiest girl there. Them getting together had felt inevitable.

When Xie Mingcheng left for university, she gave him all her savings.

He’d promised to come back for her.

She hadn’t fully believed him. Xie Mingcheng had always been ruthlessly ambitious—she knew once he left, he’d never return. And sure enough, he never came back for her.

Years later, she ran into him again in Huaijing while working as a hostess at a nightclub.

At the time, Xie Mingcheng had been pursuing Zhou Li, the daughter of one of Huaijing’s elite families. He’d groveled before the Zhous, humiliating himself for their approval. Many people looked down on him.

Only Song Lingwei truly understood him. They’d grown up together in that backward, suffocating place. They knew the pain of poverty, of having no dignity.

So he often sneaked away from Zhou Li to see her.

But once he finally clawed his way into high society, establishing himself in Huaijing, he wished he could erase his origins entirely. That mountain village became a stain on his past—something people mocked him for, calling him a social climber, a gold-digger. He cut all ties, even abandoning his own parents there. Why would he care about Song Lingwei?

Xie Mingcheng draped his suit jacket over his arm. He pointed at Xie Guilan and warned, “Don’t disappoint me.”

Then he turned and left.

Xie Guilan still didn’t speak. He simply began packing his things—the rented apartment was too small, so he’d left some belongings in the hospital room.

Song Lingwei touched her stomach, her tears dried. She stared blankly at the snow outside and suddenly said, “Xiao Lan… these past few days, I’ve really wanted to go home.”

She didn’t know why. She just felt uneasy.

Her parents had died long ago—back when she was giving birth to Xie Guilan. Her sisters had all married and left the mountains. Only her younger brother remained, but his family despised her for working as a hostess in Huaijing, calling her dirty and shameful. They refused to let her return.

There was no real need for her to go back to that mountain village to give birth, but the doctor had warned her—if she insisted on keeping the baby, the mortality rate was dangerously high. Terrified, she fled back to her hometown.

Only then did she feel slightly at ease.

That night, a torrential downpour raged outside. No one stayed by her bedside. The small hospital halfway up the mountain trembled under the storm’s fury. When she opened her eyes, she saw Guan Xingxue lying unconscious beside her.

Guan Xingxue—so famous, of course she recognized her. But she never expected to run into her in this remote mountain town.

What a coincidence.

Guan Xingxue only had one assistant with her, rushing around all night, even running to spots with faint cell signal to call for help.

Song Lingwei had never envied anyone so intensely in her life. Though she and Guan Xingxue were strangers, in that moment, jealousy flooded her mouth with the metallic tang of blood.

Giving birth in this mountain village was probably the hardest thing Guan Xingxue would ever endure. Her child was frail, born small and pitifully thin. Guan Xingxue’s baby was premature, just as tiny—but what did it matter? That child would grow up surrounded by love and care, wanting for nothing.

Not like her.

Song Lingwei’s eyes burned red. Her heartbeat roared louder than the pounding rain. Struggling out of bed, she took Guan Xingxue’s baby.

And so the storm of fate began.

---

“Xiao Xie,” the nurse said as soon as she entered, seeing Xie Guilan packing his bag. Knowing he was leaving for training camp, she fretted over him, handing him several boxes of medicine. “It’s snowing, and the cold makes it easy to catch a cold. Take these with you.”

For a dazed moment, Song Lingwei thought she was back in that rain-lashed hospital—but when she looked up, Xie Guilan was already grown. Hearing the nurse’s words, she quickly interjected, “Give him the white box.”

“They’re all cold medicine,” the nurse replied.

The one she’d handed Xie Guilan was a red-and-white box—a brand she found particularly effective.

“He doesn’t like that one,” Song Lingwei said, tucking her hair behind her ear with a smile. “They’re just capsules—what’s there to taste? But he says they’re bitter. If you make him take it, he’ll probably sneak off and throw them away.”

The nurse glanced at Xie Guilan in surprise. He showed no reaction, quietly packing his bag. The nurse chuckled. “I had no idea there was such a difference.”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Song Lingwei passed Xie Guilan the medicine, then added to the nurse, “This child is so hard to raise.”

Her tone held no resentment. She knew Xie Guilan was picky—this he wouldn’t eat, that he wouldn’t touch—and every time, she’d think, No wonder he’s the Cens’ biological son. What a little young master.

Today, Song Lingwei felt a bit better. Her back didn’t hurt as much, and she could walk around. With the nurse’s help, she got out of bed and found Xie Guilan a thick coat.

“Xiao Lan,” she called, handing it to him. “Take this too. It’ll be hard to do laundry there, and you don’t have another sweater to change into. You can wear this under your down jacket.”

Xie Guilan remained silent but took it from her.

The year was nearly over, and the snow fell heavily. Suddenly, Song Lingwei remembered Xie Guilan at five years old—also close to New Year’s, back when he was still in kindergarten.

Chen Weiguo saw no point in kindergarten. What could they possibly learn there? That money was better spent on alcohol.

When Song Lingwei argued, he slapped her so hard her ears rang. She lay on the ground for over an hour before she could get up. Wiping blood from her nose and tears from her eyes, she went to pick Xie Guilan up from school.

By the time she arrived, it was past seven in the evening. All the other children had been taken home—only Xie Guilan remained in the security office, sitting on a small stool doing homework.

The town had few streetlights, plunging into darkness at night. On that freezing snowy evening, only the security office glowed with warm yellow light.

Hearing her footsteps, Xie Guilan looked up. His dark eyes fixed on Song Lingwei’s tear-swollen face. With an unsettlingly calm, adult-like tone, he asked, “What happened to you?”

“Hmm?” Song Lingwei touched her reddened eyes, crouching to lie. “Mommy was hungry. I didn’t eat dinner.”

Another child might have believed she cried from hunger. Xie Guilan just looked away, not calling her out.

When she reached for his hand, Xie Guilan instead picked up his little backpack. His teacher, seeing no one had come for him, had given him a packet of crackers. He handed them to Song Lingwei, along with the dozen or so yuan he’d saved up, and said, “Go eat.”

Song Lingwei stared at the crumpled bills in her hand—clearly saved for a long time, still warm from a child’s body heat.

She knew her parents never loved her because she was a girl. Her younger brother didn’t love her either. Her older sisters might have, but they were too busy surviving. The men she’d known certainly didn’t love her.

She knew she wasn’t worthy of love. So why did Xie Guilan love her?

Little Xie Guilan had already slung his backpack over his shoulders and reached the security office door when he noticed Song Lingwei still crouched on the ground, clutching the money. Frowning, he called out, puzzled, “Mommy?”

---

Now, Song Lingwei looked up, her eyes red as sudden tears fell. Xie Guilan had finished packing. She patted his back and said, “Go on.”

Xie Guilan hadn’t spoken to her in a long time. But after a pause, he nodded. “Mm.”

Then he turned and left the ward.

The door clicked shut behind him.