MW CH34

Chapter 34: Sweet Enough to Get Addicted

In the end, I only told Aunt Wan about Jiang Xuehan’s death. On the phone, she sobbed so hard she could barely breathe, cursing heaven’s injustice, Bai Qifeng’s heartlessness, and my mom for being so blind—giving up a vibrant life for a scumbag.

At first, I considered notifying Bai Qifeng, but after hearing Aunt Wan’s tirade, I figured his conscience wouldn’t even flinch for my mom. So I didn’t bother.

Maybe it was the chill I caught in the mountains that day, but by the second day back in Haicheng, I came down with a cold—a bad one. Sore throat, stuffed nose, dizzy spells the moment I opened my eyes, and not an ounce of strength in my body.

You could say it was intentional, or maybe not, but for days I didn’t reach out to Mochuan. Knowing his personality, I figured if I didn’t contact him, he wouldn’t seek me out either—not even before he returned to Cuoyansong. But on the fourth day, as I lay at home, weak and listless, he surprised me with a call.

The three contracts I’d given him were all signed, ID copies ready. He was calling to ask how to send them back.

My nose was so clogged my voice came out thick, each word practically glued to the next. “Get a same-day delivery or send it COD. I’ll text you the address in a bit.”

Mochuan gave a low “mm,” then, after a long pause, asked, “What’s wrong with your voice?”

I rolled over in bed, coughing. “Just a cold. Minor stuff, no big deal.”

Another silence stretched over the line. My head was fuzzy, drifting in and out, and I thought I heard Mochuan say something—or maybe I didn’t.

“…What’d you say?” I struggled to reel my scattered thoughts back in.

“I said I’ve got some Cenglu herbal medicine. It’s great for colds and stuffy noses. I’ll bring it over—can drop off the contracts too,” Mochuan said.

Maybe the sickness had muddled my brain, because I didn’t see anything odd about that. “Sure, bring it over then,” I replied, no hesitation, no polite refusal.

After hanging up, I passed out again, only jolting awake when the doorbell rang.

Wait—Mochuan was coming to bring me medicine?!

From bed to the door was barely ten meters, but I scrambled along the way—picking up strewn clothes, tossing takeout boxes into the trash, even splashing my face in the bathroom. After that frantic sprint, I opened the door for Mochuan, my breath slightly ragged.

“You got here fast,” I said, stepping aside to let him in.

Mochuan carried a faint chill on him, enough that even without stepping outside, I could guess how cold it was today.

“Are you running a fever?” He set a bag on the table, eyeing me as he shrugged off his coat and draped it casually over a chair.

I wiped the faint sweat from my forehead, feeling sheepish. “Oh, no, probably just the AC cranked too high.”

The herbs Mochuan brought were wrapped in paper, about the size of a fist. The moment he unwrapped them, a fresh, planty scent flooded the room—even my clogged nose picked it up.

My kitchen’s basically a decoration. My cooking skills are so bad I’ve only ever used it for instant noodles a handful of times. A few pots still sat there, brand-new, untouched.

“You know how to brew this?” I asked, a little worried, as he dumped the herbs into a deep pot he’d somehow unearthed.

He turned on the range hood and, without a word, shot me a look that said more than any response could.

Right—before he became Pinjia, he’d had to chop wood and wash clothes like Li Yang, learning to fend for himself.

“Fine, I’ll rest in bed and leave you to it.” I mimed zipping my lips and shuffled back to my room.

Second semester of junior year, during the May Day holiday, Mochuan had gotten sick too.

Cuoyansong was too far for him to travel back and forth easily, so he usually only went home for winter or summer breaks, staying in Beishi for shorter holidays.

That time, I didn’t go home either—I was off with classmates, a group of six or seven guys and girls, freewheeling in the next province.

On the fifth day, Yan Chuwen called out of the blue, asking if I was on campus.

“Nope, we’re heading back tomorrow.”

“Oh… never mind then.” He started to hang up.

“What’s with the hemming and hawing? Just spit it out,” I pressed.

That’s when he told me Mochuan was sick. He’d responded to messages yesterday, but today—no texts, no calls. Yan Chuwen was worried something had happened to him in the dorm.

“He’s sick?” My brow twitched.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Enjoy your trip—I’ll check with someone else.”

After the call, I hesitated, then dialed Mochuan. It rang for a full minute. No answer.

[Raining tomorrow, they don’t want to keep going, so we’re heading back today. I’ll check on him when I get to school.]

I sent that to Yan Chuwen, opened the train app, and booked a high-speed ticket back to Beishi that night.

The cities weren’t far apart—left at 8 p.m., arrived just past 9. A cab got me to campus in under three hours since Yan Chuwen’s call.

The dorm hallway was dead quiet and pitch-black during the holiday. Flashlight in hand, I cursed the school’s stinginess for not even leaving a light on while banging on Yan Chuwen’s dorm door.

After two minutes of pounding, I was ready to ram it down if Mochuan didn’t open in the next sixty seconds. Then the door creaked open.

“Enough already!” Mochuan leaned on the frame with one hand, shielding his eyes from the light with the other. His lips were chapped, neck sweaty, face pale as paper—like he was at death’s door. Yet his words were sharper than ever.

I switched off the flashlight, matching his attitude. “If you’re in the dorm, why not pick up? Don’t you know… Little Yan was worried sick?”

He staggered back inside, rasping, “Chuwen? Didn’t I reply to him?”

He was clearly out of it, panting every few steps, voice hoarse.

“You did?” I raised an eyebrow, about to text Yan Chuwen for proof, only to see he’d messaged me an hour ago saying so. I’d been too busy rushing back to notice.

“…” My bad.

“Why are you here? Don’t you hate me?” Mochuan crawled back into bed, collapsing onto the pillow like his bones had given out.

I shut the door and glanced at the cup on his desk—empty.

“Didn’t you hate me first?” I shook the thermoses in the corner one by one until I found one with water. Pouring half a cup, I realized it was ice-cold and grabbed the thermos to refill it at the water station.

From the bunk, Mochuan’s mocking voice drifted down. “You Xia people—not only fickle, but quick to blame…”

The last few words slurred into a mumble. I was too busy opening the door to catch them, but they weren’t anything nice.

Back with hot water, I climbed onto a chair and fed him some. His eyes were glassy, reactions slow. Concerned, I asked, “You sure you don’t need a doctor?”

He shook his head, then out of nowhere said, “I want candy.”

“Candy?” I thought I’d misheard.

But he repeated, “Yeah, candy.”

Back then, delivery wasn’t as versatile as now—mostly just food, nothing like today’s everything-on-demand. He wanted candy, and I wondered if low blood sugar was kicking in from not eating. I bolted out, buying a haul of snacks—white sugar, plum juice, fruit candies, you name it.

Late at night, open stores were scarce. I trekked a kilometer to find one, got caught in rain while paying, and took shelter. By the time I got back to the dorm, an hour had passed.

I’d left the door ajar, propping it with one of Mochuan’s slippers so it wouldn’t lock by accident. But when I returned, it was still open—and Mochuan was up.

Clinging to the ladder, he wore one shoe, the other foot hovering, searching blindly for its match, his frown deepening.

“What are you doing down here?”

He jerked his head up, startled. “Closing the door… I thought you left.”

“Get back up there.” I shooed him, wiping rain from my hair with a tissue. “You wanted candy, so I got some. It’s pouring out there.”

“…I said I wanted candy?” He paused mid-climb, looking back puzzled.

“Otherwise, why’d I run a kilometer in the middle of the night—for exercise?”

I’d also grabbed fever meds and a thermometer from a pharmacy. It was a mercury one, though, and I’d never used it. The clerk said to put it under the tongue, but I was nervous. Tossing the bag onto the bed for him to eat, I sat below, googling mercury thermometer instructions.

Rustling came from above as he rummaged through the bag. When it stopped, I climbed back up with the meds and water.

He took the pills, his slightly red-rimmed eyes meeting mine as he murmured, “Thanks.”

My heart snagged on something in that moment—sour, bitter, and a little itchy.

“Check your temp before sleeping.” Flustered, I set the cup down, grabbed the thermometer, and climbed up. “This goes under your tongue—don’t bite it, it’s mercury, you’ll—”

Before I finished, he snatched it from me and popped it in his mouth.

“I know. We use these back home,” he said, lying back with it in.

Two minutes later, I pulled it out—39.8°C. Not quite 40, but high enough.

The snacks were in the way on the bed, so I reached to move the bag. He grabbed it first, pulling out something to set by his pillow. It was a roll of toffee. The bag still had cake and chocolate—untouched. He’d only eaten a few toffees.

“Not having the rest?” I asked.

“Nah, this is enough.” He burrowed into the blankets, wrapping himself tight.

Too lazy to head back, I crashed on Yan Chuwen’s bed for the night.

Maybe he’d slept too much during the day, or the sugar kicked in, but after lights out, Mochuan perked up and started chatting.

“Does ‘Mochuan’ have some deep meaning in Cenglu?” The conversation had no direction—just random talk.

“Mochuan, from Sanskrit mamaka^ra—‘mine,’ meaning all external possessions. Me and mine—that’s the whole world,” his voice floated over after a bit.

I didn’t fully get it, but it sounded impressive. “Cool! Your name’s so cultured. Mine annoys me—hard to say, boring as hell.”

Yin means heritage. Bai Yin together? Roughly “Bai family descendant.”

As we talked, sleep crept in.

“When did you figure out it was me?”

“Right from the start.”

Yawning, I closed my eyes, consciousness slipping. “Not long after freshman year started, when I came to the dorm looking for Yan Chuwen… that time?”

He didn’t answer for a while. I figured he’d dozed off, so I let my mind drift too.

“Regardless… which…” His fragmented words floated in just before I sank into sweet darkness.

That medicine Mochuan brewed took about an hour. When it was done, the room filled with a rich herbal scent. He brought it over—pitch-black in a bowl, darker than the hair dye my grandma used to cover her grays.

“Pinch your nose and drink it. You’ll be fine by tomorrow.” I shrank back; he nudged the bowl closer.

Propped against the headboard, I swallowed hard. “Hold on—give me a sec to brace myself.”

Taking it from him, I took deep breaths, squeezed my eyes shut, and chugged the whole thing.

You couldn’t stop once you started—pause, and your tongue caught the taste. Once it did, your body recoiled from the toxic bitterness. I didn’t even breathe until it was down.

Finished, I clutched the bowl, gasping at the bed’s edge like I was dying, misery consuming me. Then, out of nowhere, a candy appeared in my vision—a toffee.

Following it up, I saw Mochuan sitting on the bed’s edge, his expression almost… gentle.

“Pop this in—it’ll cut the bitterness,” he said, nudging it closer.

He was playing Pinjia, soothing a kid.

Stunned for a moment, I took the candy and smiled.

I think I got why Mochuan wouldn’t take that candy from me at the hospital back then.

I’d thought growing up meant candy lost its magic. But it hadn’t. It still worked—it was just… too sweet.

Sweet enough to get addicted, to crave more than just one little piece, to fear the endless bitterness that’d follow once that sweetness faded.

He didn’t refuse because he didn’t want it. He refused because he didn’t dare.

Gripping that candy tight, I fought to keep my voice steady, forcing the most casual tone for the most gut-wrenching words of my life.

“Mochuan, let’s be friends.”