Chapter 140: Why were you crying in your dream?
Chen Wengang returned to the table, and after a while, Pan Zhengyang followed, acting as if nothing had happened as he sat back down across from him.
By nine o’clock, the meal wrapped up. Everyone began to disperse. As Chen Wengang walked down the steps and stood by a stone lion, looking around, Pan Zhengyang caught up from behind. He asked how Chen Wengang was getting home and offered a ride, saying his driver would be arriving momentarily.
Just then, a bark came from across the street.
Huo Niangsheng was standing on the other side of the crosswalk with the puppy on a leash. Halley had been walking alongside him, but the street was still bustling with traffic at this hour. Suddenly, a group of teenagers on skateboards zipped through a red light, startling the puppy into barking.
Huo Niangsheng simply picked it up, tucked it under his arm, and walked toward them.
Pan Zhengyang stopped about half a meter away. “Is that… a friend of yours?”
Chen Wengang smiled, the neon lights reflecting in his eyes. “That’s my boyfriend.”
Pan Zhengyang fell silent for a moment.
Chen Wengang gestured toward the street. “Mr. Pan, isn’t that your driver arriving?”
As they spoke, Huo Niangsheng crossed the street and reached them. Pan Zhengyang offered a polite handshake. Huo Niangsheng took the business card Pan Zhengyang offered, but without even looking at it, he tossed it casually into his jeans pocket.
Pan Zhengyang studied him. Huo Niangsheng’s outfit was incredibly casual. His hair had been slightly tousled, perhaps even a bit messy, and his clothes were thrown on haphazardly: a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt with a red heart printed on it—the kind you’d see at any night market. The pure cotton fabric was comfortable but lacked structure, relying entirely on his physique to carry it off.
A handsome-looking ordinary man, Pan Zhengyang thought.
The driver crept the car a bit further forward. Pan Zhengyang cleared his throat and said his goodbyes to Chen Wengang and his companion.
Chen Wengang pulled the puppy into his arms. “I told you there was no need to pick me up. Why did you bring him along?”
Huo Niangsheng pressed his fingers against Halley’s forehead. “I was on the way. Took him for a wash and got his vaccinations done.”
Halley tilted its head in protest, trying to lick his fingers.
Chen Wengang whispered, “Why couldn’t you wait for me? I clearly had time tomorrow.”
Huo Niangsheng let out a short laugh. “You should just tie him to your belt loop! He had one more shot left; you can take him next time.”
He wrapped an arm around Chen Wengang’s waist. In the summer night, the two walked along the roadside, talking and stepping over the dappled shadows cast by the streetlights.
Chen Wengang looked at Huo Niangsheng’s shirt. “Why are you wearing my T-shirt again?”
Huo Niangsheng laughed. “You bought these on sale and got the size too big. I saw you hadn’t worn them in ages.”
Chen Wengang smiled, placing his hand over the red heart on the shirt, feeling the muscle beneath the fabric. Huo Niangsheng gripped his hand. The old Chen family house was small and had no space for a walk-in closet; there was only a built-in wardrobe in the bedroom. Every time the season changed, they had to reorganize everything, giving Master Huo a taste of the “down-to-earth” wisdom required for storage. Usually, their clothes were hung together, half and half; sometimes when pulling one out, they’d have to pause to figure out whose it was.
Of course, other than checking the size, the ones that looked expensive were usually Huo Niangsheng’s.
As for Chen Wengang, he had returned to basics. He mostly wore cotton and linen—it was convenient for holding puppys, minding children, and moving things in the warehouse. Durable, easy-to-wash clothes that could be thrown into the machine were best.
When they reached where Huo Niangsheng had parked, Chen Wengang sat in the passenger seat with Halley and buckled up. Huo Niangsheng started the engine, and Chen Wengang switched on the small interior light. He held the puppy with one arm and watched a video on Huo Niangsheng’s phone with the other—it showed the two of them working together to vaccinate Halley. The doctor held its scruff, gently pushing the needle in, while the nurse stroked it soothingly.
It had been incredibly well-behaved, neither struggling nor shaking, just sitting there quietly without so much as a whimper.
“See, it didn’t—”
“About that Boss Pan just now—”
They spoke at the same time. Chen Wengang paused and turned to him. “What?”
Huo Niangsheng gave a meaningful smile. “I was just saying, he looks pretty rich?”
Chen Wengang laughed. “Don’t you own an Hermes belt too? What’s wrong? Feeling outclassed? Not happy about it? Wear yours next time.”
Huo Niangsheng kept his eyes on the road, the corners of his mouth curling up. At a red light, the car stopped, and Chen Wengang squeezed the hand Huo Niangsheng had resting on the gear shift. Huo Niangsheng said nothing more.
Late that night, after arriving home, Chen Wengang noticed a message on his phone before bed. When the meal had started, everyone had exchanged contact info, and Chen Wengang had added Pan Zhengyang.
The message from Pan Zhengyang asked: “Did you get home safe?”
Chen Wengang pretended not to see it and didn’t reply.
But Pan Zhengyang didn’t give up. A week later, he called Chen Wengang and invited him to a bar—a well-known local gay bar. The intention was no different than a declaration. Chen Wengang politely refused: “Sorry, it’s not very convenient.”
Pan Zhengyang was persistent. On the other end of the line, he lowered his voice. “Does your boyfriend control where you go?”
Chen Wengang was blunt. “Mr. Pan, I have a family. We’ve even ‘married’—”
Pan Zhengyang couldn’t help but laugh. “When did the country pass a marriage policy? How did I miss that?”
There was silence on the other end. He couldn’t see Chen Wengang’s expression and had to guess.
“Besides, I didn’t ask you to break up. Don’t misunderstand, I’m just inviting you to have some fun,” Pan Zhengyang continued. “Actually, for people in our… community, especially someone as young as you, it’s good to see the world and meet a few friends. Don’t think of it as a bad thing.”
“Thank you, but I’m really busy,” Chen Wengang interrupted. “Since you have nothing urgent, I’ll hang up now.”
His voice was cold, and he ended the call decisively. Usually, Chen Wengang wouldn’t speak like that, but he wasn’t in the mood today.
Huo Niangsheng was lying sick in bed. Usually, the young master worked out and was robust, rarely even getting a headache, but this sudden flu had come on with a vengeance, hitting 40°C in half a day. Chen Wengang had called the family doctor in the middle of the night to give him a fever reducer. By the time Pan Zhengyang called, Chen Wengang hadn’t slept for twenty-four hours, sitting by the bed and wiping Huo Niangsheng’s palms with alcohol.
To have someone still trying to flirt while he was dealing with this made Chen Wengang’s head buzz. He simply deleted Pan Zhengyang and went back to watching over Huo Niangsheng.
The man in bed kept his eyes closed, breathing raggedly, his cheeks flushed and lips dry. Chen Wengang reached under the blanket and pulled it back slightly, sensing he was sweating too much. He gently touched Huo Niangsheng’s damp hair. The man tilted his head, revealing a sharp, distinct jawline.
In Chen Wengang’s memory, he had rarely seen Huo Niangsheng this fragile. In his past life, Chen Wengang had been the sickly one, and Huo Niangsheng had always been the one caring for him—through surgery after surgery, nursing, IVs, vomiting, changing bandages, wiping him down… To him, this person had been as reliable as a mountain, forever standing there, as if he would never collapse.
But having lived it, Chen Wengang knew he was only flesh and blood.
His hand wandered over the bed, smoothing out wrinkles in the pillow and sheets. By daybreak, when Huo Niangsheng woke, Chen Wengang was asleep by the bedside. Halley was lying quietly at the foot of the bed, watching them—the puppy had been remarkably well-behaved for the past two days, not once fussing to go out.
Huo Niangsheng pushed back the quilt. As soon as he moved, Chen Wengang woke up, his eyelids swollen. He instinctively reached out to check his forehead.
Huo Niangsheng pulled him up. Chen Wengang grabbed the thermometer from the nightstand. The fever had come down a bit to 37.8°C. The doctor said it was a wind-heat cold. After he took his medicine, Chen Wengang went to the kitchen to cook some mung bean and barley congee. He scoured the cabinets for honeysuckle and pearl barley, realized he was out of houttuynia (fishwort), and sent the neighbor’s kid out to buy some. He added a pinch of salt and brought it to the bedside.
Huo Niangsheng smiled as he watched. “Not bad. Looks like when I’m old, I can count on your filial piety.”
Chen Wengang tested the temperature. “Try it. I’m not a great cook, so don’t worry about the taste—just treat it as medicine.”
Huo Niangsheng watched him for a while, his smile deepening, and he opened his mouth to take the spoon.
It wasn’t that Chen Wengang didn’t know how to care for people; on the contrary, he was too skilled. Huo Niangsheng didn’t tell him, but it felt like he had developed an occupational habit of feeding children—not just feeding him, but wanting to praise him after every spoonful. After some fussing, he finally finished the bowl. Chen Wengang washed the dishes, brewed some water with mint and honey, poured it into a glass pitcher, and left it by the bed to cool.
Huo Niangsheng patted the spot beside him. “Stop fussing. Come up.”
Chen Wengang took off his slippers, climbed onto the bed, and draped his arms over his shoulders. Huo Niangsheng leaned against the headboard, stroking his hair; his palm was hot.
“What were you crying about in your dream?” he asked.
Chen Wengang’s eyes widened. “Me?”
He was dazed, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Huo Niangsheng used his thumb to trace under his eyes. Chen Wengang’s eyes were bloodshot and his eyelids swollen; once touched, he felt how dry and tight the thin skin on his face was. If Huo Niangsheng hadn’t asked, he wouldn’t even have remembered the sad dream.
Now he recalled: in the dream, he had been keeping watch by a coffin, begging that cold, lifeless person to look at him one last time.
Huo Niangsheng told him to stay away so he wouldn’t get infected, but Chen Wengang refused to let go. “It won’t happen.”
Huo Niangsheng patted his arm. “It’s just a cold, not the end of the world.”
Chen Wengang grabbed his wrist and playfully bit him, chiding him for his bad luck. Huo Niangsheng gave a hearty laugh, holding up his arm to let him grind his teeth. After a moment, Chen Wengang let go and offered a faint smile.
He chatted with Huo Niangsheng. “You know, my mother passed away a long time ago.”
Huo Niangsheng acknowledged him. “And?”
“And then there was the tombstone and the plot. I was little then and didn’t have much of a memory; I don’t even remember what she looked like. What I do remember is a few years later, during Tomb-Sweeping Day, my father took me to the cemetery. The stone hadn’t been set yet. The year we finally went to see the finished tombstone, I could read well by then, and I saw two names engraved: my mother’s and my father’s. My mother’s name was painted in gold, his was just red, and the ‘erected by’ section only had my name.”
Huo Niangsheng said, “That’s good. It shows they were devoted to each other.”
Chen Wengang said, “I understand that. But there was no place left for me.”
Huo Niangsheng laughed. “Of course they’d be buried together as husband and wife. Where would you fit in?”
Chen Wengang didn’t respond. Halley, seeing them chatting, trotted over, placed two paws on the side of the bed, and tried to jump up. Chen Wengang shifted his position, pressing down on Huo Niangsheng’s thigh as he reached out to rub Halley. The puppy immediately fell over, exposing its belly. Chen Wengang leaned out, using one finger to draw circles on its stomach.
Huo Niangsheng could read his thoughts just by looking at the back of his head. “Alright, you’ve lived two lifetimes—look at it this way. You have me. In the future, it’ll be like this. Or better yet, we won’t even buy a grave. Let’s just have them burn us together, mix our ashes, and bury them in the same pit with a pine tree. We’ll keep it evergreen, and even if someone cuts it down, they won’t be able to tell whose is whose.”
Chen Wengang kept teasing the puppy, still silent.
Huo Niangsheng scratched the back of his neck. “I’m talking to you. You hear me?”
Chen Wengang burst into a laugh.
He took time off to care for the patient. With his good constitution, Huo Niangsheng was fine after two or three days. Chen Wengang, however, changed his mind; they decided to go on a road trip to a neighboring city for the weekend.
The plan was delayed by a week because Cheng Bo, his elementary classmate, kept pestering him about the reunion. Chen Wengang had originally agreed out of respect for their teacher—Cheng Bo had said they’d invited their first-grade homeroom teacher. They hadn’t seen her in over a decade; she was now in her sixties and retired. Many classmates in the group chat were reminiscing and insisting on coming.
But on the day of the reunion, they didn’t get to see her; her herniated disc had worsened, and she’d been hospitalized for surgery.
That wasn’t the end of it; things kept going wrong. The group had agreed to meet near the school, but the weather turned, and a sudden downpour hit. Several people didn’t have umbrellas and had to scramble for cover, arriving late. Once everyone had gathered and piled into cars for Lingyun Pavilion, they were blocked in the lobby and told that because they were half an hour late, another guest had taken the room, and Cheng Bo’s reservation had been canceled.
The venue Cheng Bo had chosen was a private garden built by a wealthy merchant in the Qing Dynasty. It was a classic classical Chinese garden—black tiles, gray bricks, quiet and elegant. It was said the ancestors had been high-ranking officials, but their descendants had fallen on hard times and sold the garden. It had since been converted into a high-end club, only serving members. Most who came here were wealthy or influential.
Cheng Bo had made a big show of it. Before they came, several male classmates had egged him on, praising him for his success and saying they were lucky to see such a high-end place.
Now that they weren’t getting in, Cheng Bo was losing face. He pushed to the front to negotiate with the receptionist. “That’s not how you treat guests! The customer is king, you know? You can’t tell me you don’t have a single room left. Find a way to swap something for me.”
The receptionist remained polite, not flustered, her smile showing exactly eight teeth. “I apologize, but we truly don’t have any rooms at the same rate. If you consider upgrading, we do have other rooms available, though they are slightly more expensive.”
Cheng Bo hesitated for a moment. “Let me see what kind of rooms you have.”
The receptionist checked her computer. “Water Cloud, Peach Blossom Spring, Peony Pavilion—all of these are available. Regardless of the number of people, the minimum consumption is 100,000 per room. Shall I register that for you?”
