TIL - 15

Gu Xuanyu had been diagnosed with leukemia—acute lymphoblastic leukemia. He knew it himself. When he woke up and faced Qiu Mingyun’s silence, he still wore that seemingly harmless expression, like a born actor.

The nurse had come by twice. Seeing that his condition was stable, she gave Qiu Mingyun some instructions.

Once they were alone in the hospital room, Qiu Mingyun asked him, “How long has this been going on?”

Gu Xuanyu hated her tone—full of pity. He despised pity more than anything. He told her the truth: “If I weren’t sick, I’d still be sucking you dry. But now I can’t. I don’t have the strength, and I don’t have the patience to spin you some sob story anymore.”

Qiu Mingyun looked up. “Can’t you ever just speak properly?”

Gu Xuanyu was firm. “No.”

Qiu Mingyun realized he’d be like this until the day he died. She wasn’t going to waste any more time on him. She stood up. “You think I’d pity you? If you had even a shred of decency, I might’ve paid that 500-yuan ambulance bill for you. But looking at you now, I’m guessing your conscience never made it out of the womb. How can you still have that same disgusting face even at a time like this?”

Gu Xuanyu gestured toward the door, making it clear—he wanted her to leave.

Qiu Mingyun didn’t care either. She turned and walked out.

When she stepped outside, Wen Huo had just hung up a call. Qiu Mingyun felt a little guilty and hailed a cab for her. “Sorry, Huohuo, for dragging you out here.”

Wen Huo didn’t mind. “I couldn’t sleep anyway. And if it were me calling you, you’d have come too.”

Qiu Mingyun slung an arm over her shoulder as they walked out. “Thanks.”

Wen Huo replied lightly, “No need.”

Wen Huo thought their relationship was just right—not so close that they stopped saying “sorry,” “thank you,” or “it’s okay,” but not so distant that they faked politeness with empty words.

Being too close meant one person would start taking the other’s compromises and sacrifices for granted. Being too distant meant judging each other’s character over trivial matters. Neither was reliable.

As soon as they reached the roadside, the cab arrived. Qiu Mingyun opened the door for her. “Go get some sleep.”

Wen Huo noticed she wasn’t leaving. “What about you?”

Qiu Mingyun looked up at the streetlights, then at the moon. “I’ll just walk around for a bit.”

Wen Huo asked, “Feeling soft-hearted?”

Qiu Mingyun nodded, then shook her head. “In the ambulance, maybe a little. But just now, his words snapped me out of it. Some words really do hurt more than a slap.”

Wen Huo held out her hand. “You’ve said things like that so many times before, and I never believed you. But this time, I do.”

Qiu Mingyun smiled and took her hand. “Guess so. In the past, I’d say I was breaking up with him eight hundred times a day. But it seems like the only time I really meant it was when I left without a word.”

Wen Huo rubbed the spot between her thumb and index finger—a small, comforting gesture between close friends. “I’m heading off.”

“Mm.”

As the ride-hailing car drove away, Qiu Mingyun stuffed her hands into her pockets.

She used to wonder how two people who seemed so in love could suddenly fall out of it. If there had never been love to begin with, how had they faked it so convincingly? Was she really that stupid, or was his acting just that good?

But the moment she walked out of Gu Xuanyu’s hospital room, she understood. Just like how alcohol, music, and a moment of recklessness had led her into a doomed relationship with Gu Xuanyu, his ugly, unrepentant face on death’s doorstep made her want to end it.

The thought made her laugh. Who would’ve thought the thing that finally set her free would be the news of her scumbag ex’s terminal illness?

It was nothing like the dramas. In those, the female lead always softened and forgave.

Like those late-night emotional discussions said—if a man had ever truly loved a woman, no matter who came after, the moment she returned, the new woman would lose miserably.

But that wasn’t true. It all depended on the person.

If male leads in dramas were anything like real men, who’d even watch them?

So, don’t use scripted romance to romanticize love. It’s never as beautiful as it seems. Passion fades, promises are lies—only suspicion and resentment have no expiration date, clinging to you like ghosts.

As the night breeze brushed past, Qiu Mingyun saw her love clearly for the first time. The thick filter she’d placed over it had been her own infatuation.

Luckily, she was still young.

This hurdle, she could still overcome.

________________________________________

When Wen Huo returned to her dorm, she got another call from Shen Cheng. She put it on speaker and set it on the shoe rack while she took off her shoes. “Yeah?”

Shen Cheng’s voice was low. “Open the door.”

Wen Huo frowned and glanced toward the entrance. The door?

She didn’t open it right away, picking up the phone and switching it off speaker. “What door?”

Shen Cheng had seen her leave the hospital but hadn’t said anything, following her all the way back to her dorm. If he’d told her, she wouldn’t have come back. “I’m outside.”

Wen Huo was skeptical but opened the door anyway. Seeing Shen Cheng, she was a little surprised—but not too much. Nothing he did ever seemed exaggerated.

Shen Cheng stood at the doorway, staring at her.

He was tall, dressed in black, the top button of his collar undone. His collarbone looked like an exquisite wine vessel—if you poured wine into it and took a sip warmed by his body heat, it’d probably be an indulgence.

As Wen Huo’s imagination ran wild, Shen Cheng moved to step inside. That “wine vessel” drew closer, nearly brushing her lips when, without thinking, she shoved him back out and shut the door.

Locked outside, Shen Cheng wasn’t angry at all. Really. He calmly texted her:

“Wen.”

Just three characters, but the intimidation was maxed out. Wen Huo considered it for a second, then opened the door.

Shen Cheng stepped inside again.

Wen Huo moved to set her bag down, turning away—mostly to avoid him.

Shen Cheng didn’t let her go. He grabbed her wrist, yanked her back, and pinned her against the door. His movements weren’t gentle—Wen Huo’s back hit the door with a thud, pain flickering across her otherwise calm expression. But he didn’t let go, cupping her neck and leaning in close. “Playing hard to get with me?”

Wen Huo had a legitimate excuse. “Things happened too suddenly.”

Shen Cheng’s hand slid up to grip her chin. “What a coincidence.”

Wen Huo’s face ached from his grip. She showed him her call log. “Look, my roommate called me right then.”

Shen Cheng took her phone. “I remember when you were seducing me, you said nothing was more important than me. That if I came for you, you’d be there. Now that you’ve got me, those promises don’t count anymore?”

Wen Huo lowered her head and muttered under her breath, “Weren’t your go-to lines before ‘I’m not interested in you,’ ‘Stay away from me,’ and ‘Don’t touch me’? But then you still ended up touching me. Not just touching—kissing, groping, fucking.”

She deliberately mumbled, so Shen Cheng only caught fragments. He tilted his ear slightly.

Unaware he was listening, Wen Huo kept grumbling. “You’re the one who went back on your word, yet you keep bringing up mine. How petty can a man in his thirties be? If this is what they’re like, then I’ve really learned something.”

Shen Cheng slid a finger into her mouth, cutting her off. “Say that again, louder.”

Wen Huo wasn’t stupid. “No, thanks.”

Shen Cheng withdrew his finger, a thin strand of saliva trailing from the tip.

When a kiss got intense, saliva built up, and strands would form. It was an erotic sight—like an extra dose of aphrodisiac, heightening the tension between them.

Shen Cheng held Wen Huo’s gaze as he brought that same finger to his lips and licked it clean.

Wen Huo’s mind flashed with fragments of last night—maybe because it had been two months, the reunion had carried an extra layer of emotion. Strangely, she felt like it had been the best time they’d ever had.

Shen Cheng’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Where’s the water?”

Wen Huo stared at his lips, glistening under the fluorescent light. “Want me to pour you some?”

Shen Cheng pressed his body against hers. “Didn’t you say I could drink from you?”

Wen Huo played dumb. “What water? Breast milk? Then you’re a little early—I’ve never been a mother, so no milk here.”

Shen Cheng bent his knee slightly, his thigh nudging between her legs. “What about here?”

Wen Huo told the truth. “Professor Shen, I don’t feel the same novelty with you as I did at the beginning. It takes a lot longer to get wet now.”

Shen Cheng stiffened for a brief moment but played it off. “Is that so?”

After the hospital trip and the night air, Wen Huo was ready to enjoy the rest of the evening alone. That meant she didn’t need Shen Cheng anymore—so why tease him? She blinked up at him with earnest eyes, trying to brush past the topic. “Mm.”

Shen Cheng wasn’t sure if she was playing hard to get or genuinely done, but since he was already here, he wasn’t leaving without getting what he wanted.

Wen Huo thought maybe Shen Cheng had realized how inappropriate it was for a grown man to follow her into a girls’ dorm and was about to holster his weapon and retreat. But the next second, his hand slid under her shirt, fingers brushing through curls before dipping lower—

She clenched her thighs. “Professor Shen…”

Shen Cheng kept going, fingertips finding her entrance, the slick heat there making his brows relax. “Takes a lot longer to get wet, huh? Then what’s this?”

Wen Huo squirmed. “Not in the dorm…”

Shen Cheng knew. “Done it in a dorm before?”

“Of course not! Who else would I have?”

“Then let’s try.”

“Uh, Professor Shen, I’m really tired. So tired. How about tomorrow? I’ll deliver myself to you, and we can play.” She shook his arm. “Okay? Please?”

She was pouting again, reminding him of the beginning—when he’d had a little too much to drink, lost control, and let her seduce him. The next day, she’d worn his clothes and refused to leave his car, demanding a kiss. He’d never done anything like that and resisted, but she’d tugged at his sleeve, looking like she’d been wronged, pointing at her forehead with a trembling voice:

“Just my forehead, okay? Please, Professor Shen?”

Shen Cheng hadn’t kissed her then, but he had carried her back upstairs and spent the next week tangled up with her.

At her age, Wen Huo was just right—not too inexperienced, not too jaded, her body fully developed and delicious, every bite bursting with flavor.

Shen Cheng kissed her forehead. “No.”

The gesture also sent Wen Huo’s memories flashing back to their first time. Looks like there’s no escaping this.

Shen Cheng scooped her up bridal-style and, before she could protest, deposited her neatly on her bed. She instinctively glanced around, suspecting hidden cameras. “How’d you know which bed was mine on your first visit?”

Shen Cheng kicked off her slippers and climbed over her. “Smells like you.”

“What smell?”

Still hung up on the water comment, he didn’t answer. “Can I drink now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t washed.”

“Then go wash.”

“How am I supposed to with you on top of me?”

Shen Cheng let her up, and she headed to the shower. Once she was gone, he checked a message:

“Professor Shen, that matter you asked me to handle is settled. As long as the investors give the word, not a single script will dare approach your wife again.”

“Thanks.”

“No need—it was nothing.”

As soon as that conversation ended, Han Bailu texted:

“Husband, there are things I need to confess.”

Shen Cheng replied: ”Oh?”

“I’ve booked a flight back for tomorrow. I’ll tell you everything. I’ve thought it over—since we’re married, we can’t keep clinging to the past. What happened before has nothing to do with you or me. We’re both victims. I can’t keep hiding from you out of fear.”

Shen Cheng skimmed it, locked his phone, and set it aside. Actors worked fast—the moment her career was cut off, the devoted-wife act began.

Wen Huo returned from her shower, a towel wrapped around her hair, her oversized T-shirt doing little to hide her curves.

Noticing Shen Cheng’s gaze, she tilted her head. “Do I look good?”

Shen Cheng said, “Average.”

Wen Huo hadn’t expected praise anyway. She dried her hair, walked over, and stopped in front of him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Then why is Professor Shen so obsessed?”

Shen Cheng wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. “Isn’t it you who’s obsessed?”

Seeing him about to bring up the past again, Wen Huo cut in first: “Haven’t you heard? It's the one who falls first—”