WMSR – QT Chapter 38

 

WMSR – QT Chapter 38

By

siofra

Chapter 38

And then, just as he had brutally laid bare the cruel truth to his parents, Bai Yichen revealed the origins and reality of his illness to Song Junchi.

A moment prior, Song Junchi had been nursing a secret, warm thrill at the affectionate, grounding grip Bai Yichen had maintained on his arm; the next, beneath his childhood friend’s heavy, somber gaze, he was struck by a bulletin that made the entire world dissolve into unreality.

Song Junchi’s initial reaction mirrored that of the Bai parents—a flat, stubborn refusal to believe. But as Bai Yichen silently slid two independent medical reports from separate facilities across the table, his expression locked in solemn gravity, Song Junchi finally lapsed into a stunned silence.

Watching his twenty-year lifelong companion and confidant stare down at the documentation before sliding out of his chair in a boneless collapse of exhaustion, Bai Yichen felt his chest tighten with a suffocating ache of apology.

Song Junchi kept his head bowed over the two reports for an eternity. When he finally lifted his face, his eyes were webbed with a dense maze of raw, bleeding red. Yet his voice emerged stripped of all volume, reduced to a dry, hollow rasp: “How much time is left?”

“One month.”

Song Junchi slammed his eyelids shut, a harsh, shuddering breath tearing past his throat to shred his voice beyond recognition: “Why tell me only now? With just a month remaining… were you never planning to tell me at all?”

Faced with the crushing indictment, Bai Yichen offered only silence.

That silence handed Song Junchi the answer he dreaded. Yet Song Junchi was far from a fool; on the contrary, his native intuition possessed a terrifying sharpness. Yichen had barely thirty days left to breathe, yet he had launched a grand, highly publicized engagement just a short while ago. And today, having accidentally barged in and stumbled upon those photographs, he was suddenly being handed the unvarnished truth. The sequence bristled with glaring anomalies. Staring up at the sprawling collage of photographic evidence capturing all four seasons across the walls, a sudden, chilling dawn of realization broke across his mind. Even so, he forced himself to articulate the lingering question: “Since you were determined to keep it locked away from me, why break the silence now?”

For reasons he couldn’t quite decode, the cadence of Song Junchi’s voice right then pressed with agonizing heaviness on Bai Yichen’s chest. Even so, he answered: “This leads me to the second thing I wanted to discuss. I want to ask a favor of you—help me keep this hidden from Xiao Hang.”

A wave of concentrated, searing bitterness flooded Song Junchi’s throat. Ah. So that’s how it is. Because I happened to spot those photos and threatened to become a potential data leak, I was granted membership into the secret—just another asset to be managed?

A dark, volatile tide surged through his chest, forcing an uncontrollable, razor-sharp edge into Song Junchi’s tone: “Why him? Why must it be hidden exclusively from Su Yuanhang? Is there some sacred reason he isn’t allowed to know?”

Whether intentionally or not, it marked the first time Song Junchi had discarded the hypocritical pretense of calling the man “Xiao Hang” in front of Bai Yichen, opting instead to slice through the politeness with his full name.

The tectonic shift in Song Junchi’s emotional register was palpable enough for Bai Yichen to catch, though the underlying mechanics eluded him. Pausing for a beat, Bai Yichen chose to prioritize answering the core question: “Because Xiao Hang has always depended on me too heavily, and his disposition is prone to slipping into fatal psychological dead-ends. I’m terrified he wouldn’t survive the blow.”

Though Bai Yichen framed it merely as an objective assessment of Su Yuanhang’s psychological fragility, the protective architecture of his choice laid bare a devastating truth—a verdict that made Song Junchi’s heart contract with an agony so sharp it cut off his oxygen. You’re only worried that Su Yuanhang won’t survive the blow? At the final, vanishing edge of your life, is your mind and soul entirely consumed by him?

Then what about me? What about the person who walked beside you from childhood, nursing a secret, bone-deep adoration across all these years? If I hadn’t accidentally broken through your doors today, was I destined to remain locked out in the dark? Were we just thrown together—me drafted as an accessory whose sole function was to assist in keeping the truth away from Su Yuanhang? Just a pawn left blissfully, stupidly ignorant while the person I love most slips away into the grave without letting me so much as whisper a goodbye?

In that brutal heartbeat, Song Junchi finally accepted an unalterable reality: his twenty-year war of attrition against Su Yuanhang had ended in absolute, unmitigated defeat.

Drawing in a succession of jagged lungfuls of air, Song Junchi forcibly choked down the sour acid burning his throat, summoning the deepest reserve of iron-willed composure he would ever muster in this lifetime: “I give you my word. I’ll do it. But I have one condition.”

Bai Yichen hadn’t anticipated that Song Junchi would pivot to demands. He leveled a steady gaze at his friend: “Name it.”

“The final month. Let me stay by your side.” Song Junchi locked his eyes onto Bai Yichen, his voice cracking on a raw rasp.

Faced with a request so modest it barely registered as a condition, Bai Yichen felt a profound swell of warmth and sorrow. Assuming his brother-in-arms was simply wrestling with a separation anxiety he couldn’t bear to articulate, Bai Yichen nodded without hesitation. However— “What about Xiao Hang’s end…?”

“Rest easy. I’ll arrange the contingencies. He won’t pick up a single trace.”

“Then I’m at ease.”

Watching Bai Yichen exhale a sigh of unburdened relief, Song Junchi felt a complex, chaotic storm of emotions tear through his chest. Sometimes, I must genuinely be a glutton for punishment. The man I love didn’t think of me once as he stared down his final hour, yet all I crave is the privilege of buying one more day of his company.

Still, viewed through a twisted lens, this outcome carried the bitter irony of a blessing in disguise. Had he not remained completely unvalued and overlooked, how else could he have stumbled into this hidden truth? Let Su Yuanhang hold the crown of this man’s heart all he wanted—when the final curtain fell, the one holding vigil beside Yichen in his dying hour would still be him.

He firmly believed that if Su Yuanhang ever woke up to the reality of what was happening, the man would burn the world to ashes if it meant trading places with him for this single month.

But why should he?

He had already lost everything else; let this final month stand as the universe’s meager compensation to him.

Bai Yichen’s final-stage logistical preparations were swiftly executed. Following a hurried sweep to clear away any telltale photographic traces within his residence, he packed his bags and set off on another wave of travel. Simultaneously, Song Junchi executed a lightning-fast departure from A City under the outward pretense of expanding corporate territory into neighboring municipal sectors. In the blink of an eye, A City’s legendary, ironclad tripartite circle was hollowed out, leaving behind a solitary, isolated figure: Su Yuanhang.

As the days bled past, Su Yuanhang remained entirely indifferent to Song Junchi’s sudden evaporation. Having painstakingly disciplined his psyche—vowing that no matter what sights he was forced to witness, he would never permit a single flicker of toxic jealousy to mar his expressions in front of Bai Yichen—he finally marshaled the courage to go seek out his Chen-gege.

Yet every pilgrimage he made yielded a singular, unyielding wall: Bai Yichen and his fiancée remained abroad, locked deep within an extended holiday retreat. Days slipped through his fingers like sand; never in his life had Su Yuanhang endured such an agonizing drought without laying eyes on Bai Yichen, and a corrosive anxiety gnawed deeper into his chest with every sunrise. Though occasional phone calls still connected, the sterile transmission of a disembodied voice utterly failed to quench the desperate thirst wracking his soul. Finally snapping past his breaking point, Su Yuanhang finalized a sweeping delegation of corporate authority, zipped up his luggage, and stepped out onto the runway himself.

He knew his behavior was grotesque—clinging to the edges of the picture like the pathetic, untamable burr Song Junchi had always accused him of being. But he couldn’t help it; he genuinely could not function in a reality devoid of Chen-gege’s presence. He only wanted to steal one glance—a single, covert, unobserved glimpse. Even if it meant watching Chen-gege wrapped in the arms of that woman, even if the sight tore his heart to shreds and poisoned him with green-eyed rage, as long as he could cast his eyes upon Chen-gege, any torment was a price he was willing to pay.