WMSR – QT Chapter 40

 

WMSR – QT Chapter 40

By

siofra

Chapter 40

Who could tell him why Song Junchi—the very man who was supposedly on a business trip in another city—was standing right here?

And who could tell him why Song Junchi was allowed to stroll hand-in-hand along the beach with his Chen-gege so intimately, to the point of holding him, and even kissing him…

Watching those two figures locked in an embrace, Su Yuanhang’s bloodshot eyes swam with a profound, suffocating surge of betrayal.

Those eyes remained glued there, staring rigidly as the hand-in-hand figures drifted further and further into the distance.

Returning to the hotel, Song Junchi accompanied Bai Yichen back to his suite, ordered room service so they could share dinner together, and still lingered stubbornly afterward, dragging out his departure until the exact hour Bai Yichen usually retired for the night.

Bai Yichen had zero doubt that if given the choice, Song Junchi would have happily stayed to pull an overnight vigil. But understanding the turmoil churning in Song Junchi’s chest—and calculating that his own time was running painfully thin—he resolved to book a flight back home the very next day. After all, the twilight hours of his life belonged beside his family.

In the dead of night, Song Junchi jolted awake from a light sleep. Checking the time, the digital display glowed 2:00 AM. A persistent knot of unease tugged at him, prompting him to throw on a light jacket, grab both electronic room keys, and push open his door.

Given the accelerating deterioration of Bai Yichen’s health, Song Junchi had long since stopped taking chances, permanently keeping a duplicate keycard to Bai Yichen’s suite so he could conduct spot-checks at any hour. Knowing full well that his body was rapidly failing him, Bai Yichen hadn’t put up any stubborn resistance, silently permitting Song Junchi’s nocturnal check-ins whenever his anxiety flared.

Striding down the hallway to the familiar suite, Song Junchi lowered his head to fish the keycard from his pocket. But before the plastic could touch the sensor, a blinding spike of agonizing pain detonated at the base of his skull. The next instant, his vision collapsed into absolute blackness as consciousness completely deserted him…

Bai Yichen drifted back to consciousness in a foggy haze, parched by a desert-like dryness burning through his throat. Water… I need water…

Accompanying the intense thirst was an alarming discovery: his limbs and digits refused to respond to a single ounce of command. It felt as though he could vaguely sense their physical existence, yet the neural bridge to direct them had completely severed.

What is this? Has the complication reached a critical stage?

Just as anxious spirals began to form in Bai Yichen’s mind, a pair of hands slid beneath his shoulders, lifting his upper body into a semi-reclined posture. A lukewarm rim of a cup pressed gently against his lips, followed by the trickle of water spilling across his tongue. The moment Bai Yichen registered what it was, he drank with ravenous, desperate greed.

The perfectly temperate water provided immediate, exquisite relief to his scorched throat, leaving him with enough cognitive bandwidth to wonder who was tending to him. It must be Junchi, he figured. After all, his nominal fiancée had wrapped up her promotional photo shoots the day before and departed long ago; the only person remaining by his side in this resort was Song Junchi—who conveniently held a master key to his room precisely to guard against midnight emergencies.

The person feeding him exercised extraordinary, soothing patience, waiting quietly until every last drop was drained before drawing the glass away. Yet despite the meticulous care, a stray droplet escaped the corner of his lips, sliding down his jawline to soak into the collar of his shirt, leaving a sticky, uncomfortable chill against his skin.

The figure tending to him leaned back in close proximity. Bai Yichen instinctively assumed the person was reaching for a napkin to wipe away the moisture along his chin. But he soon realized he had only guessed half the equation. When a soft, warm, wet surface pressed directly against his skin, tracing a slow, lingering, licking motion across his jaw, a violent shockwave jolted through his system.

No—this isn’t Song Junchi!

Panic surged, and Bai Yichen tried with every fiber of his being to thrash against the restraint. But his limbs remained leaden and unresponsive. He wanted to scream, but his vocal cords could only force out meaningless, strangled puffs of air. Finally, fighting through the humiliating, sensual trail of wet licks, he forced his eyelids apart to confront a face that was intimately familiar, yet utterly outside the realm of possibility.

Xiao Hang…

Compared to the overwhelming tempest of shock boiling in Bai Yichen’s eyes, Su Yuanhang wore an expression of terrifying, unyielding composure. Even upon catching the exact moment Bai Yichen regained consciousness, he merely paused for a beat before resuming his ministrations—seamlessly escalating the borderline-obscene licking down past the jawline toward the hollow of his neck.

Feeling those lips and tongue slide from his throat down to his exposed collarbone, followed by the sudden ripping tear of fabric as his shirt was dragged open, Bai Yichen locked his blazing eyes onto Su Yuanhang. Within that glare boiled a volatile cocktail of pure shock, disbelief, disbelief-turned-rage, and a desperate, clawing urgency: Stop this right now!

Su Yuanhang effortlessly decoded every jagged syllable of meaning flashing through Bai Yichen’s eyes. Yet he showed zero intention of halting, offering no explanations, his movements growing steadily more frantic as his previously chilled fingertips turned burning hot. Amidst his ragged, uncontrollable gasps, a thick, predatory hunger bled into the air…

Paralyzed and voiceless, Bai Yichen wanted to halt the madness, but no matter how violently he commanded his muscles, he couldn’t squeeze out a single syllable. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his physical paralysis was entirely unnatural—far too targeted to write off as a standard medical complication. As Su Yuanhang’s transgressions crossed deeper into blatant violation, reading the unhinged devotion etched across the younger man’s face made it clear he wouldn’t be stopped by anything short of a miracle. A searing wave of incandescent fury finally ignited in the pit of Bai Yichen’s stomach. Fixing his blazing stare on Su Yuanhang, his eyes communicated a single, unmistakable decree: You will live to regret this!

The two of them shared nearly two decades of marrow-deep intimacy; the nonverbal shorthand forged across that timespan was unbreakable. Su Yuanhang once again translated the warning etched in Bai Yichen’s gaze with chilling precision.

Regret? A dry, humorless internal scoff echoed in his mind. Heh. How could I ever regret this? As long as I finally secure my Chen-gege, I will never, ever look back.

It was precisely because he had been too spineless, too choked by excessive hesitations and boundaries, that he had allowed himself to be kept blindly in the dark for so long. He loved this man with every drop of his soul—a deep, devouring adoration that had forced him to ruthlessly crush his own feelings, wearing a mask of cheerful complicity just to hand over unwanted blessings.

He had once prayed with every fiber of his being for his Chen-gege’s happiness. Even when his Chen-gege decided to marry a woman and build a conventional life, Su Yuanhang had forced himself to retreat to the sidelines, content to watch from the shadows as long as Chen-gege was smiling. He had swallowed jealousies so corrosive they threatened to eat away his internal organs, never daring to cross a single boundary or step a fraction of an inch out of line.

And how had his enduring self-abnegation been rewarded?

It had bought him the front-row seat to watch another man wrapped securely in his Chen-gege’s arms.

At that exact heartbeat on the beach, watching those two intertwined silhouettes, watching Song Junchi bow his head to press a lingering kiss against his Chen-gege’s hair, he had experienced the primitive, feral urge to commit murder for the very first time in his life.

Every circuit in his brain had screamed a singular, violent command: Charge out there and tear them apart! He had wanted to grab his Chen-gege by the shoulders and demand why he hadn’t slapped Song Junchi’s hand away, why he had actively initiated that embrace. Yet he had been paralyzed by a blinding terror—terrified that if he broke cover, the answer he dragged into the light would shatter him beyond repair.