PMWAIAAPM Chapter 67

Chapter 67: His Name is Chen Ying

The long-awaited kiss gently landed.

Clearer than any marking was the sense of possession, more so a feeling, even with salty tears, even without any scent from Xing Yang.

How could he be happy after three months of separation?

He could smell a cruel scent on Xing Yang, loving him deeply, yet precisely because of that deep love, he was the first to be the one to let go.

Because he couldn’t bear to, Xing Yang had to let go.

So, when their lips met, the entangled rose fragrance on Xing Yang was no longer passionate; instead, it was strong and reluctant.

“I miss you so much, I miss you so much…” Tan Zhiyu’s voice was raspy.

He was afraid his expression wasn’t clear enough, giving Xing Yang the chance to abandon him.

Xing Yang held him tightly, the kiss almost taking away his breath. The complexity in their eyes was no longer just pure liking; how could one describe such feelings?

He buried his face in Tan Zhiyu’s shoulder, his nose tinged with acidity: “We shouldn’t be like this… you shouldn’t have come…”

“You don’t want me… my heart is breaking…” Tan Zhiyu’s voice was low, each word slow and clear, mixed with a weep.

Holding tightly, wanting to crush Xing Yang into his embrace, the air was filled with floating dust and his slightly trembling eyelashes, clear and distinct.

Xing Yang subconsciously cupped his face, resting his forehead against Tan Zhiyu’s, using his fingertips to wipe away the tears flowing from the corners of his eyes, slowly leaning closer to his lips.

His back felt stiff, and his heart gradually turned sour.

Jiang Cheng had warned him before, saying his softness would ruin him and Tan Zhiyu for a lifetime; now that it truly came to this, how could he not be soft-hearted?

This was the man he had once tried hard to live under the same roof with, the precious one he held dearly.

He couldn’t bring himself to push Tan Zhiyu away time and again just for his own sake.

But…

How could he bear to let Tan Zhiyu’s heart break?

Tan Zhiyu pulled his hand to rest on his chest, feeling that fiercely beating heart inside. Even with the fireworks outside never ceasing, everything around still turned silent like a film’s background noise.

“It’s so painful…”

In an instant, as he felt Tan Zhiyu’s body heat, the chill around him melted away: “I lost to you…”

In the next moment, Xing Yang embraced his neck.

A towering building could collapse with just a burning heart; it felt as if it hid unripe fruit within. Originally, he fell into the soil to rot, and next year new branches would grow, but Tan Zhiyu, unbothered by his dirt and decay, still picked him back home.

He wanted to fix him; even if that fruit no longer bore fruit, he wanted to accompany it to sprout anew.

Finally, the astringent and intense juices burst forth in his embrace, his Zhiyu…

Was his Zhiyu.

“I made you sad; am I really that unqualified?”

As a lover, he repeatedly pushed away the one he liked; as a partner, he also didn’t follow the rules—truly awful.

Tan Zhiyu’s hand had never let go of his, fingers even moist with sweat, yet they only gripped tighter, this time fearing that if they loosened even a little, they would lose each other.

“It won’t happen, it won’t happen, Xing Yang, you’re the best, my best—”

The best husband, the best lover.

Suddenly, a synchronized countdown echoed outside. As the clock struck midnight, the swirling snow blended with the fireworks in the silver-white sky.

In this small old house, Tan Zhiyu assured himself he would not let go of his hand again, holding back his feelings with a choking cry: “Happy New Year… woo–”

“You know, if I hadn’t found you, how sad I would have been. These three months without you, the air was unbearable, you can’t leave me, you can’t. Anyone can leave me, but you can’t—”

His parents didn’t love him; they only flaunted him like a designer bag. His friends didn’t love him; they were all trying to get by. His fans didn’t love him; it was only skin deep.

Only Xing Yang truly loved him, so he couldn’t lose him.

Tan Zhiyu sobbed uncontrollably in his arms, crying for a long time.

As a child, he never cried because he knew even if he cried until his throat was hoarse, his parents wouldn’t stay for him. But in front of Xing Yang, he seemed to turn back into a child again.

Those tears could almost drown him. Xing Yang knew there was no turning back this time; he could only softly comfort him, carefully wiping his tears. When guilt spread, Tan Zhiyu leaned closer, “I’m not blaming you; I blame myself.”

“It’s my mother, right? Xing Yang, you’re married to me. If it makes you uncomfortable, let me figure it out in the future; I’m your alpha.”

Xing Yang froze for a moment, the soft silver light outside gradually illuminating his serious eyes.

He couldn’t tolerate Tan Zhiyu’s gaze like that; it was too painful, reflecting nothing but himself, painful enough that just one look from him would make Xing Yang soft-hearted. Even if the future was fraught with peril, he would accompany Tan Zhiyu on his journey.

Xing Yang reached out, gently brushing his fingertips over his eyelashes. Tan Zhiyu, like a little cat, pressed his cheek against his palm, seemingly hoping he would stroke his hair.

“Okay,” he sighed lightly.

“If I had known, I shouldn’t have stayed in the capital.”

He should have hidden in a place where no one could find him.

Tan Zhiyu bit his lip in grievance: “You dare!”

Regaining something lost was less joy and more sorrow, and with only a little time left, they had missed three months yet again. Tan Zhiyu even cried until his fingers went numb.

Xing Yang made room beside him, letting Tan Zhiyu lie down on the small bed, pulling him into his arms, letting him rest his head on his lap.

Tan Zhiyu lay there, his palm gently stroking his slightly protruding belly. This feeling was incredibly magical; four months had passed, and the baby inside had grown.

His pupils shone brightly in the night, yet his gaze was as hot as the moon.

Xing Yang gently caressed his cheek, recounting the stories that had once unfolded in this small house.

He grew up here, his parents were loving, but his father was wronged, and his mother was driven to extremes. He lost both parents within a month, ultimately dropping out of school to rely solely on his grandmother, who was a very optimistic old lady.

In the summer, she would often stoop, leaning on a cane while waiting at the entrance of the community for Xing Yang to return from moving bricks. She would say the most: “My grandson, you’ve had a hard time.”

Once Xing Yang started earning money, the first thing he did was to install air conditioning in this small house. His grandmother knew making money wasn’t easy, reluctant to turn on the air conditioning when it was hot, only doing so ten minutes before Xing Yang got home, creating a false impression that it had been running all day, cheerfully saying her grandson was the most filial child in the world.

If his grandmother were still around, she would surely love Zhiyu.

Tan Zhiyu had never heard Xing Yang speak of his past; this was the first time.

The mystery surrounding this man was gradually being peeled away. He was preparing to face Tan Zhiyu nakedly; there would be no more secrets between them.

“My gland is from Jiang Cheng’s lover, Chen Ying. Jiang Cheng doesn’t love me; his lover died long ago. The gland in me is his last remnant.”

Jiang Cheng met Chen Ying when he was sixteen; he was his tutor, a college student from a village. The first time they met, Chen Ying wore a gray plaid shirt and was a bit muscular from working on construction sites.

The village boy felt somewhat reserved coming to the villa, and Jiang Cheng emerged from the home’s pool, tall and wet-haired, dripping water. He threw his hair back, savage and lazy, inherently exuding the presence of a young master: “Hello, teacher?”

Chen Ying blinked and looked away: “You… you should change clothes; we have, have class.”

“Can the teacher swim?”

“What?”

In the next second, Chen Ying was kicked into the pool. Having grown up in the mountains, he couldn’t swim, and nearly drowned in the 1.8m deep pool. Jiang Cheng, like a merman, jumped in to kiss and give him air, saving him. Chen Ying crawled ashore, face flushed and crying.

His backpack contained a secondhand computer he saved money for; with red eyes, he looked at Jiang Cheng and could only stay for tuition.

Jiang Cheng had been a spoiled troublemaker since childhood, initially using Chen Ying for amusement. Later, watching Chen Ying being teased by customers at a hotel, he asked why he had to work two jobs, wondering if the Jiang family didn’t pay enough. Chen Ying could only dumbly respond, “The computer broke; I need to buy a new one.”

Chen Ying had a tough life; he wanted his siblings to go to college. He was serious about life, and despite Jiang Cheng’s bullying, he diligently took each class note and explained problems to him. He couldn’t afford gland transplants, receiving only free ones from the hospital, with glands that were allergic and emitting a sweet scent.

The spoiled young master was drawn to the earnest man, skipping class to play with him. He earned a high score in one subject, as a reward Chen Ying accompanied him on a trip to a foreign country.

That was their honeymoon before they got married. How could the dully earnest man resist the charm of the young master, raised drenched in romance? Love quietly blossomed into an unavoidable storm.

The Jiang family had only one son, an important tool for future business marriages, and would not allow a cheap omega to enter. Jiang Cheng’s father shattered this love; by the time Jiang Cheng found Chen Ying, Chen Ying’s reproductive system was already ruined.

Chen Ying could not live; the humiliating scenes were all orchestrated by Jiang Cheng’s father. For days and nights, he couldn’t remember. Jiang Cheng went mad, even hospitalized his own father, but he witnessed Chen Ying fall from the hospital.

That was how Chen Ying died.

Several times Jiang Cheng tried to jump, but was held back. He couldn’t die; his hands were covered in scars, despair mingling with the foul odor of the living, neither fully alive nor dead. Zhou Jiaoyue’s experiments began, coming to the hospital to search for glands; Chen Ying’s blood type matched that of Xing Yang.

That became his only motivation to live.

Xing Yang, like Chen Ying, was bitter yet resilient, loving yet courageous.

Why can those who love each other in this world never meet? Because there are too many mountains, too deep waters; not everyone has the courage to cross mountains and rivers.

Due to the administration of too many pheromone injections, the already unstable gland at the back of Xing Yang’s neck was decaying.

Jiang Cheng’s Chen Ying was near death. He traveled the world, bidding farewell to the places he and Chen Ying had visited, preparing to find Chen Ying.

“Then after a while, let’s travel too,” Tan Zhiyu said, lying on his leg.

“That way, I’ll have places to say goodbye to. How about that?”

“Don’t say that…”