Still Frame Chapter 92
byChapter 92 My Love and You
Zhang Liuxin was stunned by the question, subconsciously looking at Wen Jin’s left hand. Of course, it was clean and bare, just like his own left hand.
“In, in the hotel.”
Wen Jin: “As long as it’s not lost.”
Zhang Liuxin lowered his head, a look of helplessness on his face. How could he lose it? How could he bear to lose it? From the moment he received the name tag engraved with his name, he was prepared to die with that ring.
They looked at each other for a moment. There had been too much emptiness in the past two years. Perhaps there should have been many words, many thoughts of longing to share, but neither of them spoke. They simply stood there, quietly tracing each other with their eyes.
It wasn’t until Wen Jin moved closer, cupping his face with one hand, and kissed him without restraint. At first, it was just a soft, lingering kiss. Neither of them had engaged in any intimacy for two years, and the kiss felt a little rusty; their teeth accidentally knocked together. But no one was willing to pull their lips away even slightly. Then the kiss deepened. Wen Jin’s intense emotions—his longing, his desire, his love, and perhaps despair—were transmitted through their intertwined breaths and warm, tangled tongues. It was that familiar way of kissing, as if he needed Zhang Liuxin to breathe for him. Zhang Liuxin was pressed into the sofa, tilting his head back to receive the increasingly passionate kiss, until he felt a warmth slide across his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw Wen Jin frowning, eyes tightly shut. On his cold, porcelain-like cheek, a shallow tear track, like the shadow of moonlight, trailed down from the corner of his eye. He raised his hand to wipe away the moisture and responded with greater force, two muffled sounds of Wen Jin’s name escaping his lips before being quickly blocked again.
“Cough, cough…”
Zhang Liuxin had only recently recovered. Wen Jin noticed his change in color and quickly released him, asking, “What’s wrong? Are you uncomfortable?”
Seeing Zhang Liuxin clutching his abdomen, his face pale, Wen Jin reached for his phone to call someone, but Zhang Liuxin stopped him: “I’m fine.”
“The explosion that happened at the hospital a month ago, you were injured too, weren’t you?”
“…Yes.”
Zhang Liuxin was worried that his appearance would frighten Wen Jin. His oxygen-deprived brain momentarily dizzy from the kiss, he reached out to cover Wen Jin’s eyes. Wen Jin caught his hand and kissed the inside of his wrist.
“I brought a family doctor. I’ll have him come over for another check-up in a bit.”
“No need, I’ve already been discharged,” Zhang Liuxin suddenly remembered. “Why would you travel with a doctor? Are you sick?”
“No, I just guessed I would see you here.”
“You… you knew that?”
Wen Jin smiled bitterly, looking at Zhang Liuxin’s thin face, which he could almost entirely cover with one hand.
“Liuxin, I am not the kind of person who would allow myself to be completely ignorant about you.”
Zhang Liuxin didn’t know what to say. Wen Jin always carried a layer of melancholy, different from his previous coldness—more like a pervasive sadness that wouldn’t dissipate.
Just then, there was a knock on the door, and Zhong Sixun’s voice came from outside. Wen Jin straightened Zhang Liuxin’s clothes, gave his cheek one last, cherished touch, and then got up to open the door.
Zhong Sixun greeted Zhang Liuxin and then told Wen Jin that the Mayor’s secretary had invited him to dinner. Wen Jin didn’t rush to reply, turning instead to ask Zhang Liuxin.
“I have to go back to the hotel. My colleague is waiting for me.”
“Understood,” Wen Jin told Zhong Sixun. “We’re not going. Give me the room card.”
Wen Jin placed the room card in Zhang Liuxin’s palm and told him, “Bring my ring and come find me tonight.”
He paused, then added a request, sounding very unfamiliar and stiff: “Is that okay?”
Zhang Liuxin slowly nodded and said yes.
Back at the hotel, Zhang Liuxin was immediately cornered by Bev. Bev seemed very interested in his relationship with Wen Jin, squinting at his swollen lips. If you looked closely, there was a tiny cut at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh my god, Chen, did you go see your husband?”
Zhang Liuxin subconsciously nodded, then realized his mistake: “Wh-what? How did you…”
Bev held up her phone to him: “The internet’s doing. After you left, I ran into a few more Yinzhou reporters. I didn’t realize they knew you, and that’s how I found out your name isn’t Chen, it’s Zhang—Zhang Liuxin, the former host of Yinzhou TV.”
Zhang Liuxin dug out medicine from his backpack and took two pills before apologizing: “I’m sorry, the situation was complicated, so I had to use a fake name.”
Bev shrugged, saying in a relaxed tone, “I don’t mind at all, dear. As long as what you’re doing is real, it doesn’t matter if the name is fake.”
“I’m just curious about you and Mr. Wen. I looked up old news and found out you’ve been married for nine years, and you were incredibly loving. Without exaggeration, you are the healthiest and most harmonious gay couple I’ve seen in all my years as a reporter.”
Zhang Liuxin just smiled, not telling her that for the first seven years, his marriage with Wen Jin was a marriage of convenience.
“So, Mr. Wen said you were recuperating, but you actually ran off to a war zone to be a reporter?”
“Recuperating from what?”
Zhang Liuxin hadn’t paid attention to any news from Yinzhou for the past two years. He had almost deliberately forced himself to forget everything about Yinzhou, especially Wen Jin.
“See, two years ago, Mr. Wen said in an interview that he and his lover would reduce their public appearances and spend more time on their respective careers.
The interview was short, but Zhang Liuxin remained silent for a long time after watching it.
That time would have been the tenth day after he left Wen Jin. Wen Jin was visibly thinner, appearing almost frail, like a spent arrow. Yet, standing before the camera, he was as composed and calm as ever. He avoided questions about their recent disappearance, only saying that Liuxin had resigned due to health reasons, and that they would both dedicate more energy to their ideal careers, asking everyone to pay more attention to their charitable foundation.
“Chen?” Bev called out cautiously.
Zhang Liuxin managed a slight smile: “It’s nothing. Our situation is just too complicated.”
Although Bev had never had a stable partner, she had experienced a few passionate romances in her youth. She pointed out incisively, “But you still love each other. Isn’t that enough?”
Love.
Zhang Liuxin recalled Wen Jin’s hot tears, the nostalgic tenderness in Wen Jin’s eyes when he looked at him, and even earlier, his earnest remorse in Bernlin.
He had no doubt that Wen Jin loved him. Even after he left without saying goodbye, Wen Jin showed no resentment, handling things in Yinzhou properly and always keeping a doctor ready to meet him.
“I feel that leaving him was unfair to him,” Zhang Liuxin said sincerely. “In a marriage or a loving relationship, no one wants to be the deceived and abandoned party.”
That was why he had been so heartbroken when he learned the truth two years ago.
Bev gave him a gentle hug, comforting him: “I believe he will understand. After all, there is a kind of love that is letting go. Otherwise, I guess with your husband’s capability, he could have found you before you even reached Segrant.”
An outsider sees clearly. Bev’s words brought Zhang Liuxin a degree of clarity. Of course, he knew Wen Jin had the ability, but why didn’t he use it?
“Go talk to him. You need some time to make up for these two years.”
“Thank you, Bev.”
Zhang Liuxin took the ring and the name tag to Wen Jin’s hotel. Passing a flower shop, he hesitated. The climate here was cold, and the variety of flowers was pitifully small, but there were lilies. He asked the shop owner and learned that this flower could withstand temperatures as low as minus fifteen degrees Celsius.
Holding a small bouquet of lilies, Zhang Liuxin walked into the hotel, still thinking: If, on the night of the car accident, he had happened to open his eyes when Wen Jin arrived and seen Wen Jin constantly watching him, would everything that followed have been different?
But his two years in the war zone had taught him that the two most impossible words in the world were ‘what if.’
Because of Wen Jin’s distinguished status, his floor required an escort to access. However, Zhang Liuxin didn’t wait long before he saw Zhong Sixun. The secretary was still very capable; time had left no trace on her sharp face, and the length of her short hair seemed unchanged. When she saw Zhang Liuxin, she offered a very gentle smile: “Mr. Zhang, are you feeling well?”
“Quite well. And you? You must still be very busy.”
“Yes,” Zhong Sixun smiled helplessly. “But Young Master Wen is even busier.”
Zhang Liuxin asked, “Is he in good health?”
“He’s fine,” Zhong Sixun looked at him meaningfully. “Just occasionally sick with longing.”
Knowing Zhong Sixun’s personality, Zhang Liuxin didn’t think she was joking and began to worry that Wen Jin’s health was truly suffering, as he looked significantly more depressed than Zhang Liuxin remembered.
Arriving at Wen Jin’s suite, Wen Jin looked genuinely surprised to see him holding a bouquet of flowers. He leaned in and naturally kissed him on the cheek. Zhang Liuxin felt a little awkward, remembering Zhong Sixun hadn’t left yet.
Unexpectedly, he was the only one who felt awkward. Wen Jin took his hand and led him toward the room, telling Zhong Sixun, “If there are any unimportant documents these next two days, use my private seal directly. Don’t bother asking me.”
“Understood.”
Wen Jin carefully unwrapped the lilies and placed them in the vase on the coffee table.
“Wen Jin,” Zhang Liuxin pulled out the ring. The ring looked a bit worn after enduring so much time and hardship with him. He curled his fingers. “The ring.”
Wen Jin stared at the ring for a long time, then pulled out the other name tag and asked in a low voice, “Did you wear both of these every time you went to the front line?”
Zhang Liuxin didn’t want to see him cry again. He preferred Wen Jin to be forever aloof and cold rather than seeing him display such vulnerable, painful emotion.
“I was lucky,” he smiled. “Wen Jin, look, I’m still sitting in front of you now.”
So don’t think about those things, and don’t assume possibilities that will cause you pain.
“Help me put it on.” Wen Jin extended his hand to him, just like in a wedding ceremony, lowering his eyelashes so his expression was unclear.
Zhang Liuxin solemnly pushed the ring onto his ring finger, as if they were holding their wedding again. Then he reached out and asked, a little shyly, “Where’s mine?”
Wen Jin held his hand: “Your what?”
Wen Jin must have been doing it on purpose, but Zhang Liuxin really wanted to see that ring: “My ring.”
“Why didn’t you take it with you back then?” Wen Jin’s tone was calm, not accusatory, but genuinely puzzled.
Zhang Liuxin said, “That ring was too valuable. I was afraid of losing it.”
But as soon as he said that, he fell silent, because Wen Jin’s expression seemed to be asking why he had left himself behind, too.
“I’m sorry,” Zhang Liuxin said.
“I love you,” he said in Bernlinian.
Wen Jin shook his head, lovingly stroking his soft, short hair. This kind of tenderness was something Zhang Liuxin rarely saw, even two years ago in Bernlin.
“Don’t apologize, Liuxin. What you want to do is never your fault.”
“I’ve been reflecting constantly these past two years. My mother talked to me, and Cheng Zhi talked to me. They had different perspectives on this. Of course, I thought many times about bringing you back, but I knew that wasn’t what you wanted. One sentence from my mother left a deep impression on me. She said, ‘If you weren’t prepared to wait for him, then you shouldn’t make him wait for his dream.’ Liuxin, I was too arrogant. Ever since I was young, I never failed to get what I wanted, so I naturally assumed I could use my own will to give you everything you desired.”
“But the opposite was true. Not only did I fail to give you what you wanted, I also stripped away a large part of it. So I was wrong. I never blamed you. I only hope you can forgive me.”
For two years, over seven hundred days and nights, Wen Jin fell into brief sleep every night filled with anxiety. He was always worried that Zhang Liuxin was in danger somewhere thousands of miles away, and only when he woke up and saw the sun did he feel like he had lived another day.
“So, you didn’t send people to look for me.”
“No, but I always kept track of the war situation. Sometimes when the situation was intense and news couldn’t get out, I would fly to Oba until I confirmed that the list of casualties didn’t include a name like yours.”
So Wen Jin knew all along. Wen Jin had been there. During those times when he was filled with fear for his life and intense longing for Wen Jin, Wen Jin had stood under the same starry sky as him.
“Then, then did you ever consider, if I…”
Wen Jin gently interrupted him: “The day after I returned to Yinzhou, I rewrote my will. I told you I would take care of you and love you just like I did in Bernlin. I won’t break my promise.”
At this, an endless wave of fear washed over Zhang Liuxin. He always imagined what if he had truly died in Segrant. Would he want to see Wen Jin find another partner and marry again? Emotionally, he wouldn’t, but rationally, Zhang Liuxin didn’t want Wen Jin to be lonely for the rest of his life.
He just never expected that Wen Jin had decided to accompany him, even if the end of that road was death.
My love and I, we will build three hundred nights, like three hundred walls. — Jorge Luis Borges, “The Separation”