Chapter 76

Shang Mingbao ultimately did not call out the words Xiang Feiran wanted to hear.

As the light outside grew dim, Xiang Feiran continued to kiss her deeply, holding her hand against his face, both of them covered in sweat. She had lost most of her strength, her fingertips slipping along his sweaty jaw and neck. He wouldn’t let her make a sound, and the deep kisses were filled with an insurmountable sense of despair and resolution.

Despite the air conditioning, the room was uncomfortably warm, the heat from their bodies mingling and lingering. Finally, in this stifling atmosphere, Xiang Feiran relented.

After a long while, he finally settled down, his breathing rough and uneven. With his eyes closed, he felt a tightening in his chest, overwhelmed by the sensation of having regained something precious, making him shiver.

Shang Mingbao was already groggy, having been embraced by him, her body weak and hot against him. As she fell asleep, Xiang Feiran held her tightly, checking her spine, back, shoulders, arms, neck, and face, tenderly touching every inch of her. His actions were gentle yet firm, as if he needed to confirm her presence in the most physical way possible.

After a short sleep, she woke up to see Xiang Feiran’s back as he smoked by the window, which finally relaxed her.

Hearing the noise, Xiang Feiran turned around, cigarette in his right hand and a can of freshly opened Japanese beer in his left. “Go take a shower; I’ll take you out to eat.”

“The doctor told you to quit smoking and drinking, and you’re doing both?” Shang Mingbao was upset.

Xiang Feiran smiled, obediently putting the half-smoked cigarette into the beer can. “Wake up.”

“If you’re tired, don’t push yourself.” Shang Mingbao was even more frustrated.

“Earlier?” Xiang Feiran leaned down to place the can on the glass coffee table. “Two hours isn’t pushing it. Think of it as if you had too much glucose.”

“…”

Before he could say anything more infuriating, Shang Mingbao quickly retreated to the shower.

After being away from home for some time, Xiang Feiran drove her to a tea restaurant she loved. As it was a Michelin-starred establishment, a reservation was necessary. While driving out of the hotel, Xiang Feiran called an assistant to make the reservation. Soon, a confirmation message and private room number were sent to his phone.

Shang Mingbao, famished, managed to eat an entire pigeon, devour two pieces of durian pastry, and after finishing a bowl of lobster rice, modestly asked for half a bowl more. She even drank a bowl of mango sago dessert.

Xiang Feiran drank pu’er tea throughout, and seeing her licking her lips, he nudged his bowl of mango sago dessert towards her.

Shang Mingbao looked at the cold dessert and seriously said, “No, no, my stomach can’t take more.”

Xiang Feiran lightly tapped his chin. “It can take it. Don’t be modest.”

Shang Mingbao frowned at him.

“What’s wrong?” Xiang Feiran asked.

“Don’t talk nonsense while eating.”

Xiang Feiran was momentarily taken aback before he chuckled in realization. “Miss.”

After slowly finishing his tea, they drove up the mountain as night fell.

Shang Mingbao thought he might be going back for something, but instead, Xiang Feiran opened his specimen room.

The room looked exactly as she remembered from when she had snuck in with Fang Suining years ago, back when she had called him ‘uncle’ despite their unfamiliarity.

Strangely, the mood from that afternoon, which should have been forgotten, returned to my mind with the dry, mild scent of the plants here.

A sixteen-year-old girl with a heart condition stubbornly believed that she might not have a tomorrow. Her disinterest in everything was not pride but a preemptive rejection born of fear, fearing that if the world were too good, she might not be able to stay.

When she was pulled into this door by a new acquaintance, she was equally indifferent, imagining an unremarkable homeowner, a taciturn science and engineering student.

Well, taciturn was accurate; unremarkable was far off. Beside the spilled longan ice, with the sweet syrup half-dried, he crouched down close, experiencing an unseen moment of panic.

The lights flickered, and the rows of spotlights on top of the specimen cabinet lit up simultaneously, casting peaceful hills.

“It seems like it hasn’t been ventilated for a long time,” Shang Mingbao’s nose twitched.

The air was mild and stuffy, with a sense of stagnation.

Xiang Feiran nodded and opened two windows to let the air circulate. “Aunt Lan comes to clean once a week. When no one is around, the house easily looks old.”

The three rooms here belonged solely to him: a bedroom, a study, and a combined specimen and laboratory. After returning, he only worked in the study and had never ventured into the specimen room. The thousands of specimens here were like toys for other children, losing their practical value and only holding significance in memory.

“Come here.”

Xiang Feiran stood in front of one of the cabinets, his gaze passing through the light’s sand dunes.

Shang Mingbao removed her shoes and walked over, seeing him with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, his head slightly tilted, standing in a relaxed and casual manner.

“When I was young, I thought these cabinets were so high, and the top shelf might forever be out of reach. But my mother always started placing things on the top, so that shelf became a longing from my childhood.”

He raised his hand as he spoke, his arm reaching up without stretching fully, his fingertips brushing the shelf. He lowered his gaze, pinched the dust, and smiled. “See, even Aunt Lan couldn’t reach it.”

It was the first time he talked about his family and relatives, and Shang Mingbao’s heart began to pound.

“What did she put on the top shelf?” she asked.

Xiang Feiran chuckled, “Specimens, of course.”

Shang Mingbao was surprised, “Your mother… Auntie, also did specimens?”

“Of course. Her specimens were the most beautiful in the world—neat, elegant, and standardized. Just looking at the roots, leaves, stems, and flowers she had processed could make you feel a soothing grace.”

Xiang Feiran pulled out a book from the top shelf and opened the slightly yellowed title page.

Origin and Habitat: Yunnan, Shangri-La, North side of Shika Snow Mountain, altitude 4100 meters.

Collector: Talk about the moon

Collection Date: 1992.10.27

Namer: Talk about the moon

Below were the collection number, identification date, plant name, and Latin scientific name.

As he said, this was a specimen that could be considered a work of art.

Talk about the moon…

The name was too familiar for Shang Mingbao to forget: “Talk about the moon… is that Auntie’s name?”

“Yes.”

In an instant, everything seemed to connect.

That year, to protect her, he rolled down the hillside, and Aunt Lan had brought a bottle of medicine, saying it was left by Miss Tan, which made Fang Suining and him fall into silence;

The unfinished fieldwork notebook on the top shelf of the cabinet;

And the Wikipedia entry… about the young female botanist who perished at Liushi Beach.

Liushi Beach… perished.

Shang Mingbao remembered even more, her face turning pale.

At sixteen, on the day she mistakenly heard Xiang Weishan arguing with him, the man had said, “I don’t care if you die at Liushi Beach one day!”

Shang Mingbao suddenly looked up, tears streaming down her face without any warning.

Beast… beast. A father, using her mother’s death as a knife to stab and control him.

Xiang Feiran was stunned by her crying, gently wiping her tears. “Why are you suddenly crying?”

On the journey to find the gorgeous gentian blooming in early spring, Liushi Beach, his advice was dismissed by her, his anxiety thought to be an overreaction, and in the moment he risked his life rushing down the slope to find her—what was he thinking?

Shang Mingbao’s eyes were incredulously bright through her tears, her mouth twitching uncontrollably as she spoke. “Liushi Beach…”

Xiang Feiran put the title page back on the shelf, his lips curling slightly. “When I was sixteen, she got lost in the fog at Liushi Beach in Shangri-La… Hypothermia, fell off a cliff… remains never found.”

This long string of words was etched in his mind but had never been spoken to anyone. They had never been given a voice.

Shang Mingbao cried out, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you never tell me…”

Xiang Feiran, at a loss for what to do with her crying, could only hold her close. “Sad stories don’t need to be told to you. These ears only need to hear happy things.”

“But this isn’t a sad story…” Shang Mingbao looked up with tearful eyes, “This is your life, the life of the person I love.”

It was unclear whether the previous statement shocked him or if the latter half, “the person I love,” touched his soul more deeply. Xiang Feiran only knew his body stiffened, holding her tightly. “Babe… babe…”

He was left with the instinct to call her name repeatedly with burning intensity, his lips pressed against her ear painfully. “Why are you so good… why are you so good?”

“I’m not good at all,” Shang Mingbao sobbed uncontrollably. “I never thought to ask you. If only I had known earlier—”

“It’s my fault,” Xiang Feiran said, kissing her damp lips and gently stroking her hair. “I know my sense of boundaries is too strong. It’s hard for someone who likes me like this… I’m sorry.”

“It’s not, really. I didn’t even tell you how much money my family has.”

Xiang Feiran was both amused and distressed by her response and could only hug her again, his breath trembling as he sighed, “Don’t be so cute.”

“Alright, actually, I don’t even know how much money we have…” Shang Mingbao said, gasping for breath in his embrace.

It’s impossible to calculate, simply impossible…

Xiang Feiran buried his face in her neck, laughing quietly, his eyes stinging with suppressed tears.

“My parents divorced a long time ago. They were once like-minded, having a very loving student life, getting married during their master’s program, and then going to the U.S. for their doctoral studies. My early years were spent in the U.S., and the Missouri Botanical Garden was where she used to work, but I was too young to remember it.”

Shang Mingbao already knew the end of this story: “But they still got divorced. And Lan was the result”

Orchid Flocculent… Xiang Feiran smiled faintly: “No, that term is too mild for Tan Shuoyue. She loved my father unconditionally, admired him, and worshipped him, even though she was quite excellent herself.

She originally studied fern classification and systematics and later switched to alpine plants—”

“Gentianaceae,” Shang Mingbao supplied.

“Yes. But she didn’t have time to conduct in-depth research. To study a group thoroughly, you first need a sufficient number of samples. At that time, botanical data was not as advanced, and there weren’t global resource collaborations like today. Botanists needed to spend a lot of time in specimen rooms or in the field. She was collecting samples of the Gentianaceae when she met with an accident. She had traveled to almost all the high mountains and plateaus in China and discovered two new species unique to China.”

“Auntie… was she more amazing than you?” Shang Mingbao couldn’t help but ask.

“In some ways,” Xiang Feiran said with a smile. “For example, her specimens were more beautifully pressed than mine, her drawings were better, her research on ferns was more thorough. All my knowledge about fieldwork came from her. She gave me my first jacket, bought my first climbing stick, taught me how to set up a tent, and how to use a compass.”

He lowered his gaze: “I wanted to compete with her, to see who could identify more plants faster, but she didn’t play with me anymore.

“When I was five, their relationship started to crack. My father, Xiang Weishan, was adopted by my grandfather. His biological family was wealthy and needed him to make a marriage alliance. He went along, but kept painting himself as innocent and helpless, saying he was in great pain. Tan Shuoyue believed him for many years, even when his wife was expecting a second child; she still believed him.”

Xiang Feiran looked down at Shang Mingbao’s shocked expression: “It’s foolish, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “I think so too. Their student years were so good. For those who end up separated after a perfect student era, they can never escape that dilemma. She could confront poachers in the field with a knife, chase them ten kilometers in a jeep, but she blindfolded herself, unwilling to believe that the person she once loved had changed beyond recognition, or rather—was always like that.”

Shang Mingbao recalled her few encounters with Xiang Weishan.

She admitted that Xiang Weishan was indeed a distinguished middle-aged man with good temperament, appearance, and build. He was sophisticated and imposing; deceiving a woman’s heart was not difficult for him.

“When I was little, I thought Xiang Weishan was just busy, so he could only see me once a week. Later, I learned he had another family and children. On my ninth birthday, he received a call from his wife asking him to come back. But that day he was in high spirits and stayed to celebrate with me. His wife came with the children and asked my mother why…”

Xiang Feiran paused, his expression as calm as a deep pool.

The words “shameless” were hard for him to utter.

“Tan Shuoyue apologized and personally sent Xiang Weishan and his family out,” he continued calmly.

“She had too much grace to engage in name-calling or passive-aggressive behavior. She was a true high-class lady, knowledgeable and reasonable. However, my grandparents passed away early, and she was an only child. After her parents’ deaths, her former circle and status gradually faded. Both the Xiang and Tan families were equally clean and more prestigious than influential. Maybe that’s why Xiang Weishan chose to remarry, as he was in the early stages of his career and needed money.”

Xiang Feiran retrieved an album from the top of the specimen cabinet.

Clearly, he had many photos before he was six. In the Missouri Botanical Garden, a strikingly beautiful woman is holding him and taking a commemorative photo at the garden’s entrance. There’s a small caption with the date and a note stating this was her first day reporting for her postdoctoral position there.

Shang Mingbao was always curious about what kind of parents and genes could produce someone like Xiang Feiran. Now she knew; Xiang Weishan only left a slight mark on Xiang Feiran’s appearance. The deep soul was from her.

She was so spirited, with an unbelievably delicate face.

“How many months?” Shang Mingbao asked, staring intently at the photo.

“One year? I can’t remember.”

She looked back and compared: “You can’t tell from the current look.”

“If you could, it would be a problem.”

“It’s prettier than your current expression.”

“…”

“What a strange term.”

“Smile again? It’s handsome, especially youthful!”

Xiang Feiran raised an eyebrow: “One year old? Youthful? Complimenting someone’s age?”

Shang Mingbao: “……”

It was obvious that the photos of Xiang Feiran before he was six were beautiful and numerous, but from the age of seven onward, they gradually decreased, and after twelve or thirteen, there were only a few each year. By then, he already looked like he does now—white skin and black hair, standing at the end of the class line. His grades were good without needing much effort, he received love letters by the drawer full, and he had no expression in the photos, but his eyes clearly showed his defiance.

It was said that the world of plants had quietly healed him and broadened his perspective. He didn’t become the gloomy, paranoid, and cynical type. Instead, he silently grew a self-consistent form of strength and resilience.

“During junior and senior high, were there a lot of people pursuing you?” Shang Mingbao asked, her gaze fixed on a photo of him at fifteen.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you be modest?”

“Not many, maybe a hundred or so.”

“……” Shang Mingbao bit her lip, “Then you… never mind.”

Xiang Feiran knew what she was going to ask and answered it without being asked: “I never liked anyone. I was quite busy back then—attending competition classes, doing experiments, practicing drums, pressing specimens, and drawing. I rarely paid attention to the world outside of myself.”

“So, you’re saying,” Shang Mingbao began to speak in a playful, high-pitched tone, squinting her eyes, “even if I had appeared in front of you at that time, you wouldn’t have noticed?”

Xiang Feiran gave a subtle, thoughtful silence, clearing his throat softly.

Shang Mingbao: “Speak.”

Xiang Feiran calmly flipped through the album: “Shh, let’s look at the next page.”

“Don’t—” She wanted to say not to change the topic, but the next photo was so striking that she involuntarily stared, fell silent, and widened her eyes.

Without a doubt, it was Xiang Feiran standing on the international competition gold medal podium in his first year of high school, dressed sharply, and raising the trophy high with his teammates.

Shang Mingbao held her breath as she flipped back, expecting to see more of his youthful arrogance, but found only blank pages.

It was as if the life of a young man had abruptly stopped there, his peak moment abruptly cut off—he had switched to a different way of living.

“There’s nothing more,” Xiang Feiran said calmly.

“But…” Shang Mingbao lightly touched the album cover, “there must be something memorable and joyful, right?”

“There is,” Xiang Feiran said without hesitation, “meeting you.”

Shang Mingbao smiled, looking up at him as he put the album back in place and then kissed her, pressing her against the specimen rack.

She was breathless from the kiss, clinging to his neck passionately, her waist and hips stretching as she stood on tiptoe and tilted her head back. She offered herself entirely to him.

When the hot kiss ended, her gaze was dazed, her lips swollen from the intense kissing, but she eagerly pursued him, kissing him tenderly, their noses touching.

Xiang Feiran cupped her face, looking into her eyes: “Babe, listen to me.”

As he spoke, Shang Mingbao listened intently.

“I witnessed the failure of my parents’ marriage from a young age. Perhaps there are many children from single-parent families in this world, but this story ends with the death of Tan Shuoyue. In her adult life, she was loved for a short time, but the years of healing her pain were so long, almost like self-exile to the wilderness. She was beautiful, wasn’t she? But in my memory, she seemed as gray as rock. When I saw your mother, I uncontrollably thought of her. Being loved and not being loved make such a difference in a person’s life. Tan Shuoyue and Xiang Weishan cannot love. Their love is harmful, either to others or to themselves. I have never seen a correct form of love. I am afraid to say ‘I love you’ because expressing love and dependence leads to being harshly humiliated by someone, like Tan Shuoyue.”

Xiang Feiran took a deep breath, touching Shang Mingbao’s warm face, his eyes under the light filled with an indiscernible mix of pity and hopelessness: “I don’t have the courage to live this life with anyone. Because I have never seen, never seen… I don’t believe anyone can love someone forever. Love is a deception.

“Moreover, my blood carries the lineage of Xiang Weishan.

“I grew up under his mental control and violence. I worked very hard to not be like him, to distance myself from him, but…”

He paused, his furrowed brow showing pain and disgust: “But perhaps my personality has already been rewritten by his genes and the deception, control, betrayal, and oppression of the first sixteen years of my life. I am normal now, but what about ten years from now, twenty years from now? Will I also become such a disgusting person? Will the bad things left over from my growth eventually erupt and surface, like, like…”

He struggled to find the right words, his eyes flickering in turmoil, and finally found one—

“Like a chronic patient.”

No, that was too mild.

“Like a latent mental patient, someone with a family history of mental trauma. He cannot live as a good person, a normal person. If he changes, who will he hurt?”

His gaze fixed on Shang Mingbao’s face, his breath held.

Loving someone is like nurturing a flower. He cannot, cannot let her bright face become like that gray rock.

“Forgive me, babe.” Xiang Feiran sniffed her hair and neck, feeling a distance as vast as the dark night sky despite being physically close to her.

His pale eyelids were exposed to the spotlight, trembling.

“The way you call me… I really like it. But I don’t deserve it.”