Side Story: A Dream of Youth

Nie Shanglin had a dream, a dream about the day Cheng Zhou was leaving him.

Cheng Zhou stood at the doorway of their shared home, carrying a bag on his back. He looked at Nie Shanglin with indifference and said, “Nie Shanglin, you really disgust me. I’ve sold this house, and we shouldn’t meet again.”

Of course not.

Nie Shanglin seemed to calm down, but there was a terrifying depth in his eyes. He reached out, snatched Cheng Zhou’s bag, and forcefully pulled him into the house.

As soon as the door opened, Nie Shanglin dragged Cheng Zhou into the room and then tossed him onto the bed. Before Cheng Zhou could even struggle, he felt a darkness envelop him as Nie Shanglin claimed him fiercely, like being swept away by crashing waves.

“Mm… Shanglin… let… let go…” Cheng Zhou struggled to make his voice heard amidst their entangled lips, but the suffocating kisses made him feel as if he were drowning in the deep sea, overwhelmed by a sense of panic with nowhere to anchor. He tightly grasped Nie Shanglin’s shoulders, trying to find a point of support.

Feeling Cheng Zhou’s weak grip on his shoulders, Nie Shanglin’s heart tightened. He kissed Cheng Zhou’s lips more fiercely, binding him tightly in his embrace, as if holding his entire world in his arms.

The kisses gradually turned gentle and slow. Cheng Zhou remained passive, neither resisting nor taking the initiative.

In a daze, Cheng Zhou sensed a salty taste between their lips. The kiss suddenly stopped as Nie Shanglin buried his head in Cheng Zhou’s neck. Moments later, Cheng Zhou felt warmth and dampness in that spot, and his eyes began to moisten as well.

This silent man, the one Cheng Zhou had once loved, leaned vulnerably against his shoulder, holding him tightly and helplessly, tears streaming down.

He had clearly managed to bring things back together before. Why had everything returned to square one?

“Chengzhou?”

“Hmm, I’m here.”

“Chengzhou.”

“Hmm.”

“Cheng Zhou.”

“Mm.”

“Cheng Zhou.”

“……”

“Cheng Zhou—Cheng Zhou—Cheng Zhou…”

Cheng Zhou did not reply again, but remained silent.

Emotions inherently lack the concepts of regret and redemption. Even if the finest stitches are used on the tattered clothes you’ve torn apart, there will still be visible signs of repair.

“Nie Shanglin.” Cheng Zhou exhaled gently, blinking, and said, “Don’t make me disgusted with you.”

Nie Shanglin felt a sharp pain in his heart and could only plead, “Give me a chance. Can we go back?”

“We can’t go back.”

“How can we not go back?!” As soon as Cheng Zhou’s words fell, Nie Shanglin raised his head and shouted loudly. It was at this moment that Cheng Zhou noticed his slightly swollen eye sockets. He tightly furrowed his usual sharp brows, creating deep creases on his forehead. His face showed traces of moisture, his nostrils flared slightly, and his eyes were filled with tumult, as if they were about to overflow at any moment.

“I mean it.” Cheng Zhou looked directly at Nie Shanglin with his uniquely clear eyes, as if trying to comfort and dissuade him, yet there was not a trace of emotion in his gaze.

“This is impossible! I won’t allow you to say that!” Nie Shanglin hissed at him in a low voice, then lowered his head to press his forehead against Cheng Zhou’s and said, “Cheng Zhou, be good. Can we go home together? I understand now; you must still be angry with me, right? I’ll buy this house back. This is our home. I remember, the chopsticks are all facing up; oh, and the company too—the Cheng family is still yours, and the Nie family is yours as well. I’ll give you everything, really. Just tell me what you want, okay? I’ll give you everything, as long as you’re by my side. Really, I’ll give you anything…” He wanted to explain something but became increasingly confused as he spoke, his eyes gradually turning red with urgency, losing coherence in his words. How could he let go? How could he bear to let go?

Noticing that Cheng Zhou seemed to have more to say, Nie Shanglin simply lowered his head and forcefully covered his mouth again, entwining their tongues without holding back. Saliva that he couldn’t swallow in time trickled down Cheng Zhou’s neck, soaking into his clothes.