WRA CH42

Chapter 42: Zhou Sicheng’s Pity Card

Xiang Zhen fell asleep hugging Zhou Sicheng’s Planting Diary, pretending he was the sunflower being raised by Zhou Sicheng in the diary.

Before drifting off, he thought to himself that he didn’t want to sleep in such a massive bed anymore.

He had a sweet dream. In the dream, what Mother Zhou brought back from the Greater Khingan Mountains wasn’t a handful of sunflower seeds, but a tiny little sunflower. Defying the cyclical laws of nature, it stayed short and small, meticulously and tenderly pampered.

A young Zhou Sicheng wrote his confusion in the diary:

[A year has passed, yet it only grew two more leaves. Can the root system not absorb nutrients?]

[Measured its height today. It grew two centimeters.]

The sunflower slowly grew, and the boy slowly grew as well. He accompanied the youth studying and reading, only allowed to watch a short bit of cartoons each day.

[It’s reached 1.6 meters. When will it bloom?]

[Mom said we can add more phosphorus fertilizer to promote blooming, but I don’t think there’s any rush.]

[Blooming and setting seeds is exhausting work—it drains all the nutrients from the branches and leaves. Just being a sunflower is enough.]

Zhou Sicheng was about to take the Gaokao, and the sunflower hurriedly bloomed, yet it still hadn’t caught up to the boy’s growth spurt.

It still had to tilt its flower head upward to look at the young man who had already grown to 1.9 meters tall.

…

The monitoring bracelet transmitted a warm, peaceful signal to Zhou Sicheng—Xiang Zhen had fallen into a deep sleep and was having a sweet dream.

Holding a small ring box in his hand, Zhou Sicheng pushed open the door with light steps and walked into the bedroom.

He didn’t turn on the lights; only the robotic Xiao Kui flickered with a faint floral glow. Recognizing its master, Xiao Kui Bao silently yielded its spot by the bedside.

Xiang Zhen slept right on one side of the bed. Across such an enormous bed, he pressed himself tightly against the edge, as if leaving room for his husband.

Zhou Sicheng knelt on one knee by the floor, suppressing the presence of his breath and heartbeat. In the darkness, he stared at the data on the bracelet.

He hadn’t woken up. Thank goodness—Xiang Zhen wouldn’t vomit simply from sensing his scent, at least.

Slowly, Zhou Sicheng slid his palm along the bedsheet and reached under the blanket, finding Xiang Zhen’s hand.

He paused for a moment, then gently interlaced his fingers with Xiang Zhen’s.

It had only been two days since his cover was blown, yet it felt like two centuries. It had been so long since holding Xiang Zhen’s hand didn’t prompt struggling or dry-heaving.

This had actually become a luxury.

Zhou Sicheng drew Xiang Zhen’s hand out, revealing a slender, porcelain-white wrist. He remembered the bulging veins on this hand when the TCM practitioner had applied the needles.

“I’m sorry.”

Zhou Sicheng lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his hand.

“Wifey, marry me.”

Proposing face-to-face had become an impossibility.

Silently, Zhou Sicheng opened the ring box, slipped out a sunflower diamond ring, and gently slid it onto Xiang Zhen’s ring finger, settling it at the base of the finger.

It was a matching piece to Xiang Zhen’s hair clip: a round yellow diamond in the center encircled by eight white diamonds, shining in mutual brilliance.

Zhou Sicheng remembered when he gave Xiang Zhen the sunflower hair clip, Xiang Zhen had asked if there was a ring inside.

In the end, it was given too late because of his own arrogance.

Zhou Sicheng brushed away the overgrown stray bangs on Xiang Zhen’s forehead, readjusting the clip that was slipping loose.

Tonight, he had consulted several renowned domestic and international psychology experts. Thanks to mastering several languages, he understood each expert’s meaning without any loss in translation:

Separate. Give him some time.

Admittedly, Zhou Sicheng agreed as well.

Because Xiang Zhen had already entertained the thought of moving out this morning, and Zhou Sicheng wouldn’t allow that, his only option was to have Fan Hao pick Xiang Zhen up for work.

Every expert had bluntly asked him: stress responses often stem from psychological trauma; don’t be afraid to admit it—have you ever hit or verbally abused your wife? To put it more harshly, have you ever forced your wife?

Zhou Sicheng had been thoroughly humiliated by the questioning.

What trauma could there be? Trauma left by poverty?

Looking at the sound asleep Xiang Zhen, Zhou Sicheng thought, You could even accept that I was a Sadist, so why can’t you accept that I have some capital?

In his sleep, Xiang Zhen rolled over with a faint smile at the corners of his lips.

What kind of good dream did he have?

Zhou Sicheng sat for a while longer, then got up to leave. “Good night, my proletarian warrior wifey.”

I will give you time.

…

Little did he know what was happening in the sunflower’s dream.

Zhou Sicheng scored first in the district, and Uncle Zhou and Auntie Zheng celebrated with him joyfully, buying a massive cake.

The sunflower stood with hands on its hips, basking in the reflected glory.

At night, Zhou Sicheng stood in front of the sunflower, gazing down at its flower head.

His middle finger brushed over the golden-yellow fluff, staining his hand with pollen.

How could you touch it so casually? The sunflower shrank back, closing its stamens.

“Are you about to bear sunflower seeds?”

…

Flushing crimson, Xiang Zhen sat up, a certain part of his body still involuntarily contracting with lingering aftershocks.

He reached out to touch the bedsheet. Phew—thank goodness it’s not wet.

How would he dare soil the capitalist’s exorbitant bedsheet?

Just as he was about to recall the dream, his finger seemed to catch on something.

Xiang Zhen lifted his hand and saw a dazzling diamond ring on his ring finger.

He definitely wouldn’t assume this was some cheap trinket now.

Had Zhou Sicheng come in last night?

Pursing his lips, he went to the bathroom and changed into clean underwear—it was definitely because Zhou Sicheng had come in.

Zhou Sicheng’s bathroom was as big as his entire rental apartment, and adjacent to it was an enormous walk-in closet.

Remembering he had to go back to the bank for work today, Xiang Zhen stepped into the closet and picked out one of his husband’s white shirts from among the matching suits.

Zhou Sicheng had so many clothes.

Back when they shared the rental, Zhou Sicheng had only brought a few sets over, yet the wardrobe was already too full to hang them all. Later, the small sofa was piled high with clothes, leaving no room to sit, forcing them onto the bed.

Zhou Sicheng’s shirt was too big, so Xiang Zhen took one of his belts as well, tucking the baggy hem into his trousers.

His husband’s shoes were still too large.

Xiang Zhen slid his feet in, took a step, and with a shake of his lower leg, kicked the leather shoes right off.

Wandering around, Xiang Zhen messed up quite a few things. His rental apartment had always been messy, and Zhou Sicheng would trail behind him to tidy up.

Finally, he touched some unseen mechanism, sliding a cabinet open to reveal a three-way, floor-to-ceiling dressing mirror.

Startled, Xiang Zhen looked at his reflection in the mirror and rolled up the sleeves of the shirt.

Front reflection, left side profile, right side profile, displayed simultaneously; the mirror was crystal-clear like still water.

Xiang Zhen’s rental apartment never had such a huge mirror—only a tiny one above the bathroom sink that could barely fit his face, stained with grime that never wiped off cleanly.

Seeing his solitary reflection in the early morning, he missed his Sun God hubby so very much.

Once fully dressed, Xiang Zhen walked out of the closet. Xiao Kui Bao rolled in pulling a dining cart: “Baby Xiang Zhen, would you like to dine in the bedroom or head down to the dining room?”

Xiang Zhen: “Where is my hubby?”

Xiao Kui Bao: “Master has already left for work!”

Leaving so fast—was he afraid of being seen by him?

Xiang Zhen sat on the bed. “Then I’ll eat here.”

Here, the traces of his husband’s daily life were more concentrated.

After Xiang Zhen finished breakfast, Xiao Kui Bao pulled a pouch of brown beverage from the cart.

“Baby Xiang Zhen, this is the sour plum juice I sneaked for you. Please enjoy it slowly after your meal.”

Xiang Zhen had dawdled in the closet, and it was nearly time for work. Taking the sour plum juice, he drank as he walked out.

Beneath the tart plum flavor was a faint botanical fragrance of herbal leaves and roots; it didn’t taste bad at all.

Xiang Zhen looked at the pouch—it was freshly packaged, without any label.

In the small parlor.

Fan Hao met with Zhou Sicheng. Having not seen each other for two days, Zhou Sicheng looked more exhausted than during his busiest peak periods.

Fan Hao consoled him: “Your family has been in commerce for three generations, while Xiang Zhen’s family has been farming for three generations. Just treat it like it’s the 1950s—with a class background as poor as yours, it’s going to take your wife some time to accept it.”

He made this snarky quip, yet Zhou Sicheng couldn’t even be bothered to bicker with him. Fan Hao thought to himself: It’s over, it’s truly over; there is no despair greater than a dead heart.

Zhou Sicheng glanced at Xiao Kui Bao’s camera monitor. “He’s ready.”

Fan Hao downed the rest of his tea and stood up: “Alright, I’m heading off then.”

Zhou Sicheng: “I am placing him directly in your hands.”

Fan Hao: “I guarantee he won’t get lost.”

Fan Hao strode toward his Hummer and waved to Xiang Zhen: “Over here, over here.”

Xiang Zhen stood at the entrance. The shirt beneath his suit jacket was visibly ill-fitting, the cuffs peeking out far too wide, looking like a pitiful beauty who had begun dressing haphazardly without a husband.

He looked all around, still feeling that Zhou Sicheng hadn’t left for work yet.

He didn’t find him.

Xiang Zhen squeezed out the last drop of sour plum juice. Before he could search for a trash can, the perceptive butler smoothly took it from his hand.

Xiang Zhen climbed into the car.

Watching through the window, Zhou Sicheng saw the gleam of the diamond ring flash across his finger as he pulled the seatbelt.

Does this mean he accepted it?

The seatbelt in Fan Hao’s car was truly terrible; his wife had to yank it several times.

A flare of anxiety stirred inside Zhou Sicheng; he desperately wanted to run down and buckle it for him.

He didn’t know if Xiang Zhen could fasten it properly, or if it was pinching his belly.

The Hummer’s engine roared to life, quite loud.

Fan Hao tacitly dawdled for a moment, and only after ensuring no one got into or out of the car did he step on the gas with peace of mind.

Once out on the main thoroughfare, Fan Hao began chatting about random things: “The day after tomorrow is the Dragon Boat Festival. My entire fridge is stuffed with zongzi right now.”

Can social gift exchanges please stop using zongzi?

Xiang Zhen remembered Auntie Guihua saying the zongzi would be delivered today. The address he had given was still the rental apartment, so Manning would have to sign for it.

Xiang Zhen sent Manning a text, his small face falling into silence.

Originally, he had planned to video call Auntie Guihua on the Dragon Boat Festival, pull his hubby into the frame, and introduce his hubby to her.

Under the current circumstances, that was impossible.

Would things get better by the Mid-Autumn Festival?

Fan Hao continued: “Dragon Boat Festival is on June 19th, and the Summer Solstice is on June 21st. Do you know about the Summer Solstice?”

Xiang Zhen nodded: “Here, rain and heat coincide. It’s the longest day and the shortest night in the Northern Hemisphere.”

“All these holidays are colliding together. This year, the Summer Solstice is Father’s Day too.” Fan Hao honked the horn, gradually easing into the main topic. “Zhou Sicheng was also born on the Summer Solstice.”

Xiang Zhen was startled: “My hubby’s birthday is coming up?”

His husband was born on the Summer Solstice; no wonder the sun lingered the longest on that day.

His husband truly was the incarnation of the sun.

“What should I give him?” Xiang Zhen scratched the palm of his hand, saying dejectedly, “I can’t spend his birthday with him. I can’t blow out the birthday candles with him or cut the cake together.”

“It’s fine, he never celebrates his birthday anyway,” Fan Hao blurted out.

Xiang Zhen: “Why?”

It was one thing for him not to remember his sprouting date and arbitrarily fill in the Awakening of Insects as his birthday, but Zhou Sicheng remembered his birthday—why didn’t he celebrate it?

The Summer Solstice was such a wonderful day.

Fan Hao acted as if he had let something slip: “Sorry, this isn’t my place to say. Wait until he tells you himself.”

Xiang Zhen: “Just tell me. Hubby and I can’t speak right now.”

Fan Hao let out a sigh: “Because… that day is also the anniversary of his parents’ death.”

Xiang Zhen froze. He had assumed Father Zhou and Mother Zhou simply didn’t live with Zhou Sicheng; how could they have already passed away? Did his husband have no family left? Was Zheng Ai gone too?

No wonder Zhou Sicheng hadn’t told him about his family situation during the blind date, and had been able to decide his own marriage.

“Was it an accident?” Xiang Zhen asked. His husband was still so young; most humans at this age had both parents alive, and some were still pampered babies in their parents’ eyes.

Fan Hao: “It was an accident. When Zhou Sicheng was twelve, he wanted his parents to return from Europe to spend his birthday with him. Uncle Zhou and Auntie Zheng wanted to give him a surprise, but who could have foreseen the plane crash?”

“No one dares bring up that accident, and you won’t find the specific details even if you search online. Zhou Sicheng felt it was his fault, and his grandfather thought so too, believing he had craved love too much.”

Xiang Zhen felt his nose sting: “How could anyone foresee an accident? My hubby isn’t in the wrong.”

So that was why Zhou Sicheng’s Planting Diary only went up to age twelve. Dreams really were the opposite of reality—his parents were never able to celebrate his first-place Gaokao result with him.

Fan Hao: “The reason he pretended to be poor to live with you also has to do with the high-pressure elite education his grandfather subjected him to later on.”

“Zhou Sicheng’s birthday wish has always been to have the person he loves by his side, not more and more money.”

“Xiang Zhen,” Fan Hao said solemnly, “you are the person he encountered when he tried once more to break through the fortress walls in search of love. I could hardly believe he actually drove for a rideshare app.”

“I know he was indeed in the wrong this time. As a friend, I just hope you two can be well.”

“He did nothing wrong,” Xiang Zhen said with red-rimmed eyes, his voice resolute.

Fan Hao: “His birthday wish this year is just for you not to throw up when you see him.”

“I… I don’t want to either…” Xiang Zhen sniffled, an overwhelming surge of heartache for Zhou Sicheng flooding his chest. He wanted to immediately make a promise to Fan Hao, but the moment he opened his mouth, his throat choked up. He hastily yanked out a tissue to cover his nose and mouth, dry-heaving violently several times.

Seeing this, Fan Hao pulled over and parked in front of Zhoufu Bank.

The building’s metallic frame and glass panels reflected the sunlight, piercing through the car window to illuminate the ring on Xiang Zhen’s finger.

For the very first time, Fan Hao realized that someone could genuinely be nauseated by money.

Fan Hao hurried to retrieve the thermos flask Zhou Sicheng had prepared, twisting it open and handing it to Xiang Zhen.

“Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it! Think about our work today. We’re inspecting branch outlets today—we’re going to be mystery shoppers.”

Fan Hao was anxious out of his wits. Zhou Sicheng had warned him that Xiang Zhen would throw up even if he just thought of him excessively, so he needed to tread carefully when talking with Xiang Zhen.

This really was an unsolvable puzzle.

When Zhou Sicheng called him last night, Fan Hao already knew what he had to tell Xiang Zhen.

No one dared mention the plane crash; counting all who knew, only Fan Hao could tell the tale.

He was also the most suitable person to tell it.

Fan Hao had been shocked that Zhou Sicheng would make that call.

At any other time, Zhou Sicheng would never use his parents’ tragedy to achieve any goal. There was plenty of news praising Zhou Sicheng as young and promising, but not a single piece ever mentioned him being orphaned to add a tragic, legendary flair.

When Zhou Sicheng resolved to tear open his own scars and play the pity card, Fan Hao knew his brother had truly run out of moves.

At his wit’s end, bordering on unfilial and irreverent.

All because he needed to defend himself, to win back the lover who was just like family.

Fan Hao prattled on in Xiang Zhen’s ear, brainwashing him with new thoughts: “The branch is going to be so lively today! Deposit a million and we gift a bundle of wormwood; deposit two million and you get to wrap zongzi; private banking clients get zongzi wrapped by me personally… We have generous gifts for Dragon Boat Festival deposits: ten thousand gets a roll of toilet paper, twenty thousand gets a jug of sunflower oil. Do you have any private savings to deposit?”

Xiang Zhen finally managed to halt his nausea: “I have two hundred thousand to deposit. Can I get peanut oil instead?”

The money he and his hubby saved to buy a house wasn’t needed anymore.

Fan Hao: “Sure, peanut oil is a bit pricier, but for two hundred thousand, we can give it to you.”

Now, he didn’t dare imagine what Zhou Sicheng would do once he found out that even playing the pity card had failed.