AVRL 60 – END.

Compared to last night, the red rash on Song Min’s back had noticeably subsided, but large patches of crimson remained, making for a somewhat shocking sight.

“Let me take you to the hospital for a checkup,” Meng Chi said, letting go of his hand so Song Min could adjust his clothes.

“Probably no need for that,” Song Min replied. “Didn’t you say it wasn’t serious?”

“I’m not a doctor either; it’s still safer to go to the hospital to have a look,” Meng Chi said.

Song Min remained seated without moving, keeping his head down and eyes cast downward in silence for a moment. Suddenly, he raised his head to ask Meng Chi, “Brother Meng, why do you care about me so much?”

“Hmm?” Meng Chi was taken aback by this sudden question for a second, then immediately realized that although Song Min was simple-minded, he wasn’t a child who knew nothing. Fearing he might overthink things, Meng Chi smiled and said, “You call me ‘Brother’ after all; isn’t it only normal for me to look out for you a bit?”

The tension on Song Min’s face didn’t relax; instead, his brows furrowed slightly, seemingly unsatisfied with Meng Chi’s answer.

“Besides, before your brother left, he told us to take good care of you. You were perfectly fine when you came, but returning covered in a red rash—how bad would that look?”

“It’s just my own inability to adapt to the climate here; my brother won’t blame you.” The furrow between Song Min’s brows smoothed out, yet a trace of unhappiness remained pooled in his fawn-like eyes.

Meng Chi glanced at Song Min, keenly sensing that his emotions were somewhat strange. Before he could speak, Song Min suddenly asked again, “Do… do you still like me?”

He spoke very quickly. Aside from a momentary stutter when he started, the last few words were uttered fast and urgently, as if he were gathering all his courage for a desperate gamble.

Meng Chi was truly stunned this time. Looking into Song Min’s eyes—which were brimming with expectation—he suddenly felt as though things were beginning to develop in a strange direction.

“No, don’t overthink it,” Meng Chi said.

Upon hearing this, a trace of disappointment flashed through Song Min’s eyes. Meng Chi felt even more baffled, thinking to himself that ever since that night at the bar, he shouldn’t have done anything that could cause a misunderstanding.

“Didn’t you like me?” Song Min looked at him pitifully. “How could you be with Brother Tingzhi?”

Looking at the aggrieved expression on Song Min’s face, Meng Chi finally understood.

Presumably, ever since Song Min walked in on him and Yu Tingzhi at Xichi last time, he had been bottling up his frustration. His upbringing and manners had made him suppress his emotions and act calmly on the surface. But now, suffering physical discomfort and feeling emotionally fragile, his thoughts had drifted slightly off course and exploded all at once.

Song Min was simple and kind, possessing a natural warmth that easily made people feel fond of him. Even though Meng Chi no longer held any other feelings for him at this point, he still couldn’t bear to see him sad.

He sat down on the edge of the sofa about half a meter away from Song Min. Just as he was mulling over what to say, Song Min spoke up again.

“If I say I like you, would you want to be with me?”

Huh???

Meng Chi’s brow twitched, completely dumbfounded by this sudden confession.

Equally dumbfounded were Yu Tingzhi and She Shan, who were standing outside the waiting room door. Yu Tingzhi instinctively reached out to push the door open, but She Shan suddenly held down his raised hand, lowering his voice: “Don’t be in a rush—don’t you want to hear Meng Chi’s answer?”

Glancing down at She Shan’s face—which was full of anticipation for drama—Yu Tingzhi thought it over for a moment, withdrew his hand, and continued to eavesdrop.

Meng Chi was stunned for a full three or four seconds before saying, “Stop joking.”

Song Min: “I’m not joking. I’m serious.”

Looking at Song Min’s quite solemn expression, Meng Chi let out a sharp breath as if he had a toothache. His dark brows knitted slightly, and he spoke in a deep voice: “Even if you are serious, I still won’t agree.”

“Why?” Song Min looked at him in a daze.

Meng Chi said, “Because you don’t actually like me, and I don’t like you now either.”

Song Min completely ignored the latter half of the sentence: “Then if I really like you, will you be with me?”

Meng Chi: “…”

He was truly terrible at handling these situations and equally bad at comforting others, so he hadn’t realized there was a loophole in what he had just said, nearly getting dragged off track by Song Min.

“The point isn’t that; the point is that I don’t like you,” Meng Chi said.

Song Min looked at him somewhat lost: “You like Brother Tingzhi?”

“Mm,” Meng Chi nodded. Fearing it wasn’t convincing enough, he added, “I like him very much.”

Seeing Song Min’s complex expression as if he wanted to say something more, Meng Chi spoke first: “I don’t know what you’re thinking, pulling a stunt like this all of a sudden. But what I want to say is: I admit I once had feelings for you in the past, but I don’t anymore.”

“You changed your mind,” Song Min said.

Meng Chi: “…”

How come the more we talk, the more I sound like a scumbag?

“Since you could change your mind from me to Brother Tingzhi, it’s not impossible for you to change back,” Song Min curled his lip, acting completely unreasonable.

Meng Chi rubbed his forehead in frustration, feeling as though Song Min’s eczema had spread to his brain.

Amid his tumbling thoughts, Meng Chi suddenly recalled a passage he had read in a book before. So he asked, “Song Min, do you know the difference between a fleeting spark of attraction and true falling in love?”

Song Min was confused: “What do you mean?”

“A fleeting spark is more like a momentary rush of infatuation—it comes fast and fades just as fast. Falling in love, on the other hand, is the accumulation of countless moments of attraction, building up until that final threshold where you sink in completely. It comes quickly, and it never leaves.” Meng Chi’s expression was serious, his tone solemn as he continued, “You are the former. Teacher Yu is the latter.”

Song Min’s expression didn’t change much, still carrying a subtle melancholy and sense of loss. But compared to a moment ago, he was no longer as obsessive, seemingly having understood what Meng Chi was trying to convey.

While the people inside the room remained silent, She Shan outside the door felt his teeth ache from the sweetness, tutting softly: “How can a fine, big guy be so sappy?”

He had originally planned to watch some drama, but who would have expected to hear such a confession? Unable to listen any further, She Shan wanted to leave, but Yu Tingzhi grabbed him by his sleeve: “Don’t be in a rush to leave; keep listening.”

Seeing the corners of Yu Tingzhi’s lips hooked up with a face like a spring breeze, She Shan cursed under his breath: “Fucking gay.”

After a long moment of silence in the room, Meng Chi looked at the downcast Song Min: “You pulling this sudden stunt—it’s because of your brother, isn’t it?”

Song Min, who had been keeping his head down and eyes lowered, raised his head instantly, looking at Meng Chi in astonishment.

Meng Chi was no fool. Having spent years making his way in society, he had learned a thing or two about reading people and expressions. With a brief turn of his brain, he understood Song Min’s little hidden motives.

He didn’t feel angry—just a bit speechlessly amused.

“You know about the thing between my brother and Brother Tingzhi?” Song Min asked.

“A little bit.”

“Brother Tingzhi told you?”

“No,” Meng Chi said. “It’s not an important matter, no need to bring it up.”

Perhaps the indifference in Meng Chi’s tone made Song Min feel somewhat uncomfortable; he furrowed his brows slightly and pouted.

“The past between Tingzhi and your brother is already over. Now he likes me, and he is my boyfriend.” Meng Chi thought about it and decided to state things plainly without leaving any leeway: “Whether it’s because of you or your brother, we won’t break up.”

Song Min wasn’t an unreasonable child; he just felt a bit unwilling to accept things in his heart—for himself, and for his brother, Song Chen. Years of suppressed emotions had caused him to act on an impulse today.

Seeing how confident Meng Chi was in his relationship with Yu Tingzhi—and how completely unbothered he was by the past between Song Chen and Yu Tingzhi—Song Min realized that doing this was a wasted effort. The small sense of unwillingness in his heart gradually died down, slowly turning into shame.

“Still haven’t heard enough?” She Shan cast a helpless sideways glance at Yu Tingzhi. “What kind of crazy kink is this? If you two want to listen to love talk, wouldn’t it be better to go home and say it slowly?”

Yu Tingzhi nodded, tilting his chin toward him: “Open the door.”

She Shan: “…”

She Shan let out a speechless “Tsk,” reaching his hand out toward the door handle. Just as he was about to touch it, a sharp gleam flashed in his eyes; shifting his arm, he pushed directly against Yu Tingzhi.

Caught off guard by the force, Yu Tingzhi bumped straight into the half-ajar door. With a clang, the room door burst open.

Startled, Meng Chi and Song Min turned their heads, only to see Yu Tingzhi—who shouldn’t have been here—stumble right inside.

The atmosphere turned extremely awkward for a moment.

Even Yu Tingzhi, who usually remained imperturbable, couldn’t stop the corner of his eyes from twitching. He cast a icy glare at She Shan, who was laughing hysterically behind him.

It was Meng Chi who snapped back to his senses first, calling out, “Teacher Yu.”

Yu Tingzhi lowered his head to adjust his cuffs—which weren’t messy at all—and uttered a calm “Mm.”

As Meng Chi’s gaze swept back and forth across She Shan, the astonishment on his face was replaced by amusement. In an instant, he understood what had just transpired.

He got up and walked toward Yu Tingzhi: “Why did you suddenly come here?”

Glancing out of the corner of his eye at Song Min, who was still sitting there dazed, Yu Tingzhi said to Meng Chi, “I missed you, so I came to pick you up.”

“Holy shit,” She Shan rolled his eyes. “So fucking sappy.”

Meng Chi looked at the reserved, calm Yu Tingzhi, then at the thoroughly disgusted She Shan, unable to hold back his laughter.

Although Song Min had made a mistake just now, he was still a younger brother after all. Yu Tingzhi went to check the red rash on his body, then had She Shan take him to the hospital for an examination.

She Shan: “…”

I clearly came here to pursue my future wife—why have I ended up as a tool for these three gay guys?

Though resentful, She Shan was still concerned about Song Min’s health after all, so he had no choice but to lead him away.

The outdoor concert was about to begin, and Yang Youran had sent Meng Chi a WeChat message telling him to remember to watch. Thus, Meng Chi and Yu Tingzhi didn’t linger in the waiting room, walking out together into the bustling crowd outside.

“I really didn’t expect you to run all the way here out of nowhere.” Meng Chi squinted at the excessively scorching sunlight, pulling Yu Tingzhi toward the shade of a tree. “How long were you eavesdropping?”

Yu Tingzhi: “…”

“Not for long—just starting from when you asked him to take off his clothes.”

Meng Chi raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile hooking at the corner of his mouth as he said leisurely, “Then you really heard everything you should and shouldn’t have heard, huh?”

Yu Tingzhi looked at him sideways: “What was I not supposed to hear?”

Meng Chi let out a helpless laugh: “Teacher Yu, you trust me that little?”

Yu Tingzhi: “Me trusting you and me getting jealous aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Perhaps not expecting Yu Tingzhi to admit to being jealous so candidly, Meng Chi froze for a second before bursting into laughter.

“In light of you running all this way to pick me up, I won’t be mad at you.” Meng Chi said.

Yu Tingzhi raised an eyebrow: “You’re mad?”

Meng Chi raised an eyebrow back: “Teacher Yu, you bullied me so badly last night—shouldn’t I be mad?”

Cutting off the video when his mood was at its highest, pulling back at the edge of the cliff and leaving him suspended in midair—it was simply beyond cruel.

“What if I can’t get it up in the future?”

Yu Tingzhi lowered his eyes to glance down below his waist: “It’s very sturdy; I know.”

Meng Chi: “…”

“Can’t win an argument against you.”

The corners of Yu Tingzhi’s mouth curved slightly. After a moment of silence, he suddenly said, “Regarding Song Min, it was my fault for not handling it properly.”

“Hmm?” Meng Chi looked at Yu Tingzhi, letting out a laugh as he said, “How could you handle it? He didn’t confess to you anyway.”

Indeed, back then, the reason he had refrained from breaking things open upon sensing Song Min’s feelings was precisely because Song Min hadn’t voiced them, leading him to handle it with a cold approach. He just hadn’t expected the kid to be so stubborn as to target Meng Chi instead.

“I’ve already handled this matter; he shouldn’t be so stubborn anymore,” Meng Chi said.

Yu Tingzhi glanced at him. Meng Chi tilted his head slightly and said, “Before he got into the car just now, he asked me why I was so certain you wouldn’t leave me. I told him that seven years ago, you had already seen my photo. And the reason you realized your sexual orientation differed from ordinary people was also because of my photo.”

Regarding Yu Tingzhi’s reaction after seeing that set of Wild Spring photos, Yu Tingzhi had only ever told She Shan. It was after the night he was drugged; She Shan couldn’t understand why he had suddenly taken a liking to Meng Chi. Growing annoyed by the questioning, Yu Tingzhi had admitted that Meng Chi was his sexual awakening.

“Yes,” Yu Tingzhi nodded. “She Shan told you?”

To be precise, She Shan had let it slip. When Meng Chi asked him why he said Yu Tingzhi was petty, She Shan told him that the Wild Spring photos had been bought out exclusively by Yu Tingzhi.

Meng Chi nodded. He gazed at Yu Tingzhi, his eyes bright and expressive: “So I know that no one can replace my place in your heart.”

“Yes, no one can replace you,” Yu Tingzhi said.

Meng Chi looked at him for two seconds, lowering his head to laugh softly. Dappled sunlight danced across the corners of his eyes and brows. As he looked into Yu Tingzhi’s pupils—which turned translucent under the sunlight—his heart felt an unprecedented sense of fulfillment.

A moment later, he suddenly asked again, “What if the person She Shan met back then wasn’t me? What if the Wild Spring photos you saw were of another man? Then…”

“There are many hypothetical possibilities,” before Meng Chi could finish, Yu Tingzhi interrupted him, “But I only saw you.”

It was you, not anyone else.

Yu Tingzhi stood beneath the tree shade, dapples of sunlight scattered over him, making Meng Chi recall the scene from when he first met Yu Tingzhi.

He had stood in the dappled sunlight, that hazy, dreamlike filter appearing once more to envelop his sculpturally handsome face, making him exceptionally radiant. In particular, those light-colored pupils were like a shimmering sea—both silent and surging—looking as though they would drown Meng Chi when gazing at him.

In this moment, Meng Chi truly felt “love” taking a concrete form—right within the gaze Yu Tingzhi directed at him.

“I might have said something wrong earlier,” Meng Chi said suddenly. “Toward you, it shouldn’t just be ‘liking you very much.'”

He took a step forward, raising his head slightly to kiss Yu Tingzhi’s lips, kissing him amidst the roaring clamor of the crowd.

“I love you, very much.”

On the day they first met, the clear sky was washed blue and a gentle breeze blew softly. Meng Chi had felt it was unfit for traveling, unfit for dating.

The weather today was just the same—the clear sky washed blue, a gentle breeze blowing softly. Meng Chi felt it was fit for traveling, fit for dating, and even more fit for kissing his lover and confessing his love for the rest of his life.