Chapter 474 Forgiven You

Chapter 474: I Forgive You

Wuliji's arms tightened even more.

So tight that Cheng Ge could feel Wuliji's heartbeat through the fabric, thumping steadily against his spine.

"Not leaving..." Wuliji's voice came muffled from his shoulder, thick with a heavy nasal tone, "I want us to stay together."

His words came out broken and halting, as if he were struggling to organize his thoughts, or struggling to hold something back.

Cheng Ge lowered his head, looking at the two of them, their shadows overlapping on the ground.

Wuliji's shadow was tall and broad, completely covering Cheng Ge's, like a mountain looming over a small tree.

Cheng Ge's hand lifted, hesitated for a moment, then gently rested over the hands wrapped around his waist.

Wuliji's hands were large, with rough knuckles and a faint scar on the back of one hand, a shade lighter than the surrounding skin.

Cheng Ge's fingertips rested on the back of his hand, feeling the pulse beating beneath the skin.

He turned around.

Wuliji's hands didn't let go. As Cheng Ge turned, Wuliji's arms slid from his waist to his sides, then circled back around.

Holding him loosely, like a child who refused to let go, afraid that once he released his grip, he would never be able to hold him again.

Cheng Ge faced him. They stood very close, close enough that Cheng Ge could see the glimmer of moisture still clinging to Wuliji's eyelashes.

He raised his hand and wiped the corner of Wuliji's eye. "Are your injuries fully healed?"

Wuliji froze for a moment, as if he hadn't expected the question.

After a few seconds, he nodded. "Healed."

Cheng Ge's fingertips slid down from the corner of Wuliji's eye, landing on the wound beneath Wuliji's ribs, touching it gently, as if confirming something.

"You're just as much of a liar," he said. "This isn't healed yet."

Wuliji looked down at the hand pressing against his own ribs. His lips moved as if to speak, but before he could, Cheng Ge's fingertip pressed down—not hard, but with intent.

Wuliji's brow furrowed involuntarily. It was a barely perceptible frown, but Cheng Ge saw it.

Cheng Ge's finger paused there, feeling the raised scar beneath the fabric—hard and stiff, completely different from the soft skin around it.

Cheng Ge didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he slowly traced the scar with his fingertip.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice very soft.

Wuliji shook his head.

"Liar," Cheng Ge said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

He withdrew his hand, the warmth from that scar still lingering on his fingertips.

He lowered his head, looking at their overlapping shadows on the ground, silent for a moment.

Wuliji's arms were still looped around Cheng Ge's waist—loose, neither tightening nor letting go.

Cheng Ge looked up, tilting his face slightly to meet Wuliji's gaze within the small space enclosed by Wuliji's arms.

They were very close now. "So you're not innocent either, are you?"

Cheng Ge's voice dropped to barely a whisper, so low it sounded like a secret meant for only one person.

The words came out slowly, one at a time.

There was even a slight upward lilt at the end, like the tip of a feather gliding across skin—not heavy, but it tickled.

Wuliji caught his breath.

Cheng Ge took Wuliji's hand and slowly placed it against his own heart.

That hand was large, with rough knuckles and thick calluses on the palm, held in both of Cheng Ge's hands, carrying the roughness of a long journey.

He pressed that hand against his heart, so firmly that Wuliji's fingertips could feel the heartbeat beneath the fabric.

Slow, steady beats, unhurried—even slower than usual.

Cheng Ge looked up at him, his gaze moving from Wuliji's jaw to his lips, from his lips to the bridge of his nose, and finally settling into his eyes.

"You deceived me," Cheng Ge said, his voice so light it sounded like he was stating something that had nothing to do with him. "I was hurt as well."

Wuliji's throat bobbed.

Cheng Ge pressed his hand even more firmly, leaving no gap between Wuliji's palm and Cheng Ge's chest.

Cheng Ge could feel the fingertips trembling slightly—a faint tremor, like the lingering vibration of a plucked string.

"See... it's about to stop beating."

Wuliji's hand tightened, his fingertips sinking into the soft fabric over Cheng Ge's chest, feeling the heart beneath give one slow, unhurried beat.

Wuliji met Cheng Ge's eyes.

Those eyes looked especially large in the moonlight, with dark brown irises and a faint ring of amber near the pupil, so bright that it was hard to look at them directly.

Wuliji opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his mind was completely blank.

The grasslands of the Northern Di, the horses, the curved blades, the hard liquor—nothing he had ever learned had taught him what to say at a moment like this.

His tongue felt like a piece of waterlogged wood, heavy in his mouth, unable to move or lift.

Cheng Ge waited for a moment. It was a brief moment—only the span of a few breaths.

But in the quiet alley, between the beats of their two hearts, that moment stretched long, as long as a wordless song, slowly sliding from low notes to high notes, then falling from the high notes to rest on a suspended chord, trembling, refusing to resolve.

"You deceived me, but I won't hold it against you."

Wuliji's eyelashes trembled. Cheng Ge let go of Wuliji's hand, removing it from his own chest.

The instant the warmth of that large hand withdrew from his palm, Cheng Ge felt a sudden chill over his heart.

Like someone peeling off a hot medicated patch that had been applied for a long time, leaving the skin red, itchy, and strangely empty.

But Cheng Ge didn't let go of Wuliji's hand. Cheng Ge's fingers slid through the gaps between Wuliji's, slowly interlocking, ten fingers entwined, palm against palm.

"Because I care about you." When those four words came out of his mouth, he paused for a moment.

"But you—"

His fingers shifted slightly in their entwined grip, his fingertips brushing against Wuliji's knuckles.

"—but you still won't forgive me."

Cheng Ge lifted his head again, meeting Wuliji's eyes. The moonlight fell across his face, illuminating every look on it clearly.

A thin sheen still lingered in his eyes, not yet spilled over, but more heartbreaking than if it had.

The corners of his mouth curved upward slightly—so faintly it was hard to tell if he was smiling or fighting back tears.

The tip of his nose was faintly red, the heat rising from inside until only this trace showed.

"Do I have to hand you my life to make it right?"

The words were spoken so softly—so softly—like a feather settling on water.

The ripples spread slowly outward, reaching the shore, reaching Wuliji's heart, and then stopped.

The alley was utterly silent.

In the distance, the night watchman's drum hadn't sounded, and the night breeze had died down without anyone noticing.

Wuliji lowered his head, his forehead pressing against Cheng Ge's.

Their noses touched—cool against cool—their breath mingling, warm against warm.

His lashes lowered, and the last of the moisture caught the light one final time before the moonlight faded.

His fingers tightened in their entwined grip.

Tight enough to turn his knuckles white, tight enough that Cheng Ge could feel the shallow scar in his palm.

His lips moved.

His lips were nearly touching the tip of Cheng Ge's nose, his breath spilling onto Cheng Ge's upper lip—warm, with a faint tremor.

"Not your life."

Three words, very soft, very slow, as if he had used every ounce of strength to force them out of his throat.

Pushing through the cotton that had been stuck in his throat for so long, through that thin layer of pride.

Pushing them into the small space between them, where they landed quietly.

His other hand came up, cupping the back of Cheng Ge's head.

His palm was big, his fingers long, wrapping around Cheng Ge's whole head.

His fingertips slipped into Cheng Ge's hair, touching the soft strands, the warm scalp beneath, the ridge of bone underneath.

He pulled that head toward him, pressing it close.

"Not your... life," he said again.

His voice was deeper now, so deep it seemed to vibrate straight from his chest—skipping his throat, skipping his lips, going directly from his heart to Cheng Ge's. "I want... you."

Cheng Ge reached out and wrapped his arms around Wuliji's waist, pressing his face into his chest. "But you still won't forgive me..."

Wuliji responded immediately, his voice urgent and quick, as if afraid that if he spoke too slowly, Cheng Ge wouldn't believe him: "I forgive... forgive... you."

He stumbled over the words, taking three tries to get them out.

Between each word there was a breath, as if he were desperately searching through every word he knew, picking the most useful one and pushing it out again and again.

His hand still rested on the back of Cheng Ge's head, fingers tangled in his hair, unconsciously tightening for a moment, then relaxing—*I've forgiven you, I really have, don't be sad anymore.*

Cheng Ge pressed his face into Wuliji's chest, the corner of his mouth curling up.

The smile was so well hidden, his whole face pressed into Wuliji's robes, that only he knew it was there.

The thin sheen in his eyes was still there, but he blinked hard, forcing it back—this round of playing on his feelings had worked; any more and it would be over the top.

He lingered in Wuliji's arms a while longer, until he figured the moment was right, then lifted his head.

Most of the hurt look had faded, replaced by a "fine, I won't hold it against you" expression. The corners of his eyes were still a little red, but his lips were already curving up.

"You hungry? I'll take you to grab something to eat."

Wuliji looked at him, a trace of worry and panic still lingering in his eyes, and nodded blankly.

He hadn't fully come out of that emotional haze, like a big dog that had been scolded and then comforted by its owner—his brain still short-circuiting, but his tail already starting to wag.

Cheng Ge casually took his hand, fingers lacing together, and strode off with long, quick steps, his walk carrying the lightness of someone who'd just gotten what he wanted.

Wuliji followed obediently, his hand held in Cheng Ge's, palm against palm, the lingering chill slowly warming up.

He was still completely immersed in the afterglow of "he forgave me," completely unaware that he was already wrapped around Cheng Ge's finger.

Cheng Ge took him to his usual wonton place, on the corner of West Street. The shop was small.

A dim yellow lantern hung outside the door, swaying gently in the night breeze, casting the shadow of the sign reading "Wang's Wontons" onto the ground.

There was hardly anyone inside. The owner, a heavyset guy in his forties, was dozing by the stove.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up, saw Cheng Ge, and a familiar smile spread across his face as he greeted: "Oh, Marquis, out at this hour?"

"Hungry," Cheng Ge said, pulling Wuliji to sit. He picked a spot in the back, tucking Wuliji into the corner.

He sat across from him, chin propped on his hand. "One small bowl, one large. Extra scallions!"

"Coming right up!" the owner said, his eyes lingering on Wuliji for a second. He didn't ask anything, just chuckled and headed into the kitchen.

Cheng Ge looked up and caught Wuliji staring at him.

Feeling a little guilty under that stare, Cheng Ge looked away, tapping his fingers on the table twice.

"What are you staring at me for?"

Wuliji didn't say anything, just reached over and covered Cheng Ge's tapping hand, palm over fingers, holding it gently but firmly.

Before long, the wontons came. The owner brought a tray—one big bowl, one small, chopped scallions floating on the broth, steam rising.

He set the big bowl in front of Wuliji and the small one in front of Cheng Ge, then brought two little dishes—one with vinegar, one with chili oil.

"Enjoy, you two!"

Cheng Ge picked up his spoon, scooped up a wonton, and popped it in his mouth. He hissed at the heat and mumbled, "Eat up. His wontons are the best on this street."

Wuliji looked down at the bowl of wontons in front of him, the steam rising to his face. He scooped one up and ate it.

Cheng Ge added some chili oil to his own bowl, the red oil slowly spreading across the surface like a flower blooming late.

He picked up Wuliji's spoon, scooped up half a spoonful of chili oil, and dropped it into that big bowl, stirring the soup with the back of the spoon.

The chili oil spread out in thin wisps, threading between the scallions and wontons, giving the whole bowl of soup a faint red tint.

"It tastes better with a little heat," he said, setting the spoon back down, his tone as casual as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Try it."

Wuliji looked down at the thin layer of red oil in his bowl, picked up his spoon, and brought a wonton to his mouth.

"It's... good."

Cheng Ge smiled and was about to lower his head to eat from his own bowl—

"Is that so? Truly that good? How come I never knew?" A cold, eerie voice sounded from behind.

Cheng Ge's body went rigid.

The spoon froze mid-air. Wonton soup dripped from its edge and landed on the table with a soft patter, splashing into a tiny bloom of oil.

His neck turned like a rusty hinge, creaking inch by inch.

Not far behind him, Zhou Zhan and Zhou Yinyun stood at the entrance of the wonton shop, their eyes locked onto Cheng Ge.

Cheng Ge: "..." Is it too late to run now?

In that instant, Cheng Ge's mind jumped through three stages: from "It's over" to "It's completely over" to "Is it too late to run?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, then twitched again, finally settling into a smile more painful to look at than tears.

The spoon still hung in mid-air, wonton soup still dripping steadily, his wrist as stiff as a board.

"Hey folks, help me out with some love and support."