"Yes, it's good to take a break when necessary."
The sound of a lighter clicking came from behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, Wen Yuhan saw Pei Shaocheng sitting stiffly at the table, tapping a cigarette out of the pack and lighting it.
“If you have the chance, you can take the Golden Pass train. I heard the scenery along the way is beautiful.” Wen Yuhan turned her gaze away.
"You seem to know Switzerland very well. Have you been here before?"
"No." He smiled slightly. "I read it in a book."
"Then let's come together next time, and I'll scout out the route first."
“Sure, if there’s a chance.” Wen Yuhan raised her hand to wipe the fog off the window, “and while we’re at it, we can also visit the Black Forest in Germany and Saint-Germain-en-Laye in France.”
“Debussy…”
Lu Yanheng's deep, pleasant voice came from the other end.
"Yes, his former residence is there."
Suddenly, control icons appeared on the TV screen, and the volume kept increasing, one notch at a time.
The comedian's string of "Okay," "Wow," and "Look!" instantly drowned out Lu Yanheng's voice in the receiver.
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone: "Is Pei Shaocheng at your house?"
A beer bottle behind him was pried open with a "hiss" sound. Wen Yuhan closed his eyes, paused for a moment, and said softly, "I'm here."
Lu Yanheng remained silent for a while, then finally sighed deeply: "Alright."
Wen Yuhan felt a little apologetic, but Lu Yanheng immediately returned to his gentle and humble self: "Get some rest. I see it's raining heavily in Wancheng. Be careful not to catch a cold."
"Okay." Wen Yuhan's eyes softened. "Thank you, Yanheng."
"You've thanked me far too much," Lu Yanheng said with a bitter smile. "But you know I don't really want to hear that."
"Feel sorry."
"Goodnight, Xiaohan," Lu Yanheng said gently. "I'll come see you when I get back to China."
"Okay, have fun."
Wen Yuhan hung up the phone and turned to look at the person behind her.
The other person was indeed looking at him.
Upon meeting Wen Yuhan's gaze, Pei Shaocheng awkwardly shifted his attention to the remote control in his hand, silently turning the volume down again.
Wen Yuhan was exasperated by his childish and boring behavior, so she returned to the table, sat down, and picked up a spoon to drink the soup.
"Let me heat it up for you again," the person on the other end said softly. "It's all cold now."
"Is this interesting, hmm?" Wen Yuhan asked without looking up.
Pei Shaocheng pursed his lips and remained silent. Just when Wen Yuhan thought the conversation was about to end there, she heard Pei Shaocheng murmur softly:
"I've also been to Saint-Germain-en-Lay... there's a Debussy that belongs only to us."
Wen Yuhan got up to clear the dishes: "Debussy doesn't belong to anyone, nor does 'The Afternoon of the Faun.' You can sleep in the bed tonight."
After he finished speaking, he picked up the cutlery and walked towards the kitchen.
"And what about Andrew?"
Pei Shaocheng sat there, looked up at him with deep, dark eyes, and asked in a hoarse voice, "Am I still your Andrew?"
...
Chapter 66
“Andrew…”
Wen Yuhan murmured, looking up at the ceiling.
She finished with a faint smile: "I don't even know who Andrew belongs to anymore... but it doesn't matter anyway."
“He is yours, you created him.” Pei Shaocheng said urgently, “The reason Han Shu wants to completely drive you out of the industry is because he is afraid that your existence will make the public question his abilities… Xiao Han, you are the sharpest weapon to defeat him.”
"I don't want to fight anymore, what's the point?" Wen Yuhan felt a headache coming on, and rubbed her temples wearily. "Let's change the subject, or let's go to sleep, I'm tired."
This time, Pei Shaocheng clearly sensed Wen Yuhan's emotions. Unlike before, he didn't rush to force him to make a statement or choose for him. Instead, he remained silent for a moment, then slowly approached Wen Yuhan and pulled him into his arms.
"Okay, let's rest first."
Wen Yuhan gently pushed Pei Shaocheng away and went to the wardrobe to rummage for spare bedding. She found that the blankets were damp and moldy, completely unusable.
Pei Shaocheng gently comforted him, "I can manage on the chair for the night. I won't be cold wrapped in this military overcoat."
Wen Yuhan's shoulders slumped slightly as he let out a sigh of relief.
Finally, the two lay side by side on the bed. To make Wen Yuhan feel comfortable, Pei Shaocheng only clung loosely to the edge of the bed, and only covered a corner of the blanket.
It was still raining outside, the raindrops pattering against the glass and roof. Wen Yuhan reached out and turned off the light, plunging the surroundings into darkness.
Neither of them spoke, and the sound of the rain grew clearer.
Along with that, there was the faint breathing of the two people.
The faint fragrance of wintersweet drifted into the room through the cracks in the window. The fragrance was crisp yet sweet, gradually calming one's mind.
Pei Shaocheng glanced at Wen Yuhan, who had his back to him, and longed to hold him tightly and feel his body temperature and breath.
But he pinched his palm hard, managing to suppress the impulse. He took several deep breaths and forced himself to close his eyes.
When she felt the breathing of the person next to her finally become calm after a long period of time, Wen Yuhan slowly opened her eyes and sat up.
There was not a trace of sleepiness in his eyes.
He gazed at Pei Shaocheng's sleeping face in the darkness, lost in thought. Then he threw back the covers, put on his coat, went to the living room, and sat back down in the wicker chair.
I lit a cigarette and smoked it silently.
A butterfly fluttered down onto the cigarette, and Wen Yuhan, unfazed, let it flutter its blue wings.
He opened his phone and, while smoking, searched for recent job opportunities in Wancheng on recruitment websites.
I tried to avoid any text-related work while researching, but after staring blankly for a while, I realized that I seemed to know nothing except how to write.
At this moment, Pei Shaocheng lay on the bed with his brows furrowed.
He looked extremely pained, and his breathing became heavy; he was trapped in an endless nightmare.
He saw the blood-soaked bathroom again, Wen Yuhan lying motionless in the red bathtub. The wound on his wrist was horrifying, still dripping with a thick, bright red liquid.
Pei Shaocheng screamed in terror, trying to rush forward and hug him.
No matter how hard he tried to shout or move his feet, he could not move or make a sound.
At this moment, Wen Yuhan suddenly opened her eyes and grinned at him.
Blood was flowing from his mouth and nose, and his beautiful peach blossom eyes held a cold, mocking look as he repeatedly said to Pei Shaocheng, "It hurts so much... Shaocheng... it hurts so much..."
Then he began to cry violently.
Pei Shaocheng felt like he was about to suffocate. Wen Yuhan's cries echoed in his ears, desperately calling for his help. Yet, he still couldn't reach Wen Yuhan's side.
Just then, the bathroom door was opened again. Pei Shaocheng saw another version of himself approach Wen Yuhan with a sinister expression, grabbing his hair, lifting him up, and slamming him against the blood-stained mirror. With a violent and contemptuous smile, he tore Wen Yuhan's clothes to shreds.
No...no...stop!
Pei Shaocheng screamed in his mind again and again, but his other self seemed completely unaware of his presence. He took out a sharp shard of glass, clamped it around Wen Yuhan's wrist, and brutally violated him while slashing bloody gashes across his neck and back with the glass. He cursed with the most vile and offensive language.
"You slept with them?"
"You slut."
"Take a look at yourself in the mirror."
"Your senior, Wen... was a recognized genius in college, and also a public bitch."
"Why are you crying? Stop crying!"
No...shut up...damn it, shut up now!
He saw the entire bathroom begin to spin rapidly like a vortex, and his own facial features were also twisting wildly.
A giant moth spread its wings, and Wen Yuhan, covered in blood, stiffly turned to look at him, her eyes empty.
"Pei Shaocheng, it hurts..."
His figure gradually became transparent and finally disappeared from Pei Shaocheng's sight.
"Xiao Han... Xiao Han... Wen Yuhan!!"
Pei Shaocheng suddenly opened his eyes and jumped out of bed.
His pupils dilated, his chest heaved violently, and his whole body trembled uncontrollably.
Sweat streamed down Pei Shaocheng's forehead. He looked at his empty bed and stumbled towards the living room in a panic.
"Pei Shaocheng." A hand patted his shoulder from behind in the darkness.
Pei Shaocheng instinctively gripped it tightly.
A faint gasp came from the other end of the line. Pei Shaocheng paused, and by the faint glow of the cigarette, he finally saw those familiar eyes.
"You had a nightmare," Wen Yuhan asked softly.
Pei Shaocheng looked at him without speaking. Wen Yuhan frowned slightly, raised his hand to touch the other's forehead, and the wrinkles between his brows deepened.
"It's so hot."
As he spoke, he turned to find medicine for Pei Shaocheng, "I remember there was fever reducer in the bag you bought to store iodine?"
Wen Yuhan had just taken half a step forward when he was suddenly pulled back to a burning hot chest by a powerful force.
In an instant, it felt as if a raging fire had ignited on his body, burning through his pores and reaching his blood.
Wen Yuhan paused, then softened her tone: "It's alright... Go lie down on the bed first, I won't leave."
Seeing that the other party still didn't speak, Wen Yuhan looked up with some confusion.
A drop of scalding liquid "plop" landed on the tip of his nose, and then large drops of water began to roll down like a burst dam.
He could hear heavy, hoarse breathing beside him, and the burning hot body that was tightly embracing him was trembling violently.