Chapter 29: Dionysus (9)

Long before it happened, Wen Mingwei had imagined what it would be like to be with Tan Zhao.

But imagination is static, while people are dynamic; every reaction of a living person is hard to predict. For instance, he hadn't expected that halfway through, Tan Zhao would suddenly become unbearably shy, pinning him down and flipping him over into a position that avoided eye contact, neither looking at him nor letting him see his own expression.

They had only just begun.

A pale yellow lamp was lit in the bedroom. Wen Mingwei’s face was pressed into the pillow, his long hair fanned out beneath his neck. His hands gripped the sheets unconsciously, and his shoulders swayed slightly with the movements of the person behind him.

He closed his eyes, his nostrils filled with the faint, clean scent of lavender from the pillow's stuffing.

His shoulder blades ached—Tan Zhao’s hands were pressed firmly against them, gripping as hard as he was shy, almost as if he meant to crush the bone.

Wen Mingwei’s first sensation was heat.

Sweat broke out quickly, and every pore on his body seemed to stretch open. The body pressing against him was a source of heat, a sharp blade piercing the cold and numbness surrounding him, pouring molten lava into his spirit.

Then, the lava surged, more and more. At first, he could still calmly examine what he was feeling, but soon he became too hot to think, his consciousness blurring, his throat tightening.

"How is it?"

Tan Zhao suddenly pressed down closer; as he leaned in, his earring lightly grazed Wen Mingwei’s cheek. The cold diamond melted like a snowflake dropped into a lava flow, but Wen Mingwei was jolted by the sensation, biting down instinctively. He heard a suppressed, low gasp by his ear as Tan Zhao took hold of his face. "Seems I’m doing alright?"

"..."

The young master had a severe "boyfriend addiction," "husband addiction," and "brother addiction." He was keen on playing the mature man in front of Wen Mingwei, though he didn't know where he’d learned his technique—he clumsily gripped Wen Mingwei’s jaw, acting with an air of "indulgence" before suddenly thrusting his middle finger into Wen Mingwei’s mouth for him to take.

Wen Mingwei did not refuse. He cooperated earnestly, as if eating a lollipop, leaving a trail of moisture. Tan Zhao’s reaction was more intense than his; his muscles were taut, his hands trembling, yet he still feigned composure. "...Very good."

Wen Mingwei laughed out loud.

He tried to turn over to see the expression on Tan Zhao’s face, but he was pressed back down halfway. The entire first time, he had been passive from beginning to end; only at the moment of release did he finally see Tan Zhao’s intoxicated and restrained face.

They didn't separate. Wen Mingwei could feel every detail of the changes occurring. Then, Tan Zhao slowly lay down and held him. It wasn't over yet; they shared a kiss, and then began a second time.

Compared to the second, the first had been like a warm-up.

Wen Mingwei no longer hid anything. What he liked, what he craved, he wanted to take it all from Tan Zhao.

They fought for dominance as if they were brawling. But rather than a struggle, it was more like Wen Mingwei being clingy. He didn't want to leave Tan Zhao for even a second, staring at that face in near obsession, leaning in for kisses from time to time. Tan Zhao’s attempts to set him aside to change positions were unsuccessful.

Wen Mingwei seemed to have a penchant for pain.

The harder Tan Zhao pushed, the more obvious Wen Mingwei’s reactions became.

His hair, dampened by sweat, clung to his bare shoulders as if soaked in water. Finger marks were pinched into his thighs, and his ankles were stretched into a straight line, as if they might snap at any moment.

Tan Zhao knew Wen Mingwei could be a bit clingy, but he hadn't expected him to be like this in bed—not even willing to look away for a second. He was absolutely mad about him.

"I’m really curious," Tan Zhao, who was always more arrogant the more he was loved, suddenly asked, "How long have you liked me?"

He expected no answer, but unexpectedly, Wen Mingwei paused and said, "Six years."

"What?"

"Six years."

"..."

Tan Zhao’s arrogance flickered out for a moment, and he was incredulous. "You knew me six years ago?"

Wen Mingwei’s answer was to block his mouth. Taking advantage of his shock, he flipped over to pin him down, kissing him deeply while holding his shoulders, tasting him inch by inch as if trying to drain every ounce of vitality from his body. He was like a lovesick ghost, lingering and intense.

It was an extreme need—Wen Mingwei needed him.

Tan Zhao even felt that if he pushed Wen Mingwei away at this moment, the other man might collapse.

...Was he really loved that much?

Tan Zhao’s heart was filled with an indescribable, overwhelming satisfaction. Not long ago, he had felt that his smooth, twenty-some-year life was starting to go downhill, but now, everything was right again.

Wen Mingwei’s presence was like a second home; after his grandfather passed away, someone had continued to love him. Although he didn't want to admit it, he could begrudgingly... love Wen Mingwei a little, too.

Thinking this, Tan Zhao wanted to speak up, to tell Wen Mingwei not to look so pathetic and desperate.

Yet, the word "love" was hard to utter. Tan Zhao awkwardly stewed for a long time before saying, "Wen Mingwei."

"Hmm?"

"Actually, I..."

He said clumsily, "I don't dislike you at all."

"..."

Such a sudden statement was truly inexplicable. He didn't know if Wen Mingwei understood, but in any case, he didn't get the feedback he had hoped for.

—He had hoped Wen Mingwei would be moved to tears and reply, "I love you."

Well, that didn't quite follow.

Tan Zhao’s mind was a tangled mess, and he could only express himself through touch.

They continued until late into the night, too many times to count. Later, they changed the soaked sheets, showered together, and returned to bed, embracing one another. They were both tired, but as if they had completed a grand feat, they fell asleep with their fingers tightly interlaced, completely satisfied.

Tan Zhao deliberately rubbed his ring against Wen Mingwei’s.

"I just realized this looks like a wedding ring," Tan Zhao said. "I can only wear this size on my ring finger. Did you do that on purpose?"

Wen Mingwei slowly opened his eyes, so tired that he could barely lift his lashes, and answered drowsily, "Yes. It was designed as a wedding ring at the time. I wanted to marry you."

"..."

Tan Zhao was stunned by the direct "blunt force" of the statement. He thought to himself: *So direct? How is he not embarrassed to say such things? There really is a difference between people.*

But Wen Mingwei looked truly exhausted. Although he was still instinctively clinging to him, his state grew increasingly hazy, and he looked on the verge of passing out.

Tan Zhao was displeased—shouldn't they cuddle and whisper sweet nothings for a while after? How could he just abandon his partner and fall asleep?

Poor stamina was truly a problem. If they did this every night, would he even be able to get out of bed during the day?

"Hey, Wen Mingwei." Tan Zhao deliberately started a conversation, pulling him to chat. "Do you know who gave me this earring?"

"Your grandfather."

"No, it was my mother."

Tan Zhao said, "Actually, I don't have any memory of my parents; my grandfather told me later. He said my mother hoped 'Dionysus' would bless me, bring me good luck, and ensure that no matter what field I was in, even if I were in a death trap, I could be 'reborn' and live on with tenacity."

"..."

Wen Mingwei seemed startled, his eyes, which had just closed, snapping open.

Thinking he didn't understand the legend of the god of wine, Tan Zhao took the initiative to explain, "Because he is a god who was born twice: suffering, death, and rebirth—his life was very convoluted."

"But Greek gods aren't Buddhas; he doesn't seem like the type to bless people, right?"

Tan Zhao toyed with his hair, his thoughts circling back to the "love" he hadn't managed to say earlier. He hinted indirectly, "Wen Mingwei, I really like the ring you gave me, so..."

"Hmm?"

"I’ve decided to give you a reward."

"What reward?"

"You can make a request." Tan Zhao hinted subtly, "I will satisfy your request, anything at all. For example, responding to your feelings, confessing to you, or something like that."

By now, it wasn't a hint; it was an explicit statement. The tips of Tan Zhao’s ears turned an eerie, blood-red color.

Unfortunately, Wen Mingwei didn't grasp his intent. He acted on his own, showering him with gentleness and coaxing him with a smile, "It’s alright, I don't mind if you don't respond. I’m just very happy to be with you."

Tan Zhao: "..."

In the end, the young master’s "love," a word harder to recite than a scripture, remained unsaid. He fell asleep feeling deeply frustrated.

Wen Mingwei was clearly more tired than him, yet he had fallen asleep later and woke up later as well.

The next morning, just as they were getting up, Secretary Gu came to knock on the door with the investigative information from last night.

Tan Zhao was washing up in the bathroom when he caught a glimpse of Wen Mingwei opening the door, seemingly intending to go out to talk with Gu Jing.

With a toothbrush in his mouth, he turned his head and asked sharply, "Is there something I can't hear?"

"..." Gu Jing hesitated, looking away.

Wen Mingwei invited him in. "There is nothing you cannot hear. Come in and say it."