LMMY chapter 70

Dark clouds passed by, and the moon hid behind them. The moonlight was blocked, and Sheng Min’s eyes darkened as well.

It took Li Xuan a long time to understand what Sheng Min meant. Then, it took even longer for him to regain his ability to speak. When he finally opened his mouth, his voice was still hoarse: “You don’t want to see me again.”

“You shouldn’t see me again.” Sheng Min finished his last sip of wine and sat up straight.

“Why?” Li Xuan said, then answered his own foolish question, his voice low, “Am I disturbing you?”

Sheng Min shook his head. “It’s me who’s been disturbing you all along.”

Li Xuan’s lips moved, but no words came out. Sheng Min didn’t allow him to speak.

“Do you remember when you woke up in the hospital? You said it was like you were seeing me for the first time.” Sheng Min smiled faintly, a rare hint of mischievousness in his expression. “Actually, I lied that day… I had seen you before. You didn’t remember, but I did. On the day I decided to die, I happened to remember… At that time, I didn’t know you, but you were the last person I thought of before I died.”

Somehow, a yellowed piece of paper appeared in his hand. It was clear that it had been carefully preserved by its owner, with no creases.

“It was me who brought you into this, even though you won’t admit it, but I think it’s true… I never told you before, I’m sorry… But saying it now, I feel much better.” Sheng Min fiddled with the piece of paper in his hand, his gaze drifting somewhere far off. “But I don’t regret it at all… I’ve decided not to die anymore, but if I had to go back to that day and the only way to see you was like that, I’d still cut that knife without hesitation…”

He paused, letting out a soft sigh. “During this time apart, I’ve often thought of the days we spent together. Every detail feels like a dream… but that’s unfair to you.”

“How do you know that this isn’t a good dream for me?” Li Xuan remained silent for a long while, his voice barely audible.

Sheng Min curled the corner of his lips, not looking at him. “Good dreams or nightmares, they all have a time when you must wake up.”

His lingering warmth slowly faded from Li Xuan’s shoulder, yet his tone and expression remained gentle. “I know why you came today, and I know you’ve been hesitating during this time.”

The river flowed slowly, and Sheng Min’s voice was softer than the river’s current. “But Li Xuan, if something feels right to you, if it’s what you want, then there’s no need to keep thinking about it… When you’re thinking, your heart already has the answer.”

Hearing this, Li Xuan furrowed his brows, but Sheng Min shook his head, quickly gesturing for silence.

“Do you see that bridge over there?” He pointed in the air.

It was a wooden bridge, far away, and the locals called it the Wind and Rain Bridge. At that moment, there was neither wind nor rain, and the shadow of the bridge swayed with the water, almost collapsing.

“We are the same,” Sheng Min lowered his hand, his gaze deep and still. “All of your self-doubt is just the suspension bridge effect.”

“No!” Li Xuan immediately denied it. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words, his breath quickened, and he repeated, “It’s not like that.”

His lips were tightly pressed together, and the curve of his mouth appeared sharp.

Sheng Min lowered his eyes, not arguing, and gently grabbed Li Xuan’s wrist, prying open his clenched fist, placing the piece of paper into his palm. “Isn’t it… Maybe it isn’t that important.. Here, take this back… I…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, and it abruptly ended there. After a moment, Sheng Min smiled faintly, meeting Li Xuan’s eyes and silently uttering a word. Without warning, he stood up and left.

Li Xuan stared blankly at the yellowed piece of paper in his hand. He had no idea what it was or what Sheng Min was trying to give back to him.

In a panic, he looked at Sheng Min’s retreating figure, still intoxicated, his steps unsteady, but not a single one stopped, nor did he look back. Only the sound of his footsteps echoed softly on the stone pavement.

The last word was “Goodbye.” Li Xuan finally understood the unspoken words, but Sheng Min was clearly saying they should no longer meet.

He snapped back to his senses and, without thinking, rushed after him, awkwardly grabbing Sheng Min’s hand from behind.

Sheng Min almost stumbled and turned around, his expression showing little emotion.

Li Xuan looked at him like someone seriously ill, feeling his hands and feet move uncontrollably. He didn’t know who was more drunk. “Where are you going?”

After a long pause, he managed to squeeze out the words, barely keeping his voice steady. “Let me take you.”

“No need.” Sheng Min gently shook his head. “I have to go back to the set today, my flight is at seven, I already messaged Yang Xu, he’s on his way… It’s too late. You should go back, drive carefully.”

Li Xuan’s heart raced, still gripping Sheng Min’s wrist, unwilling to let go.

A thin layer of sweat spread between their skin, making it hard to tell whose sweat it was.

Sheng Min sighed, almost inaudibly. “Li Xuan, I didn’t mean to drag you into this. But I really have let you go. You’ve delayed long enough. It’s time to move forward.”

By now, he had said everything. This time, Sheng Min easily freed his hand, but in the next second, it was caught again.

“Have you let me go or are you giving up on me?” Li Xuan frowned, his throat moving as if choking. “If I move forward, does that mean you won’t be there?”

He appeared to be calm, but this calmness was overdone, making everything seem like a paper-thin disguise.

“This is for you to decide,” Sheng Min said, always gentle and calm. “If you have no answer, then that itself is the answer.”

Li Xuan seemed to stiffen, staring at him intently. His mind kept repeating, Is this true? Is there an answer? How did Sheng Min come to a conclusion?

“I’ve always been grateful to you, from the moment we met until today,” Sheng Min continued, “but we’ve already switched back. I was never your responsibility, and I’m no longer your burden… the birthday is over, twelve o’clock has passed, and the pumpkin carriage will turn back into a pumpkin…”

He made a not-so-funny joke, struggling to force out a complete smile.

A normal childhood was a luxury for both of them. They didn’t watch fairy tales, nor did they believe in miracles. Yet, they truly were a miracle that entered each other’s lives.

Unfortunately, the expiration date had already passed.

Sheng Min sighed lightly, his Adam’s apple moving gently. His tone and attitude were sincere: “There’s no need to drag this on. You don’t need to feel sorry for me or anything. Farewells have already been long enough. If you can’t speak, then I will. At this point, the best relationship we can have is not even being friends anymore…”

“You can judge your feelings, but you can’t decide for me,” Li Xuan interrupted him, his mind still chaotic. “You’ve been talking about me this whole time, but what about you? What do you think?”

He tightened his grip on Sheng Min’s wrist, startled by how thin he was, feeling the sharpness of the bone pressing into his palm.

Sheng Min lowered his eyes, looking at Li Xuan’s fingers, which were turning pale from the force: “Can we stop going in circles about this?”

“I want you to speak!”

Li Xuan’s emotions erupted without reason. After a long standoff, Sheng Min finally showed a hint of exhaustion, the first sign of tiredness that night: “Li Xuan, it’s so easy for you to control me, you know that. I can’t do anything about you.”

Hearing this, Li Xuan’s heart jolted, and he lost his grip, weakly releasing Sheng Min’s hand.

The moon reappeared, but Sheng Min’s eyes remained blurry. The only clear thing was that, the moment Sheng Min bared his heart, Li Xuan couldn’t find any joy or satisfaction in it.

A red mark had appeared on Sheng Min’s porcelain-like wrist. Li Xuan’s fingers twitched, wanting to touch it, but he eventually lowered his hand.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Sheng Min noticed his gaze and silently hid his hand behind his back.

Finally, the wind began to pick up. The creek water rippled, shattering the dim reflection of the bridge. Li Xuan thought that Sheng Min might be right; it was indeed the suspension bridge effect. But he wasn’t sure when he had quietly stepped onto this bridge, nor did he know if there would ever be a way to leave it.

“Let me think about it,” Li Xuan spoke, each word difficult, “Give me some time.”

Sheng Min felt this shouldn’t be the case. He wanted to refuse. Everything tonight was meant to free Li Xuan from a self-imposed trap. But in front of Li Xuan, he had no chance of winning. Even Li Xuan didn’t seem like the winner here.

“I don’t need a definite answer. You can choose whatever you want,” Sheng Min finally said.

The moon sank, and the sun hadn’t risen yet.

Before dawn, Sheng Min left alone. His thin figure merged with the night, and Li Xuan felt a strange sense of losing him.

Had he ever truly had him?

He sat by the river holding the slip of paper for a long time. The dew soaked his black T-shirt, which slowly dried as the morning temperature rose.

The clouds on the horizon were light gray, and an unknown bird flew by, leaving no trace.

Li Xuan remembered the words Sheng Min had said that day in the hospital.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s okay.”

He had never taken those words seriously, nor had he ever thought he was afraid of anything. But on this ordinary summer morning before the morning star sank, he finally glimpsed a dark cloud deep in his heart.

He was truly afraid. He was afraid this was love, and even more afraid it wasn’t.