Half-conscious, he felt someone burst through the operating room door. Urgent footsteps echoed down the hallway.
He heard urgent shouts and distant cries, and then, shockingly, the doctors and nurses all hurriedly left.
Like a rag doll that had been cut open, he lay alone on the blood-stained operating table. He didn’t know how much time had passed before someone finally came to stitch up his open wound.
Such negligence—he was incredibly lucky not to get an infection. Then again, he had always been the lucky one.
The real Li Xuan died on the operating table.
Upon hearing the news, Shu Xin went mad on the spot.
It seemed like the scent of blood still lingered in the air, but when he tried to smell it, it was gone. Only the faint, cold fragrance of pine needles mixed with the scent of burning incense remained.
“So, it wasn’t an accident?” Sheng Min asked in a low voice. It was phrased as a question, but his tone held little doubt.
Li Xuan glanced at the marble tombstone beside him. Later, he had found the bottle that had rolled under the hospital bed. When he opened it, he caught a faint trace of lingering alcohol.
“But he didn’t die because of you,” Sheng Min said slowly, each word laced with a restrained anger he himself didn’t seem to notice.
Li Xuan knew where that anger came from, so he placed a reassuring hand on Sheng Min’s back and replied with certainty, “Of course not.”
Shu Xin had given up her research career for this child. Because of her guilt over the complications during pregnancy that had put him in danger, she never returned to work after giving birth.
She poured all her energy into raising him, personally overseeing every detail, and was delighted to discover that her child had a talent for physics. She firmly believed that he would one day fulfill the ambitions she had left unfinished.
But what kind of talent was that, really?
It was just a child carefully playing along to win his mother’s favor.
If he had any true talent, it was in reading people’s emotions. From a young age, he had known that saying things like, “When I grow up, I want to be a physicist like Mom,” would earn him candy.
Yet the older he got, the harder it became to keep up the act of being a physics prodigy. Especially after he fell seriously ill—and along with his illness came another child, one brought in to serve as his “blood bag.” A child who was a real genius.
The problems he struggled with, the theories he couldn’t understand—this other child solved them with ease. And yet, that child had no interest in physics at all. He spent his days tinkering with his computer instead.
What he had desperately pursued but could never attain, this other boy dismissed with indifference. The gap between them was an insurmountable chasm.
His illness forced Shu Xin to temporarily pause her efforts to mold him into a physicist, but even as she comforted him on her sickbed, she never forgot to say, “You’ll get better. One day, you will become an outstanding physicist.” And because of this, her guilt toward him only deepened.
He was afraid. The fear became a constant weight on his chest. Even if he recovered, he knew he could never meet his mother’s expectations. She had poured all of her dreams into him. This relentless pressure was more suffocating than the pain of his illness.
But he couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t blame anyone.
Was it Shu Xin’s fault? Of course not.
He had traded deception for more of his mother’s love, more patience, more indulgence. He had no right to complain that this love felt like a burden.
He had spun his own web and now had to pay the price for the candy of his childhood.
The day before the surgery, he went to see the boy in the next room.
He didn’t want his organs to be used to prolong his own life. No matter how much he protested, he couldn’t change his stubborn parents’ minds. But he had a way to put an end to everything.
He looked at the boy in the heavily guarded hospital room, still reading as if nothing had changed, and thought—Shu Xin would have truly liked this child.
How many times had he wished that they could switch places? If only they could switch, Shu Xin would finally be satisfied. But he knew it was impossible.
All he wanted was for this boy to take care of Shu Xin, to accompany her through the days after he was gone. He was so smart, a real genius—he would find a way.
But fate played a cruel joke on him.
He got his wish—but in a completely different way.
He died. Shu Xin lost her mind.
And when she woke up, she mistook the other boy for her son.
For a long time, Li Xuan pondered how such an improbable event had happened. Science couldn’t explain it. Could a coward’s desperate prayers really move the heavens?
He didn’t believe in such nonsense.
Then, one night, he woke up to find Shu Xin standing by his bed, gazing at him with infinite warmth.
That gaze was so unnervingly steady that even he, always composed, felt a chill run down his spine.
And in that moment, he suddenly understood.
There was no divine intervention, no supernatural forces at play—only a mother’s most selfish kind of love.
Two children had entered the operating room together. If one of them had to die, then she had to believe that the one who survived was her son. Only by holding onto that belief could she continue to live.
And ultimately, did it even matter how things had unfolded?
The boy hadn’t died for him—but he had benefited from his death. That was an undeniable fact.
So when Li Mingge told him to take on the identity of Li Xuan, he couldn’t just walk away.
It was never about Li Mingge’s threats, nor was it about coveting the wealth of the Li family.
It was because of a promise he had never truly made.
The Li family didn’t keep their word. But he was not like them.
And so, he became Li Xuan.
For three years in high school, he won every physics competition, playing the role of the ideal son Shu Xin had always wanted.
Because of this, Li Mingge moved the family, replaced the household staff, and distanced himself from close acquaintances.
The real Li Xuan had been sick for so long that he rarely interacted with outsiders. Even though some people thought he looked different from his childhood photos, no one—aside from a few distant relatives—suspected the truth behind this elaborate deception.
From a material standpoint, he wasn’t treated unfairly.
Li Mingge arranged his legal identity, sent him to the best private school, provided a chauffeur, a caretaker, lessons in skiing, horseback riding—everything money could buy.
And to maintain control over him, Li Mingge wouldn’t allow him to skip grades and even changed his college application preferences.
But neither luxury nor oppression could change him.
Li Xuan had never forgotten who he truly was.
He endured, but did not resign himself to fate. Little by little, he bargained with Li Mingge, fought for space, wrote code day and night, took on jobs to save money, waiting for the day Zhao Jizhe would be released from prison.
The cigarette had burned out, and the story was almost at its end.
Too many details were left out of this story, even the most crucial part. But Li Xuan didn’t speak, and Sheng Min couldn’t ask anymore.
The dim surroundings perhaps accentuated the atmosphere, yet the stars in the sky remained brilliant.
“So what’s going on with Shu Xin now?” Sheng Min coldly raised his eyes.
“Acute renal failure.”
The knife wound that Zhao Jizhe inflicted on her hadn’t been fatal, but during the treatment, the doctors discovered that her kidneys had already suffered severe damage. This news didn’t surprise Li Xuan much. Shu Xin had been injecting and taking sedative drugs for a long time, year after year, which naturally caused problems with her body. He had already noticed something was off with her and had reminded Li Mingge multiple times, but Li Mingge always dismissed it as nonsense.
‘His self-righteous love will destroy her.’
A prophecy fulfilled, but what could Li Xuan do? No version of him could stop this.
“Karma,” Sheng Min sneered coldly.
He was sharper tonight than usual. Li Xuan reached out to smooth his furrowed brow, but Sheng Min turned his head to avoid him.
He glanced at the tombstone again, as if he had seen something filthy, disgusted, and turned away. His legs faltered after standing for so long, but he firmly pushed away Li Xuan’s hand when he tried to help him.
“I’m tired,” Sheng Min said, already taking steps. “I don’t want to stay here anymore.”
He walked fast, unwilling to stay even a moment longer. His pace grew quicker, even turning into a run. The wind lifted the hem of his black coat, and his footsteps echoed in the empty cemetery. Li Xuan had to chase after him and grabbed his arm.
“Sheng Min!”
In the darkness, he saw Sheng Min’s thin face trembling.
“Sheng Min,” Li Xuan called his name again.
Sheng Min gritted his teeth and remained silent for a long while, finally saying, “I’m fine.”
His voice shook, because of the cold, and as he spoke, faint white mist appeared and quickly dissipated. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Let’s go back.”
On the way back, Sheng Min drove.
The car sped quickly, as though he wanted to leave everything in the cemetery behind.
It was already late at night, approaching the Spring Festival. The branches lining the roads, which had once been adorned with colorful lights, were now completely dark, their lights having gone out due to the late hour. Under the dim streetlights, there was no brightness, only an awkward and burdensome silence.
A sudden brake brought the car to a stop in the garage, the tires screeching against the floor.
Sheng Min seemed exhausted. The car was parked crookedly, and he silently pressed the elevator button to go upstairs, heading straight to the bedroom. Soon, the sound of the shower could be heard, and he didn’t say a word to Li Xuan.
He only barely brushed against his fingertips as he entered, icy cold.
Li Xuan stood by the door for a while, feeling as though the unique scent of death from the cemetery still lingered on his coat. He pressed his brow and went to the downstairs bathroom to take a shower. When he returned to the bedroom, Sheng Min had already fallen asleep.
It was completely silent. Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could vaguely make out the slight rise and fall of the figure beneath the blanket.
Li Xuan lay down. He knew the person beside him wasn’t asleep; the breathing was faint, yet strained. He tentatively reached out, wanting to touch Sheng Min’s thin shoulder blade, but Sheng Min suddenly turned around.
In the darkness, Sheng Min looked at him coldly, as though looking at a stranger. Li Xuan didn’t speak again, silently allowing him to scrutinize. The gaze was so indifferent that for a few moments, Li Xuan even felt there was hatred in it, but in the next second, Sheng Min leaned in and kissed him.
He kissed the corners of his lips and his eyes, trembling yet determined. At first, the kisses were cold, so close that they felt almost suffocating, but they gradually grew hot.
When Li Xuan sensed Sheng Min’s intentions, he initially tried to stop it. He understood where Sheng Min’s loss of control came from… But Sheng Min didn’t allow any rejection and kissed him more fiercely, stubborn beyond measure…
Just as Li Xuan knew all of Sheng Min’s weaknesses, Sheng Min was also familiar with his. It was easy for him to make Li Xuan lose his sense of control… Logically, Li Xuan knew he shouldn’t let this happen, but at this moment, his body’s will was under Sheng Min’s control…
He couldn’t refuse him… Perhaps he didn’t truly want to refuse, either. Desire and greed tangled them together, like beasts or trees swaying in a storm, entangled with each other.
The quiet room was filled with their heavy breaths and the deafening beat of their hearts. Li Xuan saw Sheng Min’s flushed cheeks, the sweat glistening on his forehead… He kissed his soft tongue, reaching out to grip his shoulder, trying to regain control. But Sheng Min forcefully reversed his hand with their fingers interlaced, and in the next moment, straddled him…
There was no preparation. Sheng Min stripped naked and roughly split himself open, forcefully accepting Li Xuan’s member inch by inch. So angry, yet so afraid, of the past in which he had no part. So many times, he almost lost Li Xuan, without even knowing it.
Because of the pain, his pale legs trembled. His originally flushed face lost all color, and his scorching hot body, in this intimate, inseparable moment, felt an icy chill. The brutal act didn’t bring much pleasure, only turned their desires into something tangible, intensifying further…
“Does it hurt?”
Pleasure and pain came together like the rising and falling tides, then receded. They remained tightly connected, hot and muddy. Li Xuan heard Sheng Min ask him, breathing heavily, with a fierce tone, his eyes filled with undeniable possessiveness.
Li Xuan couldn’t answer. Sheng Min let out a soft laugh: “I’m the one who’s in pain.”
Li Xuan couldn’t help but frown. Sheng Min, seemingly unaware, fell silent after saying that.
His slender fingers slowly slid across Li Xuan’s throat, shoulder, and chest, tracing every scar on his body until he reached the healed wound on his waist. He examined it carefully, as if counting how many stitches had been made.
“Does it hurt?” He sat naked on top of Li Xuan, his posture proud like a deity, looking down at him with eyes lowered. His fingertips lingered on the wound as he asked again.
“It didn’t hurt before,” Li Xuan looked back at him and said very softly, slowly, “But now that you asked, it seems to hurt a little.”
In the dark, he saw Sheng Min’s eyes, bright and painfully red, and then a tear rolled down his chest, leaving a winding trail, like the long, twisted road of the past years.
He had walked so far, for so long, and it turned out that it wasn’t that he didn’t feel tired, that he didn’t feel bitter. It was just that fate had always forced him to endure, to wait, waiting for someone else to appear, to accompany him, to save him, to allow him to show weakness, to take him across the long, painful river of life.
“Sheng Min, kiss me. If you kiss me, I won’t feel pain anymore.” He gently wiped away the tear from Sheng Min’s eye, pleading for his pity, like the most devout of followers.
Sheng Min stared at him for a long time, then obediently leaned in to kiss him, lovingly kissing the ugly scars on his body.
“Li Xuan,” Sheng Min’s hand was placed over the other person’s heart, and with certainty, he told him, “I chose you, and you chose me. You are mine. Every inch of you, every strand of hair, is mine. You can’t give it to anyone else.”
His tone was overbearing, but his gaze was soft, enough to heal all wounds.
The moonlight fell through the window and scattered over their intertwined bodies.
Li Xuan embraced him, gently kissing Sheng Min’s moist eyes. The years of pain and grievances rushed in at once because of this person, and in the next instant, all of it vanished because of him.
“Yes.” His fingers entwined with Sheng Min’s. “All of me is yours.”
