Chapter 4#

His stomach was ruined like this in order to get closer to Qiao Nanqi back then.

Zhao Rong was brought back to the Chen family when he was nineteen.

This point was exactly the same as the plot in the book “The Return”. When Zhao Rong transmigrated, the original body was only nine years old. He lived in this world for ten years before reaching this time point where it intersected with the plot in the book.

Even for Qiao Nanqi, the male lead, his experiences in his youth were just simple sentences in the book, let alone for an insignificant cannon fodder like him?

He didn’t feel it when reading, but after experiencing it personally, Zhao Rong knew that the few strokes of plot and life experience in the book were just a glance for others, but for those who truly lived in this trajectory, it was the stacking of every day and every year, finally settling into a few powerless descriptions.

The reason why the original “Zhao Rong” was a cannon fodder was actually related to his background.

Strictly speaking, Zhao Rong was the illegitimate son of his father, Chen Fengnian, who was left outside.

After all, the book “The Return” had been finished for a long time, and many people’s background plots inside were very clichéd. Cannon fodders like Zhao Rong were typical of the typical. In short, it was stories like a spring breeze once, giving birth to a child privately, and so on.

Originally, with the Chen family’s status in the upper-class circle, an illegitimate son like Zhao Rong would be left outside until death, and the Chen family wouldn’t even give a glance. But it just so happened that Chen Fengnian didn’t marry until he died of a sudden illness, nor was a legitimate child born—this illegitimate son of his became the only child instead.

When Chen Fengnian was critically ill, the Chen family found Zhao Rong and brought him back. He had two cousins above him, and he ranked third.

Zhao Rong had lived the life of an ordinary person in both lives. Suddenly entering such a completely different circle, it was difficult to integrate anywhere. Even if playing, only people like Liu Shun who were a cut below the Chen family would cling to him. The main Chen family and people like Qiao Nanqi would never bring him along even if they organized a gathering.

Others called his two cousins above him “Chen Da” and “Chen Er”, but when it came to him, it was awkwardly neither here nor there, only calling him “Third Young Master”, the implication obviously very clear.

The original “Zhao Rong” slapped the male lead Qiao Nanqi in the face after provoking him because of this inferiority complex.

The transmigrated Zhao Rong didn’t have this provocative heart, but he wanted to be closer to Qiao Nanqi.

Zhao Rong, who had read the original text several times, knew very clearly that if he didn’t strive for it himself, his intersection with Qiao Nanqi in this life would only be in those few chapters of face-slapping described in the plot.

Qiao Nanqi wouldn’t approach him. He could only rely on his understanding of the characters in the plot and these relationships to walk over himself.

In Qiao Nanqi’s circle, to play together, either they looked up to you, or you could play openly.

With Zhao Rong’s illegitimate status, no matter how hard he tried, it was unlikely they would look up to him. What’s more, his two cousins were watching; where would there be a chance to be extraordinary?

Then the only way was to play openly.

How to play openly?

Don’t refuse any alcohol, don’t decline any appointments.

He didn’t have a good capacity for liquor, and at first, he didn’t even know how to play those games in night venues.

He could only force it down, bracing himself to play with those people.

Once he drank until his cheeks were red and his stomach was churning uncomfortably. He secretly ran to the bathroom to vomit for a while. Just as he walked out the door, he bumped into Qiao Nanqi.

Qiao Nanqi hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol, his back straight and his figure slender, standing in front of him, this drunkard, glowing with health and spirits.

Zhao Rong had just finished vomiting, washed his face and rinsed his mouth. His face was wet, and sweat and water were hanging on his neck.

This person looked down at him, and Zhao Rong was so embarrassed that his tongue was tied in an instant: “Qiao, Qiao Da…”

Qiao Nanqi calmly took off the scarf hanging around his neck and handed it to him: “Wipe it.”

When alone, this person liked to burn incense made of agarwood, and the scarf was soaked with a slight, clean scent of agarwood.

The subtle scent unique to Qiao Nanqi reached the tip of his nose. He took it subconsciously and wiped the water droplets off his face obediently and properly under Qiao Nanqi’s gaze. The scarf felt soft, and the fragrance was gentle and quiet, completely different from the sharp feeling Qiao Nanqi gave people.

After wiping, Zhao Rong subconsciously tightened his grip on the softness in his hand, realizing a moment later that the owner of the scarf was not him.

Looking up, he found that Qiao Nanqi had already turned and left, leaving him only a receding back. In the colorful corridor of the night venue, amidst the extremely noisy reverberations, this back was particularly quiet.

Holding the scarf, he shouted amidst the noisy music: “Your scarf—”

Qiao Nanqi waved his hand with his back to him.

Later, Zhao Rong washed the scarf clean and sent a text message to Qiao Nanqi saying he wanted to return it, but Qiao Nanqi didn’t reply at all.

Didn’t know if he didn’t want this scarf anymore, or meant to give it to him—actually, it was about the same.

Later, Zhao Rong did get closer to Qiao Nanqi and developed a calm demeanor in such occasions, but this stomachache problem could be considered permanent.

Fortunately, as Qiao Nanqi grew older, his words carried more weight.

This person’s light sentence “I don’t like the smell of alcohol and smoke” also benefited Zhao Rong. He rarely drank much after that, just sometimes his stomach would still hurt like now.

Although this matter was related to Qiao Nanqi, in the final analysis, it was his own choice.

Zhao Rong didn’t tell Fang Zhuoqun this, just attributing it to not taking good care of his own body.

“By the way,” Fang Zhuoqun’s words pulled him back from his memories, “When will those things you asked me to invest in for you be transferred to your name?”

Zhao Rong said without much care: “Just leave them for now.”

He was just keeping a backup plan; who knows if he can keep them later.

Fang Zhuoqun received another call from his girlfriend and really had no choice: “I have to go. When will Qiao Nanqi be back?”

Zhao Rong didn’t want to drag him down and lied: “Soon.”

Fang Zhuoqun walked to the door and changed his slippers.

Before closing the door, he looked at Zhao Rong lying on the sofa, glancing at Qiao Nanqi’s spacious living room out of the corner of his eye—it was either displaying piano scores that Zhao Rong would never read, or hanging paintings that people like them couldn’t appreciate.

He and Zhao Rong were half childhood friends, knowing each other since junior high. Fang Zhuoqun knew Zhao Rong’s preferences more or less. Usually, Zhao Rong liked reading books. His small apartment used to be full of books. After going to university, somehow it changed, and his home was nothing but game equipment and small toys to kill time…

In short, the room was full, not like now, where home was like a hotel.

After Zhao Rong and Qiao Nanqi got married, Fang Zhuoqun only visited Zhao Rong’s home once at the very beginning. Now, at a sudden glance, he realized where the awkwardness all along came from—this place not only lacked the smoke and fire of life, but also had no trace of Zhao Rong.

Zhao Rong turned over on the sofa, his tone casual: “What are you looking at?”

Fang Zhuoqun suppressed the incongruity of that moment, closed the door, and left.

The huge villa now only had the sound of Zhao Rong’s breathing again.

No one watching, very relaxed.

He called the team leader at the company directly to ask for leave until this weekend, then wrapped himself in the blanket like a big worm, lying sideways on the sofa, his cheek rubbing against the fluffy sofa cushion, warm all over, and fell asleep in a moment.

Qiao Nanqi didn’t return all night.

Zhao Rong had no strength to clean himself up and lay on the sofa all night.

When he woke up, everything in sight remained unchanged, looking exactly as it did before he fell asleep last night. The door to the master bedroom hadn’t been opened, and there was no trace of another person returning no matter how he looked.

Either he went to a place he didn’t know, or…

Went to find Lu Xingping again, right?

—Lu Xingping was different from him. In Qiao Nanqi’s eyes, he was an incompetent good-for-nothing, while Lu Xingping was an excellent and cheerful favored son of heaven.

Thinking of Lu Xingping, Zhao Rong thought of the shitty engagement relationship between him and Lu Xingping that existed in the original book “The Return”, and his head hurt even more.

He rubbed his forehead and turned on his phone to check.

There were messages from Fang Zhuoqun after he got home, several missed calls from his group of fair-weather friends, and even a greeting from his colleague Song Xinxin, asking why he hadn’t gone to work today. These messages filled Zhao Rong’s phone to the brim. After reading and replying, Zhao Rong felt he had forgotten something.

He zoned out for a while before remembering that he had called Qiao Nanqi three times at the moment when his stomach hurt the most last night. Until now, Qiao Nanqi hadn’t even sent a message of greeting.

The old Zhao Rong would squat by the phone, unable to resist checking every few minutes to see if there was a reply from Qiao Nanqi. Even if it didn’t come, he would still send messages to Qiao Nanqi on his own.

The current Zhao Rong just glanced at it, turned over on the bed, and yawned.

It seemed Qiao Nanqi wouldn’t be coming home at this time either. Zhao Rong looked at the calendar—a week had passed since he last went to the sanatorium.

He stayed in bed for a while at home, rested until he had some spirit, put on casual clothes, and drove out alone.

Before going to the sanatorium, he took a detour to a familiar villa area first.

Although Zhao Rong couldn’t be considered a regular visitor in this villa area, his license plate number was registered. The guard didn’t stop him, and he drove unimpeded to the front of the innermost building.

On the quiet and spacious path, Zhao Rong slowly stepped on the brake, his gaze stopping on the license plate number of another car parked at the villa entrance.

—That was Qiao Nanqi’s personal car.

Qiao Nanqi was indeed at Lu Xingping’s place again.

Melodious piano music drifted out from the villa; it was unknown whether it was Lu Xingping or Qiao Nanqi playing.

Zhao Rong didn’t get out of the car, just staring at that familiar license plate for a while.

The piano sound paused for a moment, as if a song had ended, and a new melody came after a few seconds.

He listened seriously for a while longer, only feeling that these music tunes made no difference to his ears—he really was incompatible with these things, naturally having a chasm between them.

He turned on his phone, selected a pop song to play, slowly stepped on the accelerator, and drove in the direction of the sanatorium.

The sanatorium was located in the suburbs on the edge of the city, surrounded by large patches of greenery. It took a while to drive off the highway to reach it, quiet and secluded.

This was the private sanatorium with the best facilities in Yang City. Every room number was an independent suite, and the price was also the most expensive.

Zhao Rong was a VIP here. He didn’t even need to stop the car, driving all the way in to the front of an independent two-story suite.

The care aunt responsible for taking care of Zhao Ming was already waiting for him at the door.

“Xiao Zhao is here.”

As soon as Zhao Rong got out of the car, the care aunt reached out to take the fruits Zhao Rong brought. Zhao Rong waved his hand, carried them in himself, and said: “How is my mom doing now?”

“Not very clear-headed right now,” the care aunt followed behind, “She hasn’t been very clear-headed these past few days. I’ll call you when she is?”

Zhao Rong walked through the suite and went from the back door to the small courtyard behind, seeing Zhao Ming sitting in a wheelchair, her legs covered with a blanket, basking in the sun.

Her eyes were exactly the same as Zhao Rong’s, naturally carrying a bit of a smile. Even if expressionless, her face looked pleasing and soft. Zhao Rong’s eyes and thin lips were inherited from his mother. Standing together, they naturally seemed connected, which was the proof of their blood relationship.

Zhao Ming was Zhao Rong’s only relative in both lives.

But not long after giving birth to him, Zhao Ming burned her brain out. She had fevers and got sick every few days, and there were few times in a day when she was normal.

In the past, she would still babble some silly words, but now it was rare to have a clear-headed time.

Zhao Rong walked up to Zhao Ming, but Zhao Ming still stared blankly ahead, with no interest in his arrival.

He moved a chair over, facing the sunlight and the cool autumn breeze, and patiently peeled her favorite grapes for Zhao Ming, feeding her one by one. The care aunt knew Zhao Rong’s habit; after Zhao Rong came in, she left this small courtyard to cook lunch.

Zhao Ming wasn’t clear-headed at the moment, just eating dully. Zhao Rong handed it, and she opened her mouth to eat it.

Zhao Rong originally had a lot to say to Zhao Ming.

This was the person who would never get tired of him no matter what he said, and also the person he could trust unconditionally.

But sitting beside Zhao Ming now, he suddenly had nothing to say. Actually, he understood many things himself. What he wanted, and what he couldn’t get, he was also very clear about.

He had lived two lives; he was not a confused person, just a stubborn fool.

So he said nothing.

The sunlight moved slowly with time, and the entire small courtyard was silent.

Zhao Rong accompanied Zhao Ming for the whole day, even eating lunch at the sanatorium.

In the evening, the twilight poured down. There were always only the two of them in the small back courtyard. Zhao Rong bent down and hugged Zhao Ming sitting in the wheelchair.

His voice was wrapped in a slight hoarseness from not speaking for a long time: “Mom.”

Zhao Ming had no reaction.

“Originally, I was afraid that telling you these things would affect your mood, but now you won’t remember—I want to share a piece of good news with you.”

Zhao Ming still looked ahead.

“I had a change of heart.”

I don’t want to like Qiao Nanqi anymore.