The drawback was his lack of emotion. Unlike others who vividly expressed joy, excitement, sadness, or anger through animated expressions and inflections that mirrored the characters’ emotional shifts, his delivery remained flat and lifeless.
Wen Mingyu listened without getting drowsy or getting lulled to sleep and couldn’t help but feel a bit amused. Of course, he couldn’t laugh out loud. It would be too discouraging for the boy, and Mu Zhan might refuse to read storybooks in the future.
He had just tentatively asked Mu Zhan if he could tell a bedtime story, never expecting the boy to actually agree. It was rather surprising.
Was this his little brother indulging and doting on his big brother?
Wen Mingyu felt incredibly happy, his eyes crinkling into a smile.
This left Mu Zhan somewhat baffled. The story he was reading was not funny at all.
At some point, Wen Mingyu had fallen asleep. Mu Zhan snuggled close beside him, sleeping too.
In the afternoon, Wen Mingyu started coughing heavily, as though he was trying to cough up his own organs. His face was deathly pale and colorless and his consciousness was still hazy from sleep. When Mu Zhan asked him questions, he couldn’t respond in time, appearing as if he were gravely ill and nearing death.
At least, that’s how it appeared to Mu Zhan. He had witnessed concubines and princes in the imperial harem succumb to a mere chill. A sudden wave of dread washed over him. It was a fear that Wen Mingyu might simply die from this illness.
He didn’t realize it himself. But when Wen Mingyu’s coughing subsided a little and he lifted his head, he saw that Mu Zhan’s eyes were red and on the edge of tears.
Startled, Wen Mingyu quickly patted his head. “What’s wrong? Are you sick too? I told you not to get close to me.”
Mu Zhan shook his head softly, murmuring something under his breath. His voice was faint, but Wen Mingyu listened carefully and still heard it. At first, he was reluctant to give Mu Zhan a hug out of fear of spreading his cold. Hearing those words, however, he wasted no time on pulling him close and patting his back soothingly.
“It’s just a cold, a minor illness. I’ll get better soon. I won’t die. I’ll be completely recovered tomorrow, so don’t worry. It’s nothing to be afraid of.”
To be honest, Mu Zhan had not actually cried. His eyes were red, but he stubbornly held back his tears, instinctively refusing to let them fall. Yet this look was more devastating than any sobbing. So young, yet not even daring to cry, not allowing himself a single moment of weakness. What kind of environment had he grown up in to shape such a character?
Wen Mingyu no longer worried about him catching a cold. His heart ached so much he just wanted to hold Mu Zhan close and comfort him properly. He talked to him at length, telling him about Omegas, about treating him as his dearest little brother, about wanting to earn money to support him, promising they would live together someday, and that they were family now…
These were all thoughts swirling in Wen Mingyu’s mind. He genuinely cared for Mu Zhan, finding a sense of family in him. He truly wanted to stay with Mu Zhan forever.
Before they knew it, both grew weary from talking and drifted off to sleep. Tear marks lingered at the corners of their eyes, but they nestled against each other and slept with profound peace of mind.
The next day, just as Wen Mingyu had predicted, he was fully recovered. His complexion had even regained its healthy flush. The medicine had worked wonders.
Wen Mingyu stood on the ground, even jumping up and down a few times to prove to Mu Zhan just how full of energy he was.
Mu Zhan felt a little embarrassed, thinking how foolish he had been yesterday. Yet he couldn’t deny that when Wen Mingyu was safe and alive, it gave him relief and happiness.
Everything returned again to its ordinary rhythm.
Ten days later, winter break ended, and Wen Mingyu had to return to school. He took his afternoon nap and could only come back after classes ended.
During this time, Mu Zhan had to stay in the dormitory.
While in class, Wen Mingyu couldn’t help but zone out, thinking about Mu Zhan at the orphanage. He worried that he might feel lonely and isolated all by himself.
So the moment school ended, he wasted no time. Slinging his backpack over his shoulders, he dashed out of the room and back to the dorm.
Then, he threw his arms around Mu Zhan and chattered away, telling him all the amusing stories from school. He had so much to say, chattering nonstop as if he could never finish.
Mu Zhan didn’t say much, but he listened attentively. It was stark contrast to his previous cold and guarded demeanor, making him seem somehow different.
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Mu Zhan remained unmoved, still shaking his head. “I have no need for friends. This is enough for me.”
He recalled the imperial tutors, the bully who tormented Wen Mingyu, and Chen Liang among others. He disliked every one of them and saw no value in making friends.
Wen Mingyu persisted for a while longer. “You’ll be lonely staying here alone. I can’t bear to leave you.”
Mu Zhan replied calmly, “I’m used to it. Don’t worry.”
Wen Mingyu’s heart skipped a beat, his emotions tangled. Finally, he blurted out, “Don’t you want to go to school with me, Mu Mu? Then we could also play together during the day.”
Mu Zhan wavered slightly. But just as Wen Mingyu thought he would agree, he shook his head again. Mu Zhan didn’t know how much longer he could stay here.
The conversation ended on an awkward note.
The two still spoke afterwards, but the atmosphere felt subtly different.
It wasn’t until the next morning, when Wen Mingyu was about to head to school.
Mu Zhan watched him. He was clearly sleep-deprived, his eyes ringed with dark circles as he yawned. A trace of hesitation surfaced. Maybe he should agree and attend school together with him.
But then, the unexpected happened.
Or perhaps it was not unexpected at all. Signs had been there all along, like the moment Mu Zhan became invincible in the closet.
Wen MIngyu told him they would meet again after school that afternoon. He waved goodbye and smiled brightly in the sunlight.
Then Wen Mingyu turned away and slowly walked off, leaving only a small silhouette behind.
For some reason, Mu Zhan felt inexplicably anxious.
He tried to chase after Wen Mingyu, but his legs refused to move, as though they were nailed to the spot.
What was even more terrifying,
He discovered that his hand had turned transparent and was slowly fading away.
Mu Zhan’s eyes widened in shock and terror. An emotion that he couldn’t explain surged from his chest, traveling straight to his head before swiftly spreading to his entire body. The sheer helplessness of being unable to do anything left him feeling intensely powerless and miserable.
He stared unblinkingly at that unreachable silhouette. He opened his mouth to speak, the effort painfully laborious. He thought he had shouted, but only a muffled, raspy breath escaped. His throat felt as if it had been corroded by something.
The disappearance lasted only a few seconds, yet it felt like an agonizingly long eternity.
Mu Zhan disappeared like a wisp of smoke, leaving no trace but a room filled with emptiness and silence.
As if such a boy had never existed here at all.
From beginning to end, Mu Zhan never managed to utter a single word.
He could only watch helplessly until that retreating figure vanished entirely from his sight.
Only cold, pitch darkness remained before his eyes.
After the dizziness passed.
When Mu Zhan opened his eyes and regained consciousness, he found himself back in that dog hole.
His imperial brothers laughed and jostled him, ordering servants to pin him to the ground and force him to crawl through the doghole into the Cold Palace to get a good look at his insane birth mother, Consort Shu.
Mu Zhan struggled and resisted, but being so young, he was no match for them. In the end, he was shoved through.
Then, unexpectedly, he crossed over into another world.
Crawling from the doghole, he faced his imperial brothers, towering over him with scornful sneers.
Mu Zhan froze. He refused to believe it. He frantically crawled back through the doghole, desperate to return to that place.
But all he saw was the Cold Palace—barren, overgrown with weeds, cold and bleak.
Mu Zhan’s mind went black with the realization. He scrambled back and forth through the doghole several times, desperate to return. He still had so much left unsaid.He hadn’t even had a proper chance to say goodbye.
Seeing him like this, his imperial brothers laughed, calling him mad, just like his mother.
After watching him crawl through the dog hole for a while, they grew bored. They ordered servants to restrain Mu Zhan, wanting to try another form of torment. But the moment they tried to hold him back, Mu Zhan erupted. His eyes turned red as he lashed out with reckless fury, striking anyone who came near.
Logically speaking, nearly everyone present was older than Mu Zhan and should have felt confident. Yet his abnormal state frightened them. Who would reason with a madman, especially one so reckless. If they got hurt and the situation reached Father Emperor’s ears, it would be more troublesome.
So, they abandoned the boy and fled without a second thought.
Mu Zhan, however, refused to give up. He stared fixedly at the doghole.
He had obviously met Wen Mingyu over there and stayed for over a month. Yet returning here had taken less time than it takes to drink a cup of tea.
Everything seemed to have been a dream, a creation of his mind. There was no such thing as another world, nor was there ever a person namedWen Mingyu.
But Mu Zhan firmly believed it was real.
From that day on, Mu Zhan would run to the doghole and squat there, hoping to see if he could cross over again, but each attempt ended only in disappointment.
Sometimes, his dragon horns would peek out. He would touch them, thinking of Wen Mingyu’s fluffy rabbit ears, thinking of him saying he was not a monster.
He longed to see Wen Mingyu again.
As time slowly passed, the baby fat on Mu Zhan’s cheeks gradually disappeared, returning him to his former expressionless self, even more so than before. An invisible barrier rose around him, keeping anyone at a distance.
Cold and reserved, his calm demeanor made his thoughts impenetrable.
Mu Zhan threw himself into his studies. Although he had not agreed to accompany Wen Mingyu to school, he excelled in every subject in this world. He believed that if he ever saw Wen Mingyu again, he could show him his brilliant, powerful self. Wen Mingyu would surely be delighted and praise him.
But as the years passed, his mindset gradually shifted. Like a demon sealed inside a bottle, he initially held onto hope, waiting for someone to come. Yet the longer he waited, the more he felt abandoned. Once he turned dark, his mindset became twisted.
He vowed that if Wen Mingyu ever appeared again, he would lock him up and keep him under control, just to see if he had the capability to run off.
Perhaps bound by some unspoken rule, they were never meant to belong to the same world. Memories of Wen Mingyu faded quickly in his mind, growing indistinct.
Mu Zhan tried desperately to hold onto them—writing things down, drawing them out—but whenever his memories blurred, he would carelessly discard them.
This unattainable longing eventually twisted into a mad obsession.
Mu Zhan couldn’t understand it himself. How could someone he had only briefly known for a little over a month be so important? Why was he so unwilling to forget?
It was merely a fleeting warmth felt in childhood. With prolonged separation, the mind kept idealizing the person. Perhaps if he actually saw him again, he would not care anymore.
Mu Zhan gazed down at his painting. On it was Wen Mingyu as he remembered him most clearly. He painted him as he would look like when grown up. His fingertips lightly traced over Wen Mingyu’s face, his expression cold and complex.
Until the day he ascended the throne as emperor, he never saw Wen Mingyu.
But one day, a person who bore a striking resemblance to the Wen Mingyu in his painting appeared.
For a moment, Mu Zhan was stunned. In his daze, he truly thought Wen Mingyu had come to him, but then he realized nothing was the same. Even if a person grows up, they shouldn’t lose every little mannerism and habit. He should have found some familiar traces.
Someone had seen his painting, found someone with a similar build, disguised him as Wen Mingyu, and deliberately presented the person before him. All for the sake of fame and fortune.
Mu Zhan, once he understood, showed no mercy. He ordered the execution of everyone involved without hesitation.
The painting thus became a taboo, its existence unknown to all.
After a momentary ripple in his composure, Mu Zhan’s expression returned to its usual calm, his eyes as still as stagnant water.
He felt it was time to let go. These calligraphies and paintings held no meaning whatsoever, only serving to make him look utterly ridiculous.
Mu Zhan set them all on fire, watching as they gradually reduced to ashes.
Not long after that, the illegitimate son of the Marquis of Guangyang was sent to the Imperial Palace.
And as if guided by an unseen force, he made his way to that remote place.
A familiar figure stood at the doorway.
Separated by a few steps.
Separated by eleven years.
He unexpectedly saw Wen Mingyu once more.
In the cold, silent darkness, it felt as though a warm ray of sunlight had pierced through and spilled down upon him.
ChiFu: I love his povcries