Chapter Seventy-Seven: Confession and Heartfelt Exchange

Cheng Jiu hadn’t been awake for long before he dozed off again. In the end, he wouldn’t let Xin Gan leave, grasping her wrist—even as he slept, he held tight, refusing to let go.

Such childish behavior was truly immature.

Madam Cheng originally wanted to stay longer at the hospital to watch over Cheng Jiu, but it was Cheng Hui, mischievous as ever, who persuaded her not to disturb the pair. Cheng Jiu had just awakened, and surely wished to spend more time with Xin Gan.

His awakening meant his recovery was promising; as long as he rested well, he’d remain in the hospital for now.

Xin Gan had been coming home late these days. Her mother assumed she was keeping Cheng Jiu company at the hospital and said nothing, though she worried about her returning so late. She still chided her gently, telling her not to stay out too late, as lingering in the hospital might disturb Cheng Jiu’s rest.

Xin Gan didn’t want to come home late either, but Cheng Jiu’s condition wasn’t ideal—likely some aftereffects. He was dizzy, and some wounds hadn’t healed yet. Each time his dressings were changed, Xin Gan couldn’t bear to watch, waiting outside the ward.

Only after the nurse finished would Xin Gan enter again. He’d be dressed, sitting upright, and ask her, “I nearly forgot to ask—are you not working anymore?”

She had been working at Song Chen’s company, but since Cheng Jiu had fallen unconscious, she hadn’t gone in, and felt awkward about continually asking for leave. She had spoken to Song Chen, resigning, as she had no idea when Cheng Jiu would awaken.

Her job at Song Chen’s company had never been her own choice, and there had been some conflict with colleagues—workplaces are complicated. She hadn’t wanted trouble, but that hadn’t stopped others from seeking it.

Xin Gan replied, “I’m not going anymore.”

“Because of me?”

“Yes.” She admitted it outright. There was no point in being coy—it would only embarrass her further if he saw through it.

Cheng Jiu beckoned her closer. “Come here. Why are you standing so far away? Are you afraid of me?”

Xin Gan shook her head and stepped closer.

Cheng Jiu, weak as he was, could do little even if he wanted.

He asked, “Does your stomach still hurt?”

“No, not anymore.” It had only hurt those first days. The pain was harsher this time than ever before—probably from lack of rest and irregular meals.

Cheng Jiu had quietly asked the nurse about how long Xin Gan stayed during his coma—if he asked her directly, she probably wouldn’t tell him.

After explaining, the nurse added, “A few times, I saw her nearly in tears. She was genuinely worried.”

If she hadn’t cared, she wouldn’t have stayed day after day, scarcely leaving.

Thinking of this, Cheng Jiu couldn’t help but smile and teased her, “That day I woke up, you were clearly hiding by the door, peeking in. Why didn’t you come inside?”

Xin Gan was surprised. “You saw me?”

“If I hadn’t, how would I know you were at the door?”

She was stunned again. “There were so many people—I thought you wouldn’t notice me.”

Cheng Jiu smiled, saying nothing.

She’d hidden by the door, reluctant to enter, but he’d noticed easily. When one cares, it’s not hard to see.

...

Cheng Jiu spoke on the phone with Commander Meng, telling him he’d regained consciousness. They chatted for a long while, until the nurse brought his medicine and reminded him to take it, prompting him to end the call.

He Chuan came to see him at the hospital after seven in the evening. The moment he entered, he mocked Cheng Jiu. Xin Gan was out, so He Chuan spoke freely.

“Xin Gan’s been taking care of you for so long. Aren’t you going to do something real for her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Get registered. Marry her. Make it official so you don’t have to worry about her running off with someone else.”

He Chuan made it sound so easy, but getting a marriage certificate was no simple matter.

Taking advantage of Xin Gan’s absence, He Chuan, unchecked, said, “While you were out, Xin Gan was really upset. You could tell she cared for you—what I don’t get is why you two are still so awkward. She doesn’t seem particularly warm to you. Did you upset her again?”

Cheng Jiu changed the subject. “Do you have a cigarette?”

“Are you trying to die? In your condition you want to smoke?”

“Just let me smell it.”

“Forget it. I won’t be responsible for you. Behave yourself—when you’re better, no one will stop you from doing whatever you want,” He Chuan said, grinning wickedly, his tone full of innuendo.

Men, after all, have such flaws.

His injuries wouldn’t heal soon—he’d be stuck in the hospital for some time.

He wanted to be discharged; he’d mentioned it to Commander Meng, who’d scolded him for being foolish. He hadn’t been awake long enough, and until fully recovered, discharge was out of the question.

When Xin Gan returned, He Chuan fell silent at once. Seeing the fruit in her hands, he realized she’d gone to buy some.

He Chuan didn’t stand on ceremony, wiping his hands clean and peeling an orange, asking Cheng Jiu as he did, “By the way, I haven’t asked—when are you transferring back? I heard Uncle Cheng say you plan to.”

Xin Gan hadn’t known about this, and when He Chuan brought it up, she drifted off.

Cheng Jiu glanced at her, noting her reaction, but couldn’t read her thoughts. She seemed not to have heard.

He said, “We’ll talk about it later. It’s not the right time yet.”

“So, when your injuries heal, you’ll go back?”

“Yes.” Cheng Jiu’s answer was brief, offering no more detail.

He Chuan didn’t press, only reminding him, “Take care of yourself.”

After He Chuan left, Xin Gan hesitated for a few minutes, then asked, “Did this accident have anything to do with what happened on the plateau before?”

It wasn’t unreasonable for her to make such connections.

Cheng Jiu skirted the issue. “A little.”

He wouldn’t talk about it if he didn’t want to.

Xin Gan sighed inwardly, asking softly, “Have you ever been injured before?”

“Yes.” Large and small, his body bore many scars. Flesh and blood—how could one not be hurt?

There was no need to hide such things from her. “Are you scared?”

Xin Gan was silent for a moment, placing the peeled orange on the table, looking into his eyes. She said earnestly, “Of course I’m scared—how could I not be? I just hope, if something like this happens again, you’ll be more careful.”

Cheng Jiu sat upright, listened carefully, nodded, then called her, “Come here.”

“What?”

“My back wound itches. Could you take a look?”

Xin Gan didn’t hesitate, stepping forward with concern, ready to check his injury.

She was unguarded, so when she approached, Cheng Jiu took hold of her wrist and pulled her into his arms. His arms bore only minor wounds, none on his hands, and he no longer needed an IV—his hands were free to embrace her.

Startled, Xin Gan cried out, hands braced against his thighs, unwilling to struggle for fear of hurting him.

Cheng Jiu took advantage of this, without fear of her anger.

Xin Gan realized what was happening, but didn’t protest. Instead, she worried for his injuries and whispered, “Let me go first—I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

Cheng Jiu said nothing, nor did he release her. His fingers circled her nape, holding her close. His palm was hot, making her ears flush and burn; she didn’t dare look at him, especially being so near.

Cheng Jiu said, “Xin Gan, there’s something I really want to try now. May I?”

She wasn’t foolish; she understood his intention. She didn’t resist, but her gaze flickered, too shy to meet his eyes. She answered softly, “I… I suppose so.”

With her consent, Cheng Jiu smiled and leaned in to kiss her.

Xin Gan had never experienced a kiss that required permission. Before she could process it, her mind emptied, floating in confusion. To cooperate, she maintained her bent posture for a long time, until her neck ached.

She truly didn’t understand—she’d never had a boyfriend, nor kissed anyone. Theoretical knowledge was one thing, but practice was entirely different.

After a minute or two, Cheng Jiu finally let her go, their foreheads touching. His lips were flushed, and he asked, “So obedient?”

Xin Gan gently pushed him away, straightening up to regain her composure.

Cheng Jiu stared at her. “Can we move the timeline up half a year? I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Xin Gan’s cheeks were scarlet. “Do you want to hear about He Cheng? Let me finish, and then you can decide.”

Cheng Jiu hadn’t expected her to confess so directly, and was taken aback. “Go ahead.”

Xin Gan was uncertain—mentioning He Cheng, she didn’t know if Cheng Jiu would mind. Most men would; it concerned her reputation.

Better for her to tell him herself than for him to hear it from others.

It was her own confession—she’d made things clear and hadn’t hidden anything.

...

He Cheng’s company was eager to promote him, pouring resources into getting him a supporting role in a drama. Though it was only the second male lead, it was a starting point—far better than those without connections.

With the show underway, He Cheng’s schedule was less flexible. Even leaving the set required informing his agent and reporting his whereabouts. He hated restrictions, and by the second week, his patience wore thin. His temper flared, and he’d snap at his assistant—a young, cute girl who dared not protest.

Later, He Cheng noticed the assistant bore some resemblance to Xin Gan, especially when she frowned and seemed on the verge of tears. Xin Gan had cried before him, and thinking back, he realized he’d started liking her then.

After filming a scene, the assistant, having composed herself, hurried to bring him a chair, asking timidly, “Would you like some water, Cheng, or something to eat?”

“No need.” He Cheng played with his phone, not looking up. “What’s your name?”

She’d been his assistant for half a month, yet he didn’t know her name. She answered, “I’m Ah Zhou—‘Zhou’ as in ‘day and night.’”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Not in school anymore?”

“Dropped out—couldn’t afford tuition.”

He Cheng chuckled. “How pitiful.”

His words weren’t genuine sympathy—Ah Zhou could sense it. He wasn’t easy to serve, his temper terrible, but she couldn’t afford to offend him. She needed the job to survive.

He Cheng asked, “Got a boyfriend?”

“No, no…” She had no time for relationships, though his questions felt odd.

He Cheng put away his phone and finally looked at her. “Sorry, I was in a bad mood before and snapped at you. Don’t take it to heart. I’ll change. Let’s work together—take good care of my daily needs, and I’ll tell the company to raise your salary.”

Ah Zhou was delighted at the promise of a raise, forgetting past grievances. He’d apologized, and she smiled, “Thank you, Cheng. It’s my duty.”

“Order a bouquet for me—send it somewhere and sign my name.”

“Okay. Any preference for the flowers?”

“Whatever—chrysanthemums, white ones.”

He Cheng sent her the address. Ah Zhou didn’t think much of it, and waited for a break in filming to contact the florist.

...

After Xin Gan finished her confession, Cheng Jiu was silent for a long time. She felt uneasy, convinced he minded, or else he wouldn’t say nothing.

The more she thought about it, the more disappointed she became. But perhaps it was for the best—if he minded, this could be the opportunity to call off their engagement, which would suit her.

She’d already planned how to explain the broken engagement to her family, soothe their emotions, and then confess her plans to immigrate. After that, everything would be easier.

She wasn’t particularly fond of him—not indispensable, nor would she be unable to live without him.

So it wasn’t so painful.

He said nothing, so Xin Gan broke the silence. “If you’ve nothing else to say, I’ll pretend what just happened didn’t. If you’re disgusted or dislike me, we can break the engagement.”

“Cheng Jiu, don’t worry—it’s my issue. You can blame me; no one will fault you. It’s my responsibility.”

She’d said all she could, even taking the blame to relieve him of any burden. Cheng Jiu’s gaze darkened, and after a long pause, he suddenly laughed. “Xin Gan, I haven’t said a word, and you’re already afraid I’ll leave you?”

Xin Gan: “…What do you mean?” Again, no answer.

“It’s not your fault. Don’t shoulder it alone. I won’t dislike you, or be disgusted by you. I mean it about marriage—I want you, seriously.”

After hearing what He Cheng had done, Cheng Jiu felt only guilt. If he’d paid more attention and gotten to know her sooner, none of this might have happened.

But it was too late now.

Xin Gan didn’t know how to respond, stunned. “But…”

“There’s no ‘but.’”

She sat beside him, looking up into his eyes. “You won’t regret it?”

“I won’t.”

At last she relented. “Let’s try, then.”

...

The flowers He Cheng had ordered for delivery arrived at the ward. Cheng Jiu received them; Xin Gan was already home, resting. He opened the card—He Cheng’s name was signed, and his face darkened completely.

Clearly, He Cheng had been to the hospital and knew of his coma.

He hadn’t minded before, given He Cheng was He Chuan’s brother, and had let He Cheng taking Xin Gan slide. But now, while he was unconscious, He Cheng dared to harass and provoke him—shameless. No wonder he’d taken secret photos of Xin Gan.

When Xin Gan got home, she carefully showered, stood before the mirror for a long time, and saw the smile she couldn’t suppress. She felt happy—confirming their relationship was more joyful than she’d imagined.

Even at dinner, her mother noticed something was off—she was cheerful, and asked her what was going on.

Xin Gan hurriedly answered, “Nothing.”

“Don’t pretend. You’re so stubborn,” her mother teased, and the topic turned to Cheng Jiu. “He’s recovering well, isn’t he?”

“He is.”

“That’s good. Your father was saying this morning, in a few days we’ll arrange a meeting between the two families, talk about your situation, and set the date. We can start preparations early.”

“Isn’t that too rushed?”

“It’s not. Your mother hesitated, deciding not to say more.”

“I’m a little scared.” She’d only just accepted Cheng Jiu—it felt too fast to marry.

“Don’t be afraid. Everyone goes through this. Your cousin’s doing well now, and look how Song Chen dotes on her.” Her mother added, “When I thought Cheng Jiu wouldn’t wake up, I feared he wouldn’t pull through, so I said some selfish things. Forget them—Mom didn’t mean it.”

Xin Gan understood and nodded.

Her father wasn’t home, so her mother spoke privately.

“By the way, you’re not working at your brother-in-law’s anymore, right? Don’t rush to find another job. Cheng Jiu isn’t discharged yet—spend more time with him.”

The Xin family didn’t need her salary—her marriage was the priority.

...

Soon, the day for the families to meet arrived. Cheng Hui had finished military training, tanned, and Cheng Jiu could walk again—his good constitution aiding a swift recovery.

Both families gathered at the hospital, considering Cheng Jiu couldn’t be discharged yet.

The elders were present. Xin Gan stood aside, pouring tea, unable to join the conversation, which was dominated by the parents.

Cheng Jiu couldn’t get a word in either, but with his future in-laws present, he had to make a good impression, listening attentively.

Weddings were complicated. Cheng Jiu hadn’t married before and was surprised by all the arrangements, but it had to be done—it was his responsibility to Xin Gan.

Entrusting a daughter raised with care into his hands—he had to reassure them. Within his means, he’d do as much as needed, though Madam Cheng wanted a grand affair, which he opposed.

She said, “It’s not just your wedding—you need Xin Gan’s opinion.”

Madam Cheng asked, in front of everyone, “Xin Xin, what do you think?”

Xin Gan, calm, replied, “I think Cheng Jiu makes sense. The wedding is just a formality—it doesn’t need to be extravagant. I’ll go with his plan.”

She deftly handed the matter back to Cheng Jiu.

He smiled, amusement in his eyes.

Madam Cheng said, “This boy is afraid of trouble. Don’t just listen to him—your mother-in-law will make the decisions for you.”

Xin Gan’s mother smiled wryly, advising Madam Cheng, “Since the children have their own ideas, let’s respect them. If we insist, we’ll be caught in the middle.”

The fathers’ opinions were overruled by their wives, so they quietly discussed the stock market on the side.

...

In the end, Cheng Jiu’s plan was adopted—he would handle everything, without interference.

There was no time yet; he was still recovering, so they’d wait until the end of the year.

Or perhaps after transferring back to Yongcheng, then hold the wedding.

Before that, they’d register their marriage.

Cheng Jiu gave her one last chance. “Once we’re registered, there’s no going back.”

As for immigration, that was no longer an option.

Xin Gan asked, “And you—will you regret it?”

He was certain, without a hint of hesitation. “Never.”