Chapter Ninety: Too Late

Xin Gan said, "I left in a hurry and haven’t told them yet."
"Cheng Jiu’s father doesn’t know either?"
"He doesn’t."
Commander Meng moved his lips but, in the end, couldn’t bring himself to reproach her and dropped the subject.

…

At the hospital, after winding their way through several corridors, Commander Meng led her to a ward. There were guards at the door, and though they hadn’t spoken, Xin Gan kept bracing herself, wondering if he’d be like last time.
"He’s inside," said Commander Meng. "You may go in and see him."
Xin Gan nodded, her lips trembling despite herself.
The two guards opened the door for her.
Cheng Jiu sat in a chair by the window, his back to the door, reading a book. He seemed in good shape, nothing amiss at first glance.
At the sound of the door opening, Cheng Jiu assumed it was the doctor and didn’t turn around, continuing to read.
Xin Gan stared at the back of his head for a moment, then called softly, "Cheng Jiu?"
He turned at her voice, saw Xin Gan, frowned in silence, as if deep in thought. Only after a long pause did he say, "Why are you here?"
His tone sounded almost displeased that she had come.
Xin Gan hesitated, trying to sound casual. "I couldn’t reach you and was worried, so I came looking for you. But you weren’t with the team, so I asked Commander Meng to bring me here."
Afraid he’d read too much into it, she lied.
She pretended not to know anything and faced him with composure.
"Are you feeling unwell anywhere?"
Cheng Jiu set down his book, stood up, and shook his head, facing her. He wore a hospital gown, his lips slightly pale, but his spirits seemed fine.
Seeing him on his feet, whole and unscathed, with no visible injuries, Xin Gan finally let out a breath.
He looked all right—at least nothing seemed seriously wrong.
Cheng Jiu didn’t answer, his voice slightly cool: "You’re dressed too lightly."
She glanced down at her thick down coat, which was quite substantial—she was wrapped up from head to toe.
But her eyes were red, clearly from crying.
Cheng Jiu’s heart pounded; he wasn’t sure how much she knew. He beckoned her over gently.
Xin Gan’s nerves tightened, but when she saw him gesture, her eyes grew hot. She rushed into his arms and, breathing in his familiar scent, clung tightly to him.
"I’m almost ready to go home. Why did you come all this way? Planning to stay here for the New Year?"
He teased her, his broad palm stroking her hair.
Xin Gan mumbled, "I could. It’s not impossible." After all, he wouldn’t be able to go home for the New Year this year; if she stayed, it didn’t matter.
Cheng Jiu paused, a bit agitated. He didn’t want her to stay; he couldn’t control it. He sniffed and said, "Silly girl, it’s freezing here. What’s there to do? It’s livelier back home."
"But you haven’t been home for several New Years."
"So what?"
"This is our first New Year together. I want to spend it with you." She was serious.
Cheng Jiu licked his lips, thinking if she stayed, she’d inevitably see him during his treatment, which would be troublesome—nothing to be proud of.
"Let’s not. There’ll be plenty of time in the future. Stay a few days, then go home."
Xin Gan paused, biting her lip in silence, loosening her hold on him.
Cheng Jiu felt her let go, withdrew his own hand, then reached out again to pat her shoulder and adjust her hat.
As his sleeve slipped up, several tiny needle marks showed on his arm. He noticed and quickly lowered his hand, hiding them from her.
Xin Gan hadn’t noticed and looked into his eyes. "Are you sending me away again?"
He was silent for a while before answering, "Why ‘again’? It’s not like I’m always sending you away."
Xin Gan forced a smile, trying to please him. "Then don’t make me go. I just want to stay with you."
"Xin Gan…"
She looked truly on the verge of tears, her eyes red, nose stinging. She lowered her head and, carefully holding his hand, choked out, "When I said I didn’t want to be with you, you kept clinging on. Now I want to stay, and you’re sending me away. If I’d known, I never would have gotten involved with you. I’d have emigrated, gone abroad, never come back."
Seeing her so aggrieved, Cheng Jiu’s own heart twisted. At her last words, his expression changed at once. "It’s all my fault. I’m not sending you away. Don’t cry, all right?"

…

As she wished, Xin Gan stayed by his side, refusing to leave the ward.
After a while, in his arms, Cheng Jiu asked, "Do your parents know you’re here?"
"Which parents do you mean?"
He pinched her cheek. "Which do you think? Your mom and dad, of course."
"They don’t know."
Cheng Jiu grew serious. "You came all by yourself?"
"Yeah…"
He wanted to scold her, but couldn’t bear to. Instead, he reached out, pinched her earlobe, then cupped the back of her head and murmured, "Sorry to make you worry."
Xin Gan shook her head. "I’m just glad you’re all right."
Cheng Jiu’s expression grew strange. He mumbled a response and dropped the subject.
He wasn’t sure how much she knew—maybe nothing, maybe everything.
But it didn’t matter. Either way, he wouldn’t let her regret it.

…

Xin Gan only knew a little—that he’d been contaminated somehow, likely related to his mission. The details didn’t matter; she just wanted him alive.
If he really couldn’t break free, she was willing to bear it with him, no matter the consequences.
She had made this decision on her way here.

…

Cheng Jiu was afraid her presence would implicate her, which was why he wanted her to leave.

The two kept their worries to themselves, neither confiding in the other.
When the doctor came to examine him, Xin Gan left the ward of her own accord to wait outside.
Inside, the doctor checked Cheng Jiu’s condition and asked how he had been that day—any episodes, any moments he couldn’t control his emotions.
Cheng Jiu said there had been—when Xin Gan arrived, he felt agitated but quickly caught himself.
"That’s a normal emotional reaction, not a side effect of the drug. But from tomorrow, you need to start exercising, eat more, and if you feel out of control, let us know right away."
"Your physical condition is good, your willpower strong. As long as you persist, you can break free from its hold. It’s not as dreadful as you think."
Cheng Jiu understood better than anyone what it was. The doctor was helping him detox—it was painful, but he could endure it.
Still, the damage lingered, leaving some lasting effects.
After the check, as the doctor was about to leave, Cheng Jiu stopped him. "There’s something I need your help with."
"Of course. If I can help, I will."
"Please don’t tell the girl outside about my situation. She doesn’t know, and I don’t want her to."
"Of course. That’s Commander Meng’s wish as well." The doctor understood and asked no further questions.
"Thank you."
"No thanks needed—it’s our duty."

…

Cheng Jiu’s worry was unnecessary. Xin Gan would never ask the doctor; if Cheng Jiu didn’t want to talk, she wouldn’t force him.
Just having him back alive was already a blessing.
After the doctor left, Xin Gan composed herself and went in. He was putting on his coat. Seeing her, he said, "Can you scratch my back? It’s suddenly itchy and my arms are too weak to reach."
"Sure," Xin Gan replied.
"Reach in from the collar."
"Okay." She rubbed her hands warm before slipping them inside.
"A little to the left, down a bit—yes, there."
Their posture was a bit awkward, but Xin Gan was focused on scratching his itch and didn’t think much of it.
Suddenly, someone barged in without knocking and froze at the sight of them.
"Sorry, go ahead, I’ll come back later."
Xin Gan quickly pulled her hand back, hiding it behind her, blushing furiously.
Cheng Jiu, displeased, frowned and called out, "Come back. If you have something to say, say it."
It was Commander Meng’s secretary. He cleared his throat, embarrassed to meet Cheng Jiu’s eyes. "Commander Meng says your apartment is ready for Miss Xin to stay in. She shouldn’t be staying here at the hospital with you—it’s not convenient for a young woman. Don’t keep her too late."
Cheng Jiu waved him off. "Got it. You can go."
After the secretary left, Xin Gan said to Cheng Jiu, "There’s no need to trouble Uncle Meng. I can just stay at a nearby hotel—it’s convenient for visiting you."
"Can’t bear to be apart from me?" he replied shamelessly.
Xin Gan hesitated, then admitted, "Yes, I can’t."
Before, she would never have confessed such a thing. It showed that she truly cared for him.
Cheng Jiu took her wrist and pulled her into his arms.
It was warm inside, with the heater on. Xin Gan took off her coat and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.
In the quiet, they nestled together, each unwilling to let go of the warmth they found in the other.

…

Xin Gan sent a message home to let her family know she was safe in Beiyu, and would be home after a while.
Her being in Beiyu meant she had come for Cheng Jiu.
She didn’t tell her family what had happened to Cheng Jiu, not wanting to worry them. In fact, she didn’t want to tell anyone, not even her family.
She was protecting him.
During her time at the hospital, many people came to see Cheng Jiu for discussions; Xin Gan always left them privacy and never asked questions.
She understood that some matters were extremely sensitive—especially what he had become involved with.
She had looked up information online and felt as if she had plunged into an icy world.
Her work at the studio was managed by her assistant; her whole heart was in Beiyu, with Cheng Jiu.
During his hospital stay, Cheng Jiu had few visitors; perhaps it was not permitted. Commander Meng was busy, occasionally calling to check in, reminding him not to let down his guard.
Cheng Jiu always said he understood.
As the New Year approached, Cheng Jiu’s father called.
Cheng Jiu went outside the ward to answer, clearly with things he didn’t want Xin Gan to hear.
Inside, Xin Gan was peeling an apple and, distracted, cut her finger, drawing blood.
Wincing in pain, she hurried to rinse it under running water.
Outside, Cheng Jiu’s father said, "Commander Meng told me you’re doing well. Don’t worry about things at home—just focus on your recovery. Tell Xin Gan that if you can’t come home for the New Year, stay in Beiyu; I’ll speak to her family.
Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Just get well. If you can’t return to work, it doesn’t matter…"

…

When Cheng Jiu returned, Xin Gan had just stepped out of the bathroom. She smiled and said, "I finished cutting the apple. Do you want some?"
Cheng Jiu walked over, and, unable to help himself, bent down and kissed her, murmuring, "This year it’s just the two of us for New Year. Sorry to make you settle for that, Xin Xin."
Xin Gan, breathless, clung to his shoulders. "It’s all right. We have so much time ahead of us… I’m not worried…"

…

Cheng Jiu recovered well, never letting Xin Gan see him in too much pain. He successfully completed his detox, though he’d lost a lot of weight, his features grown even more striking and angular.
The doctors said he could go home to continue treatment, needing no further medication. As long as he kept himself in check, there would be no major problems.
But self-control is easier said than done.

Cheng Jiu knew this all too well.
They moved back into a house in the team’s residential compound. Commander Meng arranged some supplies, but Cheng Jiu refused, choosing instead to buy what they needed himself. With only two of them, it didn’t take long.
It was snowing outside, bitterly cold, the streets deserted.
Commander Meng’s wife had come to Beiyu for the holiday; she made dumplings and sent them to Cheng Jiu and Xin Gan.
There were too many, so Cheng Jiu put the rest in the freezer to thaw as needed.
Xin Gan didn’t know about this; only when she checked the freezer and asked did Cheng Jiu explain where the dumplings had come from.
When she cooked them, they turned to mush.
Cheng Jiu clicked his tongue in disdain. "These must be Commander Meng’s handiwork. If it was his wife, they’d never fall apart."
Xin Gan laughed helplessly. "Don’t shift the blame. Dumplings are best fresh. You’re ruining them."
"Unjust accusation! I’ve known Commander Meng for years. I know exactly what his dumplings are like." Still grumbling, he fished the soggy dumplings out with a big bowl, washed the pot, and fetched fresh vegetables and meat from the fridge.
Xin Gan asked, "Are you making something else? There’s plenty already."
"You don’t have to eat dumplings. I’ll make you fried rice."
"Why can’t I have dumplings?"
"They’re mush. I’ll eat them. You have fried rice." Rolling up his sleeves, Cheng Jiu got to work, slicing and frying with practiced ease, not letting Xin Gan watch.
By chance, she caught sight of several dark dots on his arm—old needle marks, not yet faded.
She pretended not to see and went to sit in the living room.
Cheng Jiu, back in the kitchen, paused, staring at the skin exposed by his rolled-up sleeve, silent for a long time.

…

At dinner, his sleeves were down. He ate quickly, polishing off a large bowl of dumplings.
Xin Gan had little appetite, eating slowly, unable to meet his eyes.
She thought herself strong, but seeing the marks on his arm, sharp pain twisted her heart, leaving her almost breathless.
After the meal, they sat together watching TV. Xin Gan, distracted, leaned her head on his shoulder and whispered, "I washed your bedspread this morning, so you don’t have a quilt tonight. You’ll have to squeeze in with me."
Cheng Jiu, holding the remote, said nothing, his mood sinking. He had rarely lost control of his emotions before—never, in fact.
He remained silent.
Xin Gan took his hand, comparing the size with her own, also in silence.
"Xin Gan, I…"
"You keep pushing me away, but I’m not afraid. What are you afraid of?"
Cheng Jiu pressed his lips together, not daring to look at her.
Xin Gan straightened, clasping his hand tightly. "No matter what you’re like, I love you. Every part of you is you. Because you’re you, I can accept anything, unconditionally."
She guided his hand to her waist. "I remember what you said last time—that next time you wouldn’t let me go. Cheng Jiu, a man keeps his word."
Cheng Jiu swallowed a few times, but said nothing.
He had lost all confidence.
Xin Gan leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. "I miss you, Cheng Jiu—miss you so much…"
Even seeing him every day, she missed him still.
But he didn’t respond.
Xin Gan coaxed him gently and patiently, seeing the light in his eyes gradually dim, as though he feared her seeing him as he was now.
"Cheng Jiu, let me see if you’re all right…"
"You’ll be scared and disgusted. Don’t look—not this time, all right?"
"That’s just what you think. I don’t feel that way."
Cheng Jiu’s voice was hoarse. "Xin Gan…"
She cupped his face in both hands, her thumbs tracing his brows, and kissed the tip of his nose, tender and devout, aching for him.
"Never. None of what you say is true. Don’t you know what kind of person I am? If I didn’t think you were good, I never would have married you."

…

Outside, snow was falling thick and white.
From below, the blare of a loudspeaker sounded—Commander Meng’s booming voice, as if he were scolding someone.
Their apartment was on the fourth floor, so his shouts were clearly audible.
Cheng Jiu’s thoughts were interrupted. He reluctantly pulled away and murmured, "The soundproofing here is terrible. We can’t stay too long."
Xin Gan’s lips were flushed, and she smiled. "I don’t think it’s the soundproofing."
"What time is it? Doesn’t the old man have anything better to do at night?"
Xin Gan lay atop him, tracing circles along his arm, giving it a playful squeeze—hard as a rock, all muscle.
The noise downstairs faded, leaving quiet once more.
Cheng Jiu lit a cigarette, eyes narrowed, lost in thought.
Xin Gan kissed his chin. "Time for a shave."
It prickled a bit.
"Did it scratch you?"
"A little—it tickles."
"That means I’m manly!" Cheng Jiu replied in the tone of someone speaking to a much younger woman who didn’t understand. Before he met her, he’d never thought about it, but he’d always kept himself neat—never been criticized for his beard before.
"Were you always so cheeky? I never noticed."
"Changed your mind now? Too late!"
Xin Gan laughed, her eyes curving like crescent moons. She truly looked young—fair-skinned and delicate. If he took her out, people would gossip about the old bull eating young grass.