Wen Di stood at the entrance of the hotel, gazing up at the gray sky reflected in the glass curtain wall, emotions and reason warring in his mind.
At this time, in this place, it truly made one’s thoughts run wild.
Emotionally, meeting at a hotel was an obvious hint. Perhaps in a little while, that scarf would tie up his wrists, the veins in his hands would bulge as they gripped his waist tightly, sweat rolling down his chest and dripping onto his collarbone—normally, that person dressed too conservatively, not leaving much room for imagination. But the bulging shirt…the touch must feel quite good…
Then reason pulled up their chat history, and in an instant, the seductive dream shattered into pieces.
Wen Di rolled his eyes.
Given Professor’s personality, the chances of a hookup were zero. It was more likely they’d be discussing mathematical formulas of architectural aesthetics together—no, if the aesthetic formulas yielded good results, if it were the kind of possibility he speculated about…
He clasped his hands together, silently praying to all the gods and Buddhas.
Please, please, don’t let him be right…
The evening glow gradually faded, and under the night sky, the lights lit up one by one. In front of the porch, a luxury car slowly pulled in, and a uniformed concierge bowed to open the door, took the keys, handed them to the doorman, and the vehicle slowly drove off again. The process was precise and elegant; Wen Di could imagine that when the waiters in the restaurant poured wine, they would certainly use a white silk cloth pressed against the bottom of the bottle.
For the sake of appearance, he didn’t wear a down jacket today. His coat didn’t block the wind, and the chill seeped into him from head to toe, with nothing to protect his neck. If Bian Cheng didn’t arrive soon, he’d turn into an ice sculpture at the door.
Just as Wen Di’s limbs were nearly numb, Bian Cheng appeared from that Cadillac he’d bought at a 30% discount. He was carrying two bags as he walked towards Wen Di. The bags were opaque, but from the shapes, one could make out a few details. One bag seemed to contain some textiles, and the other, though opaque, had square corners poking out from the side.
The probability of the possibility he feared increased dramatically; feudal superstition really didn’t work.
Toads, beetles, bats.
“Why didn’t you wait inside?” Bian Cheng looked him over.
Please don’t ask why I’m wearing a coat, please don’t ask why I’m wearing a coat…
Then Bian Cheng said, “Aren’t you cold, wearing so little?”
Wen Di rubbed the tip of his nose which was red from the cold and gritted his teeth: “I can handle the cold.”
Bian Cheng didn’t ask any more questions. He handed him one of the bags and said: “Put it on.”
Sure enough, it was a scarf. Wen Di took out the cheap textile that had not been returned on time and wrapped it around himself, noticing that the color had brightened significantly, and even the little black balls at the ends of the fringe had vanished without a trace.
“I washed it twice,” Bian Cheng said.
Wen Di’s tone of thanks was stiffer than the marble doorpost. Then, he set his gaze on the other bag.
Bian Cheng readily handed it to him: “This is the only scent left.”
Wen Di took it, lowered his head and looked inside, then paused for a moment as if stuck before reaching in and pulling out a box.
“STENDERS,” Wen Di read the name as if unfamiliar with the words, “Cranberry bubble bath bomb.”
“Put it under the faucet, the water pressure will create bubbles.”
Wen Di loosened his grip, and the box of the bath bomb fell back into the bag. “I know, it’s written in the instructions.”
“I booked a suite. Walk through the bedroom, and you’ll see the bathroom,” Bian Cheng navigated in the illusory three-dimensional map. “The bathtub here is quite spacious, supposedly with a massage feature. It’s very comfortable, and it’s made of black granite.”
I think your brain is like granite.
Heavens really didn’t favor him at all for his long-term hunger and thirst, not even giving him a chance on his birthday.
“So,” Wen Di said, “did you come all the way here today just to invite me for a bath?”
Instead of choosing a crowded bathhouse, he picked such a beautiful and private hotel—should he even be grateful for that?
Bian Cheng looked at him for a moment, then took back the bag with the bath bomb. “No.”
Wen Di was stunned.
As night fell, the streetlights lit up one by one, outlining his sharp profile with a strip of golden light.
“Then it’s for…”
“Let’s go inside,” Bian Cheng said.
The automatic doors opened in response.
The lobby was brightly lit, with soft classical music flowing through the air. Well-dressed guests either walked or sat, and occasionally there was a restrained conversation. The scene was poised and magnificent, yet Wen Di inexplicably felt a hint of something erotic.
Bian Cheng didn’t go to the front desk to register. As they walked through the lobby, he pulled a room card out of his pocket and handed it to Wen Di: 2602.
Wen Di stared at him intently, gripping the room card tightly in his hand. The embossed gold numbers on it could be clearly felt. His head felt like a boiling kettle sealed tight with a lid, letting out a suppressed whistle.
This is fucking getting a room! Does this person know that this is called getting a room!
Bian Cheng pressed the elevator button, and the numbers slowly rose to 26. With a ding, the sound sent a jolt through his heart.
The carpeted hallway was silent as they walked. When the door opened and the card was inserted, soft wall lights cast a warm glow.
Wen Di’s gaze unconsciously drifted toward the distant floor-to-ceiling windows. The lights between the buildings were the starry sky of the city, and the torrent of vehicles flowed in the night. He pressed his hand against the cold glass and a ring of white mist condensing around his fingers.
Uncontrollably, scenes of indulgence and debauchery flashed through his mind—tall buildings, night views, floor-to-ceiling windows, shadows reflected on the glass, the winter chill outside, the gradually rising warmth inside…
The overhead light suddenly turned on, and the lights of thousands of homes were obscured by the room’s reflection. Wen Di turned around and saw the tall figure at the door…
And the layout of the room inside.
In that instant, he had the urge to dive through the window and plunge into the 80-meter concrete road below.
“This suite,” Wen Di said, enunciating each word, “has two bedrooms.”
Bian Cheng looked at him, as if he didn’t know why he emphasized such an obvious fact.
“Why on earth,” Wen Di asked in a questioning tone, “on a birthday, book a hotel suite that has two bedrooms?”
To protect privacy? To split things evenly?
What kind of brilliant idea could come from this granite-headed person?
Bian Cheng’s gaze on him was inexplicably deep, with a secret expectation in his probing look. “Take a look at this room,” he said, “what do you think?”
All that walking for nothing—he should’ve just slammed his head into the marble pillar and been done with it.
Seeing that Wen Di didn’t respond, Bian Cheng continued, “This is a global chain hotel.”
What? Was he about to advertise the hotel’s brand and standards? Wen Di frowned as a thousand methods of suicide and murder flashing through his mind. Suddenly a memory sparked: “This is kind of like the one I stayed in when I was in the U.S.”
“When did you go to the U.S.?”
“Third year,” Wen Di said, circling the living room and carefully studying the furnishings. Then he checked both bedrooms. “Yeah, it’s pretty similar.”
Although it had been five years, he was still impressed by the layout of the room, considering that he rarely stayed in high-end hotels, not to mention that such a heinous case had occurred there.
“Back then I stayed in this one,” Wen Di pointed to the bedroom on the right, “Jiang Nanze—oh, my high school classmate, he paid for it—stayed in the other one.”
Bian Cheng stood in place, but his gaze followed him. Once Wen Di finished his inspection, Bian Cheng asked, “And then?”
Wen Di shot him a questioning look.
“It’s been so long, and you still remember it so clearly. Something must have happened, right?”
Wen Di’s heart tightened.
Being deceived for both money and affection, and even drugged—that wasn’t exactly the kind of story to bring up at this stage. It wasn’t exactly a glorious history.
“Nothing happened. I’ve only stayed in a suite once, of course I remember it,” Wen Di said.
Bian Cheng looked at him for a while, his expression revealing… a sense of giving up? A kind of defeat, perhaps. Wen Di wondered where this frustration was coming from as the other party opened the cabinet in the living room, took out some wine glasses, and asked, “Want to drink some wine?”
His mind snapped back to the present.
The glasses made a crisp clinking sound: “It’s rare to celebrate a birthday, shouldn’t you have a drink?”
The atmosphere suddenly turned seductive again.
One thought to heaven, one to hell—booking a room could even conjure up the six realms of reincarnation?
What a pity. “I don’t drink,” Wen Di said, “I have alcohol-induced amnesia.”
If anything were to happen tonight, there was no way he’d let it be erased by alcohol.
After listening to his detailed explanation of the pathology and symptoms, Bian Cheng’s expression suddenly changed, shifting from dejection to relief. It was rare to see so many emotions on the professor’s face, and Wen Di found it quite intriguing.
The professor put the menu back and asked, “Those forgotten memories, will they never come back?”
“I don’t know,” Wen Di said, “but I haven’t remembered them, probably because nothing happened. We often forget everyday things.”
“If it’s not something everyday, would you remember it?”
Wen Di bit his lower lip, thought for a moment, and shook his head. “There’s no case for it, so it’s hard to say. Maybe it needs a trigger?”
“A tigger?”
“Isn’t that how it’s written in TV dramas? You need a stimulating memory that can be used as a guide, like crossing the street and almost getting hit by a car…” As Wen Di spoke, he wore an expression that suggested he was running out of ideas, “I’m just kidding.”
Such an unscientific speculation actually made Bian Cheng fall into deep thought.
“Let’s not talk about the past,” Wen Di, holding onto the last bit of optimism, tried to salvage the romantic, “didn’t you invite me here…”
The person in front of the wine cabinet suddenly stepped forward, cupped his face with both hands, and kissed him.
The author has something to say:
The professor who is often offline but occasionally performs superbly: You may not believe this, I just want to do an experiment.
T/N: trust the professor ahahaha
Keeping the literal translation for the title as I’m not sure this is from which work, but I believe this is from King Lear, Act 4, Scene 6
LEAR
When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.—This’ a good block.
It were a delicate stratagem to shoe a troop of horse with felt.
I’ll put ’t in proof, and when I have stol’n upon these son-in-laws,
Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
