DYH | Chapter 8

Bai Wei rushed back to his room, not because he had anything urgent to do, but simply to lock himself in and sulk. What frustrated him the most wasn’t An Tianming’s words—it was the fact that his tears were falling uncontrollably.

He had rarely cried in his life. He always thought of himself as a strong person, someone who just wasn’t prone to tears. But maybe the real reason he never cried was that no one had ever made him feel wronged before.

The last time he cried this hard was during a football match, when he saw a player—someone who was about to retire—get injured in his final game but stubbornly refuse to leave the field. Bai Wei had accepted that moment of vulnerability, even when the entire bar turned to stare at him.

But he couldn’t accept crying over his own mistakes, over his own sadness.

He shouldn’t be crying. It made him look weak. It made An Tianming seem far too important.

Bai Wei didn’t want to admit it, but his feelings for An Tianming weren’t just a simple crush. They ran deeper—an overwhelming attachment, an obsession he couldn’t control.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

Before, whenever he was in a bad mood and didn’t want to see anyone, Bai Wei would ignore knocks without hesitation. But lately, he had changed. To make sure An Tianming didn’t hate him, he had started forming good habits—like being polite.

The irony was that right now, no matter what he did, An Tianming probably couldn’t hate him any more than he already did. But Bai Wei had already gotten used to answering the door.

“Who is it?” He quickly wiped his face with the back of his hand, took a deep breath, and tried to keep his voice natural.

“It’s me.”

It was An Tianming. Bai Wei’s barely suppressed emotions surged again. He knew this was his fault. It wasn’t An Tianming’s fault. But damn it, he was still so angry.

Anyone else could scold him, belittle him, hate him—but An Tianming wasn’t allowed to.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Bai Wei said coldly. “If it’s business, Uncle Fu can handle it. You can talk to him.”

“…Xiao Wei, please. Open the door.”

For a moment, Bai Wei didn’t respond.

He could tell An Tianming was deliberately softening his tone. That probably meant he wasn’t here to yell at him again. And that made Bai Wei hesitate.

Was he here to say he forgave him? Maybe even apologize for being too harsh? But Bai Wei had barely taken a moment to think when he heard footsteps outside the door—walking away.

He froze. By the time he got up and opened the door, the hallway was empty.

—So that’s how it was.

The person he had thought was the most sincere toward him… had actually been this indifferent all along.

Bai Wei slowly closed the door again.

An emptiness he had never felt before settled into his chest, dragging him down until he could only slump against the door, exhausted, shutting his eyes.

Then, he heard a tapping sound. Against the glass.

Bai Wei opened his eyes in confusion. The next second, his expression turned into sheer disbelief. Outside his window—three stories up, where every floor had ridiculously high ceilings—was An Tianming’s head, peeking in.

His room was on the third floor. Bai Wei knew how impossible it was to climb up here.

He knew because once, when he had been locked in his room, he had tried escaping through the window. But because of the building’s structure, he couldn’t find a foothold, and he ended up getting stuck midair, screaming for help.

He knew exactly how dangerous this was. And yet here was An Tianming, clinging to the outside of his window. Bai Wei bolted forward, yanked the window open, and pulled him inside.

“Are you insane?!” Bai Wei snapped. “If you fell, you could’ve been crippled!”

To his frustration, An Tianming nodded. “I am insane,” he admitted readily. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have tried to push you away before.”

Bai Wei blinked, confused. When had An Tianming ever pushed him away? Still catching his breath, An Tianming finally steadied himself. Then, he grabbed Bai Wei’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Xiao Wei,” he said, “give me two minutes. Let me apologize.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Bai Wei muttered.

It wasn’t even a lie—he really did think that. But deep down, he wanted to hear an apology. Because there was too much resentment, too much hurt, and nowhere for it to go.

“I was wrong,” An Tianming said firmly. “I was wrong from the very start.

“I always thought you were arrogant, like you were looking down on everyone from above.

“But I was wrong.

“At least… I wasn’t thinking that way because it was true. I thought that way because I was insecure.

“The one who cared about status between us wasn’t you—it was me. I was the one who thought you were lowering yourself to ‘give me charity.’ I was the one who projected my own insecurities onto you.”

Bai Wei just stood there, stunned.

An Tianming continued, “I accused you of looking down on Xiao Han. But in reality… I was just afraid that you looked down on me. My pride wouldn’t let me risk that. So instead of waiting to see if you actually thought that way, I tried to look down on you first.”

“I never looked down on you. I never looked down on Xiao Han…” Bai Wei whispered.

“I know.” An Tianming nodded. “That’s why I was wrong.”

This—this was too much. Bai Wei had braced himself for rejection, for indifference, for distance. But this? He had to take a moment to process.

“…So, you’re not mad anymore?” he finally asked.

“I shouldn’t have been mad to begin with.” An Tianming looked at him, completely serious.

Bai Wei wanted to laugh. The weight in his chest that had been suffocating him all this time—it suddenly felt lighter. Just a little.

Bai Wei felt that the other party had every reason to be angry. However, wisely, he didn’t bring up Jian Xiaohan. After thinking for a moment, he recalled a more important question:

“Do you still look down on me?”

“You think I’d risk my life climbing up to the third floor just to apologize to someone I look down on?”

Bai Wei felt that this was hard to say. An Tianming was always hot and cold toward him—sometimes warm and sincere, other times distant and unapproachable.

After a long silence, Bai Wei softly shifted the topic:

“Then… would you look down on me for being a ruthless homosexual?”

An Tianming let go of Bai Wei’s shoulders and instead took his right hand, holding it gently.

“Last time, when we had a disagreement and made up, I asked you—if this time it was me who wanted to be friends with you, would you refuse? At that time, you were very generous in accepting it. So, this time, can you be just as generous?”

Bai Wei didn’t entirely understand what An Tianming was trying to say, but his heartbeat instinctively quickened. He lowered his head, looking at their clasped hands.

“This time, it’s your turn for what?”

An Tianming locked eyes with Bai Wei and slowly, word by word, said:

“It’s my turn to say that I like you.”

A long silence.

Bai Wei was dazed for a moment before recalling something:

“But you said you already liked someone?”

“That person was you,” An Tianming answered without hesitation. “Back then, when you asked me why I didn’t like that girl, I actually really wanted to say—I like someone who’s a little headstrong, maybe even a little selfish, but still the kindest person in the world.”

Bai Wei looked away, avoiding his gaze. This didn’t make sense. An Tianming had just said something so ridiculously over-the-top, so why was it him who was blushing?

“I haven’t been a ‘boy’ for a long time.” He tried his best to act composed.

An Tianming held back his laughter and asked with a straight face:

“You’re not a boy? Then when exactly did you turn into a girl?”

“If you’re willing to acknowledge that I’m a grown man, then I’ll…” Bai Wei genuinely saw himself as a mature adult. But right now, he felt like a clueless teenager experiencing his first love, completely flustered. His face was burning as he searched for the right words.

“…Then I’ll be generous one more time.”

An Tianming chuckled softly and replied in a low voice:

“Deal.”

Their hands were still intertwined, and Bai Wei was reluctant to let go. An Tianming was so close to him, and for the first time, Bai Wei felt an overwhelming sense of contentment.

From the very beginning, Bai Wei could tell—An Tianming’s attitude toward him was different from how he treated anyone else. He had always wished that one day, An Tianming would see him in a way that was different from how he saw everyone else.

Recently realizing his own orientation, Bai Wei wasn’t entirely mentally prepared for intimate interactions between two men. But at this moment, when he looked up at An Tianming, he had an overwhelming urge to kiss him—not in the way friends would, but in a way that meant something entirely different, something that spoke of giving and receiving without holding anything back.

However, just as Bai Wei was about to act, An Tianming, slightly surprised, reached out and gently touched the corner of his eye and his cheek.

“You cried?” he asked softly.

Bai Wei wanted to deny it—this was too embarrassing. But then, he had a second thought. Why should he care about embarrassment in front of An Tianming?

This man had seen him at his worst, had tolerated him at his worst. If it was just a little display of weakness, why bother hiding it?

“I’ve never been yelled at like that in my entire life. I have the right to cry.”

An Tianming quietly gazed at Bai Wei, who was defending his own right to cry.

“I’m sorry, Xiao Wei,” he said gently.

“Even though what you said wasn’t right, what I did wasn’t right either. We’re even. You don’t need to apologize.”

An Tianming shook his head in disagreement.

“I should apologize. You didn’t make me cry, but I made you cry. That’s not fair.”

Bai Wei hesitated for a moment, then cautiously observed him.

“Are you mocking me for being a crybaby?”

“Of course not.” An Tianming’s expression was serious, his tone sincere. “In fact, I’d rather you be more of a crybaby.”

“There are many people in this world who, when faced with sadness, don’t shed tears—not because they’re strong, but because they’ve already cried too much. They’ve run out of tears, and there’s nothing left for them to shed. The ones who can still cry are actually the luckiest ones, because they haven’t had to use up all their tears yet.”

“Xiao Wei,” he paused for a moment before continuing, “I hope you never run out of tears in this lifetime.”

At that moment, Bai Wei truly believed An Tianming’s ridiculously cheesy words. It took him four years to finally understand that those words were a lie.

—How could An Tianming really hope that he’d never run out of tears?

An Tianming only needed a single day. And in that single day, he made Bai Wei use up every last tear he had for a lifetime.