Desk-mate, Do You Like Me? - Chapter 72

Chapter 72

Li Mo’s voice, though tinged with a broken sob, cut through the silence of the late night with unusual clarity: “You only see that we are two boys together and find it disgusting and abnormal. But have you ever considered, since I was little, when have I ever liked anyone the way I like him?”

He raised his tear-filled eyes, looking directly at his mother. The emotions accumulated over years had finally found a breaking point: “Yes, I won many awards when I was little and made you proud. But those trophies and certificates, I did it to please you. Studying Olympiad Math, participating in competitions, it was all to make you happy. Then you had Ye Zhong, you had Ye Jinlun, and I felt you didn’t need me anymore…”

“It’s only when I’m with Xu Qing that I feel alive. He’ll patiently teach me when I can’t solve a problem, he remembers I don’t like green onions, and he’ll secretly slip me a band-aid when I get hurt playing basketball… These trivial little things make me feel more real than any award certificate, make me feel… cherished.”

Yu Wenxiu listened, stunned. The deep-seated resentment and longing in her son’s words pricked her heart like fine needles. But her mind uncontrollably conjured up another image—Li Dong, her ex-husband, Li Mo’s biological father, the man who had also spoken gentle words to her ear but ultimately destroyed everything with alcohol and fists.

“Real? Cherished?” Yu Wenxiu’s voice suddenly became shrill, carrying the impulsive reaction of someone whose deepest wound has been touched. “What do you know about being real? How old are you? Don’t you know some people are best at pretending! Li Mo, look at whose blood flows in your veins? That bastard father of yours, when he was chasing me, he seemed more sincere than anyone!”

Li Mo’s face instantly turned paper-white. His mother’s words were like a poisoned dagger, accurately striking the most sensitive, most inferior corner of his heart. The shadow of his childhood, filled with the smell of alcohol and the sounds of smashing, that he had almost forgotten, once again enveloped him.

“So… in your heart, I’m destined to become a person like him, aren’t I?” Li Mo’s voice trembled violently, carrying a sense of unbelievable hurt. “Just because his blood flows in my veins, I don’t deserve sincerity, I don’t deserve happiness? All my feelings, in your view, are childish, disgusting, or even… an inherited defect?”

“I didn’t mean that…” Yu Wenxiu regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but pride and years of fear from a failed marriage prevented her from easily backing down. “I just don’t want you to take the wrong path! I don’t want you to be deceived and repeat my mistakes! You could have a better, more normal life, like your Uncle Ye—get married, start a family, have children, and make everyone envious! Not getting entangled with a boy like this and becoming a laughingstock to outsiders!”

“A better life? Like Uncle Ye?” Li Mo gave a desolate laugh, tears silently falling. “Mom, when you look at me, do you see me, or do you see my bastard father? Are you desperately trying to mold me into that ‘successful,’ ‘normal’ image of Uncle Ye just to prove that you were right to leave my bastard father, that your current choice is perfect? And what about me? Who am I? Am I a tool for you to prove yourself?”

“What nonsense are you talking about!” Yu Wenxiu was hit on a nerve. She stood up abruptly, her chest heaving violently. “Everything I do is for your own good!”

“For my own good?” Li Mo raised his hand, fiercely wiping away his tears, his eyes filled with despair and a clarity that was almost decisive. “When you took me away from that home at the age of eight, I was grateful to you. But that doesn’t mean you can control my life, and it certainly doesn’t mean that because you were hurt, you can conclude that the whole world will hurt me, or that my feelings are wrong!”

He lowered his head to look at the black jade on his wrist, gently stroking the cold surface, as if drawing the last ounce of strength from it.

“Xu Qing is not Li Dong. And I am not you. I will not throw away this bracelet. And I will not let go of this person. Not unless I die.”

The last few words were said very softly, yet they struck Yu Wenxiu’s heart like a heavy hammer.

Dead silence fell over the study. Between the mother and son lay not only the present conflict but also the heavy, decade-long shadow cast by that failed marriage.

The wound was brutally ripped open, seeming more difficult to heal than at any moment before this night.

…

Li Mo’s final, quiet but weighty, “Not unless I die” struck Yu Wenxiu’s heart like a bolt of lightning, stopping all her fierce words in her throat.

She looked at her son’s pale, resolute face. The eyes, so similar to Li Dong’s, now burned with a fire she had never seen—a desperate flame to defend something at all costs.

Anger, fear, and a hint of the awkwardness of being exposed—all interwoven, chilling her to the core. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something more, but found any words seemed powerless in the face of her son’s almost martyr-like gaze.

In the end, Yu Wenxiu said nothing. She looked deeply at Li Mo, her gaze complex and unreadable—there was heartache, disappointment, and perhaps a subtle, undetectable flicker of being shaken.

She turned abruptly, the sound of her high heels clicking on the floor carrying a hint of unsteadiness, and left the study.

“Click.”

The door was locked again.

Li Mo remained in that stiff position for a long time. Not until his mother’s footsteps faded did he seem to lose all strength, slowly sliding onto the carpet. He curled up, pressing the wrist with the black jade bracelet tightly against his chest, as if it were his only source of warmth. Tears flowed silently, not of grievance, but of a deep exhaustion and powerlessness.

He had never imagined that one day he would have such a fierce confrontation with his mother, brutally laying bare her deepest scars and his most hidden anxieties before each other.

…

That night, neither person in the villa slept.

Yu Wenxiu returned to her bedroom but had no desire to sleep. She stood by the window, looking out at the deep night. Li Mo’s words echoed repeatedly in her ears—”When you look at me, do you see me, or do you see my bastard father?”

This sentence clamped down on her heart like a curse.

She had to admit that Li Mo’s words had exposed a truth she might have resisted confronting for years.

Seeing Li Mo gradually develop features similar to Li Dong, a fear had always lurked deep within her—fear of the power of bloodline, fear of the tragedy repeating itself.

That was why she was more eager to mold Li Mo into the gentle, successful image of Ye Zhong, as if doing so could completely sever ties with the past and prove that her new life choice was correct and stable.

And Li Mo’s relationship with Xu Qing was undoubtedly the most complete rebellion and denial of her “molding.”

…

The next few days, the villa fell into an eerie calm.

Li Mo was completely confined to the house. His phone was confiscated, the network was cut off, and the study door only briefly opened when meals were delivered or he was allowed to go to the washroom.

Yu Wenxiu no longer communicated with him, only relaying necessary instructions through Zhang Yi. She quickly set about handling the transfer procedures, contacting a private high school in another province known for its strict management.

Li Mo was exceptionally silent. He no longer resisted fiercely, but simply sat by the study window day after day, looking at the limited sky outside. The black jade bracelet on his wrist was becoming increasingly smooth from his constant touching.

He ate very little, visibly losing weight. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed his poor sleep. But the stubborn light in his eyes had not extinguished.

Sometimes, Yu Wenxiu would see him staring blankly at the bracelet through the crack in the door, a very faint, tender curve appearing at the corner of his mouth—an expression he only made when thinking of a certain person. This expression stung Yu Wenxiu, strengthening her resolve that they must be separated.

However, in the late night when no one could see her, Yu Wenxiu would also look at the old photo albums, seeing the carefree smile on Li Mo’s face in the pictures. Then, thinking of the current cold confrontation between mother and son, a vague, indescribable ache and bewilderment would surface in her heart.

All she had done, poured out all a mother’s worry and planning, yet it resulted in such fierce resistance from her son, even to the point of threatening his life.

She didn’t understand. What kind of magic did that seemingly ordinary bracelet, that young man named Xu Qing, possess?

…

The deadlock was broken on the fourth day.

Ye Zhong returned home after a short business trip, bringing his eight-year-old son, Ye Jinlun, with him.

As soon as he stepped inside, the sensitive Ye Zhong noticed the unusual low pressure in the house. When Zhang Yi took his luggage, her eyes were evasive, and she seemed hesitant to speak.

And Yu Wenxiu, although trying her best to maintain her composure, the fatigue in her eyes and a hint of barely concealed anxiety did not escape her husband, with whom she spent every day.

“Mom!” Ye Jinlun rushed in like a small whirlwind, casually throwing his toy race car onto the expensive rug, clamoring, “I’m hungry! When are we eating?”

He glanced around, not seeing the person he was looking for, and asked imperiously: “Where’s that guy? Where’s Li Mo? Isn’t he on vacation?” His tone carried the usual detachment and slight impatience toward his older half-brother.

The innocent words only highlighted Li Mo’s somewhat awkward position in the family.

Yu Wenxiu’s smile froze for a moment. She subconsciously glanced at the tightly closed study door and scolded her younger son: “Jinlun, watch your language! That’s your brother!”

Ye Jinlun pouted, clearly not listening.

Ye Zhong observed all this calmly. He first told Ye Jinlun sternly: “Behave yourself. Go find Grandma Zhang.”

Then, he put his arm around Yu Wenxiu’s shoulder and asked gently but firmly: “Wenxiu, what happened? Where’s Momo?”

Yu Wenxiu leaned into her husband’s embrace. The pressure, grievance, and internal struggle of the past few days seemed to find an outlet. She closed her eyes, her voice slightly hoarse: “In the study. I… I locked him up.”

Ye Zhong frowned slightly, but didn’t question her immediately. He led his wife to the sofa to sit down and handed her a glass of water: “Take your time. What’s going on?”

Yu Wenxiu took a deep breath and selectively, and with her own emotional coloring, recounted how she went to A City, witnessed Li Mo and Xu Qing, and the subsequent intense conflict. She particularly emphasized Li Mo’s “stubbornness” and the “abnormal” relationship, as well as Li Mo’s final, startling threat of “Not unless I die.”

“…Azhong, do you think he’s lost his mind? He’s throwing his life away for a boy? I really… I really don’t know what to do anymore…” Yu Wenxiu’s voice became tearful, sounding vulnerable and helpless.

Ye Zhong listened quietly, not immediately offering an opinion. He knew something about Yu Wenxiu’s previous marriage and could understand his wife’s deep-seated fear of “repeating a tragedy.” But his way of looking at problems was often more rational and broad than the emotional Yu Wenxiu.

“So, you plan to keep him locked up until he ‘sees the light’?” Ye Zhong’s voice remained calm.

“I’ve started the transfer process for him. I’ll send him away in a few days! Once he’s gone from here, away from that Xu Qing, he’ll naturally forget over time!” Yu Wenxiu said firmly.

Ye Zhong pondered for a moment, gently patting her hand: “Wenxiu, leading by guiding is better than blocking. Momo is eighteen, not eight. Using force will only provoke a stronger rebellion from him. You said he threatened to die. That is an angry remark, but we absolutely cannot push him to that extent.”

He paused, looking toward the study door, his gaze deep: “Perhaps we should try a different approach. At least, let me talk to him first.”

Yu Wenxiu was hesitant. She was afraid that Ye Zhong’s soft heart would indulge Li Mo. But given the current stalemate and her own lack of options, Ye Zhong’s intervention might be a turning point.

Meanwhile, inside the study, Li Mo leaned against the door, vaguely hearing his stepfather’s low, steady voice from the living room, his mother’s tearful narration, and Ye Jinlun’s familiar, overbearing tone. His heart sank bit by bit, and the last faint expectation he had for this family gradually cooled.

Ye Zhong was back, but he was primarily Ye Jinlun’s father and his mother’s husband.

Just then, a slight turning sound came from the study door lock.

Li Mo immediately straightened up, instinctively tightening his grip on the bracelet on his wrist, and looked at the door with full alertness, like a young animal trapped for too long, ready to fight back at any moment.

The door was pushed open. Ye Zhong’s tall figure appeared in the doorway. His gaze calmly swept the room, finally resting on Li Mo’s thin, pale face, which was nonetheless filled with stubbornness.

“Momo,” Ye Zhong’s voice gave away no emotion. He gently closed the door with his back, but did not completely shut it, leaving a slight gap, as if it were a silent gesture. “Let’s talk.”