The Cold Side Character from a Male-Lead Novel is Pregnant - Chapter 33

Recently, Yan Yu felt that he and Chen Kan had entered a “pseudo-relationship mode.”

He called it “pseudo” because, in his eyes, it was more like a tacit agreement that neither side had officially signed.

For example:

In the morning, Chen Kan would brew coffee and place Yan Yu’s sugarless cup in his usual spot without saying a word.

Before leaving, they would check each other to ensure they had everything they needed.

If Chen Kan worked a night shift, the living room wall lamp would remain on, dimmed to its lowest setting. Yan Yu would usually be curled up on the sofa, a sports game muted on the television, one hand stroking the cat on his lap while the other flipped through anatomy papers in a journal. Only when Chen Kan returned would he stand up, and the two would walk into the bedroom one after the other.

Yes.

They were now sleeping in the same bed.

However, they rarely actually touched; there was always a perfect distance maintained between them.

Only occasionally in the middle of the night would Yan Yu wake to find Chen Kan’s arm had crossed the line, resting loosely on the quilt near his waist, fingers slightly curled in an unconscious gesture.

Yan Yu never pushed it away. He would simply watch the shape of that hand in the darkness, waiting for drowsiness to drag him back under.

This state was strange.

It was strange in a way that felt like many years ago, when he was still alive, and the brief, clean, indefinable relationship he shared with Fu Guanqi.

Back then, everyone thought they were dating; only the two of them understood that they were not.

Yan Yu had made a pact with Fu Guanqi: they would be together once they got into the same university, once their plans for the future were clear, and they could take responsibility for one another. Fu Guanqi had simply smiled and said, “Alright.”

That period was the most hopeful part of Yan Yu’s previous life, the time that felt most like light.

They went to school and returned home together. Yan Yu lived at Fu Guanqi’s house, and Fu’s parents treated him exceptionally well. Fu’s mother likely sensed the unique atmosphere between the two boys, but she never spoke of it, simply stepping away at the right times to give them space.

Fu Guanqi was a good person, much like Chen Kan.

He was handsome, intelligent, and steady.

He had a strong moral compass and knew how to respect people.

They talked about everything: their studies, books they enjoyed, their future aspirations, the people they knew, the antics of their teachers, and even the neighbor’s cat, which was also named Taro Ball.

They truly never crossed the boundaries of friendship. Yet, it felt as though every word they spoke was a romantic confession. When the wind blew past them, sweetness and ambiguity seemed to drift from their shoulders.

Yan Yu remembered clearly that Fu Guanqi’s eyes were just like Chen Kan’s; the corners slanted slightly downward, making his gaze appear very soft.

But later,

Fu Guanqi died.

In an effort to see Yan Yu at the cinema where he worked part-time, Fu Guanqi died in a car accident for which the other party was entirely at fault.

Yan Yu stood before Fu Guanqi’s grave for twenty years and never truly moved on. A dark thought always haunted him:

Yan Yu thought that if not for his own stubborn pride—insisting on working at the cinema instead of accepting the money Fu’s parents offered to support him—would Fu Guanqi still be alive?

But there are no “ifs” in life, and there is no medicine for regret.

Eventually, Yan Yu fell ill from the weight of his guilt and longing. At thirty-five, he collapsed at his high-pressure job and arrived in this world, where by a twist of fate, he met Chen Kan.

And Chen Kan…

Looked exactly like Fu Guanqi.

If one were to measure the resemblance, it was perhaps only sixty or seventy percent.

Chen Kan was taller and more upright; his facial structure was more developed, the lines of his bones and muscles more profound. Even the shape of his lips and ears was different.

Yet Yan Yu stubbornly felt that if Fu Guanqi had lived to Chen Kan’s age, he might have looked just like this.

When he first went on the blind date with Chen Kan under the identity of “Fang Rong,” Yan Yu only thought they looked alike; he had no intention of starting anything with him. After all, despite the physical resemblance, Chen Kan and Fu Guanqi were fundamentally different.

Chen Kan did not smile as much as Fu Guanqi.

Though he was three years younger than Yan Yu, Chen Kan exuded a cold, brooding melancholy.

Chen Kan did not act like a young man in his twenties; he lacked the “youthful spirit” that Yan Yu craved most.

Chen Kan was not a man of many words. Though meticulous and thoughtful, his core was one of silence and detachment.

If one were to use colors to map human warmth:

Fu Guanqi was a stroke of orange-red; Chen Kan was a cold blue laced with only a hint of orange.

Beyond their differing temperaments, there was a more critical point: Yan Yu had once believed that Chen Kan was merely a “paper person,” a character from a novel with no free will, only a modeled set of labels.

Therefore, no matter the circumstances, Yan Yu would never fall in love with a fictional character.

But then.

Chen Kan came looking for him time and again, using all sorts of clumsy excuses to get close.

Just like back then…

When Fu Guanqi discovered he had nowhere to stay and acted with that same diligent, awkward manner.

His late-returning soul seemed to truly have no place to rest.

Ultimately, Yan Yu surrendered.

He had no choice.

He had missed that person for twenty long years.

How long is twenty years?

It is a snap of the fingers.

Yan Yu thought he had reflected on it for a long time, but it had not been long at all. Within ten days of meeting Chen Kan, he had tacitly accepted their relationship.

One hour after confirming their relationship, they went to a hotel.

Two hours after confirming their relationship, the two “pure novices” even followed a tutorial video while making love.

After that, they did it almost every day.

But it took Yan Yu six months to realize he needed to wake up. Because no matter how much Chen Kan resembled him, he could never be Fu Guanqi.

Fu Guanqi was dead.

And even if he were just a labeled “paper person,” Chen Kan should not be used as a stand-in or become a…

Replacement.

Beyond the fact that the person in his heart was irreplaceable, Yan Yu had perhaps stayed with Chen Kan for too long, and a sense of pity and guilt had begun to rise within him. He started to feel that even if Chen Kan were merely a character designed for a novel, he deserved his own life and a relatively normal…

Romance.

Chen Kan was a good man who deserved a lover who loved him wholeheartedly.

Thus, as Yan Yu watched Chen Kan love him—growing deeper in love with every passing day—the layer of guilt in his heart thickened. Finally, when his already broken and empty heart was about to burst from the pressure of that guilt, Yan Yu decided to break up with Chen Kan.

At that time, Yan Yu thought:

The initial separation would be painful, but time always fades everything.

But…

Could it really?

Had his feelings for Fu Guanqi faded?

No.

If a romance finds fulfillment at its peak, it will eventually decay;

If a flower dies while in full bloom, it achieves immortality.

Regret is more enduring than love, and sorrow even more so.

Thus, to this day, Yan Yu doubted more and more whether his decision back then had been correct. And in the blink of an eye, he found himself standing at the next crossroads of choice.

“Turn left at the next intersection. Continue straight for four hundred meters. You are arriving at your destination.”

The voice of the navigation brought Yan Yu back to reality.

He and Chen Kan had tried to schedule this movie several times. Either Yan Yu was busy, or Chen Kan was on shift, and it had been dragged out until now. Today, Yan Yu had been out on a scene and worked overtime, but luckily he finished before nine. He sent a message to Chen Kan asking if they could still catch the midnight showing.

Chen Kan replied quickly, saying he had bought the tickets, but only a horror movie was left.

The cinema was not far from work, and the theater was small. At this hour, it seemed they were the only two people there. Yan Yu drove, looking at the night sky outside. He intended to finally speak about Fu Guanqi tonight, within the safety of that darkness.

The car entered the parking lot. Yan Yu spotted Chen Kan immediately.

He was standing beneath a row of dark red lightboxes at the cinema entrance, holding something and looking down at his phone. The light hit him from above, casting his profile in half-light and half-shadow. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

Yan Yu parked and walked over. Hearing the sound, Chen Kan looked up. He didn’t say anything, but handed over the items in his hands: a fast-food meal and a hot drink. The paper cup was warm to the touch.

Yan Yu took the cup, his fingertips brushing Chen Kan’s hand briefly before pulling away. “Have you been waiting long?”

Chen Kan took his bag. “Just arrived.”

The two walked into the cinema lobby together. The ticket collector lazily tore the stubs and pointed in a direction. They headed that way.

The theater was pitch black, save for the eerie green glow of the exit signs. Advertisements were playing on the screen, the light and shadow shifting silently. Their seats were in the middle. Yan Yu walked in first, followed by Chen Kan. The chairs made a soft creaking sound as they sat down. Yan Yu placed his drink in the holder, feeling Chen Kan sitting to his left, less than half an arm’s length away.

The air smelled faintly of cleaning agents mixed with Chen Kan’s familiar scent.

The advertisements ended, and the movie began.

The moment the opening music swelled, the entire theater was filled with light and shadow.

Yan Yu stared at the screen, but he saw nothing. He heard his own breathing and the very soft breath of Chen Kan beside him. He had been thinking about how to bring up Fu Guanqi, but after a long time, he still hadn’t found the right moment.

Finally, when the first ghost face suddenly appeared on the screen, Yan Yu took advantage of the female lead’s powerful scream to clear his throat expressionlessly. In a steady voice, he asked Chen Kan, “Did you not want to know about Fu Guanqi?”

Chen Kan had been dozing off and nearly fell asleep.

If not for the scream on the screen, he might not have even heard Yan Yu’s words. “Ah,” he grunted instinctively. “Did you and Fu Guanqi watch movies together?”

Yan Yu watched the flickering shadows on the screen, his voice flat. “I worked part-time at a cinema during my summer break in university. He often came to see me.” He paused. “The first time he came, he didn’t say hello. He just stood in the hallway outside the ticket gate waiting for me. He stood there for three hours.”

Chen Kan didn’t speak. The screen light flickered across his face.

Suddenly, he found he didn’t really want to hear this anymore.

Yan Yu continued, “The only movie we ever watched together was also a romance.”

“Oh, that’s nice then,” Chen Kan said in a flat tone. “You watch horror movies with me, and romance movies with him.”

Yan Yu ignored the jealousy in Chen Kan’s voice and continued, “Mm. I thought it was boring. He leaned on my shoulder and cried.”

A very low, mocking chuckle escaped Chen Kan’s throat. After a long silence, he asked abruptly, “What was the name of the movie you watched?”

Yan Yu said, “Titanic.”

Chen Kan was speechless.

 

As he stared down the long-haired female ghost on the screen, he made a silent mental note. When Titanic was re-released, he would take Yan Yu to see it, and he absolutely would not lean on Yan Yu’s shoulder and cry.

 

He listened as Yan Yu’s voice continued to flow, narrating the significant events of his meeting and acquaintance with Fu Guanqi. For the first time, Chen Kan realized that watching a horror movie could make one’s throat burn with irritation, and that thirty minutes could feel like an eternity.

 

He was almost tempted to say, “Enough, I don’t want to hear anymore; keep it for your own slow reminiscence,” but Yan Yu finally brought his narrative to a halt.

 

He told Chen Kan:

 

Fu Guanqi died in a car accident.

 

Breathing seemed to stop at that moment, and even the sound effects in the theater cut out abruptly. A second later, a piercing shriek erupted from the surround-sound speakers like a flash flood.

 

Chen Kan sat in the darkness.

 

The sound effects splashed over him like cold water, pouring into his ears. He did not move; his eyes remained fixed on the distorted images on the screen, his palms sweaty. Yan Yu’s voice was still swirling in his head, mixing with the current screams. He heard his own heartbeat, one, two, very fast.

 

He knew it was over. No one can compete with a dead “white moonlight,” unless that person comes back to life.

 

He suddenly became very depressed. Somehow, this horror movie had turned into Titanic, and he felt a sudden urge to cry. Fortunately, Yan Yu remained silent, as if that final sentence was his closing statement for the day.

 

The movie continued. A ghost crawled out of a mirror, and blood dripped down the screen. Chen Kan stared at it, but he saw nothing. An absurd thought even surfaced in his mind:

 

If only Fu Guanqi had been reincarnated into Taro Ball.

 

That way, Fu Guanqi could watch him and Yan Yu being intimate every day while being raised as their son. They would treat him well, find ways to “extend his dog life” at the hospital, and even grant him the title of “Prince of Mohe.”

 

Wait. Didn’t Zhang Xingzhi know a psychic who specialized in “reincarnated spirits”? He should invite her over someday to test Taro Ball. Perhaps Fu Guanqi couldn’t bear to leave Yan Yu and really did reincarnate into his dog?

 

Heh. Congratulations to him, then. He could stay by Yan Yu’s side from birth to death. On second thought, maybe he shouldn’t let Yan Yu raise the dog; he should send it to his mother’s house. He could just claim “cats and dogs don’t get along.”

 

For the second half of the movie, Chen Kan kept a long, stony face, arms crossed, staring gloomily at the screen. He was so annoyed he barely had the energy to breathe. He realized that humans are truly perverse. When you do not know your lover’s romantic history, you crave the knowledge with every fiber of your being. Now that he knew everything, he wished for a pair of ears that had never heard the story.

 

Because one can never imagine how terrifying a man’s jealousy can be; it was certainly scarier than this boring horror movie.

 

Chen Kan felt the leather of the seat was a bit cold. He moved his fingers, his tips touching the sleeve of Yan Yu’s coat on the armrest. The fabric was soft. He withdrew his hand and continued watching.

 

On screen, the ghost grabbed the protagonist’s ankle, and the character screamed. Chen Kan retaliated by grabbing Yan Yu’s wrist.

 

Yan Yu looked at him with slight surprise. “Are you scared?”

 

Chen Kan withdrew his hand and sneered at the screen. “How could I be?”

 

He wasn’t afraid of ghosts; he just wanted an excuse to touch Yan Yu’s hand. After all, his “predecessor,” Fu Guanqi, had already cried on Yan Yu’s shoulder during a movie. Was a horror movie really something to cry about?

 

The sound effects made the chair vibrate slightly, and Chen Kan felt himself trembling with anger. When a sudden explosion of sound occurred, Chen Kan instinctively leaned toward Yan Yu as if to shield him. Yan Yu moved slightly but did not reject him. Seizing the moment with a lack of propriety and a hint of spite, Chen Kan leaned close to Yan Yu’s ear and whispered something crude:

 

“I want to fuck you in this theater.”

 

It was a nonsensical sentence, delivered in a low, vicious tone that didn’t sound like a joke.

 

Yan Yu turned his head to look at Chen Kan. The light from the screen flickered across his face, making his expression hard to read. After a second, Yan Yu turned back to the screen.

 

“Are you in heat?” Yan Yu’s voice was calm.

 

Chen Kan watched him. Yan Yu’s profile was clear in the dark, his nose straight and his jawline clean. He seemed entirely unaffected by the words and had no intention of continuing the topic.

 

But Chen Kan added another barb: “Do you think your white moonlight was some pure, innocent soul? Hmph. He definitely thought the same thing; he just didn’t say it out loud.”

 

“Stop it.” Yan Yu took a sip of his lukewarm drink and placed the cup back into the holder. His movements were slow and steady. He was starting to regret telling Chen Kan so much detail. Yan Yu said, “Sit up straight and watch the movie.”

 

Chen Kan was silenced. He was even stripped of his hand-touching privileges because Yan Yu pulled his hand back.

 

He stared at Yan Yu’s hand resting on his lap, the fingers straight and the knuckles well-defined. Another scream echoed from the screen amidst shifting shadows. Borrowing the cover of that scream, Chen Kan leaned toward Yan Yu’s ear again, this time asking a question he truly wanted to know:

 

“Did Fu Guanqi ever do it with you?”

 

Yan Yu remained silent.

 

Chen Kan continued, “You said you two never had a formal relationship. So, when I’m pinning you down and you can’t even walk, is Fu Guanqi still the one on your mind?”

 

Yan Yu was startled. Chen Kan’s questions were becoming increasingly blunt and out of line. Yan Yu wanted to say no, but such words felt too much like “self-justification.” He knew Chen Kan just wanted to be coaxed, but with his stubborn and blunt nature, Yan Yu truly couldn’t force those words out.

 

So, the two of them sat there, fully aware of each other’s thoughts but frozen like two statues guarding against ghosts, stiff and awkward.

 

Finally, Yan Yu could no longer endure the tension. He said to Chen Kan, “Excuse me, I need to go to the restroom. Please let me through.”

 

He fled the theater in search of a bathroom.

 

At 11:00 PM, the cinema did indeed have a “midnight haunt” atmosphere. As Yan Yu followed the signs, Chen Kan’s crude words replayed in his head. He could understand the sentiment; if he were in Chen Kan’s shoes, he wouldn’t be able to accept it either.

 

What Yan Yu couldn’t understand was his own body. After hearing only a few vulgar remarks, he was unexpectedly starting to lactate. His legs felt weak, and the back of his neck began to burn with heat. When they were together before, he had heard far more graphic things.

 

Yan Yu didn’t have the luxury to overthink it; he just hoped to find a restroom quickly to clean himself up and put some paper in his shirt. However, as he rounded a corner, his legs gave out. Before he could reach for the wall, his vision went black, and he slid down to the floor of the hallway.

 

As he slumped down, a stretch of his pale neck and collarbone was exposed at his collar, but the back of his neck was a scorched, burning red.