The Popular/Charismatic Beta Always Thinks They Are Universally Disliked - Chapter 42

Chapter 42: But Only Pity Remains

The fat cat, strutting arrogantly in front of Big Wen and Little Wen with a diamond bracelet around its chest, was also wearing an exaggerated Elizabethan collar to prevent it from licking its wound. The cat looked like a plump, carnivorous trumpet flower.

“He’s a eunuch cat now, and still so spirited?” Wen Zhijie made a kissing sound to tease Zhuangzhuang, his peripheral vision catching the sparkling bracelet on its neck. Then he thought, It’s normal to be spirited, after all. Anyone would be ecstatic with millions draped around their neck.

“Shhh.”

Wen Zhiyi sternly held up his index finger, motioning for Big Wen not to expose the truth in front of Zhuangzhuang.

He firmly believed the fat cat could understand.

Big Wen raised his hands in surrender, indicating compliance.

He stretched out his long legs and fell back onto the sofa. The Alpha’s standard broad shoulders and narrow waist, sprawled casually on the sofa, looked like a photoshoot. He then hooked Little Wen’s neck, pretending to be nonchalant as he spoke: “Oh, right… I heard you’re climbing a snowy mountain with Lin Chang next week?”

“To be precise, with Lin Chang and your friends.” Wen Zhiyi was tilted by his embrace, so he simply adjusted his sitting posture, cross-legged on the sofa, and corrected him precisely, “It will be about nine to ten people.”

“Alright then. I’ll let Mom and Dad know, so they won’t be eagerly waiting for us to come home for dinner next week. If you’re not going back, I’m not either.” Wen Zhijie pulled out his phone and started typing away, patiently debating the ways of family harmony with Ms. Zhao Mingzhu.

Little Wen, sitting cross-legged next to him, was chatting with Zhu Qiao.

The other party’s avatar was a selfie.

Against an extremely dazzling, high-exposure background, only the heavily made-up face was clear. The silver-haired Omega, with a cold, world-weary appearance, looked down at the camera with chilling eyes. His long, swept-up eyebrows, matching his hair color, were slightly raised. Two long fingers with protruding, bamboo-like knuckles pressed between his eyes and lips, and his thin, sharp, and cold single-lidded eyes stared deeply through the silver network woven by the exaggerated silver ring on his finger.

Zhu Qiao: “There’s something I should have given you long ago, but my memory isn’t great, and I forgot for a full two years.”

He gently rubbed his completely cracked lips, sending a voice message to Wen Zhiyi while checking the bruises and swelling on his face in the mirror. At the moment, Zhu Qiao was bruised and battered, completely losing his demeanor. The contusions and swelling across his cheekbones, brow, and forehead made him suspect he was disfigured.

The injuries were certainly not limited to his face.

Arms, thighs, waist, back, neck… he had horrifying injuries, both fatal and non-fatal, all over his body. He could be immediately registered as an assault victim if he walked into a police station. Several of his ribs were already showing signs of cracking.

Zhu Qiao had confessed to Chen Que about the videotape.

What followed was an unequivocal brutal beating.

The extremely handsome Alpha struck with a punch to the face like a madman. Zhu Qiao was instantly knocked down without resistance. Chen Que completely straddled him, landing heavy punch after punch. The muffled sound of flesh and bone colliding and grinding was like the loud clang of a bell in Zhu Qiao’s head.

And now, he was going to confess to the other party involved.

The square, sharp-edged black videotape was wrapped in a thick, oiled cowhide envelope. For the past two years, Zhu Qiao had carried it everywhere. He had retrieved the videotape from the trash bin, but ultimately failed to deliver it to Wen Zhiyi at a suitable time.

He meticulously applied medicine to the injuries on his face, using medicated oil on the bruises and bandages on the broken skin. His originally handsome, refined face was now a patchwork of colors, showing none of its original good looks.

He casually pinched a corner of the cowhide envelope and slowly said to Wen Zhiyi: “When do you have time to come out for a meal? So I can give you the thing in person.”

Wen Zhiyi replied: “If you could forget it for two years, it can’t be anything important.”

For the past two years, Zhu Qiao had been in the United States with Chen Que, occasionally exchanging superficial greetings with Wen Zhiyi.

“It’s really not important to me,” Zhu Qiao grinned, frowning involuntarily as he stretched the tear on his lip, “but to you, it should still mean something.”

He opened a video player, aimed his phone camera at it, briefly recorded a segment, and sent it to Wen Zhiyi.

The first thing that came into view was a room with a soft, elegant ivory-white color scheme. Sheer curtains, simple in style and flowing in material, fluttered slightly in the breeze. The dark solid wood furniture had a soft, elegant sheen, bearing the satin luster of meticulous maintenance. The camcorder was positioned somewhat low, quietly recording everything from a low-angle view.

The smooth, wooden floor looked warm and comfortable. The entire scene appeared completely normal—if one ignored the scattered, unknown pills and the circle of cold, black metal restraints on the bed railing.

The camera slightly shifted, aiming at the bottom right corner of the screen.

Wen Zhiyi saw Chen Que.

To be precise, Chen Que from two years ago.

Thin.

Alarmingly thin.

Combining the scene with the time in the top right corner of the videotape, Wen Zhiyi recognized that this must have been during the few days immediately after Chen Que broke up with him.

The pale Alpha, skinny to the bone, sat with his eyes closed behind the sheer curtain. He did not adopt the classic fetal position indicative of a lack of security. Instead, he sat with his legs stretched out against the wall. The bones in his wrist, resting on the floor, were visible even through a thin fleece cardigan.

He couldn’t feel temperature, so his clothes were completely haphazard; it was May or June, but he was wearing an autumn sweater.

His whole being seemed to be plummeting rapidly into a bottomless black hole. Time, temperature, direction, perception… all became distant, abstract concepts.

Chen Que sat quietly on the floor. There were still marks left by the binding straps on his temples and cheeks, like a peregrine falcon that had been overly restrained; even abruptly regaining freedom, it was disoriented, not knowing where to go.

His pale, long fingers twitched slightly. The tall Alpha in the video gently opened his eyes. His pupils, black as holes, were unfocused as he stared straight ahead. Then, with extreme difficulty, he reached for a faintly shimmering, circular object in front of him.

It was a ring.

Chen Que rubbed the ring, and then, briefly and fragilely, let out a tiny sob.

Honestly, Wen Zhiyi greatly doubted whether it was truly a sob.

Too short, too muffled, too painful.

It seemed to be a complex emotion that tears alone could not express.

Chen Que never shied away from showing vulnerability or honestly expressing emotions in front of his little Mr. Wen. He cried when he was in pain, smiled when he was joyful, and in periods of rut, he had cried fragilely while hugging Wen Zhiyi and begging for a kiss. When alone, he could endure all manner of suffering, but in front of Wen Zhiyi, he was like a defeated general throwing down his armor.

Chen Que only shed tears in front of Wen Zhiyi. Besides that, no matter how much pain he was in, he had no tears to shed. Even when he deliberately tried to make little Wen worry about him while he was away, he could keep his eyes open until they were dry, bloodshot, and still not shed a single tear.

This was a little secret between Chen Que and Wen Zhiyi, a unique secret known only to the two of them.

Chen Que in the videotape looked expressionlessly at a vague point in the distance, then suddenly showed a small smile, and then Wen Zhiyi outside the screen saw the tears he could not hold back, like the two smallest rivers in the world.

What did the Chen Que of two years ago see that made him cry?

However, the little Wen that appeared in Chen Que’s imagination did not see his suffering self until two years later, viewing him through a videotaped image that had been relayed multiple times, across two years of time, and through a firm resolve never to look back.

Did Chen Que at that time truly have the courage to personally tell Wen Zhiyi everything? If Zhu Qiao had given the videotape to Wen Zhiyi back then, would little Wen have forgiven Chen Que’s self-serving decision? If Wen Zhiyi had forgiven and stayed with him, would everything have had a different ending? Would Chen Que’s condition have improved, or would Wen Zhiyi have been exhausted and tormented…?

These questions have no answers now.

Because there are no “what ifs” in their lives.

Because the one who loved Chen Que was the Wen Zhiyi of two years ago.

Wen Zhiyi watched the video sent by Zhu Qiao with an expressionless face, finally understanding what the other meant by forgetting for two years.

He felt a chill in his palm.

Cold sweat broke out in his hands. The late August weather made him tremble uncontrollably for an instant. Even if an enemy were reduced to Chen Que’s state in the video, he would feel pity, and Chen Que was far from being an enemy.

But, but only pity and compassion remained.