The air seemed to freeze in that instant.
The sea breeze brushing past his ears came to a standstill, and all surrounding sounds abruptly ceased. Jing Mian forgot to swallow, his Adam’s apple unmoving. With his lashes lowered, even the act of raising his head felt unconsciously sluggish. His uneven breaths by his lips carried faint traces of cold vapor.
The world fell silent.
Only the soundless gaze between the two remained.
His heart pounded heavily, reverberating through his chest.
Jing Mian was at a loss for words.
He licked his lips, struggling for a long moment before barely forcing out a few hoarse syllables: “Mr. Ren, how did you…”
How did you end up here?
And… how did you know I was here?
Jing Mian clearly remembered that after they parted, the man was supposed to leave Lincheng for a few days. Even just hours before the first match of the national tournament tonight, Mr. Ren had still been in another city, attending a major business event under countless flashing lights. How had he managed to return to Lincheng in just two hours? And without his phone on him, how had he blindly found his way to this stretch of shoreline in the dark?
But now,
None of that seemed to matter anymore.
Jing Mian’s palms trembled slightly.
To think Mr. Ren had seen him like this.
Unconsciously, Jing Mian lowered his gaze and noticed the quiet shallows beneath the man’s feet, the edges of his leather shoes dampened by the lapping waves. He froze for a moment, his voice rough: “Husband, your shoes are wet.”
The other’s gaze was calm and silent in the dark sea night, as though it had Jing Mian firmly locked in place.
Only his restrained, deep voice carried a hint of coldness: “It’s fine.”
The moonlight, too, grew still, as though merging with the coastline. Only the ceaseless tide and wind stirred the quiet waters, the damp night breeze lifting the hems of their clothes slightly.
Jing Mian could no longer speak.
He didn’t even know whether Mr. Ren had realized his intention to jump into the sea.
But the premonition in his heart grew stronger.
Just as Jing Mian was lost in thought—
“Where are our rings?”
Mr. Ren’s voice suddenly cut through the silence.
Jing Mian’s chest tightened violently.
He remembered—when he had left his phone behind at the hotel, his gaze had inadvertently fallen on the gleaming band on his ring finger.
After a moment of hesitation, he had ultimately taken off the ring he shared with Mr. Ren and placed it on the nightstand.
He hadn’t expected Mr. Ren to notice its absence now.
“…At the hotel.”
Jing Mian’s voice was slightly hoarse.
He had thought Mr. Ren would question why their rings were at the hotel, but after hearing his answer, the man fell into silence.
Then, he heard him speak again:
“What else did you leave at the hotel?”
Jing Mian’s Adam’s apple bobbed once.
The tone of the question was unreadable, sending a tingling sensation to the tips of his ears. Jing Mian couldn’t suppress the wave of unease that rose within him, his slender fingers curling nervously.
Husband… probably knew.
The thought surfaced faintly in his mind.
Instinctively, Jing Mian took a step back. But the moment his heel touched the soft, wet sand, he realized the movement had been too obvious, Mr. Ren must have noticed.
His footstep froze.
He didn’t know if Mr. Ren was angry.
“My backpack, phone, the penalty fee for leaving the national tournament mid-match, and my bank card.” Jing Mian answered softly, unsure whether his voice was shaking. In this moment, he felt like a child who had done something wrong. “…And our rings.”
“And… a letter for you.”
The last words were barely audible.
Mr. Ren’s expression showed no obvious change, perhaps because the man was naturally inscrutable, or perhaps because the alternating light and shadow of the night cast his face in silhouette against the glow.
After a few seconds, he heard his husband speak: “What did the letter say?”
Jing Mian froze.
“…”
His heart felt gripped by an invisible hand, constricting his breath until even speaking became difficult.
That letter was supposed to have been delivered to his husband by someone else. Or perhaps, given that it contained no instructions about inheritance and held no significance for either the police or those involved, the man might never have received it at all.
Holding such thoughts, Jing Mian had never imagined that after writing that letter, he would still have the chance to speak these words directly to Mr. Ren in person.
He pressed his lips, now drained of color, and forced out the words in a whisper:
“It was… some words of farewell.”
“I’m sorry.” Jing Mian’s lips trembled slightly, his mouth dry and bitter. “I’ve burdened you.”
“When I was eight, there was a car accident.”
“In that accident, my mother died. The driver lost a leg.”
“I was the only one who survived.”
“I should have died in that crash.” The boy’s voice was hoarse, laced with unspoken anguish. “I’ve never understood why fate arranged things this way. My thoughts always circle back to that unsolvable knot.”
“Because I was the one who least deserved to live.”
“That accident… was my fault.”
…
Perhaps he had already died in that car crash long ago.
And every day since had been lived drowning in guilt.
But now, having laid bare his truth, he no longer needed to hide in nervous secrecy.
Jing Mian whispered, “Husband.”
The man stiffened slightly.
“Thank you… for proposing to me by the fluorescent sea.”
“And for our wedding. And that kiss during the first snowfall.”
“The night you gave me that globe, I was so happy I couldn’t sleep.” As he spoke, Jing Mian’s eyes gradually curved into crescents, as if even the memory couldn’t suppress his smile. “It was the first gift anyone ever gave me. The only time anyone remembered how much I loved globes.”
Jing Mian drew a shallow breath, his cold fingertips rubbing together where a ring should have been but now sat empty. He said softly:
“Nearly all my happy memories… came from you.”
His lashes lowered as the boy murmured, “My illness… it started when I was young. I took my medicine, went to treatment. Before our engagement… it hadn’t flared up in so long, I thought I was getting better.”
“I’m sorry for deceiving you.”
Jing Mian’s voice grew quieter. “You’re a good man. You shouldn’t have married someone like me.”
“From now on… please take good care of yourself.”
“I—”
“MianMian.”
Jing Mian’s words were cut off.
The deep timbre of that voice resonated through his eardrums.
It made Jing Mian’s chest constrict before suddenly pounding wildly.
As if unable to bear hearing more, Mr. Ren lowered his gaze and said quietly, “Don’t misunderstand—this isn’t a threat.”
“Tonight… I don’t intend to leave this sea alone.”
…
Jing Mian’s pupils contracted in shock.
Perhaps he was going mad.
But connecting the words, Jing Mian realized Mr. Ren didn’t seem to be trying to stop him.
It couldn’t be…
The moment their eyes met, Jing Mian realized he hadn’t misunderstood.
A surge of panic and anxiety inexplicably rose in his chest, faintly suppressed, his breath hitching slightly. Flustered, Jing Mian said in surprise, “Um, you don’t need to go this far…”
“It’s not unnecessary.”
Mr. Ren’s light-colored pupils were tinged by the shimmering moonlight on the sea, yet inexplicably dark and somber. The man spoke without any change in tone, “I’ve only ever had one option.”
“That option is you.”
Jing Mian’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
The icy waves surged forward at that moment, accompanied by the heavy, rustling sound of the sea. This time, the water rose past his knees, the cold causing Jing Mian to shiver involuntarily.
Yet it made Husband frown in that instant.
Then, he quietly lowered his hand.
Jing Mian seemed not to notice.
Mr. Ren paused before speaking:
“MianMian, come here.”
Jing Mian choked, stunned, but his body didn’t move.
After a long while, he finally whispered, “I’m sorry.”
He lowered his gaze, his Adam’s apple moving sluggishly, his fingertips digging into his palm, a sign of nervous tension:
“Husband, I had an episode during the national tournament.”
As he spoke, Jing Mian forced a slight smile, as if trying to narrate the matter in a lighthearted manner to make it seem less awkward and pitiful.
But that smile was utterly desolate.
“I let the Team down. I almost… ruined everything.”
“There will be many more moments like this in the future. No one can endlessly indulge another. Everyone is an independent individual. No one will stop for me, not even Husband.” As the waves receded, Jing Mian still didn’t move toward the shore. The next rising tide would likely swallow most of the boy. Jing Mian murmured, “I can’t think of a reason to keep living.”
“Because it’s too painful.”
“Those who can’t move on from the past don’t deserve a future.”
His voice trembled with suppressed sobs, as if, while trying to convince himself, Jing Mian was also attempting to persuade the man: “But Husband would be better off without me…”
“Our baby is about to be born.”
Jing Mian froze.
As the man uttered those words,
his heartbeat seemed to stop for several seconds.
Mr. Ren looked at him and said softly, “Do you remember?”
Jing Mian’s eyes flickered faintly with shock.
Warmth in his blood seemed to break free, rushing through his limbs, making his heart pound wildly while leaving him indescribably flustered.
“Suisui.”
Mr. Ren’s voice was slow and deep: “You named him Jing Sui.”
……
“We’ll be great guardians.”
Ren Xingwan’s figure stood against the backdrop of the distant, shimmering city lights, intersecting with the silent coastline, the edges of his silhouette gradually illuminated.
“Our Suisui will be the happiest child in the world.”
The man murmured:
“Without you, none of this can happen.”
…
Mr. Ren didn’t have many cards left to play.
But he was revealing them one by one, hoping to make his beloved stay by this sea.
As if uncertain whether this reason would be enough to make Jing Mian stop, Husband fell silent for a long moment before speaking slowly:
“If none of these can be reasons for you to stay.”
The man’s voice was hoarse and low:
“Then let it be… for me.”
…
The waves lapped against the shore, barely pausing before the next surge followed in succession. The splashing sounds of their collisions seemed solitary yet peaceful in the night, carrying the gentle yet profound essence of the moon.
Ren Xingwan’s tall, ink-dark silhouette seemed to merge with the boundless depths of the night.
He whispered softly:
“Husband can’t live without MianMian.”