Chapter 75 - His desperation

Chapter 75: Chapter 75 - His desperation

The room settled around him again, and Jua immediately looked for Mao Mao.

He was sitting beside the bed.

Older now. Close enough to the man Jua had left outside the bedroom that the sight brought a strange mixture of relief and dread. His hair was neatly arranged, his clothes fitted properly, and there was no trace of the swollen eyes or vacant expression from the previous memory.

He had survived that night.

Jua stood there for a moment, looking at him, allowing himself to feel the relief of it.

Then he noticed the book.

It rested open across Mao Mao’s knees, its cover worn and its pages so brittle that he supported them carefully whenever he turned one. Small pieces had broken away along the edges. Here and there, slips of paper marked passages he had apparently read many times.

Jua moved closer.

He recognised part of a diagram near the centre of the page.

His attention sharpened, but before he could examine it, Mao Mao closed the book around one finger and looked toward the bed.

"If what this says works, I’ll have you with me soon."

He smiled softly.

Jua felt the hope beneath it before he could prepare himself. It had changed over the years. The child’s eager certainty was gone; this hope was cautious, almost afraid of being noticed, but Mao Mao was holding on to it with everything he had.

He placed the book beside him and leaned over the bed.

His lips touched Jua’s cheek.

"Don’t be scared, Jua Ge. I’ll be gentle."

Jua watched his own unresponsive face, the absence of even a small movement at the touch. He remembered Mao Mao saying they had kissed before, but knowing it and standing here watching were different things.

He wanted to interrupt him. He needed to see the book properly, to know what instructions Mao Mao had found and how much of them remained intact.

But the memory moved on.

Mao Mao adjusted the pillows, then carefully lifted Jua from the mattress. He handled him with practised ease, supporting his head and shoulders before settling him across his lap.

Jua’s hair fell against his arm.

The man brushed it back, his fingertips lingering briefly near his temple. Then he checked the position of Jua’s body again, making sure nothing was caught beneath him.

Jua stood close enough to see how tense his hands were.

Mao Mao glanced at the book one last time.

Then he bent and pressed his mouth to Jua’s.

Red energy stirred around them.

It moved slowly at first, drawn from Mao Mao’s body and guided into Jua’s. Jua could see the effort it took to keep the current steady. The man’s shoulders tightened, and a faint tremor ran through the hand supporting Jua’s back.

There were mistakes in the way he was guiding it.

Jua recognised them at once. Too much pressure in one place, an uneven flow in another. He had learned enough to produce the energy, enough to direct it, but there had been no one to correct the little errors that could become dangerous when repeated.

And he had repeated them.

The familiar pull deep inside Jua’s soul told him that much.

When Mao Mao finally drew back, his breathing had become shallow. He watched the face resting against his arm with such concentration that Jua found himself watching too.

"Jua Ge?"

The room remained quiet.

Mao Mao moved his thumb over Jua’s cheek.

"Wake up."

He waited, his lips slightly parted.

Jua could feel him searching for a response: warmth returning to a hand, a change in breathing, anything he could take as proof that he had done it correctly.

There was nothing.

He shifted Jua a little higher against him and called his name again, gently rocking his shoulder.

"Jua Ge. Can you hear me?"

The body in his arms remained limp.

Jua wanted to tell him that he was here. He was standing right beside them, watching every frightened movement, every glance toward the book.

But the man couldn’t hear him.

After a while, Mao Mao stopped calling.

His head lowered until his forehead rested near Jua’s temple. He held him there, perfectly still, and Jua saw the first tear slip down his face.

It fell onto Jua’s cheek.

Mao Mao wiped it away with his thumb. Another followed before he could finish.

He cried without making much sound, his mouth pressed tightly together as though he could contain the disappointment if he refused to give it a voice. Yet through the bond, Jua felt all of it.

He had believed this might work.

After so many failures, he had let himself imagine the first words Jua might say. He had prepared to help him sit up, to bring water, to explain how long he had been gone.

Now he was sitting with the same unresponsive body in his arms, and the book beside him offered no explanation for what he had done wrong.

"Maybe it needs more time," he whispered.

He looked down at Jua again, smoothing the hair away from his face.

"Maybe it’ll work if I try more than once."

Jua shut his eyes.

He already knew he would.

The memory loosened around him before he could bear to watch another attempt.

When the room returned, Mao Mao was sitting forward in the chair, one hand pressed against his forehead.

The old book lay open on the table. Beside it were printed reports, several pages folded back and covered in notes. Jua glanced at them, recognising enough of the unfamiliar terminology to understand what they concerned.

The research.

Mao Mao lowered his hand and stared at the bed.

"So demonic energy isn’t enough."

He sounded exhausted. There was no anger left in the admission, only the flat weariness of someone who had reached the end of an answer he had spent years pursuing.

Jua stood beside him, looking at the book.

It had worked in one way. It had helped preserve his body. It had formed the mark that now allowed Jua to see these memories.

But it had never been capable of reaching him where he was.

Mao Mao picked up one of the reports.

"I found something else."

A small change entered his voice.

Jua felt it immediately and dreaded what was coming.

"The researchers think they can repair the damage. There are problems with it now, but if it’s synthesised properly..."

He looked at the page, then put it down and reached for Jua’s hand.

"It could help us live forever."

His thumb moved over the still fingers.

"You’ll live forever, Jua Ge."

He said it gently, as though making a promise to someone frightened.

Jua looked at the man’s face and understood, with a pain that left him breathless, how the idea had taken hold. Every failed treatment had led to another. Every disappointment had taught Mao Mao to look farther, spend more, risk something else.

He had never reached a point where he could bear to stop.

Mao Mao leaned forward and caressed Jua’s face.

"This one might work," he murmured.

The hospital room vanished.

Jua opened his eyes to the bedroom in the mansion, but for several seconds he couldn’t recognise it.

His face was wet. Tears had soaked into the pillow beneath his cheek, and his chest hurt with the effort of drawing breath around a sob he couldn’t hold back.

He tried to steady himself.

It only made him remember Mao Mao doing the same thing beside the hospital bed.

Jua pressed a hand over his mouth.

He had thought he understood what twenty years meant. He had listened to the nurse, seen the grave, watched the man move through rooms the child had once run through. None of it had prepared him for feeling those years from inside the person who had waited.

He couldn’t stop seeing the small hands avoiding his bandages.

Then the school uniform. The black mourning clothes. The old book held together so carefully on a grown man’s knees.

Each time, Mao Mao had returned to the same bed.

Jua curled slightly toward the pillow, trying to get enough air. His thoughts kept circling back to things he couldn’t change. If he had been able to speak once, to tell the child he hadn’t left willingly, to give him something other than a motionless hand to hold—

The door banged open.

"Jua Ge?"

Mao Mao crossed the room at once. He stopped beside the bed, saw Jua’s face, and bent over him.

"Why are you crying? Is something hurting?"

His hand hovered near Jua’s shoulder, afraid to choose the wrong place.

"Tell me where. I can give you more energy, or call the doctor—"

Jua reached for him.

The movement caught Mao Mao off guard. He stopped speaking as Jua gripped his shirt and pulled weakly.

"Come here," Jua managed.

Mao Mao sat immediately, and Jua put his arms around him.

He couldn’t hold him as firmly as he wanted. His body was still weak, his hands trembling against the man’s back, but he drew him close enough to rest his face against his shoulder.

For a moment, Mao Mao remained rigid.

Then his arms settled around Jua, careful even now.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

Jua shook his head against him. He couldn’t explain yet. He could barely speak without another sob catching in his throat.

He only held on, feeling the living warmth beneath his hands.

I’m sorry.

The apology stayed inside him, followed by another.

He knew Mao Mao’s pain didn’t make everything he had done right. The mark was still there. The research was still dangerous. They would have to face both.

But right now, Jua could feel the man holding his breath, uncertain whether he was allowed to return the embrace.

He tightened his arms as much as he could.

Mao Mao finally bowed his head against Jua’s shoulder and held him back.