Chapter 24 - Deeply In Love With You [Quick Transmigration]

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Chapter 24: True Feelings (1)

 

 

"Relax. He's not hurt," Zheng Jiang's voice came through the phone. "He ran into Liao Yan at school. Liao Yan said a few things—cutting things—and told him to stay away. Since then, he's been in his apartment with the lights off. I'm keeping watch. Nothing will happen."

 

"Mm. I'll go check on him," Zong Que said as he ended the call.

 

Then he made another—his very first after stepping off the plane. "Hi, Grandma? Lin Heng might not be doing so well. I might be back late tonight."

 

"What happened to our little class rep?" the elderly woman asked, clearly worried.

 

"He's just feeling a bit down. I want to make sure he's alright," Zong Que replied.

 

"Alright, dear. Be careful on your way there," she said gently.

 

Zong Que changed lines on the subway, then exited and stopped by a nearby restaurant. With a takeout bag in hand, he finally dragged his suitcase to Lin Heng's apartment building.

 

At this hour, the school was still well lit, and many homes in the neighborhood were glowing with warm yellow lights. But Lin Heng's window remained dark.

 

As Zong Que approached, a shadow stepped out from the gloom at the side of the building. He tensed instinctively until he heard, "Hey, it's me. Zheng Jiang."

 

Zong Que halted. "How is he?"

 

"I think you should take it slow when you talk to him," Zheng Jiang said with a frown. "Liao Yan's words were harsh. Stuff about 'looking down on people,' 'charity,' even threats."

 

He hadn't intended to eavesdrop—it was just that the school had been deathly quiet, and the wind carried the conversation all too clearly. He'd been assigned to protect Lin Heng for quite a while now and knew the boy well: he was generous, never flaunted his wealth, and always considerate of others' situations.

 

Liao Yan's words had been like a betrayal—denying everything Lin Heng had done. And yet, with how dangerous things had gotten, if Liao Yan hadn't severed ties so thoroughly, Lin Heng, being who he was, would never have just stood by.

 

Liao Yan was now still under their protection, though he didn't know it. Perhaps he was just trying to avoid the others' retaliation in the only way he could think of—by cutting off all ties.

 

"He did it to protect him," Zong Que said quietly.

 

Zheng Jiang raised a brow, surprised. "You understand? If Liao Yan had explained things clearly, Lin Heng probably wouldn't have gotten directly involved anyway. His family could've handled those guys easily. But kids… they often take things to extremes."

 

A kind heart, sometimes, could still leave cuts behind. People who could've been friends might end up parting ways. What a pity.

 

"Maybe he just didn't want to cause more trouble," Zong Que said, dragging his suitcase toward the entrance. "I'm heading up."

 

"You know…" Zheng Jiang called out with a half-smile, "Sometimes it feels like you already know everything before it happens."

 

Like how he knew to assign someone to protect Lin Heng. And Liao Yan too—almost like he could see the future.

 

"Digging too deep helps no one," Zong Que replied, glancing back.

 

His eyes, calm as ever beneath the night sky, held a glint of cold light.

 

"Got it." Zheng Jiang raised a hand in mock surrender.

 

This was his boss, after all—as long as he wasn't doing harm, everything else was none of his business.

 

⋯⋯

 

Zong Que set down his suitcase and knocked three times on the door. Silence. After waiting a moment, he pulled out a key and let himself in.

 

The room was pitch dark. He switched on the light. The living room was empty, lifeless—no sign of cooking, no warmth. Only a phone lay abandoned on the sofa.

 

He stepped inside with his suitcase and closed the door. A faint noise came from the bedroom, but no one came out.

 

"Lin Heng," he called.

 

A clatter followed—the sound of a stick falling to the floor.

 

The bedroom door remained closed, but a calm voice came through. "Why are you here?"

 

That unnatural calmness was the most concerning of all.

 

Zong Que placed the food bag on the coffee table. "I called several times and you didn't answer. I was worried something happened."

 

"I left my phone on the sofa. I must've fallen asleep. Sorry for worrying you." Lin Heng bent down, picked up the baseball bat that had dropped, and placed it back in its spot. His hand lingered on the doorknob, but he didn't turn it. "Did you call your grandma after getting off the plane?"

 

"I did." Zong Que stepped closer and lightly pushed the door. "Come out and eat something. I brought porridge."

 

"I'm not really hungry," Lin Heng said, resisting the pressure.

 

His emotions were a mess right now. He wasn't sure he could speak rationally.

 

"What happened?" Zong Que asked softly.

 

Lin Heng's fingers tightened slightly. His tone was light. "Nothing. I'll be fine tomorrow."

 

"If something weighs on your heart for too long, it can become a knot you can't untangle," Zong Que said. "If you're willing, I can just be a quiet listener."

 

He could understand Lin Heng's sorrow, though not truly feel it. Negative emotions rarely lingered long within him. That made him the best kind of listener—present, but unaffected.

 

Lin Heng's heart stirred. He quietly loosened his grip and opened the door, stepping back slightly as the other entered.

 

The light shone from behind, casting Zong Que's face into shadow. All that could be seen was his tall, steady silhouette. Lin Heng had once thought he would be celebrating Zong Que's return from the competition. Yet now, Zong Que was here, comforting him.

 

The door clicked shut behind them. A thin sliver of light from underneath glowed faintly, not enough to illuminate the room, but enough to reveal the figure approaching.

 

In the dark, with this person—he felt safe.

 

"My shoulder's yours," Zong Que said as he came to a stop in front of him.

 

There's an old saying: Real men don't cry easily—but that's only because they've yet to reach the point of true sorrow.

 

Lin Heng's hands clenched, and then his forehead came to rest gently against Zong Que's shoulder. As if in that moment, the floodgates quietly opened. His silence stretched long, until finally, Zong Que heard the question he'd been waiting for.

 

"Do you believe in that saying—Give a man a pint of rice, he'll be grateful, give him a bushel, and he'll resent you.?"

 

"Mm," Zong Que replied.

 

"I thought so," Lin Heng sighed quietly. "My parents told me that once, but I didn't listen."

 

"Do you regret it?" Zong Que asked gently, listening to the boy's even tone.

 

Lin Heng paused, then slowly shook his head. "No."

 

He didn't regret helping someone. In that moment, not helping would've been the real regret.

 

"Then why are you sad?" Zong Que asked.

 

Though Lin Heng's voice was calm, his whole being seemed veiled in shadow, trapped in a haze of emotion he couldn't shake off.

 

Words can wound deeper than blades. Even if Liao Yan had meant well, without knowing the full truth, his words had still cut deep.

 

"I helped someone," Lin Heng said softly, "but he thought I was just offering charity from above."

 

"When you helped him, did you expect gratitude or recognition in return?" Zong Que asked.

 

"No," Lin Heng replied. He didn't. He just wanted to help.

 

"You once said, not everything has to come with a benefit to be worth doing," Zong Que reminded him.

 

Lin Heng's eyes grew slightly damp. "You remember I said that."

 

There had been a bit of youthful pride in those words back then. But he had meant them, deeply. And someone had remembered his sincerity.

 

"Don't hold on to what he said," Zong Que murmured. "I'm not asking you to forgive the one who hurt you—but you should let yourself go."

 

When emotions run too deep, it's easy to lose clarity.

 

Lin Heng exhaled slowly, then gave a faint, rueful laugh. "You told me to stay away from you once, too."

 

And yet, despite those words meant to push him away, he'd sensed the protection behind them—and couldn't help but draw closer.

 

"Back then, getting too close to me could have gotten you hurt," Zong Que said.

 

"Then is it possible," Lin Heng looked up at him, "that he has reasons he can't speak of too? There were heavy marks on his neck. The person who hurt him might've threatened his life. Maybe…"

 

"If you're talking about Liao Yan—he's safe," Zong Que reached out and stopped him from heading into the living room. "The police are already pursuing the case. He won't be in danger anymore."

 

Loan sharks thrive in the cracks of the law. But attempted murder was something else entirely.

 

"I see…" Lin Heng turned to look at him, and in a flash, recalled the moment at the hospital— "It was those people. You knew?!"

 

"I ran into them when I went to the hospital with you." Zong Que could feel his shock and knew it was time to explain. "There's a saying: A gentleman may be innocent, but he's guilty for the treasure he holds*."

 

[T/N: The saying (君子无罪，怀璧其罪) comes from ancient Chinese philosophy and means: Even if a person has done nothing wrong, merely possessing something valuable (like wealth, status, beauty, talent, or even morality) can make them a target of resentment, suspicion, or harm.]

 

Lin Heng froze where he stood. Those people—violent, greedy, without conscience—they had no regard for the weak. They only knew how to extract, how to push people down, lower and lower.

 

When Liao Yan's mother got hurt, their family had no income. His scholarship had become their only lifeline. But they couldn't squeeze anything more from the Liao family—and then Lin Heng had appeared.

 

A wealthy family. A student. In their eyes, no different from a fat lamb waiting to be slaughtered.

 

They might've hesitated because of his background, but there were other ways. Lin Heng thought back to the time near finals when Liao Yan had borrowed money. His mother had already recovered enough to be discharged—why would it require such a large sum? And he hadn't wanted her to find out either.

 

Back then, Lin Heng had simply thought he was too proud to ask others for help. But now… maybe Liao Yan had become their target. Their scapegoat.

 

The money was returned on time. After that, Liao Yan never borrowed again. But those people wouldn't have stopped. If they had, they wouldn't have shown up again.

 

And those bruises… maybe the reason Liao Yan had pushed him away was the same reason Zong Que once did. That would explain everything.

 

"They threatened him, didn't they?" Lin Heng's voice tightened.

 

Zong Que met his gaze. He could see Lin Heng had regained his calm; his mind was working again. And for someone like Lin Heng, who always tried to understand others, the truth wasn't hard to piece together.

 

"Maybe," Zong Que replied.

 

"He's been carrying a lot," Lin Heng said, his shoulders loosening slightly. "Is there anything else I can do to help him?"

 

His presence had helped—but it had also frightened the other boy. Even if he now understood the intention, maybe staying back was still what Liao Yan needed.

 

"You've already done your best," Zong Que said.

 

Lin Heng hadn't done anything wrong. Neither had Liao Yan. The ones at fault were those who had no limits—and the father who set all this in motion.

 

They were the ones who should bear the weight of consequences, not these two young men, forced to carry it on still-growing shoulders.

 

"Mm." Lin Heng gave a small smile. "So, how did your competition go this time?"

 

This person—always so steady. Always able to cut straight to the heart of a matter.

 

Even though words can wound, Lin Heng still wanted to believe that there were more kind people in the world than cruel ones.

 

"No issues." Zong Que released his arm. "Come on. Let's go eat something."

 

"What kind of porridge did you get?" Lin Heng asked as he watched Zong Que open the door. His stomach growled, right on cue.

 

The light from the hallway spilled in, chasing away the shadows of the room.

 

"Pumpkin and millet," Zong Que said as he stepped out, "but it's probably gone cold. I'll go warm it up."

 

"Just porridge?" Lin Heng turned on the bedroom light. "I'm kinda hungry. That might not be enough."

 

"We missed dinner hours. Eating too much now won't be good for your stomach." Zong Que picked up the cup of porridge from the bag and headed into the kitchen.

 

Since Lin Heng had gone abroad and he'd been busy with competitions, neither of them had been around much. The housekeeper hadn't cooked in days, so there weren't even any vegetables left. No chance of whipping up a quick dish. And takeout was always greasy and salty.

 

Lin Heng opened the fridge. Empty. He sighed. Still, he couldn't resist checking the lower drawer—and there, inside a bag, were two round eggs.

 

His mood lifted instantly, like he'd just unearthed a treasure.

 

"How about two boiled eggs?" he called out, taking them in hand.

 

"How long have those been there?" Zong Que asked, eyeing the eggs.

 

"If anything's gone off, the housekeeper always clears it out right away. If it's still there, it's fine," Lin Heng said. He walked over, reached into the overhead cupboard, and pulled out a small pot. After filling it with water, he gently placed the eggs inside. "Just porridge and I won't be able to sleep from hunger tonight. Oh, right—did you have dinner yet?"

 

"Not yet." Zong Que stirred the congee and pulled open the drawer beneath the counter, taking out a pack of instant noodles. "I'll just eat this."

 

Lin Heng looked at the noodles, then at the boiling eggs, and took one out. "Then I'll give you one."

 

"Thanks." Zong Que poured the hot congee into a bowl, rinsed the pot, and added fresh water to heat again.

 

Instant noodles made for a simple meal, but paired with plain congee and boiled eggs, it somehow felt a little extravagant.

 

Zong Que tidied up the pot, sat down at the table, and met the somewhat conflicted look in the boy's eyes. "What is it?"

 

"Nothing," Lin Heng stirred his congee, "I just suddenly feel a little pitiful. You also missed dinner."

 

And yet, one of them got to eat fragrant noodles, while the other only had congee.

 

"You haven't eaten all day, have you?" Zong Que asked, looking at him. "There's no food waste in the kitchen."

 

No vegetables in the fridge. No scraps in the trash. The housekeeper hadn't been here.

 

Lin Heng suddenly felt sheepish. "I think you'd make a great detective."

 

Zong Que watched him fiddle with his spoon, then stood up and fetched another bowl and chopsticks. He scooped out some noodles and soup and placed them in front of Lin Heng. "Drink your congee first."

 

The rich scent of the noodles wafted over. Lin Heng blinked and pinched his fingers lightly. "Thank you."

 

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