Chapter 88: A Complete Mess

The afternoon sunlight was especially warm. Chang Yu staggered along the bustling street, lonely, sorrowful, and helpless.

Yangyang followed behind him at a leisurely pace, hands clasped behind his back, sucking on a lollipop given by the cafeteria auntie.

After lunch, Katrina had left the cafeteria ahead of Chang Yu, saying she needed to attend a meeting at headquarters. Before leaving, she also borrowed his car, which meant Chang Yu and Yangyang were doomed to walk home.

“Sir, may I ask you something?” Chang Yu, trembling, stopped an elderly gentleman with a head of white hair.

The old man exuded scholarly elegance; though age had marked him, his refined bearing had only grown deeper with the passage of time.

“Go ahead, young man,” the old man replied, sharp-eyed and keen. “I’m well-read, and there’s little I don’t know.”

“Then, tell me... is it normal for a man to give birth?” Chang Yu blurted out the question that weighed on his soul.

The old man gave a polite yet awkward smile. “Of course not. In all my life, I’ve never heard of a man giving birth. Even if we wanted to, we lack the equipment!”

“If you ever meet a man who can, you must introduce him to me. I’d like to see it with my own eyes.”

“Thank you, sir.” Chang Yu thanked him, hollow and dazed, as the shadow in his heart grew ever darker.

The air turned oppressive, suffocating, as if a black cloud pressed down on his soul. He trudged onward, steps unsteady.

Soon, he stopped a plump, well-dressed middle-aged woman.

“Ma’am, may I ask you—”

“Who are you calling ma’am? Call me ‘sis’!” she snapped, eyes fierce.

“Alright, sis. I’d like to know, is it normal for a man to have a baby?” He repeated his question.

“You must be sick! If a man can give birth, I’ll do a handstand and climb a tree!” She glared at him and hurried away, as if afraid prolonged contact with someone so “not right in the head” might be contagious.

Chang Yu let out a bitter laugh, lips heavy as if weighted shut, tongue so bitter he could hardly move it.

So, it was true—men could not bear children.

He kept moving, still stumbling, and stopped a young woman with heavy makeup.

“Excuse me, miss—”

“Address me as 'Your Majesty!'” she declared, exuding a queenly dominance with every gesture.

“Your Majesty, have you ever heard of a man giving birth?”

Without missing a beat, she pulled out her phone. “Which asylum are you from? Why aren’t you staying put in the hospital? I’ll call your director to fetch you—he must be worried sick.”

“I know the way back. I can manage. No need to trouble you,” Chang Yu replied weakly, feeling his world grow ever darker.

He wandered off in a daze, utterly exhausted, tears streaming silently down his face.

After several fruitless encounters with passersby, Chang Yu stopped questioning. It seemed he had resigned himself to fate.

“Why aren’t you asking anymore?” Yangyang slurped his lollipop, barely containing his amusement.

“There’s no point. It’s just humiliating,” Chang Yu replied with clarity. “Wait for me here.”

“What are you going to do?” Yangyang asked.

“I’m going to the hardware store to buy a rope. I’ll need it later.”

Back home, Chang Yu sat motionless on the bed, face ashen.

In his hand, he gripped the thick hemp rope he’d just bought, head tilted as he stared at the ceiling beam, his expression shifting restlessly from one emotion to another.

In the span of half an hour, he experienced longing, melancholy, dejection, grief, and anguish in succession.

At last, Chang Yu made up his mind.

He sprang from the bed, face contorted, jaw clenched, and stood beneath the beam.

With a forceful swing, he flung the thick rope over the beam, letting it hang perfectly straight.

He tied a loop at one end, pulled hard to check its strength—it didn’t budge.

Then he fetched a small stool and placed it under the rope.

“I can’t go on!” Chang Yu muttered near collapse. “A grown man, and yet I’ve given birth like a woman. This is a stain I can never erase, a black mark on all men’s history. The whole world will see me as a disgrace!”

“And to make matters worse, that scoundrel Feng Sanpao insulted and mocked me, hiding behind his madness. I can’t endure it any longer. I’ve no courage or face to live on in this world.”

He stood atop the stool, sorrow etched across his face, fingers gently caressing the coarse rope as if stroking a lover’s cheek.

Memories from the past twenty years flashed before his eyes—reminders of love, hatred, and everything in between.

“Director, Master Hao’er, Katrina, Shi Chengjin, Fatty Wang, Zhen Youcai... I’ve let you all down. I, Chang Yu, will be leaving this world ahead of you. If fate allows, let’s meet again in the next life!”

With a heavy heart, he slipped his head through the noose, filled with a tragic sense of heroism—perhaps Jing Ke had felt the same before parting for the Yi River.

All that remained was to kick away the stool, and the act would be complete.

At that moment, the bedroom door burst open so forcefully that Chang Yu trembled all over. In his agitation, his foot slipped, nearly toppling the stool and completing the deed unintentionally.

Barely steadying himself, he saw Yangyang standing in the doorway, eyes wide as saucers, clutching a chicken drumstick that Chang Yu had hidden in the fridge, drool glistening at the corner of his mouth.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

With a plop, the drumstick dropped to the floor as Yangyang’s eyes filled with tears.

“Chang Yu, don’t die!” Yangyang wailed, rushing forward, tears streaming down his cheeks.

The little boy flung himself at Chang Yu’s leg, hugging it tightly and refusing to let go.

“Let me go! Let me die!” Chang Yu struggled, trying to shake the child off.

“Please, don’t leave me! Don’t leave me alone!” Yangyang clung desperately, his tears and snot soaking Chang Yu’s pants.

Their scuffle was so intense that Chang Yu lost his balance and fell from the stool, crashing to the floor.

Even then, Yangyang clung to his leg, crying uncontrollably.

Chang Yu stroked the boy’s small head, warmth filling his heart. He hadn’t expected Yangyang to have such a tender side after all. Truly his own child, able to feel for others.

Seeing how desperately Yangyang wished him to live, perhaps it was best to let go of the idea, just this once.

Clearing his throat, Chang Yu was about to tell Yangyang he’d changed his mind, when the next words out of Yangyang’s mouth stoked a fire within him.

“If you die, who’ll take care of me?”

Chang Yu was speechless.

So, all his heartfelt emotion was for nothing. Yangyang didn’t want him to live out of care or love, but because... Chang Yu was his meal ticket.

How bitterly ironic.

“Get out!” Chang Yu shouted with all his might.

“I won’t! If I leave, you’ll try to hang yourself again!” Yangyang sobbed, shaking his head, clinging tighter than ever.

Cradling Yangyang’s head, Chang Yu lay on the cold floor, his mood slowly settling.

With a calmer heart, the urge to end his life faded away.

Yangyang’s words reminded Chang Yu that he was no longer alone. Though unmarried and without a girlfriend, he had, inexplicably, become the father of a small child.

Yangyang needed him, that much was certain.

Though Yangyang was actually a thousand years old, his appearance was no different than any five- or six-year-old child.

As a newly transformed Poria spirit, he’d never interacted with the human world—everything was strange and unknown to him.

Without Chang Yu, Yangyang would hardly survive on his own.

Suddenly, Chang Yu understood the plight of that senior who had once been in the same situation. He could at last grasp what that predecessor must have felt.

So this was it—all for the sake of the child.

The reason the man that Katrina spoke of could summon the courage to go on after bearing a child was not unyielding spirit or indomitable will, nor the strength to endure humiliation.

It was the fear that his child would go hungry.

“Get up,” Chang Yu said with a complicated look, gently pushing the silently weeping Yangyang aside and abandoning thoughts of suicide.

“You’re not going to hang yourself?” Yangyang asked, eyes brimming with tears.

“No.” Chang Yu, with a little effort, pulled the boy off his leg and set him aside.

Without a word, he stood, brushed the dust from his pants, grabbed the gourd from his bedside, and began to dress.

“Where are you going?” Yangyang asked.

“To deliver medicine to Fatty Wang,” Chang Yu replied without looking back. “My life is already a mess. I can’t let others suffer the same.”

“Then I’m coming with you!” Yangyang darted after him at full speed, afraid to be left behind.