Mu Bo Extra: The Lost Language, Part Two

The medical device emitted a series of beeps.

Bo Yu maneuvered his wheelchair forward, his slender fingers elegantly interlaced over his abdomen. He closed his eyes, allowing the precise instruments to scan his entire body. His profile resembled that of a handsome noble statue from the Middle Ages.

The doctor took a deep breath to steady himself.

When the examination concluded, Bo Yu slowly opened his eyes and asked, “How is it…”

“Oh my God!!!”

The sharp, piercing exclamation made Bo Yu furrow his brows.

The doctor clutched his head, his expression gradually descending into madness. “What’s happened to you recently? How could the data have dropped so much? Oh my God, oh my God!”

Was his acting decent enough?

The doctor cautiously raised his eyes to meet Bo Yu’s face, which remained expressionless.

He was doomed. Only three words echoed in the doctor’s mind: he should have known trusting that little black cake’s slander would lead to disaster. The gentleman would surely make them both suffer unbearable grief.

Just as the doctor was about to kneel and admit his fault, Bo Yu suddenly spoke: “I can feel it.”

The doctor glanced over the data, which showed no deterioration but steady improvement. Aside from the lack of sleep and virtually zero dopamine secretion, the gentleman’s body was clearly getting better under Mu Si’s meticulous care.

“What do you feel… exactly?” the doctor asked.

Bo Yu maintained that noble, proud demeanor, as if incapable of softening his heart for anyone. He did not inquire how to restore the data. Instead, before leaving, he coldly tossed out one sentence—

“I need him.”

He could feel it within himself: he needed that person.

Watching Bo Yu’s retreating figure, the doctor’s eyes revealed a mix of melancholy and relief. “You really seem different now.”

Having served as Bo Yu’s private doctor for so long, every time Bo Yu despaired, he despaired even more. And every time a glimmer of hope appeared, he too was overwhelmed with joy.

Love is a kind of miracle. Perhaps someday in the future, it can breathe life into everything.

—

But someone as proud as Bo Yu would never bow his head so easily.

Late at night, the doctor made a call to Mu Si: “Are you sure the gentleman will come looking for you?”

For the past three days, Mu Si had been sleeping in a small, cramped, dusty storage room next door on the first floor. Originally, he had slept outside Bo Yu’s door, but since Bo Yu disliked him blocking the way, he had moved to the tiny storeroom, which at least had a bed and was somewhat more comfortable.

But Mu Si didn’t care about the environment; he could sleep anywhere.

Lying on the narrow bed in the storeroom, his long legs curled awkwardly, the black hem of his shirt tucked at his waist, dust smudged from who knows where.

“Yeah.” Mu Si finally smiled. “He definitely will come.”

That was what the gentleman valued most.

He almost felt a bit unscrupulous.

“Not just unscrupulous, you’re shameless and filthy! But I’m just like you,” the doctor sighed, rubbing his temples. “Hurry up and appease the big boss, okay? The manor hasn’t had a good day in three days.”

Mu Si lowered his gaze. He wanted to, truly.

Suddenly, the doctor remembered something. “By the way, don’t be too much tonight, the gentleman…”

Before he finished, the storeroom door slammed open. Mu Si hastily ended the call.

The doctor: “…”

Though he never asked outright, the data revealed everything. Don’t be fooled by Mu Si’s innocent appearance; several times he almost caused the gentleman to have low platelet counts.

Innocent and pure Mu Si looked up, a delicate smile blooming like a small white flower. “What—ah!”

Something struck him on the head.

Bo Yu’s gaze was icy and disdainful as he swept over the shabby storeroom—a filthy place he had never set foot in during half a year of residence. Mu Si was half-reclined amidst the clutter, a lean waistline exposed as he clutched his forehead, bewildered, looking back at him.

Bo Yu could hardly bear to look—so filthy.

—

“Bring your lime and get out here.”

Mu Si was momentarily stunned, then looked down at the object that had fallen onto his abdomen—a brand-new, unopened box of lime-flavored condoms.

Mu Fei had returned to the palace as she wished.

A smile crept up at the corner of his lips as he lifted the gentleman from the wheelchair and carried him upstairs. They had never spoken of returning during their cold war days.

The second floor felt more like their bridal chamber.

Bo Yu allowed himself to be carried, his nose brushing Mu Si’s neck. His expression darkened immediately. “You smell entirely of dirty dust.”

Mu Si, good-natured, said, “Then I’ll go wash.”

He lowered his gaze to sniff Bo Yu, gently nudging him twice with his nose. “But you’ve already washed, sir. You smell so nice.”

Bo Yu neither dodged nor moved, simply looking at him coldly.

Mu Si withdrew his nose sheepishly, placed Bo Yu on the sofa, and set the box on the coffee table. He then took off his shirt with one hand, cheerfully announcing, “I’m going to shower.”

Bo Yu couldn’t be bothered to respond.

Half an hour later, Mu Si emerged in a bathrobe to find the gentleman sitting quietly on the sofa, gazing at the bright moon outside. His amber eyes were lost in thought.

Outside, maple leaves rose and fell in the night breeze. Mu Si’s smile faded.

He knelt on one knee before Bo Yu, pulled back the soft, thin blanket, and looking at those straight, slender legs, bent down to kiss Bo Yu’s knees. “I’m sorry, I was wrong.”

Even if Bo Yu only faltered for a second.

Mu Si knew he was wrong; he shouldn’t have joked about such matters.

Disheveled black hair damp with moisture pressed against Bo Yu’s knees until those long pale hands raked through it, touching his scalp and pulling him up to meet his gaze.

Bo Yu sneered, “Such a clumsy tactic, do you think I’m a fool?”

Mu Si froze.

Bo Yu didn’t explain further. They were just a few petty clowns.

Still noble and proud, Bo Yu ruffled Mu Si’s wet hair, exposing every feature of his face. Slowly, plainly, he scanned his eyebrows and eyes as if inspecting his possession.

Then he bent down and closed his eyes.

Outside, the full moon shone. Mu Si knelt on the ground, his heart plummeting from a great height.

“Then why did you still come looking for me?”

Their breaths tangled close, but the anticipated kiss never came. Bo Yu slowly opened his eyes to look at him. “I have been seeking the true meaning of love.”

Bo Yu was an extreme man. When confused, he sought answers. He firmly believed he was the most perfect in the world; any unknown thing he would study. Shen Ji Xing had learned everything alongside him—except emotion.

Mu Si watched him silently.

Bo Yu leaned down to plant a brief kiss on his lips, taking the kiss he wanted, then tossed him aside like trash.

“…” Mu Si sat cross-legged at his feet.

“North Polmaran is the language that best represents love in this world. But after learning its story, I think it’s nothing special.”

“Sending your wife away as the island perishes—what’s so extraordinary about that? No matter what danger arises, I would always be the one to survive.”

Mu Si neither smiled nor called him narcissistic; he simply nodded seriously.

Promise: “Yes.”

But the gentleman’s answer surprised him.

“Because I lack the ability to send you away from the island,” Bo Yu said from his lofty perch.

He was incomplete, someone who needed protection.

He could not protect Mu Si.

Thus, Bo Yu still could not understand love.

—

North Polmaran language failed to reveal the essence of love to him, but tonight, Bo Yu found the answer.

“It was I who, knowing this was a foolish trap, still brought your rotten lime into it…”

Bo Yu’s words were cut off as someone tackled him onto the sofa. His amber eyes glazed for a few seconds; his slightly parted lips had not yet spoken when they were covered with a kiss.

Mu Si’s dripping wet body soaked him.

Like a heavy spring rain, like burning tears.

“Sir,” Mu Si held Bo Yu’s hand over his chest, kissing it repeatedly. “My heart feels so sour.”

Mu Si knelt beside him, bowing almost reverently.

“It says it has been loved.”

Bo Yu’s Adam’s apple moved up and down as he decisively turned his head away, not looking at him. “I never said I love you.”

“I’m only saying that I now know what love is,” Bo Yu added coldly.

No matter how perplexing the equation, he could solve it—even love, which was illogical and without reason.

Mu Si responded with a soft, “Then I love you.”

Bo Yu snorted coldly, his amber eyes half-closed, reflecting the tender maple leaves. He allowed Mu Si to kiss every inch of his skin until Mu Si’s gaze landed two inches above his lower back and suddenly exclaimed.

“Why is this spot so red?”

“Did you fall?”

When he was driven away.

No wonder Mu Si was puzzled. If the gentleman was merely exploring, why was he so angry with him and ignored him for three days? Had he secretly fallen on his own?

Bo Yu pressed his lips coldly, saying nothing, letting Mu Si examine the wound.

Finally, he spoke coolly, “So what if I fell? I was up in a minute…”

Mu Si lowered his head and kissed the injury. “I’m the jerk. I shouldn’t have been jealous and sulking.”

The spot was indeed inconvenient. Bo Yu lay half-prone on the sofa, moonlight draping over him. His slender fingers gripped the sofa edge tightly, teeth clenched as he cursed, “Jerk, don’t… wait, jealous of what?”

Mu Si didn’t answer.

Suddenly, Bo Yu grunted, knuckles whitening as he trembled, grabbing Mu Si’s forehead hair and yanking him up. With an icy curse: “You bastard, are you trying to kill me?”

What new tricks had he learned these past few nights without him?

Mu Si half-kneeling on the sofa, picked up the box of limes, glanced at it twice, then threw it straight into the trash, erasing lime from the world forever.

His heart said:

It would never again taste sour or bitter.

Mu Si smiled, leaning down to kiss his ear repeatedly, yet still couldn’t resist asking, “At Frost Temple?”

—

On the garden’s stone table lay the gentleman’s practiced handwriting. The night breeze rustled the pages. At the end of each beautifully strong script, a little sulking turtle was drawn.

Mu Si didn’t understand North Polmaran, but he recognized love at a glance.

The gentleman did not understand love, but the gentleman loved him.

——

It’s been too long since I last wrote; this humble meal will have to suffice.

Inspired by the ending—someone said it was a pity not to hear the gentleman say “I love you.” Given his nature, it’s unlikely he’d say it, but the gentleman loves Mu Si.