Blinded by Lust chapter 8

Psychologically, Wu Bie couldn’t accept being involved with an eighteen-year-old girl, but physically, he couldn’t resist. A young girl constantly sending him messages and complaining about pain, the darkness at night, being alone, and not seeing her family for a long time—it was impossible for Wu Bie to ignore it.

Every morning, as soon as he opened his eyes and checked his phone, it was full of Zhanyan’s text messages. As soon as Wu Bie replied to her good morning, a voice message request from Zhanyan would immediately pop up.

Wu Bie wiped his face, cleared his throat with a dry cough, and then pressed the answer button. “Hello?”

“Ge, are you awake?”

Hearing such a clingy voice so early in the morning, Wu Bie felt his bones go weak. Eighteen years old, eighteen years old, he repeatedly reminded himself internally while keeping a calm facade. “Yeah, why are you up so early?”

“I had a follow-up check this morning. The doctor said that once my condition improves a bit, I can start rehabilitation therapy.”

Wu Bie shuffled in slippers towards the bathroom, listening to Zhanyan while washing up. The sun wasn’t strong in the morning, and the water was icy and refreshing when splashed on his face. It instantly made him feel more awake. After Zhanyan finished talking, he responded.

“Be obedient and cooperate with the treatment.”

His overly formal tone seemed to hurt Zhanyan’s feelings. “Is that all you have to say to me? I feel so uncomfortable during the daily infusions, and you’re so cold towards me.”

Wu Bie felt a pang of guilt. He dared not engage further and awkwardly changed the topic. “We’re setting sail today. Once we’re at sea, there’s no signal, and I’m not sure when we’ll arrive. If I don’t reply to you, remember to go to bed early.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Cherbourg.”

Zhanyan had heard of this place, it seemed to be a water city. “Is it fun?”

“I’m going there for work,” Wu Bie added. “It’s quite interesting. When you recover, you can come visit.”

“Will you take me there?”

Even over the phone, Wu Bie could sense Zhanyan’s voice full of expectation. He didn’t tell Zhanyan that once the ship set sail, it wouldn’t dock for a couple of days, and satellite data was used up quickly. The data available was only for emergencies, not for voice or sending pictures as they were now.

Maybe it was better this way. If they didn’t stay in touch for a while, and she lost interest, it might be a blessing in disguise.

…

After sailing for about half a month, Wu Bie did the same things as the ship’s safety officer—eight hours of driving the ship and being responsible for the entire ship’s fire safety. When he was idle, he even helped the sailors with rust removal and painting. It wasn’t too bad as long as there was something to do.

Through the cockpit glass, the orange sunset was almost level with the sea, as if it would be submerged any moment. The boundary between the light blue sea and the orange sky was distinctly beautiful.

Wu Bie glanced at the screen and saw that the radar still showed many ships.

“Will we arrive tonight?” a colleague casually asked.

This was a reminder for Wu Bie that if they arrived tonight, he’d be able to connect to the internet.

He nudged his colleague. “Can you take a couple of photos for me?”

“Why so vain? You take eight hundred photos a day.”

Lately, Wu Bie had been seen taking photos everywhere—rain or shine, even while painting. He knew Wu Bie was posting short videos to promote their shipping company, but it seemed excessive.

The camera was aimed at Wu Bie, and he quickly stopped him. “Not me, take pictures outside.”

His colleague snapped two photos, then checked Wu Bie’s photo album, which was filled with recent scenic shots.

“Wu Ge, have you changed your ways?”

Wu Bie didn’t understand at first. His colleague explained, “You used to take selfies all the time. Why the sudden change to only landscape photos?”

The colleague continued scrolling until Wu Bie stopped him. “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t scroll through. Put it back in my pocket after you’re done.”

The earlier selfies were for self-promotion, but these recent photos were taken as promised for Zhanyan.

Wu Bie felt a pang of melancholy. He had prepared himself to be forgotten by Zhanyan after half a month of no contact. He didn’t expect Zhanyan to still think of him. If she didn’t, it was better to avoid lingering guilt.

Even with rational justifications, Wu Bie couldn’t shake the discomfort. It had been half a month, and if Zhanyan had forgotten him, was he really that unappealing?

He didn’t even know what he was thinking.

During the shift change, Wu Bie overheard the ship’s safety officer mention they’d arrive that night but probably quite late. He hurried down the stairs, finding only himself in the corridor, with the faint roar of the engine in the distance. He pulled out his phone and opened WeChat.

His satellite data had been exhausted for half a month, and now, even text couldn’t be sent. Wu Bie hesitated whether to turn on the network to send a message to Zhanyan. It would only cost a bit of money.

After much thought, he decided against it. Money wasn’t the issue; he had managed without contact for half a month. If she no longer cared, he wouldn’t be clingy and end up making things worse.

It wasn’t mealtime anymore, and the cafeteria had little to offer. The snacks he bought onshore were almost gone. Wu Bie had only one last cup of instant noodles. After eating, he took a shower and went straight to sleep.

Since they were expected to dock at night, he slept deeply. He woke up as soon as they docked, instinctively wanting to check, but the sailors were already done, exhausted and heading to their rooms to rest, leaving only a few on duty along with him.

Wu Bie had slept the afternoon away. With the sea breeze on his face, he was now wide awake. He walked from the stern to the deck and stood at the bow for a while.

The cargo ship made a thunderous noise when entering the port, but once docked securely, the port returned to calm. Cherbourg at this time was like a sleeping baby, extraordinarily peaceful.

Wu Bie glanced around. A few sailors on duty were scattered in different corners, talking on the phone to report they were safe.

This was a common scene—older sailors called their wives and children, and the younger ones called their parents or significant others. Since his parents had passed away, Wu Bie hadn’t had such phone calls for a long time.

It felt a bit lonely.

He thought of calling Chen Xian, but Chen Xian was likely asleep by now, and probably with Shen Jixue. Just thinking about it was upsetting.

To…

Wu Bie’s hand instinctively reached into his pocket for his phone, but it was empty. He had left in such a hurry that he forgot to bring it. Now that there was internet, could he see any messages from Zhanyan?

He quickly ran towards the stern of the ship. His steps were hurried; he was eager to know what Zhanyan had sent him. What if… what if Zhanyan didn’t send anything? Or perhaps… Zhanyan was upset because he didn’t reply, and in her anger, decided not to contact him anymore? That was a possibility too.

The more Wu Bie analyzed, the more anxious he became. He even slowed his pace significantly, silently approaching the room’s door, hesitating for a long time before finally opening it.

There was a noticeable temperature difference between the cabin and the deck, making the room somewhat stuffy. Wu Bie leaned against the door without moving forward, his gaze fixed on the phone screen on the table.

The phone lay there quietly, as if no messages had come in. Did Zhanyan send anything or not? He just wanted to maintain some distance, and if she didn’t send anything, that would be fine. But if she did, what would it be?

Driven by immense curiosity, Wu Bie walked toward the table. The closer he got, the more nervous he became, his heart inexplicably racing. He lifted his arm and tapped the screen lightly. As the screen lit up, the interface froze due to incoming messages.

“So many?” Wu Bie grabbed the phone and hurriedly unlocked it.

At first, there were simple greetings asking if he had docked. After receiving no reply, Zhanyan’s messages became increasingly pitiful, interspersed with voice message requests that he hadn’t received.

“You’re really ignoring me?”

“I checked your video account, but there’s no update. Are you avoiding me or haven’t you docked yet?”

After about another week, perhaps due to not receiving any replies from him, Zhanyan persisted in sending morning and evening greetings, often updating on her condition and complaining about knee pain.

Wu Bie scrolled through the messages. Every time he saw Zhanyan call him “Ge,” it felt like a heavy stone was pressing on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Why was she so persistent? Even though he was being unreasonable by not replying, didn’t she realize she should be upset and stop contacting him?

The most recent message was from this morning: “Good morning, Ge.”

Wu Bie didn’t care about the time back home or whether he might disturb Zhanyan’s rest. Without thinking much, he sent a voice request.

When the urgent ringtone ended and the voice message wasn’t answered, Wu Bie’s heart tightened even more. He could almost feel what Zhanyan felt when he didn’t answer her voice messages—some hope, yet no visible hope.

Wu Bie wasn’t ready to give up. He called again and, while waiting for the call to connect, switched to the chat interface and sent Zhanyan a flurry of text messages.

“Just arrived.”

Wu Bie tried to explain for himself: “It’s not that I was ignoring your messages, I didn’t have internet earlier and couldn’t receive your messages.”

“Are you asleep?”

The “The other party is typing” notification flashed briefly on the chat interface. Wu Bie was sure he hadn’t seen it wrong. If it wasn’t a problem with WeChat, then Zhanyan must have seen his messages. Why wasn’t she answering the voice call?

“Zhanyan, are you there?”

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“Are you angry?”

Wu Bie was so anxious that he was almost sweating. He paced around and, unable to come up with a solution, scratched his neck anxiously.

“Answer, I’m begging you.”

The ringtone for the voice request was unpleasant—urgent and harsh, like a death knell. Just as the time was about to end and the call was about to be disconnected, there was a sudden beep, and a timer appeared on the screen, with the call being connected.

“Hello? Zhanyan?”

When Wu Bie called out, Zhanyan didn’t respond. He was impatient and sat on the bed, “Zhanyan? Why aren’t you speaking?”

“Hello…”