Futile Devices Scans

He Chu San boarded the earliest flight the next morning and arrived in Bangkok, Thailand. After leaving the airport, he rented a car and hired a driver who also served as a guide, heading west into Nakhon Pathom Province.

The car sped past bustling markets thick with human noise, past Buddhist pagodas wreathed in drifting sandalwood incense; past interwoven emerald rice fields and endless groves of pomelo trees. It did not pause for even a moment, racing onward like an arrow loosed in urgency, cutting across the tranquil and ancient Buddhist land. By the roadside, an old farmer trimming branches paused in his work, turning his weathered, darkened face to watch the car vanish into the distance, his gaze calm and unmoving.

Entering the provincial capital, the driver stopped briefly to ask for directions, then continued toward the outskirts. At last, the car came to a halt before a modest Chinese Guanyin temple.

The temple was small—only a few low buildings. Its front courtyard was open, simple, and unadorned. At the entrance stood a young novice monk sweeping the ground with a broom. He exchanged a Buddhist greeting with He Chu San, then led him inside, through the main hall, and into the monks’ quarters at the rear.

A’Nan and A’Mao were in the courtyard playing cards with a bespectacled middle-aged man. Upon seeing He Chu San enter, they quickly stood up, greeting him while stepping aside to clear a path toward a small room at the far end of the courtyard. He Chu San merely nodded in acknowledgment, his steps never slowing as he went straight for that room.

Pushing open the door, he saw Xia Liu Yi reclining against the wall on a narrow bed, head slightly tilted, fast asleep.

He Chu San halted.

He gently closed the door behind him and approached the bedside with light, careful steps.

Holding his breath, he gazed silently at Xia Liu Yi.

Xia Liu Yi was bare-chested, his torso from chest to waist wrapped in bandages. His shoulders and arms were marked with countless abrasions from grass, dirt, and stone. He had grown noticeably thinner, his cheeks hollowed, lips dry, his wan face tinged with an unnatural flush. His stubble had clearly been hastily shaved the night before, leaving a small nick on his chin. He looked like a desert poplar that had just endured a raging sandstorm—still standing, yet battered and scarred.

He Chu San stood like a carved statue beside the bed, staring at him for a long time, not daring to touch him for fear of waking him. Yet within him, it felt as though a river of molten lava coursed through his veins—burning, scalding, and unbearable.

After a long while, he came back to himself and glanced around the room.

The space was cramped and poorly ventilated, with only a single tightly shut window. The four brick walls were roughly coated in whitewash. There was almost nothing inside—only a single iron-framed bed and a few stools. A kettle and a cup sat atop one of them. Beside the bed stood a rusted metal stand, from which hung two IV bags, their contents slowly dripping through tubing into the back of Xia Liu Yi’s hand.

He’s staying in such a wretched place… badly injured… and he’s burning with fever, He Chu San thought.

He bent down slightly and gently pressed his lips to Xia Liu Yi’s forehead—warm, as expected. That explained the unnatural flush on his face.

This ignorant, greedy, life-risking underworld man… is it really so hard for him to live a clean and peaceful life? What in this world is worth gambling his life for? Has he never once thought—if something happened to him, what would become of me?

His eyes grew hot and wet. A tear fell onto Xia Liu Yi’s forehead.

That woke him.

Xia Liu Yi’s eyes snapped open, first glancing toward the door in alarm—then turning back. The moment he saw who it was, a smile bloomed across his exhausted face, unbidden.

“You’re here,” he said hoarsely with a faint laugh.

The smile softened into something more helpless as he reached up and wiped the corner of He Chu San’s eye. “Why are you crying again? Look at you—like a little crybaby.”

He Chu San said nothing, only stared at him as tears streamed down relentlessly.

Xia Liu Yi’s hairs stood on end from the sight. He cupped his face, flustered, coaxing, “Hey, are you done crying yet? Good thing your Brother Liu Yi has a better temper these days—if it were before, I’d have beaten you already, just to make you hold it in.”

My temper is getting worse, He Chu San thought.

I really want to beat you senseless. Lock you up. Seal you in a tower so high no prince could ever reach you—no long hair, no rescue—only me, the old witch who beats you three times a day.

The more he thought, the more resentment crept in. His tearful gaze turned fierce.

Xia Liu Yi was startled by that strange mix of weeping fragility and savage intensity. He thought the boy had been pushed too far, on the verge of losing his mind. He wanted to pull him into an embrace to soothe him—but with his chest injured, he could neither hold him nor leave him be. In the end, he could only stroke his face and watch him cry.

After a while, He Chu San forced himself to stop. He wiped his face and asked hoarsely, “Are you thirsty? Have you eaten lunch?”

The shift in topic came so abruptly that Xia Liu Yi didn’t react in time. “Thirsty… haven’t…”

He Chu San rose, poured him a cup of water, and carefully fed him a few sips. Then he turned and went out to find A’Nan and A’Mao to arrange food for the Boss.

…

When Xia Liu Yi tumbled down the steep mountainside, he struck a large rock and lost consciousness. A sudden torrential downpour obstructed the police search, allowing him to escape disaster. After that stormy night, he and Qin Hao hid deep in the mountains—crawling through caves, wading across fields, staggering onward in miserable exhaustion for nearly two days before finally reaching this Chinese temple.

This temple had been built over a decade ago with donations from Azure Dragon. It served as one of his temporary safehouses in Thailand. The abbot was well acquainted with Xia Liu Yi and immediately took in both him and Qin Hao when they collapsed at the temple gates. Following Xia Liu Yi’s instructions, he contacted Cui Dong Dong, who summoned A’Nan, A’Mao, and a private doctor waiting in Bangkok.

To avoid detection by the authorities, they could not go to a proper hospital. The doctor brought medicine from Hong Kong and purchased more from the black market, turning the small temple into an underground clinic.

Qin Hao had severe bullet grazes on his leg and shoulder and remained unconscious most of the time. Xia Liu Yi had fractured ribs, and the infection had led to pneumonia. In the early days, he too lay mostly unconscious. Even after improving slightly, every breath brought piercing pain; his voice was hoarse and weak, and he could barely walk a few steps. In such a state, the moment he spoke, anything unusual would be obvious—how could he dare call He Chu San?

He had Cui Dong Dong cover for him, intending to stall a few more days until he improved.

Who could have expected He Chu San to storm the executive office?

Cui Dong Dong called, lecturing him bluntly—You think you can hide this? Just admit it already. That troublemaker of yours is about to burn your entire house down!

Xia Liu Yi knew she was right. Even if he fooled him now, once back in Hong Kong, he would still face interrogation. And judging by things now, there was no hiding it anymore—He Chu San had even threatened to break up over the phone.

Left with no choice, he told him his location.

He had expected an outburst, or at least a barrage of questioning.

Instead, after that one crying spell upon arrival, He Chu San said nothing more—no accusations, no tantrums. As if nothing had happened, he assumed the role of the “lady of the house,” directing the bodyguards and doctor, managing Xia Liu Yi’s food, clothing, shelter, and medical care.

He dismissed the hired driver and drove the rented car himself, bringing along the novice monk as guide and interpreter to the nearby markets, returning with a car full of fruits, vegetables, eggs, and meat. He set up an open-air stove outside the temple, personally cooking nourishing porridge for the two patients, stewing meat for the guards and doctor, and even preparing tea snacks for the monks.

After only a few days of learning Thai from the novice monk, he was already able to drive alone into the city—buying fresh clothes, towels, washbasins, even transporting back a small folding table and a wardrobe.

He Chu San carried the small wardrobe into the corner, neatly folding the newly bought clothes and storing them inside. He placed a small table by Xia Liu Yi’s bedside, set upon it a pristine porcelain vase with a few fresh-cut flowers, pasted hand-cut red paper window decorations onto the cleaned, gleaming little window, and finally laid out steaming dishes upon the table—

—thus, in this foreign land, he had somehow begun to build a quiet little life together with the Boss.

At noon that day, Xia Liu Yi sat crookedly at the bedside with an IV still in his arm, picking at his food by himself. He watched He Chu San bustle about without pause—first taking a call to instruct his subordinates at his own company regarding a recent futures trade, then stepping outside to discuss with the abbot how the coming New Year’s Eve would be observed: a daytime ceremony at the temple, and in the evening, a grand vegetarian feast arranged by him.

Xia Liu Yi chewed a mouthful of rice for a long while without swallowing. A tide of emotions welled up within him—gratitude, guilt, tenderness, confusion—so tangled he could not tell one from another.

His hand slipped into the inner pocket of his coat, touching the photograph he had obtained from Golden Maitreya. He thought of the unfamiliar yet strangely familiar third person in the image. He knew that man had been involved in Azure Dragon’s father’s death—very likely even Azure Dragon’s own death.

He would return to Hong Kong. He would uncover the truth of those years.

His path of vengeance was not yet at an end.

There would still be killing. Still be bloodshed. Still be dealings that could never see the light.

The “washing clean” that He Chu San longed for… might remain forever out of reach.

He would have to keep it from him.

Perhaps… he would even have to see that boy’s silent tears again.

“What are you thinking about?” He Chu San sat down across from him with a smile. “Spacing out while eating?”

Xia Liu Yi coughed lightly to cover himself, hurriedly swallowing the rice he had been chewing for far too long.

“Are you a child? You’ve dropped rice everywhere,” He Chu San laughed, eyes bright as starlight. He reached out, plucked a grain of rice from Xia Liu Yi’s chin, then brought his finger to his own lips and licked it clean while looking straight at him.

Xia Liu Yi flushed red to the ears, slammed his bowl down, wanting to curse him for being shameless—but the words would not come. In the end, he picked up the bowl again and buried his head in eating.

He Chu San now occupied the softest place in his heart—he could not bear to harm even a single hair on his head.

…

The day before New Year’s Eve, He Chu San flew back to Hong Kong. He paid early New Year visits to his father and mother, claiming he had to go abroad the next day on business. He entrusted the duties of accompanying them for the New Year and visiting relatives to Xin Xin.

His father now had a wife and daughter, living peacefully in his later years. That made He Chu San’s absence easier to bear. He was sincerely grateful toward Mrs. Wu and her daughter, accompanying them shopping all afternoon, even trying to buy each of them an expensive mink coat.

Xin Xin squealed in delight, but Mrs. Wu waved her hands in alarm. Amid Xin Xin’s disappointed sighs, she firmly made him return them, insisting instead that he buy only ordinary New Year goods and supplements.

After dinner, He Chu San secretly slipped a large red envelope to Xin Xin, then carried a bag of gifts to Cui Dong Dong’s home—to pay respects, and to apologize humbly.

Cui Dong Dong was still furious. She had Xiao Luo block him at the door, refusing to see him, sending only a message:

“Dead gay—no humanity left now that you’ve got a man.”

He Chu San returned defeated, trudging bitterly toward the elevator—only to be called back by Xiao Luo, who handed him a large box of handmade cupcakes.

“Sister Dong told me to make these for you to bring to the Boss as New Year gifts. Oh—and she said everyone else can eat them. You’re not allowed a single bite.”

“Brother Liu Yi was right. Never offend a woman,” He Chu San thought the next morning on the flight back to Thailand.

As he thought this, he opened the box, secretly devoured three pieces in one go, then carefully rearranged the rest until not a single flaw could be seen.

That evening, the cupcakes were squeezed into a corner of a table overflowing with dishes.

The round table was set in the temple’s back courtyard. On one side sat several monks; on the other, a group of underworld men who had practically taken over the place. Xia Liu Yi, still wrapped in bandages across his chest, sat bare-shouldered at the table, drinking and shouting boisterously with the bespectacled underworld doctor and the bodyguards, even pouring alcohol into Qin Hao’s cup—who had only just regained the strength to walk.

What should have been a solemn vegetarian New Year’s feast had turned into utter chaos.

He Chu San sat between the abbot and the young novice monk, constantly pouring tea, serving food, offering thanks and apologies. From time to time, he even had to quietly pour out the alcohol those hooligans kept trying to force upon the novice monk.

The abbot, after days of observation, still could not quite place He Chu San. At times he seemed like the boss’s personal attendant; at others, like another boss entirely—or even the boss of the boss. He was clearly different from the rest, yet blended seamlessly among them.

The abbot felt both curiosity and wonder—but did not ask.

After several rounds of wine and dishes, He Chu San set down his chopsticks, nodded apologetically to the abbot, and rose. He crossed to the other side of the table, first rescuing the half-dazed Qin Hao from the drunken crowd and escorting him back to his room.

Then he returned and firmly pulled the slightly tipsy Xia Liu Yi to his feet. He cast a casual glance at A’Nan and A’Mao, who were about to follow with more drinks—both shrank back immediately, obediently sitting down.

“Damn brat, I haven’t finished my round,” Xia Liu Yi muttered as he was dragged away. “I’m the Boss—give me some face!”

“You’ve had plenty,” He Chu San replied. “Drink any more and I’ll carry you back in front of everyone.”

Xia Liu Yi retaliated with a sharp pinch to his backside.

He Chu San glanced toward the table, then suddenly bent and hoisted him onto his shoulder, giving him a slap before striding into the room and tossing him onto the bed.

Xia Liu Yi’s old face burned red as he leapt up to fight back. He Chu San tossed him a coat, smiling so hard his eyes curved.

“Put it on, Boss. I’m taking you to watch fireworks.”

He helped him dress, grabbed two bottles of some local drink, then quietly led him around the others, out of the temple, and into the car—driving off along a familiar mountain road.

Xia Liu Yi lounged lazily in the passenger seat, holding a box of fireworks and drinks, gazing out the window. He Chu San glanced at him while driving and suddenly felt a sense of déjà vu.

Wasn’t it just last year, around this time, that Xia Liu Yi had driven him out to set off fireworks?

Now their roles had reversed.

He couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you laughing at?” Xia Liu Yi asked without turning.

“This is the third New Year’s Eve we’ve spent together,” He Chu San said with a grin.

Xia Liu Yi gave a noncommittal “Mm,” still looking out the window—but the tips of his ears flushed faintly red.

He Chu San loved that look—the way he was clearly moved yet pretended otherwise. He kept sneaking glances at him until Xia Liu Yi finally snapped, reaching out to shove his face forward.

“Watch the road!”

…

After winding along the mountain roads, they stopped halfway up. From there, they had to walk.

He Chu San carried the box, leading the way, pointing things out as Xia Liu Yi followed behind.

“Brother Liu Yi, there’s a hole here.”

“Watch your step—there’s a rock.”

“Tree roots here—”

“Shut up,” Xia Liu Yi said. “Your Brother Liu Yi isn’t crippled or blind.”

After about ten minutes, they reached a gentle slope with a clear view. He Chu San chose a flat, dry spot, spread out a waterproof canvas mat, lit a mosquito coil, and invited the boss to sit.

“Didn’t you say fireworks?” Xia Liu Yi frowned, puzzled.

He Chu San carefully unwrapped a small oil-paper bundle and revealed—

—a handful of delicate handheld sparklers.

“… ”

Xia Liu Yi felt the urge to pin him down and beat him senseless.

“Big fireworks are too conspicuous. What if we attract the police? And this place isn’t suitable—it might start a fire,” He Chu San explained.

Xia Liu Yi covered his face, not wanting to look—but then heard the soft crackle as a sparkler ignited.

“Brother Liu Yi, look! It’s beautiful!” He Chu San called excitedly.

Through his fingers, Xia Liu Yi peeked. The violet-red sparks glowed brilliantly, lighting up He Chu San’s radiant smile.

His heart skipped.

“Take one,” He Chu San urged, pressing a sparkler into his hand. “I’ll light it for you.”

“You’re annoying,” Xia Liu Yi grumbled—but his eyes were already fixed on the sparkling light in his hand, unable to look away.

Like a child.

They sat cross-legged beneath the bright moon, lighting sparkler after sparkler, laughing and bickering. He Chu San insisted on making wishes; Xia Liu Yi mocked him for being girlish, while He Chu San accused him of never having been in love.

Annoyed, Xia Liu Yi shoved him down and bit him. They wrestled and laughed like playful beasts—until He Chu San’s chin smacked into Xia Liu Yi’s forehead, making him gasp in pain, while Xia Liu Yi burst into loud laughter.

It was the first time in days he had laughed so freely.

Then—

A tear slipped down his face.

He didn’t notice at first. Only when he saw He Chu San’s startled expression did he touch his face—and found it wet.

The tears would not stop.

The world fell silent.

He Chu San cupped his face and kissed him gently.

After a long moment, Xia Liu Yi finally choked out—

“Xiao Ma is dead…”

“What?” He Chu San pulled back, not hearing clearly.

“Xiao Ma is dead,” Xia Liu Yi wept. “A’San… Xiao Ma is gone.”

Elio’s notes: We’ll continue again tomorrow. Good night!

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