Elio’s Notes: We’re moving updates to around 2pm UTC daily. 😁
Yan Xiaodao was not particularly surprised that Mr. Ling would make a demand like that.
At this point, nothing shocking or outrageous that came out of this man’s mouth would surprise him anymore.
Liang Youhui instinctively backed up two steps. He had caught the nose-wrinkling smell coming off Ling He’s entire body. Even the Hermès men’s fragrance Liang Youhui was wearing could not cover it. Ling He was like a huge piece of salty, damp, moldy seaweed dredged up from the deepest part of the Mariana Trench. He was filthy and ugly. What exactly was supposed to be good-looking about him?
Ling He did not flatter Young Master Liang either. He ignored him completely, one hand still gripping Yan Xiaodao’s leg. He really had chosen the move of “hugging the thigh”—and with viciously accurate judgment, he had picked the thickest thigh in the entire room.
Yan Xiaodao helplessly glanced at the two of them and did not hesitate. He simply was not the sort to fuss, dither, or shrink from doing something.
With his eyes, he told Young Master Liang to get moving and lead the way. Then he bent down, hooked one arm around Ling He’s shoulder, slid both hands beneath his armpits, and hauled him directly upright. When Ling He came face-to-face with him, Yan Xiaodao quietly warned, “Watch our backs yourself.”
As he spoke, he gave the man another upward toss and threw him straight over his right shoulder, carrying him that way.
Mr. Ling truly was tall and long-legged. In an instant he had been folded in half at the waist, both legs hanging down in front of Yan Xiaodao while his upper body dangled upside down behind him.
Yan Xiaodao wore a suit, carrying an extremely conspicuous full-grown man over one shoulder as he strode rapidly toward the exit. His eyes swept imperiously in every direction.
Ling He was actually pretty heavy. Walking faster somehow made him feel less heavy.
Yan Xiaodao wrapped his right arm securely around Ling He’s thighs, holding him firmly in place. His left hand, whether deliberately or casually, slipped beneath the front of his suit jacket, his fingers hovering near his waist….
The layers of people surrounding him like range after range of mountains seemed forced backward by his presence alone. They retreated to either side like an ebbing tide, opening a long, narrow path straight through the middle and allowing him to walk out without obstruction.
The men exchanged glances and frantic little signals, each trying to encourage someone else to step forward, yet not one truly dared.
Hanging upside down, all Ling He could see swaying in his vision was Yan Xiaodao’s straight back, the line of his spine, waist, and hips. His hands had nowhere to go, so he casually slipped them beneath the back hem of Yan Xiaodao’s suit and grabbed the waistband of his trousers.
From a distance, You Haodong watched them and took out his phone to call his men.
But now, whether he called or sent messages, not a single one of his fucking people answered.
Yan Xiaodao clearly had other backup waiting outside, or perhaps this was some secret arrangement of Qi Baoshan’s. What was the point of keeping a whole pack of useless idiots? Raising three or five of them was worth less than raising one Yan Xiaodao. Young Master You was so furious he hurled his phone at the wall and smashed it to pieces.
＊
In the lobby, Yan Xiaodao squeezed Liang Youhui’s arm twice and gave him a grateful expression that said, A true brother will take a blade in both ribs for you. Thanks for the help. Then the two went their separate ways, and Yan Xiaodao carried the man straight back to his own hotel room.
Jian Mingjue followed him all the way to the door. Like a greedy cat following the smell of fish, he offered Yan a cigarette beneath the hallway lights, leaned closer, and rubbed his fingers together. “Mr. Yan, don’t keep good merchandise all to yourself. When you’re finished, I’ll take the next turn…. Doesn’t matter what shape you play him into. I’ll still take him. Heh-heh-heh.”
Yan Xiaodao cupped one fist in the other hand. “Brother Jian, I really wronged you today. What happened stays between you and me. I won’t spread it around, so don’t worry. Another day I’ll come apologize properly and treat you to a meal.”
“Ah, it’s nothing.” Jian Mingjue grinned crookedly. Thinking of how that tigress Zhao Qifeng had once very much wanted to sleep with Yan Xiaodao, he could not resist squeezing Xiaodao’s shoulder and whispering, “Why come apologize, Mr. Yan? Come over another day and the two of us can ‘team up’ and have some fun together.”
Only after Yan Xiaodao shut the door in his face did he begin to understand exactly what Jian Mingjue had meant by “team up.”
The moment Yan turned around, Ling He, whom he had dropped onto the shoe bench in the entryway, ordered, “Put out the cigarette. I’m allergic.”
It was already around two in the morning. A bright moon hung outside the window beneath light winds and thin clouds. After an intensely tense day, muscular fatigue was finally crawling up along the spine. At the same time, various brands of coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol had mixed exhaustion with forced stimulation until the nerves felt hazy and the brain heavy.
Yan Xiaodao took the cigarette out of his mouth. “You spent the whole evening getting smoked alive in that casino. How did you survive?”
Ling He coughed several times and, unusually, admitted weakness. “Nearly went blind from the smoke. Couldn’t breathe. My eyes hurt and my lungs hurt. I’m allergic to nicotine.”
At that, Yan Xiaodao crushed the burning cigarette out in his palm, threw it into the toilet, flushed, then switched on the exhaust fan.
He could not resist mocking him. “That was you when you couldn’t breathe? What are you like when you actually can?”
Ling He’s eyes sharpened, his expression somewhere between a smile and a sneer. “I can breathe now. Want to try me, Mr. Yan?”
Yan Xiaodao wisely shut his mouth. He wanted a little peace and quiet for his ears.
He carefully swept the room, digging two button-sized listening devices out from beneath the chandelier shade and under the writing desk. Then he switched off every light and walked around once more, checking for any red or green pinpoints.
Yang Xifeng sent a message: 【Boss, those two idiots outside the casino—I took them down for you just now. Anything else you need me doing? Just say the word, Bro.】
Yan Xiaodao smiled at the screen and replied: 【Nice. Watch the hallway.】
After a day of surviving one narrow passage after another, all the demons, monsters, ghosts, and spirits on every side had finally lowered their banners for the moment. The night entered a comparatively quiet and peaceful second half.
Two familiar strangers were alone together in one room late at night, gradually beginning to appreciate the awkward, dull atmosphere seeping out from every corner of the surrounding white walls as they looked at one another.
Yan Xiaodao sent another brief text to Qi Baoshan reporting that everything had gone smoothly and everyone was safe. Unexpectedly, his godfather immediately called him back. Who knew whether the man had gotten up in the middle of the night and was sitting by the bed listening to crosstalk while playing with a cricket, or whether he had simply never gone to sleep at all. Either way, the call forced Yan Xiaodao to retreat into one corner of the bedroom and exchange several quiet words with Master Qi where Ling He could not hear.
His godfather sounded pleased over the phone. “Very good, Xiaodao. You did very well. Bring the man back and I’ll handle him.”
Yan Xiaodao did not ask his godfather exactly what “handle him” meant. Yet for some inexplicable reason, the words made him uncomfortable, though he could not find any justification for that discomfort.
When he came back out, Ling He was still sitting beneath the small entryway lamp, unable to move an inch on his own. The warm yellow halo outlined the beautifully sculpted line of his nose and lips. Ling He had finished the cup of warm water Yan Xiaodao had heated for him, but had not touched the bread, biscuits, or other food intended to fill his stomach.
Mr. Ling was in no particularly good mood either. He mocked, “Inconvenient, isn’t it? A great broad-shouldered man like you has to crawl into a crack in the floor just to make a phone call.”
As though someone had voluntarily flipped a switch—click—the familiar mode turned on again. Yan Xiaodao folded his arms over his chest.
Ling He smiled faintly. “You were calling your godfather Qi Baoshan. You belong to Qi Baoshan.”
Yan Xiaodao neither confirmed nor denied it.
Ling He tipped his head back, exposing the line of his neck and Adam’s apple as though deliberately presenting a vulnerable point. His smile carried a trace of bleakness. “All I did was leave Watanabe Yangshan’s hands and fall into Master Qi’s. What difference does that make to me? Watanabe Yangshan wanted a shark to bite me to death while I was alive. How does your godfather Qi Baoshan plan to kill me? Brand me against a heated pillar? Tear me apart with chariots? Flay me? Death by a thousand cuts? Let me prepare myself.”
Elio’s Notes: 炮烙, 车裂, and 凌迟 are historical torture/execution methods: branding against a heated pillar, dismemberment by chariots, and death by a thousand cuts. Ling He deliberately lists grotesquely archaic methods to mock the idea that Qi Baoshan must also intend some elaborate death for him.
Yan Xiaodao frowned slightly. “Ask yourself. How many people have you offended?”
Ling He looked contemptuous. “The whole world.”
There were some questions that were never supposed to be Yan Xiaodao’s to ask, but he could not hold back. “How did you make an enemy of Master Qi? Give me a reason.”
“Does becoming enemies require choosing some grand, respectable reason and announcing it to the whole world?” Ling He smiled as though the matter weighed nothing. Fireworks rose outside the window and illuminated both their faces. “Besides, Qi Baoshan has definitely already told you. Why deliberately ask me? You don’t trust him, but you’ll trust me?”
Ling He lifted his eyes toward Yan Xiaodao. His expression became vivid and animated, as though he were telling a story unfolding right before them. “Did Master Qi tell you that my father Ling Huang was an irredeemably wicked man whose crimes were piled too high to count? That Ling Huang was sinister and cunning, bullied entire trades and markets, swindled people for money, and had blood debts on his hands? That eventually all his property was confiscated and he ended up a prisoner in chains? That for more than ten years the whole world has pointed at his spine and spat in his face, his name ruined, his stench left behind for ten thousand years—is that what he told you? Heh….”
Yan Xiaodao asked calmly, “Are you trying to deny it?”
To his surprise, Ling He’s face showed disgust. “What does anything he did have to do with me? Why would I deny it for him? If he’s capable, he can drag that rotting flesh of his out of the grave and crawl back here to explain it to you himself.”
“…” Yan Xiaodao had secretly harbored some doubts about several things his godfather had said. Ling He erased more than half of those doubts in one stroke. Ling Huang clearly had not been a good man either. Perhaps Qi Baoshan really had been telling the truth.
Yan Xiaodao turned to take a spare set of bedding from the wardrobe. “Get some sleep.”
“Don’t want to sleep.” Ling He gave another completely unceremonious domestic order. “I want a bath. I stink. Fill the tub and carry me in.”
Yan Xiaodao felt that the young master named Ling He was an extraordinarily contradictory, troublesome, and irritating existence.
The fact that Yan still thought of him as a “young master” was entirely an instinctive judgment based on the man’s appearance, bearing, gestures, and movements. Yan Xiaodao certainly did not think anyone could call him a young master, and nobody ever had. Clearly, people had eyes and could recognize him for what he was: a rough, scruffy man born poor and raised among ordinary streets.
Ling He had obviously been educated. In truth, he understood manners, propriety, and every social rule perfectly well. One look at him and you knew he had been raised as the young master of a prominent family, carefully cultivated in music, chess, poetry, and books. His family must once have been wealthy, with drivers and servants surrounding him. Yet this born young master seemed determined to tear open that exquisite outer shell himself and expose the obscure, caustic, eccentric, vicious face underneath, periodically turning on people just to provoke them. It felt as though he deliberately chose to be nasty and had long since made a habit of it.
Who knew what had happened to him as a child. Maybe his father had abused him. Maybe a donkey had kicked him in the head. Or maybe he had eaten too much “heating” tonic—ginseng and turtle essence—until it cooked his brain.
If Ling Huang really had been a bloodstained criminal, then Ling He’s childhood could hardly have been ordinary.
Yan Xiaodao dragged him straight into the bathroom and sat him on the closed toilet lid. The luxury hotel bathroom, originally quite spacious, immediately seemed cramped. Yan could hardly turn around without stepping on Ling He’s stiff legs stretched out in front of him.
The little overhead light cast Yan Xiaodao’s shadow over Ling He’s face, as though Yan’s entire figure were covering Young Master Ling beneath him, creating an inexplicable trace of ambiguity.
Ling He sat there with all four limbs perfectly at ease, his expression peaceful, clearly waiting for Yan Xiaodao to serve him.
Yan Xiaodao genuinely had never helped someone else bathe.
Well, that was not entirely true. He had scrubbed Qi Baoshan’s back before. That was normal. Qi Baoshan was his godfather; of course Yan had to be filial.
Back when they went to hot-spring villas in the suburbs to relax, Qi Baoshan would soak in the warm mist with a steaming white towel folded over his head, only half his body visible above the water. Qi Baoshan did not use a professional bath attendant. What would he need some old scrubber for when he had a godson? Wouldn’t that make Master Qi look lonely and pathetic, as though he had nobody beneath him? Yan Xiaodao would kneel on one knee beside the pool, drape another white towel over his godfather’s shoulders, then pound and knead him with plenty of force.
Qi Baoshan would laugh and praise him. “Not bad at all. You could go make a living with those hands.”
Yan Xiaodao would laugh. “I already make my living from these hands under you.”
He also lived together with a whole group of brothers from the jianghu. A pack of grown men often washed off with cold water in the courtyard or jumped straight into rivers, lakes, and the sea. They were all port-city boys from the coast, practically born as water ducks.
But between adult men there were supposed to be natural boundaries and things you avoided—unless you had a different sexual orientation or particularly heavy tastes.
Yan Xiaodao clicked his tongue. “How about I call in a couple of ‘hourly attendants’ to help you bathe?”
Ling He half-opened his eyes. “You mean those two called Dick Junichiro and Red-Tip Kameguchi? I think they’re dirty. You’re cleaner.”
Ling He immediately jabbed him again. “Or you can call that little follower of yours to come serve me, if you don’t mind him being noisy and talking too much. His guest room should be on this floor, or at most one floor above or below, right?”
Yan Xiaodao: “…”
Ling He abruptly brightened and laughed with wicked delight. “When I was soaking in that seawater cage, the person who came sneaking around to gather information, then got scared shitless and ran back to report to you—that was your little follower, wasn’t it? I didn’t mistake him, did I? I can still recognize his face. Need me to point him out for you tomorrow, Mr. Yan?”
Beneath the light, Young Master Ling’s smile was breathtaking. When he succeeded at irritating someone, his eyes narrowed and their outer corners tilted upward with mischievous mockery.
Yan Xiaodao shoved both hands into his trouser pockets and looked around for some wide packing tape used to seal shipping boxes, preferably enough to tape this man’s mouth shut.
Ling He wore open, brazen mockery on his face. He was equally frank about taking off his clothes, showing not the slightest trace of flirtation or seduction as he discarded the remains of his upper garments, already torn into strips, at his feet.
Mr. Ling was not deathly pale. His skin was naturally fair, with a faint honey tone from the sun across his shoulders, neck, chest, and abdomen. His collarbones were straight and elegant, and beneath the light his body was nearly perfect. It really was an excellent body. But after days of torment, his skin had been soaked raw in various places, marred by yellow and green stains from seaweed, marine growth, and small shells. It was painful to look at, like a treasure that had been covered in dust and defiled.
Ling He signaled with his eyes, clearly telling Yan Xiaodao to take off his pants.
His legs could not move, and he could not lift his own hips. It genuinely was difficult for him to remove his trousers by himself.
Yan Xiaodao had already given the tub a quick scrub and turned on the hot water. The small bathroom immediately filled with the ceaseless sound of running water and increasingly dense steam. Moisture filled their nasal passages and hazed both men’s lashes.
Yan Xiaodao’s expression was unreadable. Following Ling He’s movement of unfastening his trousers, Yan bent down and began pulling the trouser legs away, carefully examining both long legs as he went.
The instant Yan bent forward and lowered his head, just as he had worked Ling He’s trousers down to his knees, he suddenly lunged. His face went cold as he shoved Ling He backward against the toilet tank.
Ling He was immediately folded into an extremely awkward, compromising position. Only the hard point of his tailbone barely served as a precarious support, while both thighs were spread and lifted. He leaned backward, breathing harder as he stared at Yan Xiaodao.
Ling He looked briefly startled, then mockery entered his eyes. “So Mr. Yan is into this after all?”
Yan Xiaodao snorted. “You aren’t?”
Ling He looked contemptuous. “I thought you could hold out one more night. The beast beneath the human face couldn’t contain himself any longer?”
“Heh. You think I’m stupid?” Yan Xiaodao narrowed his eyes at Ling He. “Are your legs really paralyzed?”
Ling He said, “…Want to test them?”
Both men’s pupils reflected the other’s eyes and the tiny bathroom lights, every minute shift of expression completely visible. Yan Xiaodao changed position. One palm clamped over the vulnerable area at the back of Ling He’s neck, while his other hand began feeling along the man’s left leg from the knee.
Yan Xiaodao asked coldly, “Tell me. How did you end up lame?”
Ling He said nothing, his chest rising and falling violently. Bent backward with nothing supporting him in front or behind, he was like an uncontrolled wobbling doll, all his weight balanced in the palm supporting the back of his neck. The position was extremely uncomfortable. “Are you… finished…?”
This was plainly an interrogation by force.
Yan Xiaodao had turned hostile without warning and gone straight for hard methods. Ling He truly had not expected it.
Ling He caught his breath and said, “I made someone unhappy. They crippled me.”
Yan Xiaodao said, “How?”
Ling He shot back, “Aren’t you good at feeling things out?”
Yan Xiaodao found it. His hand stopped. In disbelief, he asked quietly, “…Your knee. Where’s your kneecap? Were you born without it, or what happened?”
Ling He widened his eyes and looked at him as though gazing into some illusion. A faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips, yet within that smile lay an extreme emptiness and sorrow, washed thin by long years but stretching far back without end, flowing faintly through his heart….
Yan Xiaodao could barely believe it. What kind of hatred would make someone do something this cruel?
“How long?” he asked.
“Many years, probably. I’m used to it,” Ling He said.
“Who did it?” Yan Xiaodao asked again.
Ling He did not answer, giving him only an indifferent expression that seemed to say, Can’t you guess?
This was a story that had nothing whatsoever to do with Yan Xiaodao. He had never needed to ask. Who cared why someone had destroyed Ling He’s legs? Had it been punishment, revenge, torture? Or something like those twisted acts of imprisonment hidden in the world’s darkest corners? In any case, there were every kind of human being—and every kind of ghost—in this world….
The bathtub filled quickly, water rushing as though washing over the fixed assumptions in both men’s minds.
Ling He studied Yan Xiaodao’s expression and commented, “Isn’t this what it means to say human nature is inherently evil? If a walking corpse is lying destitute beside the road with a label saying DISCARDED GOODS stuck to it, every onlooker can’t wait to line up and spit one more mouthful into its face, stamp one more footprint onto it, and grind it deeper into the mud so it never gets back up…. I’ve seen more than enough of that kind of humanity. Mr. Yan, do you want to stomp on my face too?”
＊
Yan Xiaodao slowly let Ling He go. He had nothing to say. Something inside him had been stabbed so sharply that it retreated several great steps, and he could no longer rebuild the vicious momentum needed to keep interrogating him.
A moment earlier, Yan had secretly squeezed Ling He’s knee and leg bones with close to seventy percent of his strength. Anyone with normal pain sensation would have been unable to endure it and would certainly have cried out. Ling He’s legs had shown almost no reaction at all.
Yan Xiaodao rolled his shoulders slightly and stood upright. “Sorry. I’m a rough man. My hands are heavy.”
Ling He’s lips moved faintly. “A trivial matter. Mr. Yan needn’t concern himself.”
Ling He did not have the usual reservations adult men had around one another, and sensation in parts of his body was extraordinarily dull. With Yan Xiaodao handling him, all his clothing came off, yet his face remained expressionless.
Yan Xiaodao lifted him sideways in both arms and lowered him carefully into the warm bathwater.
He piled the hotel’s standard shampoo, body wash, moisturizer, and other toiletries, along with a razor, on the closed toilet lid beside the tub. He also prepared towels and a stack of clean clothes.
“…Do you need me to come back later and change the water for you?” Yan Xiaodao asked.
“No. I can do it myself.” Ling He’s naked body floated in the bathtub.
Yan Xiaodao pulled the bathroom door shut behind him. Only after returning to the room did he remove his suit jacket and carefully roll up his shirt sleeve.
His right elbow was swollen, red, and split, with a large area of bruised muscle. To catch Ling He securely, he had allowed the mahjong table to slam into his arm. The better and heavier the solid-wood table, the more brutal the impact. A section of his forearm more than a foot long had swollen badly, the injury turning into a frightening mass of purple-black bruising.
He warmed medicated liniment for bruises and sprains between his palms and treated the injury himself beneath the light. He did not want anyone else seeing injuries on his body.
＊
The tubful of dirty water spiraled slowly down the drain before fresh water began filling it again.
In the newly clear warm water was reflected a handsome face touched by mist and cloud, with dark brows, bright eyes, defined features, and picturesque phoenix eyes. Ling He leaned his back against the wet tiled wall and gazed at the clean, undecorated white wall as though appreciating an elegant painting. He laughed quietly several times and spoke to himself, repeating the name again and again.
“Yan Xiaodao. I’ve long heard your great name. Hearing about you for so long really wasn’t the same as finally meeting you. You truly live up to your reputation. It has been a pleasure meeting you today.”
One wet arm slid over the edge of the bathtub. From the pile of ruined clothes on the floor, Ling He retrieved something he had secretly kept. Between two fingers, he held up the Eight of Characters tile.
…
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