Whenever Yan Xiaodao and Ling He stopped speaking, the entire villa fell into an agonizing silence. When the masters fought, even their canine consorts did not dare breathe.
Many of the brothers were actually downstairs in the living room. Every one of them stood frozen, listening to the terrifying crash of the sofa overturning and hitting the floor, uncertain whether they should rush upstairs and break up the fight or obey the rules of being subordinates, keep their mouths shut, and stay out of the boss’s private affairs. In terms of fighting ability, they had absolute faith in their boss. If violence broke out, he certainly would not be the one suffering. But… why were they even fighting?
By Yan Xiaodao’s own assessment, he rarely became angry, especially with Ling He. If he could endure something, he endured it. If he could let it pass, he let it pass. If pretending to be stupid would work, he pretended to be stupid. Today, however, he had reached the limit. Yan himself was stubborn and fiercely protective of a man’s dignity. He could not tolerate being toyed with and deceived like this. I’m willing to indulge you, but that doesn’t mean you get to keep pushing until you treat me like an idiot.
There was still a rectangular coffee table in front of the sofa lying upside down.
Before the two of them had a chance to send that table flying as well, Yan Xiaodao forced Ling He flat onto its surface and pinned him with his body and one leg. Ling He lay trapped on the hard glass tabletop, his legs spread and forced to hang loosely over the edges.
“Ling He, we’ve been together this long. How have I treated you?”
“…Am I really so unworthy that you can’t tell me one truthful sentence?” Yan Xiaodao’s steel-claw hands clamped around Ling He’s shoulders.
The position was deeply uncomfortable, but Ling He’s aura lost none of its force. He stared directly upward into Yan’s eyes. “Mr. Yan has always treated me with exquisite tenderness and affection—never touching what shouldn’t be touched, always handling me with care. If you accidentally kick me over, your own heart hurts before I’ve even landed! Which truthful sentence would Mr. Yan like to hear?”
The barbed mockery scraped raw across Yan Xiaodao’s eyes, drawing a mottled red tide into those open, clear pupils. In a hoarse voice, he finally named the fact he wanted confirmed. “Ling He, I’m asking you this: on the northeast corner of the wooden railing of the terrace you’re always using, where did those splinters worn up by shoe soles come from? Who made those shoe marks from climbing up and down the wooden posts? And beneath the terrace, across that steep, broken cliff, who left that entire string of footprints scraping away the green moss? Don’t tell me some little stray cat climbed up there. Don’t tell me Bear Two or Third Lady did it either. Neither of those two can climb that wall. You’ve really got skills!”
Ling He looked at him sidelong through fine, sharp eyes. “Mr. Yan, you’ve got a whole house full of people, cats, dogs, and every other creature imaginable. Why don’t you go downstairs, throw every one of them around, and interrogate them one by one? Did you personally see me climbing the wall?”
“I didn’t.” Yan Xiaodao had known Ling He would never admit it easily, but he had no intention of backing down anymore. “Do you dare tell me those footprints aren’t yours?”
Ling He rolled his eyes without hesitation and turned his face away. “They aren’t.”
Yan Xiaodao’s lips trembled. “Swear to me on your dead parents that you didn’t do it.”
Ling He’s icy green pupils contracted to pinpoints. Fury erupted instantly. He swung an exceptionally vicious slap toward Yan Xiaodao’s face, only for Yan to catch his wrist. The instant those words left Yan’s mouth, he felt sick about them too and immediately withdrew the demand. “Forget the oath. If you say it wasn’t you, then let me guess who it was. The night we went to Mai Yunliang’s concert, when Zhao Qifeng trapped me in that conference room, there was someone outside who followed us and knocked out two men for me. That person moved over walls and through windows with agility beyond anything ordinary. Am I right?”
Pain shot through Ling He’s wrist beneath Yan’s grip. Some places were already turning blue and purple. Only then did he realize that Yan Xiaodao had gone mad today. This was absolutely not their usual flirting disguised as a fight….
Yan Xiaodao suppressed his fury and began pulling apart every thread of the matter in front of him. “Ling He, there are people behind you—and more than one. What exactly are you doing while staying in my house? The tail that follows my car every time I leave—is that one of your people too? What are you planning?”
Ling He’s mouth respected no boundaries. “Wasn’t it Mr. Yan who magnanimously took pity on me, bestowed a meal on me, and offered me somewhere to live? Did I plot and scheme until I forced you to take me in? You’re not even that old, Mr. Yan, but your paranoia is already this bad. Why don’t you roll up my bedding and throw me into the street? Why keep me around every day to stir-fry, cold-toss, reheat, and hot-pot me? Is it to satisfy some perverted sadistic urge of yours?”
An ordinary person might have been knocked senseless by that humiliation. Someone Watanabe Yangshan’s age, with his psychological tolerance, would probably already be half-dead from a heart attack. Yan Xiaodao was neither stupid nor fragile enough for that. He pushed through the clouds and seized the one key phrase. “Just tell me one truthful thing. Was that person yours?”
Ling He remained as hard and difficult as ever. “Truth? What truth could possibly come out of my mouth? Not one sentence I say qualifies as truth to Mr. Yan. Whatever I tell you, will you believe it?”
“Ling He, you—!” The mottled red tide spread completely across Yan Xiaodao’s eyes. “Can your legs move or not? You were never paralyzed at all, were you? Why have you lied to me from beginning to end?!”
At that moment he thought Ling He was cruel, poisonous, shameless, immune to both soft and hard approaches, utterly beyond saving. He should simply throw the man straight out the window into the street and let whoever wanted him pick him up.
But Yan Xiaodao had gone and fallen for precisely this cruel, poisonous, shameless, impossible, hopeless Young Master Ling. Even now, he still clung to the final thread of hope that he could keep him….
Why was Yan Xiaodao circling endlessly around the question of whether Ling He’s legs were truly disabled?
The logic was already perfectly clear. If Ling He’s legs had been fine all along, then this man, these days between them, everything they had shared—even their first meeting—had all been false. It had been a setup.
“Ling He, Ling He, look at me. Stop avoiding my eyes!… Your legs aren’t disabled at all. You can come and go freely every day. You never needed to live under someone else’s roof in this building. You were bored out of your mind staying in my house every day, so whenever you wanted to know my movements, you sent somebody to follow my car, didn’t you?”
“You don’t need anyone to care for you or serve you either. It must have been difficult for you, Ling He. You were so… so ‘unwilling’ to have that kind of intimate relationship with me, yet you still forced yourself to let me bathe you and wash your hair. You suffered so much humiliation lowering yourself beside me and doing things you didn’t want to do. Every day around me must have been torment. You must have felt life was worse than death and wished you could get rid of me as soon as possible, right…?” Yan Xiaodao’s chest rose and trembled where he pressed over Ling He, and at last his hoarse voice exposed the fragility hidden beneath that steel body.
Ling He’s thin lips moved rapidly for a moment. Something seemed to shine through a crack in his eyes like light appearing through melting ice. He tried to explain. He desperately wanted to explain something. But under Xiaodao’s forceful pressure at this knife-edge moment, his own stronger rebellion and pride rose instead. In the end, he explained nothing.
If you understand what kind of person I am, then you understand. If you don’t, I have no interest in explaining myself.
Ling He still held his head high. He had never lowered it to anyone. “Right now I can’t wait for you to get rid of me. Are you finished today, Boss Yan? Get the hell off me and stay away.”
Yan Xiaodao: “…”
Yan Xiaodao hurt so badly he could no longer speak. He remembered how he had been intoxicated by that sweet illusion of mutual affection, approaching Ling He one-sidedly; how night after night in the bathroom he had suppressed his desire while touching the unattainable body before him. And perhaps those exact moments had been when Ling He was most disgusted, most unwilling, most repulsed by him…. If every moment of warmth had been false sentiment, if every act of cherishing had been Yan’s own delusion, the bone-deep chill of it wounded him beyond measure.
＊
Yan Xiaodao’s life had been difficult since childhood. He had already survived violent storms and believed he understood the warmth and coldness of human relations, life and death. Yet never from childhood to adulthood had he suffered a wound this severe. Of course. Nothing wounded a person like love.
Ling He was this cold, proud, and unyielding, his entire body covered in reverse scales, never softening, never compromising. How powerful did his mind and endurance have to be for him to lower himself for so long, suppress his pride, and remain hidden beside Yan?
If Yan rewound farther back, then what exactly had happened aboard the Cloudtop? If Ling He’s legs had been perfectly functional, he would never have been completely helpless and forced to depend on Yan for protection. The murder attempt in the Moulin Rouge Theater should never have unfolded as it did. Ling He would not have been dragged helplessly into the neighboring box without the ability to fight back. He would not have been forcibly injected with nicotine and nearly died. And there would have been no need whatsoever for some idiotic fool to go insane giving him artificial respiration.
Inside the Moulin Rouge box, Ling He had lain across the floor with a bluish face and barely perceptible breathing, half a broken needle protruding from his neck.
The amount of nicotine injected had been neither too much nor too little: just enough to place him in danger of suffocation without killing him—or rather, just enough to require Mr. Yan to play the hero and save the beauty in a crisis without leaving Ling He seriously harmed. In short, he would not die…. And who had snapped that needle?
Too bad both yellow-haired killers had jumped into the sea and vanished to who-knew-where. The killers could hardly have broken their own weapon for him.
And inside the casino on Yilu Island, if Ling He had not been crippled, then there was no need for him to lie weakly across the gambling table pretending to be a captive plaything and human stake. Ling He could simply have slammed a hand against the table and sprung upright. His movements might have been more agile than every idiot in the room. Judging by the strength in his fingers, punching You Haodong, kicking Jian Mingjue, and pinching Watanabe Yangshan to death with two fingers should all have been within his capabilities. Why would Yan Xiaodao have needed to rack his brains gambling those tiles?
Even their dangerous yet beautiful chance meeting at sea became a mirage. Ling He was incomparably intelligent—how could enemies ever have captured him? Watanabe Yangshan was greedy and stupid. What ability did that old piece of filth possess that could possibly have caught Ling He? With Watanabe’s mind and intelligence, he was not even qualified to carry Young Master Ling’s shoes.
Ling He, you wanted to get aboard that ship. You deliberately created an opportunity to collide with all of us there, didn’t you?
＊
Everything had been a perfectly designed siege of the heart.
Every step calculated, every detail deliberate, and the target of the attack had been Yan Xiaodao’s heart.
How much of Yan’s inability to let go of Ling He had begun with the flashes of vulnerability and helplessness occasionally exposed beneath that willful shell, provoking his powerful instinct to protect and cherish? What a subtle, relentless campaign—water wearing through stone, spring rain sinking silently into the earth—until day after day of living close together had made Yan fall truly in love, worrying constantly, unable to stop himself….
Are you going to stand up or not?
Yan Xiaodao suddenly lifted both of Ling He’s legs and pressed his full weight down, folding him into a bent position. A storm instantly broke across the coffee table as their bodies struggled and tangled. Torn clothing exposed a large expanse of enticing honey-colored chest, while the rough breathing of two adult men straining against each other was so charged with masculine force that Master Bear, crouched guard outside the door, stared with frightened black-glass eyes and scratched repeatedly at the wall to relieve the tension. He had never heard two male demons fight this terrifyingly before.
Yan Xiaodao hooked five fingers into the waistband that had been dragged dangerously low beneath Ling He’s abdominal muscles, exposing the hidden line between his buttocks, and asked in a low voice, “If I forced myself on you today and made you do something you don’t want, could you still lie comfortably on this table and play dead? Or would you finally spring straight up off this glass?”
Ling He fell into genuine shock.
Until the second before, he had not taken today’s conflict completely seriously. A verbal battle every few days was effortless routine to him. He had assumed Xiaodao’s temper was also only a passing tornado—let him rage once and it would blow itself out.
Their fingers and elbows had already knocked painfully against each other. Ling He exploded during the struggle. “Yan Xiaodao, you shameless bastard!!”
His ice-green pupils were forced into the bloodred of maple leaves, broken light shimmering through his hoarse struggle. His elbow was probably already bruised and swollen…. Ling He was pinned into an extraordinarily humiliating posture. His male body, already tall and long-limbed rather than delicate, was being forced down by another powerful man. The unmistakable image of coercion struck both of them on a visceral level, blood pounding through their veins.
Every muscle in Ling He’s body hardened into angular stone. He stared in disbelief at the beast dressed like a gentleman before him. The beautiful film of light that had once covered his eyes shattered and collapsed.
“Let go of me. Try it.” The words ground out through his teeth. Ling He stared with bone-freezing eyes at the person inches away, every muscle poised as though he really would leap upright in the next instant.
…
…
Yan Xiaodao still could not do it.
He could not commit something so vile and bestial. That was not a thing Yan Xiaodao could do. Ling He did not want it—did Yan himself want something unwanted?
Yan had no interest in those perverse pleasures. It was rare enough in one lifetime to find a person who understood you. By this point, what he wanted had nearly become the humble plea for one confession, one word of comfort, one shred of tenderness.
In his struggle, Ling He escaped Yan’s pressure and, almost self-destructively, threw himself directly from the coffee table onto the floor. The sharp furniture edges and hard floor had to hurt. A strand of black hair caught between his lips and teeth, while sweat drenched his forehead and back.
A long winding crack like a dragon now stretched across the coffee table, half the glass panel threatening to collapse. Blood had seeped through Ling He’s shirt across his back. Even bleeding, he refused to utter one weak plea for mercy.
Yan Xiaodao would not leave Ling He lying amid broken glass. He dragged that long body up and threw him onto the soft mattress of the master bed.
He cupped Ling He’s head in both hands. “Ling He, you can spend the rest of your life paralyzed in this bed and never touch the ground if that’s what you want. That’s your business. I only care about one last question…. How did Mai Yunliang die?”
Ling He’s brows slowly drew together. “I killed him?”
Yan Xiaodao asked, “It had nothing to do with you?”
“You’re doing this because of Mai Yunliang?…” Ling He finally understood. He forgot the blood on his back and the bruises on his elbows. Color instantly flooded his green eyes. “Yan Xiaodao, you attacked me today because of him?”
Who was Yan Xiaodao doing this for?
Yan Xiaodao simply could not bear even the smallest suspicion that Ling He had designed a trap that cost someone his life. Yet that tiny suspicion had now expanded into an enormous unavoidable shadow lodged between them. “Ling He, I know you hated him, but Mai Yunliang was innocent. Selling himself didn’t hurt anybody. He was still a human life.”
“Mai Yunliang was nothing.” The coldness in Ling He’s eyes matched his name, like an icy river cutting across the Arctic. He would not spare even a fraction of sympathy for those three syllables. He gave a cold laugh. “Whether he lived or died had nothing to do with me. If Mr. Yan suspects me, call the police right now and haul me into the station. Maybe they’ll even reward you with a boxed lunch for turning in a suspect.”
“Ling He, you…”
“Are you even human?” Yan Xiaodao’s voice choked softly. What filled his mind was the image of blood sprayed over the walls of a hotel room and a helpless body screaming.
“I’m not human? Then what the hell was he?!” Ling He nearly coughed blood from rage. Deep jealousy poured straight into boundless vinegar-fire and erupted into a wildfire of fury. “Mr. Mai was a peerless beauty who outshone everyone around him. While he was alive, he received Mr. Yan’s protection, tenderness, and special favor. Now that he’s dead, he can still keep you thinking of him morning and night, unable to let go. Your precious darling shamelessly dies in another man’s bed and you come here going insane at me—”
Unfortunately, in that confusing, overloaded moment, his audience completely missed the spectacularly obvious jealousy.
The next second came a sound so small it was almost nothing—and therefore all the more terrifying—as muscles twisted and bones shifted out of place.
The quieter the sound, the worse the damage.
Ling He’s sentence stopped abruptly, the final several words trapped in his throat.
Agonizing pain shot from his ankle straight up his lower leg. It continued without pause, intensifying like repeated electric shocks, drilling through his coccyx and into his central nerves like a sharp bit slicing and tearing through the leg. His entire right leg nearly vanished beneath that overwhelming pain. He could no longer feel the presence of his right foot.
From the origin of the pain, Ling He knew Yan Xiaodao had dislocated his right ankle.
Ling He’s ice-green pupils slowly expanded. His stunned gaze passed straight through the ceiling as three souls and six spirits flew beyond the sky.
His vision traveled past Yan Xiaodao’s face, which looked every bit as tortured as his own; past clouds tinged gold between blue sea and sky; past the free, joyous sound of four hands playing piano together; past a whole ground covered in crimson camellias and azaleas…. Only after a very, very long time did he manage to drag his spirit back into his body and let Yan Xiaodao’s figure appear again in his dry eyes.
His entire body trembled beyond control, yet he bit his lip hard and made no sound. A pink wound split across his lower lip, blooming into a large bead of blood.
Both torture and resistance remained silent. The room was so still that one could hear the unconscious neurological trembling of the nearly broken ankle, bones faintly grinding against one another.
“Was Mai Yunliang your doing?” Yan Xiaodao’s rough fingers gently stroked Ling He’s hair, his face, then his lips. His eyes abruptly reddened, his own pain ten or a hundred times greater than the physical injury he had inflicted on Ling He. “You Haodong is next, isn’t he?”
“Then after him, it would be my turn. When were you originally planning to move against me?”
“The cops are almost peeling their way to this point. Master Qi will be back the day after tomorrow. Do you think he won’t understand what you’ve been doing?”
“Even if it’s only for the sake of the two of us, tell me one truth. How were you planning to ‘deal with’ me, this sinner? And what exactly do you expect me to do with you?”
Yan Xiaodao was the one hurting Ling He, yet he was also the one begging in a lowered voice.
Ling He gave no answer. Sweat poured from his hairline, forehead, and nose in streams. Bead after bead ran across the blue veins of his throat. Then he heard the bones of his other ankle being wrenched out of alignment. Sharp pain drilled straight into his heart and tore him apart from the inside.
“Ling He, you said your legs had no sensation.”
“If you truly had no sensation, this shouldn’t hurt you much. Why are you trembling and sweating?”
Yan Xiaodao’s voice no longer sounded like his own.
Both men understood everything now—the words that were spoken and the words neither had said.
For one moment, Yan Xiaodao seemed, for the first time that day, to distinguish the true emotion Ling He was hiding beneath his mask.
For one instant, this cold, perverse Ling He revealed heartbreak and collapse as his defenses broke. For someone like Ling He, even that momentary loss of control was enormous.
“Xiaodao, you hurt me.”
“Mai Yunliang was nothing. Even if I killed him, so what? Yan Xiaodao, I’ve harmed plenty of people, but I never harmed you. Have I ever hurt you? Have I ever harmed you…?”
“I never harmed you, but you hurt me like this. You actually hurt me.”
＊
But that collapse of genuine emotion vanished almost immediately, drawn back beneath an indestructible shell. Ling He became once again the Ling He wrapped from head to foot in sharp, hostile thorns. He held his head high. Even trapped in a desperate situation, he showed no weakness, made no sound, and would never beg mercy from the person in front of him.
Weakness, kneeling, pleading—those words did not exist in his dictionary. Nobody had taught them to him as a child.
“When you’re ready to tell me the truth, call for me,” Yan Xiaodao said, anguish in his eyes and his face iron-blue. “Or even just say it hurts. I’ll understand.”
He rose and walked away. His stiff back remained straight as he strode into the corridor and slammed the bedroom door shut behind him.