Unable to resist beneath that complicated surge of emotion, Yan Xiaodao kissed Ling He again. He carefully avoided the damaged lower lip and used only the gentlest contact of his own mouth to brush the corner of Ling He’s. In a low voice he asked, “Why did you hide this tile?”
Their noses touched, then their lashes nearly tangled together. At such close range, with four eyes meeting in an area barely larger than an inch, even the most winding, deeply concealed thoughts were difficult to hide. For one lingering moment of warmth, Yan Xiaodao suddenly thought he understood the broken, glistening light buried in Ling He’s pupils. Following all the faint traces and clues hidden inside it, those scattered sparks finally gathered into recognizable patterns before Yan’s eyes—like a beautiful score laid over piano keys, or the star-filled sky above the little farmhouse courtyard that night….
Yan Xiaodao lightly ran the tip of his tongue over Ling He’s uninjured upper lip, then opened his mouth and gently caught that thin lip between his own. He clearly felt that mouth—the one so gifted at cursing, stabbing, and spraying venom—begin to brush softly against his. Ling He actually opened his mouth and caught Yan’s lower lip in return.
Of all things, Yan Xiaodao had never expected Ling He to return a kiss while enduring such intense physical pain.
The restrained, fleeting taste of each other stirred their hearts and bodies without allowing reckless indulgence. It was no more than a dragonfly touching water, yet it surpassed countless rounds of verbal exchanges, hidden arrows, and wars of words. The lines of their lips seemed to develop intertwining curves of their own, fitting and winding together. This was Ling He’s answer concerning the Eight of Characters tile—given in Ling He’s own way.
When their lips separated, Ling He arrogantly rolled his eyes at him, absolutely refusing to compromise or forgive. Yet he could not be bothered resisting the kiss either. How many more moments alone like this could there be?
Young Master Ling was proud. He held a double-edged blade that cut directly through both their hearts. I kiss you because I love you. You hurt me, and I’ll settle that account with you later. The two matters were perfectly distinct.
Yan Xiaodao was unwilling to apologize either. His heart could not bear what he had done, but he did not believe he had been wrong.
When it came to Ling He, Yan believed he was right. He was now eighty or ninety percent certain he had guessed the general truth, though some details still differed and required thought. For example, those two strange yellow-haired killers aboard the Cloudtop. Back then Yan had suspected one person after another. Now he suspected Ling He. Had those two killers themselves also been some kind of smokescreen? Neither had seriously injured Yan, and they had certainly failed to kill Ling He. If the weapon used that night had been a bullet rather than a nicotine injection, would Ling He still have had a life left for Yan to save? The entire situation had practically forced Yan to rescue him. That was an attack on the heart.
He did not even have time to continue arguing with Ling He over the mahjong tile and ask what Mr. Ling planned to do now that the damned thing had resurrected and exposed itself. One of the brothers downstairs brought urgent news.
The big boss of Baoding Group was back. His plane had just landed, and Mr. Yan’s own inside people had already sent word.
Yan Xiaodao placed the tile back into Ling He’s palm, then folded the man’s five fingers around it one by one until it sat securely inside. “No bones or tendons are broken. You’ll recover in a few days. But you absolutely cannot put weight on your feet for the next several days, and especially don’t go climbing that pile of rocks behind the house again. If you want to leave, if you want to run, tell me. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
Ling He turned his eyes away and shot back, “Go pick up your master and godfather. Don’t keep him waiting so long you have to kneel and kowtow.”
Yan Xiaodao strode out the door like a gust of wind, leaving the brothers guarding the house with an order none of them could understand even after scratching their scalps raw. “Stop watching him. If he wants to leave, let him leave immediately. If he wants to call someone, let him call. If he wants a car, every car in the garage is his to choose from. Let him drive whichever one he likes.”
Master Qi was already back. What else could Yan do?
Yan Xiaodao could not betray his master, but Ling He should understand that Yan had thrown the gates open and removed every defense. Ling had people behind him capable of saving him anyway. If he wanted to escape, then hurry up and escape. Why the hell was he still staying in Yan’s house?
Qi Baoshan had not asked Yan Xiaodao to pick him up at the airport either. He had no free time for the pomp of some grand boss. Jinmen’s situation had changed dramatically over these days, clouds gathering before the storm. Who still had the mood to wait at the airport for his godson to arrive with an eight-bearer sedan chair? Several black cars sped all the way back into the old city toward the Republican-era white villa hidden deep along a tree-lined road.
In the faint light before dawn, Yan Xiaodao’s car was already parked beneath the French plane trees outside the villa. Still dressed in a black suit, he stood tall beside it and immediately strode forward when he saw Qi Baoshan. Master Qi’s face was somber and complicated. He said little. Traveling overnight on a red-eye flight had left dark circles beneath his eyes, and he had not even shaved his chin clean.
Qi Baoshan was normally the type who kept himself immaculately groomed. Every morning he insisted on using imported shaving cream and blades from an old brand dating back to before World War II and firmly rejected fashionable high-tech products. On that slender, fair, handsome face, if the beard had not been shaved one morning, it meant his mood was bad enough that he had abruptly stopped caring about civilized living.
In truth, Qi Baoshan’s grim expression was partly because after waking from several hours on the plane and wanting to clean himself up, he discovered that in his hurry he had left his usual blades and shaving cream at the hotel. He immediately decided this was an ominous sign for the trouble ahead.
Inside the living room, Qi Baoshan dismissed everyone else and crooked his fingers toward his godson. When Yan Xiaodao stepped closer and bent down, Qi Baoshan abruptly reached out with two fingers and seized his chin, squeezing hard. The expression on his face was equal parts affection and irritation. “What kind of catastrophe have you gotten yourself into, my son?”
Those words—my son—made Yan Xiaodao’s heart tremble. He lowered his lashes, suddenly feeling that he had wronged Master Qi in too many ways, hiding one thing after another behind his back. Blood relationship or no blood relationship, Qi Baoshan had trusted and doted on him without change for more than ten years. That was real. Nor had Qi Baoshan ever called a second person my son.
Ling He lied to him. And Yan lied to his godfather.
As for why someone like Qi Baoshan dared return at a moment like this: every level of the municipal bureau, along with ordinary people online, was currently focused entirely on the bizarre hotel death of a Jinggang celebrity. Until that case was resolved, nobody had the attention to care about anything else—much less an old case buried for more than a decade. An old case lacked media attention. Delay it a little longer and nobody would notice; internally, it would quietly remain delayed. Qi Baoshan had informants everywhere and naturally returned to his own territory only after receiving reliable information.
Qi Baoshan rested both hands on the chair arms and indicated with his eyes. “Tell me. How far has Captain Xue gotten?”
Yan Xiaodao summarized the matter succinctly before his godfather. The police had now established Jian Mingjue’s involvement and that he could hardly escape responsibility for the accidental death, while Zhao Qifeng had not personally laid hands on the victim. But as the Jian family’s lady boss, her reputation and standing were effectively ruined.
“That slut. It was long past time she showed her face in public disgrace.” Qi Baoshan looked contemptuous and unconcerned. “When the moon reaches fullness, it wanes; when water fills the vessel, it spills. When things go well, a person should never become arrogant, presumptuous, and overbearing. Otherwise when fortune reverses someday, who knows how many people will be waiting to kick you into the well? Everyone waits for the phoenix to fall into the chicken coop so they can laugh.”
Qi Baoshan calculated quietly, then asked, “Young Master You still hasn’t been touched?”
Following the logic of someone experienced in these matters, how could You Haodong possibly remain outside the mess forever? Sooner or later, he would be dragged in.
“What about you?” Qi Baoshan suddenly stared at Yan Xiaodao.
Yan paused. “…Mr. Mai and I never had that kind of relationship. I won’t be implicated that way.”
“Good.” Qi Baoshan mocked, “Young men are hot-blooded. I was afraid you’d get confused by lust one day and lose control of your waistband. Fortunately, your standards are high enough that you don’t care for those ‘rotten rags’ a thousand people have stepped on.”
Qi Baoshan patted Yan Xiaodao’s cheek with a doting gesture, though his gaze held a deeper probing meaning. “And that Young Master Ling?”
Yan Xiaodao answered truthfully, “Still at my house.”
Qi Baoshan gave an indifferent grunt. “Then shall we go?”
Yan Xiaodao understood there was absolutely no avoiding this.
＊
On the road, Yan Xiaodao still concealed one hand inside the front of his suit and secretly sent a text beneath the cover of the fabric: “Mr. Ling still home?”
Yang Xifeng replied instantly: “Still here, Bro!”
Yan Xiaodao sighed softly. His heart twisted painfully. He had already begun suspecting Ling He and had even laid hands on him once. But what happened between Yan and Ling belonged to the private grievance and emotional entanglement between the two of them. Yan genuinely could not bear for anyone else to harm even one hair on Ling He. That was, more or less, another form of a grown man’s selfish domineering streak and possessiveness: Yan could fight with Ling He, but nobody else could. When somebody else did it, his heart hurt.
Yan Xiaodao thought for a moment. Wanting to leave himself some room to maneuver between both sides, he quietly typed another line: “Clean up the basement and lock him down there first. Don’t leave him upstairs.”
Then he lowered his eyelids in silence. Unable to bear it, he deleted the line without sending it.
That would be fucking despicable. Back then, you were the one who wanted to speak gently and tenderly to Mr. Ling, so you practically enshrined him inside the master bedroom. And now you’ve lost your nerve? Is that something a human being does? If Master Qi demands an answer, then naturally Yan should shoulder it himself. Had Ling He forced Yan to let their relationship become this close?
At rush hour, the road from the old city toward the new district had never been so smooth. The vehicles ahead and to either side showed absolutely no understanding of Yan Xiaodao’s feelings. Rather than blocking them on the road and delaying them a little longer, traffic seemed to divide into two waves before their car and retreat toward either side. Their vehicle alone flew down the expressway unobstructed.
Master Qi entered Yan Xiaodao’s home as familiarly as his own. He carried a spare electronic key to the gate.
When the big boss came through the door, he did not need to roll up his sleeves, shout orders, or glare. One sweep of his eyes provided more than enough pressure. Four or five brothers in the main living room immediately stood bolt upright. Qi Baoshan’s narrowed eyes sat behind a pair of thin lenses that always seemed to place another layer between him and everyone else, leaving his thoughts impossible to grasp. He did not need a ferocious face to command fear.
Qi Baoshan indicated with his eyes: Where is the person I came to see?
Yang Xifeng, clever and self-aware, immediately pointed the way. “Master Qi, this way please. The basement.”
Yan Xiaodao stood behind Master Qi and frowned sharply. What the hell?
Yang Xifeng did not dare say a word, only blinked desperately to signal: He really is in the basement.
Yan Xiaodao nearly carved a hole through Fengfeng with his glare. Did I fucking tell you to lock him up? Planning a rebellion, you little bastard?
Caught between pressure from both sides, Yang Xifeng mouthed his grievance: I didn’t lock him up. Mr. Ling ordered us to. He got himself down there!
Yan Xiaodao understood instantly. It felt as though a basin of warm water had been dumped straight over his heart. The water transformed into a current of warmth, leaving him both soft and miserable inside. What could he possibly say when he saw that ice-smart, painfully considerate Mr. Ling?
Ling He….
This man was always like this. Just when Yan least expected it, he struck his weakest point again and became impossible not to cherish.
His villa genuinely did contain a basement that was rarely used. Naturally, nobody had ever formally designated it as somewhere to lock up “prisoners.” Yan Xiaodao did not imprison people in his home. He was not a pervert and had no interest in confinement, torture, training, or cultivation games. No prisoners had ever been kept there.
A narrow door stood beside the storage room behind the kitchen. Beyond it, stairs descended underground. Dampness mixed with the unpleasant smell of mold and decay surged upward and assaulted the nose. Even Yan Xiaodao, who considered himself an unrefined man with very low living standards, thought nobody could live down there. Half an hour cleaning spiderwebs would make him dizzy. He had originally wanted to convert the basement into a billiards room or equipment gym, but later realized that because this coastal district sat low, with a damp, rainy climate, underground structures retained too much moisture to be pleasant for long-term use, so he abandoned the idea.
One or two other homeowners in the residential district had recently been fighting with property management, complaining that their basements actually leaked. Sure enough, at the bottom corner of the stairs Yan Xiaodao saw a spreading patch of gray dampness across the wall. With the quality of these new houses, heaven knew whether it was rainwater or seawater seeping through.
Yan Xiaodao only learned afterward from Fengfeng what had happened: Ling He himself had insisted on moving down there.
At the time, Ling He had instructed Xiaodao’s men, “Why are you brats panicking? Master Qi is coming here soon, isn’t he? This building seems to have a basement. Put me in the basement so your boss doesn’t get dragged into trouble.”
Because he could not manage the narrow stairs, he told the younger men to carry him down.
The younger men refused and did not dare. Ling He pushed himself out of the wheelchair, sat on the floor, and lowered himself one stair at a time. Fengfeng and Kuanzi were so frightened that they practically tumbled down the staircase after him and hurriedly helped him inside.
＊
There were no windows. A single old bulb, neither bright nor fully dark, struggled alone to support the faint light in the room.
Ling He’s ankles were injured, making movement inconvenient, so he remained propped in the wheelchair. He had somehow acquired a feather duster and appeared almost to be playing with it. He rolled here and there through the few pieces of old furniture and piles of delivery cartons, waving the duster at spiderwebs and entertaining himself.
Only Mr. Ling could possibly behave like this, forever refusing to take an ordinary path.
He probably still had something of a cleanliness obsession and simply could not get over the psychological barrier of knowing that the rough men in this villa spent their lives happily sleeping on top of garbage. Apparently he desperately wanted to clean the basement.
Ling He’s hair had not been trimmed for some time and had grown slightly longer, so he had tied it back with a hairband. Without messy fragments of fringe obscuring his features, his handsome face stood out cleanly against his black hair. In profile, the narrow brows and eyes angled subtly upward toward the hairline, his nose was high and straight, and even the shape of his ear was perfect, translucent with faint red capillaries beneath.
Yan Xiaodao recognized the bedding spread in one corner. It was the spare set from the upstairs closet. Mr. Ling had even arranged that much.
Seeing them enter, Ling He calmly straightened his back and sat upright, temporarily setting aside his entertainment device, the feather duster.
In that instant, Yan Xiaodao could tell that Qi Baoshan and Ling He truly had met many years ago. Whatever truths or lies either had spoken before, their shared history went back a very long way.
Master Qi needed only one glance before he quickly closed his eyes. He lifted his head and slowly leaned backward, his whole body resisting gravity until his balance hung precariously from one heel. For that moment he seemed to suspend a breath and sink into memory, allowing old events to surge before his eyes like smoke and tides, scene after scene smashing ashore like enormous waves. Emotion flooded a chest with limited capacity until it visibly rose and fell….
At last Qi Baoshan released a breath and pulled his body upright again, settling both feet onto the ground. In that instant there was none of the supposed fury or hatred between enemies. None. The great Master Qi actually looked compassionate, exhausted, and helpless.
After all these years, whether you were hiding or chasing, fleeing or pursuing, everyone was tired.
Ling He surprisingly lowered his own eyelids as well. His expression remained calm and composed, without an outburst. “Master Qi. It’s been many years.”
What could Qi Baoshan say? That when he had last seen Ling He as a handsome little boy, the child had barely been old enough to remember? Qi Baoshan laughed with an emotion he could not name. “Young Mr. Ling, you’re the same generation as my godson. Strictly speaking, you ought to call me Uncle.”
Ling He rolled his eyes faintly. You think I’m acknowledging you as an uncle?
Qi Baoshan swept his gaze toward the other man’s lower body and went directly for the essential point. “What happened to your feet?”
Both of Ling He’s ankles and lower legs were visibly swollen like radishes and wrapped in thick gauze. The smell of medicinal ointment was unmistakable.
Ling He nearly rolled both beautiful eyes out of his head. Resentment colored his voice. “Your godson’s handiwork. He’s ruthless. Nearly snapped both my feet.”
Master Qi genuinely had not expected a torture scene to have already occurred. In fact, he had not expected Ling He to be confined to the basement at all. He had assumed Young Master Ling would be leisurely enjoying himself in Yan Xiaodao’s bed, perhaps using Xiaodao’s soft heart and temporary infatuation to sow discord, turn gun barrels, and force Qi to compromise…. With Qi’s meticulous mind, the fact that he had deliberately remained at his own home for some time before coming over had itself been meant to leave the two men a window to maneuver and see what they might do.
Qi Baoshan turned toward Xiaodao. “What exactly happened?”
Yan Xiaodao stood five steps away and answered without hesitation, “He wouldn’t listen. Pissed me off. So I dislocated his feet.”
The displeasure on Yan Xiaodao’s face made it sound absolutely true.
Master Qi’s expression looked halfway between amusement and a helpless bitter smile. “Xiaodao, don’t tell me… one night you got so frustrated you couldn’t hold out and decided you wanted a taste of Young Mr. Ling’s fine skin and flesh? Plenty of people covet him.”
Yan Xiaodao’s expression immediately became uncomfortable. He looked away and cursed quietly. “If he doesn’t want it, forget it. He can’t walk anyway. His feet are useless. Might as well break them.”
Ling He was provoked into anger as well and gave a cold snort. “Master Qi raised an excellent son. Outside he’s properly dressed and looks perfectly human, but underneath is nothing more than the heart of a beast. Is that also thanks to Master Qi’s personal instruction? Is the preferred treatment of enemies to rape them first and kill them afterward? That would make a fine story to spread around.”
From Qi Baoshan’s perspective, the whole scene looked bizarrely like an older father-in-law watching a young couple quarrel: sharp tongues, drawn swords, and unmistakable threads of intimacy woven straight through the hostility. After all, rumor in the circle insisted that Mr. Yan and the male fox spirit had already slept under the same quilt, as though everyone personally crouched beside the bed and witnessed it.
All three carried their own calculations. All three were testing and hiding. Every sentence was half truth mixed with half lie. By now it was impossible to tell who was performing. Everyone had entered the play too deeply.
Master Qi stared at Ling He’s feet. “So your legs really are crippled.”
Yan Xiaodao immediately cut in. “I tested them. No response anymore.”
Qi Baoshan drew his left hand from inside his cotton jacket. The fingers did not look rough or vicious, yet he flexed them hard enough for the joints to crack as he strode toward Ling He. “Perfect. I’ll test them too.”
The next instant, Yan Xiaodao appeared directly between Qi Baoshan and Ling He with astonishing speed, practically teleporting sideways. His face was cold. “Godfather….”
Master Qi suddenly asked, “Where’s your knife?”
Yan Xiaodao: “…”
Master Qi remained expressionless. “That broad-bladed steel knife. You carrying it? Give it to me.”
Yan Xiaodao stood with his back rigid. Of course the steel blade was on him, concealed beneath the neat, handsome lines of his suit.
Ling He sat stiffly in the wheelchair without speaking, looking upward at father and son. His thin lips compressed every violent emotion into a single point at the corner of his mouth. Qi Baoshan’s eyes appeared shadowy and distorted through his lenses, profound and impossible to read. Then Master Qi abruptly took one large step forward and simply tore open Yan Xiaodao’s shirt.
The invisible gunpowder inside the room drove back the dampness. The temperature seemed to spiral rapidly upward, sparks almost visible at every dark corner of the walls.
A father knew precisely where his godson kept several blades around his waist. They were as obvious to Qi Baoshan as pine needles lying against white snow, clearly outlined beneath the white shirt.
“Why go that far, Godfather? Leave me a whole person.” Yan Xiaodao lowered his voice as far as it would go, but every word remained clear, neither weak nor timid.
“His legs are useless anyway, aren’t they? Two feet are just inconvenient decorations. Better to cut them off.” Qi Baoshan sounded almost reasonable.
Yan Xiaodao’s shirt had been pulled open, exposing a stretch of wheat-colored chest. He could not and should not attack his godfather. He watched Qi Baoshan reach directly beneath his clothes for a slender ten-inch steel blade.
Disappointment appeared in Yan Xiaodao’s face. “If you really cut off his hands and feet, how am I supposed to keep him afterward? I’m not interested in raising a human swine. Godfather, for my sake, spare him this once.”
Qi Baoshan looked directly into Xiaodao’s eyes. “You know damn well what this brat came back to do. If I spare him, will he spare me?!”
Ling He’s hands tightened against the wheelchair rims, ready to retreat. But his ankles hurt too badly to exert any force. At this moment, even if he wanted to fly, he could not, much less climb cliffs or run along walls. Then he saw Yan Xiaodao, standing squarely in front of him, move with impossible speed. Somehow Yan wrapped Qi Baoshan’s right wrist. As Master Qi drove the knife in Ling’s direction, Yan seized his fingers and wrist, stepped forward with the motion, and guided the slender blade straight into the space between his own ribs.
Qi Baoshan and Ling He both froze at the sudden change, staring wide-eyed at the man between them.
Among the three people in this room, Yan Xiaodao was naturally the true expert with a blade. If he wanted that knife to enter someone’s body, it entered precisely that person’s body. Nobody’s hands were faster than his, nor did anyone else possess that vicious explosive strength in the fingers.
Xiaodao, you… Master Qi ground the three syllables between his teeth. A trace of ferocity entered his eyes, yet the moment he felt resistance he hurriedly pulled back. Their wrists and fingers locked into a tug-of-war. Qi Baoshan was now trying to withdraw the knife, while Yan Xiaodao, without a word or a trace of fear, drove the point toward the soft gap between two ribs below his left chest.
From Ling He’s seated angle, he could not see it clearly. The point slid effortlessly through the white shirt and produced one bead of blood.
Crimson spread outward from that point with careless elegance, like drops of ink blooming across white xuan paper into a landscape of cloud-wrapped mountains. Only this time the drifting clouds were a glaring scarlet.
Xiaodao could not see behind himself either. Ling He instinctively leaned forward and reached one long arm out, his fingertips catching Yan’s clothing. He wanted to drag him backward. Xiaodao, are you fucking stupid? Qi Baoshan, that old fox, is obviously testing you. You’re going to play three-blades-six-holes with him? You’re actually doing this for real?…
Yan Xiaodao breathed evenly, his complexion unchanged. “Godfather, considering all the years I’ve run errands for you and given everything I had, reward me with one person still possessing all his limbs. I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life.”
Qi Baoshan smiled miserably. “Xiaodao, are you using my favor for you to threaten me over a pet?”
It barely even qualified as a threat. Given their relationship, if this story spread through the circle, anyone who knew what happened would say Qi Baoshan was the one behaving without humanity. Yan Xiaodao had spent all these years helping Boss Qi build his power, spilling blood across Linwan and rendering enormous service. Today all he asked Master Qi to “reward” him with was one beauty who suited his tastes, yet Qi refused and even drew a blade. It would look like killing the donkey after the grinding was done, cooking the hound once the rabbit was dead, then cutting down the person your subordinate loved. Who would risk their life for you afterward?
Yan Xiaodao let the patch of blood expand beneath his chest. “I wouldn’t dare threaten you. I have no right to interfere in the rights and wrongs of your generation. Godfather, I’ll take this blade for him today. Is that enough?”
Behind his lenses, Qi Baoshan’s pupils abruptly contracted. “Xiaodao, you’re doing this… for him?”
Yan Xiaodao ignored the way every breath and word shifted the muscles around his ribs, making the crimson cloud over his shirt spread brighter. He continued, “Count this blade as cutting off his left foot. Please reward me with another blade for his right foot. Then we settle the matter today.”
There was no need for Ling He to ache and worry in secret. Yan Xiaodao was not stupid. Things had not remotely reached the point where he needed to gamble his life, and he had no intention of truly stabbing himself deeply.
Inside underworld societies, “three blades, six holes” was one of the harshest forms of self-punishment, generally reserved for two circumstances: punishing a traitor who betrayed his master or sold out his brothers, or, hypothetically, if Yan Xiaodao ever wanted to betray Master Qi and completely leave this life behind. Three blades driven all the way through the body would usually leave very little life remaining.
Elio’s Notes: “Three blades, six holes” is a stock jianghu/underworld expression for severe self-punishment: three through-and-through stab wounds produce three entry wounds and three exit wounds.
At this moment the blade was in Yan Xiaodao’s hands, and he gave literal meaning to the expression of handling a blade with effortless mastery. He knew precisely how many millimeters the point had entered between his ribs. It had only broken the skin enough to show blood. It had not reached any organ, would not pass through his body, and certainly would not leave his life donated on this basement floor.
Elio’s Notes: The Chinese idiom invoked here literally describes a blade moving with room to spare and figuratively means handling something with consummate ease. The narration deliberately turns its blade imagery literal.
Now it simply depended on whose heart was harder and whose heart softened first.
＊
That evening, in the little dark basement room, the standoff among the three finally ended with Qi Baoshan appearing to soften.
When Qi Baoshan made as though he would deliver the second blade, he suddenly pulled the point out and flung the slender knife away with one hand. It buried itself silently in the opposite wall, almost as though it had gone into his own heart.
Qi Baoshan’s carefully maintained face seemed to age considerably in an instant. That could only be blamed on the horrible damp air of the basement, which apparently ruined one’s skin within minutes. Ling He looked straight up at him and watched the smooth, pale outer shell molt away, waiting to see what true face would emerge beneath it.
Qi Baoshan lowered his eyelids and waved at Xiaodao. “Go outside first. I want to speak with Young Mr. Ling.”
Yan Xiaodao’s shirt hung loose outside his trousers, a glaring patch of blood across his chest, but he had no intention of leaving. He understood that in this entire house, only he could guarantee Ling He’s safety. Ling He had once stabbed him deeply with the words, In front of that godfather who loves you like the sea and favors you like a mountain, how exactly are you going to protect me?
Qi Baoshan sighed and said seriously, “I won’t touch him. I won’t hurt him. Young Mr. Ling and I are only going to talk privately about old times. Xiaodao, go outside.”
“Thank you for your loyalty, Mr. Yan. You don’t need to worry. Go out first,” Ling He said as well.
The basement door closed with a heavy bang, sealing every private word inside.
＊
Yan Xiaodao moved out of the basement with enormous reluctance. The bloodstained shirt was shocking enough that all the brothers gathering around in the living room stared in alarm and pain, but Yan only waved to indicate that it was nothing serious. His thoughts remained entirely on Ling He’s safety.
He had no idea how Master Qi intended to reminisce with Ling He and inevitably worried that Master Qi might beat a Ling He who currently had no ability to fight back. And apparently every word of this reminiscence had to be hidden from Yan. He was not allowed to know even the smallest fragment?
＊
Yan Xiaodao truly could not be allowed to hear this particular conversation.
Qi Baoshan bent slightly at the waist and humbly asked the younger man for confirmation. “Young Mr. Ling, I only have two questions.”
“First: who dug up that pile of rotten dead bones that nobody had been able to find for fifteen years, then passed them to Public Security, bringing a dead man who had vanished from the world back into daylight and trying to overturn a murder case already buried in the earth?”
“Second: who sent me the message telling me to go aboard the Cloudtop and deal with you? I spent all these days thinking it over, hesitating because I was afraid of harming the wrong thing, and ultimately missed the best opportunity to eliminate you. I only understood today. I always believed that message came from that person, which made me suspicious of everything, but actually… you were the one who notified me. You spread the information to everyone. You laid a trap to lure all of us aboard that ship and then waited for your opportunity to act. Am I right?”
Ling He’s face had been hidden beneath the shadow of Qi Baoshan’s broad back. Now he shifted slightly, bringing his handsome ponytailed face into the dim light, and nodded with impeccable grace. “This junior is ashamed. Master Qi, you truly are clever. No wonder I tried to lure you and you never showed yourself aboard the ship.”
Master Qi mocked himself. “Clever, my ass. In your eyes I’m only slightly less stupid than Xiaodao?”
Ling He rolled his eyes disdainfully and silently thought, I keep Xiaodao treasured inside my heart. Nobody in this world compares with one of his fingers, not even a strand of his hair. How could you possibly be better than him?