After staying at Hanhai House for several days, Yan Xiaodao’s strongest impression was that the food in Mr. Ling’s home was genuinely excellent.
Admittedly, the comparison was doing some of the work. It was infinitely better than the random overeating Yan Xiaodao and his pack of unmarried brothers usually called meals. Every day brought three carefully prepared meals for an invalid, along with snacks, late-night food, and hot drinks. Within a few days, Mr. Yan, temporarily unable to exercise or train, seemed well on his way to being fattened up.
The dishes changed constantly too. Give Ling He a week and he could probably feed Yan Xiaodao his way through half the cuisines of Europe and America. Breakfast that morning, for instance, had been Russian-style cured salmon with rye-bran bread and Greek yogurt. The late-night dessert was French molten chocolate cake with warm liquid chocolate inside.
The master doing the cooking, however, almost never showed his face. Every now and then he sent Su Zhe over with a menu and allowed Mr. Yan to order.
The kitchen was probably the only room in Ling He’s little white house that was fully equipped. Even Ling He’s method of cooking revealed something of his aloof coldness. The man hardly ever used an open flame.
The kitchen itself was assembled from simple black, white, and gray tiles. A full set of stainless-steel counters, microwave, oven, and dishwasher gleamed without a speck of dust.
The man standing before the stainless-steel electric stove was tall and straight. Lowering his lashes, he watched the small frying pan on the heating element as he fried an egg to medium doneness, seasoned it with paprika, and paired it with yogurt cheese and pumpkin cake.
Who said Western food required no technique? From Yan Xiaodao’s vantage point, any random five-course meal Ling He prepared seemed to employ everything from frying and sautéing to braising, stewing, marinating, roasting, smoking, and deep-frying. There were dozens of cream sauces, vinegars, herbs, and seasonings. Every step seemed embedded in his memory. He never needed to panic and search online for a recipe.
Yan Xiaodao’s ribs no longer hurt quite so badly, so for once he had come downstairs. He sat on the large gray-white sectional sofa, ostensibly to look at the scenery outside. Unfortunately, it was impossible to ignore the man in the kitchen.
Yan Xiaodao said to Mao Zhixiu, “You said your Mr. Ling has no hobbies. Isn’t this his biggest one?”
Mao Zhixiu tilted her head backward over the sofa, showing off the advantages of a swanlike neck. “Mr. Ling, is cooking the greatest passion of your life?”
“No.” Without unnecessary movement, Ling He finished plating the medium egg, yogurt cheese, and pumpkin cake. He heated frozen butter, layered the ingredients for an Italian lasagna and put it into the oven, adjusted the temperature, brushed butter onto nearly finished bread topped with lobster sauce and savory cheese, minced garlic, then finally added strips of veal that had been marinating overnight to a frying pan. A mouthwatering sizzle filled the kitchen.
His timing and footwork were calculated precisely. Not one unnecessary step. His gaze remained calm. He did not appear bored, but he did not look as though he was enjoying the pleasure of cooking either. Perhaps once a person possessed enough talent, intelligence, and skill, anything he touched could be done to near perfection. Ling He was one of those rare talents, a phoenix feather or qilin horn fallen into the mortal world.
He looked up. “I’ve cooked for myself since I was young. It’s habit. If I don’t cook, what am I supposed to eat? Wait for you two, who only know how to open your mouths when food arrives, to cook for me?”
Mao Zhixiu’s question had earned her a faceful of frost. With practiced agility, she flipped backward over the sofa and casually grabbed the plate of fried egg, cheese, and pumpkin cake. She winked at Mr. Yan. Ignore him. We’ll eat first.
Yan Xiaodao chewed the soft, delicious cake. “Did your Mr. Ling study at culinary school before? Did he work in restaurants? What else did he do in America?”
“In America… culinary school?” Mao Zhixiu raised her brows and once again leaned dramatically backward across the sofa. “Did you attend culinary school, boss?”
Ling He said, “No. But I worked in plenty of Western restaurants.”
Mao Zhixiu turned to Yan Xiaodao. “He worked in Western restaurants.”
Ling He added, “Zhixiu, ask Mr. Yan whether he wants more pumpkin cake, or the veal that’ll be ready soon, or whether he’d rather wait thirty minutes for the lasagna.”
Mao Zhixiu leaned toward Yan Xiaodao again. “Mr. Yan, would you like more pumpkin cake, or veal, or wait thirty minutes for… Could the two of you PLEASE speak directly to each other?!”
The human telephone between kitchen and living room angrily resigned from service. The house immediately fell into another awkward silence.
Yan Xiaodao silently chewed pumpkin cake while Ling He lowered his head and plated veal fried in butter and vinegar, then scattered seasoning over it. There seemed to be a thick wall between them. No one else could see it, yet it blocked every word, breath, heartbeat, and brainwave traveling from one man to the other.
Mao Zhixiu immediately regretted her outburst. She almost beat her chest in despair. She stared incredulously at the two stupid men before and behind her, her expression crying: Someone talk to me! Either one of you! I’ll answer immediately! I’m available!
Neither Yan Xiaodao nor Ling He was naturally awkward. If they had a grievance, they were both perfectly capable of rolling up their sleeves and fighting directly. So why not speak?
Because speaking might lead to another argument. They feared touching once again upon unpleasant subjects, perhaps even differences in fundamental values that neither could reconcile.
If they truly did not care about each other anymore, they would not mind tearing away all pretense and saying cruel things. It was precisely because tenderness and concern remained that neither wished to hurt the other. So they simply did not speak. Better to stuff their mouths with food. Safest option.
Had he never come to Ling He’s home, Yan Xiaodao might never have understood the situation so clearly. The two of them truly were creatures from parallel worlds. Perhaps they had never been meant to intersect.
Countless mottled fragments, each shaped differently, gradually assembled before Yan Xiaodao into a more complete, multifaceted, sharp-edged Ling He. Little by little, he began to understand how Ling He had become the person he was today. The cutting tongue. The obsessive, caustic temperament. The enormous house furnished like an empty shell. The pale, boring clothing and décor. The willingness to use any means necessary. His hatred of evil combined with an almost religious belief that evil should be fought using evil. A man clearly educated, refined, brilliant, and beautiful, yet deliberately presenting the world with his most vicious and arrogant face, whipping and cursing everyone around him. No parents. No relatives. Apparently no close friends. No romantic life. No meaningful leisure. No pets. He could play the piano superbly, yet did not even own one.
A man brilliant enough to master nearly anything somehow lived sealed off from ordinary human interests, a lonely, ascetic puritan.
Was it really fair simply to blame Ling He for having grown crooked?
During this man’s childhood and adolescence, had anyone ever taught him how to live with more pleasure? How to look at the world around him in some easier, happier way?
Had anyone taught him how to recognize and savor human warmth? The ordinary smoke and fire of mortal life? Had anyone spoiled him, cared for him, protected him, held him in their arms and taught him how to love another person? How to love himself? How to treat someone else gently? How to show the same gentleness to himself?
Probably not.
At least Mao Zhixiu, with her straightforward and carefree temperament, remained beside him. Yan Xiaodao felt genuine gratitude toward the perceptive, warmhearted young woman. Though even that gratitude had a strange origin. After all… What did Ling He have to do with him now? Why should he still care whether anyone looked after the man?
……
Luancheng’s weather was cool and pleasant. The evening breeze chased away the last heat left from afternoon, carrying flower fragrance and the salty tang of seawater through the windows. After dinner, Mao Zhixiu and several companions went walking and training in the woods halfway up the mountain. When they returned, sweat had left every face glowing. Su Zhe’s curls had been blown into a wet bundle of aquatic weeds pointing toward the sky.
Mr. Yan, sitting in the living room reading an idle book, looked up at the group. Something in his heart suddenly twisted. He looked away.
He could not go out. His foot was crippled.
Yan Xiaodao had always been good at suppressing emotion. Even if Mount Tai collapsed before him, he could stand without flinching and reveal nothing. He disliked self-pity. He never blamed heaven or other people. Whatever feeling could be called pain, he silently chewed it apart until it bled, then swallowed it. But he truly felt miserable.
Ling He had not gone out. At precisely the right moment, he appeared in the living room to carry Yan Xiaodao upstairs.
Several people nearby made a show of offering assistance. “Mr. Ling, want us to help carry him?”
Ling He refused without hesitation. “No. I’ll do it.”
The others possessed exceptional survival instincts. Not one hand even emerged from a trouser pocket. At one signal from Immortal Mao, everyone rapidly stepped backward in unison, opening a path between the two men and standing in two neat rows like roadside saplings.
Yan Xiaodao was actually difficult to carry.
He was tall and long-legged. Dense muscle meant substantial weight.
Ling He subtly rolled his shoulders loose, slid both arms around Lord Yan, and bit his lip as he exerted strength. He failed to lift him.
Yan Xiaodao had grabbed the sofa with one hand, freezing himself halfway off the cushions. His voice was low. “Stop carrying me. There’s no need. It isn’t as though both my legs are useless. Give me a crutch.”
Yan Xiaodao’s voice was a deeply masculine bass. His gaze could intimidate. Even seriously injured, he possessed an aura that warned others not to violate or toy with him.
Ling He looked down at Xiaodao. His expression required no additional explanation. “My house does not come equipped with crutches or wheelchairs. The only things you have available are my two arms.” Then he used force and carried the man away.
Ling He’s mouth had no softness in it. His movements did. He carefully placed Yan Xiaodao on a padded chair inside the bathroom. After several days, the bleeding at his ankle had stopped and scabbed over. He could finally wash properly.
Hot water released continuous clouds of steam. The steam expanded through the small room until it surrounded both men’s eyes and breath, blurring their view of one another’s expressions. Ling He spoke softly. “Want a bath? I’ll help you.”
For the two of them to reach such a day… How absurd.
Overheated by the steam, Yan Xiaodao swallowed. “Go outside. I can do it myself.”
Ling He pushed aside the white mist and stared seriously at him. “You don’t have to despise me this much. How exactly are you going to wash yourself?”
Yan Xiaodao frowned slightly. “I don’t despise you. I simply don’t need anyone waiting on me.”
Ling He blurted, “Your ribs and right foot can’t get wet. How are you getting into the tub? I’ll wash you. It’s not like I’m going to rape you!”
Yan Xiaodao’s black brows twitched. A man dependent on someone else’s roof was especially sensitive. Those words struck directly at his pride. His gaze shot upward through Ling He. “You think you could? Try it! You’d have to chop off my other foot and both my hands first.”
They glared at each other. Both immediately regretted speaking without thinking. Only a few minutes earlier neither had wanted an argument. When Ling He carried him inside, he had been thinking about speaking gently to Xiaodao, massaging his back, helping him undress, rubbing his legs, washing him, bringing him foot water. He would willingly do anything for Xiaodao.
He wanted Xiaodao to stay. To remain beside him. Whatever it took.
Ling He lowered his voice and compromised. “I’m worried you’ll slip in the bathroom. You can’t step into the tub on one leg. If you hate seeing me this much, I’ll have someone else help you. Then you won’t have to look at my face.”
Beneath Ling He’s skin was obvious disappointment. But his words remained edged and his decisions immediate. He turned toward the stairs. “Zhe! Come upstairs!”
Yan Xiaodao immediately lowered his voice. “Don’t call him!”
Their eyes met. Both understood perfectly. Both were annoyed. Neither would surrender verbally. Yan Xiaodao was not blind. Su Zhe was so bent he practically resembled one of Tianjin’s giant fried-dough twists, and that head of permed waves looked like another pile of them. Let Su Zhe come fiddle around while he bathed?
Ling He raised an eyelid maliciously. “Well, the only other person in the house is Zhixiu. Should I ask Zhixiu instead?”
Yan Xiaodao nearly fainted from fury. Surely his dizziness and shortness of breath were simply because there was too much steam in the bathroom.
A faintly wicked expression appeared at the corner of Ling He’s mouth. “You don’t have to worry about propriety. Zhixiu… She likes women too. She has no sexual interest in you. She won’t lose her soul at the sight of a naked man and offer herself to you. Feel free to treat her like a boy.”
“Ling He, are you finished?” Now Yan Xiaodao wanted to spray an entire magazine of venom into the face of the increasingly shameless Mr. Ling.
Ling He looked leisurely delighted to torment him. With exaggerated tenderness, he said, “There are only three choices in this house. Me. Zhe. Zhixiu. Choose one of three, Mr. Yan. Which do you find most pleasing?”
Ling He did not actually enjoy hiding his thoughts. Nor did he suffer from autism or selective mutism. For the past several days, he and Yan Xiaodao had maintained a remarkably synchronized cold war, and his sharp tongue had practically grown mold from lack of use. Was Ling He really someone who disliked talking?
While the two traded verbal blows, the front door downstairs opened. A visitor had arrived.
Mr. Ling did not even need to go downstairs. Apparently possessing X-ray vision, he simply shouted: “Huizhen, come upstairs and meet Mr. Yan!”
Then he explained softly, “Huizhen has missed you. She met you only once and wanted to see you again, ask after Mr. Yan’s health. Her hands are gentler and more capable than mine. Let her do it.”
“I…” Yan Xiaodao stared in confusion. Before he could object, a sequence of refined footsteps from modest heels hurried up the stairs, carrying unmistakable eagerness. A beautiful, poised woman appeared at the bathroom door. She wore a silk-flower hat, a dark checked light-wool coat over a skirt, sheer stockings, and elegant brown leather shoes. Her retro appearance looked as though she had stepped from a magazine published in the 1990s, with the classic elegant beauty of Nanako Matsushima.
She removed her hat and bowed politely toward Mr. Yan, her eyes filled with delight and anticipation. Her first greeting was in Japanese. Her second was in standard Mandarin. “Mr. Yan, I’m honored to see you again. I’ve missed you very much and have been deeply concerned for your well-being.”
The moment Yan Xiaodao saw the clean pale face beneath the hat, everything became obvious. He had been slow. He should have realized long ago.
Ling He had seized Watanabe Yangshan’s businesses. He had laid a trap aboard the Cloudtop. Every step must have been carefully prepared. How could Watanabe possibly have had no one from Boss Ling planted at his side? Otherwise, who had secretly tampered with a gift belonging to one of Watanabe’s business partners, turning that gift into a lethal move? Who had recorded the erotic video that ultimately destroyed the You family’s reputation and lured Young Master You toward his death?
The woman before him was none other than Miss “Toshita Mayumi.”
“Mayumi” bowed at a full ninety degrees, apologetic beyond measure. “Mr. Yan, I’m truly sorry that I did not tell you the truth last time. From now on, please call me Liu Huizhen. I hope Mr. Yan can forgive the deception and concealment.”
Yan Xiaodao shook his head graciously. “I don’t blame you. If anything was concealed from me, it was your Boss Ling who concealed it. Huizhen, has the injury to your head recovered? How is the concussion?”
Liu Huizhen’s eyes grew moist with surprise at Mr. Yan’s concern. “I’ve recovered. I’m sorry to have caused you worry.”
Yan Xiaodao smiled faintly. “No need to be polite. I’m a rough man who didn’t understand the situation. I didn’t know you were Boss Ling’s intimate female confidante. I behaved improperly toward you that day. Please don’t take offense.”
Intimate female confidante? Something pricked Ling He directly in the heart. He bit the corner of his lip and turned away. Yan Xiaodao treated Liu Huizhen more gently than he treated him.
Liu Huizhen had originally worked in a profession serving men. Wearing her skirt and leather shoes, she crouched down with effortless professionalism. Her ten slender fingers helped Mr. Yan loosen his clothing without the slightest shyness. She adjusted the bathwater to a perfectly comfortable temperature, then handed him a warm towel for his face.
Master of the house Ling abruptly resembled one lonely clothes rack planted inside the bathroom. Tall, long-limbed, taking up space, and entirely unnecessary. He genuinely was not as good at serving another person as Miss Liu. When had he ever bathed a man? As for speaking gently, coquettishly, or sweetly… He was even worse. When had Ling He ever lowered himself to flatter anyone?
Liu Huizhen was almost down to Yan Xiaodao’s underwear. Ling He stared blankly at the mirror on the wall, blurred by water vapor. A deeply wounded expression flashed through his eyes. Fine. Whatever romantic business this man and woman might do tonight, including rolling around in bed, he would neither ask nor interfere. Let them do whatever they pleased. Without a word, he turned to leave. He would never lower himself enough to beg Yan Xiaodao to look favorably upon him.
“Ling He, come back.” Yan Xiaodao’s low voice suddenly stopped him.
From beneath delicate lashes, Liu Huizhen sent Yan Xiaodao a warm, spring-rain-soft look. Her expression carried exactly the same understanding and sudden enlightenment Mao Zhixiu often displayed. Silently, she mouthed: Mr. Yan, my boss is a good person. Please don’t blame him. He loves you very much.
She formed the words almost without sound. Yan Xiaodao could not be certain about the final phrase. Yet something struck both his heart and his vulnerable ribs at once.
Liu Huizhen seemed to have completed an important mission beneath heavenly thunder. Before either proud, irritable man could react, she gathered her skirt and disappeared from the scene in a series of elegant little steps, heading downstairs to reunite with Mao Zhixiu and express the depth of their sisterly affection after their long separation.
From now on, there was little point choosing who would help him bathe. Ling He. Su Zhe. Mao Zhixiu. Liu Huizhen. Four choices. But what choice was there really? Deep inside Yan Xiaodao’s heart, there was only one person in all the world capable of pulling at him and hurting him. This incorrigible, hopeless Young Master Ling. The man he both loved and hated. Love and hatred braided together.
Ling He seemed finally to breathe again after enduring his own torment. He turned back, closed the bathroom door, and allowed his expression of relief to disappear into the white mist. This time, Ling He had learned his lesson completely. Warm light reflected in his eyes. Following Liu Huizhen’s example, he gently positioned Yan Xiaodao’s right leg somewhere safe and began removing his clothes.
Yan Xiaodao sighed helplessly. “So Liu Huizhen was acting under your orders aboard the ship. She came to make secret contact and pass information to you.”
“Yes.”
“How was it such a coincidence that I drew her playing card from Second Young Master Jian?”
Ling He smiled. “Even if you hadn’t drawn her, she could have found any number of ways to ‘volunteer herself.’”
Yan Xiaodao shook his head at the endless sequence of traps. “But the two of you never exchanged a single word.”
“There was no need for us to speak.” Ling He explained, “She only needed to pass the message to you and tell you that someone was plotting to harm me. Naturally, you would find a way to protect me. Wouldn’t you, Mr. Yan?”
“Reasonable.” Yan Xiaodao had to admire the chain of calculations. No wonder Miss Liu had risked her own safety to send them information, even throwing herself from a height to warn them when she spotted assassins moving nearby. He asked, “How did you know in advance that You Haodong would do that with Mr. Mai?”
“I didn’t know for certain.” Ling He answered lightly, almost contemptuously. “But those people boarded the Cloudtop specifically to conduct that filthy trade in human flesh. A recording of him with anyone would have made useful evidence. Whoever happened to be there, we recorded. Of course, I recorded what happened in the other rooms too. Archived everything. Useful insurance.”
Despite the bathwater being hot, Yan Xiaodao felt the blood beneath his skin grow cold at the mercilessness Ling He sometimes displayed. Yet he could not think of a convincing argument against him.
“Remember when Huizhen ordered a Napoleon in your room?” Ling He asked, moving closer, his voice gentle. “If we succeeded with Young Master You, she ordered a Napoleon. If she recorded one of the others, she ordered Chivas or Burgundy.”
Yan Xiaodao suddenly understood. He laughed coldly. “So right under my nose, the two of you played out a secret signal.”
“Yes. I deceived you, but I had no intention of harming you at the time. Xiaodao… Are you still angry with me?” As Ling He spoke of the past, his thoughts had already wandered. His gaze lingered over Yan Xiaodao’s face, settling on the tiny mole near the tip of his nose.
Indeed. At that time, Young Master Ling had hidden his entire plan from him. But he had not intended to hurt him.
“She was still a young woman,” Yan Xiaodao finally said, unable to suppress his values any longer. “You sent her to stay beside a filthy man like Watanabe and make a living serving him with her body. How could you bear to do that?”
Ling He frowned. He had reached his own limit too. “Is that really what you think of me? When I met Huizhen, she had already been beside Watanabe for years. I never forced her into that work! If she wants to leave that pit, I can help her escape at any time.”
They were inches apart. Close enough to hear one another breathe. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from the other’s skin. Without noticing, their argument had softened into intimate whispers.
When had Ling He ever behaved so obediently before him, almost like a cat? Mr. Yan was not accustomed to it. But he genuinely could not move freely. Ling He carefully supported him into the bathtub with his injured right leg extended outside the water.
Ling He still did not avert his gaze. His eyes traced Yan Xiaodao’s face and body. Something almost brazenly worshipful and infatuated entered his expression. Yan Xiaodao’s physique was exceptional. By either male or female standards, every muscle seemed distributed in exactly the right measure. The lines were clean and powerful as he lay half-submerged in warm water. Among a generation increasingly weakened by high-calorie junk food, additives, and unhealthy oils, a body this strong and beautifully proportioned had become genuinely rare.
Yan Xiaodao ignored him. He had not properly touched water in days and felt as though he was beginning to sour. The moment he finally entered the tub, he turned on the shower overhead and let water pour over him, washing himself with immense relief.
There was no plan. No preparation. Dark green whirlpools began turning inside Ling He’s eyes. Small ripples gathered as he watched. More and more. Until they became a surging sea. While rinsing the foam from Xiaodao’s hair, Ling He finally lost control of all the emotion he had carried across countless mountains and rivers. Abruptly, he dropped to his knees. His chin struck Yan Xiaodao’s shoulder. His burning lips pressed hard against the back of his neck. One touch was enough. It was as though their skin possessed magnetic force. They stuck together and could not pull apart.
Trembling lightly, Ling He covered the back of his neck and shoulders in a dense scatter of kisses, searching for the warmth he had desired for so long. Only minutes earlier, he had sworn: It’s not like I’m going to rape you. Apparently he was already preparing to swallow those words whole and slap himself in the face with them.
Yan Xiaodao kept his spine straight. He refused to reveal the slightest weakness or accommodating posture. He turned his eyes away. When Ling He’s deep kisses heated the back of his neck and he finally lost control enough to chase Yan Xiaodao’s mouth, Xiaodao sharply turned his head aside. He refused the kiss. Finally unable to endure it, with nowhere left to retreat, he spoke in a deep voice. “Boss Ling.”
Ling He’s breathing had grown heavy. It was unmistakably the breathing of an adult man who had suppressed ordinary human desire for far too long and finally reached his limit. “Xiaodao…”
They separated by several feet. Their bodies abruptly lost the intimacy they had long craved. Even their skin seemed to complain of cold. Heart and mouth refused to agree.
Yan Xiaodao’s expression became grave and upright. “Mr. Ling. It seems it’s finally my turn to cast aside my face and dignity in front of you and say these things. Right now, I’m seriously injured and crippled. I can’t protect myself. I have nowhere to go. I can barely move. I’m forced to live beneath another person’s roof, watching Boss Ling’s expression and relying on your kindness to give me a bite of food. Once you walk out of this bathroom tonight, I don’t even know whether my other foot will still be attached to me tomorrow. So this thing you want to do right now… Do you really think there’s any meaning in it?”
Ling He said nothing.
Yan Xiaodao continued, returning Ling He’s own logic to him even though he had not consciously intended to. “Am I a guest invited by Boss Ling to stay here for a pleasant visit? Or am I prey you surrounded and captured with a brilliant scheme? I’m being confined in your house. Did I come here to watch fish and admire flowers with you? To whisper about romance beneath the moon? …If you need to vent your desires, go find someone else.”
Every word came directly from Yan Xiaodao’s heart. He spoke without hesitation. Not one stammer.
Ling He’s eyes showed neither apology nor regret. Instead, an almost painfully beautiful confession poured from him. “Xiaodao, I know you hate me because I injured your foot. I’ll take responsibility for what I did. I’ll become your other foot. I’ll stay beside you for the rest of my life and never leave you. I will never betray you. I won’t change my heart. If we stay together, I can give you anything you want. As long as you’re willing… How about I cook for you every day?”
This is how you intend to “take responsibility”?
You planned it from the beginning?
Yan Xiaodao stared at Ling He’s absolute confidence and the way he seemed to regard everything as perfectly logical. For the first time, he suddenly understood something. Ling He had a seriously obsessive temperament. He did not think like an ordinary person. His way of thinking was strikingly unconventional. In Mr. Ling’s leapfrogging logic, the ordinary human emotions and reasoning that should connect the cause of an action to its eventual consequence simply did not need to exist.
So. A week ago you crippled my foot. And now you fucking want to sleep with me?
Why don’t you ask whether my chest still hurts? Why don’t you ask whether I even want you?!
If Yan Xiaodao had not still been unable to let go of that face and their old feelings, he would already have unleashed every three-character curse he knew. But looking at that devastatingly beautiful face… In the end, he simply could not bring himself to curse him.