The room was utterly silent. Only the little alarm clock beside the bed kept tapping out its monotonous tick, tick, over and over, marking time to the heavy breathing and pounding heartbeats of the two men.
Yan Xiaodao abruptly lowered his lashes. After a long silence, he said, “What exactly do you expect me to say? You and Captain Xue are capable investigators. If you uncover it, that’s your ability. I won’t interfere with Captain Xue’s investigation, and I won’t stop you either. Investigate whatever you want. Just don’t ask me.”
Ling He’s chest rose and fell. “Yan Xiaodao!!”
Yan Xiaodao looked up at Ling He’s face, reddened by the fire raging inside him, and said helplessly, “Ling He, you already drove You Jinglian half mad trying to force him to turn himself in and inform on the others. Now it’s my turn to be forced into informing. How exactly are you planning to drive me mad?”
Ling He bent down and bit at Yan Xiaodao’s earlobe, whispering, “It’s your godfather, isn’t it? When and where did Master Qi pick up a ridiculous nickname like ‘Duidui’? What does that name even mean?”
Yan Xiaodao stared at him without expression, shook his head, and refused to speak.
They were practically butting noses like two stubborn bulls, pressing so hard their noses were nearly flattened together. Ling He was not pinning Yan Xiaodao down because he wanted intimacy. At this point, he genuinely wanted to bite him.
Yes, the task force could conduct massive searches and interviews, follow each thread backward, gather clue after clue, and eventually locate people who had been around fifteen years ago. It would simply take a great deal of time. Yet there was already one person who could suddenly open the entire case and save Captain Xue from circling halfway around the world, and that person was Yan Xiaodao. Ling He was absolutely certain Xiaodao knew something and was deliberately withholding an important fact from Xue Qian.
It might only have been a nickname someone used years ago, not even a formal “former name.” Perhaps only a small handful of people had ever known it. Those who knew were dead or scattered now, and neither household registers nor identity cards had a box labeled “nickname.” Who were they supposed to ask?
Ling He could, of course, simply hand Captain Xue a blacklist containing the names of all four members of the old group, but major criminal cases depended on hard evidence and a complete chain of proof. So many years had passed. Without ironclad evidence, which petty criminal was going to suffer a sudden awakening of conscience and willingly confess?
Ling He did not have that kind of patience. He wanted this finished quickly.
For every day Qi Baoshan remained standing, he remained a tremendous threat between Ling He and Xiaodao. Ling He was unbearably anxious. Years of swallowing humiliation might still end in failure. He had climbed through blood and tears to reach this critical turning point, yet somehow the distant goal and the immovable monster behind the curtain seemed farther away than ever. He could not even tell Xiaodao about those fears. Master Qi was the wedge driven between Ling He and Yan Xiaodao, but he was also the barrier holding back the stagnant black swamp beyond. Without this godfather between them, why would Ling He and Xiaodao ever have drawn blades against each other and nearly become enemies?
“Hopeless! …Stubborn beyond saving!” Ling He ground his teeth and gripped the man beneath him, yet he could neither hit nor curse him. He had tried seduction and even offering his own body as a bargain before, only to be humiliatingly defeated and sent retreating with his feathers thoroughly clipped.
When it came to Xiaodao, Ling He simply had nowhere to begin and no strategy that worked.
With a man like Yan Xiaodao, if he did not want to tell the truth, what good would beating him accomplish?
“Ling He,” Yan Xiaodao said softly.
Their wrestling and broad fighting movements had left Yan Xiaodao’s upper body somewhat disordered. His shirt had been pulled open, exposing his chest and abdominal muscles as he breathed.
“Ling He…” Yan Xiaodao frowned slightly and called him again, even more quietly.
At first, Ling He thought he had imagined it. Was this man actually softening and asking for mercy?
Then he understood immediately. Yan Xiaodao was in pain but was too stubbornly masculine to admit it. Ling He’s domineering position astride him had clamped his legs around the ribs that Xiaodao had once severely injured.
Friction against damaged ribs hurt badly. Sweat had already gathered at Yan Xiaodao’s temples and across his back.
Ling He froze and immediately rolled away.
Where Yan Xiaodao’s shirt had ridden up, a broad stretch of skin was exposed. The mature, attractive body stirred no lust in Ling He this time. Instead, regret rose immediately inside him. He was not blind. He could see perfectly well that surgery had inevitably left uneven scars across the area. No matter how skilled the surgeon, medicine could only repair the missing pieces and close the wounds. A porcelain statue that had once shattered could never be restored to its original flawless state.
Ling He fell silent. He bent down and kissed the scarred ribs, following the weathered tracks visible across the skin. For every scar he found, he pressed down another kiss, silently counting them in his heart: However much I’ve hurt you today, one day I’ll repay every bit of it. I won’t let you suffer any of this for nothing.
The premeditated torture-and-interrogation session ended abruptly when Mr. Ling laid down his weapons and surrendered.
Ling He climbed off the bed in a thoroughly miserable mood. For a moment, he wanted to book another room, but then decided that would be too humiliating. Why the hell should he be the one to leave?
The two men shared the same bed but slept beneath separate blankets, each facing the opposite direction and wrapped up so tightly there was no risk of accidental contact. They would not even share their breathing with each other. Both were equally stubborn.
Late that night, once Yan Xiaodao’s breathing had gradually evened out, Ling He slipped barefoot from the bed once again and silently entered the bathroom.
Some things, once experienced for the first time, naturally led to a second and a third, almost like addiction or possession. Ling He had always prided himself on the strength of his mental discipline and his ability to control his emotions and body. Never had he imagined that one day physical desire would become a source of self-inflicted torment. He had woven the cocoon himself and now found himself trapped inside it.
His body seemed to have reverted to sixteen, all inexperienced restlessness and raw impulse. He was addicted.
……
Yan Xiaodao, also barefoot, moved through the unlit entryway with complicated emotions. He had already reached the bathroom door before the person hiding inside finally sensed him. The pressure and intimidation Yan Xiaodao naturally carried seemed almost tangible, slipping beneath the crack under the door and slowly seeping into the bathroom until Ling He, amid disordered breathing, asked warily, “What are you doing?”
Yan Xiaodao’s mind remained calm. He asked quietly, “Are you all right?”
Spoken through a door, the question made it sound as though Mr. Yan had developed X-ray vision and was deliberately teasing him while pretending ignorance. Ling He’s temper immediately flared. He answered with a single word. “Fuck off.”
After saying it, Ling He himself felt faintly helpless. He rarely swore and regarded that sort of curse as the lowest possible tier of verbal combat, completely unworthy of his own ninth-dan professional standards. But right now, it perfectly expressed his desire to kick Yan Xiaodao straight back into bed. This damned enchanting creature needed to stop crawling out from beneath the blankets in the middle of the night and feeding the fire in his body.
What Ling He had failed to consider was that neither the thin bathroom door nor its flimsy little turn lock had ever stood a chance against Yan Xiaodao.
Without saying a word, Yan Xiaodao slid a three-inch blade into the lock and flicked it open effortlessly. He pushed the door inward, revealing a stunned Ling He, who had never in his life imagined himself caught in such frantic, transparently guilty embarrassment.
The corners of his eyes and the rims of his ears were flushed with arousal.
His fly was undone.
In the lines of his palm remained traces of an intimacy he had never wanted another person to see. His hand had been tangled with his own body, but every thought inside him had belonged to Xiaodao.
Certain memories from adolescence, unpleasant enough to make him nauseated, swept through his mind like a carpet-bombing raid. Countless ghostly eyes seemed to wail and roar around him, lunging from every direction. Filthy voyeuristic stares gave off a sickly yellow-white haze that clung to his body and could not be shaken away, making his heart leap in terror and rage, until Ling He finally recognized through his ragged breathing that the man who had entered really was Yan Xiaodao.
Forced back into a corner, Ling He hastily put himself in order and concealed the embarrassing state of his lower body. He grabbed the shower curtain and wrapped it around himself, yet his face remained proudly defiant as he stared directly at Yan Xiaodao.
Words like “shame” and “embarrassment” had never existed in Ling He’s personal dictionary. Only now did he suddenly understand why. During the pale, empty first twenty years of his life, there had been almost nothing involving ordinary affection, love, or sex. Once he began secretly tasting and exploring those things for himself, a faint, belated sense of embarrassment finally stirred beneath even his unusually thick skin, leaving his eyes red with fury as he glared at Yan Xiaodao.
Yan Xiaodao braced both hands against the walls, trapping him between his arms. Ling He turned his gaze aside and said with undiminished dignity, “Mr. Yan, stay away from me.”
Whatever tiny scrap of embarrassment existed inside Ling He was no larger than a fingernail and utterly insignificant. His formidable emotional control plucked it away almost instantly. He sneered softly, “Pervert… Mr. Yan, do you enjoy spying on people doing this so much?”
“No.” Yan Xiaodao sighed. He lightly touched his forehead to Ling He’s for the briefest instant, then moved away and drew him into his arms. “You’re doing it wrong. That way isn’t comfortable. I’ll teach you.”
What followed happened in silence.
Beneath the oppressive ceiling of that cramped little room, their racing heartbeats and breathing answered each other, almost forcing the poorly closed faucet over the sink to begin its own drip, drip, drip. The continuous drops gradually seemed to quicken, becoming more urgent in time with the rhythm Yan Xiaodao controlled. In the mirror, Ling He’s stubborn face remained turned aside, the rims of his ears swallowed by a deep flush, though not one ounce of his pride had been surrendered.
Ling He had been completely unprepared for this tactic from Yan Xiaodao and had clearly underestimated just how shameless the man could be. A young man’s surging blood could hardly reject such perfectly fitted intimacy, and every sensitive nerve in his body seemed at last to have found where it belonged. Yan Xiaodao’s faintly rough jaw brushed his ear while an even rougher hand quietly guided him through the unfamiliar sensations, carefully teaching without damaging Ling He’s pride and skillfully drawing out one wave of pleasure after another.
Pleasure came like a towering wave of heat crashing over him, yet when it withdrew, the lingering aftertaste remained exquisitely precise and endless.
Their noses brushed intimately again. Even that faint contact was pleasant enough to make the body shiver.
Ling He breathed softly and suddenly arched backward, pressing his head to the wall. He raised one arm to cover the dampness gathering in his eyes, only to expose his half-parted lips instead. His throat stretched, Adam’s apple moving continuously beneath the skin.
Yan Xiaodao was experienced and completely at ease, but he carefully respected the limits of what Ling He could accept. He only held Ling He lightly around the lower back and devoted himself to making him comfortable. This time, he did not reach beneath his clothes to grope recklessly. Their formidable self-control kept this unexpected flare of intimacy within relatively harmless bounds, both men carefully preventing the fire from truly breaking loose.
Ling He could not decide whether to praise Yan Xiaodao’s technique or curse him for being an old seducer. After brooding for quite a while, he finally sprayed out a mouthful of sour jealousy. “Your hands are pretty good. How many people have you done that for?”
Yan Xiaodao answered honestly, “Actually, none. I don’t normally look for men. You’re the first person I’ve ever done that for.”
Ling He understood immediately. The corner of his mouth curved upward and he smiled at Xiaodao in satisfaction, his pride circling around until it finally found this particular spot to land on, restoring his balance.
“I’m sorry.” Yan Xiaodao braced one elbow against the wall and loosely wrapped the other arm around Ling He’s shoulders, comforting him in a gesture completely free of obscenity. Sincerely, he said it again. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry for what? Those three words carried many meanings.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell Captain Xue the truth. I’m sorry I drove you into hiding in the bathroom in the middle of the night to take care of yourself. I’m sorry there are certain things in which I’m destined never to give you what you want.
Ling He shook his head. The two of them had already crossed too many mountains and rivers together for “sorry” to mean much anymore. Besides, he had wronged Xiaodao too. He had no intention of defaulting on the three blades and six holes he owed Xiaodao in this lifetime. Nor had he ever pitied himself.
Ling He’s slightly disordered shirt exposed part of his chest, his skin taking on a beautiful pale orange under the light. The musculature of a young man lay evenly beneath it, neither excessively bulky nor sharply bony, just the right amount. It looked as though it would feel very good beneath a hand.
Mr. Yan, who had handled everything so smoothly until now, stared at Ling He’s open collar and abruptly discovered that his own self-control was beginning to fail. His throat went dry.
Ling He flicked one quick glance downward. His brow tightened at the conspicuous evidence of male arousal, and he immediately raised his eyes again, refusing to look any longer. It was not as though he had never seen Yan Xiaodao’s body, but this was the first time he had been pressed so close while confronted with such obvious physical desire, and a wave of nausea rose in him.
Yan Xiaodao caught the flicker in his expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ling He said. “I just don’t like that very much.”
Ling He’s response to sex had always been strangely contradictory. His desire for Yan Xiaodao and his aversion to the male body were awkwardly twisted together. Clearly, he too was trapped inside some conflicted knot when it came to intimacy, opposing himself in ways that seemed irrational and impossible to explain.
Ling He liked him. Yan Xiaodao had no doubt about that. Yet Ling He’s interest in spiritual and emotional love seemed far stronger than his interest in physical sex. For a healthy man barely into his twenties, it was unusual.
Ling He shoved Xiaodao away with one palm, a mocking hint in his expression. “Mr. Yan, as long as I’m hard, what are you trembling in front of me for?”
With magnificent arrogance, he zipped his trousers, walked out, wrapped himself into a silkworm cocoon beneath the blankets, and promptly fell asleep. Having expended quite a bit of energy that night, the beautiful young man was finally somewhat tired.
Yan Xiaodao, thinking himself terribly clever, had personally dug a pit and leapt heroically into it, only to discover that the thoroughly disloyal Young Master Ling had vaulted neatly back out and fled, leaving Xiaodao trapped at the bottom with his own fire to put out using the cheapest possible “self-service.”
By morning, they still had to behave as though nothing had happened. It could hardly be called a reconciliation. It had simply been an accidental discharge.
Meanwhile, Captain Xue did not remain in the hospital long either. He never treated himself like an injured man who needed looking after. Over the phone, he assigned work to fellow members of the task force with exactly the tone he normally used on his own underlings, wishing he could turn the entire Three Rivers region upside down within twenty-four hours. Working people that mercilessly naturally attracted complaints, but Yasha Xue did not care. His reputation among colleagues had always been famously “excellent.”
Xue Qian carefully entrusted Chen Jin to local officers and arranged for him to stay in the bureau guesthouse under proper protection.
Elio’s Notes: 擦枪走火 literally refers to an accidental firearm discharge and figuratively to a situation unexpectedly escalating or getting out of hand. The narration is using both meanings here.
Chen Jin waited in the guesthouse room for his young boyfriend.
The moment Qi Yanxuan approached cautiously, Chen Jin visibly relaxed and buried his face apologetically against him.
The shadows of his childhood family could not disappear in a single night, but Chen Jin nevertheless tasted a sense of relief after the clouds finally parted. Once he had poured out the garbage clogging his mind, his shoulders felt lighter. Some things had never been as impossible to endure as he had imagined. He had foolishly trapped himself in a dead end, pushing deeper and deeper until he could no longer find the way out, fastening a set of shackles belonging to the previous generation onto his own head for no reason, and hurting Xiao Xuan in the process.
When Chen Jin looked up at the sky again, one clear corner seemed to have opened above him, admitting a shaft of sunlight. Fate was fair to everyone in its own way. What mattered was whether you had the courage to ride your fate rather than allow fate to ride you. That demon called destiny bullied you when you were weak. Only when you became strong would it obediently submit to your reins.
Chen Jin asked Qi Yanxuan to accompany him through the shopping mall beside the guesthouse. “I want to buy Officer Xue something. He got hurt because of this.”
One circuit around the shops quickly revealed that the dazzling rows of nutritional products and health supplements cost hundreds or even thousands of yuan. He genuinely could not afford them and immediately felt frustrated again with his own childish stubbornness.
After returning to the guesthouse, Chen Jin quietly slipped into Xue Qian’s room, gathered up several days’ worth of the officer’s unwashed dirty clothes, and took them away to wash. He had no money, but he still had strength enough to work.
At dinner, Yasha Xue stole an entire skewer of spicy grilled squid from a colleague’s lunchbox and walked off with it.
The colleague turned and pointed at him. “Brother Qian, remember the wound on your stomach! No spicy food!”
Xue Qian laughed. “I could quit drinking before I’d ever quit chili!”
His colleague cursed him. “Just wait. When your stomach heals, you’re definitely going to have one huge red scar!”
Xue Qian could not have cared less. He already had plenty of scars. They were a man’s bearing, a man’s medals. That evening, after eating his fill and growing bored, he sent Liang Youhui a message with a photograph attached. He figured he ought to mention what had happened.
The picture showed the corpse of the handheld game console, screen shattered and black, a truly tragic sight.
Xue Qian typed: 【This treasure saved my life. I really should thank you. Shame such an expensive thing got ruined.】
Liang Youhui replied: 【It broke? That’s fine, it wasn’t expensive. I’ll send you a few new ones.】
The naturally slow reflexes of this giant spoiled baby were apparently quite impressive. A full five minutes passed before he exploded, firing off message after message: 【What happened? Was that broken by a bullet? Brother Xue, were you shot? Are you okay now? Where are you?!】
Xue Qian watched his phone keep beeping as incoming calls and message alerts fought to fill the screen. He could not help laughing. He could practically imagine Liang Youhui’s comically innocent face with every hair standing on end. The kid had never seen the world. Was all this really necessary?
Xue Qian eventually answered. Liang Youhui immediately bombarded him with questions about where he was and announced that he was going to book a flight to visit him.
Xue Qian refused without hesitation. “No. Absolutely do not come.”
Liang Youhui could not stop worrying. “Brother, are you really okay? Why does your voice sound wrong? Are you dizzy? Short of breath? Did you lose too much blood? That bullet hit your lower stomach. Could it make your kidneys weak later?”
“Your kidneys are weak!” Xue Qian cursed him with a laugh. “I’m built like a tank. Enough, stop making a fuss. When I get back, I’ll find a chance to buy you dinner and thank you for saving my life.”
To prevent that little idiot from actually flying over to visit him, Xue Qian had been forced into inviting Young Master Liang to dinner.
What he really wanted to say was: Do you have too much money to burn? Stop fooling around. We’re not suited to each other, so quit wasting all those romantic little schemes on me.
The words lodged in his throat and never came out. He decided a person ought to be kind, especially when feelings were involved. Was he simply perceptive enough to understand everything at once, or was he being too clever for his own good and imagining things?
If he had misjudged something this obvious, Yasha Xue might as well retire from the gay scene forever. Liang Youhui was pursuing him in broad daylight with banners flying! Yet when faced with Young Master Liang, who was as transparent as a basin of clear water and could be seen straight through to the bottom, Xue Qian somehow could not bring himself to be cruel.
……