Dawn filtered through the curtains and fell directly across Ling He, illuminating the faint pallor of a sleeping face trapped in long, unbroken pain. Tossing through the deepest hours of night until he could finally sink into a cramped, uneasy stretch of sleep near daybreak had long since become ordinary for him. For more than ten years, this was how he had endured every endless night. Only he knew the bitterness of it.
His thick lashes pressed tightly against his closed lids, shutting out the phantoms beneath the dark curtain and the demons preserved in memory. Yet some hatred was like an enormous tree with roots too deep to pull free. Its roots had worked themselves into every crack of his mind and soaked into his marrow, following him like a shadow for years, tormenting him, an eternal shackle around his neck from which he could never escape.
For more than a decade, Ling He had slept every night alone in a wide bed covered in snow-white sheets. He could not tolerate anyone approaching the bedside for intimacy, nor could he allow anyone to linger inside his bedroom and watch him.
The smallest noise, wind, birds, dogs barking, could drag him awake from the darkness. What he could tolerate least of all was another person breathing beside him. Breathing that came hurriedly or obscenely from the dark, suggestive in ways he could not read, felt like a leather whip winding around his neck, tightening until he choked in resistance and alarm.
He had shared a bed with Yan Xiaodao only once or twice, for one night or perhaps a few hours at a time. Only beside this particular man called Yan Xiaodao could he strip away every piece of armor and lower his defenses completely, clutching the reassuring edge of the other man’s clothing as though gripping a beacon in the middle of a black night. Because of that, Ling He had become like a desperate drowning man, like a madman betting everything on one last throw, willing to use any method necessary to seize and possess the other person, to cling to the only island of solid land in a boundless sea…
Many shadows approached slowly, creeping onto his great bed like unevolved beasts, breathing heavily with a foul, animal stink.
Those shadows stretched out filthy claws, playing with his long hair and tearing at his flesh.
A boy beautiful enough to bring down a city could make certain people willing to do anything merely to possess him once he grew older, even destroy what was innocent and precious, drive him into a dead end with a smiling face, take away the father he longed for, and leave his family shattered.
Who told this little fish to grow up so beautiful, so tempting?
A deep voice sounded above him while the nightmare turned sexual humiliation into another cruel game.
All he had to do was kneel forward. All he had to do was submit, and he could save the miserable man bound to the bed.
All he had to do was surrender his body and dignity, the way Mai Yunliang had once surrendered his own, and sink into the same mire. Then he too could supposedly escape and live the pampered, wealthy life reserved for those who made that bargain.
The naked, slender man on the bed was wrapped inside a net woven from humiliating wounds, trapped with nowhere left to run. Yet with what seemed like the last of his strength, he opened his eyes and told Ling He: no, no, don’t, you can’t…
Had the shadow in the dream really said “don’t” and “you can’t”? Or was that only Ling He’s own hallucination, his own miserable selfishness having driven the other man into a dead end?
Don’t.
You can’t.
A thin line of blood ran from the center of the man’s lower lip. When his eyes finally closed, the last emerald gleam disappeared beneath his lashes, taking with it something beautiful Ling He would never again be able to touch in this lifetime.
He was destined to drift alone through an icy river for the rest of his life. He possessed nothing. Even the word miserable seemed shallow and frivolous beside him.
Every cry remained crushed inside his chest. Ling He unconsciously clawed at his own throat until bloody scratches appeared across his Adam’s apple and chest. He could not draw breath. Sweat spread across his deathly pale face as he struggled on a drifting slab of ice inside a black frozen river.
The belief called “revenge” nailed him to that ice and gave direction to his drifting. If even that belief collapsed, he had no idea into what gutter or underground river he would eventually disappear.
Dawn woke him. Every morning was an angel of salvation hauling him from a black swamp and granting him a temporary breath. Ling He jolted upright in bed. His soaked pajamas and sheets and dripping hair told him that last night had been nothing more than the ordinary repetition of an old nightmare.
Captain Xue’s careful probing had forced him to face memories he refused to preserve. Yet everything was actually unfolding according to Ling He’s own plan, peeling back the miserable outer shell one layer at a time until the blood underneath was exposed. Sooner or later the truth had to come into the light. Captain Xue was simply approaching the center exactly as Ling He had predicted and designed, step by step. But when the moment finally arrived, it still hurt badly enough to steal his breath.
He ought to kowtow in endless gratitude to that pervert Ling Huang too. The bastard had actually been spotted and reported by Master Qi. Ling Huang had, after all, rescued Ling He from that terrible situation, and that act of rescue had contained a rare piece of genuine sincerity. Ling He had no complaint about that. Without Ling Huang, he might long ago have become little more than a walking corpse, meeting an end like Mai Yunliang’s…
Ling He glanced down at himself. He was still wearing Xiaodao’s pajamas.
Xiaodao’s pajamas were his protective armor. The half-worn cotton fabric clung warmly to his body as though carrying a touch capable of calming his soul.
Sweat had soaked Xiaodao’s pajamas. Ling He sank into several warm fragments of memory, smiled faintly, tugged the front of the shirt toward his mouth, and kissed it several times.
He had grown strong enough to become numb to the same nightmares repeated year after year. A cold sneer mocking the world tugged at his lips. He had learned to ignore ridicule and abuse, hardening himself until he was colder, tougher, better suited to survive among unevolved beasts and demons inside that dark swamp and tear his enemies apart with his own hands. Light had abandoned him long ago. It had nothing to do with this half of his life.
Crying out or begging had never helped. Any weakness could be seized and used to unravel everything around it. Any soft place could be smelled out by ghosts who would peel back your skin and eat your flesh. Ling He had understood that rule of survival a very long time ago.
It was almost dawn. Was Captain Xue still upstairs clinging sentimentally to Yan Xiaodao, talking by candlelight and somehow unable to get out of bed?
Ling He decided to prepare Yan Xiaodao’s morning medicinal decoction. He got out of bed, slipped his feet into slippers, and shuffled toward the door in loose pajamas, his gray silhouette reflected in the window.
He stopped abruptly at the doorway. In the end, he could not suppress his suspicion of Captain Xue. Quietly, Ling He took a listening device from the bedside drawer and connected it to the audio feed in the other room.
Ling He listened, picked out the faint threads hidden between the words of their conversation, and suddenly changed expression before taking off at once…
Yan Xiaodao, meanwhile, had slipped into Ling He’s room to search for something for the first time. He held his breath, afraid even the sound of breathing might wake the man in the bed. Ling He seemed to be asleep there, right?
The traditional medicine prescribed by Divine Doctor Zhang tasted unbearably bitter, but it was extremely effective at clearing inflammation and reducing stasis. Yan Xiaodao’s injured foot seemed to be mostly healed already. Yet because he still lacked confidence in it, he placed each step so lightly that he nonetheless felt as though he were operating a pile driver, every footfall booming through the room.
The safe used a combination dial. Yan Xiaodao narrowed one eye and leaned close to study the mechanism inside the lock, his movements delicate and precise. He had always been skilled at any task requiring strength or fine control in the fingers. As he turned the dial, he tried to guess what password Ling He would choose… Gradually he understood. After several more turns, the safe popped open with a click. The combination was the date the two of them had first met aboard the Cloudtop. Ling He had remembered that too…
He searched quickly. The safe held several firearms of different models, including large-caliber rifles and portable handguns, probably the equipment Ling He used most often. There were also medicines Yan Xiaodao could not identify, their long English names looking like heavenly codes. But where was his blade?
Yan Xiaodao heard movement behind his ear and spun around on reflex, instantly assuming a tense defensive posture.
A heavy hand settled onto his shoulder. The person behind him looked faintly amused. “What are you looking for? Want me to help?”
Yan Xiaodao had already felt guilty and warm-eared about sneaking into someone else’s safe. Now that he had been caught red-handed, he coughed behind the thick skin of his weathered face and asked as gently as possible, “My blade. Where did you put it?”
Ling He withdrew his hand and stood with both hands elegantly tucked into his pockets. “Something that valuable should be kept safe. Don’t worry, I’m looking after it. It won’t disappear.”
Yan Xiaodao asked, “Can you give it back?”
Ling He’s face carried open teasing. “That blade is genuine steel and very heavy. Your foot still isn’t completely healed. Can you even carry it?”
Yan Xiaodao pressed his palms together and practically bowed ninety degrees as he pleaded, “Ling He… give it back. Please.”
“Give it back so you can turn it over to Captain Xue as evidence and help him solve the case…?” Ling He was too straightforward to stand here circling pointlessly while anger burned in him. “Or are you planning to destroy the evidence before Captain Xue gets there so the police can never find it? …Xiaodao!”
Yan Xiaodao struggled to pry open a narrow gap inside the suffocating pressure of the room. “Ling He, I did use that thing. If there’s blood of unclear origin on it, I could be implicated someday too, and I’d never be able to explain myself properly to Captain Xue. Ling He, could you really bear that?”
Ling He slammed the verbal equivalent of a brick straight into him, leaving no mercy at all. “You were only a teenager then and had never even been to the Three Rivers region. This case could never implicate you. You’re doing this for your godfather.”
Yan Xiaodao’s brows drew together. Helplessly, softly, he called, “Xiao He.”
Ling He turned and walked away, answering with his face and his actions: I’m still not giving it back.
He had already reached the staircase when resentment pulled him around for one last threat. “Captain Xue probably hasn’t reached the bureau yet. I could send the evidence by express courier right now, straight onto his office desk!”
The cold sweat from Ling He’s nightmare still clung beneath his clothes, sticky and chilled. If Qi Baoshan were driven into a dead end by police and forced to surrender, that would be the first shovel breaking into the dark swamp, the first strip of light exposing one corner of the truth and turning the whole case. If Master Qi had known enough to report Ling Huang, then what he knew could hardly stop at that one insignificant matter. Every spike and piece of armor on Ling He’s body rose at once. His hands trembled faintly. How could he possibly let an opportunity this valuable slip away?
Yan Xiaodao racked his brain and still could not imagine where Ling He had hidden his blade.
For the rest of the morning, he remained restless through one broken thread of thought after another, unable to calm himself.
He thought back over everything since his injury, remembered Qi Baoshan choosing to sacrifice him when Yan had been in danger, then remembered the old man’s sorrowful plea for him to return only days ago… Yan Xiaodao understood Qi Baoshan well enough. His godfather was, at heart, a man capable of genuine chivalry. He was calculating, certainly, but not rotten to the core. Some things could not be blamed on heaven or earth. Sometimes all you could blame was that your allotted life of wealth and power had been destined to last only until forty-five.
In the kitchen, Mr. Ling quietly and elegantly simmered medicine in a small pot. Every bend of his body, every extension of his arm, every subtle lift of his lashes through the white steam as he secretly glanced over was unbearably attractive… The balance inside Yan Xiaodao’s heart had already tipped beyond resistance. The two ends finally carried different weights, and there was no pretending otherwise.
Ling He finished the decoction and handed him a bowl. “Drink it while it’s hot.”
Yan Xiaodao wrinkled his nose. “It would taste better cold!”
Ling He mocked him. “A bowl of Chinese medicine is enough to defeat Mr. Yan? Pathetic.”
“How about half each?” Having just been mocked for being pathetic, Yan Xiaodao shamelessly tried to soften the atmosphere by pulling Ling He closer. “I’m worried your feet never healed completely either. You still look a little lame to me.”
Ling He pretended to turn back lovingly and share the medicine with him. Instead, he grabbed Yan Xiaodao by the nose and forced the rim of the bowl between his lips.
Half of Ling He’s body bore down over him, an elbow braced against his chest as he demonstrated domineering arrogance from above. Not one drop of expensive medicine would be wasted. Pinching Yan’s nose shut, he poured the entire bowl down his throat. Yan Xiaodao’s throat bobbed frantically as he swallowed in helpless haste, and the instant Ling He finally released him, he choked so hard his face and neck turned red, one hand clutching his chest while he coughed without stopping.
Yan Xiaodao reflected on the intimacy that had accumulated between them day after day. He had actually grown accustomed to this poisonous form of closeness, perhaps even learned to enjoy it. Nobody else in the world would dare climb so openly over his head. Only Ling He dared, which was exactly why Yan could never fall in love with anyone else.
Ling He, however, complained silently: One mouthful of the medicine prescribed by that brat Zhang Wenxi costs fifty thousand yuan. Drinking this stuff is literally drinking gold. Do you have any idea how expensive your medicine is, Mr. Yan?
Little Brother Su Zhe tried to shake off the loneliness of being single by placing two spoons in his breakfast bowl. He took one sip with the first spoon and said, “This is me feeding myself.” Then he picked up the second spoon, took another sip, and murmured, “This is my husband feeding me.”
Mao Zhixiu laughed so hard at Su Zhe that she collapsed over the sofa, cursing him for “adding imaginary scenes to your own life every single day!”
“What are you laughing at? You haven’t found yourself a wife either!” Su Zhe angrily brandished both spoons at his master and Mr. Yan. “Shouldn’t these two pack their things and move out already instead of standing around here being an eyesore? Leave the money and the villa to us!”
Mao Zhixiu pointed dramatically at heaven and earth, joining his cause with heroic passion. “Exactly! Mr. Ling, Mr. Yan, leave the money and the house behind. You two can roll up your bedding and move out. Hurry!”
Yan Xiaodao was far too composed to be goaded by a few younger people fanning the flames into showing off publicly. Yet the matter pressing on his mind had reached the point where he had to speak to Ling He. The only question was whether Ling He intended to give him the opportunity.
Something had been wrong between the two of them all morning. Both looked hesitant and on the verge of speaking, and the smallest breeze could stir another layer of ripples between them…
Yan Xiaodao had barely opened his mouth when Ling He carried the empty medicine bowl back into the kitchen, deliberately avoiding him again.
Ling He wandered around the kitchen and returned carrying another bowl of porridge. “That’s all for breakfast. Nothing else. I’m tired today and can’t be bothered cooking.”
Yan Xiaodao hurriedly took it and wolfed down the entire bowl at a speed designed to show his appreciation. His warm eyes practically radiated reassurance and ingratiation. He was not stupid. When a situation required an attitude, he knew perfectly well how to show one.
Several grains of rice clung to Yan Xiaodao’s lips as he nodded. “Not bad. Didn’t you say before that you couldn’t cook Chinese food?”
Ling He wiped away the grain with a finger and naturally licked it clean. “I learned from a recipe.”
Mr. Ling’s porridge tasted far better than the bowls sold at breakfast stalls around the imported-goods market. He had soaked the rice in advance, mixed it with oil and seasoning, then simmered it slowly in a small clay pot, adding preserved egg, lean pork, shredded pickled mustard stem, and ginger, all things Xiaodao liked.
Yan Xiaodao shuffled into the unfamiliar kitchen in his slippers, a place that felt like a maze filled with hidden weapons and mechanisms, and coughed. “Ling He, I want to…”
Ling He snapped the hand towel onto the counter. “I’m busy. I’m going upstairs to review the month-end accounts.”
Yan Xiaodao: “…”
Without changing expression, Ling He escaped him again, determined to block the mouth that was trying to begin a serious conversation.
Yan Xiaodao watched the man’s agile figure flash up to the second floor. With Mr. Ling’s usual intelligence and insight, he had clearly already guessed what Yan wanted to say.
Near noon, the young master responsible for feeding the entire household finally emerged reluctantly from the study and once again exposed himself to Yan Xiaodao’s relentless attempts to seize an opening, almost physically chased by Yan’s gaze wherever he went.
Ling He lowered his lashes over the frying pan and prepared the three dishes of Yan’s lunch. Mr. Yan generally ate three courses at midday and five at dinner. By now, he had eaten so well that he had nearly forgotten the taste of boxed meals carried home from the imported-goods market. Speaking now genuinely felt unfair to a host who had cared for him this attentively.
The five fingers of Yan Xiaodao’s right hand tapped lightly against the marble counter beside the stove. Something weighed on his mind, and without realizing it he once again fell into the habit of someone who played piano, sliding his fingers rhythmically in repeated patterns to disguise his mood. “Ling He, I need to go home for a while. I want to discuss it with you.”
Ling He was tossing tender beef in a pan. His wrist froze. “What are you going back to do?”
Yan Xiaodao looked directly into Ling He’s eyes, his gaze clear and upright. “Some things eventually have to reach their end. The truth is almost completely out. I want to spend a little time with my godfather before everything finishes. I can’t let the old man think he raised a son for nothing, only for me to turn ungrateful and throw everything onto him alone when the end comes.”
Ling He jerked his head up. “Xiaodao, you’re planning to take the blame for him?!”
“No.” Yan Xiaodao answered frankly. “Whoever did something is responsible for it. I will never take criminal responsibility for him, and I don’t intend to defend him with a single word. But I can’t hide from the things that belong to me either. Back when Master Qi’s business was thriving and money poured in from every direction, countless people would have knelt and begged to call him father. I didn’t leave him then. Now that times have changed and he’s in trouble, does it make sense for me to be the first one to run? …I still want to stay beside my godfather for as many days as I can. I don’t want the old man’s heart to go completely cold.”
Ling He remained frozen with the pan suspended in midair, his arm locked in an awkward position.
“No. You’re not allowed to go.” The pan abruptly dropped from Ling He’s hand onto the electric stovetop. Its base nearly cracked the glass surface, sending up soot and fragments. “I will not let you leave this house.”
The crash stunned everyone. The entire living room fell silent.
Mao Zhixiu and Su Zhe froze too. Neither had expected this.
Miss Mao suddenly realized how naive and simple her own thinking had been, nowhere near capable of keeping up with the two men’s schemes and convoluted reasoning. She had actually thought Yan Xiaodao’s distracted, hesitant behavior all morning meant he was overwhelmed by romantic feelings for her master, unable to suppress his love and preparing to confess to Ling He.
But no.
It was not a confession. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go back to Qi Baoshan?
“Ling He, stop making trouble.” Yan Xiaodao was candid and calm, confident he could explain himself clearly. “I’m only going back to settle everything with Captain Xue. I will come back. I’m not leaving you.”
I’m not leaving you.
Yan Xiaodao spoke every word clearly and openly, deliberately allowing the entire crowd watching the excitement to hear. This was no longer the night when the two of them turned against each other and fought viciously at Linwan Harbor. They had lived together day and night for so long, eaten so many meals together, and even gone farther in their physical intimacy. Was there still any question about the depth of feeling between them?
Ling He’s sharp gaze stripped at Yan Xiaodao’s true expression. “You say you’re not leaving me, but you’re leaving right now. Once you go, you won’t come back!”
Yan Xiaodao frowned slightly. “I said I’ll come back, and I keep my word. Have I ever lied to you? Have I disappeared without saying goodbye? If I leave, I’ll walk openly through the front door of your house!”
Pain sent Ling He spiraling into uncontrollable anxiety, made even sharper by the shadow of the previous night’s nightmare. The slab of ice beneath his feet began to move. Darkness stretched in every direction, and the solid shore that had seemed close enough to touch suddenly slid away from his fingertips. He almost lunged forward, urgently trying to shake Xiaodao awake. “Xiaodao, I know exactly how deep the father-son bond between you and your godfather runs. You naively believe you can just come back afterward, but do you really think Qi Baoshan will calmly let you walk out of his hands again? When the police eventually come to investigate and arrest people, won’t Qi Baoshan push you forward and drag you into the blame? If that blade really is the murder weapon and your traces are on it too, won’t you be implicated? If one day he decides to flee the country and run to the ends of the earth, and the police close in until the two of you have nowhere left to go, can you honestly say you won’t stand in front of a bullet for your godfather? …Yan Xiaodao, you idiot. You absolutely would take that bullet for him!”
Ling He’s words struck straight through the heart of it. Yan Xiaodao absolutely would become that hopeless sacrifice to human feeling. He would put himself between the gun and his godfather and die for him.
Their chests nearly collided. Both men stood black-browed and pale-faced, their expressions cold.
“Even if you deliberately protect him and keep your mouth sealed, Captain Xue must already have traced the case to Master Qi. He went out of his way to detour here and question both of us. Last night he came specifically to visit and deliberately leaked information. Are you too stupid to see that?” Ling He laid everything out point by point, his thoughts turning with frightening precision and speed. “Captain Xue has already decided you may be involved. He is almost certainly watching the route back to Linwan right now, waiting for you to return. The moment you appear there, the police could move. Then even a hundred mouths wouldn’t clear you of suspicion that you knew, concealed information, coordinated stories, or conspired with him. You should be hiding if you can, not delivering yourself to their doorstep!”
Strip away my selfishness and whatever exists between us, and I am still doing this for your sake, Xiaodao. You’re confused. You can’t see it. When have I ever truly harmed you? Ling He trembled with anger.
Yan Xiaodao’s expression carried grief and complicated pain. Hoarsely, he said, “I’ve eaten your food for two months. I ate his food for more than ten years. Can I really just abandon him now? Ling He, give me that blade back, or let me go.”
……
Ling He paced two defeated steps, the darkness inside his chest widening through violent pain as though everything were collapsing inward. “So in the end, you’re still going back to Qi Baoshan. Your godfather will always matter more than I do.”
Yan Xiaodao’s expression changed. That was not what this meant at all, but when certain obsessions in Ling He’s personality latched onto something like this, reason became useless.
Ling He looked completely crushed. In that moment, it felt as though every ounce of tenderness he had poured out had gone straight down the drain, fed to a dog.
On a black frozen river, only Ling He remained struggling on a drifting slab of ice, unable even to cry out inside the loneliness and deathly silence. He could never walk beneath the sunlight, because the beautiful person standing beneath the clear human sky, the person he looked up to and loved with hopeless devotion, did not intend to spend the rest of his life beside him.