Ling He was in a good mood when he and Xiaodao went home that night, seemingly unaffected by certain matters. As he drove, he whistled a pleasant tune and hummed Texas country music that Yan Xiaodao could not understand.
Ling He said, “Those two suits you bid on, we’ll each wear one to work on Monday.”
Yan Xiaodao laughed and stroked Mr. Ling’s thigh. “Isn’t that a little obvious? What is this, getting married?”
Ling He shot back, “You don’t dare?”
Yan Xiaodao slapped his thigh. “Then let’s get married!”
Something stirred inside both of them. They fell silent and began thinking through certain complicated, tedious, troublesome, yet undeniably necessary matters.
Watching the endless stream of headlights through the windshield, Yan Xiaodao could not help saying, “Mr. Mai came to see me before he died. That time you got angry and fought with me, he was actually trying to tell me some of the truth as a last testament, and he left me a watch. The watch and its box are the same brand as yours, with a similar design.”
Ling He raised an eyebrow and glanced at him. “Oh.”
Seeing that Ling He was not angry, Yan Xiaodao continued, “So that watch was something each of you had, some kind of collectible, or maybe even evidence? You handed the box straight to Jian Mingxun. What if he destroys the evidence?”
Ling He smiled without the slightest concern. “He won’t destroy it. There’s no point. He can’t erase what he once did. Jian Mingxun must know what an awkward position Liang Tong is in now, ambushed on every side with nowhere left to go. He won’t hold out for many more days before going to Bureau Chief Bao to surrender and cooperate. I’ve practically handed him a piece of evidence for his own surrender, something that can help him earn credit and reduce his sentence. Maybe he’ll serve a few fewer years and even come out alive one day. He ought to thank me. Heh heh heh.”
Yan Xiaodao deeply admired Ling He. Sometimes Ling He seemed like some monstrous creature that blades could not pierce, oil and salt could not season, and a hundred poisons could not kill. He was also astonishingly patient, perfectly willing to lie low for years and wait for his chance, tormenting and grinding an opponent down psychologically until the man collapsed and pissed himself. Ling He never let anyone off lightly.
Yan Xiaodao pressed, “So is there actually some mechanism inside this watch? Is something hidden in it?”
Ling He looked at him. “No mechanism. It’s just a filthy, disgusting ‘token.’”
As he spoke, Ling He unconsciously slipped a hand inside his clothes and touched the shell-casing pendant against his chest. It was worth practically nothing, but he liked it.
Tokens of emotion came in many forms. Some expressed mutual love. Some hinted at force and possession. Others conveyed the contemptuous intimacy of powerful men toward the pretty playthings kept in the palms of their hands. The very word “watch” had branded Mai Yunliang and the others with a mark that could never be washed away.
Only Ling He’s watch was still completely, immaculately new. He had never used it.
……
Ever since Ling He had taken over as a director at Baoding Group, he had acquired an entirely reasonable excuse to visit Mr. Yan’s home on a regular basis, wandering over at least three times a week.
A young male subordinate who claimed to be single, with his parents far overseas, dropping by from time to time to mooch meals and a bed? Nothing wrong with that at all! Of course, they could not always stroll openly into the master bedroom at night with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Usually Ling He slept in the guest room, while Yan Xiaodao crept over barefoot in the middle of the night, then reluctantly crawled out of the same warm bed before dawn and slipped back into his own room.
Whenever Ling He stayed at the Yan residence, he ate until he was round-bellied and radiantly satisfied. He was supposedly “borrowing a bed,” yet behaved with more swagger than the master of the house. Yan Xiaodao sometimes felt he was a fat, delicious piece of prey being delivered right to the door for free. And yet he was hopelessly addicted to the wanton look Ling He wore after being fed his fill, long hair spread messily across the bed, all overflowing springtime temptation. Utterly indecent.
Ling He began taking over the kitchen too. He confessed to Mrs. Yan, “Auntie, I know how to cook.
“You don’t have to keep busy.
“Just sit at the table and wait for dinner.”
Mrs. Yan had spent more than half her life worrying and working herself to the bone, and she truly had never heard anyone say to her, You don’t need to do anything, just sit at the table and wait to eat. When had her Xiaodao ever told her, Mom, just sit down and wait for dinner?
When Ling He chose to be gentle and considerate, every strand of his sleek fur seemed to lie perfectly smooth. Without making any show of it, he could make himself universally lovable. If Mr. Ling ever truly showed his temper, corpses might end up strewn across the battlefield. Yet he was at his best standing quietly in the kitchen, head lowered, braid hanging down in breathtaking beauty.
Ling He worried that Mrs. Yan might not enjoy Western food, so after some thought he chose several Shandong seafood dishes he had recently learned: oil-braised prawns, fish fillets in lees sauce, jade-green shrimp balls, and crab-roe shumai.
Mrs. Yan stubbornly refused to sit at the table. Instead she hovered right beside him to admire the scenery in the kitchen, circling around and changing positions several times. Ling He chopped shrimp paste with his head down, secretly amused. How is the mother exactly like the son? Why are you circling me? I know I’m good-looking too. Do you really enjoy staring at me that much?
Mrs. Yan tried to disguise her feelings by wiping the stove. As she wiped, she unfolded the cloth in her hands and suddenly realized, “Wasn’t this one of your shirts? Goodness, what a waste, child!”
Ling He laughed. “It’s fine. The washing machine tore it.”
Your son tore it apart on the bed with those iron hands of his when he went crazy, Ling He complained silently.
“Do you only have one or two shirts, one white and one gray, that you keep switching between? If you ruin them, what will you wear to work?” Mrs. Yan asked with concern. “Xiao Ling, should I go out and buy you a few new ones?”
Ling He smiled beautifully, warmth and gratitude faintly welling inside him. “Really, no need. I have twenty white ones and twenty gray ones.”
“…” Mrs. Yan thought Ling He was joking with her. Young people these days really knew how to play around.
Ling He shaped handmade shrimp balls while Mrs. Yan sincerely helped him, lowering her eyes as she said, “Xiao He, you really like coming over to eat at our house?”
Ling He nodded. “Your cooking is delicious.”
The change from “Xiao Ling” to “Xiao He” was only one character, yet it felt as though the clouds had parted and a little boat had already sailed beyond ten thousand mountains.
Elio’s Notes: The narration blends a Chinese idiom about finding a new path after difficulty with Li Bai’s famous image of a light boat already passing ten thousand mountains, both suggesting that the obstacles have suddenly fallen behind.
Mrs. Yan asked again, “Xiao He, you really like coming over to sleep at our house too?”
“…” Ling He instinctively nodded, then decided that saying “Your beds are comfortable” would be so stupid it would lower his IQ. Thinking quickly, he said, “Your house is very close to the company. It’s convenient for work, and convenient when I come back late after overtime. I’m always imposing on you, so please don’t get tired of me.”
“How could I? I’m happy.” Mrs. Yan realized she was smiling far too enthusiastically, so she lowered her eyes again and began folding the torn-shirt rag. Ling He watched Mama Yan practically fold flowers into it.
Mrs. Yan asked more tactfully, “What do you think of our Xiaodao? As a person?”
Ling He answered sincerely, “Mr. Yan is a very good person.”
Ling He felt that “very good” was hopelessly inadequate for describing an infatuation thirty thousand feet high, so he added, “He really is very, very good.”
“Ahem…” Mrs. Yan suddenly breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. “As long as you think he’s good! Our Xiaodao is kind and filial, and he’s sincere with everyone around him. I’m just afraid that you, ahem… You think living in our home is pretty good?”
“It’s very good.” Ling He mentally analyzed all the meanings Mrs. Yan might be circling around without saying aloud. Clever as he was, he came up with several possibilities, every one of them ridiculous.
He strongly suspected Mama Yan had been “poisoned.” Maybe that little brat Yang Xifeng had been babbling about the “second master” and the “great demon” until some of it accidentally reached the old lady’s ears. Or perhaps the rumors floating around about a seductive fox selling himself upward, seizing the vice-president position in one leap and carving up the group’s assets, had twisted and turned their way to Mrs. Yan.
Or maybe the two of them had simply made too much noise last night, and Ling He had forced Xiaodao into producing the bedroom equivalent of a high-powered subwoofer. Xiaodao was broad-minded enough not to care, but that brutally stereophonic sound system could probably be heard through the wall.
Ling He had been worrying about having no one to consult, so he shamelessly asked, “Auntie, what does Mr. Yan usually like most? I mean, is there anything he especially likes, something I could give him?”
Mrs. Yan arched her fine brows and seriously helped him think. “He likes knives, the things boys play with… He likes gathering friends to drink, loves it when there are lots of people and things are lively… At home he plays mahjong with his brothers, or goes out riding horses and playing ball?… He isn’t picky. Whatever you give him, he’ll definitely like it.”
Ling He stared at the pure-gold ring on Mrs. Yan’s left hand. Would Xiaodao like a pure-gold ring like that? Would it be too tacky?… Or should he follow the mainstream and buy one of those enormous platinum-and-diamond pigeon eggs like the one Secretary Yao wore?
Dinner that evening was a soothing, clean-tasting spread of Shandong seafood with flavors perfectly balanced between rich and light, and Mrs. Yan could not stop praising it.
Facing Xiaodao, Mrs. Yan still inevitably carried the awkwardness of an adoptive mother. How could she dare interfere casually in his private affairs or tell him what to do? She did not dare. But every mother worried about her child, and she hoped to have someone to rely on in old age. She feared that one day Xiaodao might be cheated, taken advantage of, or left with no one to care for him.
Xiao He was good. Xiao He was so good. Beautiful, highly educated, and able to cook and care for people.
And nobody should assume country folk were ignorant. Mrs. Yan had seen plenty with her own eyes.
The rural outskirts were full of older unmarried men, along with husbands whose wives had fled because they could not bear the poverty, leaving them practically widowed while still alive. There were plenty of single young men to spare. Cornfields in front of the house, yellow-earth slopes behind it, people living under the open sky. What had she not seen?
During harvest season, you could go out to snap ears of corn and stumble across a full “two-person act” hidden among the dense stalks.
Two young men might each drive a flock of sheep to graze in the hills. By late afternoon both flocks would come home, but the two men would still be missing. Their families would panic and go searching up the mountain, only to catch the pair buck naked together. Things like that were hilarious.
City people still hid away watching videos to get their excitement. Country people did not need videos. They watched the live show!
Mrs. Yan made an extra-large pot of nourishing soup, filled a bowl, and naturally handed it to her precious son. “Angelica, Chinese yam, and pork-kidney soup. Drink plenty. This strengthens the kidneys. You have to finish it all!”
Without blushing or blinking, Yan Xiaodao immediately filled a bowl for Mr. Ling. “You drink plenty too.”
Ling He enthusiastically polished off three enormous bowls of pork-kidney soup.
That very night, Mr. Yan personally experienced the power of those three bowls. A young man still in the prime of growth drank the stuff and immediately became mighty, heroic, and bursting with hot blood. Yan had only himself to blame. His bedmate fed him until he too was stuffed full that night, everything below the waist filled with the lust Ling He seemed to have generated from those three bowls of soup… Fuck. From now on, he absolutely was not going to urge Mr. Ling to eat or drink more at the dinner table.
……
That weekend, with nothing else to do, Mr. Yan decided to reward Director Ling for working so diligently, putting in overtime, and driving performance. He took Ling He to the outskirts to ride horses and relax. In other words, he found an excuse for a date.
This was the only high-end riding club left in the magnificent and peaceful Linwan area. Ever since policy tightened, clients could no longer spend public money here without fear. Several riding clubs and golf courses had been forced to change owners, names, and business models. This was the only one still hanging on, barely surviving.
The two changed clothes in the locker room and wasted half the day trading jokes and fooling around. It was simply in both their natures. Whatever they did, they seemed to compete and refuse to give an inch, yet every shove, touch, and verbal jab was plainly flirtation. They both loved the back-and-forth and never tired of it.
Both wore dark-blue double-breasted riding jackets and white breeches, equally handsome and martial.
The white trousers outlined the body with merciless clarity. Yan Xiaodao kept flicking knife-sharp looks at the shape showing between Mr. Ling’s legs. “Tsk. The pork-kidney soup from last night still hasn’t worn off?”
“Help me with it. Again?” Ling He concluded that Mr. Yan’s ass was itching and his mouth was asking to get fucked.
Yan Xiaodao narrowed his eyes dangerously. “You’re not tired?”
Ling He asked back, “You are?”
Yan Xiaodao folded a riding crop and snapped it toward Ling He’s backside. His arm swung fiercely, thunder without rain, the crop landing only lightly.
Ling He calmly told the young attendant, “Wrap that riding crop for me. I’ll pay for it when we leave.”
“…Fuck. You dare?” Yan Xiaodao cursed as realization dawned.
What wouldn’t I dare? Mischievous light gleamed in Ling He’s eyes, which never left Xiaodao. The instant Xiaodao turned to shoulder the tack, Ling He gave a cold little laugh. “No wonder you haven’t dared turn around and let me look.”
A chill shot up Yan Xiaodao’s spine. His fur nearly stood on end.
This poisonous snake no longer sprayed venom at him, but the basic training of sharp fangs and a vicious mouth remained fully intact. Ling He had merely changed the way that mouth “took care” of him. From time to time it still sent a chill through his body and raised every hair on his skin.
Ling He was appraising the shape of the backside wrapped in those tight riding breeches. Yan Xiaodao had an excellent build, muscles hard and lean without being crudely bulky. Both to the hand and during sex, the flesh of his ass had exactly the right amount of give. It was addictive.
After sleeping with a specimen like this, every other type of man became impossible to appreciate.
Yan Xiaodao strode forward with his head high and said roughly, “What, you think I’m afraid to let you look?”
Ling He accepted the view with a smile. “A feast for the eyes. I can eat two fewer bowls of noodles tonight.”
Yan Xiaodao burst into a shameless laugh. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. He simply liked this man.
The two walked side by side toward the riding grounds, their moods echoing the bright weather. Like many northern cities, Linwan had plunged into scorching summer almost overnight. The sun blazed overhead, and waves of heat slapped directly against bare skin.
They lowered the brims of their hats against the sun and shaded their eyes, only to notice an old acquaintance at the same time.
By coincidence, they had once again run into Chairman Jian Mingxun, whom they had not seen since the charity gala.
Jian Mingxun had invited several company bosses out for a private riding get-together among business associates. Yan Xiaodao swept a glance over them and realized the guests were precisely the big clients who had shown the greatest enthusiasm at the charity gala and bled the most money. He remembered that the year before, Boss Jian had also organized a private gathering after the charity banquet. He and Master Qi had both been invited to play golf at the resort, back when relations between them had been exceptionally warm.
This year, Jian Mingxun had not invited him at all.
You could say Jian did not want to see him. You could also say he did not dare.
Carrying the riding crop, Yan Xiaodao waved to Chairman Jian from a distance in greeting, then called Ling He toward the horses. “Let’s enjoy ourselves!”
Ling He could not even be bothered to glance at Boss Jian. He stepped elegantly into the stirrup and mounted. The horse seemed to sense the man on its back too, breaking into an easy, cheerful run.
The two rode one behind the other, strolling and enjoying the breeze. At first Yan Xiaodao was faintly disappointed to discover that Ling He already knew how to ride, so there was nothing Yan could teach him. Soon, however, he settled into leisurely admiration of the upright, flowing figure beside him in the saddle. Ling He rarely wore formal clothes, and the image of metal double-breasted buttons above snow-white riding breeches burned itself into Yan’s retinas like a photograph, enough to savor for a long time.
……
Jian Mingxun was physically disabled and had never been suited to horseback riding.
He was generous enough, paying the bill and inviting his business partners out for entertainment, making sure everyone else had a wonderful time while he himself could not even get into the saddle. He could only sit in the dark shade beneath the canopy, expressionlessly watching the lively brilliance of other people’s lives.
Willingly sitting in the stands as one well-behaved “spectator,” and a wealthy spectator at that, doing all the work only for others to reap the benefit while pouring in money and blood, was a role Boss Jian had played for years.
Whenever someone came over to chat, Jian Mingxun smiled and answered amiably, as warm and approachable as ever. His plump figure seated there made him look exactly like a laughing Maitreya with a round belly.
Yet the moment the other person turned away, the thin, brittle eggshell of that smile vanished from his face. Boss Jian sank back into numb gloom.
Jian Mingxun felt that Yan Xiaodao and Ling He had come today specifically to parade themselves in front of him. Wherever he went, those two stuck together and followed like shadows, hounding him without mercy until there was nowhere left to hide.
Leaning on his cane, Jian Mingxun stood and gestured to the two bodyguards beside him. “Help me ride once.”
The bodyguards froze. Neither had the heart to say aloud, Boss, with those polio-damaged legs of yours, are you going to ride the horse, or is the horse going to ride you?
Jian Mingxun’s face darkened. Powerful emotion drove him to push past the severe limits of his mobility and try to assert himself. He had been suppressing too much for too long. In frustration, he hurled aside his cane and grabbed both hands onto a saddle.
The horse rolled one black glassy eye, sensed trouble approaching, and immediately began backing and turning in circles. Slowly it swung its hindquarters around, simply refusing to let Chairman Jian climb on.
One bodyguard hooked each of Jian’s arms. Jian Mingxun strained for ages without managing to mount, until both hands were shaking.
A bodyguard quietly advised, “Forget it. Rest a little.”
Jian Mingxun said stiffly, “Why can’t I ride a horse? Are you laughing at me for being crippled?!”
Chairman Jian almost never questioned anyone in such a rough tone.
The bodyguard lowered his head with an apologetic smile. “The horse has a fierce temper. It’s easy to get hurt.”
Breathing hard, Jian Mingxun sighed, “Even if it’s fierce, I’ll only ride this once. After this, I’m afraid I’ll never have another chance! Just because I limp, I can’t ride a horse?!”
His subordinates and bodyguards gathered around like a cheer squad practicing a lift, hoisting this heavy, swaying sack of potatoes high into the air until they finally deposited Chairman Jian into the saddle. Scorching light stabbed directly into his pupils. The earth dissolved into glaring white emptiness, reflected light biting painfully into the depths of his soul. On horseback, Jian Mingxun tipped his face toward the sky and gave a long sigh.
Only two days earlier, Boss Jian had received a private message from Captain Xue, politely, or perhaps ominously, sending regards and inviting him to tea.
Captain Xue had handled things with considerable courtesy. He had not staged a sudden raid that would catch Jian completely unprepared, but the net had plainly already been spread and the encirclement laid down layer by layer.
Just outside the riding club gate, anyone who looked carefully could spot an unidentified sedan parked there, silently keeping watch. The men inside looked exactly like plainclothes cops. Wherever Jian Mingxun went lately, he could sense the “tails” following along to take care of him.
Boss Jian enjoyed immense prestige locally and held several titles. He was practically a great Maitreya Buddha coated head to toe in gold leaf, with a brilliant halo around his head. If even this smiling Maitreya had his false golden skin ripped away, his firmly anchored pedestal pried loose, and his whole body toppled and smashed, every level of Linwan New District would lose face. The moment word of an investigation leaked, how many leaders would hurriedly order photographs of themselves with him taken down from the walls? How many organizations would scramble in humiliation to erase the gilded inscriptions bearing his calligraphy from above their gates, or scrape this illustrious surname off the bronze plaques naming sponsors?
Captain Xue had already made arrangements with every relevant side in advance, securing tacit approval from senior city officials for the net to close and the arrest to proceed.
The Night Yaksha never knocked without reason. When he knocked, it was a funeral bell.
Two evenings later, Mr. Yan hosted several business partners for dinner at Ziyunlou.
Mr. Ling did not know these old friends, so he stayed home. Mr. Yan hosted the meal himself and ordered a full table of fish, shrimp, and seafood. Yan Xiaodao’s eyes had reddened slightly from drinking and looked faintly damp, but he was not actually drunk. His head remained perfectly clear.
After the gathering ended, driving himself was out of the question. Yan Xiaodao wandered toward the underground garage with amorous thoughts in his head, calling as he walked. “I drank too much. Come pick me up.”
Ling He’s voice was elegant. “Drank until your waist went soft?”
“Mmm…” Yan Xiaodao hummed, deliberately lowering his voice to hook at the listener’s heart. This was about as far as he ever went when acting spoiled with his lover.
Ling He said, “Wait where you are. I’ll come over and rape you.”
Yan Xiaodao mocked him. “You spent the whole night at home thinking about that?”
Ling He returned fire. “I spent the whole night conserving my strength.”
Yan Xiaodao laughed and cursed. “Fuck, asking for a beating.”
Yan Xiaodao’s shadow stretched long across the stairwell of the underground garage. The moment he rounded the landing, a scatter of hurried footsteps and a mass of black shadows crowded into view. Two men dressed like bodyguards blocked his path.
“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Yan. Our boss would like to invite you upstairs for tea and a chat. He hopes you’ll honor him with your company.” The speaker inclined his head.
“Your boss?” Yan Xiaodao frowned, his right hand settling against the side of his abdomen. His fingers found the blade hidden beneath the fabric, a subtle posture of readiness.
The two men lowered their voices. “Chairman Jian.”
Yan Xiaodao understood. Beside Ziyunlou stood the Baiyue Atrium Hotel, a Jian-owned hotel brand and very much Boss Jian’s territory. The last time Yan had come here had been long ago, when he treated several police officers he knew to dinner at Ziyunlou and ended up uncovering threads connected to the old case from fifteen years earlier. Afterward, upstairs in this very Baiyue Atrium Hotel, he had followed and secretly witnessed the humiliating affair between the Jian family’s sister-in-law and younger brother.
And today, in this same place, Chairman Jian wanted tea and conversation. Yet the man did not want to invite him openly and did not dare meet him in broad daylight. He had deliberately hidden in the dark underground garage to intercept Yan’s route home.
Yan Xiaodao lowered his head and tried to send Ling He a message.
The two bodyguards immediately stopped him. “Mr. Yan!”
“I’m letting my family know where I am. What?” A hint of anger appeared on Yan Xiaodao’s face. “You planning to kidnap me?”
The two bodyguards did, in fact, want to abduct him, but they also knew perfectly well they could not beat Mr. Yan. So they resorted to shameless obstruction, neither attacking nor moving aside, one on each side of the stairwell corner, sealing the way.
Yan Xiaodao was not afraid of trouble. He nodded. “You two lead the way.”
Yan Xiaodao stepped into the luxurious hotel corridor laid with brocade carpeting. Under the lamps, the elaborate patterns looked exactly as beautiful as before, yet his mood was nothing like it had been then. Everything seemed to have traveled one enormous circle before returning to this frightening point of origin.
What exactly did Chairman Jian Mingxun want to talk to him about?