Lu Congzhi lay on the lower berth, staring at the photograph for a long time. The sight of Tang Hu reduced to little more than skin and bones cut deep into his heart. But he could not show it in front of Wen Rui. He could not become too anxious, too agitated, or too unlike himself.
Wen Rui had come along to help him find someone. That was already an extraordinary thing for a friend to do; he had no obligation to shoulder Lu Congzhi’s negative emotions as well.
Across from them, the game of Fight the Landlord finally broke up. The uncles and aunties climbed into their bunks to sleep. Once they pulled up their blankets, the smell of feet diminished considerably. But the middle-aged man’s socks were still beneath the bed, releasing their own powerful interference.
Lu Congzhi carefully held his breath. Only after the man lay down and rolled onto his side, facing away from him, did he pull up his blanket and lightly cover his nose and mouth.
He had examined every detail of the photograph, but could find no useful clue about the time or place. Evidently the photograph had been chosen with care. Perhaps Tang Hu wasn’t at that shipyard at all. Perhaps the whole thing was a trap.
They could lure him there, throw him aboard a smuggling vessel, and sell him overseas. From then on, Lu Congzhi himself would be another name on the list of missing people.
Could Tang Hu have disappeared in exactly that way? Had he already been sold abroad? If so, bringing him back would be almost impossibly difficult. Lu Congzhi felt as if someone had driven a knife straight through his heart.
He knew just how chaotic things could be overseas, and all manner of terrifying possibilities battered his defenses. Remembering that they still had a long journey ahead of them the next day, he could only force himself to sleep.
The following morning, a little after seven, a faint wash of daylight filtered in from outside. Lu Congzhi woke to the presence of someone sitting beside him, carrying a subtle woody fragrance, restrained and rich. It was Wen Rui.
Without opening his eyes, he instinctively nuzzled closer.
Wen Rui turned toward him and said softly, “You’re awake? I’m sitting here writing something.”
There was only one little table. Otherwise, Wen Rui wouldn’t have disturbed him.
“My head hurts. I want to sleep a little longer.” Lu Congzhi pressed a hand to his chest and discovered that the photograph was still in his palm. Only then did he release a long breath of relief.
“Is it inconvenient for me to sit beside your pillow?” Wen Rui bent down to look at him. Seeing how pale he was, he couldn’t help looking worried. “Have you caught a cold?”
Eyes shut, Lu Congzhi mumbled, “I didn’t sleep well. My head hurts. Don’t go. Sit there and block the light for me. It’s too bright.”
Wen Rui let out a short laugh, then reached over and pulled the curtain shut. He was rather pleased to be used as a human sunshade; even his eyes brightened a little.
He promised gently, “All right, I won’t go. Go back to sleep.”
The light had hurt Lu Congzhi’s eyes, and he couldn’t resist complaining. “I brought everything except my pillow towel. When dawn came, I would have pulled it over my head like an eye mask. This is all your fault. Why did you have to wash it? I wanted to bring it when we left, but it was still wet.”
Wen Rui: …
Thank goodness he’d washed it. How could a pillow towel that had covered that place be used to cover someone’s eyes?
He said helplessly, “All right, my fault. Stop grumbling and get some sleep.”
“You’re the one who grumbles. You’re a pig who likes to grunt.”
Wen Rui: …
Wen Rui didn’t argue back. He was afraid Lu Congzhi would get stubborn, refuse to sleep, and keep trading jabs with him forever. When it came to business, this man was clearly mature, but in everyday life he could be like a child.
Perhaps his childhood had been too dark and too deprived. By way of compensating himself, he had preserved the most innocent part of himself. That was a good thing, really. Everyone nurtured the younger self they still carried inside.
An indescribable softness, like a breeze, swept across the lake of Wen Rui’s heart, sending ripples through his thoughts.
He collected himself and resumed writing his business proposal. For now, this plan could only remain a secret between him and Lu Congzhi. The other shareholders, especially Song Xiuzhu, absolutely could not hear so much as a whisper of it.
Only after multiple rounds of financing, when the research team’s work was on track and strict nondisclosure agreements had been signed, could access to confidential information be granted level by level.
The dark-skinned young man who had turned up with the photograph was proof that something was seriously wrong with the welfare institute’s director. Song Xiuzhu, meanwhile, had effectively been the one handing over the knife.
Lu Congzhi’s judgment had been right. Song Xiuzhu was a liability. Once they returned, Wen Rui would have to find a way to force him to sell his shares.
Thinking as he wrote, Wen Rui quickly sketched out the framework for the company’s development over the next five years. The prospects were far greater than he’d imagined. He was preparing to climb a peak from which a fall could kill him, yet he felt no fear, only excitement.
He capped his pen and rubbed his fingertip over the words I long to bring you honor. A gentle smile slowly spread across his handsome, refined face.
The man opposite woke up. As soon as he threw off his blanket, a cloud of warm, foul air burst forth.
Wen Rui’s smile froze. So did his breathing.
Several seconds later, something soft pressed against his back, rubbing against him and making little grunting sounds.
Wen Rui looked over his shoulder.
Lu Congzhi had buried his face in Wen Rui’s back, showing only a pair of reddened eyes. He looked aggrieved and miserable. After taking a deep breath of the fragrance coming from Wen Rui’s knit shirt, he lifted his head, opened his mouth wide, and exaggerated the silent words: Save me!
Without letting anything show, Wen Rui turned back to his notebook. He slipped his left hand into his trouser pocket, found a tiny tin of cooling balm, twisted his arm around, and secretly handed it to Lu Congzhi behind his back.
That was as much help as he could give. He was in despair himself.
Luckily, the man seemed almost ready to get off the train and had begun packing his luggage.
The tin of cooling balm was barely larger than a fingernail. After opening it, you had to take a forceful breath to draw its medicinal fragrance into your lungs. Unfortunately, the stink often arrived first.
Lu Congzhi’s face turned green after only two breaths.
He lightly scratched Wen Rui’s arm with a fingertip.
Wen Rui reached his left hand behind his back, intending to let him scratch at it and vent his frustration.
Instead, Lu Congzhi smeared cooling balm across Wen Rui’s open palm, then pressed that palm over his own nose and mouth, using it as a human gas mask.
Warmed by Wen Rui’s body heat, the balm spread its powerful fragrance faster and more aggressively. With such a large area of contact, it offered excellent protection. The stench almost disappeared, and the stabbing pain in Lu Congzhi’s head gradually began to ease.
When he noticed Wen Rui struggling, Lu Congzhi promptly seized his wrist and held his palm in place, refusing to let his gas mask slip off.
His lips moved in a silent cry: Save me! Save me!
Wen Rui: …
His palm covered half of Lu Congzhi’s face. Through his skin, he could clearly feel the high bridge of Lu Congzhi’s nose and the softness of his lips. Nor would the man stay still. One moment he was inhaling sharply; the next he was blowing hard, leaving Wen Rui’s palm tingling, hot, and itchy. Wen Rui sat rigidly for a while before a helpless smile finally bloomed on his face.
There was truly nothing he could do with Lu Congzhi.
Lu Congzhi lay back down, his head tipped sideways against Wen Rui’s back. He deliberately pressed his nose and mouth into the other man’s balm-smeared palm, then drifted into a doze wearing his “gas mask.”
The man got off the train a little after eight. By eight-thirty, the air-conditioning had finally blown away his smell.
They would spend the whole day on the train and wouldn’t arrive until five the following morning. The journey would take more than thirty hours in all.
Wen Rui sat at the edge of the bunk reading, his hand still resting lightly over Lu Congzhi’s nose and mouth. The other man’s steady, deep breaths brought a damp warmth that made Wen Rui feel wonderfully at peace.
The dark-skinned young man, Li Tiande, suddenly came along the aisle and asked shyly, “Are you going to the dining car?”
Wen Rui raised a finger to his lips.
Li Tiande immediately looked at a loss. He seemed simple and honest, almost guileless, but his muscles were hard and knotted, his tendons standing out like those of a wild animal. He claimed to do physical work at the shipyard, which sounded believable enough. Even so, Wen Rui had always regarded him as a dangerous character, perhaps an enforcer or a cleaner of some kind.
“Sorry for disturbing you. I’ll go have breakfast by myself, then.” Li Tiande hurriedly lowered his voice.
But Lu Congzhi had already woken. He opened his eyes, saw that Wen Rui was still covering his nose and mouth, and couldn’t help laughing.
“I’m hungry too. Let’s go together.” He caught Wen Rui’s hand.
Wen Rui let him hold it and said to Li Tiande, “Go ahead and find us a table in the dining car. We’ll be there shortly.”
He sat sideways on the edge of the berth, the sunlight gilding him with a brilliant outline. His handsome, cultivated face was expressionless, while his eyes lay in the shadow of his brow, looking particularly deep and dark. His pure-white short-sleeved knit shirt bore a gold-embossed logo and was made from exceptionally fine material. His black suit trousers were smooth, their two perfectly straight creases suggesting an almost intimidating sense of order.
Wen Rui was gentle and reserved, yet there was no hiding the aloof, noble bearing that surrounded him.
Li Tiande seemed to know something about Wen Rui’s background and was rather afraid of him. He couldn’t help taking two steps backward, daring only to study Wen Rui’s expression from the corner of his eye. In a thoroughly deferential tone, he said, “Of course. I’ll go right now. Shall I order you something?”
“No need, thank you. Go on.”
With one wave of Wen Rui’s hand, Li Tiande withdrew.
Lu Congzhi’s gaze darkened. “He seems to know you’re from an important family.”
Wen Rui said evenly, “If the director sent him, then he certainly knows. When I volunteered at Sunshine Welfare Institute, my family was worried the place was rough and that something might happen, so they spoke to the director.”
“Ah,” Lu Congzhi said.
Wen Rui stared at him. “Don’t you want to ask about my family?”
Lu Congzhi shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”
“Why?” Wen Rui pressed.
Lu Congzhi rolled up the notebook on the table and tapped Wen Rui lightly on the head. “When you make a bad decision and try to steer the company down a dead-end road, knowing your family background would affect how hard I hit you on the head.”
Wen Rui stared in surprise for quite a while before bursting into hearty laughter.
A man who usually showed scarcely any emotion always lost his composure in front of Lu Congzhi.
“What the hell are you laughing at? If we disagree, I’ll really argue with you. And if I can’t win the argument, I’ll resort to my fists. You’d better prepare yourself.”
“I’m prepared, President Lu.”
“Have you had special-forces training?”
“Yes. I’ve even been on missions.”
“Never mind, then. A gentleman uses words, not fists. I’ll practice arguing more when we get back.” Lu Congzhi got up and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, sweeping it back to reveal a sharply chiseled, coolly beautiful face.
Wen Rui couldn’t stop chuckling, his gaze as he watched Lu Congzhi dark and unfathomable. There was no need for an argument. All Lu Congzhi had to do was stand there, half-awake, casting a languid glance from the reddened corners of his eyes, and he was already devastating.