APR 38

Zhong Su suppressed his irritation, picked up the remote to turn off the blaring television, then headed to the second floor of the villa to locate Chen Huan’s room. He intended to confirm its position first before moving the man inside.

The corridor on the second floor was long and deep, lined with five or six doors on either side. Zhong Su pushed each door open to glance inside, identifying a study, a walk-in closet, and several miscellaneous rooms cluttered with items of unclear purpose. Finally, he confirmed that the bedroom was the one closest to the stairwell.

Pushing open the bedroom door, Zhong Su fumbled along the wall for the light switch. The overhead light flickered on, illuminating the large black bed at the center of the room, with a few shirts carelessly tossed at its foot. The room was sparsely furnished, even somewhat messy, typical of Chen Huan’s style.

Zhong Su pulled back a corner of the quilt to make it easier to cover Chen Huan later, then went back downstairs to haul the heavy drunkard up.

“I’m helping you up now, don’t move around,” Zhong Su said, gripping Chen Huan’s wrist and leaning down to drape the other man’s arm over his own shoulder. Chen Huan’s breath brushed against his ear, and the tips of Zhong Su’s ears flushed hot uncontrollably.

He tried to straighten up but forgot that he was no longer the physically robust Zhong Su from his past life. Instead, he had become a young man with erratic habits and poor nutrition, utterly unable to bear Chen Huan’s solid weight. His knees buckled under the pressure, nearly sending him crashing to the floor.

“Hey!” Fortunately, Zhong Su reacted quickly, bracing himself against the sofa just in time to avoid a fall.

The near-miss made him laugh in exasperation. He gave Chen Huan’s calf a light kick and grumbled, “You know you’re built like this, yet you still dared to drink so much. What a troublemaker.”

But there was no way around it—he still had to move him.

Leaning on each other, Zhong Su struggled step by step, panting heavily as they made their way to the second floor. Sweat trickled down his temples, and it took over twenty minutes before he finally deposited the “troublemaker” onto the bed. He then sat on the edge of the mattress to catch his breath.

Once his breathing steadied, he pushed himself up, leaned over, and helped Chen Huan out of his jacket. He then unfastened the top three buttons of the other man’s shirt. As the collar fell open, it revealed a broader expanse of Chen Huan’s sun-tanned skin, where a pattern of dark golden thorns sprawled vividly from his neck down to his collarbone, bold and striking.

“What’s with all these tattoos?” Zhong Su muttered under his breath.

Uncertain of his own feelings, he unconsciously reached out and traced the thorny design. The ink rose slightly beneath the skin, and with the faint pulse of the carotid artery, the thorns seemed to come alive, each barb exuding an eerie, captivating beauty.

The pattern was quite beautiful, though he couldn’t tell what plant it was meant to represent.

Just as Zhong Su was about to withdraw his hand, he accidentally knocked the jacket off the edge of the bed. A set of keys tumbled out from the inner pocket, clattering sharply against the floor.

“So the car keys were in here—no wonder I couldn’t find them earlier.” Zhong Su’s attention was instantly captured by the keys, a faint smile touching his lips as he picked them up.

Now that the drunk was settled, the door was unlocked, and he had access to a car, it was the perfect time to leave. Dizzy with exhaustion, Zhong Su longed to return to his rented room and sleep.

But as his hand rested on the doorknob, he glanced back one last time, Chen Huan’s brow was furrowed, a few stray strands of hair falling across his temples. Though the lines of his profile had shed their youthfulness, growing sharper and more severe, from this angle, Zhong Su could still faintly discern traces of the young man he once knew.

“Knowing you has cost me ten years of my life,” Zhong Su complained, turning to enter the bathroom. He turned on the faucet, filled the basin with warm water, took a towel from the rack, soaked it in the warm water, wrung it out after dampening, and returned to the bedside to wipe Chen Huan’s face.

The towel passed over Chen Huan’s brow ridge, the bridge of his nose, his thin lips, and then continued downward, hastily wiping around his neck.

Just like in their youth, Chen Huan’s handsomeness still carried a sun-like aggressiveness. It was a domineering, almost blinding radiance that made it impossible to ignore.

“Tch, stay still, spread your fingers,” Zhong Su said, wiping the sweat from Chen Huan’s face before grabbing his hand to clean it. When he reached the wrist, he took hold of the wrist, his fingers hooking onto the pale gray Bone Beads chain.

But as soon as he tugged at the clasp, Chen Huan seemed to sense something and pressed down hard on the bracelet, the Bone Beads squeezing against each other with a dull sound.

Zhong Su tried to soften his voice to persuade him: “I’m not taking it away today, and besides, one night isn’t enough time for me to run off to the mainland. I just want to temporarily remove it and set it aside.”

The string connecting the beads visibly tightened, Chen Huan’s eyelids fluttered, and there were faint signs he might wake up.

“Alright, fine, I’m scared of you. I won’t touch it.” Zhong Su, afraid of breaking the chain, had to let go, frowning and muttering, “It’s not some priceless treasure, yet you’re guarding it so tightly even when you’re this drunk.”

“Wearing it to sleep all night, you really don’t mind it digging into you.”After finishing wiping Chen Huan’s face and hands, Zhong Su tucked the quilt in, casually turned on the air conditioning, yawned, and left the room.”

The pendulum clock in the first-floor living room ticked away, the hour hand already pointing to 2 a.m.

At this hour, whether he returned to his rental or not didn’t make much difference, either way, he’d only get a few hours of sleep before having to get up.

Zhong Su gazed at the luxury car on the driveway, its outline blurred in the night, fiddling with the cold car keys. After hesitating a moment, he tossed the keys onto the coffee table: “Forget it, no point in going back and forth. Making do on the sofa for one night isn’t so bad.”

He didn’t mind sharing a bed with Chen Huan again, but if the other woke up in the middle of the night and found a stranger he disliked lying in his bed, he might just strangle him on the spot. With that in mind, sleeping on the sofa was the safer option.

Zhong Su took a little more time to find the living room light switch and turned it off.

The moment the lights went out, the entire space sank into dimness, excessively quiet, with only the faint yellow glow from the fish tank softly diffusing, making the festering sores on Hanzai’s body appear vividly red.

Resting his arms behind his head, Zhong Su watched the shimmering water reflections dancing on the ceiling, thinking to himself: Judging by the traces in the house, Chen Huan probably lived here alone most of the time, occasionally hiring housekeeping for cleaning, with little sign of daily life anywhere.

He actually quite wanted to ask Chen Huan what he had done with all those videotapes, music cassettes, car models, and magazines he had left behind.

After wandering around the villa earlier, he hadn’t seen a single one of his old belongings. Most likely, they were either burned to ashes as burial items during the funeral, or Chen Huan had found them too troublesome and thrown them all out when he moved.

If it was the latter, although a bit regrettable, in another sense, it might actually be a good thing. It meant that his death hadn’t left too deep a scar on Chen Huan, the other could eat, drink, and carry on with life as usual.

A wave of heavy drowsiness washed over Zhong Su. He rubbed his eyes, too lazy to dwell on Chen Huan any longer, and buried his face into the sofa backrest before turning over and falling asleep.

The sound of water trickling from the fish tank persisted all night, continuing until the next morning when the sky was fully bright.

Thin clouds, like cream casually smeared across the horizon, clung to the edge of the sky. Sunlight poured through the gaps, clear and radiant. The wind, carrying the chirping of birds, swept in through the window, bringing a touch of liveliness to the otherwise desolate villa.

In the bathroom storage cabinet, Zhong Su found several sets of unopened toiletries neatly stocked on the shelves—a habit quite characteristic of Chen Huan, who disliked shopping and would stockpile daily necessities in bulk whenever he did venture out.

He unwrapped one set, took out the toothpaste and toothbrush, and filled a cup with water to rinse his mouth.

The bristles of the new toothbrush were stiff and prickly. Zhong Su lost control of his pressure for a moment, and the brush head scraped harshly against his gums. “Tsk.”

He leaned over and spat out the foam, which was tinged with streaks of crimson blood. The blood swirled in the water before being swiftly washed down the drain.

“Bleeding from just brushing my teeth, is this year going to be unlucky for me?” Zhong Su instinctively pressed his tongue against the injured gum. A metallic, bloody taste spread in his mouth, so pungent it made him slightly nauseous.

He took another mouthful of water, tilted his head back to rinse, and spat it out. He repeated this several times until he was sure the unpleasant taste of blood was gone, then wiped his face with a towel and stepped out of the bathroom.

Glancing up at the second floor, he noticed the master bedroom remained silent, with no signs of movement. Chen Huan was likely still drunk inside and wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.

Rubbing his sore, stiff neck—aching from the sofa—Zhong Su hesitated briefly before dismissing the idea of waking Chen Huan. He muttered to himself, “Let him lie in bed. With his finicky temperament, who knows what trouble he’ll stir up once he’s awake.”

He had no intention of spending the entire day trapped in the villa, forced to watch one gory film after another with Chen Huan. The mere thought was unbearable.

Recalling the struggle of helping Chen Huan upstairs the night before, Zhong Su promptly tucked his conscience away and decided, without a hint of guilt, to head out for breakfast first.

The car keys were still lying obediently on the coffee table. Zhong Su picked them up, twirling them between his fingers. The metallic jingle was crisp and pleasing to the ear. Then, he opened the front door and stepped outside.

The silver-gray luxury car sat quietly in the driveway. Zhong Su pulled open the door and settled into the driver’s seat. As his hands gripped the steering wheel, he couldn’t help but marvel, “As they say, you get what you pay for. Even the steering wheel of a luxury car feels different.”

The genuine leather felt smooth and warm, perfectly contouring to his palms. Like a child with a new toy, Zhong Su tested the gearshift, clutch, and various buttons before starting the car and driving smoothly down the mountain road.

The million-dollar luxury car was parked casually in front of an ordinary Hong Kong-style tea restaurant. Its glossy paint shimmered under the morning sun, drawing sidelong glances from passersby. They couldn’t help but wonder: What eccentric rich person would drive such a fine car to a roadside eatery? And parking in such a narrow, old street, wasn’t he afraid of scratching the paint?

The tea restaurant was filled with the whirring of ceiling fans, where the aroma of toasted bread, cloying milk fragrance, and bitter coffee notes intermingled.

Zhong Su finished the last half-glass of iced lemon tea, feeling much more refreshed. He instinctively thought of getting Chen Huan some breakfast too and raised his hand to call the server: “Another satay beef noodles to go, please.”

“Beef noodles? Sure, coming right up,” the server had just noted the order when Zhong Su suddenly realized, given how much Chen Huan currently disliked him, there was no way he’d eat anything bought by him. Bringing it would be pointless.

“Wait,” he stopped the server, “Cancel the noodles. Just the bill, please.”

A flicker of impatience crossed the server’s face, clearly annoyed by the change of mind. But catching sight of the luxury car keys beside Zhong Su, he held his tongue, simply crossed out the order on the bill, calculated the total, and slid it over.

“That’ll be 20 dollars. Pay at the counter.”

After settling the bill, Zhong Su checked the time on his phone. 9:30—perfect timing, as the nearby flower and bird market should have just opened.

He planned to buy some fish medicine for Hanzai. The grass carp’s ulceration had become severe, and if left untreated, the spreading infection would likely prove fatal soon.