“It was medicine meant only for you. I checked it—it won’t harm your body. When you wake up, you won’t remember what happened.”
“You look so innocent when you sleep, it makes me want to hurt you.” Lu Yanqing lowered his head, gently nuzzling to absorb the scent, his greedy breathing sounding eerie in the empty room.
“From my filthy mouth, from my surging youth, thick mists rise, shrouding and clouding my heart. I can no longer distinguish clear love from dark lust. They burn together, pushing me into the abyss of sin.”
“I charge forward in the mouth, overflowing, scattering, boiling—yet you remain silent.”
A voice—deep, icy-clear, the envy of countless souls—spilled forth low and unceasing. Fingers hooked around the youth’s, knuckles damp and slightly sticky, yet more satisfying than dryness.
“Though I am so ugly, I am filled with vain thoughts and hypocritical honor, striving to adorn myself with a refined and courteous demeanor.”
He spoke each sentence as if confessing, yet also as if slowly tearing open his dark heart to reveal it to the pure, white, and utterly unaware youth before him. With his words, he stained the sunlight inch by inch, darkening it like clouds obscuring the sun.
Malice crept like vines, inch by inch, covering the beautiful house. It took root deep within, inch by inch, prying open the solid foundation. In some careless moment, it collapsed with a thunderous crash.
The boy’s breathing grew ragged, his brow furrowing slightly in discomfort. He mumbled something indistinctly, his words slurred. Lu Xianqing pulled a tissue from the table and meticulously wiped away the wine stain, bit by bit.
“I’ll clean you up. You’re clean.”
Lu Xianqing lifted his chin. The drunken youth let himself be handled, his softness stirring a burning desire. Lu Xianqing wiped the pearl-like dimple on his lip until it glowed red, then lowered his head as if he wanted to bite it off and swallow it whole.
Qin Sizheng felt a momentary flicker of pain, mistaking it for a dream. He struggled weakly in resistance, only to hear a command: “Don’t run away. Or I’ll lock you up and make sure you can’t move again.”
Qin Sizheng shuddered, furrowing his brow as he clenched his fists. Without warning, he landed a punch on the man, followed by a flurry of over a dozen blows to the face and stomach. The sheer force of the strikes belied any trace of drunkenness.
Lu Xianqing gasped sharply in agony, his body even shuddering. Some long-dormant parts of him seemed to sprout, bursting with vibrant life, poised to grow into a towering tree with intricate roots.
Like a spark dropped into dense forest, Lu Xianqing caught his breath, seized the man’s wrist, and pinned him down. He lowered his head, studying him like a painting to be copied over and over. You little bastard—even drunk, your punches hurt this much. I should tie your hands right now.
But.
“I love it when you hit me. I’d gladly die under your fists, die by your hands, at the very moment I grow into a towering tree.” Lu Xianqing guided his hand to the gnarled roots, burying his face and asking, “Can you feel it? Hit me again. Hit me. Hit me until I die.”
After the barrage of punches, Qin Sizheng seemed to sink deeper into drunkenness. His arms went limp at his sides as the man did as he pleased, occasionally struggling weakly against the discomfort only to be pulled back. Half-asleep, half-awake, he heard the man whisper in his ear, “Please, heal me. Have mercy on me.”
But the youth made no sound and didn’t move. His breathing was steady and quiet, as docile as if asleep, looking just like “Yan Yan.”
“Meow~”
The cat seemed to sense the horror, never daring to approach. It crouched on the entryway cabinet, peering over, as if wondering if its owner would allow it to come closer.
Lu Xianqing picked up Qin Sizheng. Voice-activated lights followed his footsteps, illuminating the path from the living room all the way up to the upstairs bedroom. He used the remote to turn off every light, plunging himself into darkness.
He could see nothing, his senses heightened to the extreme. His hand gripped her wrist, slightly warm from alcohol, sensing the abnormal body temperature, the peculiar scent of alcohol mingled with her breath.
He lowered his head, “seeing” Qin Sizheng in the darkness, murmuring with rapture, “Do you know? I’ve sat here countless times, right in this spot, on this very chair, watching you, imagining you, letting dark clouds obscure the sun.”
“But I know you’re far from me. It pains me.”
Lu Xianqing picked up the remote and activated the projector. The blinding white light illuminated his hands as he flipped through the slides, projecting images onto the massive screen accompanied by a low, husky voice narrating in detail.
“This is what I designed for you. It’ll look stunning on you. I’m not sure if you prefer diamonds or pearls—both are interchangeable. The pendant hanging below will be exquisite.”
“These cuffs were crafted by my own hands. You can’t protect your own hands, so from now on, let’s shackle them to the frame, okay? These hands belong only to me.”
“Shall I defile you? Let me soil you, turn your soul as filthy as mine.” Lu Xianqing spoke, for the first time unleashing his inner darkness without restraint. Before him, he poured out his malice with abandon, revealing his sickness in full, unfiltered,
No, no, you’re pure. You can’t be as tainted as me. Lu Xianqing immediately contradicted himself. Qin Sizheng was so pure, like a sunflower forever soaring upward, radiant with sunlight.
He should be far away, casting a ray of sunlight into this ravine, slightly dispelling the darkness.
Images flashed across the screen. The man patiently and tenderly explained to the sleeping youth, unabashedly confessing his sins, disturbing the sanctity.
“The thorns grow taller than my head. No one has come to pull them out. You must pull them out. Use your hands to pull them out. Use your hands.”
“I will use your hands to pull out my thorns. Don’t be afraid, it won’t hurt much. I won’t hurt you. I’ll be gentle.”
Qin Sizheng had a dream. In it, that sickeningly terrifying man appeared. No longer content with sending harassing private messages and lurking in the shadows, he suddenly emerged from the darkness, dragging her in, frantically pouring out his words.
Each word felt like mud from the abyss of darkness, a swamp that was terrifying yet inescapable.
He felt like he’d been thrown into the sea. His hands desperately tried to grasp something, yet he couldn’t muster any strength. Helplessly, he drifted back and forth amidst the slick, viscous substance. He wanted to speak, to cry for help, but only managed to choke on a mouthful of salty, wet seawater, triggering a visceral nausea.
The nightmarish sensation made him tremble uncontrollably. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he couldn’t make a sound or open them. Everything felt cold. That man seemed to be telling him: no one can save you.
Gulp.
He swallowed a mouthful of seawater, his throat stinging from the choke. The reflexive cough was drowned by another wave of saltwater. The more he struggled to call for help, the faster he sank. More and more seawater rushed into his mouth, competing to overwhelm him. Humans cannot defy nature. He could only drown in that cold, salty sea and die.
“No!” Qin Sizheng jolted upright, waking with a start.
Fear made his fingertips tremble. Perhaps he’d clenched too hard in his dream—his palms were red from his own grip, clinging to a swamp-like stickiness that refused to fade.
He instinctively licked his dry lips, then swallowed hard to ease the raw ache in his throat. The lingering saltiness of seawater suggested he wasn’t fully awake yet.
He stared blankly at his hands. The dream felt too real—just like that man appearing out of nowhere. Yet he’d been utterly powerless to resist, forced to…
“Bad dream?” Lu Xianqing’s voice broke the silence. Nerves taut, Qin Sizheng instinctively swung a punch backward, landing squarely on Lu Xianqing’s forehead.
“Ouch… Damn it.”
His punch was incredibly powerful. The pain made Lu Xianqing feel like his bones were shattering. He instinctively clutched his head, braced against the table, and staggered twice. This was the first time Qin Sizheng had ever heard him curse like that.
That deadly reflex.
He immediately scrambled to his feet to help, but Lu Xianqing raised a hand to block him. “Don’t come near me. Don’t move.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t react in time when you suddenly spoke. I thought it was… I’m sorry!”
Lu Xianqing was completely dazed. Was the beating he’d taken earlier while drunk even mild? This punch felt like it could have killed him. He’d be out of commission for days, at the very least.
“Fourth Brother… Are you okay?”
Lu Xianqing rubbed his forehead and ground his teeth. “What do you think?”
He was pale—always had been, due to his weak health—but now the swelling and redness across his forehead and around his eyes made him look even more strikingly fragile. Qin Sizheng froze.
There were bruises around his eyes? His jaw was swollen too. That handsome face, now marred and mottled, looked like it had been beaten by ten people.
No… it can’t all be from him, right?
Qin Sizheng clenched his palms. “Fourth Brother, your face…”
“Otherwise? Do you think I went and hit myself for fun?” Lu Xianqing replied, his tone sharp but calm.
Qin Sizheng’s heart raced as he listened to Lu Xianqing inhale. Minutes passed before Lu Xianqing brought back a cup of warm water and handed it to him. Qin Sizheng received it blankly, nearly spilling from the heat.
“Careful,” Lu Xianqing said, supporting the cup from underneath, steadying it without touching him too much. “Drink a little. It’ll help with the alcohol.”
Only then did Qin Sizheng remember how much he had drunk. Looking around, he realized he was on the sofa, a blanket on the floor nearby, and a script flipped halfway across the table.
The food on the table had gone cold. One bowl of noodles was already finished, while the other had barely been touched.
So Lu Xianqing had stayed with him all along. He had eaten the birthday noodles Qin Sizheng made, and then quietly stayed by the drunk boy’s side, reading the script with him.
He looked up, meeting Lu Xianqing’s calm and gentle gaze, like a warm winter sun casting a cool, clear light.
For some reason, four words floated into his mind: Clear Sky, Fresh Green.
“What are you daydreaming about? Drink,” Lu Xianqing said softly. Qin Sizheng hurriedly lowered his head and sipped the water, small mouthful by small mouthful. The warm water soothed his dry throat. He felt gentle pats on his head. “Don’t be afraid. It was just a dream.”
Even after drinking, the taste of the salty seawater lingered, making him feel queasy as he burped.
“I want a little more,” he admitted.
Lu Xianqing took the cup. “Sit still. Don’t move. I’ll pour it for you.”
A moment later, he returned with the cup. Qin Sizheng noticed the slight redness on Lu Xianqing’s wrist, guessing there were other bruises as well, and couldn’t help but glance at him again when taking the cup.
Lu Xianqing tugged down his sleeve to cover it.
“It’s nothing.”
Qin Sizheng drank the water, holding the cup and thinking for a long moment before finally speaking his decision.
“Fourth Brother, maybe we shouldn’t see each other again.”