Those who had gone to gather firewood and hunt rabbits gradually returned. Hai Ming carried one in his hand, walked over, and asked Kong Wenyu whether they should light a fire here, move elsewhere, or try to keep searching for a hut.
Kong Wenyu didn’t care either way, so Hai Ming started organizing people to build a fire.
Nie Jun joined in, quickly setting up a simple grill and first drying some branches.
Fortunately, there were plenty of fallen sticks and leaves around, so getting a fire going wasn’t a problem. Once the flames began to rise, Nie Jun thought through what he wanted to say to Kong Wenyu, then turned—only to find he was nowhere in sight.
Nie Jun scanned the area quickly but still saw no trace of him.
“Where’s Mr. Kong?” Nie Jun asked a bodyguard near the stream. Hai Ming overheard and immediately stood up. “You weren’t following him?”
The bodyguard by the stream shook his head. Nie Jun dropped the stick in his hand and immediately ran into the forest, following the faint footprints they had left behind earlier.
Hai Ming also headed in that direction, but Nie Jun didn’t look back. “Split up and search!”
Hai Ming immediately turned, ordered the others to spread out, and went in another direction himself.
Nie Jun reached the spot where Kong Wenyu had gone to relieve himself earlier, but saw no sign of him.
“Kong Wenyu?” he called out once, but there was no reply.
The island’s night was unnaturally quiet.
Nie Jun took a deep breath, trying to steady the pounding in his chest.
Not far ahead was a shallow dirt escarpment. The last time Kong Wenyu had come this way to relieve himself, Nie Jun had been about to warn him not to go farther when he had stopped on his own.
Nie Jun stepped closer and looked down. At that moment, a cool, detached voice came from below: “I’m here.”
Kong Wenyu was at the bottom of the embankment, looking up. In the dark, his expression couldn’t be seen.
Nie Jun exhaled sharply in relief, but immediately tensed again. “Why did you leave by yourself? Are you hurt?”
Kong Wenyu said, “I thought you were following me.”
While scanning the area, Nie Jun answered, “I’ll follow you from now on. Can you climb up? I’ll pull you.”
“No,” Kong Wenyu replied. “I twisted my ankle.”
Nie Jun froze for a second, then stepped forward to the edge, feeling for a sturdy tree root in the dark. He leapt down silently, making almost no noise when he landed.
The moment his feet hit the ground, he understood why Kong Wenyu had twisted his ankle—the slope continued even below, littered with hard rocks and dead branches.
This place must have once been a streambed that turned into a river during the wet season.
Kong Wenyu remained standing and glanced at him. “Now that you’re down here, how do we get back up?”
“We’ll figure that out,” Nie Jun said. He crouched down to examine Kong Wenyu’s ankle.
It was badly swollen—he must have stepped on a rock and twisted it—but it didn’t seem broken. In this situation, there was no ice; the best they could do was remove his shoe, straighten his leg, and elevate it.
When Nie Jun pulled off the shoe, Kong Wenyu gave a small grunt of pain. To soothe him, Nie Jun held his foot gently, waiting a moment before carefully massaging it.
The skin on that foot was even smoother than the skin visible above his collar, likely because it was rarely exposed to the sun. Even in the deep night, its pale whiteness was noticeable.
Neither of them spoke. Around them, there was only the occasional rustle of wind through leaves and faint noises of unseen creatures moving in the forest.
Kong Wenyu tried to pull his foot back, but Nie Jun didn’t let him, still holding it.
Kong Wenyu sighed, clearly irritated, and, resting one leg, asked, “So how do we get back now?”
Nie Jun looked up at the ridge. It was steep, and the edges were lined only with weeds—nothing that could support much weight.
He glanced to either side. “Once your ankle’s a little better, I’ll carry you around the long way.”
“Will that take a long time?”
Nie Jun picked up a larger rock and propped Kong Wenyu’s foot on it.
Then he quickly cleared a sheltered patch of ground, laid some dead leaves there, and lifted Kong Wenyu to sit on it.
“I’ll get some food,” Nie Jun said, facing him seriously. “Don’t try to stand up. Eat something, then rest for a while. When you wake up, we’ll leave.”
He was about to go when Kong Wenyu reached out and grabbed his hand.
Nie Jun glanced at that hand, then met his eyes, his own voice unconsciously dropping lower: “You’re safe. Don’t worry—I’ll be back quickly.”
“How long?”
“Half an hour.” Nie Jun paused, then corrected himself. “Twenty minutes. I’ll stay nearby.”
Kong Wenyu kept staring at him, silent.
“Fifteen minutes,” Nie Jun said. “What do you want to eat?”
Kong Wenyu didn’t answer, still watching him with that same cool, stream-like gaze.
Nie Jun was about to lower his offer to ten minutes when Kong Wenyu released his hand, his gaze shifting away as well. “Anything’s fine.”
Nie Jun didn’t waste time. He dragged over a dead treetop from nearby, wedged it in front of the slope, enclosing Kong Wenyu in a makeshift triangular shelter before leaving.
He had no watch, but after estimating that enough time had passed, he started heading back.
When he returned to the hiding spot, he expected Kong Wenyu to be asleep—it was already very late.
But Kong Wenyu wasn’t asleep. As Nie Jun pushed aside the branches, he said, “You’re one minute late.”
Nie Jun paused, apologized, and explained that something had delayed him on the way back.
He placed three or four reddish fruits and a handful of mushrooms on a stone, along with a wild chicken that had already been cleaned and had its neck twisted.
Kong Wenyu could faintly smell blood. It must have been rinsed in water, but the scent lingered.
Kong Wenyu nodded toward the mushrooms. “Aren’t wild mushrooms poisonous?”
Nie Jun started a fire, using a stick to adjust the pile so the dry branches would burn hotter.
“I’ll taste them first,” he said calmly.
Once the fire was going, he handed the fruit to Kong Wenyu, who took it silently and watched as Nie Jun set the chicken on the flames and skewered several mushrooms.
Kong Wenyu let out a quiet sigh.
Noticing the silence, Nie Jun looked up, trying to clarify: “I mean, I’ll eat first. If I don’t get poisoned, then you can eat. That way, you won’t—”
“I know.” Kong Wenyu cut him off. “But if you’re poisoned, I won’t be able to drag you. I won’t make it back, and I’ll die here anyway. What difference does it make?”
Nie Jun froze for a moment, then looked away, continuing to roast the mushrooms. “You don’t need to drag me. Just wait here for Hai Ming to find you. If your ankle recovers, follow the water upstream. When you see footprints, stick to them and you’ll get out. If you get hungry, catch a chicken, twist its neck first, then clean it. It’s better that way.”
Kong Wenyu glanced at him with that same cool, clear look, holding the fruit but not eating it, idly rolling it between his fingers.
His fingers were long, his skin pale. For a fleeting moment, when lifted into the dim light, they looked almost like finely carved jade.
Nie Jun immediately thought of his ankle. His pulse skipped; his breath caught for a second.
But Kong Wenyu lowered his hand and said lightly, “I wouldn’t know how.”
Nie Jun took his hand.
Neither spoke for several seconds. Then Nie Jun said, “I’ll teach you.”
He pressed a knife into Kong Wenyu’s hand, using the tip to indicate a spot on the chicken’s neck over the fire. “Cut here. Try a few times.”
Then he guided Kong Wenyu’s hand across the bird’s breast. “Slice along here, downwards. Take out the innards, then rinse it clean.”
Kong Wenyu looked at him but didn’t pull his hand away.
Nie Jun kept guiding his fingers, tracing down to the tail.
Kong Wenyu gripped the handle in silence.
Nie Jun studied him for a few seconds, then unfastened the strap on his own lower leg, tied it securely around Kong Wenyu’s calf, and slid the knife into it, fastening it tight.
“For self-defense.”
Kong Wenyu’s pants were soaked from dew and stained with dirt, the fabric darkened into a muddy color.
Nie Jun casually rolled up the wet hem before sitting upright again.
Kong Wenyu glanced at him, his eyes brushing past the knife. “If you’re here, do I still need a weapon?”
Nie Jun thought for a moment. “Compared to me, a knife is definitely weaker.”
Not long ago, Kong Wenyu had said something similar—“Compared to a suitcase, I’m definitely worth more.”
Now Nie Jun’s words echoed that same pattern. Whether intentional or not, Kong Wenyu couldn’t tell.
He looked at Nie Jun briefly, as Nie Jun, under that gaze, held out the first roasted mushroom. “Here, eat.”
Kong Wenyu glanced at it but didn’t move.
Nie Jun picked one up himself, took a bite in front of him, then grabbed another. “This is all we’ve got. Make do.” Then he held the mushroom up to Kong Wenyu’s lips.
Kong Wenyu lowered his gaze, as if deciding whether or not to eat.
Nie Jun’s fingers moved closer, about to brush against Kong Wenyu’s lips.
Kong Wenyu still didn’t move.
But in such low temperatures, after a full day in the cold wind, how could he go on without eating something?
“Just eat a little,” Nie Jun said softly, coaxing him. “It’s pretty fresh—try it. If you don’t like it, I’ll find something else.”
They were very close now.
Closer than they’d been in that secret room at the Kong family estate.
Kong Wenyu lifted his eyes, looking at the man just inches away.
A high, straight nose bridge, sharp lines along the side of his face, and edges cut clean around his brows and eyes.
It was actually a very proper, balanced face. But because none of his features were overly distinct, it wasn’t one that stuck easily in memory—especially since he usually wore a mask and cap, and never dressed in bright colors.
At least, not the kind of face you’d remember at a glance.
“Try this instead.” Nie Jun tore a piece of meat from the chicken wing and held it to his lips. “It smells good. I even sprinkled some seasoning on it.”
Kong Wenyu stared at him for a few seconds, skeptical. “Who carries seasoning around?”
“I put it in my pocket when I was setting up the fire earlier,” Nie Jun replied quickly. Seizing the opening, he added, “Just try a bite. If it’s not good, you don’t have to eat more.”
Kong Wenyu leaned back slightly, glanced at the piece of meat, and his brows furrowed unconsciously.
Nie Jun continued to hold it out, patient.
After a short standoff, Kong Wenyu opened his mouth. His soft lower lip brushed against Nie Jun’s fingers—just for an instant.
He ate the piece of chicken.
Nie Jun shifted his gaze away from the movement of Kong Wenyu’s Adam’s apple and focused on the chicken sizzling over the fire, fat dripping and hissing.
“Is it okay?” he asked while tearing off the other wing. He wrapped it in a piece of tissue and handed it to Kong Wenyu.
Kong Wenyu didn’t take it immediately. “It’s not good.”
“….” Nie Jun gave a small laugh, still coaxing him. “Just eat a little to get by. When we’re back on the boat, I’ll get you some snacks you actually like.”
Kong Wenyu looked at him for a moment with a complicated expression, then reached out and took the wing.
Nie Jun finally let out a breath of relief and offered him a mushroom next.
Kong Wenyu hesitated for a second, then turned his head and bit directly into it.
Nie Jun froze briefly, then turned back to stare at the fire.
Kong Wenyu watched his profile, realizing that this man could be summed up in just two words: reliable.
But also—his sense of self was strong. He couldn’t be threatened, didn’t care for money or possessions, and so far, showed no obvious weaknesses.
After a while, Kong Wenyu asked, “Why didn’t you ask me how I fell?”
Nie Jun smiled, his tone full of tolerance, with a faint trace of teasing: “You wanted to take a leak and missed your footing.”
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