To please him.
He Qian took a deep breath. After a month of adjustment, even though the process was involuntary, He Qian knew exactly how to please Zhou Xuying. In Zhou Xuying’s eyes, pleasing meant He Qian becoming tamed and obedient. To He Qian, it was merely a temporary compromise for self-preservation.
He Qian was placed on the bed. He opened the bedside drawer, which contained a white shirt, a pair of slim-fit suit trousers, and leather gloves. Zhou Xuying had severe germophobia and liked He Qian to wear gloves. As He Qian pulled them on, Zhou Xuying watched him with an arched eyebrow, his sharp, narrow eyes radiating an ever-present sense of intimidation.
He Qian bit one end of a glove to pull his fingers in, his sharp jawline brushing against his palm. Once dressed, he tilted Zhou Xuying’s chin up with one hand, holding a cigarette between his teeth as he leaned in. After Zhou Xuying took the cigarette, He Qian struck a flame to light it.
Light and shadow flickered between their intersecting gazes.
“Zhou Xuying.”
“Mhm?”
“Your face is so hot.”
Zhou Xuying smirked with a furrowed brow and reached out to turn off the light. As He Qian’s hand moved up Zhou Xuying’s chest, Zhou Xuying caught it, a wisp of white smoke drifting between them. After letting out a raspy, quiet hiss, Zhou Xuying extinguished the cigarette. He pulled He Qian close by the waist and whispered into his ear.
The magnetic, bold resonance of his voice made He Qian’s ears flush instantly. Zhou Xuying tilted his head back, droplets of water dripping from his hair. It was October 9, a calm yet extraordinary night. Zhou Xuying was claiming the first birthday gift of his life. He unwrapped and enjoyed it personally.
He loved the gift and wanted to keep it forever, to have it by his side always. A gift could not be shared; it belonged to him alone.
The next day, He Qian woke up to find the spot beside him empty. His head felt heavy and groggy. Without even opening his eyes, he threw back the covers and went to the bathroom. When he finally opened his eyes and saw his exhausted reflection in the mirror, he was startled.
He could not go to school looking like this. He adjusted his collar and applied sunscreen to try and hide the marks, but the results were poor. He sighed helplessly and went downstairs to eat. Lacking an appetite, he only ate half a custard bun and drank half a bottle of milk. There was also a lemon candy placed next to his breakfast.
After changing, He Qian headed out. Zhou Xuying’s special assistant met him and gestured toward the staff elevator. “Mr. He, this way.”
The drive from the hotel to the school took less than five minutes. He Qian leaned weakly against the car seat when he felt something hard in his pocket. He pulled it out to look. It was a watch. It was expensive, a typical method for a benefactor to brush off a lover. He Qian stuffed it back into his pocket without putting it on.
At eight o’clock, the morning sun cast a golden glow. The head instructor was speaking at the podium. He Qian stood in the middle of the formation, a burning heat scorching his skin and consciousness. His thin frame trembled in the wind like a dying branch that a gust could easily sweep away.
Chen Ran stood behind him and whispered, “Hey, didn’t you say you wanted to be a tutor? The teacher at my institution said business is good and they are hiring one more. After military training ends, you should go to the institution.”
Before Chen Ran could finish, He Qian collapsed toward the side. A classmate beside him caught him. “He Qian, what is wrong?”
“I just got sleepy while listening. I am fine.” He Qian stood up with a smile, though his lips were pale.
His collar had shifted, exposing a stark, purple-red hickey. Chen Ran’s hand froze in mid-air, and the classmate holding him showed a flash of surprise. He Qian did not notice.
After the head instructor finished his speech, the instructors led their squads back to designated areas to begin training. He Qian sat under a tree, his head throbbing with heat. He knew he had a fever. This was all thanks to Zhou Xuying’s madness last night. Whatever belonged to Zhou Xuying, He Qian had to accept it all without question. Perhaps due to a hangover from the previous night’s drinking, He Qian had no strength left.
With the instructor’s permission, He Qian went to the infirmary to buy medicine and returned after filling a bottle with hot water. When he got back, the squad was resting. Chen Ran walked over briskly. Staring at He Qian’s chin, he asked, “Where do you feel unwell?”
He Qian’s smooth skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat, looking weak and fragile. Those lingering marks added a sense of disheveled confusion, stirring a wild desire in the other man’s heart.
“I am fine.” He Qian avoided Chen Ran’s burning gaze and walked away.
That evening, after washing up at the hotel, He Qian lay flat on the large white bed. The blurred lights from outside reflected across his pale face. He stared blankly at the ceiling. The physical discomfort weighed on him, making him unable to stop thinking about the past.
When he used to get sick, his mother would stew soup for him, and his father would set aside his documents to feed him. His father would even arrange for his leave the next day so he could rest properly. He once had an enviable family.
He Qian’s eyes felt incredibly sore. He was only nineteen; why did he have to go through this? Why did he come here? And why did he have to meet Zhou Xuying? A month was not enough to completely extinguish He Qian’s hope, nor could it make him resign himself to his fate. He Qian was never someone who would easily compromise; only true despair could crush him. Despair was the darkness after hope was snuffed out, the cruel truth.
He Qian felt extremely drowsy after taking the fever medicine and fell asleep shortly after.
Zhou Xuying arrived at ten o’clock. Seeing He Qian already asleep, he did not wake him and sat alone on the sofa. In the dark living room, a single spark from a cigarette flickered on and off. He was holding a photograph, an absurd picture that he treated as a treasure.
The photo was taken from a high angle, the figures very small, appearing to be a still from a surveillance camera. In the photo, his large hand was draped over He Qian’s shoulder. He Qian’s face was covered by a suit jacket, but from that specific angle, it looked as if He Qian were leaning into his embrace.
The Zhou Xuying who had died for love at age thirty-seven could not even produce such an absurd photo. He had no proof of He Qian’s existence in his heart. He had loved He Qian for many years, but no one knew. Only Zhou Xuying himself knew.
Zhou Xuying put the photo away, showered, and swallowed two pills before entering the bedroom. Under the moonlight, He Qian lay on the bed, crystal tears sliding from the corners of his eyes. Zhou Xuying used a cold towel to wipe him down and lower his temperature, repeating the process until the fever subsided.
He Qian rolled over, his hand resting on Zhou Xuying’s watch as he rubbed against it piteously. “Mom, I feel bad. It hurts. It really hurts.”
He Qian’s lips were bloodless, and his tears splashed onto Zhou Xuying’s palm. Zhou Xuying felt as if he had been burned; his fingers trembled. He Qian was tough and rarely showed weakness. The only time he had was when he developed acute gastroenteritis after eating oranges and called to say it hurt, though the purpose of that call was to escape the hospital.
Zhou Xuying’s gaze darkened. He gently brushed away the hair stuck to He Qian’s forehead with sweat. With a mix of tenderness and madness, he whispered, “Be good. You have to be good.”
He Qian gradually grew quiet. His hand remained tightly gripping Zhou Xuying’s trembling hand. Zhou Xuying set the towel down, tucked He Qian in, and lay down. He faced He Qian, his gaze moving through the quiet night from He Qian’s rising chest to the watch on the bedside table.
Zhou Xuying murmured something softly.
The next day, He Qian was startled awake by a strange sensation. When he opened his eyes, he saw his own calves and a pair of hands with bulging veins. He also saw a Patek Philippe watch.
“Zhou Xuying, I have a fever,” He Qian said, his voice raspy as he instinctively kicked his legs.
Zhou Xuying gripped him tightly. “Do not move.”