BANG!
A deafening crash sent the bedroom door shuddering.
He Qian was lying in bed, just on the verge of falling asleep, when the noise sent a violent jolt through his entire body. He sat up abruptly as light from the hallway refracted into the room.
A dark shadow used a hand to steady the still-vibrating door before stepping inside with crisp, deliberate footsteps. He Qian’s hands stiffened; he moved slowly, reaching out to turn on the lamp.
Instead of the switch, his fingers brushed against firm, solid muscle.
The blood in He Qian’s veins seemed to freeze. He swallowed hard with great difficulty. In the darkness, he could not see the man’s face, but he was far too familiar with that kick that had just forced the door open.
It was Zhou Xuying.
In the eerie, dark silence, the door had stopped shaking, yet the sound of it crashing open continued to echo in He Qian’s mind. When Zhou Xuying had kidnapped him from his rental apartment and brought him to the Zhou residence, he had kicked the door open in the exact same way. That door had trembled incessantly against the whistling wind, sounding as if it were weeping.
“Why aren’t you continuing?”
An arrogant, cold voice drifted down from above, laced with a hint of raspy mockery. “Why are you shaking? Are you afraid of me?”
“…”
He Qian had no idea what kind of madness Zhou Xuying was spiraling into this time. With a lunatic like this, no one would not be afraid!
He Qian felt a chill run down his spine; his palms were slick with cold sweat. All struggle was futile.
Zhou Xuying pulled a cigarette from a drawer and sat down. Keeping He Qian pinned, he slowly lit it. The bright flare of the flame allowed him to see He Qian’s disheveled state, which only served to heighten his excitement.
He Qian gazed at the moon outside the window, his eyes reflecting a cold light. He endured a long, grueling night.
The Next Day
While applying medicine, Zhou Xuying looked down at He Qian. “Do you like spicy food that much?”
“No.”
He Qian’s features contorted. He was in significant discomfort. The spicy hotpot from yesterday was an existence he now regretted to the point of collapse.
Once the medicine was applied, Zhou Xuying went to wash his hands.
When He Qian went downstairs, he saw a box of strawberries on the dining table. He ate one; it was fresh and very sweet. A maid walked to He Qian’s side. “President Zhou has gone to the office. He instructed that Mr. He must eat breakfast before having fruit.”
“Oh.”
He Qian picked up a piece of toast and began to eat. Although it was not hard, he found himself inexplicably missing yesterday’s small wontons. He looked up at the maid: “Are there any wontons?”
“Ah?” The woman hesitated for a moment and said, “If Mr. He wants them, I can go buy the ingredients now.”
“Forget it if there are none.”
He Qian lowered his head, took a few indifferent bites, and then headed upstairs carrying the strawberries. The maid followed him, confirming several times whether he truly did not want the wontons. Annoyed, He Qian confirmed his refusal repeatedly. Just as he stepped toward the stairs, the maid suddenly remembered something and said, “President Zhou said you do not need to deliver lunch today.”
“Oh.”
He Qian kept his head down as he walked upstairs. He could not deliver anything now anyway. To be truthful, Zhou Xuying was more than anyone could handle.
After lying down in bed, He Qian’s thoughts continued to wander.
Whenever Zhou Xuying got angry, he acted like a madman. If things continued like this, his body would give out long before he ever managed to escape.
Regarding Zhou Xuying, He Qian had been extremely resistant at first, but later he slowly transitioned into a state of helpless acceptance. He discovered that the more he resisted, the more excited Zhou Xuying became. Gradually, He Qian compromised; he did not want to provoke Zhou Xuying.
But he could only retreat so far.
He was a man with his own pride and blood. He Qian could not bring himself to fawn over someone he did not like, nor could he utter those heart-racing, flirtatious words. He Qian was thin-skinned; even just hearing suggestive language made his whole body flush with heat.
He thought and weighed his options incessantly.
Suddenly, a dangerous idea flashed through He Qian’s mind. He bit his nails, deliberating from morning until noon. That dangerous thought only intensified in his mind.
Steeling himself, He Qian sent a message to Zhou Xuying.
He Qian: [“Are you there?”]
Zhou Xuying replied ten minutes later: [“Speak.”]
Holding the phone, He Qian fell silent. He was suddenly starting to regret this. The idea was far too risky, yet perhaps it might be accepted.
While he was lost in thought, He Qian’s phone rang. It was Zhou Xuying.
He Qian answered. Zhou Xuying’s cold voice came through the line: “What is it?”
He Qian pursed his lips. “You…”
Silence again.
Zhou Xuying waited for a full minute. “What? Did you scream yourself hoarse last night?”
“…” He Qian gritted his teeth. “I have a proposal. I want you to consider it.”
“Speak.”
“Could you change mistresses?”
“?”
“Or you could hire another one.”
“…”
There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. He Qian’s back went cold; he knew Zhou Xuying was angry. Before He Qian could say another word, the call was disconnected.
He Qian stared at the silent message log, frowned, and lay back down.
During these short two months, He Qian had not given Zhou Xuying any form of reciprocation. He had always felt that Zhou Xuying was merely interested in him. Most “love at first sight” cases were like that.
Zhou Xuying’s morbid love was a psychological deformity; it would not change for anyone, nor would it last long. Though He Qian loathed Zhou Xuying, he did not deny his success and methods. To rise from the status of an illegitimate son to the heir and finally the man in power, Zhou Xuying was a natural-born businessman.
And a businessman knows how to weigh pros and cons. Zhou Xuying understood this better than he did.
Lost in these thoughts, He Qian eventually drifted off to sleep.
In his office, Zhou Xuying sat in his chair, elbows propped on the desk, struggling to process what He Qian had said.
A doctor in a white coat pushed the door open, accompanied by a psychiatrist in a formal suit. “President Zhou?”
Zhou Xuying slowly raised his head, his eyes flashing with a predatory ruthlessness that wordlessly told them to get out. The two men looked at each other, placed a bottle of medicine on the desk, and left dejectedly.
Zhou Xuying stared at the white bottle. He began stuffing the pills into his mouth like a madman, but mid-chew, he suddenly froze. He spat the medicine out and hurled both the pills and the bottle into the trash can.
His fists were clenched, his breathing heavy.
In another life, He Qian had committed suicide when he was 35. Zhou Xuying had spent two years uncovering the truth behind that suicide to exact revenge. At 37, he had died by suicide to follow him.
He had taken plenty of this medicine during those two years. But all he had gained then was a cold corpse.
Now that he actually had He Qian, why was he still taking it?
When He Qian woke up and opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Zhou Xuying’s grim expression.
Zhou Xuying gripped He Qian’s neck, knelt on the bed, and kissed him with sheer ferocity. He Qian’s vision went dark as dizziness and suffocation washed over him.
“Zhou Xuying!” He Qian could not stop a cry of alarm.
Zhou Xuying’s raspy voice whispered against his ear, “I came back to tell you: I am not considering your proposal.”