He Qian had not seen Zhou Xuying for nearly half a month.
Ever since Zhou Xuying returned to the country, whenever He Qian provoked him, Zhou Xuying would stay away from home for a long time. For He Qian, this was considered a blessing.
On the afternoon He Qian finished his midterm exams, Zhou Xuying sent him a message saying he was waiting at the school gate. When He Qian arrived, a black Bentley was parked there.
He Qian pulled open the car door. Zhou Xuying was leaning against the seat, a lock of black hair falling over the bridge of his nose, his brow etched with exhaustion.
He Qian got into the car, and it started moving. Neither spoke on the way; the atmosphere was frozen to the breaking point, and the driver did not even dare to breathe loudly.
Through the rearview mirror, Zhou Xuying noticed He Qian was wearing a turtleneck sweater. He reached out and folded down the high collar at He Qian’s neck; the purple marks beneath the porcelain-white skin had become very faint.
Zhou Xuying withdrew his hand without a word.
The car arrived at the hospital entrance. Zhou Xuying took He Qian for a follow-up appointment. During the exam, Zhou Xuying remained inseparable from him; He Qian did not have to touch a single thing, not the report forms, the water, nor his identification.
The doctor said He Qian’s arm was recovering well and that they could arrange to remove the surgical pins. The surgery was scheduled for the following day.
While leading He Qian back to the car, they passed a convenience store. Zhou Xuying stopped to buy a pack of cigarettes and picked up a carton of ice cream as well.
When he handed the strawberry-flavored ice cream to He Qian, his eyes brightened slightly.
He Qian took it and said, “Thank you.”
He Qian transferred money to Zhou Xuying as usual. Zhou Xuying’s hand trembled slightly as he lit a cigarette; the low-quality smoke made him cough twice. He was not used to these cheap cigarettes.
By the time they returned to the Zhou residence, it was already evening. After dinner, the housekeeper left with the rest of the servants, and Zhou Xuying went into the bathroom alone.
The Zhou residence was massive, but servants usually did not stay overnight. If Zhou Xuying was not home, three servants would stay to look after He Qian, and He Qian could bring any request to the housekeeper at any time.
When Zhou Xuying emerged, he had a black bath towel wrapped around his waist. Despite the cold winter, he walked toward the bedroom with a bare torso. He sat by the bed, tilted his head back slightly, and lit a cigarette to smoke by the window.
He Qian glanced over. He noticed that the color of the tattoo on Zhou Xuying’s back had deepened. He Qian stared at the string of strange characters on Zhou Xuying’s back, but from a distance in the dim, yellow light, he could not see them clearly.
Zhou Xuying flicked away a length of ash and saw He Qian looking at him through the mirror’s reflection.
“What is it?”
He took a drag, extinguished the cigarette, and walked back.
“Can I see your tattoo?”
Zhou Xuying stood before He Qian on his long, straight legs. “One look equals one time.”
He Qian pursed his lips and lay down, no longer wanting to see.
Zhou Xuying lay down beside him, pulling He Qian into his arms from behind, embedding him against his chest. “What have you been doing lately?”
“Attending classes, tutoring, sleeping.”
“It is getting colder. Are you cold?”
“No.”
“Wear more clothes.”
“I do not need you to tell me.”
Zhou Xuying was momentarily choked up by the retort. He propped himself up halfway to look down at He Qian, but eventually leaned over to kiss the back of his neck and went back to sleep holding him.
There was much more Zhou Xuying wanted to ask, but since He Qian was unwilling to talk to him, asking further seemed like asking for trouble. As long as He Qian was well-behaved and did not leave, a little coldness was fine.
“Goodnight,” he whispered to Xiao Qian.
Zhou Xuying fell asleep holding He Qian, doing nothing else. His breathing was steady. Once he was asleep, He Qian took the opportunity to move Zhou Xuying’s hand away. He did not like Zhou Xuying holding him while they slept.
The next morning, the space beside He Qian was empty when he woke up. He washed up and went downstairs to find a bowl of wontons with floating scallions on the table. He Qian took a sip of the broth; Zhou Xuying had made it.
After breakfast, Zhou Xuying took him to the hospital for the surgery. While the procedure was happening, Zhou Xuying stood at the door, holding his hand and saying, “The anesthesia will make it not hurt much. I will be right outside the door.”
He Qian nodded. Before going in, he suddenly looked at Zhou Xuying.
“How is Xia Tianming?”
The corners of Zhou Xuying’s mouth turned cold. “He is doing very well.”
He Qian entered the operating room. As he lay down, he saw Lin Xu on the surgical team. Lin Xu, dressed in surgical scrubs, looked at He Qian with eyes that were icy cold, not nearly as gentle as the last time.
“Doctor Lin seems to have a prejudice against me.”
“You have quite a prejudice against him, too.”
He Qian smiled. “I have one against you as well.”
“He Qian, you are very cold-blooded.”
“Is not liking someone the same as being cold-blooded?”
Zhou Xuying’s kindness toward him was based on “love,” a morbid love that was difficult to understand, and He Qian did not know if it truly existed. Stripped of that layer of “love,” Zhou Xuying was a madman. All of these actions were forced upon him by Zhou Xuying. If he did not like it, he would not accept it. Refusing others is a form of freedom. He Qian wanted to preserve that freedom; he did not believe he was wrong.
“Do you know how the scar on his chest got there?” Lin Xu’s lips trembled as he spoke.
“I do not want to know.”
“Inject the anesthesia,” Lin Xu said, ending the conversation.
He Qian closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the surgery was over. He was being wheeled out of the operating room. He reached out and grabbed Zhou Xuying’s hand, his thin lips moving: “Why?”
“Hmm?”
A single tear rolled from the corner of He Qian’s eye—he did not even notice it himself—as his hand gripped Zhou Xuying’s tightly.
He Qian fell asleep. Zhou Xuying took him home. As they got into the car, a man in a leather jacket standing in a dark corner of the hospital watched the Bentley depart. He picked up his phone and dialed a number.
“Yes, Zhou Xuying is keeping a pretty boy. He is a student from Beijing University of Political Science and Law.”
The day after the surgery, He Qian went to class as usual. It was now December, and the weather was turning cold rapidly. At night, the short walk from the study hall to the school gate felt exceptionally long.
During this period, his tutoring had allowed him to save some money. It was about ten thousand yuan. He intended to send this money to Xia Tianming.
In the evening, when He Qian finished class, it was snowing. The snow was heavy, building a white layer on top of his head. Under the dim yellow streetlights, the surrounding plants were draped in white blankets. He walked along, grabbing a handful of snow and molding it into a ball as he walked toward the exit. His fingers were frozen a stiff red.
Chen Ran chased after him with an umbrella. “He Qian, let me walk you to the gate.”
“No need.”
Chen Ran checked his phone. “It is nine o’clock and ten degrees below zero. It is still a long walk from here.”
He Qian noticed Chen Ran’s phone; it was the latest model, no longer the old one with the cracked screen.
“No need.”
He Qian squeezed the snowball, keeping his head down and no longer looking at Chen Ran. Chen Ran stopped talking and stood in place. He Qian walked out from under the umbrella, his head down as he molded the snowball into a beautiful, round shape.
He bumped into a solid chest. The next second, a black overcoat was draped over him.
“Hmm?” He Qian looked up.
Zhou Xuying’s face, softened by the light and shadows, was reflected in his pupils. He Qian froze for several seconds. Zhou Xuying looked toward Chen Ran.
“From here to the main gate, you do not pass the dormitories.” He pressed a hand on He Qian’s shoulder. “You are not going the same way.”
These words were clearly directed at Chen Ran.
Zhou Xuying pulled He Qian by the shoulder and began to walk away. After just a couple of steps, Chen Ran’s voice came from behind them. “Is President Zhou going the same way, then?”
Zhou Xuying’s pace stiffened. He looked down at He Qian.
He said, “Perfectly the same way.”