Zhou Xuying removed his shirt with one hand. Under the fluorescent light, the tattoos on his back exuded a mysterious aura. The open eye of the woman in red had a pale, vacant pupil.
With a click, Zhou Xuying turned off the light.
In the darkness, his cold hand accurately grabbed He Qian’s wrist and dragged him into the shower. The sound of pattering water filled the room. Zhou Xuying’s elegant nose pressed against He Qian’s ear, his fingertips running through He Qian’s hair as his warm breath brushed against He Qian’s collarbone.
His voice was like shattered jade on ice, frantic and cold blooded, seething with rage. “He Qian, this is the fourth time.”
In one and a half months, he had attempted to escape four times. Just how badly did He Qian want to leave him? Did he have to lock him up and break him until he could no longer walk just to make him stay?
He Qian trembled all over. He stared at the madness in Zhou Xuying’s eyes, his own eyes welling with silent tears. This time, He Qian truly had not intended to run away. He only wanted to see Xia Tian.
In his previous world, although He Qian had been unable to overturn the case, he could at least ensure Xia Tian’s safety and make sure she could afford her high psychiatric fees. He just wanted to know how she was doing.
The pain was constant. He Qian’s tears and humiliation mingled with the hot water in the darkness, flowing away like blood. He loathed Zhou Xuying! He wanted nothing more than to kill him!
Only after He Qian lost consciousness did Zhou Xuying carry him back to the room. He placed him on the large black bed. The pale He Qian looked even more fragile; as soon as his body hit the mattress, he curled up tightly like a dying bird, powerless and broken.
Zhou Xuying stood by the bed, his knuckles trembling. He had lost control. He walked out of the bedroom, shoved a handful of pills into his mouth with shaking hands, and sat alone on the sofa to smoke. One cigarette after another, the embers glowed and faded.
Late into the night, Zhou Xuying took a shower before returning to the bedroom. On the bed, He Qian’s breathing was steady. Zhou Xuying lay down gently and drew closer. He carefully wrapped his arm around He Qian’s waist, using his warm palm to soothe him. Yet, this warmth felt like the claws of a demon, dragging one down into an endless abyss.
He Qian twitched slightly, shifting his body. His thin shoulder blade bumped into Zhou Xuying’s chest, causing Zhou Xuying to hiss in pain. There was a bullet hole there, and the wound was still oozing blood.
Zhou Xuying had been injured abroad and had just finished surgery when he received the call about He Qian. He had returned immediately. He slightly lifted his chin, burying his face against He Qian’s shoulder.
“He Qian, Xiao Qian.”
The awkward endearment came from his throat, so hoarse it was barely recognizable as speech. This was a name Zhou Xuying had practiced for a lifetime. In his past life, Zhou Xuying died at the age of thirty seven, committing suicide for love.
Outside the window, moonlight spilled onto the bed. Zhou Xuying, who had not slept for days, finally fell into a peaceful slumber while holding He Qian.
Zhou Xuying was never destined for a good life. Even in a rare moment of rest, he was tormented by nightmares. In his dream, the evening sunset was brilliant and dazzling. Amidst the bustling crowd, there was a sharp scream.
With a thud, a man leaped from the roof without a moment of hesitation. Zhou Xuying pushed through the crowd, only for that body to land directly in front of him, mangled and bloody.
Blood splattered onto his leather shoes. Zhou Xuying, who was usually fastidious and decisive, went mad upon seeing the man’s unrecognizable face and gathered him into his arms. It was He Qian.
His hands shook and his throat went dry as he arched his back, his body trembling while he firmly held that heap of flesh and blood. A thick, deep red covered He Qian’s fair face. That red spread across Zhou Xuying’s vision.
November 9, 2021, at 6:41 PM. Twenty four year old He Qian committed suicide by jumping from a building. Zhou Xuying’s world turned to monochrome. From then on, all color was lost.
When the police arrived, Zhou Xuying held him tightly, refusing to let anyone take He Qian away. Finally, a string of words forced its way out of his throat: “Family. I am his family. I am here to take him home.”
The formidable Zhou Xuying of Beijing, feared by all, remained unmarried his entire life and had no family. He took a corpse home and kept it hidden for two whole years.
He Qian was woken up by the butler. When he regained consciousness, an IV drip was connected to the back of his hand.
“Mr. He, would you like some porridge?” The butler handed him the bowl. He Qian propped himself up to sit, and the butler reached out to assist him.
He Qian touched the side of the bed; it was still warm, meaning someone had left not long ago. He did not intend to ask, but the butler said with a smile, “The Young Master has gone to the company.”
“Oh.”
“Mr. He, your right hand is fractured. I will take you to the hospital for a minor surgery in a while. The Young Master said he is quite busy this week, so you do not need to accompany him for meals.”
He Qian nodded without speaking. His hand hurt terribly, and his entire body felt as though it had been crushed by something heavy. He had long since grown accustomed to Zhou Xuying’s madness and violence. He only felt a clearer, more urgent desire to escape.
Since He Qian could not move his hand, the butler fed him. After finishing the porridge, He Qian began to read. He never mentioned Zhou Xuying, nor did he ask about the festering wound on Zhou Xuying’s wrist.
The injury on Zhou Xuying’s hand was severe, caused by saving him. He Qian had seen it. But ultimately, if Zhou Xuying had not forced him to be his lover, He Qian would not have run away, would not have encountered Zhou Xuying’s enemies, and Zhou Xuying would not have been hurt. Cause and effect, one must bear the consequences of their own actions. He Qian was kindhearted, except toward his rapist.
That evening, He Qian remained under observation at the hospital for three days after his surgery. During those three days, he did not see Zhou Xuying. Even after returning home, Zhou Xuying was nowhere to be found. According to the servants, he had not been home for three days.
Over the next few days, He Qian still did not see Zhou Xuying. He experienced a sense of peace he had never known before.
While He Qian viewed this week as peaceful, Zhou Xuying was constantly moving between his office and the hospital. At night, a stack of papers sat on Zhou Xuying’s desk. His knuckles trembled as he lit a cigarette.
The documents detailed everything regarding the Xia family. After Zhou Xuying finished reading, his heart felt as if it had been thrown into an ice cellar, bone chillingly cold and easily shattered. He rested his forehead on his hand and smiled bitterly.
Zhou Xuying finally understood why He Qian loathed him so much. Ash drifted down from his cigarette, looking gray and dejected. Zhou Xuying put the files away and returned to the Zhou residence.
When he arrived home, the butler said respectfully, “Young Master, Mr. He is in the study.”
“Understood.” Zhou Xuying extinguished his cigarette and took a shower before heading to the study.
When he entered, He Qian was sitting at the desk with many books spread out, writing something intently. His elegant, handsome silhouette looked warm and vibrant under the soft light. As Zhou Xuying approached, He Qian did not even look up. He frustratedly tore off a piece of paper and tossed it aside, forming a small mountain of scraps.
Zhou Xuying leaned one hand on the desk to get a closer look. It was an application to join the Communist Youth League.
Zhou Xuying froze. He Qian finally noticed someone beside him and lifted his eyes. It was Zhou Xuying.
The two had not met for a week, and the scene before Zhou Xuying left the residence was not a pleasant memory. The atmosphere became awkward. He Qian lowered his gaze and, feigning composure, pulled a book over to cover his hand and began to flip through it.
Printed boldly on the cover were the words: Criminal Law.
He Qian felt a surge of bitterness. He truly wanted to hurl the book at Zhou Xuying’s face and tell him that illegal detention and molestation were crimes punishable by imprisonment! But He Qian could not win against Zhou Xuying; it was not that he had not tried.
When he was first kidnapped by Zhou Xuying, he had called the police, but it was useless. Zhou Xuying had easily taken him back home from the station, pinned him down, and punished him severely.
He Qian felt weak all over. He had spent half a month drifting in and out of consciousness on that bed. During those two weeks of unbridled brutality, Zhou Xuying had acted like a cold blooded, rabid dog.
He Qian had been broken into submission. When Zhou Xuying wanted him, He Qian no longer struggled. He knew that struggling was useless; it would only make Zhou Xuying more excited.
Zhou Xuying was a mad dog.