“Can we talk?”
Jiang Yi’s gaze was sincere, and his tone was earnest; he truly wanted to talk.
Wen Mo fell into a silent contemplation. He glanced toward the Hunting Ground where Gong Cang had just died. Having stabbed Gong Cang to death over and over, Wen Mo’s resentful emotions had calmed down significantly. Cooling off, he looked back at the Jiang Yi standing before him. After careful thought, he decided he really should talk to him.
He shouldn’t be here if he truly was Jiang Yi, there was no reason for him to appear in this place. Brother Yi was a good person; he would never go to Hell.
With that thought, Wen Mo gave a slight nod.
Jiang Yi let out a sigh of relief and confirmed: “We can talk?”
Wen Mo nodded again.
Jiang Yi began to smile, his eyes curving into half-moons. The drizzling rain still battered him, and the rainy night remained pitch black. In such a treacherous and eerie setting, Jiang Yi didn’t seem dark or gloomy at all. He was just like he used to be; those round eyes were always sparkling, and when he smiled like this, they seemed even brighter.
Even the rainy night didn’t seem quite so dark anymore.
Wen Mo looked at him, yet he didn’t see the rain; in a daze, he saw only the glow of a setting sun falling across the man’s shoulders.
His hands began to burn with pain again, as if he were being scorched by fire once more. Wen Mo’s eyes were slightly stung by Jiang Yi’s presence; he twitched the corner of his eye, waved his hand, and pointed to his arms, signaling for the other to wait he needed to wash his hands.
Jiang Yi understood and nodded like a chick pecking at grain. “Sure, sure. I’ll wait for you.”
Wen Mo lowered his head, no longer looking at him. He washed his arms and hands clean. Splashing a bit of water onto his clothes, he gave them a rub, and the blood was instantly scrubbed away. The blood drifted into the water in threads, turning into wisps of crimson before dissipating into the small river.
These clothes were provided by Hell, and the quality was exceptional. To make it convenient for the Night Watchmen to work, the craftsmanship was top-tier; blood would wash off the moment it hit water.
Once everything was washed, Wen Mo returned to the bank. He rolled down his sleeves, straightened his trouser legs, put on his socks and boots, and pulled his gloves from the nearby clump of reeds to put them back on.
They were a pair of pure black patent leather half-gloves, covering only half the palm. Having put on the gloves, Wen Mo lowered his hands and looked up, intending to sign something to Jiang Yi. However, he saw the man blushing for some inexplicable reason, standing there like an idiot, staring at Wen Mo’s gloved hands.
?
Wen Mo looked down at his hands. The gloves were on correctly, nothing was out of place, and they didn’t look particularly strange. He looked up, and Jiang Yi was still in that same daze.
Sensing Wen Mo’s odd look, Jiang Yi suddenly snapped back to reality. He glanced at Wen Mo, and their eyes met. Wen Mo arched an eyebrow at him and tilted his head, silently asking: Just what are you spacing out for?
Jiang Yi’s face stiffened. He immediately averted his gaze and gave a couple of meaningful coughs. Instead of answering the question, he said stiffly and somewhat evasively: “Then this jacket… you… you should wear it too.”
Jiang Yi handed the windbreaker back to him.
Wen Mo looked at Jiang Yi’s upper body; he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt that was completely soaked, with water dripping from the hem. If he took that shirt off and wrung it out, he could probably get half a basin of water from it.
Wen Mo looked down, let out a silent sigh, waved his hand, and signed a few more words.
[Clothes are wet like this,] he signed. [You wear it. You will get sick; I won’t.]
Jiang Yi hesitated: “But you…”
They had been back and forth on this for so long, yet he was still hesitating over this damn jacket. Wen Mo felt a bit annoyed and gave him a glare. Jiang Yi flinched under the glare, not daring to say more, and quickly put the jacket on himself.
Only then did Wen Mo’s expression soften.
Jiang Yi was clearly freezing; the moment the jacket was on, he couldn’t help but reveal a look of immense bliss. He crossed his arms, tucking them into the sleeves, and hunched his neck like an old lady at the village entrance, unable to stop himself from letting out a long, warm sigh.
Wen Mo: “…”
Wen Mo’s eyelids drooped, and his gaze softened unconsciously it was rare for a Night Watchman to have such a soft gaze.
After enjoying the warmth for a moment, Jiang Yi suddenly snapped out of it, remembering the business at hand.
He looked at Wen Mo: “Right, right, we need to talk. I mean… um, are you called Wen Mo?”
Wen Mo stiffened for a second, then nodded. It had been a long time since anyone had called him by that name.
But…
Wen Mo pointed at Jiang Yi, then tapped his own chest, raising an eyebrow in confusion. His meaning was clear: [You know me?]
“Uh, I know you… I guess.” Jiang Yi pulled his hands out of his sleeves, clasped them together, and rubbed them, saying in a somewhat timid, low voice: “Before I entered this game, I had a dream.”
“I wouldn’t say I just had it once; I had it for a week straight… the same dream.” Jiang Yi looked at him, then lowered his head to look at his own hands. “I dreamed of you.”
Wen Mo: “…”
“In the dream, there was a village very similar to this one,” Jiang Yi said. “I dreamed that you and I were both people from the village… and then, did we…”
The next words were a bit difficult to say, and Jiang Yi’s face turned red. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t get them out. After stuttering for a long while, his face flushed crimson, he finally managed to force the words out one by one with great difficulty:
“Did we… da… da-da-da… date? Were we… in love?”
Wen Mo didn’t move.
He didn’t answer, nor did he use sign language. He just stood there, his hands hanging limply at his sides.
The rain drizzled down.
Through the fine rain, Wen Mo gazed at Jiang Yi. It had taken Jiang Yi a great deal of courage to ask that question; Wen Mo saw that his face was flushed deep red, and even the tips of his ears were as red as if they were engorged with blood.
Wen Mo knew he was waiting for an answer. Yet, he remained silent.
When Jiang Yi said those words, he spoke with the spirit of youth innocent, cautious, and full of youthful vigor. Being young was wonderful; the word “love” was just love, without consideration, without overthinking, and without the baggage of everything else that had happened.
Wen Mo, however, couldn’t feel anything associated with “love.” His heart was a barren wasteland.
He heard them again the voices that had always lingered in his mind.
“Evil spirit!”
“Don’t you understand yet? He’s possessed by an evil spirit! Possessed!”
“We have to burn him, there’s no other way. Why don’t you understand! Granny Wang said it several times, and she’s looked at your son multiple times too! He’s possessed, he has to be burned!”
“What a pity for a boy like Brother Yi, alas…”
“He was such a good kid, how did he get possessed…”
His head began to ache faintly. Wen Mo narrowed his eyes, and the taste of blood returned to his mouth. He reached out and grasped the knife at his waist, drawing it out slightly and gripping the blade bare-handed.
The blade sliced through his flesh, and a wave of warmth flowed from his palm. The pain cleared his mind a bit. Wen Mo looked up and saw that Jiang Yi was still staring at him with a face full of crimson.
Wen Mo’s knife was behind his waist; Jiang Yi didn’t see that he had drawn it again.
Perhaps because Wen Mo had taken too long to answer, a look of helplessness appeared on Jiang Yi’s face.
Wen Mo hesitated for a moment, ultimately unable to bear seeing him disappointed. He let out a sigh, nodded, and signed a few words again with his single, non-bleeding hand.
[You and I did, indeed, date,] he said. [But that was in the past.]
Jiang Yi let out a sigh of relief and smiled again: “It’s fine, the past is fine too. Then can you tell me what on earth happened?”
Wen Mo gazed at him.
The smile on Jiang Yi’s face suddenly stiffened. He scratched his cheek, his voice sounding a bit dry: “Why exactly… I mean… are you here, acting as a… Night Watchman?”
Wen Mo didn’t sign. He fell silent again, lowering his head once more.
Jiang Yi didn’t speak either, but Wen Mo could feel his nervous gaze resting on him.
The rain suddenly grew heavier, and Jiang Yi suddenly let out a violent sneeze.
Wen Mo looked up. Before Jiang Yi could catch his breath, he sneezed a second time, then a third. Covering his mouth with his hand, he muttered: “What’s going on Achoo!”
…He sneezed a fourth time.
Wen Mo looked up at the sky. Ever since the rain started in the Hell of Tongue-Ripping, it had been completely erratic, turning heavy or light without any pattern.
Jiang Yi sneezed a fifth time. It looked like he really was going to catch a cold. Wen Mo, feeling helpless, walked over to him, grabbed one of his arms, and led him toward the interior of the village.
Jiang Yi was startled and opened his mouth to ask what he was doing, only to let out a sixth violent sneeze.
Wen Mo led him into the village and straight into the first house on the right. The door was locked; Wen Mo raised his leg and delivered a kick that sent the door flying out of its frame, crashing to the ground with a thud.
Jiang Yi was wide-eyed with shock as Wen Mo pulled him inside.
“Wait a second, isn’t this bad?” he said. “Does this count as breaking and entering? What if the owner… Achoo!”
Wen Mo ignored him and walked through the door. Inside was a stove, and beside the stove was a fireplace. The bedroom door was tightly shut; the owner had likely already gone to bed.
Wen Mo let go of him, turned back to close the door, then walked to the center of the room and pulled the light cord. A dim, yellow light flickered on. Wen Mo turned to go to the fireplace.
Jiang Yi glanced at the shut bedroom door, his heart growing more and more uneasy. He started nagging again: “A-Mo, this really counts as breaking and entering, doesn’t it? We came in without even knocking. What will we say if the owner comes out? How about we leave? I’m not afraid of the cold; I’m a grown man… A-Mo?”
Wen Mo still ignored him. There was a small pile of firewood by the stove; he crouched down and began stuffing wood into the fireplace.
“A-Mo, talk to me,” Jiang Yi said. “This really isn’t good.”
Wen Mo still didn’t give him so much as a glance. After stuffing a lot of wood inside, he stood up and scouted around the deeper parts of the house. Before long, he returned with a metal basin, a stack of paper, and a lighter.
Stuffing the paper into the basin, Wen Mo lit them with a single flame. Once the fire was burning brightly, he took out a piece of firewood, lit the end of it, and tossed it into the fireplace.
Jiang Yi watched, stunned.
A fire soon roared in the fireplace. Wen Mo emptied the basin into it, and the burning paper followed the wood into the hearth, swallowed by the tongues of fire in the blink of an eye.
Wen Mo stood up, turned around, and hauled over the stunned Jiang Yi, who was still standing by the door. Jiang Yi was pulled over by his collar. Wen Mo dragged him to the front of the fireplace, where he stood in a daze. Turning around, he saw Wen Mo bringing over two small folding stools from a corner.
He unfolded the stools, placing one under Jiang Yi’s rear and another beside it.
Wen Mo sat down, while Jiang Yi remained standing stupidly beside him. Wen Mo looked up, jerked his head toward the stool, and raised an eyebrow.
Only then did Jiang Yi react and sit down.
Truth be told, the fireplace was indeed warm. Jiang Yi was immediately toasted by the heat to the point where he could no longer nag. He squinted his eyes happily, listening to the rain still falling outside.
Before him was a fire that warmed a person to the bone; outside was the drizzling rain. Jiang Yi suddenly felt this is too good for sleeping, wow, it’s perfect for sleeping.
But there was something more important than sleep right in front of him.
He looked at Wen Mo.
Wen Mo sat beside him, doing nothing more, not even signing anything. He just stared at the fire in the hearth in silence. He wasn’t wearing an outer jacket, just a thin inner layer. The inner shirt was also black with a high collar, which he had pulled up to his nose, covering half of his face.
The inner layer was thin, perfectly outlining the contours of his upper body. It was the same thin, small frame from his memory, so thin that the vertebrae of his spine protruded slightly.
He was the same as before, yet the familiar sense of unease and agitation in his features had vanished without a trace. He had become a bit fierce; his brow was always slightly furrowed, and his blood-red eyes looked incredibly ruthless.
The hearth fire cast a fuzzy, warm glow around him, yet he still seemed so cold. Even the fire couldn’t warm him; he looked as though he were imprisoned in a block of ice, a cage of his own making.
He looked as though he had been through a great deal.
How exactly did he go from that thin, small child to such a feared Night Watchman?
“Um…”
Amidst his thoughts, Jiang Yi couldn’t help but speak up again.
Wen Mo was lost in thought. At the sound of the voice, Wen Mo’s body shifted; he came back to his senses and turned to look at him.
“A-Mo, I’m really grateful that you brought me here to warm up by the fire,” Jiang Yi said. “But you still haven’t answered me… What on earth happened for you to end up here?”