As long minutes dragged on, the crackling campfire was all that stood between the silence and the two men.
Beyond the fire’s orange glow, the forest was dead silent.
There should have been insects scraping in the dark, night birds, something. But there was only that empty quiet.
Zhihan shoved his hands deep into his pockets, letting the fire take the bite out of the night air.
He could feel Ji Changsheng’s gaze burning into him.
It had been there for a while now. Heavy and unblinking.
What did it mean?
Zhihan played it cool, ignoring the weight of those eyes until curiosity finally stripped away his patience.
He lifted his gaze.
The second their eyes were about to meet, Ji Changsheng lowered his head, staring down at the embers with an expression of pure innocence.
Zhihan’s eyes rounded. How cute. "Why aren’t you dead?"
Ji Changsheng didn’t look up. "Why did you level the motel?"
A soft chuckle escaped Zhihan’s throat. He shifted his weight, rocking back on his heels before planting his boots firmly in the dirt.
"Is it that hard to answer a straightforward question?"
"Would my answer help you survive this scenario?" Ji Changsheng’s deep, smooth-as-silk voice floated across the flames. Yet every syllable landed like a stab to the gut.
Zhihan couldn’t decide whether he found it annoying or genuinely thrilling.
"You stared at the wall of eyes," He drawled, his gravelly voice slicing through the quiet of the forest. "You turned into a shrub."
Ji Changsheng’s lips twitched. "And?"
"Everyone who turned into a shrub is currently dead."
"Did you inspect their corpses personally?" Ji Changsheng finally raised his head. Those breathtaking mismatched eyes caught the dancing firelight, luminous and striking enough to feel like a threat.
"I don’t really give a fuck." Zhihan offered a lazy, dismissive shrug. "I hate solving puzzles."
He leaned closer over the fire, the orange light illuminating the sharp angles of his face and the dark ink creeping up his neck.
"I like simple things..." His dark eyes settled directly on Ji Changsheng. "...on my own terms."
Ji Changsheng stared at him for several long moments, as though he were genuinely trying to understand how someone could say something so blatantly reckless with such conviction.
Then, at last, he looked away.
"It is almost sunrise. Some of the Players have already made their way here, just as we did." His gaze settled on the dancing flames. "You should rest. Get some sleep. I will keep watch." Read the latest chapters at novelping . com.
Zhihan gave him a flat look. "Why would I do that?"
Ji Changsheng’s lashes lowered. "I..."
"You have not answered any of my questions."
"I do not wish to."
The answer came so calmly that patience inside Zhihan finally snapped. "Who are you? Tell me who you are!"
He stepped around the fire. "Tell. Me."
The distance between them vanished in an instant.
Zhihan moved with enough intent that it was obvious he was one breath away from grabbing Ji Changsheng by the collar.
Ji Changsheng, however, simply pressed one hand against the fallen log and rose smoothly to his feet.
He retreated several steps without haste, creating distance between them gracefully.
Zhihan halted, a dark storm settling across his sharp features.
"I told you," Ji Changsheng said, looking at him with faint disbelief, "I am Ji Changsheng."
"That tells me absolutely nothing!" Zhihan hissed. "Why did I hear your voice on that bus, but never saw your face?"
Ji Changsheng remained silent.
"Are you a monster playing dress-up?"
This time, Zhihan didn’t move. Not after seeing those reflexes. Whatever Ji Changsheng was, his speed was absurd, far beyond what any ordinary Player had any right to possess.
Ji Changsheng studied him quietly.
Zhihan stared back with a very clear promise that if Ji Chengsheng didn’t start talking soon, he was going to decide for himself whether he was human or not.
The silence stretched.
Suddenly, Ji Changsheng vanished.
One moment, he was standing before Zhihan. The next, poof!
Zhihan blinked.
He looked left. Then right.
"Huh?" His brows slowly drew together. "Where did he go?"
A soft voice suddenly sounded behind him. "It is a skill of mine."
Zhihan spun around.
"I can cloak my form," he explained calmly.
Zhihan gave him a long, hard, completely unconvinced stare. But he didn’t argue.
Instead, he turned and walked toward the bushes.
"Fine."
He disappeared into the undergrowth for a moment and returned a moment later holding a long, crooked branch that looked exceptionally well-suited for poking annoying things.
Ji Changsheng watched him return.
Zhihan dropped back down beside the fire, sitting opposite him. He stretched his long legs out and began dragging the tip of the stick lazily through the dirt.
Ji Changsheng’s mismatched gaze drifted downward.
A circle appeared in the soil. Then two dots. A curved line. Flowing, dramatic hair.
Zhihan added a few extra jagged strokes around the face before pulling back to inspect his work.
Ji Changsheng stared at the horrific drawing in the dirt. Then at He Zhihan. "...Who is that supposed to be?"
Zhihan didn’t bother looking up from his stick. "Doesn’t it look like you?"
Ji Changsheng went dead quiet. His eyes returned to the dirt.
It did, infuriatingly enough, resemble him. The dramatic long hair, the exaggerated eyes He Zhihan had aggressively scribbled, even the ridiculous little upturned mouth.
"Why would you draw me?"
Zhihan finally lifted his eyes. His expression was completely innocent. "Why not?"
He twirled the stick lazily between his fingers. Then, as if stating the most mundane, undeniable fact under the sun, he added, "You’re pretty."
Ji Changsheng’s breathtaking mismatched eyes widened, caught off guard by those words.
Pretty.
He stared at He Zhihan, a rare, genuine flash of astonishment breaking through his usual cool, ethereal detachment.
Zhihan, however, was completely indifferent to the ripple he’d just caused, and went right back to scraping his stick through the soil.
Another circle appeared in the dirt beside the first. Then two tiny dots and another lopsided smiley face.
Ji Changsheng didn’t stay to watch what Zhihan was sketching next. Without a word, he glided back to his spot on the fallen log and sat down, turning his profile slightly away toward the crackling fire.
The amber flames danced against the sharp, flawless lines of his features. And beneath the cool light, a faint, undeniable flush had crept high onto his cheekbones.
He casually raised one slender hand, resting his knuckles against his cheek, blaming the sudden heat on the roaring campfire.
He was, indeed, very pretty.