By the time Yan Yuchuan finished showering, the stereo had played through two more songs.
The one playing now was Ming Rao’s favorite track from this album. Unlike Mirage’s usual style, this song expressed emotions more directly like a lover’s descent into obsession.
Ming Rao couldn’t help bobbing his head as he hummed along, and looked up to see Yan Yuchuan emerging from the bathroom.
He had prepared a brand-new set of pajamas for Yan Yuchuan, but clearly, they wouldn’t fit him. In the end, Yan Yuchuan could only come out wrapped in a bath towel, draped loosely over his body, revealing his long, taut legs.
Yan Yuchuan walked over, sat quietly at the head of the bed for a moment, then got up to retrieve the bag of things he’d just bought. The towel around him slipped to the floor with a soft rustle, and he didn’t bother picking it back up.
He took out the items from the bag, placed them on the pillow within easy reach, and then lay down beside Ming Rao.
In the dim light, Ming Rao noticed that the dark circles under Yan Yuchuan’s eyes seemed even heavier than before. He wanted to ask how he’d been doing lately was he still working from dawn till dusk? Had Lu Feiyang still been making things difficult for him?
But just then, Yan Yuchuan rolled over, pinning him beneath him.
His knees bent, his body propped up slightly, keeping a small distance between them. Ming Rao tilted his head up and could see all of Yan Yuchuan.
Ming Rao immediately lost the ability to speak.
Yan Yuchuan’s skin wasn’t particularly fair it had a healthy, sun-kissed tone from exposure to the elements. Compared to him, Ming Rao’s body could almost be called pale.
He cautiously reached out to Yan Yuchuan, touching the place where the skin tones met, then trailed his hand downward, feeling the firm muscle beneath.
Ming Rao’s touch was feather-light, ticklish, and Yan Yuchuan’s brow twitched slightly as he glanced at him.
Ming Rao’s face flushed bright red, yet for some reason, his hand didn’t stop. As if possessed, he blurted out, “Your legs are so long.”
Yan Yuchuan’s brow furrowed, but Ming Rao didn’t notice.
He was just thinking: compared to Yan Yuchuan, he seemed to be wearing far too much.
It was strange, really. That day in the warehouse, when Yan Yuchuan had tried to strip him, he’d been scared out of his wits, screaming loud enough to shake the roof off. But now, the very possibility filled him with anticipation, his heart bubbling over with happiness.
In just two short months, the two of them had come so far from one extreme to the other.
However, Yan Yuchuan hadn’t yet made a move to undress him as he’d hoped. Just then, Yan Yuchuan leaned in close, his hot, humid breath washing over Ming Rao’s face as he reached up to touch Ming Rao’s hair.
His lips remained pressed tightly together, his expression one Ming Rao couldn’t quite read, though he vaguely sensed that Yan Yuchuan didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic.
Was he… nervous?
A flash of insight struck Ming Rao.
Right he was the sugar daddy here! If he didn’t give the go-ahead, how could Yan Yuchuan presume to take the initiative?
With that thought, Ming Rao told Yan Yuchuan to “wait a moment,” then stripped off his own pajamas completely.
Ming Rao straightened up, sat back against the headboard, and leaned forward so his face could be closer to Yan Yuchuan’s.
He blinked, instinctively searching for Yan Yuchuan’s gaze. He wanted to look into Yan Yuchuan’s eyes, but Yan Yuchuan kept his head lowered the whole time.
He won’t even look at me?
Too shy to look?
Ming Rao carefully tried to read his thoughts, then reached out again, running the pad of his thumb along the line of Yan Yuchuan’s jaw, slowly tracing upward to his cheekbone, then along the curve of his ear, the corner of his eye meticulously mapping the contours of his face, like scattered fragments assembling into a complete picture in his mind.
Even now, Ming Rao wasn’t sure whether he truly wanted to establish that kind of arrangement with Yan Yuchuan; he didn’t know what the second half of that sentence he’d blurted out under the pull of drowsiness had been. Whenever he was with Yan Yuchuan, things always spiraled beyond his control.
But as he touched Yan Yuchuan’s face, he felt more certain than ever before: this was what he wanted.
When his fingers reached Yan Yuchuan’s left brow bone, Ming Rao paused slightly, then pressed a little harder, as if confirming something.
Yan Yuchuan’s expression shifted abruptly. “What are you doing?”
“You have a scar here.”
It was the first time Ming Rao had been this close to him, and only now did he see clearly that it was a scar on his brow bone. He’d always assumed it was just because Yan Yuchuan was perpetually frowning.
At those words, Yan Yuchuan’s breathing became uncontrollably uneven, as if he were desperately suppressing some surging emotion.
But Ming Rao was completely oblivious, muttering to himself, “My mom knows a really good plastic surgeon she had a mole removed by him. I can help you find him. He won’t leave a single trace.”
A scar on the face could make people assume a person was in a dangerous line of work, and in the business world, it would give the impression of being untrustworthy and reckless. Since Yan Yuchuan was planning to start his own business, Ming Rao didn’t want him to be held back by such trivial details, losing opportunities for no reason.
He thought about calling Ms. Song Wan first thing tomorrow morning to ask her to book that doctor. In just a few seconds, he had already planned everything out, until Yan Yuchuan’s icy voice cut through: “Is it that ugly?”
Ming Rao’s thoughts snapped back abruptly. He was about to deny it when Yan Yuchuan suddenly flipped him over and yanked him down hard.
His head pressed tightly against the pillow, suffocating him into silence, his vision going completely black.
From behind his skull came Yan Yuchuan’s gritted-teeth voice: “If it’s ugly, then don’t look.”
“…”
The stereo happened to pause between two songs, and the room fell quiet, leaving only the sound of Yan Yuchuan’s increasingly heavy breathing.
Ming Rao wanted to turn around, wanted to speak, but Yan Yuchuan pressed his hand against the back of his neck, those long, powerful fingers trapping him with no room to fight back. Then he said coldly: “Let’s get this straight first I don’t like men. Sex is fine, but I’m only ever on top. If you can’t accept that, then there’s nothing to discuss.”
Ming Rao suddenly understood. So this was what Yan Yuchuan was worried about.
He was overthinking it. Ming Rao had never considered being on top, and honestly, before today, he’d never even considered having sex with Yan Yuchuan at all. He was too lazy for that he could barely be bothered to climb the ladder to the cafeteria. Wouldn’t it be perfect to just lie back and enjoy?
Having found the reason for Yan Yuchuan’s anger, he breathed a sigh of relief and was about to say something to reassure him when Yan Yuchuan’s voice sounded again.
“And don’t expect me to cater to you. The sight of a man’s body makes me sick. If you insist on making me do it, then don’t blame me if I throw up from disgust.”
The stereo played a light, cheerful melody, accompanied by the faint hum of the air conditioner, sounding especially loud in the dead of night.
A faint fragrance hung in the air. Ming Rao blinked dazedly and saw, in the vase by the bedside, a champagne rose blooming quietly, fresh dewdrops clinging to its petals, glistening with a moist sheen.
He had deliberately picked the one that bloomed best.
Yan Yuchuan’s grip loosened slightly, and Ming Rao could finally make a sound.
When he spoke, his voice was lost and helpless: “Yan Yuchuan.”
He struggled desperately to twist his head around and catch a glimpse of Yan Yuchuan’s expression, every strand of hair and every toe fighting with all its might. Yan Yuchuan used his other hand to seize both of Ming Rao’s wrists, pinning them ruthlessly behind his back, giving him the illusion of being bound hand and foot.
It was exactly like that damp, dark warehouse that day. After several failed attempts to struggle free, Ming Rao gave up resistance entirely, his heart as still as death. He realized with painful clarity that he had been terribly wrong.
So these two months, only he had been moving forward.
Yan Yuchuan’s tone was flat and emotionless: “You said your team could register at the Innovation Camp that’s my only condition. I don’t want anything else. If you offer me money or anything else, I won’t accept a cent.”
“…”
“If you accept, nod. If you don’t, then we’re done here today.”
“…”
Yan Yuchuan held his breath, waiting, silently praying: Refuse.
Please refuse.
He didn’t have the willpower to turn down the promise Ming Rao offered him; he admitted he wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t tough enough. Faced with an opportunity within arm’s reach, he couldn’t resist that kind of temptation.
But even more, he couldn’t get past the hurdle in his heart, couldn’t bring himself to say the words: Fine, I accept your terms, I accept willingly selling my dignity.
So he handed the choice to Ming Rao let him refuse, let him sever the root of temptation. That way, he could continue to be an upright, honorable man.
And Ming Rao nodded.
Yan Yuchuan closed his eyes and let out a silent, long sigh.
Everything that followed seemed to be pressed on fast-forward.
Yan Yuchuan’s only thought was to get it over with as quickly as possible, tearing open the packaging at top speed. The clear gel-like liquid spilled from the bottle, most of it soaking into the bedsheet, leaving a mess.
The person on the bed struggled violently, heart-wrenching cries echoing through the empty room.
It was less like lovemaking and more like a murder scene. Hearing the other’s screams, Yan Yuchuan’s instinctive reaction was to cover his mouth, to silence him.
Only when the living warmth enveloped him did he truly realize he had sold his dignity.
He had actually, for the sake of his future, accepted something so base.
Yan Yuchuan felt rage, rage at the world that had forced him to bow his head, but in the end, what enraged him most was his own uselessness.
Everything that had happened since arriving at Platinum Harbor flashed through his mind like a revolving lantern: the locked school gates, the noisy bar, the damp warehouse, the drunken nights in the cramped apartment building.
The scene before his eyes was stained a vivid red. He saw himself, still young and small, standing in front of the Lin siblings. A bottle smashed toward him, blood gushing from his brow bone, dripping from the corner of his eye to the ground.
That streak of red slowly coalesced, becoming a red cap.
The salty, fishy sea breeze at the dock, the crowded cabin thick with the stench of sweat. He knelt on the ground, vomiting again and again. The man in the red cap held a club, shouting at him to get lost and never come back.
Earlier, he had sat quietly on the dock, supporting his bleeding leg, waiting for his parents to return with medicine. He waited until today…
No.
Yan Yuchuan shook his head, doubting what he saw.
He really seemed to have seen
Bright red.
Blood.
His consciousness was forcibly yanked back to reality, and his vision turned blood-red, yet the blood wasn’t flowing from his own body.
The ambient lights in the room were hazy and soft, but they couldn’t gloss over the cruelty unfolding before him.
There was blood on the sheets, and there was blood on Ming Rao too. Yan Yuchuan’s rationality told him that area didn’t have such complex blood vessels there couldn’t possibly be that much blood but Yan Yuchuan felt the red was blinding, sending a chill of terror through him.
He froze completely, and only after a long while did he remember to look at Ming Rao’s face.
The pillow beneath Ming Rao’s head was soaked through, strands of hair sticking messily to the sides of his face. The corners of his eyes were red; Yan Yuchuan suspected he had been crying, but he didn’t recall hearing any sobs earlier.
Thinking back carefully, he realized that from start to finish, Ming Rao hadn’t made a single sound not crying, not shouting, not speaking, nothing at all. It was as if he had completely lost his ability to speak, reduced to a vessel that could only passively endure.
That wasn’t like him at all. The Ming Rao in Yan Yuchuan’s memory was noisy, chattering away asking if he wanted snacks, to watch TV, to listen to music, inexplicably complimenting his long legs, and taking it upon himself to tell him to see a plastic surgeon.
For the first time, Yan Yuchuan felt utterly at a loss. After hesitating for a long while, he pulled up Ming Rao’s pants, which had been half-slipped down to his knees, and covered him with the blanket, tucking the corners in tightly and snugly, as if to wrap him up completely and airtight. Only after he finished did he remember it was summer now Ming Rao wouldn’t actually be cold.
He stood up, quickly dressed himself, rushed to the bathroom to splash water on his face, and saw his own nearly frantic gaze in the mirror. Then, grabbing nothing, he sprinted out, heading straight for the door.
At the last moment, he saw Ming Rao turn his head, as if about to say something to him.
But he didn’t dare listen.
Yan Yuchuan closed the door and fled as if his life depended on it.
On the other side of the door, the speakers were still playing music. Still Mirage. The playlist had looped around, and it had come back to the slow lyrical ballad Ming Rao loved most.
“Now I have fallen into your embrace, my only love, surrendering everything to you.”
“I will drive a stake through my heart, breathing in his burning ashes.”