As if on cue to their “no kids” pact, the sound of a child crying drifted over from the construction site, punctuated by an adult’s scolding.
Ying Zhu and Cen Xie traded a look, stopped their conversation, and walked over together.
In front of the headquarters was a small patch of open ground that used to be a flower bed. Since the post-war political structure wasn’t fully formed yet, the urban greening department didn’t exist. The West District was better off because the rich lived there, and their demands were always met first. In the East District, manicured greenery was a rare sight.
The foreman saw them approaching and quickly forced a smile, pointing at the kid next to him. “Did he disturb you? It’s nothing, just this kid causing trouble and getting in the way of our work.”
The boy looked about five or six, teary-eyed and rubbing his face. “I wasn’t causing trouble,” he defended himself in a small voice.
The foreman turned back, his expression hardening. “If you stand here, how can we work? There’s heavy machinery everywhere. What if you get hurt?”
Cen Xie recognized the kid. He didn’t know whose he was, but he saw him wandering the streets often; he’d even given him a peach once. He asked the boy, “They have work to do. Why aren’t you playing somewhere else?”
The boy pointed to the edge of the flower bed.
Cen Xie looked. There was a tiny, fresh sprout poking through the soil, surrounded by a crooked little fence of twigs. He frowned. “What is this?”
“A peach tree,” the boy answered timidly.
Ying Zhu, who hadn’t spoken, suddenly remembered. The first day he’d come to the headquarters, he had seen a child digging in the dirt, burying a peach pit. It had actually sprouted.
The trucks carrying steel and cement were scheduled to drive right through this patch of ground. Between the foot traffic and the tires, the fragile seedling wouldn’t stand a chance. In the barren East District, this weak little sprout felt strangely precious.
Cen Xie looked moved. He turned to Ying Zhu to say something but hesitated.
Even though they were fixing his building, Ying Zhu was providing the money and the labor. And even though he was the one who blew it up, it was because Cen Xie had tried to assassinate him multiple times. And Cen Xie had tried to assassinate him because…
Well, they could never truly settle the score of who owed whom more. But right now, Ying Zhu was the boss of the project, and Cen Xie didn’t want to interfere with his progress.
Ying Zhu caught Cen Xie’s gaze. Before Cen Xie could even speak, Ying Zhu tilted his head toward the foreman. “Change the transport route. Go around.”
The foreman looked worried. “That’ll delay the schedule by two days.”
Ying Zhu nodded. “It’s fine.”
Seeing the boss had spoken, the foreman didn’t argue further and went to coordinate with the material handlers. The kid lit up, running off to grab a bucket to water his little sapling.
…..
By lunch, Cen Xie checked the time. “Let’s eat.”
The East District lacked good restaurants; the locals didn’t have much spending power. Cen Xie drove Ying Zhu through a maze of backstreets until they reached a place that looked decent.
During the meal, Cen Xie brought up business. “My people have been tailing that Beta seller. We’ve logged everyone who’s sold him a memory card. But to know which one is ‘the’ person, we have to wait for him to contact you so you can check the content of the cards.”
Ying Zhu nodded in understanding.
Cen Xie thought for a moment. “Actually, we could just grab the Beta now and force him to open his artificial hippocampus data. We could pull his memories of every transaction he’s made.”
“I thought of that,” Ying Zhu analyzed. “But if the source was wearing a mask like I was, it won’t work. If we scare him off, the trail might go cold.”
Cen Xie agreed; the cautious route was safer, even if it meant waiting a few more days. However, he looked at Ying Zhu with some hesitation.
“What is it?” Ying Zhu asked. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know how many pieces the memory was chopped into,” Cen Xie said. “How will we know if we’ve found them all?”
“It’s like a puzzle,” Ying Zhu said. “When we have enough, we’ll stitch them together. If they flow seamlessly, we’re done.”
Cen Xie gave a thoughtful “Oh,” but kept staring. After a second, he let out another, “Oh!”
Ying Zhu frowned. “What now?”
“I was thinking… one card is only a few minutes. If you think about the ‘total duration’ of what we did, mathematically, there must be at least twenty cards, right?”
That’s a conservative estimate, Ying Zhu thought.
He wasn’t sure how Cen Xie arrived at a specific concept of “total duration”—perhaps based on his earlier claim that Omegas have more stamina than Alphas, leading him to conclude they must have gone for over an hour.
But based on the three clips Ying Zhu had seen, the timeframe stretched from daylight into the night. The card count was definitely higher than Cen Xie’s guess.
He looked at Cen Xie, remembering the man’s behavior in the memories. He came to a conclusion: it must have been this shameless Omega who kept seducing me, making it go on and on.
As his thoughts spiraled, his gaze toward Cen Xie shifted.
Cen Xie tilted his head. “?”
Ying Zhu huffed and looked away.
Cen Xie: “???”
……
After lunch, they returned to the headquarters. Ying Zhu planned to stay a bit longer before heading home.
As they walked onto the site, the workers were finishing their break and returning to their heavy labor. It was a scorching day; the air was thick with the smell of Alpha sweat.
Ying Zhu, detesting the scent, tried to weave through the workers. In his attempt to dodge a group, he backed right into a man.
The worker was carrying a half-open sack over his shoulder. Jolted by the impact, his grip on the bag slipped. In an instant, a white, powdery substance cascaded down, turning Ying Zhu into a human snowman.
Ying Zhu: “…”
The worker was horrified, apologizing profusely. Ying Zhu knew it was his own fault for backing up blindly, so he just waved the man off.
Cen Xie saw it and cursed under his breath, rushing over. “You okay?”
Ying Zhu kept his eyes shut tight, wiping the powder from his face. “I’m fine. What is this?”
Cen Xie looked at the bag on the ground. “Quicklime.”
Ying Zhu froze. Quicklime reacts with moisture to produce intense heat; if he opened his eyes now, he risked a severe chemical burn.
Cen Xie knew the danger too. “I’ll take you to my place to clean up.”
Ying Zhu hummed. He stood perfectly still; with his eyes shut and his sense of direction gone, he had no idea where to go.
Seeing his plight, Cen Xie crouched down in front of him. “Get on. I’ll carry you.”
Ying Zhu faced the direction of his voice. “No need. I can walk.”
“Sure,” Cen Xie said. “But you can’t see a thing. You want to hold hands?”
Ying Zhu imagined the image of them holding hands and decided the back was the lesser of two evils. He reached out blindly to find Cen Xie’s shoulders.
Cen Xie crouched there, waiting like a man playing “blind man’s bluff.”
Ying Zhu’s hands fumbled downward, searching the air until they finally brushed against something soft and fuzzy. He felt around for a moment before realizing it was the top of Cen Xie’s head.
Cen Xie froze under the touch. He wanted to look back, but he didn’t.
After a beat, Ying Zhu’s hands slid down to grip Cen Xie’s shoulders, and he leaned forward, draping himself over the other man’s back. Cen Xie reached back, hooking his arms under Ying Zhu’s knees, and stood up. He walked with a steady, long stride, his breathing perfectly calm.
But as he carried him, Cen Xie’s mind began to wander—specifically to the sensation of those two long legs wrapped around his waist. It felt like a vivid echo of the memory he had just witnessed.
He didn’t say a word the whole way, silently carrying Ying Zhu back to his current residence. He brought him straight inside and didn’t set him down until they were in the bathroom. After a moment of silence, he said, “Take your clothes off. I’ll brush the lime off first, then we’ll use the water.”
Ying Zhu complied without a word. Cen Xie took the clothes and tossed them onto the bed outside. When he returned to the bathroom, Ying Zhu was standing there in the center of the room, eyes shut tight, waiting obediently. He looked almost… cute, in a dazed sort of way.
Ying Zhu’s skin was pale, his frame lean but clearly toned—a perfect balance of strength and grace. His waist was firm, his abdominal muscles faintly defined; he looked like a living work of art.
Cen Xie watched him for a few seconds before grabbing a towel from the wall. He carefully wiped him down with the dry cloth. Feeling that wasn’t enough, he grabbed a hairdryer, turned it to the highest setting, and blew the dust off him from head to toe.
“Try opening your eyes,” Cen Xie said.
Ying Zhu’s eyelashes fluttered. His eyelids twitched tentatively several times before opening. His vision was a total blur; Cen Xie was nothing more than a fuzzy silhouette.
Looking into those unfocused eyes, Cen Xie was reminded of the hazy gaze in the memory card. He felt a sudden, uncontrollable thrum in his chest.
Ding-ling-ling. It felt like a string of wind chimes shivering in his heart.
Ying Zhu blinked. “Eyes are fine.”
Cen Xie snapped out of it with a grunt. A few seconds passed before he spoke again. “Rinse off. Do it for a while.”
Without his glasses, Ying Zhu was half-blind. He turned his head aimlessly. “Where’s the shower?”
Cen Xie hesitated, then reached out and took Ying Zhu’s hand. He led him under the showerhead and pressed the handle into his palm. Even then, he didn’t leave. He stood there, searching for something to say. “Is your vision really that bad?”
“Yeah.”
Ying Zhu fumbled along the wall for the handle and turned the water on. Droplets sprayed everywhere, sparkling in the light.
Cen Xie stepped back a few paces to avoid the spray but stopped at the doorway, leaning against the frame. “What’s your prescription?”
“Over -7.00 diopters. Astigmatism, too.”
Cen Xie gave an “Oh” and fell silent, simply leaning there, watching him.
After a few minutes of rinsing, Ying Zhu suddenly spoke: “How long are you going to keep watching?”
Cen Xie didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed. Instead, he let out a provocative whistle.
Ying Zhu ignored him. When he felt clean enough, he reached for the shelf, grabbing a bottle. “Is this the body wash?”
Cen Xie glanced at it. “That’s shampoo.”
Ying Zhu didn’t put it back. He pumped out two globs, washed his hair, and then, topped with a crown of white foam, reached for another bottle. “This one?”
“Yes.”
Ying Zhu began lathering his body. He didn’t chase Cen Xie out, nor did he seem to care about being stared at. Perhaps it was because they were both Omegas—there was no threat of being “marked” while he was vulnerable. Or perhaps it was because, in the memories, he had been the dominant one. Whatever the reason, Ying Zhu found it hard to be guarded around Cen Xie. There was a strange, unspoken indulgence between them.
The afternoon sun was long and golden, filling the bathroom with a translucent glow.
Once he finished rinsing, Ying Zhu felt for the towel hanging nearby and dried himself off. As he turned, his entire back was fully exposed to Cen Xie.
Cen Xie froze, staring. “When did you get that scar on your back?”
Ying Zhu turned toward the sound of his voice. “What?”
“When did it happen?” Cen Xie repeated.
“Three years ago. A terrorist attack at the city center plaza,” Ying Zhu replied. “The police were short-handed, so I led the Usher guards to support them. I took a bullet.”
“Three years ago…” Cen Xie repeated thoughtfully.
Ying Zhu tilted his head. “Why? Did you remember something?”
“The memory card I read a few days ago,” Cen Xie revealed. “Your back was perfectly clear. No scar. That means the memory happened at least three years ago.”
“That’s a good catch,” Ying Zhu mused. At least the timeline was narrowing.
Silence fell again.
Drip. Drip.
The used showerhead continued to leak. The rhythmic sound made the bathroom feel even quieter as they both sifted through their memories of three years ago, searching for anomalies.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Ying Zhu suddenly asked, “Why were you able to see my back?”
Cen Xie looked up. “Huh?”
Ying Zhu’s eyes were wide and vacant behind his lack of glasses. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “In that memory card… why were you looking at my back?”