Moonlight spilled across the ground, revealing a reflection of white light near Su Yan’s feet merely a small puddle of stagnant water mixed with the soil, easily overlooked unless one drew close or if the moonlight wasn’t quite this bright.
Standing right where Xian Chengyue had stepped offered a much clearer view of what was unfolding around Su Yan.
A pair of pale, bloated hands clutched tightly at Su Yan’s legs, their sharp fingertips having already pierced through his skin and sunk into his flesh. Sprouting from the puddle like strands of water weed, countless locks of hair had gathered together to bind the lower half of Su Yan’s body.
Su Yan gazed back at Xian Chengyue not far away.
The chicken in his grip continued to thrash frantically. Su Yan remained utterly motionless, allowing the hair to constrict around him.
Every second seemed to stretch into infinity.
Staring fixedly at Xian Chengyue, Su Yan felt no terror or fear, despite knowing he might die at any second. Instead, a morbidly fascinated thought crossed his mind if he died right in front of Xian Chengyue, would that expression of his change even a little?
His thoughts drifted to himself. He had never truly cared about living a proper life; on more than one occasion, standing atop a rooftop, he had contemplated jumping, though ultimately he never did.
They say human genes carry an innate self-destructive impulse.
Standing in high places makes one want to leap downward; holding a knife and fork brings the urge to gouge out one’s own eyes; even small razor blades invite thoughts of slicing open one’s skin.
Or scorching one’s flesh with cigarette butts.
Yet reason always manages to rein in that impulse.
Suddenly, Su Yan smiled at Xian Chengyue. His voice was hoarse yet loud, as though he desperately wanted Xian Chengyue to remember him, wanting someone to witness how he met his end. Caught in the freezing midnight wind with his lower body bound by hair, he called out to Xian Chengyue, “Brother Xian, wait for a moment. Don’t leave until I’m dead.”
Xian Chengyue wore that same cold, handsome expression, staring at him blankly.
Just when Su Yan assumed Xian Chengyue would simply watch him off on his final journey, Xian Chengyue suddenly moved.
Possessing astonishing speed, his unassuming muscles harbored an apparently limitless burst of explosive power. In the span of a single breath, he reached out and grabbed Su Yan’s hand the very hand still gripping the doomed chicken, which was screeching at the top of its lungs with its escape thoroughly dashed.
At that moment, Su Yan could catch the scent lingering on Xian Chengyue: a very faint trace of sweat, or more accurately, the scent of masculinity.
He could also feel the warmth of Xian Chengyue’s palm neither too cold nor too hot, but just right.
Looking straight into Su Yan’s eyes, Xian Chengyue commanded, “Let go.”
Subconsciously, Su Yan released his grip on the chicken.
With his bare hands, Xian Chengyue tore open the chicken’s neck.
Chicken blood instantly splattered down into the water puddle. The hair that had been tightly binding Su Yan suddenly released its hold, thrashing wildly like countless grasping hands, as if scrambling to feed on the nourishment.
Only the hands gripping Su Yan’s ankles remained completely motionless.
Speaking rapidly, Xian Chengyue warned, “This is going to hurt badly. Endure it.”
Before the words had even finished fading, and before Su Yan could react, Xian Chengyue firmly seized his arms and waist.
Only then did Su Yan understand what Xian Chengyue meant by “hurt badly”
It meant precisely what it sounded like: it hurt like absolute hell!
He could literally feel the monster’s fingernails slicing across every single inch of his muscle tissue.
When he used to get into fistfights back in school, breaking a rib hadn’t hurt nearly this much. Those sharp fingernails felt just like knives carving through his flesh, blood, tendons, and bones. Yet he couldn’t afford to stop, because the person exerting the force now was Xian Chengyue.
He had no idea where Xian Chengyue got such monstrous strength.
Clearly, Xian Chengyue’s build didn’t look nearly as brawny as his own.
With sheer brute force, Xian Chengyue yanked him free from the clutches of the earth, and then to the sheer horror etched across Su Yan’s face hoisted Su Yan straight up onto his back.
Su Yan: “…”
Was this what they called being a damsel in distress rescued by a hero?
Shifting his position slightly as he was carried piggyback on Xian Chengyue’s shoulders, Su Yan thought to himself.
What was he supposed to say right now?
Brother Xian, why did you decide to save me?
Or perhaps, Brother Xian, you really didn’t have to risk yourself for me. As long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters.
Or maybe, Brother Xian, I was just messing with you. I’m definitely no good guy.
Ultimately, however, not a single word escaped his lips.
He could hear the frantic, resounding rhythm of his own heartbeat.
With his chest pressed flat against Xian Chengyue’s back, the dark, unyielding haze lingering at the bottom of his eyes vanished completely in that instant.
Xian Chengyue felt that Su Yan was remarkably heavy, wondering what on earth the man had been raised on.
During his high school years, he had worked a part-time job in a supermarket warehouse and had even hauled refrigerators around on his back, yet Su Yan somehow outweighed a refrigerator.
“Brother Xian, what about the chicken?” Su Yan asked with his eyes closed, his nose pressed right against the skin of Xian Chengyue’s neck, breathing in the rich scent of Xian Chengyue.
His mind wandering far away, he thought it turns out there really were men whose sweat didn’t smell foul, but was instead utterly intoxicating.
Xian Chengyue could only register the intense heat of Su Yan’s breath.
“I’ll take you back, and then I’m going back up the mountain,” Xian Chengyue replied coldly. “Next time I’m doing something, don’t follow me.”
Despite the obvious tone of annoyance, Su Yan felt not an ounce of sadness.
He merely murmured softly, “Alright. Whatever Brother Xian says, I’ll listen.”
Xian Chengyue maintained his expressionless facade.
He hadn’t thought about anything in particular while carrying Su Yan back.
The moment he laid Su Yan down on the bed, Lin snapped awake; knowing that trouble was bound to strike tonight, she hadn’t been able to sleep soundly anyway.
Su Yan had lost consciousness halfway down the mountain, and the wound on his ankle was bleeding continuously. Fortunately, his physical constitution was robust enough that his breathing hadn’t grown weak.
“Bandage his wound to stop the bleeding. I have to head out again,” Xian Chengyue said, loosening the collar buttons of his shirt.
Soaked entirely through with sweat from his exertion, he simply stripped the shirt off altogether.
As Lin hurriedly tore strips of cloth to bind Su Yan’s injuries, she cast a careful, furtive glance toward Xian Chengyue.
Xian Chengyue was remarkably well-toned.
Pectorals, abdominal muscles, a clear “v-line,” complemented by gorgeous collarbones and smooth muscular lines stretching downward.
Above all, his skin was exceptionally fair, catching the cool radiance of the moonlight streaming through the window.
He looked just like a celebrity on television.
Lowering her head in a rush, Lin forced her full concentration back onto Su Yan’s wound.
Yet deep down, she offered a silent prayer: if there were ever a next time, she hoped she would be lucky enough to cross paths with Xian Chengyue again.
Ignoring Su Yan’s injuries entirely, Xian Chengyue walked bare-chested back out toward the mountain trail.
Without Su Yan slowing him down and getting in the way, Xian Chengyue quickly captured another chicken and brought it down.
His hair was practically drenched with sweat, leaving his entire body thoroughly uncomfortable. He resolved to head down to the river tomorrow for a proper scrub.
The chicken remained uncharacteristically docile in Xian Chengyue’s hands not because it was gentle by nature, but because Xian Chengyue’s grip was absolute perfection.
His footsteps were light. In environments like this, his thoughts invariably drifted back to his childhood.
He had grown up deep in the mountains, where only four households shared the hillside. Their homes were single-story flat-roofed houses, though far superior to the ones in this village at least they were built of brick and tile. He had lived there with his maternal grandfather, and every single New Year, his mother would return to visit.
His grandfather was a traditional herbal doctor, and whenever anyone fell ill across the surrounding dozen villages, they would come seeking his help. His grandfather never charged a fee, so the villagers would constantly leave eggs and cured pork tucked away secretly at their doorstep.
Sometimes, the villagers would ask him to head up the mountain to gather medicinal herbs, unable to distinguish the healing plants from weeds themselves. In exchange, they would hand Xian Chengyue a flatbread or a few candies, and he would happily strap on his little bamboo basket and trek up the slopes.
It wasn’t until he grew older that he learned the truth: his mother had given birth to him out of wedlock, which in that era was considered an unforgivable sin. She had been forced to send him back to her hometown while she went off alone to earn money in the outside world, sending funds back whenever she could.
When he reached the fifth grade of elementary school, his grandfather passed away, and his mother brought him to live with her.
She quit her stable job and used her savings to open an undergarment shop. Whenever holidays rolled around, he would stay in the shop helping her out.
His mother always harbored an intense sense of guilt, convinced that his early childhood had been miserable.
No matter how many times Xian Chengyue assured her otherwise, she simply refused to believe him.
He had never felt there was anything wrong with his childhood; on the contrary, after moving to the big city, he frequently found himself reminiscing about his days in the mountains.
His grandfather had been tall and imposing, skilled at cooking delicious meals, and possessed jars of braised pork belly. He used to teach him Chinese chess, shamelessly cheating whenever he started losing, and would always pat him on the head while expressing his wish that Xian Chengyue would grow up to be an upright, good person and ideally pursue medicine as well.
The surrounding villagers were wonderful people, too. Because they respected his grandfather, they naturally adored him.
He had never known hardship as a child; scampering up mountains and wading through rivers had been his greatest strengths.
Later on, after moving to the city, his mother treated him with immense devotion. A lone woman without any support in a sprawling metropolis, raising a half-grown boy while the malicious gossiping of neighborhood busybodies threatened to drown her. He had heard with his own ears a group of women gossiping at a table downstairs, speculating that his mother might have been a loose woman in her youth, carrying a customer’s child and forced to bring him to term.
They whispered that the reason she never married all these years was because of her unchaste past that she was nothing more than a cheap slut.
The neighborhood men chimed in, saying that if they had known she was a whore all along, they would have made a move themselves.
Furious, Xian Chengyue had gone downstairs and overturned their table, biting his lips until they bled. Though he didn’t beat the women, he couldn’t overpower the middle-aged men either. Eventually, his mother had returned home from work and taken him to the hospital.
She viewed herself as his ultimate disgrace.
No matter how many times Xian Chengyue told her that wasn’t true, she refused to believe it.
Yet Xian Chengyue had always believed that he was the disgrace that he was the one who had ruined her entire life.
Had it not been for him, she could have lived like any ordinary, happy woman. She might have had her own family and her own children or perhaps not but at least she could have walked proudly under the sunlight instead of enduring a lifetime of pointing fingers.
The turning point occurred during his second year of high school.
Xian Chengyue stopped letting his mind wander down that path.
He had to survive.
He had already burdened her entire existence; how could he ever dare to die so easily?
No matter how scarred, battered, or forced to watch others perish around him he might be, he had to keep living.
Tossing the chicken inside the room, Xian Chengyue used a thin vine he had picked up on the mountain to tie its legs securely to the corner of a table before finally turning his attention to Su Yan.
Lin was in the midst of wiping sweat from Su Yan’s forehead. There were no tetanus shots available here, nor any fever-reducing medication; if a real crisis struck, Su Yan would simply have to chalk it up to terrible luck.
“You can give him water once dawn breaks,” Xian Chengyue said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
Nodding softly, Lin replied with a gentle voice, “Brother Xian, you… you should get some sleep. I’ll keep watch over Brother Yan and rest during the day tomorrow.”
Xian Chengyue nodded in agreement. He lay down and drifted off to sleep almost immediately.
After a full day of labor, it was likely around two or three in the morning now. Tomorrow marked the final deadline.
Inevitably, some people would lose their composure.
Rolling over onto his side, Xian Chengyue breathed in the faint scent of blood and earth lingering in the air, yet he didn’t wake up, seemingly unbothered by the unpleasant smell.
Gazing down at Xian Chengyue’s sleeping profile, Lin quietly traced the outlines of his facial features with her eyes.
He felt more like a dream than an actual living human being.