Even until the wedding banquet ended, Meng Duimo wasn’t sure if he’d fallen into some cruel joke.
Lin Shanyan had said it himself: he wanted to date him.
Even though they’d tried it so many times before.
The moment they made contact, they gave in to indulgence.
The moment they indulged, they spiraled uncontrollably into a rapture that craved flesh and blood.
And then the fatal danger took root, waiting to detonate at some unknowable instant.
As Meng Duimo peeled open a mantis shrimp, he watched Lin Shanyan chatting and laughing with his colleagues, all the while thinking back to those three moments that had brushed against death.
He thought, too, that Lin Shanyan really was the most striking man in the world.
It was the refined casualness forged from over twenty years immersed in books and ink, the lean and handsome face, those eyes like cold stars forever alight with brightness.
For an instant, his vision flickered with ghostly afterimages from different times—their desperate retching, the raw misery and agony of it.
That time they were blackout drunk, he’d nearly been swallowed whole in his snake form, only vomited back up in a hazy stupor.
And that other time… he’d almost torn open his wings with one bite, and one more would have let him gulp down the bird’s heart while it still thrummed.
“…So raising a turtle wouldn’t be bad. In our line of work, walking a dog feels like a luxury.”
“Yeah,” the colleague laughed. “I figured someone like Director Meng would go for one of those big, fierce dogs.”
Meng Duimo snapped back to the present and said evenly, “I’ve considered it, but with all the business trips, it’s hard to keep up.”
“I’ve thought about adopting one of those retired lab dogs,” Lin Shanyan said. “Back in university, I’d drop by my med student friends for free meals and see those beagles… I always wanted to do something for them.”
Meng Duimo could make out the gist of their conversation—something about dog food prices skyrocketing and nosy neighbors complaining, the usual trivialities.
Before his eyes was the Lin Shanyan of right now, playing the warm and proper groomsman, fending off no small number of probes about whether he was single.
But he could also see the Lin Shanyan from that Christmas Eve, his beloved, tears streaking his face as he clawed desperately at his own throat.
Even after there was nothing left to bring up, even after his stomach acid had nearly been emptied.
Meng Duimo, he thought silently.
Maybe call it off.
Stop hurting him.
The next second, a warm hand gently took his dangling one, like the last handful of coals in the depths of winter.
Meng Duimo jolted awake from his brooding, realizing the hotel’s air conditioning was cranked so high he was on the verge of shivering.
He looked over at Lin Shanyan, who gave his hand a firm squeeze by way of reminder before letting go just as lightly.
“You noticed again,” Meng Duimo couldn’t help saying.
“Like I couldn’t tell what you’re thinking?” the young man replied. “Relax and eat. The sea cucumbers are pretty good today.”
It was strange, really.
Lin Shanyan was telling him to eat properly.
And the young hotshot who was usually such a thorn in everyone’s side back at the Provincial Hall actually settled down. For the next half hour or so, he focused on his meal.
Whenever Lin Shanyan’s gaze flicked toward the greens, Meng Duimo would resignedly scoop up several chopsticks full of kale and chew them down in silence.
By the time the wedding wound down and the newlyweds had finally completed their rites and retired to the bridal chamber, the groomsmen exchanged weary “good jobs” and prepared to call it a night.
Meng Duimo lingered at the back of the group, as if waiting for a response from Lin Shanyan that never came.
The young man had been on his feet with his friend since early morning and was now so worn out his steps wobbled.
After two unsteady paces, he simply leaned against Meng Duimo and scrolled through whatever new file the boss had forwarded in the group chat.
Meng Duimo didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare get too close. Didn’t dare ask what they were supposed to do next.
He stood ramrod straight, like a hunting hound collared and leashed, utterly still.
He’d never been like this before.
After the breakup, they’d fallen into a new rhythm: one evading like an impenetrable wall, the other shamelessly testing boundaries.
But now the wall had turned around.
The wall had even taken the initiative: Want to try dating again?
That bait had hooked him around the neck. Even if it led straight to a knife-edge precipice, he wouldn’t back down an inch.
Lin Shanyan leaned there a while, as if recharging off an invisible pad, then pocketed his phone. “Why are we stuck here?”
The man said nothing, just pressed his lips together and gazed at him, eyes clouded with confusion and restraint.
Lin Shanyan blinked, then pinched his ear.
“What are you thinking? You look like I’ve been bullying you.”
Meng Duimo fished out the room card and pulled him into the suite.
He checked the room first for any bugs or cameras, then unscrewed a bottle of mineral water for Lin Shanyan. He watched him take a few sips before sitting down beside him and asking, “Still drunk?”
“My tolerance is decent,” Lin Shanyan said, handing him the bottle. “That half bowl of sweet soup earlier sobered me right up.”
“What you said before—about us trying again?”
“Yeah.” Lin Shanyan smiled. “No point dodging it. Can’t forget it anyway.”
His frankness was exactly the same as it had been three years ago.
Meng Duimo couldn’t have liked this temperament more. He leaned down, brushing the stray hairs from Lin Shanyan’s forehead behind his ear, the gesture brimming with unspoken care.
“OAC has always offered support services. Shall we give it a try?”
They were accustomed to playing the role of public servants, but asking for help was no shame.
Meng Duimo said thoughtfully, “Book an appointment with their psychologist?”
“Yeah,” Lin Shanyan replied. “Though cases like ours are rare; it might not do much good.”
After Comet Night, many people experienced a sudden awakening of their bloodlines at some point in their lives, sending their careers and marriages veering onto paths they’d never imagined.
Countless minors received no shelter or understanding from their parents, and plenty of adults couldn’t face reality either, even resorting to violence to break their bonds.
Lin Shanyan had handled similar cases before; now that it was his turn to seek help, his mindset was already even-keeled.
“Let’s try it,” Meng Duimo said.
“You’re wiped out today. Bath before bed?”
“Sure.”
They bathed one after the other, and by the time they climbed back into bed, it was already two in the morning.
Aside from that night of utter abandon, it had been ages since they’d shared a bed like this.
Perhaps their bodies still remembered the love between them.
The instant their skin met, all exhaustion and stress dissolved in a rush, like a kite adrift for far too long finally settling into its owner’s arms.
They were both too drained for even the usual words—“I love you,” or “I’ve really missed you”—or any other such banalities.
Back-to-back hands overlapping, they burrowed into each other’s embrace like lovers reviewing an old, cherished memory.
Then sleep claimed them both at once, sharp as a blackout.
Lin Shanyan hadn’t slept so deeply in ages.
He slumbered dreamlessly through the night, and when he finally stirred, he’d nearly forgotten his body had become that of a bird.
The Holstein Bird lay curled in the blankets, swaddled from tail to neck by the Ornate Forest Serpent—like a black-and-white spotted scarf on the coldest day of winter.
The moment its long feathers twitched, the serpent woke at once.
They shared a clumsy kiss, as if they’d almost forgotten such a thing was possible.
OAC’s appointment line was jammed, prioritizing bullied and ostracized minors first, then adults tangled in all sorts of troubles.
The psychologist, Doctor Han, was a slender, cool beauty.
“I remember you two; you made quite an impression,” she said, gesturing to the sofa. “You’ve been involved in so many of OAC’s collaborative cases over the years. You’ve even picked up separate awards at commendation ceremonies a few times.”
“Here today because of some bad memories from your duties?”
“No,” Lin Shanyan said brightly. “I’m planning to get back together with him.”
Doctor Han took a slow sip of her tea.
“I’ve gone over your files thoroughly before we started. Please, begin.”
They each recounted their side of the old story.
Details varied here and there, but the raw, unforgettable moments aligned perfectly.
When both had finished, Doctor Han jotted a few notes and said plainly, “Have you ever considered that the other might die?”
Meng Duimo answered evenly, “If it’s my job, my risk of dying is higher than his.”
“If it’s this relationship, we could both drop dead anytime.”
She appeared not to register the response.
“Have you considered that your partner might die?”
Lin Shanyan’s breath hitched, almost inaudibly, for a few seconds.
He knew it, but had never truly faced it.
“Every time you headed out on a mission, I’d scour the news nonstop, even knowing it might not make the reports.”
He looked at Meng Duimo. “In those moments, I never quite believed it.”
“I always figured you were the protagonist. You wouldn’t die.”
“Shot or wounded, you’d turn peril into fortune every time. You were invincible.”
“Whether I was there beside you or not.”
Doctor Han turned to him. “And you, Mr. Meng?”
Meng Duimo frowned. “His life is safe.”
“No life is that safe,” Doctor Han observed gently. “I’ll die someday. You will too. It’s the inevitable end for all of us.”
The man’s presence chilled abruptly.
He recoiled from the subject, shifting back in his seat.
Lin Shanyan reached over to stroke his hair. Meng Duimo fell silent for a long stretch before managing a slow hum, as if reason were wrestling his instincts into submission.
In his world, Lin Shanyan was eternal.
Breakup or no, oceans and continents between them—he wouldn’t entertain the notion for a second. Even if he himself fell in the line of duty or faded with old age, Lin Shanyan never would.
He hadn’t even noticed how deeply that conviction was rooted.
Lin Shanyan existed like the sun itself—eternally radiant, unchanging.
No fractures. No decay. No death.
He loved him deeply, stubbornly convinced that he would live for a thousand years, existing forever.
Doctor Han said, “The objective situation you’ve encountered isn’t something my abilities—or even OAC’s intervention—can resolve.”
Modern technology could briefly suppress the awakening of a bloodline, and connections along with resources could rescue them from many predicaments. But none of that addressed their particular problem.
“So, I have only one question.”
She looked at them, her voice calm and even.
“Are you willing to die inside each other’s body?”
The woman’s voice was clear and crisp, yet it made both men’s expressions change abruptly.
Lin Shanyan instinctively clutched Meng Duimo’s sleeve, his mind blanking out as if all capacity for thought had ground to a halt.
He drew in a deep breath that lasted for what felt like ages, painstakingly gathering each word anew and piecing together the question she had just posed.
They had never once considered it.
In every moment, their thoughts had revolved around one thing: He can’t die because of me. He absolutely cannot die on my account.
But what about me? Am I willing to die inside his body?
Even as he trembled faintly, beyond his control, Meng Duimo gripped his hand in return with crushing force.
The man gazed at him, his expression one of unyielding resolve—a smile of profound realization that pierced through cause and effect—and spoke, each word deliberate.
“…I am willing.”
I am willing. My cause of death shall be you. My grave shall be you.
