Chapter 28: Echoes of an Old Friend Part 1

The instant his fingertip pressed the power button, a bolt of pale lightning tore through the sky, as if a god had hurled a dagger. It illuminated the dim bedroom and cast a hazy glow on the walls.

Wei Tingxia crouched on the floor of the walk-in closet, his fingers rubbing the rough scratches on the phone’s casing. Thunder crashed, almost synchronized with the sudden glow of the phone screen.

System 0188 suddenly spoke, startling Wei Tingxia so much that his fingers trembled: [Are you sure you want to see it?]

Wei Tingxia stared deathly at the screen. “Is it a bit too late to regret it now?”

[I’m just afraid you won’t be able to handle it,] 0188 said. [You know, I’m worried about you.]

“Baby, that’s not called worrying.” Wei Tingxia corrected him patiently. “That’s called emergency evasion—trying to piss me off by questioning me to avoid something worse.”

[Would seeing the message from Yan Xinfeng make you feel that bad?]

“Maybe.” Wei Tingxia murmured to himself. “I already feel pretty bad right now.”

The phone hadn’t been turned on in five whole years, so it reacted very sluggishly. Wei Tingxia and 0188 crouched in the closet for several minutes before the boot icon in the center of the screen finally faded away slowly.

A successful startup hum came from his hand, and the phone powered on.

What popped up first was a blank screen pattern, followed by the app icons loading. In five years, technology had advanced by leaps and bounds—this phone was indeed outdated compared to modern ones. But Wei Tingxia had no mind to notice any details. After a brief wait, a sharp missed call alert sounded.

Then came continuous, heart-pounding vibrations—

Missed calls, voicemails, texts… The scarlet numbers jumped wildly, instantly overwhelming the screen.

The number in the upper right corner of the green call icon quickly reached 99+, and messages kept popping up at the top, stacking layer upon layer. The notification icon in the upper right had completely frozen, with messages pouring in endlessly.

Wei Tingxia unconsciously bit his lower lip. His finger opened the text records and scrolled down rapidly without pausing or scrutinizing, until he reached the first unread message.

His gaze fell on the timestamp at the bottom. The text was from five years ago, the day after he left.

[I couldn’t find your flight info. Where are you?]

The second text was from the third day after he left.

[I called the police. Damn it, Wei Tingxia, where the hell did you go?]

Day five.

[Did we fight? Or did I say something I shouldn’t have? If I did, I apologize now. Come back.]

Day eight.

[The police say this doesn’t count as missing.]

Day thirteen.

[You really left? Call me back. If this is a breakup, at least you should tell me. Or do I not even deserve a heads-up?]

Day fourteen.

[At least you took the money. The police say you left voluntarily.]

…

Day thirty.

Yan Xinfeng’s words were laced with irrepressible anger and resentment.

[Because I have no money, you won’t even pretend anymore? If this was a transaction, you couldn’t even be bothered to give a little extra benefit. Shitty deal-maker.]

Day thirty-two.

A string of meaningless symbols with a few Chinese characters mixed in—unintelligible.

Day forty. The anger had vanished, and Yan Xinfeng’s tone returned to calm.

[Sorry, I’m sorry. I apologize for anything I’ve said or done before. If you come back. I guess you won’t look at this phone anymore. You have no heart, and I’m particularly pathetic.]

Day sixty-seven.

[Did you ever love me for even a second?]

Day one hundred thirty-seven.

[I acquired a port. A pretty good starting point.]

Day two hundred ninety-nine.

[Debts mostly paid off.]

…

Day eight hundred sixty-three.

[Wei Tingxia. I have money again.]

…

The texts ended there.

Wei Tingxia exited the text interface, unsure what to feel. Yan Xinfeng had poured a basin of water onto the clump of cotton in his chest, making it soggy, heavy, and drooping damply downward.

Amid all the pleas, resentments, and questions for reconciliation, Yan Xinfeng’s only bargaining chip was his money. So he hid all his pain and begging beneath it, making it seem hollow and superficial.

I have no money, so you left me.

I have money again now. Can you come back?

When material wealth and love were placed on opposite sides of the scale, and even Yan Xinfeng himself accepted that unequal trade, he completely prostrated himself in the dust, becoming the most humble beggar.

Yet even with such a humble posture, Wei Tingxia still didn’t return. As if those four years of tender intimacy were all illusory bubbles, not worth mentioning, discardable at will.

Love could be discarded, and so could Yan Xinfeng.

Wei Tingxia casually tapped a voicemail and set the phone back on the floor. He leaned his head against the wardrobe and listened slowly.

The first three voice messages contained only silence, as if the caller’s throat was choked, only able to wait stiffly for the message to end.

Starting from the fourth, a voice finally emerged.

“Are you still alive?” Yan Xinfeng from five years ago asked on the other end. “Call back. I won’t pester you. I just want to confirm you’re alive.”

After that, he panted with a low laugh. A bottle nearby tipped over and rolled away with a gurgle. Yan Xinfeng probably found it amusing too, but he continued anyway. “I apologize, okay? Wei Tingxia, no matter what I did wrong, I apologize. So… call back?”

The message ended.

The fifth voicemail came from the fourth year after Wei Tingxia left.

Again, the sound of a bottle falling. Yan Xinfeng only dared to mumble into an unanswered call after getting drunk.

“I shouldn’t be making this call,” he murmured. “But I know you won’t come back…”

Wei Tingxia stared straight at the opposite glass cabinet. The Patek Philippe watchband reflected a cold gleam.

In the phone, after a long silence, Yan Xinfeng let out a deep breath. “Wei Tingxia, do you know how much money I have now?”

Wei Tingxia didn’t know, but he had seen the summary report from 0188. At this point, Yan Xinfeng’s net worth probably surpassed even Father Yan’s from back then—ten or a hundred times more.

The tasker had left, so wealth and the world’s favoritism flowed toward him like water.

“I’m really rich now.” The young master was drunk and couldn’t state a specific number. “If you came back now, you’d have thousands of times what we had before. I’m not joking. If you came back…”

The message cut off amid chaotic noises. Yan Xinfeng probably tried to delete it the next day when he woke up, but it didn’t work.

In front of Wei Tingxia, he could only raise that powerless, pitiful bargaining chip forever—like holding up a lamp in the ruins, seeking warmth while clearly seeing the devastation around him.

Love me, he prayed from his heart time and again. Come back.

His hatred was too vague; fortunately, his love was vivid enough.

Wei Tingxia didn’t want to listen anymore. This decision was awful—like going out in a thunderstorm to touch a live wire. It was better than sitting in the closet listening to Yan Xinfeng’s five years of messages and voicemails.

Outside the house, thunder boomed, and the wind and rain grew fiercer. The phone screen stayed lit, the voicemail automatically looping back to the first day.

The glaring white light was the only source in the closet. 0188 floated in the highest corner of the room, like a bunch of water grapes squished by space.

[Are you moved?] it asked.

0188 was a snide bastard, always able to ask questions that tightened someone’s chest.

Wei Tingxia didn’t want to answer. He pushed the phone farther away, hooked over the small black box, and took out the ring inside to examine it carefully.

He tried comparing it, wondering if the wedding ring on his finger was prettier or if this silver one suited him better. But before he could decide, urgent footsteps suddenly shattered the silence outside the door.

The closet door was flung open with a bang. Wei Tingxia looked up in alarm. At the doorway stood Yan Xinfeng, drenched from head to toe.

Rainwater seemed to have poured over him entirely. Water dripped from his hair tips and brow bones. His dark clothes clung heavily to his body, outlining his heaving contours. He brought a chill, damp aura that instantly invaded the closet’s dry warmth.

In the black phone, the voicemail still played. Yan Xinfeng’s gaze followed the sound. Wei Tingxia reacted too late to stop it and reached to turn it off, but Yan Xinfeng was faster. He stepped forward and clamped Wei Tingxia’s wrist, refusing to let him move.

The atmosphere froze. Wei Tingxia rarely felt so at a loss, as if he had unwittingly torn open an unhealed scar, reached into his lover’s chest, and touched a wretchedly beating heart.

“Yan Xinfeng…”

Before he finished speaking, the hand gripping his wrist tightened further. Yan Xinfeng’s voice was low and hoarse, like swirling undercurrents. “My mother told me some things.”

!

Wei Tingxia yanked his wrist free and looked up in disbelief.

Yan Xinfeng was soaked through, rainwater dripping from his hair and clothes. His palm burned hot against Wei Tingxia’s skin, but his face was deathly pale, terrifying. His pitch-black eyes were bottomless, locked onto Wei Tingxia, making his chest tighten.

Wei Tingxia’s throat bobbed, his voice hoarse. “What… did she say?”

Silence surrounded them, only damp vapor spreading wordlessly. Yan Xinfeng didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he raised his hand. His fingertip, scorching hot, gently brushed Wei Tingxia’s eye corner, wiping away a drop that was like rain but not quite.

“I have a question.” Yan Xinfeng cupped Wei Tingxia’s cheek. “Those people were caught by you while fleeing to Northern Europe, and that was five years ago. If you didn’t love me, why did you have to do that?”

This wasn’t the first time he had asked something similar, and every time Yan Xinfeng voiced it, Wei Tingxia felt exposed.

He frowned impatiently. “Why do you keep asking about this? Is it that important?!”

“Because I need to know the answer!” Yan Xinfeng’s voice suddenly rose, hoarse with near-collapse. “When you left, I thought you didn’t love me! But now I don’t think so!”

But if it wasn’t a lack of love, why did Wei Tingxia leave?

Yan Xinfeng didn’t dare think deeper. His guts twisted like they were being wrung out, the pain nearly making him vomit his heart.

“I don’t care what you think!”

Wei Tingxia’s temper flared from the interrogation, his reason snapping. “What’s it to you? I was afraid you’d get stabbed to death, okay?! Let me tell you, Yan Xinfeng, don’t think too highly of yourself! I spared your life, and you still dare to boss me around? Who do you think you are?! Does the whole world have to revolve around you?!”

He spoke faster and faster, words spilling without thought. Before he finished, he raised a hand to shove. But Yan Xinfeng seemed pierced by “spared your life.” His other hand suddenly grabbed Wei Tingxia’s shirt collar and yanked him into an embrace, sealing all sounds with a near-violent kiss.

This kiss was fiercer than any before. Wei Tingxia grunted, struggling futilely, only to be held tighter. In the tussle, the phone flew from his hand and clanged against the wardrobe.