Chapter 19
Xu Yi, volunteering for overtime, deleted all security footage of his boss from that day and toiled away in the office for over an hour.
Now, he squatted on the curb, burning “offerings” for Madam Boss in a small metal basin.
He chanted Song Jingmo’s name as he burned the… adult material.
Meanwhile, miles away at the villa, Song Jingmo, not only deprived of Secretary Xu’s spiritual sustenance, was facing a dilemma.
His shadow sprawled across the storage room door, the edges curling in indecision.
The shadow tendril pressed against Xie Zhang’s chest softened slightly, but remained firm, preventing him from approaching.
Xie Zhang patiently stood at the door, gazing at Song-shadow with a gentle expression.
Song Jingmo looked at him skeptically.
His shadow seeped under the door, extending another tendril.
With a soft click, the tendril flipped the light switch, then made a beeline for the hidden stack of papers.
Despite the empty room, the shadow’s movements were suspiciously furtive.
Keeping Xie Zhang at bay, Song Jingmo retrieved the papers, took a deep breath, and flipped open the top page.
Uh…
His shadow tendril recoiled.
It really was company data.
Still cautious, he meticulously flipped through every page.
Ten minutes later.
The shadow tendril carefully straightened the papers and placed them neatly on the floor.
The storage room door slowly opened.
Xie Zhang raised an eyebrow, looking inside.
Song-shadow emerged, two tendrils holding the slightly crumpled papers, presenting them to Xie Zhang with an apologetic air.
To further express his remorse, he formed a chibi shadow, carrying three sticks on his back, his hands clasped in front of him, his head bowed.
He, Song Jingmo, always owned up to his mistakes!
Looking at the tiny shadow, Xie Zhang struggled to suppress a smile.
He knew Song Jingmo too well.
Song Jingmo was known for his good temper and impeccable manners, but…
No one knew better than Xie Zhang how much the young master valued his pride.
Knowing he’d made a mistake and disrupted important work, Song Jingmo wouldn’t try to weasel his way out with excuses; he would apologize and face the consequences.
But!
If Xie Zhang’s reaction wasn’t sufficiently serious, or if he dared to laugh, he would face a week, or even months, of passive-aggressive behavior from a sulking Song Jingmo.
It wasn’t anything major, just a few pointed huffs during dinner, lingering stares followed by abrupt departures, disappearing for hours… typical tsundere behavior.
And he was difficult to appease.
So, facing the apologetic Song-shadow, Xie Zhang solemnly accepted the papers, knelt down, and said seriously: “I need to reply to the data department tomorrow afternoon, so, would Momo be willing to stay up with me tonight and help me review these?”
The chibi shadow breathed a sigh of relief, nodding vigorously.
The shadow sticks on his back vanished.
Xie Zhang also relaxed.
He placed Song-shadow on his shoulder and turned towards the study upstairs.
He didn’t notice Song Jingmo staring at him intently.
The suspicion, no longer easily dismissed, was practically radiating from the featureless shadow face.
Years of being together had taught Xie Zhang to understand Song Jingmo’s subtle cues, and Song Jingmo knew that only Xie Zhang could so perfectly soothe his ruffled feathers.
But this only worked when Xie Zhang was interacting with him, Song Jingmo.
Unlike Song Jingmo, who could be delighted by a little bird for an entire day, Xie Zhang, with his scientific background, wasn’t particularly sentimental. He was often oblivious to emotional nuances.
Faced with the same situation, their reactions and solutions would be completely different.
Perhaps initially, Song Jingmo had been misled by Xie Zhang’s unusual behavior, his concern clouding his judgment.
But now, he was increasingly convinced that Xie Zhang’s “schizophrenia” was an act.
A way to avoid acknowledging that Song Jingmo had returned as a shadow.
Yet, while denying it, he clung to his “hallucination.”
This elaborate charade, playing pretend with his own shadow, made Song Jingmo wonder if Xie Zhang truly wanted to see him, or if he was trying to avoid the reality of his return.
The chibi shadow, holding onto Xie Zhang’s collar, swayed gently as he walked.
Looking up at Xie Zhang’s calm face, Song Jingmo realized, as he had countless times before, that he couldn’t understand Xie Zhang’s thoughts.
If Xie Zhang didn’t say it, he couldn’t guess it.
There was always a barrier between them, a blurry, indistinct line.
He couldn’t see clearly, couldn’t touch.
…
Having agreed, Song-shadow diligently accompanied Xie Zhang as he worked.
—No tablet, no violin, no mischief.
Xie Zhang reviewed the data, his expression focused, occasionally frowning at the computer screen, his features sharp in the lamplight.
The study was quiet, filled only with the sound of his even breathing, the click of the mouse, and the tap of the keyboard.
Surrounded by Xie Zhang’s work, Song Jingmo felt drowsy.
The chibi shadow sat beside the keyboard, a silent companion.
An hour passed. Song Jingmo could have skimmed through the documents in ten minutes, but Xie Zhang had only managed two-thirds.
Song-shadow fought to keep his eyes open, his form slowly melting into a soft, shapeless puddle.
No, he couldn’t sleep!
He’d promised to help Xie Zhang, and what if, while he was asleep, Xie Zhang decided to explore the “good stuff” from Xu Yi?!
The threat of social death jolted him awake, but ten minutes later, he slumped against the keyboard, his head resting on the ESC key.
Xie Zhang glanced at the sleeping Song-shadow, his throat tightening.
He wished he could talk to Momo, to reach out and touch the tiny shadow, or even… kiss it.
But he knew Song Jingmo too well.
Song Jingmo would never accept being sustained by Xie Zhang’s life force.
Xie Zhang didn’t know how to keep Song Jingmo with him. The safest option was to maintain the status quo.
If his previous despair had brought Momo back, then he wouldn’t pretend to be over him, to be moving on.
Having experienced that despair once, he was too afraid of losing Song Jingmo again, too afraid to test the boundaries, to take any risks.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, then he resumed typing, his fingers brushing against the sleeping shadow.
The touch was cool.
The clock struck midnight. Xie Zhang finally finished working, placing the annotated papers neatly on the desk.
Song-shadow sat up, rubbing his eyes, yawning.
Finally done. Time for bed, right?
Xie Zhang left the study, changed into his pajamas, and got into bed.
A large, inky black blob settled on top of the duvet.
Song Jingmo grumbled about the unfluffed, sun-deprived blanket, then carefully tucked it around Xie Zhang.
He patted Xie Zhang’s chest rhythmically, like soothing a child to sleep, almost humming a lullaby.
Then Xie Zhang, as if remembering something, turned on the mushroom lamp, sat up against the headboard, and picked up Song Jingmo’s tablet.
Song Jingmo had a bad feeling about this.
He squeezed through the gap between Xie Zhang’s arm and his body, settling in front of the tablet.
Xie Zhang logged into his personal email, opening his inbox. An unread message sat at the top, the sender: Xu Yi.
Song Jingmo: “!!!”
Aaaaaaah—!!!
He tried to snatch the tablet and run, but Xie Zhang, anticipating this, held it firmly.
Shadow tendrils wrapped around the tablet, tightening into thin black ropes.
But Xie Zhang, with his years of working out, his muscles bulging beneath his pajamas, held on tight.
Song Jingmo, ignoring the tempting display of strength, focused solely on the tablet.
They engaged in a tug-of-war on the bed.
Fifteen minutes later.
Song Jingmo accepted the reality that, even as a supernatural being, he was no match for Xie Zhang’s physical strength. He plastered himself over the tablet, preventing Xie Zhang from seeing the screen.
Fine, he wouldn’t snatch it.
He had other methods!
He turned the tablet into an inky black blob, engulfing Xie Zhang’s hands as well.
The chibi shadow sat on top of the blob, arms crossed, glaring at Xie Zhang.
Xie Zhang’s curiosity was piqued.
He rarely felt this curious, but Song Jingmo was one of his few obsessions.
And Song Jingmo’s behavior tonight only intensified his interest in the “secret” between him and Xu Yi.
He looked at Song-shadow, his eyes curving into a smile: “I have many ways to access my email.”
Song Jingmo remained unmoved by his words.
Xie Zhang, thoughtfully, mused aloud: “You’re my hallucination; you can’t manifest if I strongly resist. So… perhaps I could take a look during a meeting tomorrow?”
Song Jingmo: “?”
Wait, what?
The entire shadow bristled.
The image of the stoic, aloof CEO Xie Zhang opening his email during a serious meeting to view… that… was horrifying.
You might as well read it aloud to me!
At least then, only a lowly, insignificant shadow would be embarrassed!
After a moment of intense internal debate, Song-shadow reluctantly released the tablet.
The chibi shadow sat on Xie Zhang’s waist, facing the tablet, hugging himself tightly, his head buried in his knees, only two tufts of hair sticking up.
Xie Zhang, seeing this, chuckled softly, closed the tablet without opening the email, turned off the lamp, and closed his eyes, ready to sleep.
After a while, Song Jingmo turned the lamp back on, pulled back the covers, and burrowed under them, nudging Xie Zhang until he sat up, startled.
Song Jingmo, suppressing his embarrassment, figured that since he was already dead, his reputation didn’t matter anymore. Xie Zhang could… learn a bit more about him.
Maybe, once Xie Zhang realized he wasn’t as perfect as he imagined, he wouldn’t be so attached.
Maybe… maybe he’d let go.
He grabbed the tablet, opened Xie Zhang’s email, downloaded the attachment, and opened it, all in one smooth motion.
Xie Zhang’s lips moved, too stunned to react.
Compared to text, images were a much more efficient method of social suicide. Song Jingmo braced himself, opening the image files, then paused, confused.
Twenty minutes later, Xie Zhang, leaning against the headboard, was engrossed in the content, while Song Jingmo, sprawled on the tablet, was increasingly bewildered.
He quickly skimmed through the files, his eyes widening.
The plot… it was so… pure?
Even more innocent than the stories on Jinjiang Literature City? (A popular Chinese website for online novels, often featuring romantic and occasionally explicit content.)
And they were all carefully curated supernatural and fantasy romance stories.
It was as if… someone was trying to gently ease the reader into accepting the idea of a deceased loved one returning as a ghost.
Song Jingmo suddenly understood, and he was deeply touched.
Secretary Xu, you’re the best bro!
The best brother ever!!!
