Honey! Don’t Take the Medicine! 8

Chapter 8

Xie Zhang found the tablet in the storage room.

The password had been reset. He tried a few times but couldn’t unlock it. After a few more failed attempts, the tablet locked itself. He paused, then turned it off.

Song Jingmo, watching smugly: “?”

Giving up already?

Song Jingmo, currently powerless and immobile, nestled within Xie Zhang’s shadow, observing him intently.

Xie Zhang was a bit stubborn and methodical. Faced with a tablet clearly hiding secrets, he wasn’t going to try any other methods to unlock it?

That wasn’t like him.

Xie Zhang didn’t take the tablet out of the storage room. Instead, he found a box and carefully placed it inside.

He paused, then spoke softly: “Momo hid this tablet for a reason. I don’t know when you found it, but…”

“If I can guess the password, it means Momo doesn’t mind me seeing what’s inside.”

He thought for a moment, then added: “At least, not that much.”

“But if I can’t guess it, then it’s probably just a random string of numbers he doesn’t want anyone to see.”

“We should respect Momo’s wishes.”

“So I won’t try to unlock this tablet for you.”

Song Jingmo: “…”

Wait a minute.

Let him process this.

Song Jingmo scratched his non-existent head within Xie Zhang’s shadow, unable to follow his logic.

Xie Zhang waited patiently. Seeing that his shadow remained still, assuming his second personality was refusing to communicate and planning something else, he frowned.

“The villa is cleaned daily, and Momo often spends time on the living room sofa, so the living room is always thoroughly cleaned.”

Song Jingmo blinked guiltily.

He knew how diligent the housekeeper was, which was why he always snatched the tablet and hid it under his blanket while she was cleaning, returning it to its hiding place after his viewing sessions.

The housekeeper came every other day, and he indulged in his digital delights every other day.

A healthy work-life balance.

There had been a few close calls, the tablet almost discovered by the housekeeper, so when he couldn’t move the tablet in time, or when Xie Zhang was away on business trips, he would hide it under the mattress in the bedroom.

But if Xie Zhang was home for an extended period, the tablet absolutely could not be hidden under the mattress.

What if it got damaged?!

Although they weren’t intimate often, they were both men, and when they did… assist each other…

The inky black Song-shadow blushed, his non-existent palms sweating.

…things could get rather… vigorous.

Song Jingmo’s thoughts wandered, while Xie Zhang continued after a moment of contemplation: “This tablet must have been in the storage room before. You found it but couldn’t unlock it. You can’t control my body yet, so you made me hallucinate entering a simple password to unlock it and take it, piquing my curiosity, hoping I’d try to have it professionally unlocked.”

“I know you miss Momo. I do too.”

“But regardless, I won’t help you with this.”

Xie Zhang placed the box in a cabinet in the storage room, closed the door, and said sternly:

“Behave yourself.”

Song Jingmo, being warned to behave: “?”

Wait, what?

Song Jingmo was baffled by Xie Zhang’s train of thought, the lingering remnants of his earlier fantasies banished from his mind.

It was no wonder Xie Zhang was a game developer; his imagination was truly outlandish and innovative.

Impressive.

No wonder he was so “sick”; his mind was a whirlwind of ideas!

The phone in the living room rang. Xie Zhang hurried out of the storage room to answer it, briefly speaking with Song Chengyan, then, after a few seconds of silence, agreed to his request to visit.

Song Jingmo, nestled within Xie Zhang’s shadow, perked up at the sound of his brother’s voice, a wave of longing washing over him.

Wait!

Hold on…

A thought struck him.

Could Xie Zhang, like his brother, be a staunch atheist?

That would explain why, no matter what he did, Xie Zhang attributed it to hallucinations, preferring to believe he was schizophrenic, constructing elaborate explanations rather than considering the possibility of a ghostly presence.

Most people had a healthy dose of skepticism towards the supernatural, neither completely dismissing nor fully embracing it.

But not Song Chengyan.

He was a firm believer in Marxist-Socialist ideology—partly due to witnessing their mother’s interactions with various “masters” and their… ahem, financial losses, throughout his childhood.

Remembering his brother’s disdain for anything remotely supernatural, Song Jingmo felt a headache coming on.

He’d initially thought that, if all else failed, he could find someone both he and Xie Zhang trusted and stage a shadow puppet show they could both see. Then Xie Zhang couldn’t possibly dismiss it as a hallucination.

But he’d been waiting for days, and apart from the missed encounter with Secretary Xu, no one else had come to the villa.

Finally, they were having a visitor, but it was his brother, who was even harder to convince than Xie Zhang.

He didn’t want to end up with two crazy people on his hands.

No, he had to straighten out Xie Zhang’s thinking before his brother arrived, forcing him to confront the reality that his dead lover had returned.

Song Jingmo thought hard.

Even when he felt another surge of heat, he didn’t disrupt Xie Zhang’s cooking.

After setting the table, Xie Zhang glanced at his motionless shadow.

Although he knew it was just a hallucination, a product of his fractured mind, he still cherished the feeling of Momo’s presence.

Even if it was illusory, it was comforting.

Song-shadow, deep in thought, huffed, primly lifting his shadow tip, sliding onto the chair opposite Xie Zhang, and molding a hand distinctly different from Xie Zhang’s. He picked up his chopsticks and grabbed a chicken leg.

He completely ignored Xie Zhang.

Xie Zhang stared at the shadow’s hand, his eyes clouding with confusion.

Song Jingmo was a violinist, and although he wasn’t a master of every instrument in their music room, he could play them all to some degree.

So his hands were beautiful.

Xie Zhang stared at Song-shadow’s hand and said abruptly: “That’s not right. Momo’s hands aren’t like that.”

Song Jingmo: “?”

Xie, that’s going too far!

How could he know his hands better than he did?

As a musician, Song Jingmo took great care of his hands, diligently applying hand cream and moisturizing them daily.

He touched them dozens of times a day.

“Momo has calluses on his fingertips, on his middle and index fingers, slightly more prominent than on the other fingers.”

Song Jingmo knew what calluses Xie Zhang was talking about. His right hand held the bow, his middle and index fingers bearing the brunt of the pressure, naturally developing thicker calluses.

But…

Song-shadow lifted his right hand, examining it closely.

Shouldn’t he be just an inky black blob in Xie Zhang’s eyes?

Where were the details coming from?

There was a reason why all Black people’s skin looked the same.

Was the overall shape wrong?

The dining room was brightly lit, and a row of spotlights behind Song-shadow clearly outlined his shape.

Although absurd, Song Jingmo hesitantly reshaped his right hand according to Xie Zhang’s description, meticulously recreating the calluses on his fingertips, the sides of his fingers, and his palm.

Satisfied, he admired his handiwork, certain it was perfect this time.

“The middle finger is still a bit off.”

Xie Zhang’s voice was soft and filled with longing. He reached out, wanting to hold the shadow’s hand, but grasped only air.

In that instant, Song Jingmo saw the wave of loss and emptiness in Xie Zhang’s eyes.

Before he could react, Xie Zhang regained his composure, withdrawing his hand and rubbing his thumb and middle finger together.

“Momo’s right middle finger… the callus has a unique shape, like this.”

Xie Zhang traced a shape on the table with his finger.

Song Jingmo: “…”

Song-shadow hesitantly reshaped his shadow finger.

Xie Zhang smiled, his eyes filled with satisfaction.

“Now, that’s much more like Momo.”

Song Jingmo: “…”

Under Xie Zhang’s intense gaze, Song-shadow felt his hand burning.

This was truly unsettling.

But his curiosity was piqued.

He extended a shadow tendril, grabbed Xie Zhang’s phone, and quickly typed: 【How do you know his hands so well?】

Xie Zhang smiled faintly and replied casually: “Because I’ve spent countless nights tracing his hands while he slept, under the bedside lamp, memorizing every detail, every curve, every line… etching Momo into my heart.”

Emboldened, Song Jingmo typed: 【Just his hands?】

Xie Zhang’s eyebrow twitched, then he lowered his gaze, offering no answer.

He picked up his chopsticks and began to eat, his movements controlled and restrained as always.

Song Jingmo: “…!!”

The cool light of the dining room illuminated Xie Zhang’s face. Although his smile was affectionate, it painted a picture of a Xie Zhang Song Jingmo didn’t recognize.

Intriguing, with a hint of the possessive alpha male from a romance novel.

His fantasies ignited, Song Jingmo lamented his missed opportunities.

Seven years of dating, and he hadn’t known his boyfriend was a kinky bastard!!!

Aaaaaah—

Damn it!

What had his reserved persona cost him?!

…

Realizing he’d missed out on a hidden treasure, Song Jingmo sulked for the rest of the day.

Until, that evening, when Xie Zhang returned to the bedroom, and Song Jingmo saw the violin case on the desk again.

The inky black Song-shadow lay on top of the case, deep in thought.

What had the internet search said earlier?

Even if a schizophrenic patient could seemingly master a skill, they couldn’t achieve proficiency in a short time, right?

So…

After confirming that Xie Zhang was asleep, his breathing even, Song-shadow crept onto the desk and opened the violin case.

He’d rested all day and was now brimming with energy.

He tentatively picked up the bow with a shadow tendril, then extended a few more, lifting the violin out of the case.