Chapter 66: Two-Faced Phoenix Man 25

Jiang Rang did not return to the apartment building until evening.

He had not received a single call from Zhou Yichun all afternoon, and even when he tried calling proactively, no one picked up.

Jiang Rang was heartless and self-serving, but if one were to call him truly wicked, he was not rotten to the core.

Even a dog that had followed him for so many years would have earned some affection.

Before leaving the hotel, Jiang Rang had vaguely noticed the other’s strange demeanor and the way he tightly clutched his eyes—it was clear he had sustained a serious injury.

Zhou Yichun’s parents were especially protective of their son’s eyes. Now that his treatment had finally made a breakthrough, any mishap at this critical juncture would surely provoke their wrath.

Tracing the root of the incident would not reflect well on anyone, and Jiang Rang had no desire to invite trouble, so he decided to swing by the hospital to check if the man was dead or alive.

But when the young man arrived at the hospital that evening, there was no sign of Zhou Yichun anywhere. When he asked the doctor for details, the hospital staff bluntly informed him that no injured patient had been brought in by ambulance that afternoon. Upon learning that Jiang Rang was the one who had called emergency services, they even gave him a good scolding.

Jiang Rang’s mind raced with unease as he rushed back to the apartment building in a hurry.

Throughout the cab ride home, the young man’s face grew so grim it was nearly shrouded in shadow.

In the end, today’s mess had all stemmed from Zhou Yichun’s lack of boundaries, yet here he was, running himself ragged to clean it up on both ends.

It was Zhou Yichun who had debased himself from the start—he knew full well that Jiang Rang had a boyfriend, yet he had thrown himself at him anyway.

Now, after becoming a mere fuck buddy and a homewrecking mistress, he was even striking the pose of the righteous main wife catching him in the act. It was utterly ridiculous.

Admittedly, Jiang Rang had indeed indulged in their physical pleasures for a time. Zhou Yichun had clung to his side for years, with the two of them using the pretense of friendship as cover. Though they had never crossed that final line, they had done everything else.

In other words, the man knew his body intimately and was the best at pleasing him—a massage stick more useful than any other.

But human nature’s flaw was its love for the new and disdain for the old. No matter how fresh the flesh or how shamelessly accommodating the seduction, it all grew stale after a while.

Standing before the door of Zhou Yichun’s home, Jiang Rang fixed his dark, brooding gaze on the deep black door, a flash of disgust passing through his beautiful, downturned eyes.

His slender, pink-tinged fingers curved into a graceful arc under the orange-yellow light.

Knock, knock, knock—

The soundproofing in Zhou Yichun’s home was poor, but in the deathly quiet space, Jiang Rang heard not a sound.

No hurried shuffle of slippers rushing to the door, no delighted and cautious “Coming, coming!”, no muffled grunt from carelessly bumping into the entryway.

In the past, the man had never once made him wait more than ten seconds.

Zhou Yichun had always been like a dog trained for years in Jiang Rang’s presence. He could always spot the young man accurately amid a crowd, always hear his footsteps or knock at the door first.

It was as if his entire being was a thorny vine that could only grow and survive by clinging to the young man.

Jiang Rang had no patience to keep knocking—in truth, it had only been a minute or two since he started.

Zhou Yichun had spoiled him rotten, leaving him with zero tolerance for any matter concerning the man.

Jiang Rang pulled out his keys, found the somewhat rusted one for the apartment door, and unlocked it.

What met his eyes was a melancholic fog of blue and pale white. Staring at such colors for too long would only breed a sense of oppression and discomfort in one’s heart. And trailing that uneasy feeling was the belated realization of a thick stench of alcohol.

The living room was a wreck, with empty bottles strewn haphazardly across the coffee table, sofa, and floor—some even bore clear marks of having been violently smashed by their owner.

Jiang Rang frowned slightly. He had visited Zhou Yichun’s home before, but in recent years, the occasions could be counted on one hand. They lived right across the hall from each other, and he held the keys in his hand, yet the young man had zero interest in getting to know the other man.

It had always been Zhou Yichun who came over to Jiang Rang’s place of his own accord, patiently playing the role of a nanny to wait on him hand and foot.

“Zhou Yichun? Where are you?”

Jiang Rang’s tone was irritable as he followed his memory to the tightly shut bedroom door.

Lacking any sense of respect for privacy, the young man casually pushed the door open.

The instant he did, he froze in place as if possessed by a ghost.

A heavy blackness enveloped the cramped, dovecote-like bedroom like mist. The dark curtains shrouded the windows completely, not a single gap exposed, as if someone had secured the only source of light with countless invisible locks.

And the scene on the black bed was even more spine-chilling.

Zhou Yichun lay flat on his back atop the bed, his gray loungewear hanging loosely on his frame. He appeared to be asleep, his entire face flushed red, his pale lips curved into a lovely arc—as if he were immersed in a beautiful dream.

In stark contrast stood the man’s terrifyingly swollen eyes, while that face—which had always worn a look of cowardice—was now marred by shocking streaks of dried blood. The color of the blood resembled a rose scorched to ashes: not vivid at all, but laced with an eerie chill.

An empty syringe lay beside the man’s elbow, its frigid needle tip beading with faint traces of blue.

White pills lay scattered all around him, like ghost money floating on a pool of black water. The scene looked for all the world like a suicide by overdose.

Jiang Rang had always been hypersensitive to such things because of his past experiences. The sight before him hit him like a thunderbolt, bleaching his mind blank. His legs buckled beneath him, nearly sending him crashing to the floor.

The young man’s lips quivered. Without realizing it, his nose had lost the ability to draw breath on its own. He froze in place as the bright light from outside cast a massive, distorted shadow across the room—like some hulking monstrosity.

Veins like twisted branches bulged across Jiang Rang’s forehead. His beautifully contoured eyes brimmed with terrified, heartbreaking red. His face was impossibly pale, evoking the image of a moon stripped of its luminous sheath, left with only a ghostly pallor.

He trembled—his lips, his knees—all of him shaking as he slowly made his way to the bedside.

Perhaps the lightbulb was too old, long overdue for replacement. The harsh white glare from the fixture in the Master Bedroom flickered erratically. With no heat turned on, a bone-chilling cold permeated the air like bacteria infesting every corner.

Jiang Rang clamped down hard on his lip and averted his eyes. With shaking hands, he leaned in close to check the man’s nostrils for breath.

One second… two seconds… The young man detected no sign of life at all. Just as full-blown panic set in and he fumbled to pull away and call for emergency help, a pair of icy hands clamped down on his wrists out of nowhere.

“Ah—!”

Jiang Rang let out a voiceless scream of terror. His eyes bulged wide, the whites splintering with countless red blood vessels from sheer fright. His face drained completely of color, teetering on the brink of collapse.

The grip tightened further, cold as iron chains locking around his slender wrists, forcibly dragging the pitiful young man into an embrace.

“Jiang Jiang… Jiang Jiang…”

The thin voice was piercingly sharp, chilling yet oddly sweet. It sounded as if it came from far away, yet whispered right in his ear.

Jiang Rang was scared out of his wits. A frigid ghostly aura coiled around his heart. Confronted with this supernatural horror, the young man lost even the strength to struggle.

He lay there like a lamb awaiting slaughter, huddled trembling in the man’s arms, his lips stuttering nonstop: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you… you’d do this. Don’t come after me…”

It was almost laughable. When Zhou Yichun had been alive, Jiang Rang had humiliated and berated him without a second thought. Now that he thought the man was dead, he feared him turning into a vengeful Evil Ghost.

As time ticked by, the initial terror ebbed away, and Jiang Rang began to sense something off.

His shoulders still shook as he lifted his head like a wary cat. His pale pink eyelids drooped halfway, as if dreading some horrific sight—or perhaps testing the waters with cautious hope.

Only when the young man finally mustered the courage to look did he realize it wasn’t the Evil Ghost he’d imagined, but Zhou Yichun very much alive.

The man’s cheeks burned with an unnatural flush, embedded with a pair of freakish eyes: one swollen gray-purple orb, the other a normal black pupil. They stared fixedly at the young man in perfect alignment, like two coiled insects lying in wait.

An uncanny expression floated across Zhou Yichun’s face—dreamy, blissful, soft… No words quite captured it, but it was profoundly wrong.

He seemed utterly lost in his own world. His frostbitten-blue knuckles gently traced the contours of the young man’s face as he murmured to himself, laughing one moment, weeping the next—like a raving lunatic.

Jiang Rang let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The emotional rollercoaster even sparked a flicker of pathetic relief.

Alive was good. Alive was good.

As long as he was alive, it had nothing to do with him anymore.

The young man tried to wriggle free, but he quickly discovered Zhou Yichun’s strength was monstrous. He couldn’t budge an inch.

His struggles only made the man’s mutterings speed up, turning into a shrill incantation that set his ears ringing.

It was the first time Jiang Rang had ever seen Zhou Yichun like this.

In his mind, Zhou Yichun had always been an easily placated lapdog. This entranced state made him look possessed by some foul entity.

Terror gripped Jiang Rang’s heart, so he tried to steel himself with harsh words.

But he soon realized Zhou Yichun wasn’t hearing a word he said.

The man just kept talking to himself, grinning in that bizarre way, clutching him like a cherished doll.

Jiang Rang struggled with all his might until his back was slick with sweat, but in the end, he could only lie there powerlessly, listening to the man’s sly whispers.

The more he heard, though, the more chills crawled down his spine.

“Jiang Jiang, I knew you didn’t like him. I believe you.”

“He hit me so hard it hurts. My eye is bleeding, Jiang Jiang, Jiang Jiang, it hurts so much. Kiss it better for me.”

As he spoke, the man flushed red and closed his eyes, like a bashful bride from ancient times.

Jiang Rang didn’t dare move a muscle. Goosebumps prickled across his entire body.

But Zhou Yichun wasn’t done yet. He opened his eyes in bewilderment, gazing at Jiang Rang as if he couldn’t understand why his beloved—who had just been showering him with affection—had suddenly turned so cold. In a soft voice, he said, “Kiss me, Jiang Jiang.”

Jiang Rang still didn’t dare move.

Zhou Yichun seemed to plunge into a inexplicable frenzy, as if in his hallucination, “Jiang Rang” was the lover who adored him and would never refuse his intimate requests.

So when the real Jiang Rang in his arms acted contrary to the hallucinated one, he began to lose it completely.

The man’s face gradually twisted into a savage grimace. His heterochromatic pupils gleamed with an eerie, sinister light. His shrill voice grew harsher, his words tumbling out faster and faster until half his face was hovering right over Jiang Rang’s.

“Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me!!!”

He parted his lips, his scarlet tongue flicking out like a serpent’s, writhing madly. Beneath his timid, downcast brows lurked a terrifying ferocity as he shrieked, “You’re not Jiang Jiang! You’re not! Jiang Jiang loves me—you’re not him! Who are you? Who are you?!”

Terror drained all the color from Jiang Rang’s face, leaving it ghostly pale and pitiful. Tears streamed down unbidden, glistening like lustrous pearls in the dim light.

His voice trembled with sobs as he stammered, “I-I’m Jiang Rang. D-don’t… don’t do this. I’ll kiss… I’ll kiss…”

With quivering lips and silent tears, the young man leaned toward that sickly, ghostly visage and planted a fearful, feather-light kiss.

In an instant, Zhou Yichun fell silent.

He was like a raging beast suddenly soothed, the tension easing from his face as his piercing stare softened.

Gently, the man cradled the beautiful youth’s hips, drawing him deeper into his body.

In the interplay of dim light and shadows, for one fleeting moment, they resembled conjoined twins linked from the womb—Brother Zhou Yichun embracing his little brother with utter devotion. No one could tell if he loved his brother… or meant to devour him, absorbing him as sustenance.

Zhou Yichun began murmuring softly again.

He spoke of disjointed snippets from everyday life.

“Jiang Jiang, let’s buy a beautiful villa someday. You like warm yellow tones, so we’ll decorate it all that way. Once we’re married, we can move right in, okay?”

“Jiang Jiang, I want to see the ocean. All these years, we’ve never traveled together. Come with me? I’ve always dreamed of going to the sea with the person I love. You can hold my hand, and we’ll stand on the soft sand. If you get tired, I’ll carry you home on my back.”

“Would you like kittens? Let’s adopt one—a soft, fluffy white one, all tiny and curled up. It mews so sweetly when people come near. Adorable, just like you when you were little.”

The man rambled on, ending each sentence with a question. Jiang Rang was scared out of his mind and didn’t dare refuse or play dead, so he responded reflexively to every one.

Until the final words, when Zhou Yichun asked nothing more.

He was like a desperate lone bird, swearing an oath to his beloved mate amid the chaotic fog: “Jiang Jiang, I love you.”

Even if you whip me, even if you hate me, despise me.

Even if you’re nothing but a vulgar, fame-hungry, hypocritical, two-faced wretch, I still love you.

With those last words, the man finally closed his eyes.

He slipped back into a hazy sea voyage from which he wouldn’t awaken anytime soon.

Jiang Rang finally wrenched himself free from that icy, bone-chilling embrace.

The young man wasn’t moved by a single word. He scrambled off the floor, snatched up his phone, and dialed the hospital’s emergency line.

Soon, the wail of an ambulance pierced the air, and Zhou Yichun was carted off to the hospital.

Rather than fleeing, Jiang Rang stayed, hovering outside the ward. The doctor explained that Zhou Yichun suffered from a mental illness that he managed with medication.

Today’s episode had been triggered largely by some emotional shock, followed by an injection of a mild dose of a neural hallucinogen.

Jiang Rang’s wrists still twitched nervously. The fear in his heart hadn’t fully dissipated.

He kept telling himself that he couldn’t put this off any longer. He had to shake off that lunatic somehow.

The guy was a mental patient, after all. What if he turned violent? He could wake up any day now with a knife at his throat while he slept.

But then again, how could Zhou Yichun possibly have a mental illness? The man had never even spoken to him, and he’d always seemed perfectly normal.

Lost in these thoughts, Jiang Rang heard footsteps approaching down the corridor.

It was an elderly couple, their faces etched with anxiety.

Zhou Yichun’s parents.

In an instant, Jiang Rang’s expression shifted. His eyes reddened, and he looked every bit the picture of sorrow and worry.

“Xiao Jiang, how is Yichun doing? How on earth did he end up in the hospital?” Mother Zhou asked, tears already streaming down her cheeks.

Jiang Rang clenched his fists tightly at his sides, though his face remained one of gentle distress.

“Auntie, I’m so sorry,” he said. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you honestly.”

“Yichun confessed his feelings to me once, but I only ever saw him as a brother. After I started dating my boyfriend, Yichun somehow found out and came straight over to pick a fight with him.”

“Auntie, Uncle, this is all my fault. I couldn’t stop him. But you really can’t let Yichun keep going like this. The doctor said it’s a severe mental illness—he needs professional intervention.”

Father Zhou and Mother Zhou clearly had no idea about any of this. Upon hearing it now, they immediately declared they would take Zhou Yichun away and ensure he no longer lived in the Residential Complex.

Father Zhou let out a heavy sigh and gave Jiang Rang’s shoulder a gentle pat. “Xiao Jiang, you’re a good kid. We’ve put you through so much these past few days.”

Jiang Rang’s eyes welled up again as he replied softly, “Uncle, I’m fine. As long as Yichun and the two of you are all right, that’s enough for me.”

Father Zhou shook his head. “I won’t let him bother you anymore, Xiao Jiang. You take good care of yourself from now on. If there’s ever anything you need, don’t hesitate to tell your uncle and auntie.”

Jiang Rang let out a quiet sob and murmured his thanks. Mother Zhou gently patted the young man’s back, soothing him with soft words.

Jiang Rang had always been a master at putting on the perfect front around his elders. Over the years, he’d done it without a single slip-up, earning him the reputation of the model child in everyone’s eyes.

No one would ever pin these ugly deeds on him. And no one would ever doubt the word of such an obedient boy.

The three of them waited outside the operating room for what felt like ages. Once the surgery light finally flickered off, Father Zhou and Mother Zhou—as the closest relatives—went in first to see the patient.

Jiang Rang leaned against the door outside, head bowed in silence, his face a blank mask as he listened in.

At first, the room filled with Mother Zhou’s concerned questions. But after she confirmed that Zhou Yichun was out of danger, Father Zhou must have brought up what Jiang Rang had told them.

The voices inside quickly turned to argument.

Jiang Rang heard Father Zhou snap coldly, “Zhou Yichun, how did we end up raising such a useless son? Picking fights with even Xiao Jiang? I’m telling you right now—get that illness of yours treated properly and stay the hell away from him!”