Chapter 6

On the way to the hospital, Song Cheng’an was unusually quiet, eyes closed as he rested beside him, like a normal child—obedient and sensible.

Song Cheng’an’s breathing was steady. Lin Jianxi glanced at the scar on his arm again and sighed, “Little Pervert.”

As a child, he liked stealing panties; grown up, he was obsessed with piercings and self-harm—crazy and erratic, definitely something wrong with his brain.

Song Cheng’an suddenly opened his eyes. “Pervert?”

…He wasn’t asleep.

Song Cheng’an said, troubled, “Yeah, I’m a pervert. After you said that, I like you even more.”

Lin Jianxi laughed uncontrollably. This kid was too amusing, confessing love eight hundred times a day.

Song Cheng’an didn’t laugh. He leaned against the car window, eyes slightly narrowed, staring at Lin Jianxi intently—entranced, bewitched.

After a moment, he called out, “Lin Jianxi.”

“Hm?”

“Sorry. I won’t hurt you anymore, and I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”

“Hm, good boy.”

“…”

Song Cheng’an tugged at the corner of his mouth and turned his gaze to the window.

Soft music played in the car. Lin Jianxi rolled down the window for some breeze, arm draped over it, and drawled lazily in the wind, “Kid, is it worth it?”

“Who knows.”

Song Cheng’an said lightly, then closed his eyes, as if truly asleep.

*

The doctor couldn’t do anything about that wound—it was too deep. The scar would stay on his body for life. Song Cheng’an said it was fine; he’d planned to keep it forever anyway, right up until cremation, with the scar on his arm until his flesh vanished from the world. He didn’t care.

Lin Jianxi looked at him, smiled, and said nothing.

Later, after Song Cheng’an took the college entrance exam, he moved out for good. Lin Jianxi went to the guest room he’d once stayed in and saw only the phone he’d personally given Song Cheng’an, quietly placed on the table.

Gu Heng’s career predictably hit problems. Lin Jianxi accompanied him moving from a big house to a rental apartment and went job-hunting himself. With no degree in this world and no desire for anything fancy, he became a lab technician at a small company, sticking with it for three years—rising from technician to supervisor, on great terms with the boss.

The boss was a renowned professor at a certain university who also loved to drink, often probing him over drinks: “You got some other identity, don’t you, President Lin?”

The boss was young and promising too, just over thirty, fond of jokingly calling him “President Lin” or straight-up “Boss Lin.”

Lin Jianxi nearly died laughing every time. The boss sighed, “Don’t laugh like I’m being naive. I’ve been in this field for years—never seen a newbie who spots things at a glance like you. You’re more professional than my competitors, even better. You’re definitely not as simple as that resume says.”

Lin Jianxi smoked, offering no response.

The boss added, “Want to give some lectures?”

Lin Jianxi looked at him. “You’re overestimating me.”

Boss: “Elective course—barely any students usually. I’m swamped; you do it. I’ll give you a raise.”

Lin Jianxi’s eyes lit up at the money—he desperately needed it.

Really desperately.

They clinked glasses. Neither said more; unspoken words swirled in the liquor, bitter alcohol sliding down the throat, its buzz searing it all into memory.

Mentioning university made Lin Jianxi think of Song Cheng’an.

Three years now, and Song Cheng’an had never come back.

Heartless.

But he’d probably let go by now, Lin Jianxi thought hazily. He hoped the scars on that kid’s hand had stopped accumulating that night he took him to the hospital—no more self-harm.

On Lin Jianxi’s first lecture day, there were only a sparse few in the audience, all huddled in the huge classroom’s back rows. He didn’t care, just lectured away. At the end, he coughed amid the chaos and heard one person clapping below. He caught his breath, looked up—the room was empty.

Day two, a few more people. One started clapping first, others joined. Lin Jianxi wasn’t a pro lecturer, so there were no interactions—he just talked, treating students like air. By the time he clocked it, everyone was applauding, but he still couldn’t spot the instigator.

Day three…

Day four…

More and more people.

By day ten, the room was nearly packed. He entered thinking he’d gotten the wrong room, froze a second, then lectured.

Students loved questions; Lin Jianxi started eye contact. He instantly clocked the second-row guy in the baseball cap, bundled up tight—only a sharp chin visible.

His classmates were in short sleeves, but he wore black long sleeves, with extra-long cuffs hiding half his hand and beautiful fingertips peeking out. He propped his chin up in class, the corners of his mouth faintly hooked, his eyes under the brim fixed on him unwaveringly.

“…”

Lin Jianxi never did roll call; never opened the roster. This time, during break, he did—no name he sought.

But he knew.

That student was Song Cheng’an.

Class was over again.

This time, Lin Jianxi saw it—Song Cheng’an started the applause. Deafening cheers. Lin Jianxi smiled, stepped back, bowed deeply.

Dismissed. Students filed out. Lin Jianxi watched Song Cheng’an yank his brim low, head down, pass right by without a glance, trailing classmates.

Lin Jianxi noticed: the kid seemed taller.

Lin Jianxi opened his thermos, popped two pills, grabbed his textbook, and left.

Day fifteen.

Song Cheng’an listened below, still offering no greeting—like he was admiring artwork.

Lin Jianxi saw crowds swelling, wondering if lecturing was his hidden talent—so many drawn to his dry material.

On day sixteen, he took the day off.

On day seventeen, Lin Jianxi tagged along with the boss to a cocktail party. They were both heavy drinkers who loved it, keeping things super casual. While others networked, they pounded cups in a corner, having a blast.

Boss: “Your age, and no thought to finding someone?”

Lin Jianxi: “I’ve been married almost ten years.”

Boss, stunned: “Fuck.”

“President Shen, I know I’m no charmer, but no need for that shock,” Lin Jianxi teased.

Shen Ze shook his head. “Nah, you’re plenty charming—that’s why the shock. You don’t look married material. More like a player.”

Lin Jianxi: “You’re the first one to say that.”

Shen Ze looked at him, his gaze ambiguous. “I’m very glad I’m the first to say it, and I hope I’m the only one.”

“Saying I’m a player is something to be glad about?”

“It’s praising your charm—something worth celebrating.”

“Oh… My lover has praised that before. He often says I’m charming.”

“…”

Shen Ze pretended to be speechless. “Go ahead, make me jealous.”

Lin Jianxi laughed happily, his eyes reflecting the dazzling lights of the venue. Shen Ze stared, momentarily entranced, and asked on impulse, “Who is your lover?”

Lin Jianxi: “He’s just him, no one else. You wouldn’t know him even if I told you.”

Shen Ze realized he had overstepped and gave an awkward smile, quickly changing the subject. “Did you see that person sitting in the chair? The young guy with the black earring.”

Lin Jianxi slowly turned his head, his gaze lingering.

He saw Song Cheng’an.

He was still wearing that baseball cap, but not pulled as low as it had been during class; faint strands of messy hair were visible underneath.

Shen Ze: “Don’t judge him by his casual getup—this kid is impressive. He single-handedly brought his family’s company back from the brink of collapse.”

Lin Jianxi agreed. “Yeah, truly amazing at such a young age.”

“That he survived at all is a miracle. It was only after his parents died that people found out…” Shen Ze whispered, “His family’s basement was full of corpses and lunatics driven mad by torture. Song Cheng’an grew up living alongside those horrors. Those two were selfish to the core, unwilling to share their wealth with anyone—not even their own child.”

“…”

Lin Jianxi was slightly stunned.

He asked, “Then why bring him into the world in the first place?”

Shen Ze: “To divert attention, of course. They publicly named Song Cheng’an as the sole heir and put him in charge of company affairs from a young age, drawing the eyes of anyone coveting their fortune onto him while they stayed in the shadows.”

Shen Ze leaned closer. “Tell me, how is Song Cheng’an so normal? He was raised amid mental illness. By all rights, you’d expect some odd behaviors from that kind of upbringing, but aside from his ruthless methods, you really can’t tell… In a twisted way, the Song family’s education was a success?”

Lin Jianxi tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Dark humor.”

As he chatted with Shen Ze, he occasionally glanced at Song Cheng’an. Half an hour passed, and Song Cheng’an had spoken with plenty of people, yet there wasn’t a trace of a smile on his face.

This was nothing like the Song Cheng’an he knew.

He had never imagined Song Cheng’an’s life had been so fraught with hardship.

A strange unease stirred in Lin Jianxi’s chest.

“Go say hi,” Shen Ze urged. “If he takes a liking to us, we’re made.”

“You go. I’m stepping out for a smoke.”

Shen Ze sighed helplessly. “Your lungs are probably a wreck already, and you still smoke.”

Lin Jianxi downed his drink in one go. “No choice—addicted. Can’t quit.”

Lin Jianxi didn’t really want a smoke; he needed to cough. He hurried to the bathroom, bent over double, hacking violently until the world spun. After what felt like forever, he splashed water on his face—and vomited up a mouthful of blood. Lin Jianxi stared at it, dazed for a moment, then turned on the faucet and rinsed it away.

These past three years had been grueling.

Lin Jianxi slumped against the bathroom wall and lit a cigarette, hoping to quell the itch in his throat.

Gu Heng had made too many enemies, and those people…

Lin Jianxi didn’t know how to put it—they all seemed fixated on him. If not for Shen Ze, who knew whose bed he’d end up in by now.

Three years ago, smoking and drinking had been mere hobbies. Now they were addictions, full-blown alcoholism. He’d puzzled over it endlessly, and even today, he couldn’t fathom what this slovenly, vice-ridden mess of a man had that made him worth coveting.

Lin Jianxi finished the cigarette, deciding it was safe enough not to have an attack outside, and left the bathroom.

Eyes downcast on the floor, he coughed twice more. Someone stood directly in his path. Lin Jianxi sidestepped—and heard a familiar voice.

“Lin Jianxi, I’ve shown up in front of you so many times now. Why haven’t you said hello?”

…Song Cheng’an.

Lin Jianxi looked up, meeting the eyes beneath the brim of the cap. Song Cheng’an’s eyes were beautiful, and in that earnest stare was undisguised affection.

It had been ages since he’d looked this closely; it felt strangely unfamiliar…

It should—he was no longer Song Cheng’an’s guardian. Their worlds were leagues apart now.

Lin Jianxi offered a polite smile. “Long time no see, Mr. Song.”

“…”

“What did you call me?”

“Oh, Mr. Song, Boss Song, President Song…” With each title, Song Cheng’an stepped closer, the scent of expensive cologne drifting into Lin Jianxi’s nose.

Lin Jianxi found himself backed against the wall, sighing inwardly at the gulf between them. He reeked of booze and bitter herbs; Song Cheng’an smelled of refined perfume.

“Lin Jianxi, you’re not doing well.” Song Cheng’an stared at him, eyes dropping to his lips. “I said I wouldn’t let anyone bully you, but you’re too indifferent.”

Lin Jianxi opened his mouth to respond, but his lungs seized again.

He endured the agony, clutching Song Cheng’an’s arm like a lifeline, swallowing the cough. Blood flooded his mouth, sweet and metallic; he forced it down, but a thin trickle escaped the corner of his lips.

“…”

Song Cheng’an froze, reaching to wipe it away. Lin Jianxi turned his head aside.

Song Cheng’an’s hand hung in midair. He pressed his lips together, lashes lowering to veil the storm in his eyes.

“It’s nothing—just a bit overheated,” Lin Jianxi said. “Years apart, and you’re a grown man now. ‘Kid’ doesn’t fit anymore.”

Lin Jianxi rested his head against the wall, licked the blood from his lip, and gave a soft laugh. “You’ve had it rough, Song Cheng’an. Making it to twenty-one… that’s truly impressive.”

“…”