Chapter 25#

“Fair warning — I don’t have condoms or anything else in the apartment.” Before they went upstairs, Yan Zishu said this in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone, hands in his pockets. “If needed, bring your own.”

There was no particular politeness to his manner now, no formal address — the conventions of a social occasion and those of a business one were not the same.

As it turned out, Fu Jinchi had indeed come prepared. He seemed rather pleased about it. Two low, unhurried syllables, delivered in that warm, dark voice:

“Plenty.”

Yan Zishu watched him produce an actual gift-ribbon-wrapped box from the car, and recalibrated his understanding of this man’s shamelessness upward by another notch.

Fu Jinchi added, with perfect composure: “If you’d like, there are also roses in the boot. Lily arranged them.”

Lily being the secretary who had delivered the birthday cake — evidently quite devoted to her duties.

“Please don’t.” Yan Zishu pressed his fingers to his temple. “I’d rather not have unnecessary clutter in my apartment.”

Fu Jinchi, to his credit, nodded solemnly. “Noted. Won’t happen next time.”

This apartment building catered to the ostensibly high-end — one unit per floor, with the advantage of limited foot traffic, good privacy, and good soundproofing. Coming up in the lift, they encountered no neighbors. Both stepped out of the elevator.

Yan Zishu glanced at Fu Jinchi, then reached up and pressed his fingerprint to the lock. The door opened; the lights came on.

He stepped into the entrance hall and changed into slippers, while saying: “No carpet — keep your shoes on.”

Fu Jinchi sauntered inside at leisure, in no hurry to pin him against a wall, instead taking in his surroundings with an observant eye.

This was a single man’s residence. But if one omitted that qualifier, it could have passed for a hotel show unit, and there would have been those who believed it.

Two bedrooms, one living area, one kitchen, one bathroom, and a generous balcony. The entire living room was visible at a glance — large, but empty as a snow cave, without the warmth that made a space feel like a home. The full brightness of the overhead lighting only accentuated how thoroughly it lacked any trace of human living.

Fu Jinchi glanced at the shoe cabinet. No wonder he’d been asked to keep his shoes on — there wasn’t a spare pair of guest slippers anywhere.

Everything about the place said that friends rarely came by, and uninvited visitors were not expected.

Only this particular uninvited visitor had forced his way in regardless.

For Yan Zishu, it was genuinely nothing more than a temporary address. The apartment was rented by the company — he could stay as long as he remained at Yinghan, it met his basic needs, and there was no particular reason to go to the trouble of finding somewhere else. It was enough to have a place to land.

Put another way: he maintained himself in a state of readiness to leave at any moment. Possessions were kept to an absolute minimum. He would not spend a thought on acquiring anything extra.

Yan Zishu draped the light outer jacket from his elbow over a hook and turned on the air conditioning at once. For people like them — suits and ties from morning to night — the only thing that kept them going was the cold air in office towers and cars.

Fu Jinchi caught the temperature displayed on the remote: “Don’t make it too cold. You’ll catch a chill.”

Yan Zishu didn’t argue, adjusting to the universally agreed comfortable setting. “Sit wherever you like. Can I get you anything?”

Fu Jinchi said: “Actually, body temperature drops when you sleep — setting it to the lower end is plenty.”

Then he saw Yan Zishu looking at him with an expression caught between exasperation and reluctant amusement, and couldn’t help the smile that surfaced on his own face. He hadn’t even gotten the man into bed yet, and here he was delivering lectures on optimal sleeping temperature. What manner of overbearing nanny behavior was this.

Fu Jinchi extended one hand toward him. “Come here.”

Yan Zishu took his hand, and in the next moment was pulled firmly against him.

He settled across Fu Jinchi’s lap, arms loosely draped over his shoulders — a posture between resistance and welcome.

Fu Jinchi took off his glasses. Close to his ear, he said: “Cold is fine — we’ll warm up once we get moving.”

Losing his visual aid, Yan Zishu’s world blurred at once. Everything lost its focus.

Fu Jinchi, however, could see clearly — the teardrop mole at the outer corner of Yan Zishu’s eye, lashes lowered, effortlessly affecting even without any effort to be. He brushed his thumb over it. “Has anyone ever told you — in physiognomy, a teardrop mole is said to mean ‘a life like flowing water, half a lifetime adrift’ — the lone star’s fate.”

Yan Zishu shifted slightly away, turning the man’s erudition back on him: “Mr. Fu, not only well-versed in philosophy and psychology — now face-reading as well.”

Fu Jinchi retaliated by catching the back of his neck and drawing him down into a kiss with considerable force, as though settling a debt.

Yan Zishu threaded his fingers through Fu Jinchi’s hair and yielded.

This Yan Zishu — this version of him — seemed remarkably, unexpectedly affecting. Fu Jinchi held the lean, supple line of his waist and traced it unhurriedly.

There was no urgency in him this time. Knowing the full meal lay ahead, it seemed only right to take one’s time.

At which point Yan Zishu gave him a push, and stopped things neatly in their tracks. “Go shower.”

Fu Jinchi was handed a towel and offered no resistance as he went into the bathroom.

The sound of running water came through the wall, then stopped. Then the interior lock clicked open and Fu Jinchi’s voice reached him, slightly raised: “Zishu — how do you adjust the water heater? Only cold water coming out — is there hot water at all?”

Yan Zishu opened the door, and found Fu Jinchi standing fully clothed beside the vanity, the shower head in his hand, idly turning it.

Yan Zishu’s instinct was to step back half a pace. Fortunately, the shower head wasn’t spraying anything.

He understood the aesthetic of a wet shirt well enough. Even so, practicality prevailed: “I should mention — these few presentable suits of mine are the full extent of my wardrobe. The clothes are considerably more valuable than the man. Soaked, they’re finished.”

Fu Jinchi’s eyes curved. He dropped the shower head and pulled Yan Zishu toward him, folding him into his arms.

Yan Zishu leaned against him and heard Fu Jinchi murmur, voice rough: “Then let me take them off for you. I promise I won’t damage a single thing.”

He proceeded to do exactly that, with focused attention, undoing one small shell button at a time — deliberate as unwrapping something exquisite.

The heat of his fingertips felt like a brand, producing the faint illusion of skin on the verge of being scorched.

Yan Zishu’s throat moved. He turned his face away and fixed his gaze on the smooth tiles and mosaic patterns on the opposite wall.

Above the vanity, as was standard in this style of apartment, there was a large, clear mirror. Yan Zishu’s was no different. He stood at it every morning and evening without particular feeling — but now, Fu Jinchi coaxed him to turn and look at the reflection.

In the mirror, two figures were entangled in ambiguous proximity. That single glance pulled something up from a deep, buried place — a rush of unwanted memories threaded with domestic violence, things he had no wish to revisit.

The color left Yan Zishu’s face. He looked away. The small bathroom suddenly felt as though it contained four people rather than two — too crowded, the walls pressing in, the space on the verge of fracture, and his head turning dizzy with it.

He moved to the side, to the part of the room the mirror didn’t reach, and braced against the wall. Pushed Fu Jinchi off with one hand. Felt, faintly, like he might be sick.

Fu Jinchi had assumed at first that he was embarrassed. Then he reconsidered. He moved toward him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Yan Zishu said. “The bathroom is too small… not here. I’ll head out first.”

Fu Jinchi frowned, not understanding, but reached out to steady him. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Yan Zishu recovered quickly. His voice resumed its usual register: “No.”

Fu Jinchi still seemed uncertain. Yan Zishu simply turned and pushed him out the door. “Since you’re not in a hurry to shower, I’ll go first.”

Outside the door, Fu Jinchi stood still for a moment, then shook his head with a bemused smile. “How did I never notice you had such a temper.”

Undressed anyway for the most part, Yan Zishu threw his shirt and trousers in the laundry basket, stood for a moment in thought, and then took a perfunctory shower. When he came out in a cotton sleep shirt, Fu Jinchi was on the sofa watching television. “Are you really all right?”

Yan Zishu’s answer was to toss him an oversized bathrobe.

By the time Fu Jinchi had properly showered and come back, the main lights in the living room had been turned off — only a small floor lamp remained, radiating a warm, soft glow in the dark. Beyond that, the neon signs from the building opposite filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, red and green, flickering without pause.

The television was still on, volume turned very low. Yan Zishu had curled up in the interwoven light and fallen asleep on the sofa.

His sleeping face was not at peace — brows faintly drawn together, as though the weight of work pressed on him even in sleep, or perhaps still keeping its guard up against the uninvited guest.

Fu Jinchi stood beside him for a moment, watching, then shook him gently awake and carried him to the bedroom.

Still half-asleep, Yan Zishu’s instincts made him stir in protest. Fu Jinchi said quietly: “Stay still — I’ll drop you.”

Yan Zishu came back to himself, registered the warmth vibrating in the chest beneath his ear, hesitated a moment, then reached up and looped his arm around Fu Jinchi’s neck.

Then he felt himself set down, gently, on the familiar surface of his own bed.

…

After.

Fu Jinchi lay on his side, one arm propped under his head, the other still loosely around Yan Zishu, one hand idly tracing along his back.

Yan Zishu, however, was like a cat that didn’t like being touched — the moment his owner reached for him, he was already shifting to pull away. It wasn’t that he disliked the warmth itself; he simply had a stronger dislike for the hollowness it left once it vanished. So he took matters into his own hands. “When you leave, remember to pull the front door shut behind you.”

The bedroom at this particular moment was, it had to be said, in a state of considerable disarray that invited no lingering.

He had no desire even to open his eyes. He only wanted to sink into his exhaustion and sleep until morning, then deal with it all at leisure.

Yan Zishu’s earlier shower had been notably hasty — he hadn’t even washed his hair. The strands that had been shaped with pomade that morning were still fixed in crisp, neat lines against the pillow, and there was nothing comfortable about any of it. Fu Jinchi leaned in and coaxed him gently: “Shower again before you sleep.”

Yan Zishu made a perfunctory sound of acknowledgment, waiting for the man to leave so he could close his eyes.

Then the mattress shifted. Fu Jinchi got up.

After a brief interval, there was a soft sound from the direction of the bathroom. Fu Jinchi came back with a wrung-out warm towel, pulled Yan Zishu over with some authority, and at least wiped him down. Yan Zishu was so exhausted by this point that he was nearly convinced the whole scene was a dream.

As it happened, his body gave out entirely from sheer depletion shortly after, and he slipped into the dark without any further capacity to sort dream from waking.

*

Until the next morning, when the determined internal clock and sounds from the kitchen woke him.

He confirmed that someone was indeed still in the apartment.

As for who — it could only be Fu Jinchi.

Yan Zishu lay wrapped in his blanket, not moving, listening to the sounds of someone moving back and forth outside for a moment.

His sleep had never been particularly restorative, and these sounds made any return to sleep impossible.

Then the door opened. Fu Jinchi came back into the bedroom and was visibly surprised to find Yan Zishu’s eyes already open. “You’re up this early?”

Fu Jinchi took his arm and sat him up. Yan Zishu’s back and waist ached, but his mind was clear. “You’re still here?”

“Sharp-tongued first thing in the morning.” Fu Jinchi sat on the edge of the bed with a smile. He was wearing Yan Zishu’s spare sleep clothes — helping himself to them freely. “The room looks like a battlefield was fought in it. Where do you keep the spare bed sheets? Get up first — put fresh ones on, then sleep.”

Fu Jinchi was tall; the borrowed clothes fit somewhat snugly, the fabric pulled across the chest, though most sleep clothes had enough give that it didn’t look wrong. Still, the man himself was the problem — this was not a one-night encounter followed by a graceful exit. This was a guest who had become the host.

Yan Zishu finally registered the time on his phone, pulled from the bedside. “It’s fine… leave it, I’ll sort it later.”

“Did you use to bring people back and treat them like this?” Fu Jinchi asked, out of nowhere. He slid a hand beneath the blanket.

“Like what?” Yan Zishu tucked one knee in.

“— Sensibly.” Fu Jinchi said, holding him, murmuring something close to his ear.

What followed, completely without restraint, was enough to make Yan Zishu genuinely struggle to hold his ground: “I’ve never brought anyone home before.”

“Don’t I count as a person?” Fu Jinchi said. “Oh, right — I more or less forced my way in.”

Fu Jinchi pushed him slowly back down onto the bed and pressed his wrists down on either side of his head. Yan Zishu said nothing, only watching him with those dark, still eyes. Fu Jinchi was captivated by this — as though he had pried open the shell of an oyster and found the soft creature within.

Even if this moment of unguarded vulnerability was as brief as a flower that blooms only at night.