17: Ah Xing, I’m going to be angry.

Qin Yan borrowed a folding ladder, changed the light bulb by himself, and when he turned on the switch, it lit up like a small sun. Zhou Shurong instinctively raised his arm to shield his eyes from the light. The light wasn’t harmful to him, but he lowered his hand in loneliness—actually, it would be better to install an energy-saving light in the kitchen. The light is white, bright, and illuminates everything clearly.

At around 3 p.m., Qin Yan began preparing dinner.

“Take a break and watch TV,” Zhou Shurong said. “You used to laugh a lot, but now you don’t seem happy.”

Qin Yan noticed a long commercial was playing on TV, so he changed the channel and found a popular drama.

“I don’t know if you like it.” He muttered to himself.

The incense burner on the wooden tea table stood still, like a face without expression.

It was hot, and Qin Yan had little appetite. He made some noodles, cooled them down in ice water, and after taking them out, he dried them in front of the fan before putting them in the fridge. He also cut cucumber and carrot strips and chilled them as well.

At seven o’clock, he could mix the seasoning and ingredients into the cold noodles.

But there were still more than three hours until seven.

Qin Yan didn’t know what to do next. His plans were disrupted. He thought there would be no free time, but suddenly a large chunk of time had opened up, leaving him unprepared.

“Can we rest now?” Zhou Shurong asked softly.

Qin Yan looked up and glanced around. The building had poor soundproofing, so he could hear various sounds—voices, laughter, the clinking of furniture—there was a sense of life, making the home feel less empty.

Watch TV, a voice in his mind suggested.

He sat on the sofa and watched TV. It was a romance drama, playing a tear-jerking scene. The male and female leads had gone through a car accident, lost their memories, and missed each other. On an ordinary day, they passed by each other, suddenly looked back, and fell in love at first sight.

Qin Yan remained expressionless, not moved at all, and even found it boring.

There was a monster called emptiness, which was numbing him, slowly eroding his brain.

Qin Yan suddenly missed the days when Zhou Langxing was around.

Although he wouldn’t admit it out loud or even to himself, he truly needed someone to accompany him.

The incense burner was something he had foolishly given a soul, but rationally, he knew it was just a cold, lifeless object.

Whether he talked to it or played TV for it, it wouldn’t respond.

Zhou Shurong sat at the other end of the sofa, looking calm, propping up his cheek as he watched Qin Yan’s somewhat blank face.

His eyes were on the TV, yet seemed to be unfocused, lost in thought. A sorrowful aura spread slowly from him.

Zhou Shurong extended a finger and poked Qin Yan’s face.

“Whatever you do, as long as it makes you happy, I won’t say anything.”

“This city doesn’t have your friends,” he paused, “So, do you want to contact Ah Xing? He can sometimes be quite a good mood-maker.”

Qin Yan felt a chill on his cheek. He blinked, confused, and turned his head.

Was it one soul looking at another?

No, there was still no trace of Zhou Shurong in his pupils.

Qin Yan looked out the window, at the potted plants, at the shadows cast by them…

He could see everything, but not Zhou Shurong, because he was a lonely soul not meant to remain in this world.

Zhou Shurong smiled faintly, like a calm, graceful “First Wife.”

“Last night, you two looked very close. Of course, it could be because you were sick and needed comfort. In any case, he hugged you, and you didn’t push him away.”

He took a deep breath, not a hint of mist escaping from his lips.

“Do you want him to stay with you? I will suppress myself temporarily and won’t cause any trouble.”

He desperately wanted to see Qin Yan smile again, like the moonlight melting in his eyes, a soft tenderness that was intoxicating. It felt like it had been ages ago, even though only a few days had passed.

Qin Yan didn’t notice anything unusual and turned his attention back to the TV screen.

All of Zhou Shurong’s words turned into bubbles on the sea. Before anyone came, a wave came and all the bubbles merged into the sea, unnoticed.

He looked at Qin Yan’s profile, then at the sunlight outside the window, pushed his glasses, and fell silent.

At seven o’clock, Qin Yan started his dinner. When he finished, the sky had completely darkened.

The empty house didn’t have any trace of Zhou Shurong.

At this moment, a phantom figure floated through the bustling street, dreamlike lights passed through him, and a stray dog with a soulful gaze suddenly stopped and began barking wildly at the empty space.

Someone nearby exclaimed, “What’s with this dog? Is it sick?!”

“It’s a stray dog, maybe it’s gone mad! Be careful, don’t get close! Call the city management! Call the dog pound!”

Zhou Shurong glanced disdainfully at the dog, raised his arm, and made a gesture as if he was going to knock it on the head.

The stray dog, fearing the strong and preying on the weak, recognized the gesture it had seen countless times. It immediately whimpered and scurried away, tail between its legs, well aware of the danger.

The Zhou family’s estate was not in the city center. Zhou Shurong wandered for a while before finally arriving at the iron gate covered in rose patterns.

He passed through two doors and entered the lavishly decorated hall. On the wall, an old clock indicated that it was just after nine.

At this hour, for some people, the night had yet to begin.

The house was very quiet.

Zhou Shurong guessed that his father was in the study working. To trap Zhou Langxing, it would have to be him who did it. The butler, Uncle Lin, wouldn’t be able to handle Zhou Langxing.

He saw the black-and-white memorial photo above the clock—a face, drained of all color, embedded in the white wall, and it struck him as strangely unfamiliar.

The condescending smile on that face seemed to carry a hint of mockery.

He couldn’t be sure if it was just the angle.

Zhou Shurong and Zhou Langxing were twins, with strikingly similar features. As he gazed at that face, it felt like he was looking at Zhou Langxing.

But still, he didn’t believe the person in the memorial photo was him. It felt too strange.

He turned his gaze away and headed upstairs.

This city had many mountains. The estate was built on a mountain, rarely visited by others, and extremely quiet. But there was a downside: the mountains were filled with mosquitoes, who loved the light and were not afraid of people.

Zhou Langxing was on the balcony, smoking, his mood agitated. He took a drag, but the usual refreshing minty sensation didn’t calm him down.

Moreover, there were flying insects nearby causing trouble. They didn’t go for the fancy hanging lights but instead seemed to be attracted to the red glow of the cigarette, buzzing around it.

Zhou Langxing was thinking about Qin Yan.

His illness was better, but did last night’s experience leave him with any lasting effects?

Zhou Langxing regretted that he hadn’t gotten rid of the incense burner.

The minty smoke slowly rose. Zhou Shurong approached Zhou Langxing, extending his hand as if to catch the smoke.

“I really envy you. You can still smoke when you’re troubled. But, you got this from me, didn’t you?”

Zhou Langxing, unaware, exhaled smoke in circles into the night sky.

“I have many things, just not cigarettes. By the way, you guys even got me a Lamborghini. I forgot to drive it here. But the color is too gaudy, red. Was that your choice? Not very thoughtful.”

This was a misunderstanding. When the funeral was being arranged, Zhou Langxing was still unconscious in the hospital.

The red Lamborghini was specially chosen by his father, hoping that Zhou Shurong would learn from Zhou Langxing—being composed in life, and after death, to be happier and a little more lively.

“I really want to call him…”

Zhou Shurong suddenly heard a mutter. He raised his eyes and saw his twin brother’s melancholic profile.

“Then call him,” Zhou Shurong said, the very reason he had come here. “Aren’t you always claiming you’re fearless?”

Zhou Langxing sighed, holding the cigarette, “But… I’m afraid he’ll find me annoying.”

It was strange. He actually had moments of fear.

Zhou Shurong narrowed his eyes, inspecting him. “It seems like you don’t consider him a friend.”

Zhou Langxing was always loyal to his friends, and to put it bluntly, that meant helping those close to him, not necessarily what’s right. Impulsively jumping in, but when he overthought things, the term “friend” started to take on a deeper meaning.

His indecision, his many concerns, caused a shadow to fall over Zhou Shurong’s eyes.

Zhou Shurong stopped looking at Zhou Langxing. Instead, he gazed at the beautiful, cool, yet gentle moon in the night sky, softly saying, “Ah Xing, I’m going to be angry.”

Zhou Langxing, still unaware, continued smoking with a sad expression.

The cool breeze brushed against his skin, bringing a chill that felt like winter.

He shivered.

“Strange…” Zhou Langxing frowned, and suddenly, he thought of the late Zhou Shurong.