37: A Dual Between Two

On this particular day, Qin Yan’s brain was completely overrun with joy—he kept breaking into random bursts of laughter for no apparent reason.

At lunch, he’d barely swallowed his first bite before he burst out laughing and choked, needing to gulp down a whole glass of water.

Zhou Shurong seemed exasperated. They had agreed to minimize the use of his power—it was deeply tied to his existence and couldn’t be used recklessly. Yet he broke his own rule not long after, forcefully writing four big words on the table:

—Eat your food properly!

Qin Yan panicked and hurriedly told him not to use his energy again. In the spirit of focusing, he made sure to chew each bite at least ten times!

Around two in the afternoon, Zhou Langxing showed up at the door, carrying a bowl of takeout sweet soup. He was unusually dressed in a crisp white shirt today, with the cuffs unbuttoned and rolled up to reveal his forearms.

“Brought you something good!” he lifted the bag and shook it smugly in front of Qin Yan.

“What good thing?”

Qin Yan was puzzled but didn’t hold back—he snatched it straight out of his hand.

The bowl of sweet soup still gave off a faint coolness, and the plastic wrap on the outside was already damp. When Qin Yan took it out, his palm got sticky and wet.

He placed the sweet soup on the table and flicked his hand dry, about to head to the bathroom—but Zhou Langxing had already pulled out a napkin to wipe his hands for him.

Qin Yan remembered Zhou Shurong was present and reflexively tucked his hand behind his back, refusing the gesture.

Zhou Langxing froze slightly. He held the thin napkin between his fingers, gently rubbing it between thumb and forefinger, making a soft rustling sound.

His eyes were deep and dark, and standing with the light behind him only made his expression look more unreadable.

That look made Qin Yan feel a pang of guilt.

This really wasn’t good—it was too obvious. He needed to take things slowly, or he’d risk not even being able to stay friends.

“I’ll wipe it myself.”

Qin Yan extended his hand, eyes darting as he tried to figure out where Zhou Shurong was hiding.

Zhou Langxing’s eyelids lowered, staring at Qin Yan’s outstretched hand. With a soft chuckle, he placed the crumpled napkin into Qin Yan’s palm with surprising gentleness.

Qin Yan had been scanning the room for signs of Zhou Shurong but snapped back to Zhou Langxing when he heard that laugh. Yet no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t decipher the meaning behind the smile on Zhou Langxing’s face.

It just made him more confused.

Zhou Langxing was both easy and hard to understand. Totally contradictory.

If he had just lost his temper on the spot, Qin Yan would’ve known how to coax him. But now, he’d gone from dark-faced to smiling, and it gave Qin Yan a strange, unsettled feeling. Like a predator pretending to be harmless.

Qin Yan mumbled inwardly as he tossed the crumpled napkin into the trash.

Zhou Langxing had already made himself at home.

In Qin Yan’s house, he acted with total ease. Without waiting to be invited, he slumped onto the sofa, leaned back lazily—half his body sinking into the cushions—legs crossed in a relaxed, comfortable pose.

Qin Yan was speechless. Seeing that indifferent expression, eyes casually fixed on the TV, he muttered awkwardly, “The remote’s under your butt.”

He thought this would throw Zhou Langxing off.

Maybe make him blush, look away, or awkwardly rub his nose.

But none of that happened.

Zhou Langxing just calmly replied, “Oh,” and without even glancing at Qin Yan, he pulled the remote out from under himself and pressed a button, starting the TV.

For some reason, Qin Yan felt oddly annoyed by that.

He was trying to distance himself from Zhou Langxing, but Zhou Langxing seemed completely unfazed.

Which made Qin Yan start to care.

He sat down reluctantly and noisily peeled open the lid of the sweet soup, hoping to catch Zhou Langxing’s attention.

Off to the side, Zhou Shurong sighed soundlessly. He could easily see through his younger brother’s little mind games—but Qin Yan hadn’t noticed, and worst of all, had taken the bait.

Now he was unhappy too—and started to care about this little showdown between the two.

Zhou Langxing was watching a newly released lighthearted costume drama. He was engrossed, totally absorbed, not paying the slightest attention to Qin Yan.

Qin Yan scooped out a big chewy taro ball from the sweet soup and bit into it aggressively.

Slowly, the storyline caught his interest, and he stopped caring about Zhou Langxing altogether.

Only then did Zhou Langxing glance at him, eyes twinkling faintly with amusement.

Zhou Shurong pushed up his glasses and, taking advantage of the fact that no one could see him, rolled his eyes in the most undignified fashion. If he didn’t have to stay low-profile around the living, he definitely would’ve kicked Zhou Langxing square in the butt!

By the time the episode ended, the sweet soup was finished. Qin Yan stood up to stretch, just as he remembered his earlier dissatisfaction. His gaze drifted back to Zhou Langxing.

He thought: after everything they’d been through—comforting each other through heartbreak—they were at least friends now.

Could Zhou Langxing really not care at all about being distanced by a friend?

He hadn’t even asked why!

Qin Yan had spent so much time crafting his reasons, he couldn’t let them go to waste!

Zhou Langxing had unknowingly changed positions. He was now leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees, gaze intense and serious—like he was staring at the love of his life.

Qin Yan looked at the TV. Then at Zhou Langxing.

Then back to the screen, where an ad for elderly orthopedic shoes was playing.

Qin Yan’s eye twitched. He was very sure Zhou Langxing wasn’t at the age to appreciate senior footwear.

So why the intense stare?

Qin Yan’s eyes flicked as a realization hit him like lightning.

His brows arched upward, the little beauty mark at the corner of his eye practically perked up. He looked at Zhou Langxing’s focused face, and all his earlier gloominess transformed into the excited flick of a cat’s tail.

He finally understood: Zhou Langxing did care about his cold treatment—he was just pretending not to.

That mysterious smile from earlier? In Qin Yan’s heart, it now became a lonely, suppressed, bitter smile.

Clearly hurt and upset, but trying to endure it silently.

Qin Yan’s heart softened.

Regardless of whether Zhou Langxing was hard to read—Qin Yan was easy. Around people he knew well, his masks were sloppy. He’d say he didn’t care, but his tears would betray him.

And this time, when he looked at Zhou Langxing’s profile, there was an unmistakable softness and sympathy in his eyes. Oh—and a hint of completely misplaced benevolence.

The situation was clear: in the battle between them, Zhou Langxing had come out on top.

Qin Yan had been thoroughly played!

It made Zhou Shurong itch to stick out his foot and give his stupid, restless little brother a good, hard kick.

He could already tell Qin Yan’s plan to “distance” himself was as good as dead—unless he came clean and admitted: I’m uncomfortable. I’m jealous. I don’t want the two of you getting closer.

But on second thought, it didn’t really seem necessary. Qin Yan knew himself—he wasn’t some naive white lotus. He was fully aware that since Zhou Shurong had turned into a ghost and was still by his side, there was no way he’d develop that kind of feeling toward Zhou Langxing. At most, he’d occasionally space out while looking at Zhou Langxing’s face—that, he could tolerate. After all, the two brothers shared similar features, and when Qin Yan looked at Zhou Langxing, he was really thinking of Zhou Shurong.

So there was no need for him and Zhou Langxing to end their friendship.

Zhou Shurong, however, had his own thoughts.

On one hand, he wasn’t sure if he’d become hideous, and didn’t dare show himself to Qin Yan. Letting Qin Yan look at Zhou Langxing instead would help keep his image from being forgotten.

On the other hand, the world was getting more and more dangerous. He needed to work hard to grow stronger, constantly heading out to search for concentrated yin energy. Qin Yan, meanwhile, needed protection. For now, he’d entrusted that responsibility to Zhou Langxing.

As for the possibility of being cheated on… he wasn’t going to spiral over it anymore. He trusted Qin Yan.

It hurt a little.

He couldn’t hold on.

He really wanted to cry.

—Zhou Langxing thought, with a blank expression.

To make sure Qin Yan noticed, he widened his eyes dramatically, trying to create the illusion that he was watching the commercial, when in reality he was spacing out.

By the time Qin Yan had his epiphany, Zhou Langxing’s eyes were already bloodshot from holding them open. But he didn’t dare blink, afraid that a single blink would send tears spilling down.

Although crying would be an effective way to appear vulnerable, Zhou Langxing had his pride. Not much, but still. Crying in front of the person he liked—that would be too pathetic. He wasn’t going to do it.

But… he really couldn’t hold it anymore. Not blinking for several minutes was torture!

Just then, Qin Yan stood up.

He left the living room.

Zhou Langxing was instantly released from his self-imposed sentence. He collapsed onto the sofa, blinking rapidly, frantically dabbing at the tears with a napkin.

Qin Yan returned, holding a one-liter bottle of cola. It was meant as a peace offering. With a thud, the cola landed in front of Zhou Langxing.

Zhou Langxing: “……”

He’d already returned to his earlier posture the moment he heard footsteps. Now, blinking slowly, he tilted his head and looked at Qin Yan.

“I know you like cola, so I bought a big bottle and kept it chilled in the fridge,” Qin Yan said, with a generous tone.

Zhou Langxing stayed silent, still clinging to his emo mood.

Qin Yan bent down, his voice soft, slipping into kindergarten-teacher mode: “Want to drink some now? I can get you a cup, okay?”

Zhou Langxing worked hard to stay in his emo mindset. He gave Qin Yan a deep, meaningful look, then slowly nodded.

As Qin Yan walked into the kitchen, Zhou Shurong followed, making a rude hand gesture at Zhou Langxing—likely one of disdain.

There were no disposable cups left in the house, so Qin Yan rummaged through the cupboards and found the cup Zhou Shurong used to favor. Glancing toward the kitchen door, he knew he couldn’t see the living room from here, but still felt guilty, like he was doing something sneaky.

The commercial had ended outside, and the TV drama’s theme song was playing. Qin Yan’s heart itched; he really wanted to rush out and keep watching.

He whispered to the air beside him, “I’m using your cup—do you mind?”

He was sure Zhou Shurong was nearby.

And he wasn’t wrong. Though Qin Yan had been talking to his left, Zhou Shurong was actually standing on his right. It was only after he spoke that Zhou Shurong shifted position.

“If you do mind…”

Qin Yan suddenly went quiet. He remembered all the strange things that had happened before—the curtains fluttering despite closed windows, the mysteriously broken lightbulb, the plate that had suddenly fallen… One by one, they began to make sense. If he really wanted to get to the bottom of it, all the signs pointed to the same conclusion.

Zhou Shurong had the ability, the motive, and the reason to be angry. The impossible explanation was the correct one.

Qin Yan clutched the cup tightly, his fingers white with pressure. He whispered, barely audible:

“You should be mad.”

Zhou Shurong stayed calm, unmoving as he stared at him.

“Sorry.” Qin Yan lowered his eyes, trying to hide the sadness there. “I can’t help looking at him. When he’s happy, I’m happy. When he’s sad, I get sad too. I’m not even sure how much of it is projection, because of that face.”

Qin Yan was the sentimental type. He’d worn the same set of pajamas for three years—the collar and sleeves frayed and stretched—yet still couldn’t bear to throw them out.

Let alone a lover he’d been with for six months?

“If the two of you didn’t look alike…” His gaze fell to an inconspicuous stain on the tile floor. After what felt like ages, the emotion swelled up, and even his voice began to tremble.

“If that were the case, I wouldn’t have let him get close to me.”

Zhou Shurong believed this. Qin Yan had lived in this city for two years, yet hadn’t made a single friend he could casually hang out with.

After starting work, life was no longer like school. Without the communal life of dormitories, there was no time to slowly build a bond with someone.

“I tried to resist that projection too, but Langxing’s too sneaky. Always showing up at my door with his leg bandaged, bringing thoughtful gifts—how could I harden my heart?”

Qin Yan looked up, eyelashes trembling, trying to catch sight of Zhou Shurong.

“But now, I just think of him as a friend I click with. Trying to distance myself again feels unfair—why should he get punished?”

Zhou Shurong said it was fine.

Qin Yan couldn’t hear him, so Zhou Shurong tilted his head and reached out to gently fan a breeze by Qin Yan’s ear.

Qin Yan’s eyes widened, voice softening: “Was that you? Do it again, please?”

As soon as he said it, the soft curls by his ear stirred gently once more.

Qin Yan squinted in delight. “You’re amazing.”

He thought for a second, then held up the glass cup. “So if you do mind, just send another breeze.”

There was no breeze. Zhou Shurong didn’t mind.

Qin Yan smiled knowingly. “I knew it—you still really like your little brother, don’t you?”

Zhou Shurong gave no response.