51: He Wanted to Live

A box of condoms—ordinary enough, save for one with a strange flavor—yet even that ordinary sight unsettled Zhou Shurong. Truth be told, Qin Yan wasn’t doing any better.

That night, Zhou Shurong held Qin Yan in his arms, whispering softly into his ear.

Qin Yan’s cheeks flushed pale pink with embarrassment. He had just bathed, his skin still dewy with steam like a plump peach. Before he could respond, Zhou Shurong bit down, his teeth gently grinding, then followed with a rub of his cold lips.

The warmth of the skin against the chill—he liked the sensation. He enjoyed it.

Qin Yan, however, felt quite the opposite.

Too cold, too icy—any spark of heat within him was immediately doused.

Qin Yan gave him a push. When that didn’t work, he reached down and grabbed, saying, “I don’t believe you can even get it up.”

He sounded so sure—and went at it quite forcefully.

Zhou Shurong grunted from the pain, his face darkening as he turned over in frustration.

“Ah, I didn’t know—”

Qin Yan was at a loss, his upper body leaning over Zhou Shurong’s shoulder as he gently tried to soothe him, admitting fault, “I didn’t know you really could get it up. It’s my fault, don’t be mad.”

Zhou Shurong said bitterly, “If it couldn’t get up, then why have there always been seductive spirits that feed on yang energy?”

“That’s true, I was being stupid.” Qin Yan first conceded, then paused and frowned. “But aren’t seductive spirits always women?”

Zhou Shurong: “…”

Qin Yan’s voice grew soft. “It’s not that I don’t want to. My body just feels off. I’m dizzy, and my eyes feel hot.”

Zhou Shurong turned over and reached out the back of his hand to feel Qin Yan’s forehead.

His tone sank. “You’re running a fever.”

Saying so, he started to get up.

But Qin Yan, reluctant to part from the natural “cooling patch” that was Zhou Shurong, murmured, “Just keep touching me. I don’t want to take medicine.”

Zhou Shurong hesitated. He wasn’t sure if this sickness had anything to do with him. His thoughts drifted to that kiss.

While he was still thinking, Qin Yan’s vision began to blur. Zhou Shurong had to “cut” his own hand off before getting up to find the medicine box. Back when he’d been a wandering ghost, he already knew where it was kept.

Qin Yan, hearing the sound of the door opening, dazedly lifted the thing from his forehead and took a sharp breath. In the past, there were men who cut off sleeves with a blade—nowadays…

TN: The phrase “cut off sleeves” (剪袖) comes from the legend of Emperor Ai of the Han Dynasty, who had a close relationship with a man named Dong Xian. It is said that Emperor Ai was so enamored with Dong Xian that he cut off his own sleeve to avoid disturbing Dong Xian, who had fallen asleep on it. Zhu Shurong cut off his own hand to avoid disturbing Qin Yan.

Qin Yan took the medicine and soon fell asleep.

Zhou Shurong reattached his arm, looked at Qin Yan’s sleeping face, and murmured under his breath, “Humans and ghosts don’t work out—what about ghosts and ghosts?”

The resentment he had only just managed to push down to his chest began to stir again.

It screamed, “Kill him! Kill him!!”

Expressionless, Zhou Shurong walked out of the room. He opened the cabinet under the television, took out a large bundle of incense sticks and candles, lit them all, and inhaled deeply, again and again. The rush of joy, comfort, and peace returned to his body.

The resentment swirling in his chest slowly quieted down and went dormant once more.

Two calm days passed.

One unremarkable afternoon, there came a knock on the door.

Qin Yan didn’t think much of it—probably a delivery, he figured. He opened the door and saw Zhou Langxing, dressed all in black as if attending a funeral.

Qin Yan looked him over, but didn’t notice any accessories on him.

What he did notice was that Zhou Langxing had lost weight.

Zhou Langxing spoke first. “I’m going to a friend’s funeral. My dad finally let me out.”

Before Qin Yan could respond, he picked up a delicate white paper bag and shoved it into Qin Yan’s hands.

“I’ve been stuck at home for a long time. When I saw the dried flowers by my bed, I remembered I never gave you a return gift.”

“A return gift?”

“Yeah. Remember that bouquet of flowers?”

While Qin Yan was trying to recall, Zhou Langxing’s gaze shifted to Zhou Shurong, who had walked over after hearing the noise. He was wearing an apron printed with little cat paw prints and holding a kitchen knife.

Zhou Langxing’s eyelid twitched. He did his best to ignore the knife and continued, though it stung that Qin Yan seemed to have forgotten.

“That day we went to the park to see the cats—there was a little girl selling flowers at the entrance…”

“I remember now!”

Of course Qin Yan remembered—his memory wasn’t that bad. He was just pretending not to care about their past. He realized Zhou Shurong was now standing behind him.

That familiar chill began to seep quietly into the room.

Qin Yan gave Zhou Langxing a subtle look.

But Zhou Langxing stubbornly stayed put. “I remember your suit got ruined. I had a new one tailored for you.”

The cold air behind him grew stronger.

Qin Yan felt like sighing. He tried to return the bag. “You really don’t have to. You said we’re just friends—what kind of friend gives such formal gifts in return?”

The “return gift” was just an excuse. Qin Yan saw through it, and so did Zhou Shurong.

“Ah Yan, the suit I gave you got ruined?”

“Yes.” Qin Yan turned slightly. “On May 21, I went to find you at your school—even though you’d already graduated. I forgot to change clothes and ended up ruining it.”

Zhou Shurong’s cold expression eased.

May 20 had been the day of their date. The day of the accident. Qin Yan said he forgot to change clothes—but how could it be a simple forgetfulness? He must have had no heart to change.

Zhou Langxing stood frozen, still not having stepped inside. His bitter gaze flickered between the two of them.

He slowly took back the gift he hadn’t been able to give.

Still unwilling to leave, he said to Zhou Shurong, “Dad misses you. He says if you really don’t want to come back, that’s fine—but hide yourself better. That ponytail you let show? He’ll clean up after you. As long as you don’t cause a big stir, you can live peacefully…”

Zhou Shurong’s expression flickered. His eyes, behind the lenses, shone faintly as he gazed at his twin brother. The bitterness, pain, and unwillingness in the other’s heart seemed to pour into his own.

Qin Yan pressed his lips together, heart fluttering slightly.

Father Zhou hadn’t stopped loving his sons—he’d just been too busy in the past.

Zhou Shurong said, “I can’t go back, but I can still make a phone call.”

Zhou Langxing tugged at the corner of his lips. “That’s what he said, too. But he’d rather video call—he wants to see you.”

“That’s fine, too.”

So Zhou Langxing handed over a brand new phone. And a bank card.

He looked at Qin Yan and said, “Stock up on food. Don’t go out unless you have to. Who knows when the weather might change. But it shouldn’t be too far off.”

Qin Yan nodded solemnly.

Zhou Langxing had heard something about growing resentment. He had a thousand things to say but couldn’t get them out. In the end, he could only give his blessing in a gentle voice. “Qin Yan, please stay rational. Stay alert at all times.”

As he spoke, his gaze passed over Zhou Shurong.

At first, Qin Yan didn’t understand. But then, catching the glance from the corner of his eye, he began to understand.

He didn’t respond. Just frowned slightly.

Zhou Shurong coldly saw him out.

Once Zhou Langxing was completely gone, Zhou Shurong took off his apron, put the knife away, and strode to the cabinet. He pulled out incense and candles, lit them, and began to inhale deeply—until his mind faded into contentment.

Qin Yan squatted beside him in silence, watching.

When one stick had burned down, he said softly, “When I woke up today, I noticed some of the incense was missing.”

Zhou Shurong replied, “Sorry. I really needed it.”

“I wasn’t blaming you.” Qin Yan tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “I remember you said these incense sticks don’t fill your stomach—they just calm you down and make you feel happier.”

Zhou Shurong’s throat moved. “I actually said that? I don’t remember.”

“Since you don’t remember saying it, why didn’t you bring up the incense again when you told your story yesterday?”

“I left out a bit. Understandable, right?”

Qin Yan lowered his eyes. “Yes, understandable.”

Then he quickly looked up again, voice barely audible. “Shurong, are you… hiding something else in your heart?”

Zhou Shurong looked at Qin Yan.

That “something else”…

Qin Yan felt that Zhou Shurong had a second secret. But it wasn’t quite a secret—it was an obsession.

Zhou Shurong didn’t think long. He answered quickly, “I’m afraid I’m not strong enough to protect you.”

“I don’t even go outside! From now on, I’ll buy everything online. If it’s not delivered right to my door, I don’t want it!”

Zhou Shurong smiled. “Then you better remember that.”

“Do you have a third thing on your mind?”

Zhou Shurong blinked. The stick of incense had burned out, and he hadn’t lit another—but he felt like he didn’t need to. His heart had finally calmed.

He looked at Qin Yan, and his smile turned playful. “The third thing—I’m dying to know. I’m very curious about that durian-flavored thing—”

Qin Yan immediately stood up.

He picked up the apron from the floor, tied it around himself, and called out, “Since your mood’s back to normal, hurry up and help me cut vegetables. I’m starving!”

Zhou Shurong quickly packed away the incense and the rest, grabbed the knife, and followed Qin Yan into the kitchen.

Thunk, thunk, thunk…

From the kitchen came the sound of chopping meat and vegetables.

Had everything returned to peace?

No. This was only temporary.

That ominous, resentful aura still lingered in Zhou Shurong’s chest.

And it was growing stronger.

Zhou Langxing had not given up. His covetous gaze kept flashing unexpectedly in Zhou Shurong’s mind. One night, Zhou Shurong had merely dwelled on it a little too long, and when he came back to his senses, both his hands were already at Qin Yan’s neck.

He slowly got up, walked into the washroom, and drenched himself again and again with cold water.

It was useless.

That tempting voice echoed by his ears:

“Why not just kill him? Once Qin Yan becomes a ghost, Zhou Langxing will never see him again.”

Zhou Shurong could only suppress that wicked impulse with incense. To keep Qin Yan from worrying, he texted the people his father had arranged and told them to restock the incense.

But even the incense was starting to lose its effect.

And so, although Qin Yan and Zhou Shurong were living like recluses, beneath the surface of peace lay a volcano about to erupt.

On the seventh day of their seclusion, Zhou Shurong began whispering strange and cruel things in Qin Yan’s ear.

For example: “Ah Yan, look at this rope I bought for you—isn’t it sturdy? Should I loop it around your neck?”

Or: “Ah Yan, this knife is so sharp. Would it be easy to slice a neck with it?”

Or even: “Ah Yan, aren’t my hands so clean? Just right to wrap around your neck, don’t you think?”

Qin Yan went from fear to numbness. “Shurong, could you… maybe stop fixating on my neck? Can’t you talk about something else?”

Zhou Shurong seemed to ponder that. He wandered around the room, and eventually found a perfect spot…

He took Qin Yan’s hand and led him to the window. The night sky twinkled, and a breeze brushed their faces.

“Ah Yan,” he said, making Qin Yan look down, “look at this height—”

Qin Yan cut him off, finishing the sentence: “This height—if you don’t get the angle right, you won’t die. You’ll just end up crippled. Might as well stab the knife straight into the heart—that’s a guaranteed death!”

Zhou Shurong stared at Qin Yan, who had suddenly taken control, and sank into thought.

After a pause, he said, “But I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from calling 911.”

“Get lost!”

Qin Yan was furious—very, very furious.

By the twelfth day of hiding away, Zhou Shurong’s episodes grew more frequent and severe.

He wasn’t just talking anymore.

He started taking action.

Qin Yan would sometimes, without realizing, hear a tempting voice. Drawn in like his soul was being sucked out, he’d walk toward the voice. A gust of cold wind would jolt him back to his senses—only to find one foot already stepping out the window.

Once, he came to with a slashed wrist. He had lost a terrifying amount of blood, staining half his body red.

That red seemed to snap Zhou Shurong out of it too. He clutched Qin Yan tightly, silently sobbing, muttering “I’m sorry” over and over.

“Is ‘I’m sorry’ something a doctor can use?” Qin Yan asked.

“I already called for help.”

Qin Yan reached out with his good hand and stroked Zhou Shurong’s cheek.

“You should’ve hit me instead.”

“I won’t. I want you to feel guilty.”

Qin Yan was diagnosed with an illness—at least, that’s what the doctor said after examining his wrist. He spoke to Zhou Shurong, treating him as the family member.

“This is clearly self-harm! He’s sick—depression, you understand? You need to get him to a therapist!”

Zhou Shurong hesitated to speak. The truth was, the one who was sick… was him.

And it wasn’t something that could be treated by medicine.

The only cure was for Qin Yan to die, become a ghost, and stay with him forever.

But—Qin Yan wanted to live.

A deep, irreconcilable conflict had formed between them.