54: Transaction

Some time ago, when Brother Wu went missing, it was Father Zhou who personally suppressed the news.

When he received word of the accident at Ping’an Community, his left eyelid twitched—an ominous sign that left his heart deeply unsettled. He had only assigned two bodyguards to protect Qin Yan, but he knew all too well that in such a chaotic and dangerous environment, two human bodyguards were utterly useless.

He had only done so because he was certain Zhou Shurong was lurking somewhere near Qin Yan in secret.

His eldest son would never entrust Qin Yan’s life to mere bodyguards and feel at ease.

He rushed to the hospital immediately. At that time, Qin Yan, Zhou Langxing, Brother Wu, and the two bodyguards were all there. Qin Yan was still unconscious, while the bodyguards had suffered extensive burns and required urgent treatment.

Zhou Langxing and Brother Wu were not physically injured, but they had both been trapped in the shadow world, tormented by endless nightmares. Their spirits were utterly drained.

Brother Wu fared even worse than Zhou Langxing. At least Zhou Langxing had his older brother looking after him, sending him food and drink. But him? Zhou Shurong had watched coldly, seemingly intending to wear him down to death. Brother Wu had grown so thin, he was practically unrecognizable.

Zhou Langxing nearly didn’t recognize him.

Brother Wu sat on a chair, receiving an IV of glucose. He asked the nurse for the date, and once the nurse left, he turned to Zhou Langxing with a meaningful gaze.

“I was this close to starving to death because of your brother. But in the end, you still got what you wanted. Blood really is thicker than water, huh?”

Zhou Langxing was completely baffled, but now wasn’t the time to press him for answers. He was more worried about the unconscious Qin Yan, so he quickly picked him up and went in search of a doctor.

The hospital was chaotic—severely injured patients everywhere. Zhou Langxing tried to stop some doctors, but they just dodged past him in a hurry, disappearing into various wards.

In the end, a nurse found time to examine Qin Yan and said he had only inhaled a bit of smoke—not serious. He’d be fine once he woke up.

Medical resources were stretched so thin that even with stacks of cash in hand, Zhou Langxing couldn’t get a bed. So he continued to hold Qin Yan in his arms. He didn’t dare leave the hospital, afraid something might happen before Qin Yan awoke.

After arriving at the hospital and hearing the full story from Zhou Langxing, Father Zhou immediately ordered someone to find Brother Wu to negotiate a deal—for the sake of his two sons.

But unexpectedly, Brother Wu had already vanished from the hospital.

Zhou Langxing grew worried and muttered in confusion, “He said he was nearly starved to death by my brother… Could he have gone to the Observation Society to report it? And where is my brother? Why isn’t he here?”

He didn’t yet know that Zhou Shurong had trapped him in the shadow world for many days.

To him, it had felt like countless loops of time, each ending with him watching Qin Yan die right before his eyes. Again and again. Until this last time—he finally saved Qin Yan.

That feeling of losing something and getting it back again was indescribable. Like a single beam of light piercing an endless darkness. He could only cling to that light, thinking it would lead him out.

He sat on a blue plastic chair, like those found everywhere in hospitals, holding Qin Yan tightly in his arms. As he studied Qin Yan’s sleeping face, he saw a tear slip from the corner of his eye.

Startled, Zhou Langxing gently wiped it away with his fingertip.

“What’s wrong with him?” Father Zhou asked coldly.

“He inhaled smoke and passed out.”

“He was lucky then. The two bodyguards who were with him in the elevator are both severely burned. No one knows if they’ll ever wake up again.” His tone remained cold, with a hint of suppressed anger.

Zhou Langxing looked at him and replied, “We don’t know the full picture yet. Ah Yan is a victim too—there’s no need to talk like that.”

“Don’t you understand what I mean?” Father Zhou’s eyes narrowed. “He’s safe. Not even the hem of his clothes was burned. Someone clearly protected him. And you’re telling me you don’t know who that someone was?”

Zhou Langxing lowered his head, gaze falling once more on Qin Yan’s sleeping face. Another tear had slipped from his eye. He quickly wiped it away, and his fingers lingered gently on Qin Yan’s cheek.

“I’m worried your brother paid the price.”

Zhou Langxing remained silent.

Father Zhou gave a cold snort and tapped his cane against Zhou Langxing’s shin, changing the subject. “Be clear with me. What else did the Observation Society say to you? Don’t leave out a single word!”

Qin Yan had made it out safely, but Zhou Shurong was nowhere to be found. Though Father Zhou kept a calm facade, inwardly he was in turmoil. As head of the family, he had to hold steady.

After some hesitation, Zhou Langxing said, “He said…”

He repeated every word Brother Wu had told him, without omission.

Father Zhou listened in silence, deep in thought. His gaze roamed up and down Zhou Langxing, finally settling on the abdomen Qin Yan was covering. His expression grew even more thoughtful.

Zhou Langxing felt his scalp go numb under that stare.

“Alright, old man, you’d better go home. This hospital’s a mess.”

“Heh. Trying to send me away, are you? I’m not going anywhere!”

Zhou Langxing frowned.

Father Zhou said, “What, are you not planning on going home? The house burned down—where are you going to live with him? A hotel? Not afraid of ghosts knocking on the door in the middle of the night? Or of one hiding under the bed, back-to-back with you?”

Zhou Langxing: “…Don’t say things like that!”

Then he paused, catching the implication. “You’re saying I can bring him home?”

Father Zhou missed the flavor of smoke. “What choice do I have? This is all a damn debt.”

Zhou Langxing’s eyes lit up instantly.

“When he wakes up—”

“No need to wait,” Father Zhou interrupted. “Don’t we have a private doctor at home?”

…

And so, when Qin Yan woke up, he found himself lying on a soft bed. The room was bright, the walls a pristine white, and a crystal chandelier glittered on the ceiling above. There was a sense of long-lost peace in the air.

Where… was this?

The thought had barely surfaced when Qin Yan shoved it aside.

He didn’t care where this was.

His face pale, he rolled out of bed and opened the door, crying out Zhou Shurong’s name again and again—each call more desperate than the last. The servants working in the Zhou estate were frightened by the eerie cries, thinking a ghost had invaded.

Barefoot, Qin Yan ran down the corridor. With every step, his memories returned.

This was the Zhou estate?!

He saw that familiar door and reached for the handle—but it wouldn’t open without a key.

He stood there in a daze.

Until a voice called out behind him: “Ah Yan—!”

He turned his head and saw Zhou Langxing.

Seeing Qin Yan’s terrified, pale face, Zhou Langxing paused where he stood and softly called again, “Ah Yan…”

Tears slipped down Qin Yan’s cheeks. He didn’t even realize he was crying. His voice hoarse, he asked weakly, “Where is Shurong?”

Zhou Langxing’s hands fidgeted, his gaze avoiding Qin Yan’s as he changed the subject. “I wanted to settle you into my brother’s room. It’s not really a room meant for the living, but I figured… you’d want to see his photos as soon as you opened your eyes. But my dad wouldn’t allow it.”

“I asked you—did you see him or not?”

Qin Yan wasn’t fooled. He fixed Zhou Langxing with a stubborn, unwavering stare. His eyes, under the light, were unnaturally bright and clear—his every emotion laid bare.

Zhou Langxing’s hands clenched tighter. “I don’t know if he showed up. I didn’t see him.”

“I did,” Qin Yan said softly. “Langxing, I had a terrible dream. I saw him in that dream.”

Zhou Langxing asked cautiously, “…What did you dream about?”

He knew deep down—it probably wasn’t a dream. After all, Qin Yan coming out of it without a scratch could only be thanks to Zhou Shurong.

“I dreamt…” Qin Yan murmured, dazed, “I dreamt your brother vanished into smoke and ash in the fire.”

“That must’ve been just a dream, right?”

Zhou Langxing stayed silent for a long while, his gaze on Qin Yan flickering with unease.

“It was a dream. Yeah… it must’ve been a dream.”

Qin Yan had no choice but to comfort himself. But still—what if… what if it wasn’t?

The world outside remained in chaos, but the Zhou family estate felt like a land beyond the mortal realm, eerily serene. The servants, unwilling to give up such shelter, stayed even without pay, working diligently. Every corner of the house gleamed spotless, not a speck of dust in sight.

However, Zhou family businesses took a hit from the outside upheaval. Employees resigned one after another, projects were halted or replaced. Even so, a skinny camel is still bigger than a horse. While reorienting the company’s focus, Father Zhou also hired all manner of skilled and supernatural experts to protect his family.

The Zhou estate was like an iron fortress. Outsiders couldn’t enter, and no one inside could leave without permission.

Qin Yan, once again, found himself under a kind of house arrest.

But unlike last time, this time Zhou Langxing was there, trying to cheer him up.

Yet, it seemed he had lost the ability to smile.

Occasionally, Qin Yan would respond to him. But never with a smile—just a simple “mm.”

More often, he was silent. Sullen. Listless. He avoided people, preferring instead to shut himself in Zhou Shurong’s room, staring at the memorial tablet and photo, lost in thought.

Zhou Langxing felt helpless and miserable. He sank into gloom right along with him. It wasn’t until Father Zhou gave him a good beating with his cane that he snapped out of it—remembering that he’d gone through countless cycles, struggling to save Qin Yan. How could he fall to despair now?

So he tried harder. But his efforts had little effect. Qin Yan still refused to see him, hiding in the room day after day.

Then one day, someone in the group chat gave him an idea—pretend to be possessed by Zhou Shurong, to motivate Qin Yan. They called it a “white lie.”

Zhou Langxing cursed it as a bullshit idea.

The group chat had gone quiet lately. Several avatars grayed out and never lit back up.

One day, when Xiao Hei spoke in the chat, it startled everyone. Zhou Langxing, stunned, couldn’t help thinking—Xiao Hei really had turned into a ghost.

Because of what he’d gone through in life, Ghost Xiao Hei loved drifting through the internet. He didn’t show any aggression, just liked chatting in forums and group threads.

After Zhou Langxing called the idea garbage, Xiao Hei popped in too, egging him on to take action.

Zhou Langxing was tempted—but didn’t act right away.

Then one day, the Observation Society came knocking.

Brother Wu led them. Behind him stood a young girl, high school-aged.

He introduced her to Father Zhou like this: “Her mother is willing to protect her daughter—and the world. So she joined the Observation Society.”

Father Zhou sipped his tea silently.

Brother Wu got straight to the point. “I wonder if your son might be interested. I have high hopes for your eldest.”

Father Zhou’s expression wavered slightly, though his voice remained steady. “My eldest hasn’t been heard from in a while.”

He once again apologized for Zhou Shurong trapping Brother Wu. Compensation had already been given, and Brother Wu said he wouldn’t hold a grudge—nor had he reported anything to the higher-ups about Zhou Shurong.

Father Zhou was naturally grateful, and said, “I’ve been worried sick about him these days. Can’t eat, can’t sleep, and the whole house is weighed down with gloom. If you hear anything of him…”

“Don’t worry,” Brother Wu replied. “That fire… it wasn’t normal. We found signs of ‘yin fire’—very dangerous to ghosts. Your eldest was wounded and is now resting inside your younger son’s body.”

“I see. I’ve noticed Langxing’s not looking well lately—pale and weak. Is that a side effect?”

“…That’s to be expected. Humans and ghosts are naturally at odds. Ghosts absorb yang energy. And your eldest is injured—he needs to recover.”

Hearing that, Father Zhou furrowed his brows deeply.

They were speaking in the study, while Zhou Langxing was with Qin Yan. After a long pause, Father Zhou politely declined the offer but didn’t close the door completely.

“Langxing doesn’t know yet that his brother is inside him. I’m afraid he won’t be able to handle it. And his brother still hasn’t woken up. Let’s wait. Once they both understand, I’ll ask their opinion.”

Brother Wu nodded, understanding. These things couldn’t be rushed. Once Zhou Shurong awakened, he would return to follow up.

Father Zhou hesitated, then couldn’t help asking, “Is it impossible for them to be separated?”

He would much rather see both his sons survive as their own people, than have two souls in one body.

“…If they can merge, they should,” Brother Wu said after a pause.

Father Zhou’s frown deepened.

“We suspect,” Brother Wu continued, “that as a ghost’s power grows, their humanity fades. Their resentment builds. They begin to hate humans more and more… and humans, to them, become prey.”

He stared at Father Zhou. “If Zhou Langxing can’t become a ghost tamer, I’ll have to report this. And Zhou Shurong will have only one end. We cannot raise a tiger to bring disaster.”

With that, he stood up and bowed deeply. “Please understand.”

Father Zhou’s fingers twitched on the tabletop.

Afterward, Brother Wu and the girl took their leave. Qin Yan and Zhou Langxing knew nothing of it.

Father Zhou didn’t know how to explain any of it to Zhou Langxing—so he put it off. Everything would wait until Zhou Shurong awoke.

One night, as Zhou Langxing slept, a voice whispered through the fog of dreams:

“Ah Xing…”

Huh? That was his brother’s voice.

“Ah Xing…”

Quit calling me, I’m sleeping.

“Ah Xing, will you become one with me?”

By day, in the chatroom, Xiao Hei’s words had tempted him like a rolling barrage of flashing banners.

“Become one?”

“Yes. From now on, there is no ‘you’ or ‘me.’ We are Zhou Shurong. We are Zhou Langxing.”

No more you and me?

In the dim light, Zhou Langxing’s face, half-buried in his pillow, was slick with sweat. He murmured:

“I will. I want to… more than anything.”