Chapter 22 – Let Me Lick You

Interacting with people often means having a few tricks up one’s sleeve.

Zhou Daosen never underestimated others—it was a principle ingrained in his upbringing. He attempted to dismantle the other’s scheme with a few words, but the other effortlessly countered his move. There was something intriguing about his actions.

The lights in Zhou Daosen’s living room were on. Standing with his back to the light, even though the hallway was also illuminated, his face seemed shrouded in darkness, his eyes cast in shadow.

Yu Zhen picked up the cake again, completely ignoring the obvious provocation, and asked with genuine sincerity, “Would you like to try it?”

He had ruined the cake. Even though his fingers had only pierced it from the side, the gesture alone was enough to kill any appetite, destroying the cake’s integrity.

Taking an interest in someone wasn’t a good thing. Zhou Daosen tried to restrain himself from being drawn to this person. He knew the other’s intentions, yet he had to admit—this face was indeed as impressive as Lu Pingwei and the others had said. A little too impressive.

“Guess I’ll be the only one eating it,” Yu Zhen muttered as he picked up the cake lid from the floor and placed it back. His fingertips were still damp. “I should’ve figured out Coach Zhou’s preferences before bringing a gift. At least it wouldn’t have gone to waste.”

Holding the cake, he spoke with a mix of regret and disappointment.

Before moving here, Zhou Daosen had lived in a more upscale neighborhood. But even in high-end communities, there were no shortages of vulgar people. Money couldn’t dictate character. His relocation had been a necessity, and from the day he moved in, he had no intention of getting too involved with his neighbors. Yet, things rarely went as planned.

The cake box was quite elegant. Yu Zhen bent his head, adjusting the lid, which had gathered a bit of dust. It was clear he no longer intended to keep the cake.

It was his own purchase—he could do whatever he wanted with it.

Zhou Daosen knew his profession, but he couldn’t understand his so-called boyfriend. “You bought it yourself?” he asked.

The cake wasn’t heavy, and flipping it around was easy enough. The only concern was damaging it, which required some care—but since it was already ruined, it didn’t matter anymore. Yu Zhen secured the lid and held the box by its sides. “Could you help me?” he asked.

Zhou Daosen still had some gentlemanly manners. He reached out and supported the bottom of the cake box.

Yu Zhen began tying the ribbon, slowly and deliberately, much like how the other had fastened the back of his clothes earlier that day.

“I went by myself,” Yu Zhen replied. “Didn’t pick the right flavor for Coach Zhou. My apologies.”

He claimed he was here to express gratitude, but giving a cake to a man wasn’t exactly a sincere gesture. Few men had a sweet tooth. Using a cake as thanks was just a pretense—what he really wanted was to fish for information. Zhou Daosen saw right through it.

“No wonder. I imagine your boyfriend wouldn’t approve of you giving me gifts,” Zhou Daosen remarked, dropping a hint.

At the mention of the word “boyfriend,” Yu Zhen lifted his gaze to the man before him, then let it drift to his arm—more precisely, to the woven rope around his wrist. The rope bore nothing, just a solitary black cord, yet Yu Zhen envied it.

“Who says so?” Yu Zhen not only avoided addressing his relationship with Qin Bei but also seized the opportunity to twist the conversation. “My boyfriend is generous and open-minded. Giving a neighbor a little something isn’t something he’d interfere with. Besides, even if he found out, he wouldn’t be upset. Coach Zhou helped me, so giving him a cake is only right. Why would he be angry?”

He had perfected the art of feigning ignorance.

Nothing had happened between them. Even though they had seen each other’s bodies, even though they had stepped into the forbidden zone, as long as they didn’t cross into dangerous territory, it meant nothing had occurred.

He was quite adept at playing dumb while knowing exactly what was going on.

Zhou Daosen could tell—this one was more troublesome than the last neighbor.

After tying the knot, Yu Zhen picked up the cake again and asked, “Can you tell me what you like to eat? Next time, I’ll try to deliver something more to Coach Zhou’s taste.”

Footsteps echoed in the hallway as someone took the elevator up. The noise of others had nothing to do with them, and Yu Zhen didn’t divert his attention. His eyes were utterly sincere, fixed solely on the man before him.

Zhou Daosen called out to him, “Yu Zhen.”

He didn’t know which “Yu” or which “Zhen,” but he remembered the name, turning it over in his mind a few times. With a warning tone, Zhou Daosen said, “I don’t need anything.”

Laughter and chatter drifted over as the young people living on the same floor returned. The sound was cut off as they entered their apartment, leaving no one to pay attention to their corner. Yu Zhen glanced at those eyes, then lowered his gaze and said, “Alright, understood.”

He agreed readily.

Even in the face of unfriendly attitudes and demands, he remained magnanimous and tolerant.

Zhou Daosen wouldn’t let his guard down. If anything, he found the other man even more troublesome—a skilled opponent.

No wonder he was so well-liked, Zhou Daosen thought. He could humble himself when needed. His clients must adore him.

Yu Zhen held the cake box and smiled. “Then I won’t disturb your rest, Coach Zhou. Goodnight.”

He turned to leave, casting an almost casual glance at Zhou Daosen’s waist—the kind of lingering look a customer might give an item they fancied. It was deliberate, teasing, as if making sure Zhou Daosen knew he’d been marked.

“Click.”

The neighboring door closed.

Zhou Daosen stood by his own door, the image in his mind still lingering—the fingers sinking into the cake, the man licking his fingertips and saying, “So sweet.”

As he retreated into his room, Su Muquan circled around him.

Zhou Daosen tugged at the drawstring of his sweatpants, lost in thought.

He had never tried lychee cake before, and he never would again.

·

Yu Zhen returned to his room with the cake.

He placed it on the edge of the trash bin.

Wasting food wasn’t a good habit, but he had no pets at home that could eat sweets, and he—the one who should avoid desserts the most—had taken a bite anyway.

Yu Zhen turned on the faucet and rinsed his hands. The mirror reflected his scheming face—the very expression he’d worn during their conversation. No wonder Zhou Daosen had been wary. The hallway was full of rumors about him. What must the man think? Did he believe them? From his attitude, Yu Zhen guessed he did.

He’d take them seriously.

How ironic. In the past, Yu Zhen had held himself aloof, and people called him pretentious. Now that he’d stepped down from that pedestal, they treated him with disdain. Striking the right balance was hard—playing the ordinary man wasn’t as easy as it seemed.

Truthfully, tonight he had only wanted to deliver a cake. If possible, he’d hoped to step inside and check for signs of a woman living there. But he knew it wouldn’t work. The cake was just a test, a way to fish for a few words—nothing more.

He indeed failed to enter that room to investigate, so he had no choice but to resort to verbal tricks. He underestimated the other party’s vigilance and their sharpness—they saw through it. Thus, they deceived him, claiming he had a girlfriend to make him aware of boundaries and retreat in the face of difficulty.

Yu Zhen wasn’t the type to enjoy arduous journeys, nor did he like challenging heights. Before this man appeared, he had never felt such an urgent desire to fall in love. But the moment he laid eyes on this man, Yu Zhen’s heart felt as if it had been struck by something.

He had no prior contact with this man, no emotional foundation whatsoever—just like Qin Bei, who had suddenly appeared in Yu Zhen’s world. Yet why did this first encounter evoke such intense impulse and fondness? Yu Zhen couldn’t explain it. He didn’t believe in love at first sight.

Lusting after someone’s body was far more reliable than love at first sight.

During his years in the fashion industry, Yu Zhen had encountered countless people. There were those with the physique he admired, and even those with attractive faces. Yet back then, he had never felt this kind of impatience. Even when someone reached out to him with obvious hints, he would only push their hand away, warning them to behave and feigning ignorance toward their advances.

So what was wrong with him now?

Yu Zhen splashed water on his face, convinced that this fervent emotion didn’t stem from normal psychology. Stepping out, he opened his phone and sent a message to a long-dormant contact in his list.

The words he had carefully composed in the chat box froze the moment he tried to send them. His finger hovered over the send button as he struggled to find an answer.

His tangled thoughts refused to unravel. Lost in contemplation, he barely noticed when his phone buzzed with a reply. His pupils caught the new message, and before he realized it, his finger had already pressed the screen—sending the tentative “Are you there?”

Ling Gang: Want to talk?

The reply was simple, requiring little thought. Yu Zhen typed a few words but hesitated, deleting them. The editing prompt kept blinking, yet he never sent a response.

Ling Gang: You’ll have to take this step eventually.

Ling Gang: Your family is worried about you. My club is in Chaohai High-Tech District—I heard you’re in the business district, so it’s not far. I’m free this weekend if you’d like to come by.

KT: * don’t think this is an issue.*

A brief silence followed.

Ling Gang: If you truly didn’t think it was an issue, you wouldn’t have opened this chat.

Ling Gang: My club has hosted countless guests, all with different struggles. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Ling Gang: You’ve delayed long enough—it’s not good for your mental health. Intervene while you still can. Don’t wait until it’s too late. Here, you won’t face judgment or discrimination. I swear the behavior of your parents won’t repeat itself in my club.

Of course not—because the club wanted his money, while his parents didn’t, revealing their truest selves.

KT: I’ll think about it.

Yu Zhen tossed his phone onto the table with a clatter.

He sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, where a soft cushion conformed to his body, allowing him to steal a moment of quiet.

The sun was out.

But his room faced away from the light.

He couldn’t bask in it.

·

Since the argument with Yu Zhen, Chen Qinghuai hadn’t contacted her for three or four days, and Yu Zhen hadn’t reached out either. The next day, Chen Qinghuai showed up at her door unannounced.

He didn’t mention their previous disagreement, arriving as usual with breakfast in hand—Yu Zhen hadn’t even gotten up yet.

Shoots were rarely scheduled in the morning, but Chen Qinghuai sometimes came early to help Yu Zhen with outfits, sets, and preparations. Though Yu Zhen insisted he didn’t need to, Chen Qinghuai would say he had nothing better to do and was happy to lend a hand.

Yu Zhen didn’t take on projects indiscriminately—she was always busy, her schedule packed tight, often spending entire days immersed in shoots. Makeup, alterations, set design, lighting—everything demanded time and effort.

Unlike female models, who had smoother communication channels, Yu Zhen wasn’t one, so she had to compensate with extra work. Print modeling wasn’t as demanding—anyone with a decent figure could do it. But Yu Zhen’s proportions outshined most freelance models. She had started as a runway model, with a statuesque nine-head figure and golden ratio proportions.

The modeling world had its categories, and Yu Zhen had never been the “muscular” type. From the beginning, she leaned into an androgynous aesthetic, favoring neutral styles. Her face was striking, and to emphasize that ambiguous beauty, she took a mentor’s advice and grew out her hair. Countless runway scouts pursued her—at just twelve, she overshadowed even supermodels, skyrocketing to fame overnight.

Back when the saying “models have great bodies but unfortunate faces” was popular, Yu Zhen emerged as an exception, blessed with a stunning face from childhood. The industry had high hopes for her, but early reports often misgendered her. The word “beauty” wasn’t typically associated with men, so many assumed she was female. Marketing accounts didn’t even bother fact-checking, spreading the misinformation further.

Life had been smooth sailing until fate decided to teach her a lesson. As a child, Yu Zhen had hated being mistaken for a girl—now, she almost wished she were one. It would’ve made her social media presence easier, spared her the effort of concealing masculine features in shoots and edits.

Print modeling rates varied, and her account wasn’t wildly popular. Competing with top female models was tough—70,000 followers was a modest number. To carve out a niche, she had to rely on professionalism, reasonable pricing, and outstanding results—areas where she put in extra effort.

Compared to college students snapping casual dorm shots, Yu Zhen’s meticulously crafted sets won over clients. She built her brand bit by bit, like a bakery offering lemon tea with every 50-yuan purchase—discounts for regulars, extra sets as freebies.

The strategy worked; no clever idea went to waste. Yu Zhen reminded herself not to lose sight of her roots, preserving her habit of tailoring each outfit to the perfect setting, enhancing its appeal and boosting sales—a win-win for clients.

This was a career that relied on youth, and he didn’t dare slack off. He desperately took on collaborations, working tirelessly while his looks still held value—this was Yu Zhen’s philosophy.

He didn’t want to grow old and resent himself for not working hard when he was young.

Chen Qinghuai had brought him vegetarian buns and lean meat porridge. The wind had blown relentlessly on the way, cooling the buns slightly, so he heated them up in the microwave.

Yu Zhen didn’t bring up what was bothering him. Still in his bathrobe, his hair disheveled from sleep, he leaned against the doorframe watching Chen Qinghuai fiddle with the microwave. “I don’t have an appetite,” he said.

There had been a period when he suffered from anorexia, unable to stomach anything. Even after recovering, his appetite had shrunk considerably, and he rarely felt hungry in the mornings.

Chen Qinghuai closed the microwave door. “Whether you have an appetite or not, you have to eat. If you collapse, who’s going to pay me?”

Yu Zhen shut the door and headed to the bathroom to wash up, not even bothering to humor the joke. “Just leave it there.”

He went to freshen up.

Chen Qinghuai hadn’t come for a few days. Out of habit, he glanced into the studio—the camera wasn’t on the tripod. “Where’s the camera?” he asked Yu Zhen.

From the bathroom came the buzzing of Yu Zhen’s electric toothbrush. “In my bedroom.”

Chen Qinghuai walked into his room, scanning the space before spotting the camera on the shelf.

He picked it up, checked it, and found stored images inside. “You took these yourself?”

Yu Zhen’s tone was calm. “If you don’t come, I can’t just drop everything.” Before Chen Qinghuai, he had handled many shoots alone. He could manage every step himself, though doing it all solo wasn’t easy.

Hearing this, Chen Qinghuai couldn’t help but recall their argument the other day. After going home, he had thought it over—it was ridiculous, really, to clash over something like that. Yu Zhen wasn’t his possession. Beyond personal feelings, they had a professional relationship built on mutual benefit. If personal feelings couldn’t progress, the collaboration shouldn’t be abandoned. Yu Zhen could be with whoever he wanted—after all, before anyone else, he hadn’t chosen Chen Qinghuai either.

So why bother worrying about who Yu Zhen was with?

Chen Qinghuai adjusted his mindset. He knew Yu Zhen wanted their relationship to stay simple. He wasn’t Yu Zhen’s first photographer, and he might not be the last. Yu Zhen had suffered sexual harassment as a child, making him hard to approach. Chen Qinghuai had to offer complete sincerity to reassure him, to make him feel safe when they were together. Otherwise, he might end up like the other photographers Yu Zhen had fired—

All dismissed for falling in love with the model.

When Yu Zhen finished washing up and came out, he saw Chen Qinghuai staring blankly at the camera. Changing into a pair of shoes, he leaned against the wall and asked, “Have you eaten?”

Chen Qinghuai lowered the camera and turned around. “Yeah. The buns are ready.”

The microwave had long stopped running. A minute on high heat had made the buns piping hot.

Yu Zhen took the plate out.

The dining table and kitchen shared the same space, the ceramic table reaching halfway up his torso. His room had a rustic countryside theme, but the kitchen was decorated in a sleek, modern style, filled with high-end appliances. Even the dining table was crafted like a chic bar counter—two starkly different worlds separated by a door.

Eating was merely a means to fill his stomach for Yu Zhen. He had lost his appetite at a very young age, and professional discipline prevented him from indulging himself. While others saw meals as leisurely moments of free enjoyment, for him, it was a mechanical routine. As long as he didn’t starve, it was enough—he wasn’t particular about such things. Convenience was all he sought.

Convenient to cook, convenient to eat, convenient to clean up.

Anything to waste less time on food.

Yu Zhen sat on the high stool, his posture straight and rigid, as if a camera were trained on him even while seated. He picked up his chopsticks and took a bite of a steamed bun. Chen Qinghuai noticed the cake by the trash can and asked whose birthday it was.

“No one’s birthday,” Yu Zhen replied. The cabbage bun tasted as usual—neither a surprise nor a disappointment. He chewed slowly, his manners refined, mindful of digestion. Even a single bun took him a while to finish. “I just bought it for fun.”

Chen Qinghuai noticed that Yu Zhen’s behavior had become increasingly strange lately. The sudden desire to fall in love was already unusual. As a human, it was natural to have desires, and being busy with work didn’t negate his right to pursue romance—there was nothing to criticize or question about that. But what baffled Chen Qinghuai was Yu Zhen’s lie.

They weren’t close friends, so Yu Zhen had every right to lie to him. Yet, there was no need for such a trivial falsehood, and the lie itself was flimsy and unconvincing.

“You never eat sweets,” Chen Qinghuai said, trying to sound casual to avoid escalating things. “You won’t even pop a single Milk Candy into your mouth. Would you really buy a cake to eat?”

No matter how indifferent he pretended to be, Yu Zhen still noticed. Holding his chopsticks, he glanced at Chen Qinghuai.

“I didn’t say I ate it,” Yu Zhen scooped up some plain congee with his spoon. “I just took a photo for my social media. Did you see me touch it?”

Chen Qinghuai could easily verify the truth by checking Yu Zhen’s social media posts or asking to see the photo in his album. There were plenty of ways to confirm, but he couldn’t act on them. Their working relationship was already teetering on the edge, and he couldn’t afford to provoke further conflict.

Yu Zhen wasn’t particularly temperamental. Among the many people Chen Qinghuai had worked with, Yu Zhen was the least demanding as a model—never calling him to retouch photos, reshoot, or drag him out of bed in the middle of the night. He handled most things himself, and even when swamped, he’d simply call to specify which set of photos to edit first the next day.

If there was one thing about Yu Zhen that irked Chen Qinghuai, it was his sense of boundaries—especially toward him. Yu Zhen maintained stronger boundaries with his collaborators than with strangers.

He’d joke with supermarket clerks and neighbors, but with Chen Qinghuai, he kept a firm distance, never crossing into ambiguous territory.

Chen Qinghuai had reflected on whether Yu Zhen had some issue with him, but one look at Yu Zhen’s face told him he was overthinking it. Yu Zhen seemed utterly indifferent, treating him purely as a business partner—nothing more.

Politely distant, not even close enough to be called a friend.

“Isn’t it a waste to just throw it away?” The cake looked perfectly intact. Tossing it felt excessive.

“Throw it,” Yu Zhen said, lowering his head to sip his congee. The cake had sat by the trash all night. The moment it wasn’t refrigerated, its fate was sealed. “I ruined it.”

The weather wasn’t too cold, but leaving the cake out overnight would’ve altered its taste, if not spoiled it entirely.

Chen Qinghuai moved the cake out of the way and headed to the studio first.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to ask—more that he didn’t dare.

He didn’t dare press further.

After breakfast, Yu Zhen, still in his pajamas, helped tidy up.

Chen Qinghuai asked if they were shooting today.

“The outfits haven’t arrived yet,” Yu Zhen said. “They’ll probably come tomorrow afternoon. Let’s set up the scene today and shoot some content for the account. It’s been a while since the last update.”

When there were no collaborations, they focused on managing their online presence. Over time, Yu Zhen had learned many tricks—which clothing styles were more popular, how to create engaging backdrops.

While helping set up, Chen Qinghuai noticed a fluffy bunny skirt hanging on the chair.

“What?” Chen Qinghuai asked him. Having collaborated with Yu Zhen on all sorts of styles, this was the first time he’d seen such childlike clothing.

“Commission,” Yu Zhen said. “A Japanese anime blew up online. Someone paid big money for me to recreate the outfit of a popular character.”

Yu Zhen had no boss and could make his own decisions. Anyone who contacted him through his account to propose a collaboration—he could choose whether to accept or decline.

Cosplay was easy money, and clients were willing to splurge on their beloved characters. The client had asked Yu Zhen to attend a comic convention, but he refused. He only provided photos and wasn’t comfortable mingling at events popular with younger crowds. The client still wanted to work with him, saying photos alone were fine.

Yu Zhen wasn’t part of the cosplay scene and didn’t understand its norms, but he knew young people took these things seriously. He made sure to clarify everything in advance—makeup, styling, props. Venturing into a new field required caution. Building his reputation hadn’t been easy, and he didn’t want all these years of effort to go to waste.

“You never used to be into this stuff.” Chen Qinghuai put the outfit back. It was fluffy and soft, with a pair of bunny ear headbands hanging beside it.

He worried Yu Zhen might be sinking deeper into some strange subculture, risking exploitation or nurturing dangerous ambitions.

A piece of delicate tulle hung on the wall. Yu Zhen stood on his toes to take it down, folded it neatly, placed it in a bag, and stored it in the cabinet. “This is what’s trending now. I don’t want to limit my focus to just one area. Adapting to what young people like is good for me too.”

“How old are you, calling them ‘young people’ like that?” Chen Qinghuai pulled the chair away. “I’m just worried you might accidentally break some unspoken rule and get dragged for it. The internet’s full of monsters—these niche circles aren’t easy to navigate.”

Yu Zhen understood Chen Qinghuai’s concerns all too well.

He smiled. “Don’t worry.”

He seemed confident.

Chen Qinghuai had nothing more to say.

Their previous conflict might as well have never happened—easily brushed aside by both of them.

Chen Qinghuai watched Yu Zhen standing on his toes.

His mind wandered back to that cabinet full of things.

Yu Zhen was a contradiction in his eyes.

He seemed untouchable—make one improper joke, and he’d guard himself against you, maybe even voice his displeasure.

Yet in the dead of night, he’d indulge in his own reckless abandon.

Chen Qinghuai couldn’t imagine Yu Zhen pleasuring himself.

Just the thought of him posing for photos was unbearable.

He couldn’t comprehend Yu Zhen’s refusal to be with him either.

Whether for a relationship or just a fling, Chen Qinghuai was a suitable candidate. Yu Zhen knew full well that the slightest gesture would unravel him completely—yet he’d never tried to seduce him, never played any games.

Was there something lacking in him?

Or did Yu Zhen have some unspeakable secret?

Chen Qinghuai didn’t understand. He wanted an answer. His mind conjured images of Yu Zhen defiling himself—so different from his usual cold, distant self. The thought alone drove him mad.

“Ah-Zhen…”

The name slipped out unintentionally.

“Hm?” Yu Zhen glanced back, his arms raised, standing on his toes, waist arched, waiting for him to continue.

There was nothing indecent about the pose.

The filth existed only in Chen Qinghuai’s mind.

He stepped forward, gripped the edge of the tulle, and after a moment of silence, exhaled. “Nothing.”

Yu Zhen took down the gauze curtains, replacing the soft pink with a milky purple. He strode from one end of the floor mat to the other, neither pressing for answers nor overthinking, and said matter-of-factly, “Brother Chen, hand me the plastic.”

·

Golden eggs sizzled in the frying pan.

Zhou Daosen slid the eggs onto a plate, then set the pan aside with some water in it. He placed the last slice of egg into the dog bowl.

Su Mu, wearing a bib embroidered with little dog patterns, immediately wolfed down the fried egg as soon as it landed in the bowl. The freshly cooked egg was scalding hot, making Su Mu’s tongue go numb, so he spat a bit back onto the plate.

Zhou Daosen’s breakfast was simple yet nutritious, with a balance of protein and vegetables, accompanied by a glass of Turmeric Milk. He usually preferred water, but with ample time today, he put a little more effort into his meal.

A laptop sat on the dining table, playing a video of a professor in a crisp suit lecturing on legal studies. The man had an imposing demeanor, his tone stern and authoritative, his expression devoid of warmth. Despite the passage of time, his striking features remained, paired with a clear, resonant voice that made every word sound like a courtroom verdict—unyielding and indisputable.

The professor was solemnly recounting an old murder case, hardly suitable breakfast material. But the man in the video was Zhou Daosen’s father, and listening to his teachings had been a long-standing habit. Unlike most students who resented their teacher-parents, Zhou Daosen didn’t dislike his father’s lectures. On the contrary, he admired his father’s profession and the way he imparted knowledge as a professor.

His father’s influence had also guided him toward the path of law. In the eyes of others, Zhou Daosen was the epitome of a “good child”—no rebellious phase, mature from a young age, and the one who most lived up to family expectations among the Zhou relatives.

But all that changed after he started university.

It was as if another person had taken up residence inside him. He didn’t do anything earth-shattering, but a rift had formed between him and his parents, and their once-unanimous praise was no longer so absolute.

The past two years had been especially telling. After graduating, he took a break, neglecting exams and straying from his father’s carefully laid-out path into the legal field. The delay stretched on, leading to arguments with Professor Zhou.

He hadn’t outright fought with his father—he wouldn’t go that far—but he had rebutted a few of his father’s remarks. That alone was his greatest act of rebellion.

Last night, his mother had called, urging him to come home. Zhou Daosen could go back now; nearly a month had passed since the dispute with his father. He hadn’t returned in all that time, but today, he planned to visit.

When his mother called to remind him, Zhou Daosen was still eating. She offered to send a driver, but he declined—he had his own car and didn’t need a chauffeur.

Before leaving, Zhou Daosen secured the apartment door with its fingerprint-and-key hybrid lock for added safety. He left Su Muquan behind; his mother was allergic to dog fur, so bringing the dog home wasn’t an option.

As he stepped out, the hallway surveillance camera tracked his movements. Zhou Daosen glanced at the neighboring door, but there was no sign of activity.

The corridor was eerily quiet, as if the entire building were empty.

Zhou Daosen went downstairs and got into his car—a modest Volkswagen. His father was a renowned professor, and the entire family adhered to the philosophy of “living humbly and acting prudently,” a principle his mother had instilled in the Zhou children from a young age.

The drive home from the apartment wasn’t long; forty minutes would have been enough, but Zhou drove slowly, dragging it out until nearly lunchtime.

The Volkswagen eased through the wrought-iron gates, and the housekeeper was the first to come out. Zhou didn’t park in the garage, leaving the car in the courtyard instead.

As he stepped out, the housekeeper, who had served his mother for years, greeted him. Zhou said, “Nothing to carry. Let’s go inside.”

Wang Chunlan looked him over with delight. “It’s been a month since I last saw you. You seem different.”

Nostalgia blurs memories—in truth, he was no different from a month ago.

“Fansen!” A voice called from the doorway. His mother stood on the steps, draped in a mist-blue shawl, squinting against the midday sun as she gazed at the figure in the courtyard.

Zhou Daosen had changed his name when he was ten.

The housekeeper urged him forward, asking about his activities over the past month as they walked the short distance.

Zhou responded briefly. His mother, smiling warmly, stepped closer and asked, “Was the traffic bad?”

“Not really,” Zhou replied.

His mother glanced at her wristwatch. “Then why did you take so long? Nearly an hour.”

Punctuality was paramount to her. Being late had never been tolerated in the Zhou household—none of the children had ever been late, left early, or missed an appointment.

His mother believed attitude determined everything, and success or failure hinged on the details.

“I was debating whether to bring you a gift. Spent too long thinking and didn’t stop. I’ll owe you one—after I pass the bar exam, I’ll take you to a boutique to pick something out.” Zhou ascended the steps, the housekeeper following closely.

The family stepped inside.

Mrs. Zhou said cheerfully, “That sounds perfect. I’ve had my eye on a silk scarf—you can buy it for me then. Xixi also promised me a gift. We’ll all go together. Have you spoken to your sister?”

“Yes.”

“How is she? She doesn’t say much on the phone. I worry.”

Zhou reassured his mother with a few words before she asked about his preparations for the bar exam. He simply said he was nearly ready.

Mrs. Zhou nodded. “Right, why am I even asking? There’s nothing you can’t accomplish. Exams are the least of my concerns—even Xixi never outperformed you.”

With that, she gestured, and the housekeeper brought over two cups of tea.

“Where’s Professor Zhou?” Zhou Daosen asked after sitting down.

“Off lecturing again. Someone came to invite him—he couldn’t refuse.” Mrs. Zhou pushed a teacup toward him. “Have you bulked up again?”

Zhou glanced down at himself. “No.”

Mrs. Zhou frowned. “No? Have you been back to that fighting ring?”

Zhou sipped his tea without answering. His grandfather’s tea was the best, followed by his father’s.

Mrs. Zhou sighed. “You’re grown now—I can’t stop you from doing what you want. But your father disapproves of that. I won’t forbid you outright, but you should go there less. Don’t upset him—he’s not young anymore.”

In his father’s eyes, many places were disreputable—combat gyms and clubs were outright condemned. “Bad company corrupts good character,” he feared, worried such environments would warp Zhou Daosen’s mindset.

Zhou set down his cup and looked at his mother. His gaze spoke louder than words.

“Will Eldest Sister come back for the Lantern Festival?” Zhou Daosen effortlessly changed the subject.

Mother Zhou replied, “I just got off the phone with her. She said it’s uncertain—she’s heading to Chile in April.”

“That’s not just any ordinary distance.”

“Exactly,” Mother Zhou said. “Most likely, she won’t be back. It’s hard enough getting the whole family together—everyone’s always scattered to the ends of the earth.”

Separation was inevitable; everyone’s life took its own course.

“Good timing—since you’re back,” Mother Zhou stood up, picking up an invitation from the side and handing it to Zhou Daosen. “Your father isn’t here, so you’ll accompany me.”

It was a banquet invitation for a college admission celebration—his uncle’s daughter had topped the provincial exams in high school.

“Which school did she choose?” Zhou Daosen flipped through the invitation but found no answer.

“East China University of Political Science and Law—same as you.” Mother Zhou beamed.

Zhou Daosen frowned. “Her scores could get her into China University of Political Science and Law. Why go to Shanghai too?”

“She said it’s because you’re there, and Xixi is too,” Mother Zhou said. “Didn’t you also skip Beijing?”

“I chose East China because Hengtai is in Shanghai. Is she planning to join Hengtai too?”

“Who knows?” Mother Zhou mused. “Maybe.” Hengtai was a top-tier firm, and many law students dreamed of getting in.

Zhou Daosen set the invitation back on the table. The event wasn’t today, so he didn’t need to give his mother an answer right away.

At noon, Zhou Daosen had lunch with his mother.

In the afternoon, Mother Zhou was heading to an art exhibition. Zhou Daosen didn’t join her—he had no interest in art, just like his father. His eldest sister was the only one who could engage in lengthy discussions about it with their mother, but unfortunately, she wasn’t around.

Word of Zhou Daosen’s return spread quickly. Shortly after lunch, as soon as his mother left, Zhong Wei contacted him, asking if Professor Zhou was home and whether he could visit.

Zhou Daosen called him back.

“Brother Zhou,” Zhong Wei greeted first.

“Professor Zhou isn’t here, but I’m not planning to go out either,” Zhou Daosen said. “If you have something to say, say it over the phone.”

Zhong Wei hesitated. “How can I explain it properly over the phone? Brother Zhou, just meet me once—”

“Can’t say it?”

“It’s not clear over the phone—”

Before he could finish, the line went dead with a dial tone.

Zhou Daosen had hung up.

He never hung up on people mid-call—but Zhong Wei was an exception.

Wang Chunlan was polishing a celadon vase, her movements reverent, as if the porcelain perched high on the cabinet were a Buddha bestowing salvation upon mortals. She was entirely absorbed in her task, careful not to disturb the divine presence, until Zhou Daosen’s voice snapped her out of it.

“Aunt Wang.”

“Ah?!” Wang Chunlan jolted, but the seasoned housekeeper didn’t falter—the celadon remained steady in her hands. She turned, arms still raised, and met Zhou Daosen’s gaze, which instantly turned cold and sharp.

“Has Zhong Wei been here?” Zhou Daosen asked. “While I was away.”

Wang Chunlan turned back, searching her memory. “I don’t think so…”

“What about Zhou Bao?”

Wang Chunlan hesitated. “Wasn’t he beaten half to death by your second uncle?”

“Right. Never mind.” Zhou Daosen returned the invitation to where his mother had taken it from, ensuring it could be easily found next time.

Wang Chunlan didn’t understand why Zhou Daosen was asking about these things, but she didn’t get an explanation.

This family was dull—not that she had any complaints about the Zhous, but they were all too proper, too reserved. Even laughter was rare.

Zhou Daosen most of all.

“You can carry on with your work,” Zhou Daosen said as he went upstairs. “No need to wipe that celadon piece—the Eastern Celadon Glaze naturally has that color when unearthed.”

Wang Chunlan, holding a cloth, replied, “Oh, alright.”

She glanced up at the porcelain, its hues rich and beautiful, yet one corner always seemed grimy.

Zhou Daosen hadn’t returned home in a month.

The bedroom remained impeccably tidy.

Someone always cleaned his room. Even when he was away, his mother wouldn’t let dust settle—just like Zhou Tanxi’s and his eldest sister’s rooms.

Zhou Daosen called his second uncle.

He perfunctorily inquired about Zhou Bao.

Over the phone, his uncle vented his frustration, berating Zhou Bao for disgracing the Zhou family. Among all the Zhous, Zhou Bao was the most disappointing. A month ago, he’d been caught at a gay bar and beaten so badly by his own father that he ended up hospitalized.

“Disgraceful. A goddamn disgrace.”

A month had passed, but his uncle’s anger hadn’t subsided.

Zhou Daosen offered a few words of comfort, but his uncle kept cursing, even threatening to sever ties with Zhou Bao.

Zhou Bao had plenty of shameful incidents.

Visiting a gay bar was nothing in comparison.

Plenty of Zhou Bao’s “crimes” could be found right in this house.

“Bro, I like you.”

“Bro, I want you to fuck me.”

“Bro, have you ever tried a man?”

“Bro, let me suck you off.”

That was the day Zhou Daosen learned to smoke.

The day Zhou Bao dragged him into the abyss.

Into a world he should never have touched.

Lu Pingwei wasn’t the culprit—Zhou Bao was.

If his uncle was this furious just over Zhou Bao visiting a gay bar, what would he do if he knew about those words? Jump into the river?

Zhou Daosen didn’t pity Zhou Bao for being beaten bloody.

He only feared that a few careless words from him could throw the entire Zhou family into chaos.

So when his uncle asked how he’d been lately, Zhou Daosen calmly replied with two words:

“Pretty good.”

His uncle said, “Baozi is nothing compared to you, but he’s always listened to you the most. I didn’t want to hit him, but I just couldn’t get through to him… Do you want to come see him?”

“Would it be appropriate?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” His uncle sounded puzzled. “Is there something wrong?”

Zhou Daosen lifted a finger, brushing away a thin layer of dust from the corner of the table, his tone indifferent.

“I’m afraid he’ll wet the bed.”

Silence. Unbroken silence.

Zhou Daosen had never gone through a rebellious phase, but he’d done rebellious things.

The day after Zhou Bao’s “confession,” he smoked all night, then picked up a wooden stick and sent Zhou Bao to the hospital.

The stick split Zhou Bao’s head open.

Zhou Bao knelt before him, clutching his legs and begging, “Bro, I’ll never dare again!”

Zhou Daosen was dragged into the absurd realm of homosexuality by his own cousin. At nineteen, his worldview, moral compass, and sense of ethics collapsed in a single day—and he fell in love with the physical violence he had always despised.

Whether the Zhou family descended into chaos or not truly hinged on the words that came out of his mouth.

Zhou Bao was beaten half to death.

He never dared mention that immoral affection again.

Yet Zhou Daosen, too, had been pulled into uncharted territory, with no way to return to his former ignorance.

Like cigarettes. Like violence. Like men with men.