“One cup of passionfruit mango,” the cashier looked up. “Anything else?”
“You—” Lu Nanyang instinctively turned to ask Xie Quan, but gave up halfway. “Two cups. His will be the same as mine.”
There weren’t many people in the milk tea shop, so they didn’t wait long. As they walked out, Lu Nanyang handed one cup to Xie Quan, unwrapped the straw for his own, and pushed it into the bottom of the cup.
Neither of them spoke. They just walked side by side under the night sky.
The snack street was bustling, full of energetic young women, sugary-sweet couples, and families with kids—several lively little boys ran past them with toy pinwheels in one hand and grilled sausages in the other, shouting and laughing.
There were too many things that should be said—yet at that moment, all of it got stuck in their throats, unsure where to begin.
“Where are you staying now?” After some internal debate, Lu Nanyang asked this.
“Li Xin’s out of town for work, so I went back to the old house for a few days,” Xie Quan replied.
“Oh.” Lu Nanyang stared at his straw. “How’ve you been sleeping?”
Xie Quan was silent for a few seconds before answering, “Not great. I’ve been sleeping in my mom’s old room. I’ve had nightmares almost every night.”
Lu Nanyang bit his lip, canines lightly pressing down. “What happened with Liu Qiuyan afterward?”
“She was detained,” Xie Quan said. “Not sure if it was because of the recent disturbance, but the police suspect she’s involved in the house fire. They’re collecting evidence now.”
“Oh.” Lu Nanyang let out a breath, nodding. “That’s good news.”
But Xie Quan’s face showed no hint of relief or happiness. He didn’t respond—just lowered his gaze and gently shook his fruit tea, then took out the straw.
Lu Nanyang watched him peel off the straw’s wrapper and insert it into the drink. Maybe because he studied surgery and had to take care of his hands, Xie Quan’s fingers were pale, slender, and well-defined. His nails were neatly trimmed, and even the act of inserting a straw looked graceful.
“You didn’t have to buy me a drink. A bottle of water would’ve been fine,” Xie Quan said softly, eyes downcast. “I can’t taste anything anyway.”
Lu Nanyang froze. He had suspected Xie Quan might one day tell him this, but he hadn’t expected it to be today—hadn’t expected it to be now.
“You already guessed, didn’t you?” Xie Quan said. “Otherwise, back in the store, you would’ve asked me what I wanted.”
“Yeah,” Lu Nanyang admitted.
“When did you realize?”
“That day when the break started, and you made steamed fish for lunch,” Lu Nanyang replied. “You mixed up the salt and sugar, but didn’t notice it at all.”
“I see.” Xie Quan recalled it and chuckled at himself. “If I’d known, I should’ve just ordered takeout for someone like you.”
“Is it… congenital? Or something that happened later?” Lu Nanyang asked.
“If it was congenital, could I even cook that well? You really think too highly of me,” Xie Quan replied sarcastically.
Lu Nanyang ignored the sarcasm.
So it had developed later.
What exactly had happened?
Faced with Lu Nanyang’s questioning gaze, Xie Quan suddenly felt overwhelmingly exhausted—his body heavy, his feet rooted to the ground, unable to take another step.
“Let’s find a place to sit and talk,” he said.
“How about over there?” Lu Nanyang pointed in a direction—it was a small park across from the food street.
There weren’t many people in the little park. A small fountain bubbled quietly under the dim glow of the street lamps. Xie Quan and Lu Nanyang sat side by side on a bench, the air misted with a faint grassy fragrance.
Leaning back against the bench, Xie Quan asked, “How much have you heard about my family?”
“Not much.”
“Don’t play dumb.” Xie Quan narrowed his eyes. “You definitely did a background check when you took Li Xin’s commission—otherwise you wouldn’t have found me.”
Lu Nanyang let out a sigh. “Really not much. Just heard a bit from a friend. That… your dad was mentally ill, often violent, and later your mom… and then he was committed to a psychiatric hospital.”
Xie Quan gave a soft “Mm” and looked up at the starry night sky. “My mom’s name was Xu Qian. She was a rural woman with little education. Ever since I was young, I helped her cook and clean. All the dirty and exhausting chores were left to us, while Xie Yuanqiang never lifted a finger—just picked at everything we did. If something displeased him even slightly, he’d explode. He’d drag my mom around by her hair, call her a whore, slap her.”
A sharp hook seemed to pierce Lu Nanyang’s chest again. His fingers subconsciously clenched a wooden slat on the bench, nails digging in deep.
“But he wasn’t always like that. When he was normal, he looked just like any regular dad. He’d smile, joke with me, bring me snacks after work. He was always perfectly ‘normal’ in front of others.” Xie Quan’s gaze turned vacant. “Did I ever tell you my mom loved cilantro?”
“You did,” Lu Nanyang said quietly.
“It was when I was in middle school, I think. For quite a while—maybe over a month—he didn’t have any episodes. It happened to be cilantro season, so my mom cooked it often.” Xie Quan’s voice was low. “Then one night, she made beef with cilantro, and Xie Yuanqiang suddenly lost it.”
‘Cilantro, cilantro—you fucking whore, all you ever cook is cilantro,’ he shouted,” Xie Quan’s voice started to shake, his body curling slightly, “He spit out all the food onto the floor, grabbed my mom by the throat, and slammed her into the ground. He was so rough that night—I was terrified. I rushed to grab his arm and ended up getting pinned to the floor.”
Xie Quan’s breath became erratic, his chest heaving, forehead slick with sweat, and his fingers clutched the armrest tightly. “Then…”
His Adam’s apple bobbed several times. Suddenly, he covered his mouth with his hand, his face turning even paler.
Lu Nanyang quickly took hold of Xie Quan’s hand, his voice firm: “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.”
But Xie Quan shook his head, fighting the nausea with all his strength, and forced out a sentence through clenched teeth. “He made me eat the vomit off the floor.”
Lu Nanyang’s pupils dilated instantly. Rage, disgust, and sheer disbelief exploded in his chest like a bomb.
Now he finally understood why Xie Quan reacted so strongly that day when he made beef with cilantro.
What kind of nightmare was this?
And how could something like this happen in the 21st century?
Even if he read about it in a novel, he would’ve thought it was ridiculous and grotesque.
Xie Quan leaned his elbows on his knees, breathing heavily for a long time.
Crying, yelling, struggling—those sounds echoed in his ears. Xie Yuanqiang’s face haunted his memories like a ghost that couldn’t be exorcised.
Yet, after finally speaking it aloud, he felt an odd sense of relief. So many years had passed, and he had never told anyone.
And now, staying night after night in Xie Yuanqiang’s house, dreaming one nightmare after another, Xie Quan suddenly realized:
There were many people in this world he could share his bright side with.
But when it came to his ugliness—only Lu Nanyang.
Only Lu Nanyang knew how filthy, how sick, how fake and neurotic he truly was beneath the surface. Only Lu Nanyang had seen the rot he tried so hard to hide.
“I lost my sense of taste from that moment on,” Xie Quan spat the saliva from his mouth and slowly leaned back against the bench. “I got checked at the hospital—there’s nothing wrong with my taste system. It’s psychological. I thought it would get better over time, but even after more than ten years, it’s still the same.”
Lu Nanyang felt like his lungs were stuffed with cotton—he couldn’t breathe properly.
“What else did he do to you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“A lot,” Xie Quan murmured. “Things I should say and shouldn’t say—Liu Qiuyan has probably told you everything by now. You’ve probably already guessed most of it.”
Lu Nanyang closed his eyes. Liu Qiuyan’s crazed, hysterical face from that night flashed in his mind again.
He didn’t even dare think deeper.
“You and Liu Qiuyan…” he asked quietly, “what exactly was…”
“She was Xie Yuanqiang’s mistress,” Xie Quan took a sip of his fruit tea, forcing down the wave of nausea, his tone calmer. “Around the time my mom died, they were all over each other—everyone in the neighborhood thought she was his actual wife. After Xie Yuanqiang got arrested, she insisted the house should go to her. Maybe he’d promised her something sweet, made her believe he truly loved her and would one day marry her.”
Then Xie Quan gave a mocking smile. “But I knew him too well. No one understood better than me what kind of person he was. Fake, flashy—charming on the outside, completely rotten inside.”
“He was scum. A disgusting bastard.” Xie Quan turned to Lu Nanyang with a half-smile. “I guess I’m just like him, aren’t I?”
Under the dim streetlights, Xie Quan’s long lashes cast shadows over his gray pupils. His smile was full of bitter self-deprecation.
Lu Nanyang didn’t say a word. Suddenly, he leaned forward and, without any warning, kissed Xie Quan on the lips.
Xie Quan was startled and instinctively grabbed Lu Nanyang’s arm.
He should have pushed him away at that moment. But his fingers only made a futile pass over the warmth of Lu Nanyang’s skin, and in the end, they relaxed and slowly traced the contours of his muscles, climbing up to his shoulder.
So Lu Nanyang pulled him into his arms, one hand cradling the back of his head as he deepened the kiss, displaying an unprecedented assertiveness.
Every rational thought in Xie Quan’s mind was telling him to push him away.
This wasn’t the right time or place to be kissing. The park was very close to the university town, and just a few steps away was the main road—there was no telling if a student staying on campus might pass by.
But everything was a mess, and for the first time, he wanted to lose himself in that intoxicating chaos and refuse to wake up.
Lu Nanyang clasped his restless hand and pressed it down. The cold armrest of the bench dug painfully into Xie Quan’s back, yet his nerves felt like they were high on something—growing more and more exhilarated.
He didn’t know how much time had passed. Only when his lips were so sore they went numb, and he was on the verge of suffocating, did Lu Nanyang finally let him go. A thin strand of saliva lingered between their lips, swaying with the rhythm of their breaths before breaking.
Lu Nanyang panted and asked, “Disgusted?”
“What?” Xie Quan’s mind had gone blank.
“By your logic, I’m disgusting too,” Lu Nanyang said softly. “Because I helped you—not out of love, not out of kindness, but because I only feel like I matter when someone needs me. By that reasoning, I’m just using you too. Being kissed by someone like that… does it disgust you?”
Xie Quan lowered his head and laughed—laughed until tears welled up at the corners of his eyes.
Then he wrapped his arms around Lu Nanyang’s neck and bit down hard beside his collarbone.
“No, I’m fucking crazy about you.”
[mfn]
Author’s Note:
Good news: He’s head over heels.
[/mfn]
😭😭