Xie Quan gripped the toilet lid tightly, his fingers so tense that every knuckle turned pale as he threw up into the toilet for the third time.
His stomach was already empty, and all he could bring up was bile and stomach acid. But his insides felt like twisted rope, forcing him into dry heaves again and again.
Thankfully, the bar wasn’t crowded, and the restroom was empty—no one could hear these humiliating sounds.
When the nausea finally subsided, Xie Quan tried to straighten up while still holding onto the toilet, but blacked out for a moment and collapsed onto the floor.
The sharp pain from his knees hitting the ground jolted him awake a little. Gasping, he shifted his body to lean against the partition door, feeling like his stomach was being clawed apart, the pain so intense that sweat poured from his forehead like beads.
And yet, in the midst of this searing pain, he perversely felt a kind of twisted pleasure from self-inflicted suffering.
He really shouldn’t have come drinking without dinner. The doctor had already warned him after his last bout of gastric bleeding.
He reached into his pocket, fingers trembling uncontrollably. It took him two tries to get to the right spot, but all he found was his phone and a pack of tissues—no sign of the pill bottle he usually kept on him. He searched every inch of his body, but what wasn’t there simply wasn’t there.
A surge of indescribable frustration climbed up his spine. Xie Quan kicked the flimsy stall door hard, making a loud noise.
The sound seemed to alert a staff member outside. Xie Quan heard footsteps approaching, and then a timid female voice outside the stall door: “Sir, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Xie Quan croaked, his voice hoarse and terrifying.
“If you need any help…” the staff member continued.
“Get lost!” Xie Quan shouted, voice raised.
The outburst made his head spin. The waitress seemed frightened, apologized several times, and ran off.
By the time Xie Quan got home, it was already past midnight.
He fumbled several times just to get the key into the lock. Once inside, he rushed straight to the drawer where he kept his meds, grabbed the familiar bottle, popped several pills into his mouth without even bothering to get water, and forced them down dry.
Then he lay down right there on the floor—leaving the door open, his shirt riding up to expose his waist, cold against the chilly tiles.
Gradually, the familiar drowsiness spread through him like a hot spring, filling every limb and joint. He opened his eyes a crack and saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
His hair was a mess, his glasses askew, clothes wrinkled and disheveled from head to toe, his bare midsection exposed to the air, even part of his butt peeking out from his waistband.
He looked like he’d just been assaulted.
If Lu Nanyang saw him like this, he’d probably be gloating for weeks.
Xie Quan sneered inwardly. The wave of exhaustion continued to wash over him, and he was tempted to just let himself drift off then and there.
But then his phone in his pocket buzzed, jabbing into his side uncomfortably. He squinted and mustered just enough energy to pull it out and glance at the screen.
A WeChat message from “Xiang Nanyang” had come through—just two words:
“Thank you.”
Xie Quan smiled, rolled over, and fell asleep with his cheek pressed against the floor.
…..
That morning, the temperature was scorching hot. The asphalt looked like it was about to melt, shimmering with heat waves. Cicadas on the trees chirped incessantly. Lu Nanyang wiped the sweat from his forehead and bought a bottle of ice water from a street vendor.
He tilted his head back and chugged the whole thing down. As his Adam’s apple moved, a drop of sweat slid down his neck and disappeared into his collar.
The old vendor fanned himself with a palm fan. “Whoa there, slow down—don’t choke.”
Lu Nanyang let out a breath, crushed the empty bottle, and tossed it into the nearby bin. He pointed in a direction. “Uncle, who usually lives in that building?”
The old man squinted. “Oh, that one’s an old building. It was built back when the textile factory first opened, for the factory workers and their families.”
“Textile factory?” Lu Nanyang asked.
The old man waved his hand. “It’s all torn down now.”
“So mostly retired workers live there?”
“Some people sold their apartments in the past couple of years. I don’t really know who lives there now.”
Lu Nanyang nodded and was about to ask more when he heard someone shout from not far away.
“Lu Nanyang!”
Chen Zige stood at the roadside, bent over with his hands on his knees, panting like he’d just run a hundred-meter dash. “Damn, you’re good at hiding. I ran a whole lap and didn’t see you anywhere.”
“I’ve been here the whole time,” Lu Nanyang said, adjusting the sunshade over the stall. “You’re just blind.”
“Shut up!” Chen Zige snapped. “I’m blind and you’re deaf, huh? I called you a million times and you didn’t pick up.”
His phone had been on silent during class—he really had forgotten to switch it back.
“My bad. I’ll treat you to a drink,” Lu Nanyang patted his shoulder. “Or an ice cream, your pick.”
“Smart move.” Chen Zige cheerfully opened the freezer at the vendor’s stall. “How much is this?”
Lu Nanyang took out his phone. It didn’t show a million missed calls, but there were three—all from Chen Zige.
And three WeChat messages.
- I’m here, where are you?
- Haven’t seen you for ages, what gives?
- Lu Nanyang, damn it, pick up your phone!
Lu Nanyang sent him a kneeling emoji in response. As he exited the chat, he caught sight of the contact name “Drowning” just below it.
Their last message was the “Thank you” he had sent the night before. The other person had never replied.
Maybe he didn’t use that account anymore.
“Fifteen,” the old man said slowly, still waving his fan.
Lu Nanyang raised his phone to scan the code and only after paying did he belatedly glance at Chen Zige. “Fifteen? What did you buy?”
Chen Zige smugly lifted the high-end ice cream in his hand.
“…” Lu Nanyang was too speechless to even get mad. “You really don’t treat me like an outsider.”
“Opportunities like this don’t come often—how could I not take the chance to squeeze you a little?” Chen Zige unwrapped the ice cream with satisfaction and began eating it while sizing up Lu Nanyang. “You look thinner than before.”
Lu Nanyang said, “Your face looks rounder than before.”
“Get lost.” Chen Zige laughed and gave him a shove. “I was complimenting you, and you roast me like that.”
Lu Nanyang chuckled and leaned back. Back then, Chen Zige was much shorter than him and had stubby little arms—one shove and Lu Nanyang could dodge it with ease. Now, not so much—he took the push head-on.
Chen Zige finished the 15-yuan ice cream in a few bites, wiped his mouth, and beckoned to Lu Nanyang. “Building 8, Unit 3, the east apartment, right? Come with me.”
He strode ahead like a peacock in full display. “You’re seriously lucky, running into me interning here at the property office. Otherwise, with that Li Xin’s mouth, even ten of you wouldn’t get her to open up.”
“You know her?” Lu Nanyang asked.
“Can’t say I know her, but pretty much everyone in this complex’s management has dealt with her,” said Chen Zige. “She’s a real piece of work. Doesn’t even live here full time, not the actual homeowner, but complains in the group chat all day long.”
“You’re sure she’s not the owner?” Lu Nanyang pressed.
“Positive. That’s why I’m taking you to look at the records.” Chen Zige reached the property office, took out a key, and unlocked the door. “By the way, why didn’t you just ask your dad for help? He basically owns this whole development area.”
Lu Nanyang said dryly, “If I were going to rely on Lu Hongzhen, I wouldn’t be running around like this in the first place.”
Chen Zige paused for a moment, then said, “Fair point.”
It wasn’t working hours, so the property office was empty. Chen Zige led the way upstairs like he owned the place and said as they walked, “Li Xin, your client—her family situation’s a bit complicated. If I remember right, the homeowner of that apartment in Building 8 is her nephew. She’s just living there temporarily at best.”
“Nephew?” Lu Nanyang frowned. Li Xin didn’t look even fifty. Her nephew wouldn’t be that old either—how could he be the owner of an old apartment like that?
“Her nephew’s about our age. His family background is even messier,” Chen Zige said. “Long story short—his dad had mental issues and used to abuse him and his mom for years. Eventually beat his mom to death. The dad ended up locked away in a psychiatric hospital, and the apartment was registered under the only son’s name.”
He opened an office door, pulled out a chair, sat down, and started flipping through a stack of documents from the drawer. “After his mom died, he stopped living there. The government gave him some compensation, and he rented a place elsewhere.”
“So what’s with Li Xin?”
“She saw the place was empty and kept pestering him nonstop,” Chen Zige said with disdain. “Honestly, the real owner’s way too generous. Letting her stay there after all that. But she acts like she owns the place—so entitled. What’s your case about anyway?”
“Li Xin got drunk one night and said she was giving the apartment to her friend Liu Qiuyan,” Lu Nanyang explained. “Then the next day Liu Qiuyan showed up with a transfer contract. Li Xin freaked out and hired a lawyer. Now one says it was a gift, the other says it was a scam—but neither has proof.”
Chen Zige laughed. “Well, now no one needs to argue. Only what’s written in the deed matters.”
As he spoke, he pulled a file from the stack, tapped it. “Here it is—the copy of the property deed for Li Xin’s apartment.”
Lu Nanyang took it and was stunned.
The name listed under “homeowner” wasn’t Li Xin. It was another name he knew very well:
Xie Quan.
