LMMY chapter 89

“How do you know?” Qi Boyuan asked, staring at Li Xuan’s expressionless profile. “Are you sure? I didn’t feel like he was following me up.”

“Want to go check for yourself?” Li Xuan’s tone was flat.

Qi Boyuan shook his head, glancing at the wooden door. Normally polite, he couldn’t help frowning. “Who is he? Earlier, I didn’t want to ask, but Xiao Ding came to me this afternoon, looking worried. She said you’d brought him to the company before, that she’d seen him, but didn’t recognize him in the résumé photo. He snuck in, and she was scared you’d be mad. So, who is he? A friend? Then what was all that drama this morning? I thought he was here for revenge or something. And what’s the deal with him applying to the company? Is he broke? Trying to borrow money by going through all this trouble? You didn’t seem like you knew beforehand either…”

After a long string of questions, even Qi Boyuan himself felt like he wasn’t making much sense. He knew Li Xuan’s personality well. —when they first met, Li Xuan would take on freelance gigs around the clock like he’d never seen money before. Yet, he treated money as if it were nothing. If Zhao Jizhe truly came to borrow money, he wouldn’t have needed to create such a spectacle.

“Someone I used to know,” Li Xuan finally replied, his expression unreadable.

No title, no definition—just those few words that left Qi Boyuan with no more room to ask.

“Fine.” Qi Boyuan sighed, pushing his glasses up. “At least tell me what he’s doing here now? Waiting outside to apologize? I still don’t get why he applied to the company. If he needed a job, wouldn’t it make sense to talk to you directly?”

“There’s no logic to it.”

“There’s always some underlying reason for everything…”

“He said he just wants to be close to me.” Li Xuan narrowed his eyes, his tone sharp. “That’s his damn logic.”

“He actually said that?” Qi Boyuan’s eyes widened in shock. “What kind of reasoning is that…” He paused abruptly, looking Li Xuan up and down and then at his phone. Swallowing hard, he said, “I have a… not-so-mature guess…”

“No.” Li Xuan cut off his speculation, speaking in a low voice. “He’s dated women before. More than one.”

“Even so…”

“Even if he doesn’t like women, he’d never like men.”

The words felt oddly contradictory, but Qi Boyuan didn’t push. It was clearly a personal matter, and Li Xuan’s tone left no room for further questions.

“Then I really don’t understand.”

“If you could understand, you’d be standing outside my door too.”

“Why would I do that? Am I crazy?” Qi Boyuan retorted instinctively, hesitating before adding, “So now what?”

Halfway through his sentence, Li Xuan strode toward the door.

“Wait, wait!” Qi Boyuan blocked him. “What are you planning to do? You’re not going to fight him, are you?”

“Want to come along?” Li Xuan’s voice was hoarse.

“No thanks, you do your thing…” Qi Boyuan paused, worried. “Do you need me to come along? I could, if you want.”

Li Xuan didn’t respond or even look back. He opened the door and walked out, shutting it firmly behind him.

…..

Hospitals always seem colder than other places, perhaps due to the smell of disinfectant. The fluorescent lights reflected off the spotless tiles, creating a faint glow that stretched to the end of the hallway, broken by a shadow.

Hearing the sound of footsteps, Zhao Jizhe, who had been crouching on the ground, scrambled to his feet.

“Nineteen…” he called softly.

Li Xuan ignored him and walked into the stairwell, pulling out a cigarette. Zhao Jizhe followed him in.

“Let me.” Before Li Xuan could find his lighter, Zhao Jizhe hurriedly lit one and held it out. Li Xuan stood still, watching him struggle to keep his arm steady. Finally, he lowered his head slightly to light the cigarette.

A breeze swept through the stairwell, extinguishing the motion-sensor lights, leaving only the glow of the cigarette ember casting faint, flickering shadows on the wall.

Li Xuan smoked in silence, finishing one cigarette before lighting another. After taking a drag, he spoke.

“You should see a psychologist. I’ll pay for it.”

Zhao Jizhe froze, his head snapping up in panic. “Nineteen, what are you saying?”

“Did you not hear me?” Li Xuan replied coldly.

“Why?” Zhao Jizhe bit his lip. “I’m not sick. I don’t need a doctor.”

“Do you think what you’re doing is normal?”

“I didn’t do anything…”

“Didn’t do anything?” Li Xuan exhaled a ring of smoke. “Following me from the company to the hospital, what else do you want to do?”

“I don’t want anything. I care about you, Nineteen.” He sounded earnest and innocent. “I’m worried about you. Is your hand seriously injured?”

“Severely. It’s useless now.”

Zhao Jizhe stared at him in panic, only to hear Li Xuan’s cold voice, “But it doesn’t stop me from breaking you first.”

His tone held no hesitation. Zhao Jizhe looked at him in disbelief. “I don’t understand. What are you so angry about, Nineteen?… I just want to be closer to you. What’s wrong with that? I’ve known you since you were little. I’ve always seen you as the closest person to me.” His lips trembled. “…I’ve been thinking a lot about when we were in Qingshui Alley, even back at the orphanage. It was so hard back then. We didn’t have any money, but at least I knew what you were doing every day. It wasn’t like now. You might not believe me, but I’d rather go back to those days when we had nothing…”

“Cut the act.” Li Xuan interrupted harshly, “Let me make it clear to you. I don’t want to go back, not ever. The reason you can even say something like that is because you’re living off me, enjoying what I provide. Life’s too good for you now, so all you can think about is how to use me!”

“I’m not using you. I care about you. Why can others be close to you, but I can’t?”

“Others? Oh.”

Li Xuan laughed coldly, tugging at the corner of his mouth. He thought to himself that Qi Boyuan was truly an innocent bystander caught in this mess.

“Is it…” Zhao Jizhe’s voice trembled slightly, and he spoke hesitantly, “Is it because I’ve been to jail?”

“You want me to say no?” Li Xuan sneered. “If I say yes, what will you do about it?”

Zhao Jizhe stared at him in disbelief. Standing in the wind, he looked like a trembling quail. “But, Nineteen, you… you know it was all for you…”

“For me?” Li Xuan laughed coldly. “Do you not feel embarrassed spouting nonsense like that? For me, what? Hmm?”

He flicked his cigarette away and grabbed Zhao Jizhe by the collar. Zhao Jizhe was still wearing the same T-shirt from the morning, stained with Li Xuan’s dried blood. “Didn’t I warn you not to mix with those people? They’ll eat you alive, not even spitting out your bones. And yet, you still got yourself involved. I had to clean up your mess so you could come out and stab me in the back? Let me tell you again, Zhao Jizhe: I don’t owe you anything.”

“You don’t owe me anything, but I did it for you.” Zhao Jizhe’s entire body shook, yet he stubbornly insisted, “We’re family. Everything I’ve done has been for you.”

“Family? My family has long been dead.” Li Xuan let go of him and pointed to the stairwell window. “Everything you’ve done is for me? I don’t need it. You can just jump and be done with it.”

“Nineteen…”

Zhao Jizhe finally understood his meaning. His face turned pale, his voice trembling. “You don’t trust me?”

“Do you want to prove it?” Li Xuan chuckled coldly.

“You really want me to die…”

“No. Whether you live or die, it’s best if it has nothing to do with me.”

Zhao Jizhe bit his lip and looked at him, but Li Xuan didn’t spare him even a glance. Zhao Jizhe, seemingly making some kind of decision, muttered two “fine”s before turning toward the stairs.

The stairwell window wasn’t sealed shut, and the sill was just below his waist. The wooden frame held thick layers of dust that couldn’t be wiped clean—a corner of decay hidden within the otherwise polished building.

He opened the window, and the cold night wind rushed in. It was the 17th floor, with two more basement levels below. On the lowest platform, a scattered heap of medical waste could be seen, gray and indistinct.

Zhao Jizhe rested his hands on the unpolished concrete sill, its roughness biting into his palms.

The night deepened, bringing a chill. The wind carried raindrops that struck his face. He glanced down once more, his mind playing tricks as countless white hands seemed to grow from the distant ground, clawing upward to pull him down to his death.

Swallowing hard, he knew it would only take a small push to jump. Yet an invisible rope bound him in place. His arms remained bent, unable to straighten. It was fear. He could hear the chattering of his teeth, cold sweat streaming down his forehead.

Why was it so quiet behind him? Where was Nineteen? Had he already left?

Unwilling to admit he was hesitating, Zhao Jizhe started to turn back, wanting to see if Li Xuan was still there. But just as he began to move, a force abruptly pressed him forward.

At the same time, Li Xuan’s voice rang out, almost casual. He even held a cigarette, its faint heat brushing Zhao Jizhe’s skin. “Scared? Don’t dare to jump? Want me to help?”

“No, Nineteen…”

Terror flooded over him as death loomed so close. His already wavering resolve shattered completely. The overwhelming urge to survive made Zhao Jizhe struggle desperately and shake his head.

Li Xuan, however, didn’t relent. His hand firmly pressed Zhao Jizhe’s neck downward, making him feel as if Li Xuan’s fingers were piercing his flesh. His abdomen pressed against the windowsill, his internal organs compressed, leaving him gasping for air. His heart pounded in his throat.

Zhao Jizhe saw glimpses of unknown animal remains amidst the gray medical waste below. He also noticed the wooden splinters sticking out of the rough window frame.

“No…” he whimpered, closing his eyes instinctively as one splinter almost pierced his left eye. But the expected pain didn’t come.

Just as his feet were about to leave the ground, he was violently thrown to the floor. His head struck the wall with a heavy thud.

Perhaps he had injured his waist—he couldn’t get up immediately. Yet amidst the shock of escaping death, the pain seemed insignificant. Zhao Jizhe coughed uncontrollably, deep marks left on his neck from Li Xuan’s grip.

The instigator stood calmly in place, blood seeping from his reopened wound due to exertion. He casually shook it off and, with a crisp sound, lit another cigarette, took a few drags, and slowly walked over to Zhao Jizhe.

The oppressive aura made Zhao Jizhe instinctively retreat a step, but through the faint veil of smoke, he still saw Li Xuan’s eyes—pitch-black, distinct, and indifferent.

At that moment, he recalled a night from many years ago. Li Xuan had been a teenager then, standing in front of a roaring fire. The flames illuminated his still-youthful profile, and he’d worn the same detached expression as he had coldly and calmly said, “He deserved to die.”

“People shouldn’t talk big,” Li Xuan said with a leisurely smile. “See? Dying isn’t as easy as you think.”

“Nineteen…”

Zhao Jizhe shivered instinctively. In that moment, the person before him felt unfamiliar, yet he suddenly realized that this was the true Nineteen he knew.

It was the version of Li Xuan post-prison that had deceived him. Since when had he seemed so human?

He had always thought of Li Xuan as a kind of cold weapon—perhaps a knife or a sword. Something that could wound others at any time, unafraid of wounding itself in the process.

Was this change a good thing? Zhao Jizhe didn’t know, nor did he care. What he couldn’t tolerate was that all of Li Xuan’s changes had nothing to do with him.

He thought they were one, born together from the mud. He was still stuck seven years ago—how could Li Xuan leave him behind and move forward?

But Li Xuan still had remnants of his old self, didn’t he? Zhao Jizhe watched him approach, his shoes kicking up fine dust. Amid his fear, a strange and twisted sense of pleasure arose in his heart.

Who can truly escape their past? Not even Li Xuan. He can’t erase the shadows of the past, and he certainly can’t erase him.

For a moment, Zhao Jizhe’s shoulders shook violently, but it was impossible to tell whether it was out of fear or joy. His expression was a mix of sorrow and delight. “Nineteen, did you really want to kill me just now?”

“I did.” Li Xuan thought about it seriously for a moment, his expression unexpectedly softening. “But what can I do? I’ve started to believe in Buddha lately, and I can’t keep doing such bloody things.”

Zhao Jizhe didn’t understand what he meant. Li Xuan took another drag from his cigarette, his emotions disappearing as quickly as they’d appeared. He looked down at Zhao Jizhe with not a trace of warmth in his voice. “Zhao Jizhe, I really don’t know what went wrong for you to turn out like this.”

“I’m not crazy or sick. I just want to be closer to you—is that so wrong?” Zhao Jizhe’s eyelids twitched. “If that’s the case, then you shouldn’t have been sent to the orphanage, you shouldn’t have met me, you shouldn’t have taken me with you, or when I went to prison, you shouldn’t have cared about me. At every single point, you chose to bring me along. So why now, all of a sudden, are you treating me like trash to be thrown away?”

The last sentence was almost a shout, his voice breaking and echoing in the narrow corridor. Li Xuan looked down at him, indifferent and silent.

The stillness dragged on, and under his cold gaze, Zhao Jizhe felt an unbearable sense of exposure and disgrace. He grew increasingly panicked, and the confidence from his earlier outburst quickly vanished. In a small voice, he called out, “Nineteen.”

“It almost sounds like this is my fault,” Li Xuan said, his lips curving into a slow smile. “So you really hate me that much?”

“How could I hate you? Everything I’ve done is for you.”

“Don’t say big words. And don’t repeat them twice.” Li Xuan lightly flicked the ash off his cigarette and squatted down. “I’ll give you two choices. One: leave now and go back to the internet café. I’ll arrange for a psychologist for you…”

“I don’t—”

“Shut up and listen.” Li Xuan raised a finger, signaling him to be quiet. “Two: you want to be close to me, right? To keep an eye on me? Fine. Starting tomorrow, come to the company. I’ll arrange a position for you.”

The abrupt turn of events left Zhao Jizhe stunned. He lifted his head sharply, staring at Li Xuan in disbelief, his excitement almost bursting from his eyes. “Nineteen, are you serious?!”

“You’re choosing the second option, right? Think it through.” Li Xuan watched him for a while, nodding slightly as if in thought. Suddenly, he smiled and began an entirely unrelated topic. “Ten years ago… About ten years? I can’t even remember. When we left the orphanage, I actually hesitated about bringing you along. You’d be trouble—I already knew that. But you said something right: it was my choice in the end. I’ve always said I don’t regret any of my decisions. But I don’t mind if others do.”

“I don’t regret it, and I won’t cause trouble for you… as long as you don’t leave me behind.”

“Whether or not you’re trouble has been proven time and again, but you don’t believe it. That’s fine, too.” Li Xuan gave a faint, noncommittal smile. “You want to crash into a brick wall, don’t you? I’ll build one for you. But Zhao Jizhe, walls don’t break. You make one crack, I’ll patch it up. You make ten, I’ll patch those, too. But you…”

Li Xuan paused, bending slightly forward. The blood from the reopened wound on his palm dripped onto Zhao Jizhe, drop by drop.

The cigarette in his hand was almost burnt out. He took the last drag slowly, then stubbed it out on the back of Zhao Jizhe’s hand.

Zhao Jizhe instinctively tried to pull away, but Li Xuan was faster, pressing down on his arm. The faint smell of burning flesh lingered in the air before Li Xuan finally let go, flicking his hand slightly. His lips curved up, though his eyes were cold. “Consider it a keepsake. If the time comes, I might not be in the mood for one.”