The sky had completely darkened, and the world returned to darkness, only to be illuminated by various lights.
Countless intertwining beams of light and shadow poured into the bedroom, just in time to light up their entwined hands.
Xie Zhinan’s wrist was slender, easily caught by Wen Yun’s large, burning palm. He held it tightly, the knuckles turning white, veins popping on the back of his hand, almost like a lock, making it impossible for Xie Zhinan to escape.
Wen Yun kept looking at Xie Zhinan. His eyes were devoid of emotion and expression, cold and mechanical, evoking a feeling of detachment.
It reminded Xie Zhinan of a black snake he encountered as a child by the roadside in the village. The snake had stared at him in the same way.
As though it could swallow him whole at any moment.
Back then, Xie Zhinan had quickly run away, but now he was trapped, unable to escape.
His body felt stiff, and his throat was numb, unable to make a sound for a long time.
Wen Yun didn’t even blink, staring at him, and then asked, emotionless: “Xie Zhinan, where are you going?”
Xie Zhinan’s Adam’s apple trembled several times before he weakly said, “I… I’m going home.”
Only then did Wen Yun make a move, as if he had finally snapped back to reality from their brief exchange.
He no longer looked at Xie Zhinan with that cold, gloomy expression but instead lowered his eyelids slightly, his gaze focusing on his hand that was holding Xie Zhinan’s wrist.
Compared to his hand, Xie Zhinan’s seemed smaller, and perhaps sensing some insecurity, his five fingers curled slightly, forming a defensive gesture.
“Mmm, it is late,” Wen Yun said.
The obsessive, depressive aura around him vanished in an instant, and he seemed to become considerate.
Xie Zhinan remained silent, trying to move his wrist, but it was still tightly held.
Wen Yun didn’t ease his grip at all.
“…I’m going home,” Xie Zhinan said again, his voice barely audible.
“Mmm,” Wen Yun responded.
But nothing had changed.
Wen Yun’s grip tightened, causing Xie Zhinan’s bones to ache.
“Mr. Wen…”
“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t try to run away while I’m resting?” Wen Yun lifted his eyes to look at him.
This time his gaze was focused, his eyes lightly resting on Xie Zhinan’s face.
Xie Zhinan didn’t know how to respond. He nervously began to pinch his fingertip with his nail. Wen Yun saw this and politely reminded him, “Don’t pinch yourself.”
Xie Zhinan’s small movement was caught, and he froze like a snail that had been poked in the antennae, wanting to quickly hide his hand back in his shell.
But unfortunately, his hand was still tightly held, and he couldn’t pull away.
“Let go of me…” Xie Zhinan struggled slightly, his words lacking in strength.
Wen Yun, however, just watched him, observing his evasive gaze and his struggling movements.
The familiar scene, the familiar darkness, suddenly pulled him back into the dream from before.
It had been five years ago, when Xie Zhinan came to see him abroad. They kissed intimately, as they always did, their skin touching, making love, inseparable. But Xie Zhinan had been crying, tears that couldn’t stop.
He looked as though he was going to die from the pain, crying so hard that he was gasping for breath, until he almost fainted.
Wen Yun, fearing something might happen from his crying, had covered his mouth with his palm, forcing him to breathe through his nose.
But perhaps Xie Zhinan thought Wen Yun was trying to suffocate him.
His tears flowed even more, the salty liquid quickly soaking Wen Yun’s hand. Xie Zhinan with eyes closed, cheeks red from crying and lashes wet and sticking together in clumps, continued sobbing, sounding like a wounded cub.
So pitiful.
He had struggled under Wen Yun’s grip, prying at his hand while retreating step by step.
Finally, Wen Yun had let go, and Xie Zhinan, crying, said—
“I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
Then, Xie Zhinan disappeared into that rainy night.
Memories blended into reality. In the same darkness, in the same hidden bedroom, Wen Yun faced Xie Zhinan, watching him constantly trying to evade and escape.
The patience he had exercised over the past years seemed useless. Xie Zhinan still showed no inclination to get closer to him.
Wen Yun had never realized he was so impatient.
He had endured for five years, yet ever since returning to the country, since the moment he saw Xie Zhinan again, something inside him seemed to break.
A deep, secret desire stirred restlessly, constantly fraying his nerves.
“Are you afraid of me?” He suddenly asked.
The fever and the dream seemed to have burned away all his rationality, restraint, and suppression.
Wen Yun’s expression remained indifferent, even slightly cold. There was no sign of the turmoil he was experiencing, turmoil so intense that he clung to his subordinate’s wrist in his own bedroom, pressing forward without yielding.
The question struck a nerve in Xie Zhinan’s memory, dragging him back to that summer when a pen gently traced across his chest.
The words echoed in his ears, making him shudder as he had back then.
“I… I’m not,” he stammered.
But his slender wrist trembled in Wen Yun’s palm and kept trying to pull away.
Wen Yun’s tone was as calm as ever, like water. “Really?”
Yet Xie Zhinan instinctively sensed danger, like a small animal whose instincts screamed alarm in his mind.
He needed to escape quickly, or something was bound to happen.
“I… I should go, Mr. Wen. I’ll come back… another time to see you.” In his flustered state, Xie Zhinan blurted out words he himself didn’t realize were so inappropriate.
“When is ‘next time’?” Wen Yun asked, following up.
Five years? Ten years?
Or longer?
Xie Zhinan didn’t answer.
After all, how could a subordinate visit their boss’s home multiple times?
He shouldn’t answer, couldn’t answer, and so he struggled harder to free himself.
“Why aren’t you answering, Xie Zhinan?” Wen Yun’s voice remained calm, but his grip was unrelenting. “When is ‘next time’?”
Was he feverish and confused?
Why did he seem so… off after just one sleep?
Like magma beneath a calm ocean, or a taut string on the verge of snapping—hidden, repressed, yet ready to erupt at any moment.
Xie Zhinan finally snapped, forcefully pulling his hand away. He stumbled back two steps, and a faint light flickered in his wide, frightened eyes.
Wen Yun watched him quietly in the dark, motionless.
The light outside the window barely reached the edge of Wen Yun’s bed, and as Xie Zhinan took another step back, he plunged completely into the shadows.
It was as if a beam of light had split their worlds in two.
“I…” Xie Zhinan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He felt he should say something, but his throat was parched, his pounding heart drowned out his thoughts, and he was at a complete loss for words.
Wen Yun frowned slightly, as if dissatisfied with the sharp division of light and shadow. He sat up in bed and turned on the bedroom light.
The room was suddenly bathed in brightness, and they stood once again in the same space of light.
But Xie Zhinan, now exposed under the naked glare, seemed uncomfortable.
His face was pale, his lips colorless, his shoulders slightly hunched. His lashes fluttered once before lowering, his gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding Wen Yun’s eyes.
Wen Yun, however, kept looking at him, unblinkingly.
The fever clouded his mind, and the clash between his icy rationality and burning desires tore him apart.
Countless thoughts bubbled up like waterborne bubbles, rising one after another, flashing rapidly through his mind.
Suppress one, and even more unspeakable urges surfaced, engulfing him entirely.
He simply stared at Xie Zhinan. He stared for a long time.
The silence grew unbearable, and Xie Zhinan forced himself to speak, his voice hoarse. “Mr. Wen, I’m going home.”
After a moment, perhaps realizing how cold his words sounded, he added sincerely, albeit softly, “Take care of yourself. Get better soon.”
He waited a couple of seconds, but no response came.
Taking the silence as agreement, he pursed his lips and said, “Goodbye.”
Then, he slowly retreated. He didn’t turn around until he had exited Wen Yun’s bedroom and returned to the dimly lit corridor. Only then did he relax his tense body, preparing to leave.
He moved quietly to the entrance, his hand just reaching the door handle, when slow, heavy footsteps sounded behind him. They came closer, stopping just behind him.
So close, so close it felt like someone was about to pull him into an embrace.
The familiar cool scent invaded his senses, and Xie Zhinan’s heart skipped a beat.
He seemed to realize something, and the wrist Wen Yun had grabbed earlier still burned. He flinched unconsciously, but before he could pull away, fingers hooked around his.
They caught only his pinky and ring finger, warm and burning, intimately intertwining with his own.
Xie Zhinan neither turned nor looked back. Emotions churned within him, tying his throat into knots and flooding him with a sour ache he could no longer suppress. He called out a name, his voice trembling.
“Wen Yun.”
“Hmm,” Wen Yun responded softly.
“I’m leaving,” Xie Zhinan said, his voice barely audible, as if forcing himself to utter the words. Otherwise, his will might collapse entirely, trapping him here forever.
Thankfully, this time, Wen Yun answered gently with a quiet “hmm,” showing no intention of making things difficult for him.
“It might rain tonight. Take an umbrella with you,” Wen Yun said warmly.
Just like that night years ago, Wen Yun softened, unwilling to confine him.
But this time, something was different.
This time, he remembered to hand Xie Zhinan an umbrella instead of standing idly by, watching him rush into the rain and disappear completely, doing nothing.
“Goodbye,” Wen Yun said, placing the umbrella into his hand, their fingers brushing briefly. He added in a low voice, “See you next time.”
Silence lingered for a while. Xie Zhinan finally emerged from his shell, his fingers twitching slightly. It was hard to tell whether he was trying to pull away or responding to the touch, subtly hooking his finger against Wen Yun’s.
Though his voice was faint, almost inaudible, he replied—
“…See you next time.”
