TDH Chapter 16

T.N: Still a backstory chapter

 

Bad news always came in pairs, so soon enough, Li Que’s reputation was also at risk. It wasn’t enough that his husband was a cheater, but even those around him weren’t clean either. Suddenly, gossip broke from the bodybuilding circle: a famous fitness YouTuber, in preparation for a competition, injected himself with steroids eight times in a single day. In the end, his body rotted away, and he ascended to meet the muscle gods.

 

The police’s covert investigation revealed that the so-called “super steroids” he bought from a dealer were actuallyveterinary drugs used to stimulate breeding hogs.

 

And the drug dealer who sold him the contraband turned out to be affiliated with the newly opened celebrity gym, recommended to Li Que by none other than his therapist, Dr. Brown.

 

When Li Que got up in the morning and switched on his phone, the news appeared in his feed. He could do nothing more but stare at it, completely dumbfounded: “…”

 

He immediately messaged Dr. Brown, demanding to know whether the middle-aged doctor who had pocketed so many consultation fees over the years was actually trying to kill him.

 

Dr. Brown had clearly seen the news as well. He called Li Que right away, explaining that he had no idea the gym was running a black-market drug business on the side. However, steroids were always rampant in the fitness circles, but usually only in shady gyms. He genuinely didn’t know the one he recommended was also secretly dealing.

 

Li Que replied: “Alright, I was joking.”

 

Dr. Brown let out a long breath, his tone easing as he shifted back into the role of therapist. “Richard, you can just train in your home gym.”

 

“Not really.” Li Que lowered his head, searching for his lighter, and replied offhandedly, “My husband’s at home. Best if I don’t spend too much time in the same room with him, or I’m afraid I might kill him.”

 

“…” Dr. Brown kept calm. “I’ll have the nurse book you for a session this afternoon.”

 

Li Que gave a few absent-minded grunts of approval and hung up the phone. At last, he found a fresh pack of ladies’ cigarettes in the cabinet, tore it open, and slipped one into his mouth with a trembling hand.

 

The flame nearly burned his fingers.

 

He squinted, exhaled a thin stream of smoke, and only then did he feel a little better.

 

Li Que had never thought of himself as someone with a diagnosable mental illness, since lots of people experienced psychosomatic anxiety under heavy stress. What set him apart was that, with wealth and power far beyond the average, whenever he tackled the source of his anxiety, his urge for destruction would overflow.

 

To restrain the desire to hurt others, he would first confide in God. If God stayed silent, then he’d turn to his therapist. Sometimes he’d snap the rubber band on his wrist, reminding himself not to become a demon.

 

Burning off excess energy was also a good outlet… but it was such a pity that outside of therapy, Dr. Brown’s recommendations were often unreliable. Li Que had just signed up for that gym, only for it to be raided by the FBI.

 

With that thought, he casually blocked the trainer’s number. The membership fee was probably non-refundable either way, but he didn’t care.

 

Li Que stepped out onto the balcony and lit a second cigarette.

 

The weather was warming, with Long Island’s sea breeze tugging open his robe, baring the full chest of a supermodel, puffed and proud like a pigeon’s.

 

Since coming back in March, Li Que had used “stress” as an excuse to sleep in a separate room from Zhang Ruien. When his husband saw the rubber band around his wrist, he naturally didn’t dare provoke him further. He only asked Li Que once if something had happened, but a curt “don’t want to talk about it” was all it took to shut him down. Since then, Zhang Ruien had been on his best behavior, fussing over him with feigned concern.

 

Li Que found it all intolerably annoying, but he hadn’t finalized his plan yet. So for now, he endured.

 

Lost in thought, he finished the second cigarette. His hand reached toward the pack again, but paused. In the end, he didn’t light a third. In truth, only a few friends and Dr. Brown knew that, despite always carrying a lighter, Li Que wasn’t actually addicted to cigarettes.

 

In his early modeling years, he had walked many high-end shows. And in the modelling world, models had to be as thin as paper to wear the exquisite clothes, exuding that vampire-like languid elegance. And most designers would’ve preferred their models not to eat at all, just smoke until full.

 

For a few years, Li Que also followed that regime until eventually, his body gave out. Back then, he smoked until he wanted to vomit, until he became desensitized to the very idea of “food.” And because of that experience, cigarettes always carried associations of hunger and restraint for him. Day to day, he didn’t care for smoking. But on days like this, when his mood hit rock bottom, he needed cigarettes to summon up the memory of forced self-control, so he could suppress the monstrous urge to destroy everything.

 

By now, he actually felt stable.

 

So he showered, abandoning his workout plans, and decided he’d spend the afternoon wandering around the city.

 

………………..

 

His husband’s lover outside was even cuter than he had imagined.

 

Li Que was in a rather good mood and tipped the waiter a hundred dollars, even though the beans at that cafe had been roasted for far too long, leaving the coffee bitter as hell.

 

The day after he accidentally discovered those design drafts, Li Que received all the information about Jiang Cenglan from his private investigator.

 

Jiang Cenglan, male, twenty-three, Chinese. Two years ago, he secretly began dating Zhang Ruien when the latter gave a lecture at his alma mater. A year ago, he followed him to the United States. But he hadn’t come here just to be someone’s lover.

 

He had come to pursue a master’s degree.

 

The boy possessed a fashion talent that far surpassed Zhang Ruien’s, and he saw himself as a muse.

 

Once that became clear, Li Que felt saved.

 

Of course, he knew that Zhang Ruien had deceived the adorable, pitiful child. After all, that insufferable bastard had only courted him so he could steal his astonishing talent.

 

In late-night reflection, even Li Que had to admit. His husband was quite something. Clearly a straight man, yet capable of marrying him, kneeling down, and diligently serving him. He had already gained so much from Li Que, and still wasn’t satisfied, going so far as to deceive a starry-eyed youth for two whole years.

 

What a bastard.

 

And that poor child, having been with a straight man for two years, did he ever feel lonely in the dead of night? Li Que knew that Zhang Ruien could never have had a physical relationship with Jiang Cenglan. After all, serving one Li Que was already the limit of that seasoned con artist’s abilities.

 

As for that kind and naive child, just a few sweet words were enough to lead him around by the nose. But the time Li Que had spent on Jiang Cenglan these days had truly saved him. Saved him from a failing marriage, or rather, from a life crisis, from the brink of losing his sense of self. And Li Que was also generous with money, so the private investigator had gone to great lengths, even managing to obtain Jiang Cenglan’s design works from back in his home country, including sketches, exercises, and doodles from his high school art studio.

 

And every one of them, each and every sheet, was drawn with Li Que in mind.

 

All in all, Jiang Cenglan had been drawing him for seven years.

 

It was hard for Li Que to put into words how shaken he was when he saw those drafts, as a fierce warmth wrapped around him, surging into his withered veins. In that instant, Jiang Cenglan’s seven years of youth, from clumsy beginnings to a practiced hand, became the lifeblood that replaced what had nearly dried up within Li Que.

 

He came alive again.

 

Seven years of marriage lived under his husband’s deception had been redeemed by the seven years of devotion his husband’s lover gave.

 

And in that moment, Li Que thought that God must have heard his prayers.

 

So it was Jiang Cenglan. By such coincidence, it had to be Jiang Cenglan.

 

Jiang Cenglan was compensation to him, someone destined to love him.

 

They were the ones who truly ought to fall in love.

 

The youth, carrying a drawing board under his arm and wearing loose knee-length shorts, disappeared from sight. The sunlight was too bright; Li Que narrowed his eyes, and the silhouette merged with the dappled light. Like a bird, Jiang Cenglan darted toward summer. But Li Que knew the coming summer would be far from pleasant for him, for Jiang Cenglan still had no idea that Zhang Ruien had secretly stolen his work.

 

But it didn’t matter. Li Que would take care of everything.

 

He would design for himself a spectacular entrance, like the Birth of Venus into Jiang Cenglan’s life.

 

Then spend all the following summers with him.

 

……………….

 

A week later, Li Que was invited to a studio to shoot a cover for MODE magazine with a photographer he had never worked with before. The photographer had been arranged by Zhang Ruien, so his status was beneath Li Que’s, but Li Que made no fuss. As the “designer,” Zhang Ruien should have accompanied the shoot from beginning to end, but business matters kept him away.

 

That actually pleased Li Que more since his wrist was nearly raw, scarred from snapping the rubber band over and over. Li Que was afraid that during the shoot, if he heard the staff singing praises to Zhang Ruien, “the designer”, he might not be able to stop himself from killing him on the spot.

 

After all, Li Que was tolerating that one instance of plagiarism only to deliver a harsher lesson later.

 

High fashion usually took a long production cycle, requiring the designer and the entire team of tailors to work meticulously, stitch by stitch, so it was not something to be finished in a matter of weeks. But Li Que had every reason to suspect that ever since Jiang Cenglan entered university, or perhaps even from the very start of their acquaintance, Zhang Ruien had been quietly repurposing Jiang Cenglan’s designs, passing them off as his own, and producing them in physical form.

 

So rather than exhausting himself in the future over those ticking time bombs, why not take advantage of the current opportunity? Let him ride the wave of Li Que’s popularity, then, when he was at the height of his pride, utterly destroy his reputation, leaving him with no chance of recovery. So after seven years of a hidden marriage, after ordering the mainstream media to keep silent about his background to protect his private life, Li Que, for the first time ever, agreed to his husband’s request for collaboration in person, rather than simply supplying him with resources.

 

And when Zhang Ruien returned home after his so-called “work” and saw the sample photos, he was ecstatic. No one knew better than him just how powerful his partner’s presence could be, so that night, Zhang Ruien was tender and affectionate to the extreme, even volunteering to use his mouth to serve Li Que.

 

However, Li Que was thoroughly disgusted, making an excuse to return alone to his flat in the Steinway Tower. But back at the apartment, Li Que still opened his phone to check the newly installed surveillance cameras at the Long Island villa, only to see Zhang Ruien, after answering a call, heading out again.

 

He even made a point to spray on cologne before leaving, so Li Que had a subtle premonition.

 

After discovering his husband’s infidelity, Li Que had planted a tracker in his car. Watching the signal move across the screen, he saw it arrive at an address that by now was all too familiar to him.

 

Five minutes after Zhang Ruien went upstairs, a phone call summoned him back to Li Que. And before meeting his unfaithful husband, Li Que tore off the rubber band around his wrist, the one symbolizing restraint.

 

…………………………