Chapter 24

Jiang Zhuo felt his head throbbing. "What do you mean 'no'? Isn't it a good thing that I came to pick you up?"

Jiang Xingbai stared at Lu Yichuan. "You clearly promised that you would see me home."

The man lifted his eyelids and glanced at him. "I didn't promise anything; that was your own assumption." He turned to Jiang Zhuo and said, "I've brought him here, so I'll be heading back now."

Seeing him leave, Jiang Xingbai grew anxious and reached out to grab his arm. "Yichuan..."

Before he could finish, Lu Yichuan suddenly shook his hand off.

Jiang Xingbai was stunned by the abrupt gesture. It took him a while to collect himself, only to realize he had grabbed the watch on Lu Yichuan’s wrist. The icy temperature of the watch strap made his eyes sting and turn red instantly.

"Why did you push me away? Just because I touched your watch?"

Seeing the situation deteriorating, Jiang Zhuo quickly got out of the car.

Lu Yichuan adjusted his watch, his expression darkening. He shot a glance at Jiang Zhuo. "Jiang Zhuo, keep your brother in check. If this happens again, my patience won't be this generous."

"Jiang Xingbai..." Jiang Zhuo’s head ached violently. "What kind of madness is this? Get in the car, now."

"Madness?" Jiang Xingbai looked at Lu Yichuan, the resentment he had suppressed for days finally erupting. "Don't you see? He treated me like this just because I touched his watch! Isn't it just because that watch was a gift from... from *him*?"

Jiang Zhuo’s expression shifted instantly. He grabbed Jiang Xingbai and shoved him into the car. He didn't dare look back at Lu Yichuan until he had locked the car doors.

The man stood under a tree, his entire figure submerged in shadow, dark and heavy. Even his features were swallowed by the gloom, and not a single ray of light could penetrate it.

Jiang Zhuo opened his mouth. "He’s been drinking, he’s just talking nonsense. Don't take it to heart..."

He trailed off, closing his mouth. It wasn't that he had nothing to say, but he realized that anything he said would be useless.

Jiang Zhuo suddenly felt afraid to look at Lu Yichuan standing in the shadows. He hastily said his goodbyes and drove away with Jiang Xingbai.

In the passenger seat, Jiang Xingbai was still crying.

Irritated by the sound, Jiang Zhuo snapped, "Stop crying!"

Jiang Xingbai’s sobs ceased. "Brother, are you going to scold me too?"

The car was waiting at a red light. Jiang Zhuo wiped his face in frustration. "I’m not scolding you, but you really went too far this time. Who you associate with is your freedom, but I sincerely advise you to stay away from Lu Yichuan. He is not as kind as you imagine."

Jiang Xingbai sniffled. "Haven't I been good enough? In these past few years, when have I ever been so subservient to anyone? But why does he still treat me like this?"

Jiang Zhuo: "..." It was clear he hadn't listened to a single word.

"It’s not your problem; it’s Lu Yichuan’s. He’s sick, do you understand? His heart is something you can never warm up."

"Then how come Jiang Heng could?"

Jiang Zhuo froze at the sudden mention of that name.

Over the past four years, that name had become a forbidden zone between them, always glossed over whenever it came up. He hadn't expected Jiang Xingbai to bring it up so abruptly. Jiang Zhuo felt as if his heart had been stung.

Jiang Xingbai continued, "Tell me! What makes me inferior to him? I’m more obedient than him, smarter than him—why doesn't he like me?"

"Enough!" Jiang Zhuo said. "You shouldn't compare yourself to him."

"Why can't I compare myself to him?" Jiang Xingbai gritted his teeth. "All of this should have been mine. Because of him, do you know what kind of life I lived before?"

"I finally managed to return to the Jiang family, and what happened? What did they say about me? They said I wasn't as good-looking as him, that I wasn't as likable as him—but I was the one who was the victim!"

"I was the one who grew up with Lu Yichuan. His affection was supposed to be mine. It’s all because of him, because of him..."

"Jiang Xingbai!" Jiang Zhuo slammed on the brakes and hissed, "I think you really are drunk, talking such nonsense!"

"I’m not drunk! I’m perfectly clear-headed..."

Jiang Zhuo interrupted him, "Do you think that if Jiang Heng were gone, you would be the one standing by his side?"

"I’m telling you, even without him, the person standing by his side would never be you."

"The only person who can stand by Lu Yichuan is Jiang Heng, not the youngest son of the Jiang family. Do you understand? He chose the person that was Jiang Heng, not the identity of Jiang Heng."

Jiang Zhuo hardened his heart. "Do you know why he keeps giving you things?"

"It’s not because of the good relationship between our families. It’s because of Jiang Heng..."

"After he found out about your identity, he always felt he owed you. He wanted to give you everything he had. He didn't keep a single cent of the money he saved over these years; he gave it all to me before you entered the Jiang family, saying it belonged to you..."

At this point, Jiang Zhuo’s voice choked. "Lu Yichuan is good to you because he is making up for his guilt toward Jiang Heng."

Jiang Heng was kind, so he didn't want him to carry guilt for Jiang Xingbai even after death.

Lu Yichuan had always been a master of disguise in front of Jiang Heng. Over the years, Jiang Zhuo had become the one who saw through it most clearly.

He handled every aspect of Jiang Heng’s life, seemingly without complaint, but he had quietly severed every link Jiang Heng had to the outside world.

Whether it was the Jiang parents, himself, or anyone else...

Under his "care," Jiang Heng drifted further and further away from them. He became like a lone boat, with the only harbor being Lu Yichuan.

Even in death, he would not allow Jiang Heng to have the slightest connection with anyone else.

Jiang Zhuo had seen the way Lu Yichuan looked at Jiang Xingbai, and the coldness in his eyes made even his own spine chill.

"I don't care who you want to be with, but not Lu Yichuan."

Everyone knew that Jiang Heng’s passing had been a massive blow to Lu Yichuan, but as time passed, nothing was truly insurmountable; even the deepest wounds should heal.

But four years had passed, and Jiang Zhuo felt that instead of finding peace, Lu Yichuan had become increasingly deranged.

That madness was masked beneath his cold, gentle exterior. No one else could see the signs, except for Jiang Zhuo, who had been his friend for over a decade and had caught glimpses of something abnormal.

"Don't provoke him," he said. "Because I don't know what he’s capable of."

***

Lu Yichuan didn't return to the dormitory. He took a taxi to the villa.

The villa was quiet, dark, and empty, devoid of any signs of life. Looking inside from the entryway, the darkness seemed capable of swallowing everything.

Lu Yichuan turned on the lights, changed his shoes, and headed up the stairs.

He walked to the room at the very end of the second floor and pushed the door open. It appeared to be his bedroom, but strangely, there wasn't a single window. The light was sickly pale, casting a cold, frigid glow.

Under the light, Lu Yichuan’s face was paler than the illumination itself.

Yet his lips were red, like blood had seeped into them, a vivid, alarming crimson.

He stripped off his clothes piece by piece, changing into an outfit of pure black. The black made him look even paler, his exposed wrists resembling the skin of a corpse in a coffin.

The gold watch on his left wrist was the only bright spot on his entire body.

Lu Yichuan walked over to the bookshelf, hooked his fingers into the door, and pulled. The shelf swung open, revealing a hidden passage.

He washed and sanitized his hands before walking inside.

Within lay a room as large as his bedroom. Before he even pushed the door open, a faint red light seeped through the gap.

Lu Yichuan placed his hand on the doorknob and skillfully entered the password.

With a click, the door opened.

As soon as a sliver of the door opened, a flood of red light poured out.

It was a bone-chilling room. Everywhere one looked, the walls were plastered with dense yellow talismans. Red strings crisscrossed the room in a chaotic web, hung with bells and charms. As he pushed the door, the bells chimed in a dissonant chorus.

The ceiling was draped in layers of red fabric, a red so deep it looked black, faintly emitting a raw, metallic scent. Paper money and paper effigies were piled high on the floor. Being pressed down beneath them gave one a suffocating sense of being unable to breathe.

On the center wall was a shrine. It did not house gods or Buddhas, but a colorful photograph. Candles on both sides burned silently.

Lu Yichuan sat on the floor with his legs crossed, lit a bundle of incense, and leaned over to ignite a piece of paper money.

The smell of ash permeated the airless room.

"Rongrong..."

He smiled, his voice soft, as if afraid to disturb something. "Long time no see. I’ve been too busy lately."

"When school started, I took a part-time job at a coffee shop. You once said that many college students earn their own money, so I went."

"But I’m too lazy. I kept asking for time off, so the boss fired me later."

At this, the smile on Lu Yichuan’s face widened. The candlelight reflecting off the red fabric onto his face made him look ghostly and sinister.

"But that paper I told you about was selected for a C-tier journal. I was in a rush to get here, so I didn't bring it, but I’ll definitely remember to bring it next time and burn it for you to see."

He looked up at the boy in the photo, who was smiling brilliantly.

The background was a clear blue sky, the ground beneath his feet a lush green meadow. The boy in the photo wore an orange jacket, becoming the most dazzling existence in the room.

Lu Yichuan blinked.

"Are you still blaming me? That’s why you won't even come to see me in my dreams..."

There was no wind, yet the ash from the burnt paper money in the basin puffed up, coating his face.

"So Rongrong is still blaming me, aren't you? Blaming me for not coming down to be with you."

"But they say that if no one remembers them, a ghost can only wander as a lonely spirit."

"What would happen if I left, and Rongrong became a lonely spirit?"

"I couldn't bear that."

Lu Yichuan bowed his head and coughed twice, muffled.

He changed his posture, stretched out his legs, and reached for a paper effigy with blank features kept on the side.

He took out a prepared paint box and dipped his brush tip into the ink. "I saw a master a while ago. He said that if you paint the features of the person you want to see onto a paper effigy, you can trap their soul inside."

"But I can never draw Rongrong quite right. I’ve been practicing for a long time before daring to embarrass myself in front of you."

With the tip of the brush, he slowly and meticulously outlined the nose, then the mouth, and finally the eyes.

Paper effigies should not be "dotted" in the eyes, but Lu Yichuan used the vermilion brush without hesitation.

"It doesn't look exactly like you, but Rongrong won't blame me, will you?"

No one answered him. The paper effigy in his arms grinned, the scene eerie and bizarre.

Along the other wall of the room was a single bed. He carried the paper effigy over and placed it on the mattress. Just as he lifted the covers to join it, he stopped, as if remembering something. "I ran into other people today. I should take a shower."

He opened the door and returned to the outer room. The gold watch on his wrist shimmered, its face still glowing, though the hands had long since stopped moving.

Time had been permanently frozen on his wrist.

He lifted his hand to unbuckle the strap, revealing a hideous, jagged scar beneath it—a long, ugly line, nearly a finger’s width, coiled like a centipede.

One look was enough to know how deep the cut had been.

Lu Yichuan’s right fingertips brushed over the scar, and he began to unbutton his shirt.

By the second button, a black cord hanging around his neck was pulled out. A hidden object was tucked away, appearing as a long, thin shape.

As more buttons were undone, the object finally revealed its true form in the cold, white light of the bathroom.

It was a cylindrical item, kept warm against his skin day after day, nourished night after night, polished until it took on a jade-like, moist luster.

From a distance...

It looked like a finger bone.