Chapter 21

Chapter 21

In his past life, two months earlier, Hong Kong Island.

Shen Ling stood at the side of Nathan Road with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, clutching a crumpled address slip in one hand, glancing between his phone map and the slip.

After being blacklisted by Liu Xian, he couldn't land any decent work in Haishi. When he submitted resumes to studios, the moment they saw his name, they shook their heads.

His grandmother said over the phone, "It's alright, Lingling. Grandma's cardboard collection went up five cents a pound this month."

Shen Ling hung up, crouched on the balcony of his rental, and cried. When he was done, he washed his face and bought a high-speed rail ticket to Hong Kong.

He couldn't make it on the mainland, so he came to Hong Kong to try his luck.

But Hong Kong wasn't much better.

He had no local degree, no recommendation letters from industry associations. He hit up dozens of jewelry stores, and the owners all said his style wasn't quite right—which really meant they saw a mainland student with no name and no connections.

Shen Ling had a temper too. After being rejected eight hundred times, he stood under a footbridge and shouted at the double-decker buses roaring past, "You'll all regret this one day!"

The woman selling fish balls nearby gave him a dirty look and scooted her stall away, afraid of getting caught in the crossfire.

But today was different. Yesterday, a guy named Li—a business owner—had reached out to him directly, saying he'd seen his design drafts on a forum, loved the little cat brooch's style, and wanted to meet to talk about commissioning a custom wedding line. He sounded sincere.

So now everything looked good to Shen Ling. Even the stray dog in the bar alley that always bared its teeth at him seemed to have kind eyes today.

The meeting was at a restaurant on the top floor of a commercial tower. When Shen Ling arrived, a server led him to a private room. He pushed open the door—a man was sitting inside.

Across the table sat a heavyset man in his forties, rolls of fat piled around his neck, a gold watch strapped around his wrist, looking like it might pop off at any moment.

Half a bottle of red wine sat in front of him. When he saw Shen Ling enter, his eyes roamed over his face for a long moment before he smiled, stood up, and extended his hand for a shake.

The handshake was too tight, and his fingertips slid across the back of Shen Ling's hand a couple of times before letting go.

Shen Ling felt uncomfortable but stayed polite. He set his canvas bag on the chair beside him and started pulling out his portfolio.

"Sit, sit," Boss Li said with a chuckle, pouring him a glass of red wine. "A drink?"

Shen Ling waved him off. "I don't drink, thanks."

"Tea, then."

Boss Li didn't push it. He had the server bring over a cup of pu-erh and slid it over to Shen Ling himself.

Shen Ling didn't think twice. He picked it up and took a sip.

It was rich and sweet—tasted normal.

Shen Ling laid out his design drafts and began introducing his work to Boss Li.

He explained that the little cat brooch was inspired by an orange tabby cat that lived next door when he was a kid. The cat would wait for him at the end of the alley every day after school, until someone stole him. He was heartbroken for a long time, so he turned that cat into jewelry—so everyone who loved it could remember it the way he did.

He spoke earnestly, his voice soft. When he got to the part about the orange tabby, he unconsciously smiled, and the teardrop mole at the corner of his eye curved down as his eye crinkled.

But Boss Li wasn't looking at his designs at all.

Every time Shen Ling looked up, he noticed the man's gaze wasn't on the papers.

That gaze lingered on his collar, his collarbone, and the fingers holding the papers.

Shen Ling froze mid-motion. He saw the smile on the man's face.

It was a smile he knew all too well. His mouth stretched wide, revealing uneven bottom teeth, his eyes squinting into slits.

Like someone sizing up an item in a shop window, figuring out the lowest price to take it home.

Shen Ling pulled his hand out of the man's grip.

He started gathering his design drafts. "Sir," he said, tapping the edges of the papers neatly against the table, "if you're not interested in the designs, let's call it a day."

"What do you mean?" Boss Li raised an eyebrow. Shen Ling's reaction amused him. "Leaving before we've even finished talking? Are all you art types this difficult?"

Shen Ling didn't respond. He shoved all the drafts back into his canvas bag, slung it over his shoulder, and turned to leave.

"Stop right there," Boss Li said with a smile.

Shen Ling turned around and saw Boss Li leaning back in his booth seat, tapping a cigarette out of the pack and putting it between his lips. He clicked the lighter.

He took a deep drag, then slowly and deliberately blew the smoke right into Shen Ling's face.

Shen Ling was hit with a face full of smoke. His lashes fluttered, and the sting made his eyes water.

"Stop with the act," Boss Li said, crossing his legs. "You're all the same—acting all high and mighty. Let me tell you, without connections, without someone to back you, these scraps of paper of yours aren't even worth wiping your ass with."

Shen Ling stood there quietly for a few seconds, let the man finish, then suddenly looked up.

His eyes were still red, tears from the smoke clinging to his lashes, but he smiled.

"Boss Li, keep your money."

With that, Shen Ling bent down, picked up the scalding cup of tea from the table, and flung it at him without hesitation.

The tea was fresh, still steaming.

The man let out a squeal like a pig being slaughtered and shot up out of his seat.

Shen Ling had already shoved all his drafts into his bag and pushed through the glass door of the restaurant without looking back, the man's furious roar echoing behind him—

"Shen Ling, you bastard, just you wait!"

Shen Ling didn't look back. He ran as fast as he could, the strap of his canvas bag digging painfully into his shoulder. When he couldn't run anymore, he grabbed a railing on the sidewalk and caught his breath.

He'd looked so cool throwing that cup of tea—now he regretted it just as much.

That man had connections all over Mong Kok. He was just a mainland student on a student visa—if he got cornered in some back alley and beaten up, he wouldn't even dare call the police.

The more Shen Ling thought about it, the more panicked he got. He slipped into the back entrance of Mancheng Bar.

Mancheng Bar sat at the end of a narrow alley, blasting deafening Cantonese oldies all day, every day.

Shen Ling had been working there as a part-time server for two months—three days a week, from eight at night to two in the morning. The boss, seeing that he was easy on the eyes, had specifically put him out front.

Shen Ling pushed open the back door, shoved his canvas bag into his locker, bent over, pressed his forehead against the cold metal door, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

It's over. It's over. It's over.

What if that guy calls the cops? What if he sends people to jump him?

Should he start getting bail money ready?

Shen Ling slammed the locker door shut, his expression dead serious.

He started crunching numbers frantically in his head. The money his grandma just wired last week was off-limits, his sister's tuition for next semester was still eight grand short, and he only had twelve hundred bucks left in his own account. Bail... he didn't even know how much bail ran, but it definitely wasn't something twelve hundred bucks could cover.

He was still doing the math, head spinning, when someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind.

"Xiao Ling!"

Shen Ling turned around. Chen Wenle was standing behind him, about to say something, but then cocked his head to look at Shen Ling's face. He clicked his tongue. "Dude, your face... what's wrong?"

Shen Ling pouted. "Someone messed with me."

Chen Wenle's eyes went wide. "Who?"

"A fat pig," Shen Ling said, turning his face away. "Asked me to meet about a design project, but all he wanted was to cop a feel."

Shen Ling pulled his hand back and wiped it hard on his pants, then added, "And he blew smoke right in my face."

"Blew smoke in your face?!"

Shen Ling nodded solemnly, jutted his chin out, and let out a proud snort. "So I dumped hot tea on his fat head."

Chen Wenle said, "You're something else..."

Before Chen Wenle could finish, Shen Ling deflated on his own.

The pride on his face faded fast, and his shoulders slumped. "But he's a big fish around here... What if he calls the cops? What if he sends guys to corner me? I don't want to go to jail. Prison food's gotta be nasty."

Chen Wenle didn't know how to comfort him, so he just reached out and gave him a pat on the back of the head. "Alright, quit worrying about prison food. Go get your gear on."

Shen Ling blinked. "What gear are you talking about?"

"Your gear." Chen Wenle waggled his eyebrows. "That big spender who always hooks you up with fat tips is back. Sitting alone in his usual spot. Go, go—if you don't fleece this fat sheep, someone else will snatch him up first."

Shen Ling's eyes went wide.

His personal ATM was here!

Shen Ling had noticed that man within his first week on the job.

He always came alone, always sat in the corner booth by the window, and always gave Shen Ling a huge tip.

Eventually Shen Ling figured out the pattern—the man came about once a week, sometimes with an assistant but mostly solo.

Shen Ling didn't know what he did for a living, but Chen Wenle said he looked like the type who could make it rain with a snap of his fingers, and his tips were bigger than the bar tab. Whatever you do, don't piss him off.

Shen Ling sure as hell wouldn't offend him. He'd practically worship this money god if he could.

Especially today.

Without another word, Shen Ling pulled open the cabinet at the very back of the storage room and pulled out a garment bag.

Inside the bag was a dress he'd snagged for two hundred bucks at Ladies' Market—a cream-colored knit dress with delicate pearl beads around the collar, hem landing just above the knee.

Shen Ling changed into the dress, then did a quick makeup job in front of the small mirror taped to the inside of the storage room door.

A light layer of foundation hid the dark circles under his eyes, he picked the most skin-brightening milky-tea shade for his lip gloss, swept blush across his cheekbones a couple of times, and finally used an eyebrow pencil to give a little dot to the teardrop mole at the corner of his eye.

Chen Wenle leaned against the doorframe watching him fuss, clicking his tongue in awe. "You were born in the wrong damn body."

Shen Ling ignored him, too busy putting on the wig. He turned left and right in front of the mirror, making sure the wig sat perfectly against his scalp, then clipped a pearl barrette into each side.

Porcelain-pale skin, a slender neck, collarbones peeking out in two long lines from the knit collar. The little dress cinched his waist—so narrow a single hand could wrap around it—and the curve of his hips was just right.

Shen Ling blinked at the mirror, his long lashes fluttering.

Alright, time to roll!

As he click-clacked out of the storage room on his little heels, Chen Wenle called after him, "Go get 'em, Xiao Ling! Try to earn that bail money today!"

Shen Ling shot back an OK sign without turning around.

The bar wasn't too crowded tonight. A few tables of customers were scattered around, and the house singer was crooning a slow Cantonese love song in the corner.

Shen Ling grabbed the bottle of Macallan from the bar, set it on a tray, took a deep breath, and walked toward the window booth in time with the music.

Huo Yanshen sat alone in the booth, his drink untouched. He was wearing a black shirt, and the dim booth light fell from above, casting shadows across his nose bridge and jawline—sharp, cold, and radiating a stay-away energy.

Shen Ling always felt inexplicably nervous approaching him. There was a heavy, oppressive presence about this man. Even just sitting there quietly, he made people around him instinctively lower their voices.

But Shen Ling couldn't afford to be nervous today.

He needed money.

A lot of money.

Shen Ling spoke in a sweet, soft voice, "Sir, your wine is here."

He bent down to set the bottle on the table, the hem of his dress swaying gently with the movement. After placing it, he didn't leave right away. Instead, he stood by the table holding his tray, tilting his head and smiling at Huo Yanshen.

He remembered this big shot seemed to like that. Last time, when he lingered a few extra seconds like that, the man gave him five thousand more.

Huo Yanshen lifted his eyes, his gaze pausing on Shen Ling's face for a moment before landing on the knit dress.

Shen Ling didn't know what Huo Yanshen was looking at. He straightened his back, collarbones faintly visible beneath the pearl trim at the neckline.

"Would sir like me to pour your wine?"

Shen Ling switched to Cantonese.

He'd been learning Cantonese for two months, and his level was roughly equivalent to an alien who'd just figured out how to make sounds.

Huo Yanshen's expression turned slightly odd. He was silent for a moment.

Then he said, "Speak Mandarin."

His voice was deep, his enunciation clean, with no accent at all—clearly from the mainland.

Shen Ling, "..."

Could've said that earlier.

Pretending nothing had happened, Shen Ling quickly switched back to Mandarin. "Of course, sir. Let me pour your wine."

He bent down to pour the wine for Huo Yanshen, the amber liquid sliding silently down the side of the glass. This was a move he'd practiced over and over—the line of his wrist and neck looked best while pouring.

After pouring, he didn't rush to leave. He stood by the table holding his tray for a moment.

Huo Yanshen raised his glass and took a sip, his gaze sweeping over lazily. "Something I can help you with?"

Shen Ling froze for a moment, then carefully chose his words. "Sir, did anything happen today that's bothering you? Like... maybe you want someone to talk to?"

Huo Yanshen raised an eyebrow slightly. "Do I look troubled?"

"No, no!" Shen Ling waved his hands quickly. "You look totally fine! I was just asking... it's just, if you ever want to chat, I can keep you company."

"And it won't cost extra."

Huo Yanshen looked at him, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "Have a seat."

Shen Ling's eyes lit up. He carefully sat down across from him, hands folded neatly on the edge of the serving tray.

For the next half hour or so, Shen Ling pulled out all his tricks.

When refilling Huo Yanshen's glass, he'd deliberately lean in a little, and when speaking, he'd tilt his head to the side. When he smiled, he'd make a show of covering his mouth with his fingers, letting the teardrop mole at the corner of his eye lift with his smile lines, making it even more alluring.

Shen Ling's flirting wasn't aggressive like other people's—it was soft and gentle, the kind that made people not want to call him out on it.

Huo Yanshen leaned back in the booth, one hand on the table edge, swirling his glass. His expression stayed that same unreadable mask.

But he didn't let Shen Ling go. Maybe he'd noticed something was off about him. Occasionally he'd even say a word or two, his voice low and calm.

What Shen Ling didn't know was that Huo Yanshen, watching him, was thinking about something completely different.

More than ten years ago, Huo Yanshen had just taken thirty lashes from his grandfather and fled to a village, where a kid had saved him.

That kid had a round face and lips like flower petals. He'd pulled a half-melted White Rabbit candy out of his pocket and pressed it into the palm of Huo Yanshen, who was bruised and battered at the time.

Later, Huo Yanshen went back to hide there more than a dozen times, but one day, the little boy suddenly disappeared. According to the locals, the boy had clung to the pillar by the door, crying and refusing to let go when he left.

Huo Yanshen drained his glass and lowered his eyes.

Of course he'd checked out everyone who got close to him, so he knew Shen Ling was putting on a show—the dress was fake, the hair was fake, all the eagerness and smiles were for the tips.

But that was okay. Shen Ling wanted money; he had it. He'd give it.

Consider it paying back that candy from all those years ago.

Shen Ling was in the middle of telling another joke he'd found online, just about to deliver the punchline about a dead mouse going to Australia because "Australia has die-r" when he was about to laugh first to lighten the mood.

The laugh got stuck in his throat. A strange feeling suddenly surged through him.

It was like something had set a fire in his blood, starting in his lower abdomen, crawling up through his veins, every inch of his body getting hotter from head to toe.

Shen Ling's laugh got stuck in his throat.

No. Something wasn't right.

Shen Ling suddenly remembered the hot tea he'd had with Boss Li. He'd gotten thirsty while talking about the design draft and had taken a few sips before setting it down.

He'd been slipped something.

The effect came on gentler than he'd expected, but it lingered long.

That burning heat slowly sank into his bones. The skin under his dress became hypersensitive, like an electric current was running through it—even the lightest brush of the knit fabric was agony.

It was winter, but he felt like his whole body was burning up.

"Shen Ling?" Huo Yanshen frowned when he stayed silent for too long.

Shen Ling snapped back to reality, realizing he'd already squeezed sweat marks into the edge of the tray.

He forced a smile. "Nothing, nothing... maybe I'm just a little warm."

He couldn't let Huo Yanshen notice. This man was his meal ticket, one of the few people in Hong Kong who treated him decently. He couldn't embarrass himself in front of him.

But his body wouldn't obey. Waves of heat kept surging up, and Shen Ling unconsciously pressed his thighs together beneath the hem of his skirt, biting his lip in discomfort.

Huo Yanshen set down his glass. "You're not feeling well?"

"I'm fine..." Shen Ling stood up too quickly, his knee bumping against the table leg. "I'll just go to the restroom. Enjoy your drink, sir."

Shen Ling practically fled into the restroom, turned on the tap, and splashed cold water on his face desperately.

The icy water dripped from his chin into his collar. He braced himself against the edge of the sink, staring at his flushed eyes and heaving chest in the mirror, gritting his teeth.

He had to leave. The drug would only get stronger. He couldn't stay here in this state.

When Shen Ling came out of the restroom, most of the bar's lights were already on. The resident singer had packed up his guitar, the owner was standing at the door calling out that they were closing, and the few remaining tables of customers were getting up to pay.

Shen Ling's heart sank.

He hurried back to the booth area. Huo Yanshen's seat was empty. The bill on the table was weighed down by a few bills tucked under the crystal ashtray.

Shen Ling's gaze swept past the booth toward the entrance. Huo Yanshen was pushing open the glass door, stepping outside, his black shirt dissolving into the thin mist of the early morning street.

Shen Ling's brain hadn't made a decision yet, but his legs were already chasing after him.

He didn't know what he was doing. The drug had made his thoughts thick and syrupy, every notion blurred and indistinct—except one.

He couldn't let Huo Yanshen leave.

If Huo Yanshen left, he'd be all alone.

Alone, with this fire burning through his body—he didn't know what he might do, or whether someone might find him.

At least Huo Yanshen always tipped him. When drinking, he never got handsy. His gaze was cold but never lecherous. He seemed like a man with principles.

Shen Ling stumbled on the steps outside the bar, one high heel flying off. He didn't bother to retrieve it, running barefoot across the cold concrete toward the black silhouette at the street corner.

"Sir... sir, wait!"

Huo Yanshen heard the voice, stopped mid-step, and turned around.

Shen Ling screeched to a halt in front of him, nearly crashing into his chest.

He stood barefoot on the early morning street, the cream-colored knit hem of his dress pressed against his calves by the night wind.

Shen Ling gasped for air, looking up at Huo Yanshen.

What was he supposed to say?

He couldn't exactly say "I've been drugged, can you help me." That sounded way too pathetic.

Huo Yanshen's gaze moved from his flushed face, slowly down to that bare foot.

Huo Yanshen frowned. "You've been drugged."

Shen Ling hadn't expected Huo Yanshen to be so blunt. He froze, and all the dignity he'd been barely holding together shattered in that instant.

A sharp sting hit the back of his nose, and his eyes went blurry with tears. On instinct, he grabbed Huo Yanshen's shirt cuff.

"I don't know..." Shen Ling's voice was thick, all nasally. "I only drank a little... just a tiny sip..."

Huo Yanshen watched him but didn't pull his hand back.

Shen Ling's knees started to buckle, barely holding him upright, and he leaned into Huo Yanshen without thinking.

The moment his forehead pressed against Huo Yanshen's chest, he caught the faint scent of cedar and whiskey on him—cool against his skin, taking the edge off the heat.

"Where do you live?" Huo Yanshen's voice came from above his head.

Shen Ling shook his head. "I don't wanna go back... I live alone..."

He didn't want to be by himself. He was so scared.

Huo Yanshen looked down at him for a while, neon lights flickering in his eyes, his face unreadable.

He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over Shen Ling's shoulders.

The jacket was far too big. Shen Ling was swallowed up in it, only half his flushed face and a strip of bare calf showing.

Huo Yanshen bent down, picked up the fallen heel, and with one hand on Shen Ling's shoulder, steered him into the car.

The drive took less than ten minutes, ending in a hotel's underground garage.

Huo Yanshen swiped a black key card, and the elevator slid silently up to the top floor. When the door opened, Shen Ling was already out of it from the drug.

He clung to Huo Yanshen, his scorching forehead pressed against the man's cool skin, letting out pained whimpers through his nose.

Huo Yanshen set him down on the bed and turned to go run cold water in the bathroom.

Shen Ling caught his wrist.

"Don't go..."

Shen Ling's eyes were glazed with tears, his lips chapped and peeling from the fever. He lay on his back, long hair fanned out across the pillow, the hem of his dress hiked up to expose a stretch of inner thigh flushed an unnatural pink.

Huo Yanshen stood at the bedside, staring down at him, gaze heavy.

Shen Ling reached out, his fingers hooking onto Huo Yanshen's belt buckle, his lips moving as words spilled out with no filter.

"Please... help me..."

==========Author's Note:==========

"When a mouse dies, it goes to Australia, because Australia has 'die' sheep." — A cold joke from the internet.

Enjoying the extra-long chapter?

Comments and kudos are welcome!

Small red envelopes may drop randomly in the comment section~

The flashback parts won't be too long—just about one or two chapters.