Chapter 22

Chapter 22

In the deep winter woods, a heavy snow had fallen, freezing every edible root beneath a shell of ice.

A white rabbit huddled at the mouth of its burrow, its once-beautiful fur scratched into a mess by thorns.

It hadn't found anything decent to eat in three days. Its belly was sunken, one ear drooped limply, and the whole creature looked utterly bedraggled.

When it paused to catch its breath, it caught an unfamiliar scent. Following the smell, the rabbit hopped forward a few steps, nudging aside some dead grass, and spotted a wolf lying on a rock, feigning sleep.

The wolf was enormous. Dark gray fur ran from its spine all the way down, its tail draped lazily over the edge of the rock, occasionally giving a flick.

A rabbit should run. Every rabbit that sees a wolf should run.

But the white rabbit crouched there for a long while, looked at the wounds on its legs from foraging, and made a decision no sensible rabbit would ever make.

It hopped to the base of the rock. The wolf had already opened its eyes.

Amber irises, vertical pupils narrowed to thin slits in the light, looked down at the trembling ball of white fluff at its paws. The rabbit was so small the wolf could pin it down with one front paw.

The rabbit set both front paws on the edge of the rock, struggling to stand up on its hind legs, nose twitching, trying to reach the wolf's chin.

"Can you protect me?"

The rabbit's voice was thin and soft, turning to white mist the instant it hit the snowy air. It tilted its head up, black round eyes reflecting the wolf's massive, silent form looming over it.

The wolf lowered its head, its nose nearly touching the rabbit's forehead.

The rabbit leaned in, pressing its fuzzy cheek against the wolf's jaw, nuzzling gently. It exposed the most vulnerable part of its neck beneath the wolf's sharp teeth, telling the other in this clumsy way: I'm well-behaved. I'm giving myself to you.

The wolf stared at it, pupils pitch-black and unblinking. "Are you sure?"

The rabbit nodded vigorously, ears flopping up and down with the motion.

The wolf picked the rabbit up by the scruff and carried it back to its den.

With just a light press of its tongue, the wolf flipped the rabbit over completely, exposing the soft white fur on its belly.

The rabbit thought it was about to be eaten, but that's not what happened. The wolf simply held it in its mouth, licking over and over with its tongue, even licking the scabbed cut on its hind leg clean, revealing the tender pink new skin underneath.

The rabbit was dizzy from all the licking, curling into a tiny ball on the wolf's tongue. Its white fur clung to its body in wet clumps, rising and falling with each breath. Its eyes were half-closed, glossy black eyes glazed over.

But the rabbit's body was so small that the wolf could fit it entirely in its mouth with room to spare. The wolf rolled the rabbit around in its mouth, licking every inch of it without missing a spot.

Tears spilled from the rabbit's shiny black eyes, soaking the fur around them, then streaming down its cheeks to drip onto the wolf's warm tongue.

The little rabbit cried the whole night through.

By the end, even the wolf was at a loss. In all its years surrounded by tough, hardy wolves, it had never seen a rabbit cry this much.

A gentle touch made it cry. Too much pressure made it cry. Moving it made it cry. But no matter how much it cried, it clung desperately to the fur around the wolf's mouth, as if scared of being spat out.

The wolf could only catch its tears with the tip of its tongue. The tears were salty and bitter, mixing with the wolf's saliva and soaking the rabbit's entire belly.

...Near dawn, the wolf finally opened its mouth.

The rabbit slid out and tumbled onto the soft moss.

Its white fur was soaked, sticking to its skin in clumps and revealing the pink body underneath. Its hind legs were still trembling, one ear up and one drooping—the whole rabbit looked as pathetic as if it had just been pulled out of water.

But it was still crying, its tiny body curled on the moss, front paws covering its face, shoulders shaking with hiccupping sobs. Broken whimpers slipped through the gaps between its paws. It didn't even know why it was crying—it just felt wronged, couldn't say exactly what was wrong, and only knew the tears wouldn't stop.

The wolf looked down at the trembling ball of white fluff, silently extending its tongue to smooth the messy fur on its back.

The rabbit reacted in a flash.

It sprang up faster than it ever had before, snatched a piece of dry moss it had kicked loose, pressed it tightly over itself to hide its soft belly, and stared at the wolf warily.

Its ears flattened against its head, then slowly perked back up. Its furry face was damp—whether from spit or tears, it was hard to tell.

The wolf's tongue froze in midair.

The wolf was speechless.

The rabbit hid its face behind the moss, leaving only its red-rimmed eyes visible, tears still clinging to its lashes. In a trembling voice, it said.

"You're not allowed to look at me...!"

The wolf watched it for a moment, pulled its tongue back, and let out a soft huff from its nose.

It lay down beside the rabbit, curling its tail around the small trembling white body, tucking it into its territory.

The rabbit burrowed deeper under the moss, hiding itself further, but didn't move outside the circle of the wolf's tail.

Snow began to fall again, landing on the wolf's dark gray fur, on the moss where the rabbit hid, and on the crushed wildflowers at the den's entrance.

The rabbit cried itself to sleep, its breathing gradually evening out, little belly rising and falling against the moss. The crushed flower juice stained the inside of its hind leg, red as rouge.

The wolf didn't sleep. It rested its chin on its front paws, keeping watch over the small damp white bundle at its feet, its tail tip occasionally sweeping to block the draft trying to creep into the den.

In the middle of the night, the rabbit turned over in its sleep, groggily nuzzling toward the wolf's paw, its cheek pressing against the coarse fur on the wolf's paw.

Its eyes were still closed, tears still wet on its lashes. Its lips moved slightly, and it mumbled something sleepily.

"...What's your name?"

The wolf lowered its head, its nose gently brushing the rabbit's damp ear tip.

"Huo Yanshen."

·

"Wait, that guy is actually Huo Yanshen?!" Chen Wenle exclaimed in shock.

Chen Wenle snuck another glance at the booth, then slung an arm around Shen Ling's neck and pulled him into a corner.

"Do you know who he is?" Chen Wenle's lips were almost pressed against Shen Ling's ear, like a spy passing secrets. "I heard he was thrown into Southeast Asia to fight underground boxing when he was a teenager. He doesn't mess around..."

Shen Ling blinked. "He's very gentle."

Chen Wenle said, "You'd better watch out—one day he'll chew you up and spit out the bones."

Shen Ling thought to himself, You don't even need to tell me—we already got our marriage certificate.

He puffed out his cheeks. "Don't talk bad about him."

Shen Ling suddenly remembered something, and his expression lost its composure.

He quickly glanced toward Huo Yanshen, confirming he hadn't walked over yet, then leaned close to Chen Wenle's ear. "When he comes over later, don't let anything slip."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just..." Shen Ling bit his lower lip, "the stuff at the bar, me wearing the dress. And me deliberately heading over to his booth."

Chen Wenle suddenly understood, raised his right hand, and made a zipping motion over his mouth.

Shen Ling nodded in satisfaction and took a step back, just as Huo Yanshen walked back from the front desk.

Huo Yanshen came over and saw the two of them with their ears and mouths so close together, way past normal social distance, and frowned, annoyed.

Chen Wenle quickly shrank back half a step, his face sliding back into that standard server smile.

Huo Yanshen draped his arm over Shen Ling's shoulder and pulled him into his embrace, a super possessive move. "Let's go."

Chen Wenle flashed them both a professional smile. "Take care, you two. Come back anytime."

Shen Ling almost laughed out loud at how fast he switched faces, and followed Huo Yanshen out with his head down.

Huo Yanshen's car was parked at the mouth of the alley. As Shen Ling slid into the back seat, his phone buzzed in his canvas bag.

He fished it out and glanced at it. The name on the screen wiped a little of the smile off his face.

Shen Shao.

His paternal half-brother.

Back when Shen Guoliang hadn't completely burned his bridges with Shen Ling's mom, Shen Shao was already cooking in his stepmother's belly. Four years younger than Shen Ling, he'd been Shen Guoliang's pride and joy from day one.

In this life and his past one, Shen Ling's feelings toward this brother had always been complicated. Biologically, he was his brother, but Shen Shao had been spoiled rotten by Shen Guoliang, treating Shen Ling like an ATM since they were kids—opening his mouth and demanding stuff.

Shen Shao got straight to the point: Nintendo came out with a new console. Buy it for me.

Attached was a photo of the newest Switch box, captioned: Want this one.

Pen's in your hand, you draw: No money.

Shen Shao: How can you not have money? Didn't you buy me all my other consoles? You've gotta have money.

Shen Shao: Nintendo came out with a new one, it's only a little over two thousand. Bro, work something out.

Shen Shao: I really want this. Everyone in my class has one, and I'm the only one who doesn't.

Right after that message came a transfer QR code.

Shen Shao said it like it was the most natural thing in the world: Oh right bro, transfer to my Alipay, thanks. Taobao doesn't take WeChat Pay.

Shen Ling stared at the string of messages on the screen, and a familiar churning feeling rose in his stomach.

He couldn't tell if it was morning sickness or just pure disgust. He scrolled through his sticker pack, found an old GIF he'd saved ages ago—a little explosion of rage.

A cartoon rabbit, cheeks puffed with anger, kicked a mini pig flying, with a big "SCRAM" stamped above it.

He hit send without a second thought.

Shen Shao's messages came back immediately:

What's that supposed to mean?

Dad was right, you're an ungrateful little shit.

Fine, don't buy it. I'll go ask Dad. Just you wait!

Shen Ling muted the chat, flipped his phone face-down on his knee, and scooted closer to the car window.

Huo Yanshen was sitting beside him, looking at his own phone. He caught Shen Ling's movement out of the corner of his eye. "What's wrong?"

Shen Ling lifted his face from the window and gave him a smile. "Nothing, just wanna get back to the hotel."

*

Once they got to the hotel, Shen Ling took a shower first.

The hot water poured down, and his lower back ached like crazy. He couldn't tell if it was from walking too much during the day, or if it was that little thing in his belly acting up.

He braced himself against the tile wall for a while, his calves aching, his ankles aching, his whole body inexplicably drained.

When he came out of the shower, he changed into the cream pajamas Huo Yanshen had bought him, crawled into bed and curled up into a ball.

He closed his eyes, but his mind started rolling a film reel...

Shen Shao's "Just you wait," Chen Wenle's winking face at the back door of the bar, and the puff of smoke that guy surnamed Li had blown at him in the tea restaurant.

The scenes cut back and forth, finally landing on the sound of Shen Guoliang throwing things at him and his mom when he was drunk.

Shen Ling turned over, pulled the blanket tighter, and grabbed the pillow to hug.

When Huo Yanshen came out of the bathroom, he saw a writhing cocoon on the bed, letting out muffled whimpers.

He walked over and lifted a corner of the blanket, revealing Shen Ling's scrunched-up face—brows furrowed, mouth turned down, like he was pouting at someone.

"Not feeling well?" Huo Yanshen sat down on the edge of the bed.

Shen Ling cracked his eyes open a sliver, saw Huo Yanshen's face, and maybe the pregnancy hormones were acting up again, because suddenly he felt so wronged.

"Can't sleep," he said.

Huo Yanshen sighed, scooped him up, blanket and all, and pulled him close. One hand cradled the back of his head, the other pressed against his lower back, rubbing in slow circles.

After a while, Shen Ling's body gradually went limp, and his breathing grew long and even.

When Huo Yanshen looked down at him, he was already asleep, his lashes resting quietly beneath his eyes.

Huo Yanshen carefully settled him back on the pillow, pulled the blanket up, and lay down himself. He turned on his side and, in the dim light of the bedside lamp, watched Shen Ling's sleeping face until he was sure he was really out, then closed his eyes.

But after Shen Ling fell asleep, he didn't find real peace. Instead, he tumbled into a jumbled mess of dreams.

These past few days, because of the pregnancy, he'd stopped several meds. Luckily, Huo Yanshen had been by his side the whole time, or he wouldn't have made it through.

His brother's silently demanding hand and Huo Yanshen's retreating figure kept alternating. Huo Yanshen's back grew farther and farther away, while Shen Shao's hand stretched longer and longer.

In the dream, Shen Ling struggled to speak, but no sound came out and his legs wouldn't move. Only that familiar nausea in his stomach surged violently.

He felt like he'd been stuffed into a high-speed spinning washing machine, all the images and sounds churning together into a vortex. He tumbled inside with the foam, unable to see any direction, unable to grab hold of anything.

Boom—

A thunderclap split the sky outside the window.

Shen Ling's eyes flew open.

He gasped for air, his chest heaving violently. The room was pitch black, with only the occasional flash of lightning seeping through the gap in the curtains.

His back was covered in cold sweat, his pajamas stuck to his skin, damp and chilly.

Thunder rumbled across the sky over Hong Kong Island, and rain poured down in torrents, heavy raindrops pounding against the glass curtain walls, merging into dark streams that ran down.

The rain was too loud, and the water streaks looked too much like blood.

Shen Ling suddenly remembered his past life—the stormy night when Huo Yanshen died.

Shen Ling began to tremble violently. He reached out, groping blindly beside him, until his hand found Huo Yanshen's chest. He scrambled urgently toward him, burying his face in the familiar warmth, curling his body into a tight ball.

Huo Yanshen woke almost simultaneously, his arm instinctively tightening to pull the trembling man into his arms, while his other hand reached for the bedside lamp.

"Had a nightmare," he said hoarsely. "It's okay, it's just thunder..."

Before he could finish, Shen Ling lifted his head from his chest.

Shen Ling stared straight at him, then looked past him into the darkness, his pupils filled with a scattered fear, like a thin mist veiling the usual clarity in his eyes.

"Husband..." Shen Ling gently touched Huo Yanshen's face with his fingertips, his voice trembling with terror. "I—I think I saw two of you."

"One..." He touched the hand Huo Yanshen had placed on his back—that arm was firm and scorching, alive. "One's holding me."

He raised his other hand, pointing toward the empty doorway.

"And the other... patted my head, then stood up and walked out without looking back."