The aroma of breakfast woke Yin Xigui.
He opened his eyes groggily. Sunlight already streamed through a gap in the curtains, spilling a patch of radiance across the sheets.
The pillow beside him was empty. Sheng Linyou's warmth had long since faded from the covers, leaving only the faintest trace of his scent.
Without thinking, Yin Xigui shifted closer and buried his face in the hollow of that pillow. Then he caught the fragrance of rice porridge drifting up from downstairs.
It took him two seconds to understand. He rolled out of bed and ran downstairs barefoot.
Sure enough, the kitchen lights were on.
Sheng Linyou stood at the stove with his back to him. He wore the dark gray lounge shirt from Yin Xigui's wardrobe, its sleeves pushed midway up his forearms to reveal strong wrists.
He was stir-frying something with a spatula. Steam and cooking fumes rose beneath the roar of the exhaust hood, while a small clay pot bubbled on the stove.
Yin Xigui leaned against the doorframe and watched for a long time. Sheng Linyou's back was straight, his shoulders broad and his waist narrow. Every movement was clean and efficient—exactly as Yin Xigui had imagined, only better-looking.
He became so absorbed that Sheng Linyou spoke without turning.
“Why are you standing there? Come carry the food.”
Yin Xigui returned to himself and hurried over, peeking into the pan.
Tomatoes and scrambled eggs. The eggs were so tender they trembled, wrapped in the thick juices released by the tomatoes. Gold and red gleamed together beautifully.
“Brother, why did you wake so early?” Yin Xigui's voice remained soft and slightly hoarse with sleep. He reached to steal a piece of egg.
Sheng Linyou lightly tapped the back of his hand with the spatula.
“Hot. Get the bowls.”
Yin Xigui withdrew his hand, eyes curving as he answered, “Oh.” He obediently fetched two white porcelain bowls from the cabinet.
He crouched and lifted the clay pot's lid. White steam billowed into his face, carrying the fragrance of porridge. He inhaled deeply.
“Will Brother cook for me every day from now on?”
“Dream on.”
“Then I'll cook for you every day.” Yin Xigui ladled porridge into both bowls and arranged them on the dining table before running back for chopsticks and spoons.
Sheng Linyou brought over the pan and placed the tomato and eggs in the center. The plate struck the table with a clear clink.
Yin Xigui was already seated with his bowl cupped between his hands. He scooped up a little porridge, blew on it, and put it in his mouth.
“Delicious!”
“Just eat. Stop talking so much.”
Yin Xigui looked at him with his cheeks puffed full of porridge.
“Brother, you look especially handsome when you cook. Your wrist looks best when you roll up your sleeves.”
Sheng Linyou's chopsticks paused over the eggs. The roots of his ears warmed. He lowered his head, swallowed a mouthful of porridge, and ignored the remark.
Yin Xigui leaned over the table and stared at him across the two bowls.
“Brother.”
“What now?”
“There's a grain of rice at the corner of your mouth.”
Sheng Linyou put down his chopsticks and raised a hand. Before he could touch it, Yin Xigui leaned across the table and placed warm fingertips against his lips, rubbing gently.
A thin callus covered the pad of his thumb, leaving a fleeting trace of roughness against Sheng Linyou's skin.
“It was here.”
Yin Xigui drew back, plucked the grain from his finger, and put it into his own mouth.
Sheng Linyou swallowed and looked away.
“…Eat.”
“Oh.”
Not even three seconds of quiet passed before Yin Xigui began again.
“Brother, where should we go this afternoon? We don't have classes anyway, and I want to keep shopping.”
“You still haven't had enough after the day before yesterday?”
“We were interrupted.” Yin Xigui stirred his porridge with a tiny note of grievance. “And I haven't bought the model shop's new race car. I want the entire collection. Your model has two limited-edition colors. Last time I saw a blue-and-gold one that would look beautiful beside your car.”
He grew excited as he spoke. After stuffing a piece of egg into his mouth, he continued indistinctly through puffed cheeks.
“I've saved lots of allowance. I can afford several—”
The squeal of hard braking sounded outside, followed by a car door slamming.
The rest of Yin Xigui's sentence disappeared. His smile stiffened for an instant, then returned to its usual softness.
Sheng Linyou put down his chopsticks and turned toward the entrance.
Through the sitting room's floor-to-ceiling windows, they could see a long black sedan in the courtyard. Its polished body gleamed, and its unusually short license number ended with the character for Yin.
The color drained from Yin Xigui's face.
The door opened without warning.
Two men in black uniforms entered first and stood expressionlessly to either side. Then a tall figure strode between them.
The man appeared to be around fifty, with gray at his temples. His features bore a slight resemblance to Yin Xigui's, but the severity and oppressive force in his eyes were entirely different.
He wore an impeccably tailored dark suit. His leather shoes struck the wooden floor with measured weight.
Yin Xigui rose from his chair. The porridge in his bowl swayed, spilling several drops across the tabletop.
“Father.”
Yin Zhengsong did not look at him. His gaze swept over the two sets of dishes and the plate of tomato and eggs before settling on Sheng Linyou. He inspected him from head to toe as though evaluating an unworthy object.
“Who told you to cook?”
His voice was not loud. It could even be called calm, yet it carried unquestionable authority. The temperature in the entire room seemed to fall.
Yin Xigui stepped half a pace forward, placing himself in front of Sheng Linyou.
“I asked Brother to cook. I can't get used to food from outside—”
“Did I ask you?”
Yin Zhengsong finally turned his gaze on him.
Yin Xigui pressed his lips together. His fingers trembled faintly beneath his sleeves, yet he kept his back straight and did not retreat.
Sheng Linyou noticed thin veins standing out along the back of his neck.
“Father, if something is wrong, take it out on me. Don't make things difficult for him. He knows nothing.”
Yin Zhengsong said nothing. He merely raised his chin toward the men behind him.
They immediately advanced and seized one of Yin Xigui's arms each.
Yin Xigui struggled once but could not break free. With both arms twisted behind him, he was dragged toward the door, his shoes scraping sharply across the floor.
“Father! Father, please listen—”
“I hear you spent tens of millions buying a lower-tier, then fought Yin Ou over him.”
Yin Zhengsong moved closer and looked down at the restrained Yin Xigui without expression, his voice still even.
“Yin Xigui, have you forgotten what I told you?”
Yin Xigui bit his lower lip. His eyes reddened, and his voice trembled.
“I haven't forgotten. I only wanted to have someone—”
“Have what?” Yin Zhengsong interrupted, impatience finally entering his tone. “You're an illegitimate son. Being allowed to live in a Yin family house is already an extraordinary honor. Keep a person of your own? You've disgraced the entire family.”
He tilted his head toward the door. The uniformed men resumed dragging Yin Xigui outside.
Yin Xigui stumbled. He looked back at Sheng Linyou, his eyes full of tears, and silently formed a few words with his lips.
Sheng Linyou could not read them. He only felt his chest tightening in waves.
“Stop.”
He stepped forward, but an arm abruptly blocked his path.
Yin Zhengsong turned his head. His indifferent gaze fell on the collar around Sheng Linyou's neck as though it were a worthless ornament.
“You would do well to remain where you are. Selling this house wouldn't raise enough money to redeem you, lower-tier.”
Sheng Linyou gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white.
He watched Yin Xigui being forced into the sedan's back seat. The door slammed, and the car drove through the gate before disappearing around the corner.
Silence fell over the sitting room. Only the porridge in the clay pot continued to release faint wisps of steam.
Sheng Linyou stood beside the deserted table and stared at the bowl across from him. More than half the porridge remained. Bits of scallion and ginger floated on its surface, now covered by a thin skin after being left untouched for so long.
He picked up the bowl and ate the cold porridge one spoonful at a time.
He tipped his head back to drink the last of the rice broth from the bottom.
After setting down the bowl, he touched the collar around his neck. The metal clasp lay cold against his fingertips, while the raised shape of 763 pressed into his palm.
Wind stirred the shadows of the courtyard trees. Light and darkness shifted across the sitting room floor, then became still again.
Sheng Linyou entered the kitchen, opened the faucet, washed Yin Xigui's bowl clean, and placed it upside down on the drying rack.
He dried the water from his hands, turned, and walked toward the entryway.