When Yin Xigui was dragged into the basement of the Yin family's old residence, his knee struck the steps. Pain made his whole body curl inward.
The man behind him showed no mercy. He hauled Yin Xigui up by the arm, forcing him to stagger to his feet.
A heavy iron door stood before him, painted dark red and mottled with rust around its edges.
He was shoved inside. His shoulder struck the wall with a dull thud. The door closed behind him, the bolt clicked into place, and the footsteps gradually receded.
The basement had no windows. A single sickly white fluorescent tube buzzed overhead.
Several worn leather straps lay piled in one corner. The floor was damp and cold, water seeping from the base of the wall into a shallow pool.
Yin Xigui sat against the wall and drew his knees to his chest. The chill crept upward through his trousers.
He began counting the time.
Yin Zhengsong would not come personally. He usually sent someone to teach Yin Xigui the rules. It might last half an hour or two or three hours. Afterward, they would leave him here until the following day.
Sure enough, footsteps sounded outside less than ten minutes later.
The lock opened. Two men entered. One carried a bundle of thin switches, while a long rope hung from the other's wrist.
“Young Master, the master ordered you to reflect on your behavior.” The man with the switches approached and crouched before him.
His tone was not fierce. It even carried a veneer of false courtesy.
“Don't worry. It won't be long. One night will be enough. But you'll have to suffer a little first, or the master's anger won't subside.”
Yin Xigui said nothing. He only curled more tightly into himself.
The switch cut through the air with a sharp whistle.
The first stroke landed across his arm. His entire body jerked, but he clenched his teeth and made no sound.
The second struck his back. A muffled grunt escaped him, his nails digging into his palms.
After seven or eight lashes, the man stopped. His companion took the rope and bound Yin Xigui's hands.
They pulled both arms behind him and tied him to an iron pipe in the corner. The knots bit into his wrist bones, grinding painfully against his skin. After checking the restraints, the two men left and locked the door once more.
Only the fluorescent tube's buzz remained.
Yin Xigui leaned against the freezing pipe, his head bowed. Long pink hair fell around his face, concealing most of it.
He stared at a crack in the floor for a long time.
Slowly, the crack twisted out of shape. It slithered across the blue-gray concrete like a black snake.
He blinked, and it disappeared.
The next instant, the entire wall began to sway. Stains spread beneath the fluorescent light, expanding into grotesque shapes like gaping mouths.
The old leather straps in the corner stirred without wind.
The thick smell of rust filled the room, mingling with the basement's mildew and dampness. It lodged in his throat until he could hardly breathe.
Yin Xigui squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to his knees.
“It's gone. There's nothing here. It isn't real. None of it is real.”
He repeated the words beneath his breath, his voice too hoarse to hold a steady note.
The visions did not disappear.
He heard water dripping. Drop by drop, it struck the floor, becoming louder and faster until it sounded like a downpour hammering a metal roof.
Then came the scrape of dragging chains, now distant, now close. Someone was crying—a low, thin whimper. He could not tell whether it came from him or something else.
Yin Xigui opened his eyes.
The pile of straps had risen into the air. They hovered one by one, dark liquid seeping through the brown leather and dripping slowly from their ends.
One floated toward him. Its tip brushed his cheek, cold and wet like a reptile's tongue.
Yin Xigui jerked his head away. His forehead struck the iron pipe with a dull knock.
The strap vanished. Everything remained piled safely in the corner, but the smell of rust had grown even stronger.
He began to struggle.
The rope creaked under the strain. His wrists twisted against coarse hemp, scraping away a layer of skin. Fine needles of pain traveled along his veins toward his elbows.
He did not stop.
Bracing his knees against the floor, he tried to force himself upright. His legs gave way, and he collapsed again.
His knees struck the concrete, sending darkness across his vision.
The colors around him began to drain away.
Yin Xigui felt himself falling. His body and consciousness split apart: one half remained bound to the iron pipe, while the other plunged into the depths of darkness.
Someone called his name from very far away. The voice was indistinct, as though rising through water.
“Yin Xigui.”
He forced his eyes wide.
The voice drew closer and clearer—until a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.
Yin Xigui convulsed. A short whimper caught in his throat as his head snapped up.
Yin Ou was crouching before him, smiling. He had entered without Yin Xigui noticing. Catching Yin Xigui by the chin, he turned his face from side to side.
“Tch. Frightened senseless already? What a useless thing.”
Yin Xigui stared with unfocused pupils. His lips moved several times, but no sound emerged.
Yin Ou released him and stood, brushing imaginary dust from his trousers. He looked down for a while.
“Father says they'll release you tomorrow morning. But judging by the state you're in, you might not last that long.”
He left. The door locked behind him.
Silence swallowed the basement again.
Yin Xigui slowly slid down the pipe, his shoulders shaking harder and harder. He buried his face against his knees. The wounds on his back scraped the rough wall, but he could no longer distinguish one sensation from another.
The hallucinations surged back.
This time, eyes covered the walls—countless eyes staring at him, every pupil moving.
He did not dare raise his head. He pressed his forehead hard against his kneecaps and began unconsciously repeating a single word.
“Brother…Brother…”
Sheng Linyou had been standing outside the gates of the Yin family's old residence for nearly half an hour.
The iron gates remained shut. A man in the security booth looked down at his phone, occasionally glancing over with the same expression one might give a stray dog beside the road.
Sheng Linyou rang the bell three times. Once, the call was immediately disconnected. The next two times, no one answered.
On the fourth attempt, the bell sounded twice. A small panel opened beside the gate, revealing half of an indifferent face.
“Who are you looking for?”
“Yin Xigui.”
The man looked him up and down.
“The young master is being punished and won't see anyone. What makes a lower-tier like you think you're worthy of visiting the Yin family?”
The panel slammed shut.
Sheng Linyou stared at the closed gates. His fingertip hovered over the bell for two seconds, but he did not press it again.
He stepped back, entered the narrow alley beside the estate, and stood against the wall for a while. Then he took out his phone.
Lin Zhi's number was saved in his contacts. He had memorized it after glimpsing the screen when Yin Xigui made the call the day before.
He stared at the digits for a long time, thumb suspended above the call button, then finally pressed it.
The phone rang four times before Lin Zhi answered. His voice carried obvious impatience and suspicion.
“Who is this?”
“Sheng Linyou.”
Silence followed. Lin Zhi's tone changed.
“…How did you get my number? Did Xigui give it to you?”
“Yin Zhengsong took Yin Xigui. He's in the basement. I can't get inside the estate. You have to help me.”
The line went quiet for several seconds. Then Lin Zhi laughed coldly.
“Why should I help you? You're a lower-tier with neither people nor money, yet that's the tone you use when begging?”
Sheng Linyou gripped the phone until his knuckles whitened, but kept his voice level.
“You don't have to help. But you understand Yin Xigui's condition better than I do, and you know how his family treats him. Stay away if you like. I'll find my own way inside. But for every new wound he receives, don't expect him to say another word to you.”
Lin Zhi's breathing grew heavier for an instant.
“…Where are you?”
“Outside the Yin residence.”
“Wait there.”
Lin Zhi ended the call.
Sheng Linyou slid down the wall and sat. He tilted his head toward the narrow strip of gray-blue sky above the alley. Clouds raced past, the wind tearing their edges into fine strands.
Forty minutes later, a dark gray sedan stopped at the alley entrance.
Lin Zhi got out of the driver's seat, his expression unpleasant. He glanced at Sheng Linyou.
“Come on.”
Sheng Linyou rose and followed.
Lin Zhi did not approach the main entrance. He circled to an inconspicuous low door in the estate's side wall, took a keycard from his pocket, and swiped it. The lock opened.
They passed through a narrow corridor and around the rear garden. In the distance stood the basement's dark red iron door.
Lin Zhi stopped and looked sideways at Sheng Linyou.
“Once the door opens, take him and leave. Ignore everything else.”
“How considerate of you.”
Lin Zhi ignored him and strode to the keypad. He entered several numbers.
The lock released with a heavy sound. As the iron door opened, cold air carrying dampness and rust rushed over them.
Sheng Linyou shoved past Lin Zhi and squeezed through the doorway.
The basement was dim. Only the fluorescent tube remained lit, casting a weak white glow.
A figure was tied to an iron pipe in the corner. Long pink hair hung in disarray around his face. He was curled tightly inward, his shoulders shaking violently.
“Yin Xigui.”
Sheng Linyou hurried over and crouched. His fingers touched Yin Xigui's cheek.
The skin was terrifyingly cold, fine tremors traveling into Sheng Linyou's palm.
Yin Xigui did not raise his head. He shrank farther into the corner, mumbling something incoherent.
Sheng Linyou leaned close enough to make out the words.
“Brother…Brother…”
Something snapped inside his head.
He felt along Yin Xigui's wrist. The knots were brutally tight. Bloodied abrasions surrounded the wrist bones, the skin torn and curled outward as dark red trails ran down his forearms.
Sheng Linyou tried to loosen the rope, but his fingers were too large to fit beneath the knots. His attempt only pulled them tighter, making Yin Xigui whimper in pain.
“Fuck.”
He looked back at Lin Zhi.
“Do you have a knife?”
Lin Zhi drew a folding knife from his pocket and tossed it over.
Sheng Linyou caught it, opened the blade, and carefully cut along the knot. The moment the hemp parted, Yin Xigui collapsed.
Sheng Linyou caught him and gathered him into his arms.
Yin Xigui buried his face against Sheng Linyou's chest. His body still trembled, and his fingers clutched the fabric of Sheng Linyou's shirt until the knuckles turned white.
Looking down, Sheng Linyou saw his lips continue forming that word, the sound growing softer and less distinct.
“I'm here. Yin Xigui, I'm here. Don't be afraid.”
Yin Xigui's lashes trembled as though he had finally heard. His fingers loosened slightly, then gripped the fabric again.
Sheng Linyou lifted him into his arms and turned toward the door. He did not stop when he passed Lin Zhi.
Lin Zhi remained where he was, frowning after Sheng Linyou. In the end, he merely locked the iron door again and followed them out through the side entrance.
It was nearly evening when they returned to the villa.
Sheng Linyou placed Yin Xigui on the bed. Yin Xigui curled into a tight ball and wrapped the covers around himself.
His eyes remained closed. Undried tears clung to his lashes, his breathing quick and restless, and his body twitched from time to time.
Sheng Linyou brought warm water to clean his injured wrists. The moment a medicine-soaked swab touched the torn flesh, Yin Xigui jerked his hand away. A tiny whimper rolled from his throat, but he did not wake.
Sheng Linyou lightened his touch and cleaned away the blood bit by bit.
The grooves around Yin Xigui's wrist bones were deep enough to expose flesh, like dark red bracelets embedded in his skin.
After applying medicine and wrapping them in bandages, Sheng Linyou lifted the fabric over Yin Xigui's back.
Welts from the switches crossed one another chaotically, spreading from his shoulder blades in swollen streaks of deep purple and blue.
The worst ran across his spine. The skin on both sides had risen high and turned dark red.
Sheng Linyou stared at the injuries for a long time. Without saying a word, he began applying ointment.
He kept his fingers as gentle as possible, but pain still drew broken sounds from Yin Xigui's throat. The young man tried to retreat into the blankets.
“It doesn't hurt anymore.” Sheng Linyou's voice was deep, carrying a hoarseness he did not notice. “It won't hurt anymore.”
He returned the ointment to its case and sat beside the bed.
Yin Xigui's hand emerged from the blankets and searched blindly until it found Sheng Linyou's fingers. His grip was weak but firm.
Sheng Linyou allowed him to hold on, then turned his hand and squeezed those cold fingers in return.
Yin Xigui twitched twice in his sleep. A muddled plea escaped him.
“Don't leave…”
Seated beside him, Sheng Linyou used his free hand to brush the sweat-dampened pink hair from his forehead. His fingertips rested just above Yin Xigui's brow.
“I won't,” he said.
That night, Yin Xigui developed a fever.
His forehead grew frighteningly hot. He drifted in delirium, tossing and speaking nonsense.
Sheng Linyou replaced the cold towel twice and gave him medicine. It was past midnight before Yin Xigui finally settled and his temperature began to fall.
By the time Sheng Linyou removed the towel from his forehead, gray-white light had appeared along the horizon.
He leaned against the headboard and closed his eyes. Half asleep, he felt something nuzzle his arm.
When he opened his eyes and looked down, Yin Xigui was awake. He lay on his side watching him, eyes only half open. His eyelids were badly swollen, his lips dry and cracked, and his entire body looked as fragile as paper.
“Brother…” His voice sounded like sandpaper dragged across wood.
“Mm.”
“You came.”
“Mm.”
Yin Xigui nestled his face deeper into Sheng Linyou's palm. His cheek remained faintly warm after the fever, the skin soft and vulnerable.
“I thought you didn't want me anymore.”
Sheng Linyou looked down at him. His thumb gently traced a fading red mark beneath Yin Xigui's eye.
“Idiot,” he said.
His voice was quiet, as though anything louder might shatter the person before him.
“When did I ever say I didn't want you?”
Yin Xigui did not answer. He only tightened his hold on Sheng Linyou's hand.
The Yin family still had a debt to pay.