It was six in the morning, and dawn had yet to fully break.
The phone on the bedside table suddenly vibrated. Yin Xigui's eyes snapped open. He grabbed it and pressed it to his ear.
“Speak.”
Lin Zhi's lowered voice came through the receiver. “Xigui, something happened. Evans's men grabbed No. 763 when he went out. They're taking him straight to the West District Conditioning Facility. Yin Ou pulled strings on his end.”
“The conditioning facility.”
Yin Xigui rolled the words across his tongue, his voice airy and light.
Yin Ou—the same dear brother who had made trouble the previous night.
On the other end, a chill ran down Lin Zhi's spine.
“Yes. Evans says it's a Yin family rule. Every lower-tier has to go through the facility before entering the household. Xigui, should I send someone to intercept them?”
Barefoot, Yin Xigui crossed the floor to the window. He tilted his head and suddenly laughed.
“Zhizhi, tell me. If someone is locked in a cage, starved for two days, and then whipped, do you think he'll truly become obedient?”
Silence answered him for a moment. When Lin Zhi spoke again, his voice had deepened.
“Xigui…”
“But I'm afraid he might become too obedient. Then he wouldn't be any fun.”
Yin Xigui returned to the bed and picked up the thin blanket that still carried Sheng Linyou's warmth. He hugged it to his chest and breathed in deeply.
“Whose territory is the West District Conditioning Facility?” he asked.
“It's controlled by the Yin family's second branch. The director's surname is Zhou.”
“Zhou.” Yin Xigui lowered his eyes, his tone indifferent. “Zhizhi, use my people this time, but conceal them behind your name as the Lin family heir. Don't let anyone trace them back to me.”
Lin Zhi asked no questions.
“All right.”
After ending the call, Yin Xigui stood in the darkness for a moment, then dialed another number.
The person who answered had clearly been sleeping. His voice was muddled and irritable at being disturbed.
“Who the hell is calling at this hour—”
“Good morning, Uncle Zhou,” Yin Xigui said gently. “It's Xigui.”
The other end went quiet for a second. When the man spoke again, he had restrained his temper, though displeasure still colored his voice.
“Young Master, why are you calling at this hour? Is there an emergency?”
“Uncle Zhou, I heard your facility received a new human commodity tonight. No. 763?”
“That's correct. Mr. Evans gave the order. Is there a problem?”
“But I want my man.”
“These are rules established by the master of the house. Young Master, you—”
Before Yin Xigui could answer, hurried footsteps sounded through the phone, as if someone had rushed into Director Zhou's room.
Zhou's voice receded. Yin Xigui waited in silence, slowly running his thumb along the edge of his phone.
A moment later, Director Zhou returned.
Every trace of impatience had vanished from his voice. In its place was almost fawning enthusiasm.
“Ah, Young Master! If this is what Young Master Lin wants, you need only say so. We're all friends here. There was no need to go to such trouble!”
Leaning beside the window, Yin Xigui curled his lips. His voice became innocent and guileless.
“There's no need to rush, Uncle Zhou. Please entertain him properly for me. I don't particularly want to see him right now. Just don't leave any scars. I dislike ugly things.”
He paused as though considering something important, then added, “Let's see…half an hour should be enough. After that, don't let anyone touch him—including you.”
“Understood, understood. Perfectly understood. You may rest assured, Young Master.”
Yin Xigui ended the call.
On his phone screen was an old photograph he had unearthed from the black-market files. The man in it stood beside a race car with a cigarette between his lips. A faint scar crossed his brow, his smile was bold and reckless, and his eyes shone with life.
Yin Xigui studied that face for a long time.
“Brother,” he whispered, “after this, you should understand who truly treats you well. Stay beside me—and no one else.”
He turned off the screen, plunging the room back into darkness.
***
At the West District Conditioning Facility, Sheng Linyou was shoved into an iron cage.
New black shackles bound his wrists and ankles, their chains rattling across the floor. His back struck the freezing bars with a dull clang.
Three burly handlers stood outside the cage. One held a shock baton. With a click, he switched it on, and blue-white arcs snapped across its tip.
The first handler tapped the cage door with his baton, making the metal hum.
“You're No. 763, right? Mr. Evans says you don't know how to behave. We're here to teach you the rules.”
Sheng Linyou leaned against the bars and slowly slid to the floor. He sneered.
“Teach me rules? Filth like you thinks it's qualified?”
The second handler smashed his baton against the cage. Metal rang around them.
“Still talking tough? You'll be crying soon enough!”
The cage door flew open with a crash. Two men charged inside.
The injection had left Sheng Linyou too weak to use his full strength, his muscles heavy and sore. Even so, his remaining reflexes carried him aside just in time to evade one baton. He drove his elbow hard into the first handler.
“Fuck! He still dares fight back! Hold him down!”
Three shock batons converged at once. With nowhere left to evade, Sheng Linyou was driven into a corner.
High-voltage current tore through his limbs.
His entire body went rigid, then abruptly slackened as his muscles spasmed uncontrollably. He pressed his forehead against the freezing bars, breath coming harsh and ragged while darkness pulsed across his vision.
*Yin Xigui… That little fool is probably still curled beneath the covers.*
When the handlers saw that he had stopped moving, one gave his calf a contemptuous kick.
“Obedient now? I thought you were supposed to be tough. Three shocks, and look how well-behaved you've become.”
Before he finished speaking, the facility's main doors burst inward.
A line of bodyguards in suits and dark glasses poured through in disciplined formation, surrounding most of the hall.
At their head was a lean man wearing gold-rimmed glasses. His expression was so detached that it revealed nothing at all.
He swept his gaze across the room before fixing it on the iron cage.
“Where's Director Zhou? Who gave you permission to touch the man I came for?”
Director Zhou hurried out from the back, sweat covering his forehead and a broad smile plastered across his face.
“Young Master Lin, you've arrived! It's a misunderstanding—all a misunderstanding! He's right here, perfectly fine. He hasn't lost so much as a strand of hair—”
Sheng Linyou forced his eyes open and looked through the bars. There was no flash of pink hair among the men, but a trace of that familiar sweet fragrance lingered in the air.
*Are these the little fool's people?*
Lin Zhi approached the cage and looked down at him. His gaze paused for two seconds on the fresh red shock marks.
“Director Zhou, if anyone touches him again, releasing him will be the least of your concerns. Do you understand?”
“Understood, understood! Rest assured, Mr. Lin. It will never happen again.”
By the time Sheng Linyou was helped out of the cage, his strength was almost gone. His knees would not support him, and he remained upright only because two bodyguards held him beneath the arms.
Lin Zhi handed him a coat.
“Come with me.”
“Where's Xigui?”
Lin Zhi's steps paused, though he did not turn around.
“Waiting for you at the villa.”
Sheng Linyou was placed in the back seat of a black sedan. The car left the western outskirts, traveled through the city as the morning mist dispersed, and finally stopped before the white villa from the previous day.
No lights were on in the sitting room. The curtains had been drawn tightly shut, leaving the room dim. A small figure was curled on the sofa between cushions and a thin blanket.
Sheng Linyou remained in the entryway, staring at him.
Yin Xigui sat in the darkness hugging his knees. At the sound of the door, his head snapped up. His eyes were as red as a rabbit's, and several creases marked his cheek.
The instant he saw Sheng Linyou, he sprang from the sofa and ran toward him, bare feet striking the cold floor before he had time to put on shoes.
“Brother!”
He threw himself into Sheng Linyou's arms and clutched the fabric at his waist. When his palm pressed against Sheng Linyou's back, it landed directly on a swollen shock mark.
The moment Yin Xigui's fingertips encountered that raised, burning skin, his entire body froze. His fingers trembled beyond his control. His eyes darkened for a heartbeat, then immediately returned to normal.
When he looked up, tears had already filled them. His eyes reddened, and the tears spilled down his face. His voice shook, soft and fragile.
“They hurt you. It must hurt so much… I'm sorry. I didn't protect you…”
Sheng Linyou looked down at the young man trembling in his arms. That beautiful face had crumpled, tears and mucus mingling in a thoroughly undignified mess.
That indescribable feeling rose in his chest again, heavy enough to block his breath. He reached out and rubbed Yin Xigui's head, his palm settling over the silky pink hair.
“Stop crying. They're only a few marks. It doesn't hurt.”
“Liar!”
Yin Xigui raised his wet face from Sheng Linyou's chest. His lips were pressed pale and the tip of his nose was bright red, but his stare was stubborn.
“How could being struck with a shock baton not hurt?”
He suddenly rose onto his toes and blew gently over the mark through Sheng Linyou's clothes, soothing him as one might soothe a child.
“There. I'll blow the pain away.”
Warm breath seeped through the thin fabric to Sheng Linyou's skin. His chest jolted, and his throat moved sharply.
He caught Yin Xigui's wrist. His grip was not painful, but his knuckles tightened.
“Yin Xigui,” he asked in a low voice, “who was that man today? Why did he come to save me?”
Yin Xigui blinked, looking confused and innocent. His voice turned soft and timid.
“He's my friend. I asked him to rescue you.”
“And all those men?”
“Bodyguards he hired.” Yin Xigui tilted his head, as if the answer were obvious. “I don't know that many people myself.”
Sheng Linyou studied him for a long time.
Those eyes were clean and bright, washed clear by tears, with nothing reflected in them but Sheng Linyou himself.
At last, Sheng Linyou released his wrist. He bent down, slid one arm beneath Yin Xigui's knees and the other behind his back, lifted him, and carried him upstairs.
Yin Xigui gave a startled cry and instinctively wrapped both arms around his neck.
“Brother! You're hurt. You can't carry me!”
“Shut up.” Sheng Linyou did not slow, his voice hoarse. “Say another word and I'll drop you.”
Yin Xigui immediately covered his mouth, his eyes curving into crescents.
Sheng Linyou pushed open the bedroom door and placed him on the bed, where he sank into the soft down comforter.
“Brother.” Yin Xigui patted the pillow beside him. “Can I sleep with you again tonight?”
“What, are you cold again?”
“It isn't the cold.” Yin Xigui shook his head and looked at him seriously. “I'm afraid you'll wake in pain during the night and no one will be here to help you.”
He shuffled aside to clear half the bed, patting the pillow and then the covers like a small animal busily arranging its nest.
“I promise I won't crowd you!”
Sheng Linyou stood beside the bed and looked down at him in silence. Yin Xigui gazed back, eyes shining.
More than ten seconds passed before Sheng Linyou lifted the covers and lay down. He turned his back to Yin Xigui, his spine rigid.
The room remained quiet for a while. Then Yin Xigui's hand crept toward him. His fingertip tentatively touched Sheng Linyou's little finger, hooked around it, and gave it a gentle shake.
“Brother,” Yin Xigui whispered behind him, “are you unhappy?”
“No.”
“Then why aren't you talking?”
Sheng Linyou kept his eyes closed, his voice perfectly flat.
“I'm deciding whether to throw you out.”
Yin Xigui was not frightened in the least. He drew out the end of each word in his soft voice.
“Then throw me out. I can roll away with the blanket.”
A short breath of laughter escaped Sheng Linyou's chest.
He turned to face Yin Xigui. They shared the same pillow, their noses nearly touching and their breaths mingling.
“Yin Xigui.” His voice was deep and unusually serious in the darkness. “What exactly do you want from me?”
Yin Xigui blinked and answered without hesitation.
“You're handsome. You're fierce. And even when your arms are shaking, you still stand in front of me.”
He paused, his voice softening.
“And when you put my finger in your mouth, you were too careful to bite down.”
Sheng Linyou swallowed hard. He abruptly rolled away, pulled the blanket over his head, and spoke in a voice so hoarse that even he could barely tolerate it.
“Go to sleep. Say one more word and I won't cook for you tomorrow.”
A muffled protest came from behind him as Yin Xigui burrowed his head against Sheng Linyou's back.
“But you said I was the one cooking for you! Brother, you're a liar!”
Sheng Linyou did not turn around. He let that fluffy head squirm against him. For a while, the only sound in the dark was their intermingled breathing.
He closed his eyes, but the corners of his mouth rose on their own.
*What kind of ridiculous upper-tier is he? He talks too much, cries too easily, and needs constant comforting.*