The storm clouds hung ink-black and terribly low. The instant lightning tore the sky open, the rain came down in sheets, slapping against Zhu Wenxing's face. His white shirt clung to him, cold and sticky, and with one hand full of vegetables and fruit, he hurried toward the entrance of the apartment building.
"Back already, Mr. Zhu? The rain's really coming down tonight..."
Zhu Wenxing shook the water off his clothes, glanced back at the security guard at the gate, nodded in reply, exchanged a few polite words, and dragged his feet into the elevator.
From the bedroom drifted moans—unmistakable, impossible to unhear...
He mechanically put the groceries away in the kitchen, then went looking for the storage room in the farthest corner.
Click.
The moment the door shut, time seemed to freeze.
"Zhu Wenxing. Get over here."
The voice belonged to his husband of ten years, Wen Tingxuan.
Zhu Wenxing lifted his eyes, dark strands of hair falling across the red-rimmed circles beneath them. Wen Tingxuan couldn't see his expression.
"Are you deaf? Or just pretending?!!" His voice cracked like thunder.
Zhu Wenxing had been crouching too long; when he stood, everything went black for a moment, and he knocked against the trash bin beside him.
Methodically, he cleaned up the scattered kitchen waste and squeezed out a few words: "Coming."
Wen Tingxuan's eyes were full of disgust.
"You can't even handle the smallest thing. What did I even marry you for?"
He had done nothing wrong at all—and somehow he was still the one on trial.
"Clean the bedroom."
Zhu Wenxing listened to the order with perfect calm on his face, and nodded.
He still remembered the first days after he married Wen Tingxuan—courteous, doting, everything newlywed-sweet. When exactly did it turn into this? He couldn't say himself.
Zhu Wenxing gripped the broom tighter, drew a deep breath, and forced out a smile: "All right. Will you be home for dinner tonight? I bought crab—your favorite."
By the time the words were out, Wen Tingxuan was already standing at the entryway mirror, straightening his tie.
In the mirror, the corner of his mouth curled up slightly. "Not coming back. Business dinner tonight."
Zhu Wenxing stretched his stiff lips into something faint. "Take care, then."
The dull thud of leather shoes. The opening and closing of the door.
The question he wanted to ask stuck in his throat, unable to go up or down.
On the coffee table lay the rain-soaked phone. It buzzed a few times.
A message—no, a video, from a contact he had no memory of ever adding.
The footage was dim. Blurry.
Then the camera swung around to two tangled bodies, low animal growls, bliss that bordered on obscene.
He'd assumed it was someone's idea of a prank. He was about to delete the video when a familiar face swam into the frame.
Wen Tingxuan.
Accepting something and being provoked by it are two different things.
The former is your own choice; the latter is someone else's deliberate cruelty.
He laughed at himself, a short ugly sound, while rage like a blood-drinking demon took over his heart.
The next second, the shatter of the coffee table's glass top echoed through the empty apartment. Warm liquid ran through Zhu Wenxing's fingers, dripping, spreading into a dark pool.
Outside the window, thunder and lightning began again. On the television, the news was issuing a typhoon warning...
***
City Central Hospital, ER department.
"Name? Age? How did you get hurt?"
The doctor on duty was young, with sharp brows and bright eyes, wearing the whole aura of a man whose job was saving lives.
Zhu Wenxing's right hand was wrapped in a rag, the white cloth soaked through. He raised his eyes toward the voice—one glance only—and quickly dropped his head again. "I fell."
The man smiled faintly, picked up a pen, and scratched a few words across the paperwork.
Then he rose, walked over, and pointed at the treatment room. "Wait for me inside."
Zhu Wenxing followed the nurse's directions and sat where he was told.
"This doesn't look like a fall injury."
As he spoke, Li Feiyang looked the man over—unremarkably handsome, ink-black hair, a pale face with faintly reddened eyes.
Quite young, really. But this wound...
Since the man wasn't talking, he worked faster, cleaning the gash. After scrubbing his own hands, he said, "You should get a tetanus shot."
The nurse walked Zhu Wenxing to the doctor's office.
"Name, age, home address?"
Zhu Wenxing flexed his freshly bandaged right hand. The fingers were stiff; the wound throbbed with stabbing pain.
Brows knit, he answered in a wavering voice: "Zhu Wenxing. Thirty. Huangpu District."
Two naked bodies kept surfacing in his mind. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his left hand, with no attention to spare for his hand.
"I don't want the shot. Please just prescribe me some medication."
Li Feiyang's gaze was piercing. He shook his head with a cold laugh.
"Take this slip. Out the door, turn left."
Wenxing took the paperwork numbly and slowly disappeared into the crowd.
The nurse standing nearby was anxious but didn't dare intervene. She turned to Li Feiyang: "That looks like a laceration. Why would he lie about it?"
Li Feiyang crossed his arms, shook his head, and pulled down his mask. "What, he's barely out the door and you're already digging? Decent-looking, isn't he? Got a crush?"
The nurse balled her small fist and gave him a light punch. "You know I like your type."
"Don't like me. I've got a girlfriend, you know that."
Li Feiyang turned her down with a joking tone.
Before she could argue back, his phone rang in his pocket.
He waved her off—next time—and she tactfully retreated.
"Hey, Xinxin."
"Feiyang, the company's throwing a celebration party tonight. Let's meet up another time."
Li Feiyang's grip tightened on the phone; then he said with a light laugh, "Where's the party? Want me to come pick you up?"
"No need. I'll grab a taxi home."
He hung up and sneered, murmuring to himself: "All that fun, and I'm not invited."