A Good Ghost Doesn't Block the Way

Guan Heng froze, as if something had just occurred to him. Brimming with apology, he raised a hand and smacked his own mouth. "Pah—Peichen. I said it wrong. Peichen."

"Don't be mad. Just now I was… I got carried away."

Four years ago, when he woke up after the drowning, Guan Heng was the first person Ding Peichen saw. Through his whole hospital recovery, Guan Heng had looked after him with genuine devotion.

He was grateful—truly. But back then, Guan Heng called him A-Chen every other sentence, and every time he heard it, something in his chest turned rancid.

Because in the wreckage of his memory, one thing remained razor-sharp: Yu Chong had loved calling him A-Chen too.

That was before the drowning.

And by the time Ding Peichen was recovering—

Yu Chong was already dead. Dead because of him.

So hearing that nickname made him sick enough to gag. He'd rejected it with a violence that surprised even himself.

Back then he had hammered it in, again and again: no one calls me A-Chen. Ever.

Hearing it again now, nausea rolled through his stomach, and he pressed a hand to his forehead.

Guan Heng pursed his lips, his voice low and self-pitying. "I just didn't want you carrying everything alone. You keep it all bottled up and never tell me anything."

Ding Peichen shook off his hand. "There's nothing bottled up. Stop guessing."

The back of Guan Heng's hand cracked against the lamppost, the skin flushing red at once.

Silence spread through the dim yellow light. Ding Peichen walked off and left him there.

Guan Heng seemed used to his nasty streak by now; expressionless, he shook out his hand and trailed after him the whole way.

Inside the bar, music shook the ceiling and the lights swam.

Ding Peichen drank all night; the table in front of him filled up with empty glasses.

Seeing his eyes go glassy, Guan Heng took his hand to steer him toward a hotel.

But Ding Peichen flung the hand off—he hated unsolicited touch from anyone. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you back to the hotel to sleep."

Ding Peichen snorted. "Why not take me home? Back in middle school, wasn't dragging me to your place all you ever wanted?"

Guan Heng's face pulled taut. He hadn't expected that jab. Let Ding Peichen set foot in his home in Nancheng? Absolutely not. Absolute secrecy. Absolutely forbidden.

He gave two dry laughs, then covered, "It's a mess in there. Haven't cleaned. Wouldn't want to offend your eyes."

Ding Peichen couldn't be bothered to reply. He grabbed a small bottle of baijiu and swayed out of the bar.

He didn't want to go home and face an idiot of a cousin and a vicious ghost that came and went like a bad smell.

He booked whatever room was closest. Guan Heng took the one next door.

That night, Ding Peichen—rarely—slept well. No nightmares. Nothing damp and reeking of river water wrapping around him.

The sleep ran long; he didn't wake until the following afternoon.

Probably the best sleep he'd had since coming to Nancheng.

The last time he'd slept well was right after he'd moved into the rental, the nights Guan Heng stayed over.

He rubbed his eyes, tidied up, and left the hotel without a word to Yu Chong.

Dora messaged him to come help paint a mural on campus. By the time he got back to the rental, it was past midnight.

He'd assumed Ding Aonan would feel neglected and leave, or already be asleep.

But when he pushed the door open, Ding Aonan was still sprawled on the sofa gaming, buttons clacking like ping-pong. "Oh hey, you're back. How does one errand take all day?"

Ding Peichen didn't answer, just shot a glance at the single bed.

In one night, the bed had nearly become a pigsty. Total disaster.

If Ding Aonan slept in it one more night, Ding Peichen would dismantle the thing and throw it out.

Frowning in disgust, he pulled a spare quilt from the wardrobe and threw it at the sofa. "Not the bed. Move it. Sofa's yours."

Ding Aonan sighed a token protest. His attention was still on the game anyway.

It was Ding Peichen's rental. Cousin's word was law.

When the round ended, Ding Aonan flopped onto the living-room sofa.

The sofa was pathetically short. A guy his size curled up inside it, calves dangling over the armrest.

But he was the type who could drop off anywhere; within minutes he was snoring like thunder.

At some point Ding Peichen rolled over, his throat parched beyond words.

Barefoot on the floor, he headed for the bathroom.

The dim overhead light flicked on. He twisted the tap, bent down, gulped a few mouthfuls of water, rinsed his mouth, straightened up.

A second shadow had appeared in the mirror.

One glance was enough: Yu Chong, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe, school uniform collar open, staring at him—for who knows how long.

"What's wrong with you? Standing outside someone's bathroom in the middle of the night."

The bathroom was narrow to begin with. Yu Chong took one step forward and he was practically pressed against him, cold damp seeping through his pajamas. "You don't lock the door?"

Ding Peichen scowled. "Lock it for what? It's just—"

The words died in his mouth. He wasn't alone in the house; there was a snoring idiot out on the sofa.

Yu Chong raised an eyebrow. "There's someone else out there, isn't there."

Ding Peichen ground his teeth, enunciating every word. "Glad you noticed."

Yu Chong stood a head taller, the resentment in his black pupils fully on display. "Cozy in here. He's sleeping like a baby."

"What's it to you?"

Yu Chong's voice dropped. "You brought someone home to sleep, and you say it's none of your business?"

Ding Peichen thought the ghost was being theatrical about nothing. "That's my bed. I—"

Yu Chong reached out and, without any warning, pinched his waist. "Then I'll just have to make sure you sleep badly."

A maddening, swelling heat flooded through the pinched flesh.

Ding Peichen sagged against the tiles, gasping, chaos and daze still swimming in his blue eye. "You rotten dead thing—what are you doing—"

He tried to shove Yu Chong aside. "Move! A good ghost doesn't block the way."

Yu Chong didn't move. One hand braced on the sink, the other skimming across Ding Peichen's collarbone.

Electricity fizzed where he touched, and Ding Peichen had to clench his jaw to keep the sound down in his throat. "You—"

He snapped, furious: "Keep your hands to yourself. If you've got something to say, your mouth works, doesn't it?"

Yu Chong stood against the light, his lashes throwing a dark shadow. "Every time I touch you, you shake. Scared?"

"I'm not shaking. Move." Stubborn to the end.

Yu Chong didn't budge an inch.

Ding Peichen opened his mouth to curse—and Yu Chong rolled a pajama button between his fingers. "Scared, my ass. You want it more than anyone."

He leaned in, breathing him in, and asked quietly, "Where were you last night?"

Ding Peichen gave a cold laugh. "Aren't you the great tracker? You don't know which bar I was disgracing?"

"If you've got nothing else to say, get lost. I'm sick to death of looking at your face."

Just then a noise sounded from outside, and Yu Chong went still.

One wall away, that blockhead Ding Aonan could wake at any second and wander toward the bathroom—and the door wasn't even locked.

Catching his breath, Ding Peichen did up his buttons neatly and pushed out of the bathroom.

On the sofa, Ding Aonan was sleeping soundly, wrapped in the quilt.

Back in bed, Ding Peichen reached out of habit for the life-sized doll—and his palm landed somewhere cold and damp.

Yu Chong had followed him again. This time, straight into his bed.

The doll's glass eyes caught the light, its mouth bent into a smile that looked wrong from any angle.

Ding Peichen held its gaze for a few seconds, then sneered. "What's your malfunction now? Trashing my doll to make room for yourself?"

With that, he deliberately turned his back on the doll and dragged the quilt over his head. "Go soak in your river if you love it so much. Just don't dirty my bed."

He closed his eyes. In the silence, the touch-starvation began to stir again. He rolled over, wanting to grab the doll—but after all that tough talk, he couldn't bring himself to swallow his pride.

So he forced himself to endure it.

But the life-sized doll, as if it could feel him, rested a cold, knuckle-defined hand lightly against his waist.

Yu Chong kept his voice low against the back of Ding Peichen's neck, careful not to wake the guest on the sofa, and every word dripped grievance. "How generous of you. Handing me over to a total stranger?"

Ding Peichen yanked the quilt down and turned his head. "How would I know you were inside the doll? You never move."

Yu Chong shot back, "And if I'd told you, you wouldn't have let him into the bed?"

"If he's not in the bed, where's he supposed to sleep? The floor?" Ding Peichen frowned. This ghost was being completely unreasonable. So his cousin had slept in the single bed for one day.

Then he added, mocking, "Worst case, what's the harm in him lying next to me? We're both men. Big deal."

Yu Chong's teeth ground together. "Big deal?"

His hand slid slowly from Ding Peichen's waist down to his stomach, raising goosebumps everywhere it passed.

Ding Peichen clenched his jaw, his voice dropping. "Don't touch—"

"Yu Chong, did four years underwater rot your brain? It's a doll."

"He can hold it, I can hold it."

"What's with all the rules."

Granted, that was before his damned touch-starvation kicked in.

A few seconds of silence. Then Ding Peichen felt the hand on his stomach slide around to grip the back of his neck—though not hard.

Yu Chong's voice went abruptly cold. "So. If you don't need the doll, cuddling your cousin would be just as good?"

Ding Peichen frowned and slapped at his hand, staggered by the ghost's train of thought. "Let go—"

"Aren't I holding a doll right now? Isn't he asleep on the sofa?"

"What are you whining about."

Yu Chong let go all at once. Ding Peichen hadn't expected him to drop it so easily—it wasn't like Yu Chong.

Yu Chong's teeth were gritted. "Don't tell me you think you're normal."

"A grown man, sleeping while hugging a life-sized doll."

"Just how starved are you?"

Ding Peichen froze at the question. He hugged the thing because he was sick. What would a dead ghost know about it?

It was the damned touch-starvation that made him cling to a life-sized doll like a freak. What did Yu Chong possibly gain from mocking him?

Besides—what was he supposed to do, hug a woman instead?

A laugh escaped before he could stop it. "So I should hug a woman? You want me to be the pervert?"

Whatever gender he picked, Yu Chong would call him a pervert regardless.

After all, Yu Chong despised him enough to want to torture him into a fate worse than death.

In the beginning, he'd ordered the life-sized doll simply so it would fit his body. But a plain mannequin shape was ugly, so he'd had Cheng customize the face.

And then, naturally, a man's face was what took shape.

Yu Chong refused to take the bait, brimming with resentment. "A grown man hugging a life-sized doll is not normal."

Ding Peichen sneered, too tired to argue—nearly capitulating. "Fine. Tomorrow I'll go buy monsters instead. Hug Godzilla. Hug something built like a fat pig. Anyone who saw me shuffling to the bathroom at night would drop dead of fright. Happy now?"