After they returned that night, Yin Xigui, for once, did not cling to Sheng Linyou and ask to sleep together.
“Brother, I want to be by myself tonight.”
His voice was light. Without waiting for an answer, he hugged his pillow, went into the next room, and clicked the door shut.
Sheng Linyou stood in the corridor staring at the closed door. His fingers curled at his side, then relaxed, and he turned back to his own bedroom.
He did not sleep. He lay staring at the ceiling for more than an hour before getting up for water. As he passed Yin Xigui’s room, his steps slowed.
Light spilled from beneath the door. It was quiet inside except for the occasional, regular rustle of turning pages.
Sheng Linyou stood there for about half a minute, then walked away with his glass.
The next morning, Yin Xigui rose earlier than usual.
When Sheng Linyou came downstairs, he was already at the dining table. His bowl of congee was half-finished, and his phone lay beside his hand, its screen filled with dense lines of text.
At the sound of footsteps, he flipped it facedown and looked up with a smile.
“Morning, Brother! There’s congee in the pot. I made it.”
Sheng Linyou acknowledged him and went to fill a bowl. With his back turned, he heard a tiny sound behind him, like a phone being picked up and slipped into a pocket.
He did not turn around.
Breakfast was much quieter than usual.
Yin Xigui talked very little. Now and then he placed some vegetables in Sheng Linyou’s bowl, then lowered his head and ate his own congee.
Sheng Linyou looked at him twice. Both times, Yin Xigui raised his head at precisely the right moment and curved his eyes in a smile no different from usual.
“Do you have anything to do today, Brother?”
“No.”
“I want to go out—to the library. I need to look something up.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Yin Xigui’s chopsticks paused. Then he nodded. “Sure.”
The sky was overcast when they left, the clouds hanging low with the promise of rain.
Yin Xigui wore a thin navy jacket. His pink hair fell neatly over his shoulders, making him look quiet and obedient.
Sheng Linyou walked half a step beside him. Looking down, he could see the hand hanging at Yin Xigui’s side, its fingers slightly curled and faint rope marks still visible on the pads.
At the library, Yin Xigui genuinely did read.
He sat by a window with a thick volume open before him, occasionally writing a few lines in a notebook with a fountain pen.
A shaft of sunlight slipped through the clouds and fell across the back of his hand, illuminating the fading bruises on his slender wrist.
Sheng Linyou sat opposite him with a magazine he had picked at random. He turned four or five pages without absorbing a word. His gaze drifted over its top edge to Yin Xigui—to the way he unconsciously bit his lower lip while thinking, and the fan-shaped shadows his lashes cast beneath his eyes.
As though sensing the stare, Yin Xigui looked up and smiled, silently mouthing, What is it?
Sheng Linyou shook his head and returned to the magazine.
Just then, Yin Xigui’s phone lit up beside him. The screen faced upward. A new message appeared from an unsaved number, and several words were visible in the preview: Yin Rui visited the old residence today.
Yin Xigui snatched up the phone so quickly that Sheng Linyou barely saw the screen. But he did see Yin Xigui’s pupils contract for a fraction of a second.
Yin Xigui pocketed it, then looked up to find Sheng Linyou watching him.
“Who was that?”
“No one. Spam.”
His smile remained, but Sheng Linyou noticed his fingers tighten around his pen.
Sheng Linyou did not press him. He closed the magazine, returned it to the shelf, then walked to Yin Xigui’s side and bent close to his ear.
“You’re hiding something from me.”
Yin Xigui’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. He turned his head. Less than a handspan separated their faces, close enough for him to see his own reflection in Sheng Linyou’s pupils.
“Brother, I’m not—”
“You are.” Sheng Linyou rested a hand on his shoulder. The pressure was not heavy, but his thumb pressed the small patch of skin above Yin Xigui’s collarbone. Through the thin fabric, he felt the frantic pulse beneath it. “Yin Xigui, I’m not blind.”
Yin Xigui’s breathing faltered. Something unfamiliar churned beneath his gaze.
He opened his mouth, but Sheng Linyou’s phone rang before he could speak.
Sheng Linyou straightened and answered. Whatever the caller said turned his expression from calm to rigid within seconds, drawing his brows together.
“Where?”
The caller said a few more words. Sheng Linyou hung up and looked down. Yin Xigui stared back, a trace of tension still visible before he could hide it.
“Lin Zhi says Yin Rui approached him today,” Sheng Linyou said quietly. “He asked what you’ve been investigating lately.”
Yin Xigui’s expression changed.
Watching that fleeting shift, Sheng Linyou felt a gap open in the fog inside his mind.
He suddenly realized that every emotion Yin Xigui had shown him since their first meeting had been perfectly measured.
He trembled when afraid, reddened his eyes when wronged, curved them when happy, and burrowed into Sheng Linyou’s arms when he wanted affection. Every reaction was real—so real it seemed rehearsed a thousand times.
But in that unguarded instant, Sheng Linyou had seen another Yin Xigui.
“Yin Xigui.” He bent down, bracing both hands on the arms of the chair and caging him in. It was the same imposing position he had used in the back seat of the car, his shadow falling over Yin Xigui, but now his eyes held only grave scrutiny. “What exactly are you doing?”
Trapped in the chair, Yin Xigui raised his face and met his gaze.
Only a fist’s width separated them. Their breaths mingled, and the library’s silence magnified the pressure between them.
Yin Xigui’s lips moved. He seemed about to answer, but in the end, he merely curved his eyes and smiled.
“You’ve already figured it out, haven’t you, Brother?”
Sheng Linyou said nothing.
Yin Xigui lifted a hand and touched his cheek. His fingertip traced Sheng Linyou’s jaw to the skin behind his ear and brushed it gently.
“I can’t tell you everything. The less you know about certain things, the safer you’ll be.” His voice remained soft and familiar, but Sheng Linyou heard the thin layer of ice underneath. “You only need to know one thing.”
“What?”
“I won’t let anyone touch you.”
Yin Xigui’s finger slid down and tapped the metal clasp of the collar around his neck.
The cold fingertip grazed his skin, and Sheng Linyou’s Adam’s apple bobbed sharply.
“I’ll take this collar off you with my own hands,” Yin Xigui said. “Anyone in the Yin family who lays a hand on you will regret it.”
He was still smiling, eyes curved and expression gentle.
Sheng Linyou stared at him for a long moment, then straightened and withdrew his hands.
“All right. I won’t force you.”
Yin Xigui blinked, apparently surprised.
“But promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t carry it alone.” Sheng Linyou rubbed the top of his pink head, pressing his palm down gently. “I’m here.”
Yin Xigui’s eyes instantly reddened.
He tilted his face up and blinked hard, trying to force the tears back, but one still slipped from the corner of his eye and landed on the open book, spreading into a dark spot.
“Brother...” His voice was hoarse. “Why do you have to be like this?”
“Like what?”
“You make me want to tell you everything.”
“Then tell me.”
Yin Xigui shook his head and hooked his fingers around Sheng Linyou’s, holding them in his palm. Their hands met, warm against warm.
“It isn’t time yet,” he said. “Wait a little longer for me, okay?”
Sheng Linyou bent down and wiped the tear track from his cheek with his thumb. Yin Xigui nuzzled into his palm like a cat whose fur had finally been smoothed.
“Okay.”
Rain had begun by the time they left the library. Fine drops slanted through the air and burst into tiny splashes against the pavement.
Yin Xigui stood beneath the eaves, looked up, pulled on his hood, and prepared to dash into the rain. Sheng Linyou yanked him back.
“Wait here.”
He went inside, borrowed an umbrella from the front desk, and returned to open it over Yin Xigui’s head.
Yin Xigui glanced up at him and pressed closer, almost fitting himself into Sheng Linyou’s side.
Sheng Linyou reached an arm behind him to hold the umbrella, sheltering him in the curve of his body.
The rush of rain drowned out every other sound. After they walked like that for a while, Yin Xigui turned his face up. Wet strands of pink hair clung above his brows.
“Brother.”
“Mm?”
“You looked incredibly handsome in the library just now.”
“...Shut up.”
Yin Xigui laughed. He caught the wrist holding the umbrella, pulled Sheng Linyou’s arm down across his shoulders, and squeezed farther into his embrace.
Sheng Linyou looked down, then tightened his arm.
The rain fell harder.
At the same time, in the study of the Yin family’s old residence, Yin Rui stood at the window watching the curtain of rain. An unlit cigarette turned slowly between his fingers. The man behind him finished reporting what had happened at the library and waited in silence.
Yin Rui did not turn around.
“That lower-tier was with him?”
“Yes. He never left his side.”
Yin Rui raised the cigarette to his lips, lowered it again, and tilted his head with a faint smile.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice cool and clear. “My dear cousin has hidden himself well.”