Chapter 22: Ill Omens

"All right, now it's your turn," Qu Yan said, lifting Yan Zhuo's chin. "What bad things have you done?"

Yan Zhuo looked up at him, his expression docile. "Must I say it?"

Qu Yan stroked his lower lip. "It’s only fair."

Fair—he was beginning to like that word more and more.

Yan Zhuo closed his eyes for a moment. He crouched by the bed, his knees brushing against Qu Yan’s dangling calves; at a quick glance, it looked as though he were kneeling.

Qu Yan caught the flicker of his trembling eyelashes and knew he must be panicking inside, but what could he do? He simply loved to tease him. "Don't want to say it?"

"It's not that." Yan Zhuo gripped Qu Yan’s wrist weakly, afraid he might say something like "never appear before me again," just as he had earlier.

His face flushed a deeper shade of crimson, impossible to hide even in the dim candlelight. He gritted his teeth and said, with a sense of self-abandonment, "I... I stalked you."

It was such a non sequitur that Qu Yan felt both surprised and amused, though he didn't let it show, offering only a hum in response.

Closing his eyes as if to feign fearlessness, Yan Zhuo could still feel Qu Yan’s gaze fixed upon his face. He continued, "And... your clothes, your water cup, your notebook... I stole them all..."

Listing them out, there were quite a few. Hearing this, Qu Yan vaguely remembered some of it. There had indeed been a period when he lost many things, but they were all trivial trifles—the wristbands he tossed onto the table, or old problem sets he intended to discard. Since none of it was important, he had never given it a second thought.

Now, hearing it from Yan Zhuo, it all seemed to take on a different meaning.

Qu Yan didn't believe for a second that Yan Zhuo had just tucked them away as keepsakes. His expression turned playful. "Open your eyes."

Meeting those darting, clear eyes, Qu Yan pressed him, "What did you do with my things? Was it masturbation?"

It was a light, airy question, his lips barely moving, but in Yan Zhuo’s mind, there was a deafening boom, as if a massive firework had exploded, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

"It seems I guessed right." Qu Yan’s tone remained unchanged as his fingers brushed against Yan Zhuo’s Adam’s apple. "How did you masturbate?"

Qu Yan had been an excellent student in high school, likely humble and eager to learn. Yan Zhuo had skipped class a few times, deliberately pausing for a few seconds as he passed Qu Yan’s classroom. Sometimes he would see him stand up to answer a question, his posture as straight as a pine, asking in that very same tone, "Teacher, how many ways are there to solve this problem?"

His romantic fantasies had grown wilder with each passing day of surveillance, eventually turning into a giant python that swallowed him whole. Watching from afar was no longer enough; his swelling desire finally pushed him to commit the point of no return. He stole Qu Yan’s water cup—the blue one with the whale on it... and after that, there were more. He became adept at being a thief, stealing everything around Qu Yan bit by bit, piling it all into his bedroom like a bird building a nest.

On thick, humid summer evenings, in the drowsy, lethargic afternoons, his desire—the giant python—manipulated him, drowning him again and again in a psychedelic dream where only he and Qu Yan existed.

Yan Zhuo had once thought this would be his secret forever.

Until now, when Qu Yan asked him: *How did you masturbate?*

Those memories, buried deep and damp, scorching and tormenting, surged toward him like a churning tide. In an instant, he was submerged, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Under the covers, wrapped in your clothes... wrapped so tightly, it hurt and itched, it was blissful and yet so miserable. When I was about to... I would move the clothes away, so I wouldn't stain them." Yan Zhuo’s face burned with shame; he climbed onto Qu Yan’s legs involuntarily, his face red enough to bleed.

There was more he hadn't said. The first time he did it, he only had to smell Qu Yan’s clothes to climax without even touching himself. Later on, it took longer each time, and the climax he longed for became harder to reach. Objects, of course, could never compare to the person. The giant python of desire had tasted a sliver and could no longer be restrained; how could mere fantasy satisfy it?

Qu Yan squinted, his tone calmly mocking: "How is it that every bad thing you’ve done has to do with me?"

So much for fairness; he only wanted to hear one bad thing in return, never expecting Yan Zhuo to vomit up a whole basketful.

Still, he found himself in a good mood hearing it. He looked down and saw the crimson corners of Yan Zhuo’s eyes and his tightly pressed lips. Yan Zhuo usually had a cold, sharp appearance, but now he looked strangely bewitching. *A beautiful face,* Qu Yan thought, *young and vibrant.*

He had only intended to use him, but now it seemed that keeping such a perceptive and knowing person in the palm of his hand, teasing him for fun, would be quite interesting.

Yan Zhuo didn't know what Qu Yan was thinking. The candle crackled, and his heart skipped a beat. His face was so hot, his throat so dry—perhaps it was the shame of those words crawling out of his throat that scorched him.

He had said so much, and it felt like a desecration of Qu Yan. His mind had been blank while speaking, but now his heart was drumming with anxiety. Was Qu Yan angry? But his face was expressionless, impossible to read.

Just as he was thinking this, his collar was tugged. Qu Yan looked down at him. "Come up. If you crouch any longer, your legs will go numb."

He wasn't angry?

Yan Zhuo obeyed in a daze, getting onto the bed and lying down against Qu Yan.

The candle went out at some point. The bed was narrow, and lying flat, their shoulders touched.

Qu Yan smelled of ointment, and his hands smelled of medicine too; the two different, bitter scents mingled, repelling yet fusing together.

Qu Yan turned over, facing him. "You are not allowed to do such things in the future."

Whether he meant stealing his things or doing "that," he didn't clarify, which meant both were forbidden. Yan Zhuo felt a sting in his heart, certain that his image in Qu Yan’s mind must have worsened. He replied dejectedly, "I understand."

*Why does he look so aggrieved?* Qu Yan pondered his tone in the dark. He had admitted it was a bad thing himself—why the look of grievance?

Qu Yan felt an inexplicable irritation. *Forget it, no use dwelling on it.* "Next time you want to do it, tell me beforehand."

Yan Zhuo’s Adam’s apple bobbed; his already parched throat grew even more raspy. "Okay."

He agreed, but thought to himself: *How could I ever have the nerve to bring that up again? Once was enough; my face couldn't possibly survive a second time.*

Hearing his response, the irritation in Qu Yan’s chest lessened. Wondering if his tone had been too harsh, he added, "Be moderate. It’s better for your health."

Yan Zhuo went silent. Talking about such things with Qu Yan was already a stimulant; if they kept talking, he would never be able to be moderate again.

He didn't want to lose face in front of Qu Yan again.

The matter was laid to rest. Qu Yan had slept for a long time and now felt no desire for sleep, so he volunteered, "Didn't you want to know about my legs? I’ll tell you."

Yan Zhuo perked up, then paused. "Maybe you shouldn't."

Qu Yan hadn't wanted to speak of it either; it was a trauma, and he didn't want to hurt himself a second time.

Qu Yan spoke nonchalantly, "It’s simple, really. Qu Zizhi hired someone to hit me with a car and ruined my legs."

In this light, neither he nor Yan Zhuo had managed to take the college entrance exam. Yan Zhuo had gone missing half a month before, and he had been sent to the hospital the day before. He didn't know whether to call it fate or irony.

Thinking this, a smile touched the corner of Qu Yan’s mouth. "The person I met today is Lian Jiayun, Qu Zizhi’s uncle. He was the one who found the driver for Qu Zizhi back then. It’s a pity I couldn't track him down at the time, or he wouldn't be alive today."

He didn't mask his emotions; he felt no need to feign anything regarding this matter.

He finished speaking lightly, but the person beside him remained silent, save for his breathing, which had grown heavy. Qu Yan assumed he was confused, after all, Qu Zizhi had been his good friend. The next second, however, he was embraced.

Yan Zhuo’s strength was as great as ever, his hold tight and secure. Qu Yan, rarely able to relax both body and mind, let himself go limp in his arms, his voice dropping lower. "What are you doing?"

He didn't need comfort, and he despised pity. If Yan Zhuo uttered a single word he didn't like, he would kick him out of the room.

Instead, he heard Yan Zhuo say, "I will kill him."

The conviction was absolute.

Qu Yan’s mood shifted instantly. He had planned to tell Yan Zhuo about this eventually as a test, and it seemed he had not only passed but had scored top marks.

Yet, Qu Yan refused, "I prefer to do it myself."

He had been playing a cat-and-mouse game with Qu Zizhi for years, and it had nearly driven him mad. Qu Yan was actually quite satisfied with this ending; if the zombie outbreak hadn't happened, Qu Zizhi would have had to live his whole life in hiding, burdened by astronomical debt.

For someone as proud as Qu Zizhi, that was the ultimate punishment.

He reached out and patted Yan Zhuo’s head. "Don't kill him. It’s too dirty."

Lian Jiayun’s blood had already dirtied Yan Zhuo once; he didn't want it to happen again.