Chapter Text
Rain had been falling over the city for days, washing the streets in blurred neon and dirty silver water. By evening, every alley smelled of wet concrete, cigarette smoke, and gasoline. Traffic crawled beneath flickering signs while people hurried past each other without looking up, collars raised against the storm.
Wu Suowei stood beneath the awning of a closed pharmacy and watched the intersection through the reflection in the dark glass beside him. In one hand, he loosely held a folded white cane. His posture looked relaxed, almost distracted, but his attention remained fixed on the figure approaching from across the street.
Chicheng.
For three weeks, Suowei had built his entire life around learning the man’s habits. Chicheng walked instead of driving whenever it rained. He bought coffee from the same vendor every evening at nearly the same time. He preferred quieter roads and avoided crowded places unless necessary. He never allowed strangers too close behind him, and he always noticed when someone followed him longer than three blocks.
The police had no name for the killer haunting the city yet, but the underworld did. Bodies had begun appearing months ago in apartments, warehouses, hotel rooms—people connected to money laundering, trafficking, private gambling rings. Some belonged to criminal organizations. Others simply disappeared after crossing the wrong path. What linked them together was the condition of the scenes.
Everything was clean.
Too clean.
Blood removed with industrial bleach. Floors scrubbed carefully enough that forensic teams struggled to collect anything useful. The bodies themselves arranged almost peacefully, as though someone had taken time after the violence to erase every trace of panic from the room.
Whoever the killer was, he worked methodically. Calmly.
And somehow, through rumors moving quietly across the city’s underground circles, one name kept surfacing.
Chicheng.
Suowei had been hired anonymously to investigate him. Messages arrived through encrypted channels. Payments appeared in accounts created specifically for the case. He never met the client face-to-face, which wasn’t unusual for this kind of work. The only thing that mattered was the instruction repeated in every message.
Get close to him. Find proof.
Then wait for further orders.
At first, Suowei assumed the job would be straightforward. He had handled surveillance before. Infiltration too. People underestimated him easily because of how he looked—slimmer build, softer features, quiet demeanor. He learned long ago how useful that could become.
But Chicheng was different.
There was something deeply unsettling about a man capable of such brutal violence moving through ordinary life so naturally.
Nothing about him looked monstrous.
He was tall enough that most people instinctively stepped aside when he walked. Broad shoulders beneath a black coat darkened by rainwater. Strong, severe features softened only slightly by exhaustion shadowing beneath his eyes. Even from a distance, he carried himself with complete stillness, the kind developed through years of self-control.
Suowei waited until Chicheng crossed the street before unfolding the white cane.
The blind act had been planned carefully. Disability changed the way people behaved around you. They lowered their guard. They became less suspicious, less defensive. A blind man could ask questions without sounding intrusive. A blind man accidentally touching walls, shelves, furniture—it all looked natural.
Most importantly, a blind man seemed harmless.
Suowei stepped away from the awning and directly into Chicheng’s path. Three measured steps and a slight stumble. Then impact.
His shoulder collided against a solid chest.
“Oh—sorry,”
Suowei said immediately, fingers reaching instinctively for balance until they closed around damp wool beneath his hands.
“I didn’t realize anyone was there.”
For a brief moment, Chicheng said nothing. Suowei lowered his gaze carefully, keeping his expression subtly unfocused.
“Did I hit you?” he asked softly.
“No.”
The voice surprised him. Deep, calm, quieter than expected. Rainwater slid from Suowei’s hair into his collar while he adjusted his grip on the cane.
“The crossing signal usually plays here,” he explained.
“I think it’s broken tonight.”
“It is.”
Suowei shifted one hand slightly, enough for blood to become visible across his palm. Earlier, he had cut himself with a key before arriving. Not enough to cause concern. Just enough to create opportunity.
Chicheng noticed immediately.
“You’re bleeding.”
Suowei glanced downward like he hadn’t realized.
“It’s nothing.”
“You should disinfect it.”
“I can do it at home.”
“You won’t.”
There was something strange about the certainty in his voice. Suowei looked up instinctively before stopping himself halfway. Even without meeting the man’s eyes directly, he could feel Chicheng watching him.
Then Chicheng gently took the folded cane from his hand.
“I live nearby,” he said.
“Come inside before the rain gets worse.”
The invitation came too easily. Suowei had prepared alternatives if the first encounter failed. Another staged meeting. A deliberate second collision somewhere quieter. Even the possibility of engineering a more serious injury if necessary.
Instead, Chicheng simply invited him home within minutes.
That should have felt like success. Instead, it made unease settle beneath Suowei’s ribs. Still, he allowed a believable hesitation before nodding softly.
“I don’t want to trouble you.”
“You aren’t.”
The walk uphill happened mostly in silence. Rainwater streamed along the pavement while the city glowed below them through fog and mist. Suowei followed half a step behind, carefully memorizing the route despite maintaining the slower pace expected from someone relying on sound rather than sight.
What unsettled him most was how naturally Chicheng guided him.
No exaggerated sympathy. No awkwardness. He warned Suowei quietly about stairs or uneven ground, but never grabbed him unnecessarily. Most people became overly careful around disability, either smothering or visibly uncomfortable.
Chicheng did neither.
Again, unsettling.
The house overlooked the river district from a quiet road lined with dark trees and old walls covered in ivy. Warm light glowed through large windows, soft against the storm outside. The place looked almost painfully ordinary.
That surprised Suowei more than anything else.
He expected something colder. Sterile. Hidden behind gates and security systems.
Instead, it looked lived in. Warm air wrapped around them the moment the front door opened—and beneath the scent of coffee and cedarwood, Suowei caught it immediately.
Bleach.
Faint. Nearly hidden but unmistakable. Interesting.
His pulse sharpened slightly.
“Sit down,” Chicheng said after closing the door.
The living room remained quiet except for rain tapping softly against the windows. No television. No music. No signs anyone else lived there. Suowei lowered himself onto the couch while Chicheng disappeared briefly down the hallway.
The second the footsteps faded, Suowei opened his eyes fully and examined the room.
Minimalist. Too clean. Shelves arranged precisely. Expensive liquor untouched near the cabinet. No family photographs anywhere. A camera rested beside several vinyl records, recent enough that fingerprints probably still marked the surface.
His gaze shifted toward the kitchen. Steel counters spotless beneath warm light. Then he noticed it.
A faint stain near one chair leg. Dark. Small. Nearly invisible against the floorboards.
Possibly blood.
Footsteps returned before he could look longer. Suowei relaxed immediately back into character as Chicheng entered carrying a first aid kit.
“You live alone?” Suowei asked casually.
“Yes.”
Chicheng knelt in front of him and gently took his injured hand. Up close, Suowei could finally study him properly. The man’s features were sharper at this distance, severe enough that most people would assume he was unfriendly before speaking to him. Pale scars crossed his knuckles and wrists.
Knife wounds. Old ones.
Chicheng cleaned the cut carefully, his movements steady and precise.
“You seem calm,” he said after a moment.
“About what?”
“Coming home with a stranger.”
Suowei smiled faintly.
“Blind people learn quickly who feel dangerous.”
“And I don’t?”
“No.”
The lie came easier than expected.
For the first time, Chicheng looked at him slightly longer than necessary. Suowei suddenly became aware of how close the man’s hands still were around his wrist.
“You should still be more careful,” Chicheng said quietly.
“Are you dangerous?”
A pause settled between them while rain continued striking the windows outside.
Then Chicheng answered calmly, “Sometimes.”
The honesty in that answer disturbed Suowei more than denial would have.
Over the following weeks, getting closer to Chicheng became unexpectedly easy. Suowei arranged another encounter outside a bookstore Chicheng visited regularly, this time scattering papers across the sidewalk before kneeling to gather them with deliberate difficulty.
Chicheng stopped beside him almost immediately.
“You again,” Suowei said with believable surprise.
“You remember my voice.”
“It’s distinctive.”
Something subtle shifted in Chicheng’s expression then. Not quite amusement, but close. As they gathered the papers together, Suowei noticed scars running along the man’s forearms beneath rolled sleeves, so he pretended to accidentally brush past it.
“What happened to your arms?” he asked lightly.
“Work.”
“What kind of work?”
“I clean things.”
The answer was dry enough that Suowei nearly smiled despite himself.
That became the problem.
Chicheng was easy to be around. Coffee turned into dinner. Dinner turned into long evenings inside the quiet warmth of Chicheng’s house while rain blurred the city outside. Sometimes they spoke for hours. Other times silence stretched comfortably between them without pressure to fill it.
Suowei should have focused entirely on the investigation.
Instead, he found himself noticing things unrelated to the case. The way Chicheng loosened his sleeves while cooking. The rare moments exhaustion softened his severe expression. The low sound of his voice late at night.
It would have been easier if Chicheng behaved cruelly.
Instead, he was patient. Observant. Quietly attentive in ways that never felt forced. And that humanity was far more dangerous than violence.
One evening, while Chicheng stepped away to answer a phone call, Suowei wandered carefully into the kitchen and intentionally opened the wrong cabinet. Inside sat industrial cleaning supplies.
Bleach. Rubber gloves. Heavy plastic sheets folded neatly.
For several seconds, Suowei simply stared.
Every rumor was true.
Every body.
Every photograph.
Chicheng really was a killer, a serial killer.
The realization should have horrified him.
Instead, the first emotion Suowei felt was disappointment that he already cared about him anyway.
Suowei stopped visiting for two days after that.
Not because he wanted distance from the investigation, but because he needed distance from himself.
The discovery in the kitchen should have simplified everything. He finally had confirmation that the rumors surrounding Cheng Chicheng were real. The bleach, the gloves, the plastic sheets folded with impossible neatness inside the cabinet—none of it could be explained innocently, not combined with the bodies appearing across the city.
It should have made the next step obvious.
Gather evidence. Report back through the encrypted channel. Wait for instructions.
Instead, Suowei found himself lying awake at night replaying completely useless details in his mind. The warmth of Chicheng’s hand around his wrist while bandaging the cut. The quiet patience in his voice whenever Suowei deliberately “misjudged” the edge of a staircase. The strange calm settled over the house during rainstorms while old records played softly in the background.
None of those things mattered.
None of them should have mattered.
And yet the thought of returning to that house no longer felt like walking deeper into danger. It felt dangerously close to anticipation.
That realization irritated him enough that he ignored three separate messages from his anonymous employer asking for updates. On the fourth night, another message arrived.
Still no proof?
The cursor blinked against the dark screen. Suowei stared at it for a long moment before typing carefully.
Not enough yet. He’s cautious.
That was partly true. Chicheng revealed nothing directly. He never spoke about work in detail, never disappeared long enough for Suowei to track suspicious movements, never slipped even once while being watched. If Suowei had not found the cleaning supplies himself, he might have started doubting the entire investigation.
But there was another truth underneath it.
Suowei was delaying and he knew exactly why.
Rain returned again that evening, softer than before but steady enough to blur the city outside his apartment window. Around nine o’clock, his phone vibrated once against the table. A single message.
You vanished.
No signature. No need for one. Suowei stared at the screen longer than necessary before replying.
Busy.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Liar.
Despite himself, Suowei smiled faintly, and that annoyed him even more.
An hour later, he found himself standing outside Chicheng’s house again with rainwater dampening the shoulders of his coat. He had not planned on coming. At least, that was what he told himself while climbing the familiar hill.
The lights inside were already on. Before Suowei could knock, the door opened.
Chicheng stood there wearing dark slacks and a charcoal sweater with the sleeves pushed slightly up his forearms. His hair looked damp, as though he had showered recently. Warm light spilled across the front steps behind him.
“You took longer than I expected,” he said calmly.
Suowei frowned slightly.
“You expected me here?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Something uncomfortable shifted beneath Suowei’s ribs again. Chicheng often said things like that—small statements delivered with complete certainty, as though he already knew what Suowei would do before he did it himself. It made him feel observed in ways he couldn’t explain.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Suowei said while stepping inside carefully, cane tapping lightly against the floor.
“You aren’t.”
The house smelled faintly of coffee and rain.
As Chicheng took his coat, Suowei became aware of how natural the movement felt now. Weeks ago, entering this place had filled him with caution sharp enough to keep every muscle tense. Now his body relaxed instinctively the moment the door closed behind him.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
“You stopped answering messages,” Chicheng said while walking toward the kitchen.
Suowei followed slowly, counting steps automatically despite already memorizing the layout long ago.
“I didn’t realize we were close enough for you to complain.”
“We’re not?”
The question should have sounded teasing. Somehow, coming from Chicheng, it felt almost serious. Suowei lowered his head slightly to hide his expression.
“You sound offended.”
“I dislike being ignored.”
There it was again. That strange honesty.
Most people hid themselves carefully during the early stages of relationships, whether romantic or otherwise. They softened rough edges, disguised possessiveness, concealed irritation beneath politeness.
Chicheng never seemed interested in pretending. The realization should have been reassuring.
Instead, it made Suowei more cautious.
While Chicheng prepared coffee, Suowei rested one hand lightly against the kitchen counter as if orienting himself. In reality, he was listening carefully.
Drawers opening. Ceramic cups placed down. Water running. Every movement was controlled and quiet, no wasted motion.
“You’re staring again,” Chicheng said suddenly.
Suowei nearly looked up before catching himself.
“I can’t stare,” he answered smoothly.
A pause followed.
Then, very softly, “Right.”
The single word unsettled him more than it should have.
Dinner happened naturally after that. It always did. Somehow Suowei would arrive intending to stay twenty minutes, and hours later he would still be there listening to rain strike the windows while Chicheng cooked something unnecessarily elaborate for two people. Tonight it was black pepper noodles with slow-cooked beef.
“You cook too well for someone living alone,” Suowei said after the first bite.
Across the table, Chicheng watched him quietly for a moment before answering.
“I had time to practice.”
“Most people order takeout instead.”
“I don’t like strangers touching my food.”
That sounded exactly like something a serial killer would say. The thought should have alarmed Suowei. Instead, he found himself smiling faintly into his glass.
“You trust me enough to let me eat it.”
“Yes.”
Again, immediate. No hesitation.
Suowei suddenly became very aware of the silence between them. Not awkward—heavy.
The kind that seemed to press against skin.
He reached for his drink mostly to break eye contact he technically should not even be making. Outside, thunder rolled somewhere far across the city.
“Can I ask you something?” Suowei said quietly after a while.
“You usually do.”
“You never seem nervous.”
“Nervous about what?”
“Anything.”
Chicheng leaned back slightly in his chair, one hand resting loosely beside his untouched glass.
“You think I should be?”
“I think everyone gets afraid.”
For the first time that evening, something shifted subtly in Chicheng’s expression. Not visible enough for most people to notice but Suowei had spent weeks studying him. Now he recognized the smallest changes.
“What about you?” Chicheng asked.
“What about me?”
“What are you afraid of?”
The question settled heavily between them. Suowei opened his mouth automatically, prepared to answer lightly and redirect the conversation somewhere safer.
But no words came immediately because the honest answer frightened him.
You.
Not the killer. Not the bodies. Not even the possibility of being discovered.
What frightened him was the growing certainty that if Chicheng reached for him at the wrong moment, Suowei might stop caring about the investigation entirely.
“I don’t like losing control,” he said finally.
Chicheng’s gaze remained fixed on him.
“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t think you do.”
The rain intensified as the night deepened. By midnight, water hammered hard enough against the windows to blur the city completely from view.
“You should stay here tonight,” Chicheng said while collecting empty dishes.
“The roads are flooding.”
Suowei’s pulse stumbled once before recovering. This was dangerous territory. Too intimate. Too easy to say yes.
And yet refusing suddenly felt stranger than agreeing.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“You won’t.”
The answer came so naturally that Suowei could no longer tell whether Chicheng genuinely enjoyed his company or whether the man simply enjoyed possessing things quietly, patiently, until they stopped trying to leave.
That thought should have disturbed him.
Instead, warmth spread slowly through his chest.
While Chicheng disappeared upstairs to prepare the guest room, Suowei remained alone in the living room listening to the storm. Then his eyes drifted toward the hallway, toward the locked door he had noticed before. Something instinctive tightened inside him immediately.
That room mattered.
He didn’t know how he knew, only that he did.
Slowly, carefully, Suowei rose from the couch and moved down the dark hallway without the cane now that nobody watched him. The house remained silent except for distant rain.
When he reached the door, he tested the handle gently.
Locked. Electronic. Not surprising.
Still, this close, he noticed something else. A faint smell beneath the cedarwood and bleach.
Metal. Old blood.
His heartbeat slowed instinctively. Every investigative instinct sharpened at once. Then footsteps sounded upstairs. Suowei moved immediately, returning to his slower, careful pace just as Chicheng descended into the hallway.
For one brief moment, neither spoke.
Chicheng’s eyes moved from Suowei to the locked door beside him.
“You’re lost,” he said calmly.
“I was looking for the bathroom.”
“The bathroom is the other direction.”
There was no accusation in his voice. That somehow made it worse.
Suowei tightened his grip slightly around the cane.
“Then you should guide me.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Chicheng walked toward him slowly. Too slowly.
The closer he came, the more oppressive his presence felt inside the narrow hallway. By the time he stopped in front of him, Suowei could smell smoke and rain lingering faintly on his clothes.
“You trust people too easily,” Chicheng said quietly.
The words sounded almost intimate. Suowei forced himself to smile lightly.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“And if I said I trust you?”
Something dark flickered briefly across Chicheng’s expression then disappeared so quickly Suowei almost imagined it.
“That,” Chicheng said softly, “would be a very bad decision.”
Suowei should have left the next morning.
The storm had passed before dawn, leaving the city washed pale beneath weak sunlight and lingering fog. From the guest room window, he could see the river cutting through the center of the district like dull silver, traffic slowly returning to normal after the flooding during the night.
Everything about the morning felt strangely domestic.
That unsettled him more than the locked room downstairs.
The scent of coffee drifted faintly through the hallway while he changed back into yesterday’s clothes. Somewhere below, dishes touched softly together. The house no longer felt unfamiliar enough to keep him tense. He already knew which floorboards creaked, where the light switches were, how many seconds the hot water took before warming fully.
Too familiar.
Dangerously familiar.
Suowei stood still for a long moment beside the bed before finally picking up the white cane resting against the wall. The second his fingers closed around it, the performance returned automatically. His posture relaxed into practiced caution, shoulders subtly adjusting, movements slowing just enough to appear reliant on sound rather than sight.
Sometimes he forgot how exhausting pretending could become until he had to step back into the role.
When he reached the kitchen, Chicheng was standing near the stove with one hand resting lightly against the counter while coffee brewed nearby. Morning light sharpened the angles of his face, making him look colder than he had the night before. He had changed into a black button-up with the sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms, exposing pale scars crossing his wrists.
“You’re awake,” Chicheng said.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I expected you to leave before sunrise.”
Suowei paused slightly at that.
“Would that have bothered you?”
“Yes.”
Again, immediate honesty. No hesitation. No attempt to soften it afterward.
Suowei had spent enough time around dangerous men to recognize manipulation when he heard it. Most people concealed their intentions behind charm, flirtation, or calculated ambiguity. Chicheng never seemed interested in doing that. He spoke plainly, almost bluntly, and somehow that straightforwardness made him far more difficult to read.
Because Suowei could never tell where the truth ended.
He lowered himself carefully into one of the kitchen chairs while Chicheng placed coffee in front of him a moment later. Even that small gesture had become familiar now. Chicheng always positioned things precisely within reach without making it obvious he was doing so.
“You’re staring again,” Suowei murmured quietly before taking a sip.
Across from him, Chicheng leaned one shoulder against the counter.
“You notice often for someone blind.”
The comment slid into the room so smoothly that for one terrifying second Suowei forgot how to breathe. His fingers tightened almost invisibly around the cup.
Then Chicheng looked away first, reaching for his own coffee as though nothing unusual had been said.
Suowei forced himself to relax gradually.
A test. Just a test.
Still, unease settled low in his stomach afterward.
The conversation moved elsewhere naturally, but the tension never entirely disappeared. By the time breakfast ended, Suowei felt more aware of Chicheng watching him than ever before.
Not suspicious.
Interested.
Like someone slowly piecing together a puzzle.
Before leaving, Suowei lingered near the entrance while adjusting his coat.
“Thank you for letting me stay.”
“You say thank you too often.”
“That’s called manners.”
“I know what manners are.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
That finally earned him something dangerously close to a smile. It changed Chicheng’s entire face.
Not softer exactly, but less distant. Less controlled.
The sight caught Suowei off guard badly enough that he looked away first.
“I’ll see you later,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” Chicheng answered.
“You will.”
The certainty in his voice followed Suowei all the way home.
Over the next several weeks, their lives began intertwining with alarming ease.
Suowei still investigated him. He reminded himself of that constantly. Every dinner, every conversation, every lingering glance across dimly lit rooms still served a purpose. He memorized Chicheng’s routines more thoroughly than before. He tracked the timing of unexplained disappearances. He searched public records tied to several dead victims.
And meanwhile, without realizing when it started happening, he also learned entirely useless things.
Chicheng preferred tea when he couldn’t sleep. He hated bright lighting inside the house. He listened to old jazz records during rainstorms and classical music while cooking. Sometimes he woke in the middle of the night and stood silently on the balcony smoking cigarettes down to the filter without noticing.
Suowei learned all of it accidentally.
That was the problem.
Nothing between them progressed quickly. There were no dramatic confessions or reckless moments of passion. Instead, intimacy arrived slowly through repetition. Through familiarity. Through the quiet comfort of existing inside each other’s routines.
Suowei would arrive at the house after sunset and find Chicheng already preparing enough food for two people without asking whether he planned to stay. Sometimes they sat for hours speaking very little while records played softly in the background. Other nights conversation wandered unexpectedly personal territory before either of them noticed.
One evening, while rain tapped steadily against the windows again, Suowei sat curled into one corner of the couch listening to the low crackle of vinyl filling the room.
Chicheng was reading nearby.
At least, that was what Suowei assumed until he realized several minutes had passed without a page turning.
“You haven’t moved in a while,” he said quietly.
Across the room, Chicheng finally closed the book.
“You notice everything.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
Silence settled briefly before Chicheng spoke again.
“You’re different here.”
Suowei frowned slightly.
“Different how?”
“Quieter.”
“That’s because you barely talk.”
“No,” Chicheng said calmly.
“You relax here.”
The observation landed too accurately.
Suowei looked down at his hands before answering.
“Maybe I just like your couch.”
“I don’t think that’s it.”
The air between them shifted subtly. Heavy. Dangerously aware.
Suowei suddenly became conscious of the fact that they were alone again, nighttime stretching endlessly beyond the windows while the city disappeared beneath rain and darkness.
“You analyze people too much,” he murmured.
“And you avoid questions too often.”
“That’s because questions usually lead somewhere annoying.”
Chicheng watched him quietly for a moment.
“Then let me ask an easy one.”
Suowei leaned back slightly.
“Fine.”
“When was the last time someone took care of you?”
The question caught him completely off guard. For several seconds, he genuinely didn’t know how to answer. Not because the memory hurt but because nothing came immediately to mind.
His life had always depended on self-reliance. Work required distance, secrecy, constant awareness. Emotional attachment complicated judgment. People became liabilities eventually, no matter how much affection existed first.
But somewhere over the last month, Chicheng had begun quietly making space for him without asking permission.
Coffee already prepared the way Suowei liked it.
Doors left slightly open.
Music lowered because he once mentioned headaches.
Tiny things. Careful things. The kind that slipped beneath defenses before you noticed.
Suowei realized suddenly that nobody had treated him gently in a very long time.
“I don’t know,” he admitted softly.
Something unreadable passed through Chicheng’s expression then. Not pity, something darker.
More possessive.
The realization sent heat unexpectedly climbing the back of Suowei’s neck. To break the silence, he stood from the couch too quickly.
“I should go home.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“I’ve survived midnight before.”
Chicheng rose too.
The movement immediately changed the atmosphere in the room. Standing, he felt larger somehow, his presence impossible to ignore inside the dim light and close silence.
“You’re avoiding me again,” he said quietly.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Suowei tightened his grip slightly around the cane.
“You’re imagining things.”
“No,” Chicheng answered calmly.
“I’m watching you.”
The words settled heavily between them. Not flirtation, not exactly.
Something more dangerous.
Suowei became suddenly aware of his own heartbeat. The room felt smaller now. Warmer. Rain continued striking the windows softly while neither of them moved.
Then Chicheng stepped closer. Only once.
But it was enough.
Suowei could smell smoke and cedarwood again, feeling heat lingering from the other man’s body in the narrow distance separating them.
Every instinct told him to step back.
Instead, he stayed still.
“Tell me something honestly,” Chicheng said softly.
Suowei swallowed once before answering.
“That depends on the question.”
“Why did you really approach me that night?”
Cold moved sharply through his chest. Not panic. Something slower. More terrifying.
Because Chicheng’s expression remained completely calm while asking it—no anger, no accusation—just quiet curiosity.
Suowei forced himself not to react immediately.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.”
Rain hammered harder outside.
For one awful moment, Suowei wondered if everything had already collapsed around him without realizing.
Then Chicheng lifted one hand slowly toward his face. Every muscle in Suowei’s body tightened instinctively—but Chicheng only brushed rain-damp hair gently away from his forehead before letting his fingers fall again.
The touch lasted barely a second.
Still, it left warmth lingering against Suowei’s skin long afterward.
“You looked lonely,” Suowei said finally.
The lie sounded fragile even to himself. But Chicheng only watched him quietly.
Then, after a long silence, he said, “That’s the first dishonest thing you’ve said to me tonight.”
And somehow that frightened Suowei far less than how badly he wanted to stay anyway.
Suowei barely slept after returning home that night.
The conversation kept replaying in his mind in slow, relentless pieces. Not because Chicheng had accused him directly, but because of how calm he remained while asking questions that should have carried suspicion behind them. Most dangerous men relied on intimidation once they sensed deception. They pressed harder, raised their voices, forced reactions through fear.
Chicheng did none of that. He simply watched.
That was worse.
By morning, Suowei had convinced himself he was overthinking it. If Chicheng truly knew about the investigation, Suowei would already be dead. The evidence against him was too obvious. The fake blindness alone would have been enough reason to dispose of him quietly.
And yet the feeling of being studied never disappeared.
Around noon, another encrypted message arrived.
Progress report.
Suowei stared at the screen while sunlight drifted weakly across his apartment floor. He should have sent something substantial days ago. Confirmation about the cleaning supplies alone would normally justify immediate escalation. Instead, he typed slowly,
Still gathering evidence. He trusts me now.
Several minutes passed before the reply came.
Good. Stay close.
For some reason, the message irritated him. Not because of the instruction itself, but because of how easily it aligned with what he already wanted.
That realization lingered unpleasantly through the rest of the afternoon.
By evening, rain returned again, lighter this time but steady enough to cover the city in mist. Suowei was halfway through making coffee when his phone vibrated once against the counter.
You disappeared again.
No signature. No greeting. Just the message.
Suowei leaned against the kitchen sink for a moment before replying.
I have a life outside your house.
The response came almost immediately.
I doubt that.
He should not have smiled.
Yet he did.
That annoyed him enough that he spent another hour pretending he had no intention of going anywhere before eventually grabbing his coat anyway.
The streets glistened beneath rainwater by the time he reached Chicheng’s neighborhood. The walk uphill had become familiar now, almost routine. Suowei hated how natural it felt approaching the house, hated how his body already anticipated the warmth waiting inside before he even reached the front steps.
The door opened before he knocked.
Again.
Chicheng stood there wearing dark slacks and a fitted black turtleneck, one hand still resting on the doorknob as though he had been expecting the exact moment Suowei arrived.
“You do that on purpose,” Suowei said while stepping inside.
“What?”
“Opening the door before I knock.”
Chicheng took his coat carefully before answering.
“You hesitate outside for several seconds every time.”
The observation unsettled him more than it should have.
“You’ve been timing me?”
“I notice things.”
The house smelled faintly of black coffee and smoke tonight. Somewhere deeper inside, music played softly enough that Suowei could barely recognize the low jazz drifting through the hallway.
“You cooked already,” he said while slipping off his shoes.
“Yes.”
“You assumed I’d come.”
“Yes.”
Again with that certainty.
No embarrassment. No attempt to disguise expectation beneath casualness.
Suowei followed the sound of footsteps toward the kitchen while tapping the cane lightly against the floor. The act required almost no effort anymore. Months of training had made the performance instinctive, every movement carefully measured to appear natural. Still, maintaining it around Chicheng had started feeling strangely exhausting.
Because Chicheng watched him too closely.
Dinner was already arranged neatly on the table by the time Suowei sat down. Steam rose from dark broth filled with noodles, slow-cooked meat, and vegetables cut with precise uniformity.
“You cook like someone preparing evidence,” Suowei murmured after the first bite.
Across from him, Chicheng looked mildly amused.
“That’s an odd compliment.”
“It wasn’t one.”
“You’re still eating.”
The warmth of the food settled pleasantly through Suowei’s chest. Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows while the city beyond blurred into streaks of distant light.
For a while, neither spoke much. Strangely, the silence no longer felt uncomfortable between them. It carried weight, certainly, but not awkwardness. Suowei had begun realizing that Chicheng communicated more through attention than words. The man listened with complete focus whenever Suowei spoke, as though every detail mattered.
It was difficult not to become addicted to that kind of attention once it settled fully on you.
“You’ve been distracted lately,” Chicheng said eventually.
Suowei lifted his gaze automatically before remembering himself halfway through the motion.
“You say that every time I think quietly for more than thirty seconds.”
“Because you disappear into your head.”
“That’s called thinking.”
“No,” Chicheng answered calmly.
“It’s called leaving.”
The words landed unexpectedly hard.
Suowei reached for his glass mostly to buy himself time.
“You analyze people too much.”
“And you avoid answering direct questions.”
“Maybe I just value privacy.”
Chicheng leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers resting loosely against the side of his untouched drink.
“Do you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think you hide because you’re used to people taking things from you.”
The observation arrived so suddenly and accurately that Suowei forgot to breathe for a second. Rain continued softly outside.
Inside the kitchen, the air felt warmer than before.
“You talk like you know me,” Suowei said quietly.
“I’m trying to.”
The honesty in that answer made something shift painfully inside his chest.
Suowei looked down at the table instead of responding immediately. Nobody had tried to know him in years. Not truly. Relationships in his world were temporary by necessity, built around convenience, attraction, mutual usefulness. People rarely stayed long enough to become emotionally dangerous.
Chicheng was becoming dangerous in entirely different ways.
“Why?” Suowei asked before he could stop himself.
“Why what?”
“Why bother?”
For the first time that evening, Chicheng looked slightly surprised by the question.
Then his expression softened into something quieter.
“Because I like having you here.”
Simple words. No dramatics. No manipulation.
And somehow that made them infinitely worse.
Suowei suddenly became too aware of the room around them. The dim kitchen lights. Rain against glass. The low music drifting from somewhere deeper in the house. The fact that they had somehow crossed from cautious acquaintance into something intimate without either of them clearly noticing when it happened.
It frightened him.
Not because he thought Chicheng would hurt him, but because he was beginning to suspect he would let him.
After dinner, they moved into the living room while the storm deepened outside. Chicheng settled onto one side of the couch with a book while Suowei curled into the opposite corner beneath the soft amber glow of the lamp nearby.
At some point, without realizing it, Suowei fell asleep.
He woke slowly to warmth resting over him. For several disoriented seconds, he remained motionless beneath the heavy blanket draped carefully across his body while rain murmured softly beyond the windows.
Then he realized Chicheng was still awake.
The man sat nearby in the dim light, one elbow resting against the arm of the couch while watching him quietly.
“You should’ve woken me,” Suowei murmured, voice rough with sleep.
“You looked tired.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost three.”
Suowei pushed himself upright slowly, a blanket sliding from his shoulders. Embarrassment warmed unexpectedly through him. Falling asleep here felt too vulnerable somehow, especially considering how rarely he allowed himself to lose awareness around anyone.
Yet Chicheng looked entirely unsurprised by it.
“You keep staring at me while I sleep?” Suowei asked lightly.
“Yes.”
The answer came so easily that Suowei almost laughed.
“That sounds creepy.”
“It probably is.”
Their eyes met for one brief moment before Suowei remembered he technically shouldn’t be looking directly at anything.
Too late.
Something flickered across Chicheng’s expression instantly.
Tiny. Sharp. Noticed.
Cold moved slowly through Suowei’s spine. He looked away first, pulse suddenly louder in his ears. The silence afterward stretched too long.
Then Chicheng spoke quietly into the dark.
“You’re very convincing most of the time.”
Every muscle in Suowei’s body went still. The rain outside seemed suddenly distant compared to the sound of his own heartbeat.
Slowly, carefully, he tightened his grip around the blanket pooled in his lap.
“What does that mean?” he asked softly.
Chicheng held his gaze for another second before leaning back again.
“It means,” he said calmly, “you’re a very good liar.”
The words settled into the room without urgency, almost casually, but Suowei felt them like cold metal pressed against his throat.
Rain continued tapping softly against the windows. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled low across the sleeping city. Neither of them moved.
Suowei forced himself to breathe evenly.
A very good liar.
The sentence could mean anything. Or everything.
He lowered his head slightly, fingers tightening around the blanket in his lap while his mind worked rapidly through possibilities. Had he slipped somewhere obvious? Made eye contact too long? Forgotten the cane once? There had been small mistakes lately, moments where exhaustion and familiarity blurred the edges of the act.
Too many moments.
Still, Chicheng’s voice carried no anger. No accusation. That somehow made the situation more dangerous.
“What exactly am I lying about?” Suowei asked carefully.
Chicheng studied him in silence for a few seconds before answering.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you plan to tell me the truth yourself.”
The calmness in his expression unsettled Suowei more than open suspicion would have. Chicheng looked almost relaxed sitting there in the dim amber light, one arm draped over the couch while rain shadows moved faintly across the windows behind him.
Like a man discussing something ordinary, not a man cornering another person.
Suowei swallowed once.
“You’re being vague on purpose.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see what you do.”
There it was again. That unbearable feeling of being observed too closely.
Suowei became suddenly aware of every detail around him. The warmth trapped beneath the blanket. The soft smell of smoke lingering in the room from earlier. The low jazz record is still turning quietly somewhere nearby.
Normal things.
Yet the atmosphere between them no longer felt normal at all.
“You make me sound dangerous,” Suowei said lightly, trying to ease tension back into something manageable.
Chicheng’s gaze did not leave him.
“You are.”
The answer came immediately. No hesitation. No smile afterward to soften it into a joke.
A strange heat spread slowly through Suowei’s chest despite the fear beginning to tighten beneath it. Any reasonable person would have left already. Any reasonable person would have recognized this entire situation for what it was—two men sitting alone in the middle of the night, both hiding pieces of themselves sharp enough to ruin the other.
Instead, Suowei stayed where he was.
“Then why do you let me stay here?” he asked quietly.
For the first time since the conversation shifted, something changed in Chicheng’s expression. Not softness exactly. Something heavier than that.
“Because I wanted you to.”
The honesty hit harder than suspicion. Suowei looked down again before the man could notice the effect it had on him.
Months ago, this investigation had seemed simple. Get close. Find proof. Maintain emotional distance. He had done it before with other targets. People were predictable once you learned what they wanted from you.
But Chicheng rarely asked for anything directly.
That made him impossible to control.
“You should sleep,” Chicheng said eventually, breaking the silence first.
The sudden shift in tone almost felt merciful. Suowei frowned slightly.
“That’s it?”
“For tonight.”
The phrasing lodged uncomfortably in his chest.
For tonight.
Meaning there would be another conversation later. Another test. Another moment where Chicheng looked at him with that unnerving calmness that made Suowei feel transparent.
He should have left then.
Instead, he heard himself ask quietly, “Are you angry?”
The question seemed to surprise Chicheng slightly.
“No.”
“You don’t seem surprised either.”
“I’m not.”
“Why?”
Chicheng watched him for a long moment before answering.
“Because from the beginning, you never felt like what you pretended to be.”
The room suddenly felt too warm. Suowei tried to force himself into calmness, but his heartbeat had already become uneven beneath his ribs.
“What exactly do you think I’m pretending?”
Chicheng tilted his head slightly, studying him with the same quiet patience he used for everything else.
“You tell me.”
The trap closed so gently Suowei almost missed it. Any answer could expose him further. So instead, he leaned back against the couch and let silence stretch between them again.
After a while, Chicheng stood.
The movement drew Suowei’s attention automatically despite himself. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Barefoot against dark wooden floors. Even half-awake in the middle of the night, the man carried himself with unnatural control.
“You can take the guest room again,” Chicheng said.
Suowei hesitated before asking, “And you?”
“I’ll be here awhile.”
Still watching.
The realization crawled beneath his skin. Not because it frightened him.
It was because some dangerous part of him liked it.
He rose slowly from the couch, carefully setting the blanket aside. The moment he stood, he became acutely aware of how close they were again. Only a few feet separated them in the dim living room.
Neither moved immediately.
Then Chicheng reached forward unexpectedly.
Suowei’s pulse jumped sharply but the man only brushed one hand lightly against his sleeve, fingers lingering briefly near his wrist before pulling away again.
Such a small touch.
Still, warmth spread through Suowei’s body almost painfully fast.
“You’re shaking,” Chicheng said quietly.
“I’m tired.”
“No,” Chicheng murmured. “You’re nervous.”
Suowei forced himself to smile faintly.
“Maybe you should stop interrogating people at three in the morning.”
A flicker of amusement touched Chicheng’s expression finally.
“There you are.”
The words struck strangely deep like he had been searching for something beneath Suowei’s masks the entire time and briefly found it.
Before Suowei could respond, Chicheng stepped aside toward the hallway.
“You know the way to the guest room.”
Another test. Small, deliberate, impossible to mistake. If Suowei moved too naturally, if he forgot himself for even a second—
Carefully, he reached for the cane resting beside the couch before beginning the slower walk toward the hallway.
He could feel Chicheng watching every step.
By the time he reached the guest room and closed the door behind himself, sweat dampened the back of his neck despite the cold.
For several seconds, he remained standing motionless in the darkness. Then he crossed the room normally without the cane.
Enough.
Something had changed tonight.
Whether Chicheng knew the full truth or merely suspected pieces of it no longer mattered. The balance between them had shifted permanently—and the worst part was that Suowei still couldn’t bring himself to leave.
Sleep never came.
Around four in the morning, he gave up entirely and sat beside the window watching rainwater slide down the glass. The city below looked blurred and distant beneath fog.
His phone vibrated once against the bedside table. Another encrypted message.
Status.
Suowei stared at the screen.
Normally he answered immediately. Tonight, his fingers remained still for several seconds before finally typing,
I think he knows something.
The reply came faster than expected.
Then finish it before he becomes a problem.
Cold settled slowly into Suowei’s chest.
Finish it.
The meaning was obvious.
For the first time since accepting the assignment, the reality of where this investigation was heading became unavoidable. Eventually, someone would order Chicheng’s death.
And Suowei no longer trusted himself to obey.
Morning arrived gray and heavy with leftover rainclouds. Suowei had not slept at all, though he still forced himself to maintain the appearance of someone merely tired rather than unraveling internally.
By the time he stepped into the kitchen, Chicheng was already awake.
The man stood near the counter pouring coffee into two cups as though nothing uncomfortable had passed between them during the night. Soft music played somewhere in the background, low enough to blend with the sound of rainwater dripping outside the windows.
For a moment, Suowei simply watched him.
It had become a dangerous habit lately. Watching Chicheng move through ordinary routines with such calm control that it became easy to forget what he truly was. Easy to forget the bodies, the bleach, the locked room at the end of the hallway.
Maybe that was the real danger.
Not the violence itself but the normalcy surrounding it.
“You’re quiet,” Chicheng said without turning around.
Suowei immediately looked away despite the fact that he technically should not have been staring in the first place.
“You say that every day.”
“Because every day you arrive with something new inside your head.”
The observation made Suowei’s chest tighten slightly.
Chicheng handed him a cup before leaning one shoulder against the counter across from him. Morning light sharpened the angles of his face, making him look colder than usual, but his expression remained unreadable.
Neither mentioned the conversation from last night.
That almost felt worse.
Suowei wrapped both hands around the warm cup mostly to steady himself.
“You make me sound complicated.”
“You are complicated.”
“You barely know me.”
A pause followed.
Then Chicheng said quietly, “I know enough to recognize when you’re afraid.”
Suowei’s fingers stilled.
The problem with Chicheng was that he noticed too much while revealing too little in return. Every conversation felt uneven somehow, like standing half a step behind someone who already knew where the path ended.
“I’m not afraid,” Suowei answered carefully.
“Yes,” Chicheng said calmly.
“You are.”
The certainty in his voice made irritation flare suddenly through Suowei’s chest.
“Do you enjoy doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at people like you already understand them.”
Chicheng studied him for a moment before answering.
“Usually I do.”
“That sounds arrogant.”
“It’s accurate.”
Suowei let out a quiet breath that almost resembled laughter despite himself.
“You’re impossible to talk to.”
“And yet you keep coming back.”
The words landed heavily between them because they were true.
Suowei could invent excuses endlessly—investigation, evidence, strategy—but none of them explained why he still came here on nights when no progress happened at all. None of them explained why he stayed for hours listening to music and conversation that had nothing to do with the case.
None of them explained why leaving had started feeling harder every time.
He looked down into his coffee instead of responding.
Outside, fog drifted low across the river district while the city slowly woke beneath dull morning light.
“You should stop looking at me like that,” Suowei murmured after a while.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re waiting for me to confess something.”
A faint shift touched Chicheng’s expression then, almost thoughtful.
“Maybe I am.”
The honesty struck harder than the accusation would have.
Suowei suddenly felt exhausted. Not physically.
Emotionally.
Pretending around Chicheng had become unbearable in ways he never expected. The blindness act no longer felt strategic. It felt personal now, a constant barrier standing between them while Chicheng quietly searched for cracks in it.
And somehow, despite everything, Suowei did not think Chicheng hated him for lying.
That frightened him more than anger would have.
He set the coffee down carefully.
“What will happen if I disappoint you?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
For the first time that morning, Chicheng looked genuinely surprised. Then something quieter settled over his expression.
“I don’t think you could,” he said.
The answer hit with enough force that Suowei immediately stood and turned away under the excuse of adjusting his coat.
Too much.
Everything between them had become too much.
Behind him, he heard Chicheng move closer slowly.
Not threatening, never threatening. That almost made it worse.
“You’re running again,” Chicheng said quietly.
Suowei let out a strained breath.
“You keep saying things like that and expect me not to.”
“What things?”
“Things that sound dangerous.”
A long silence followed.
Then, very softly, “I am dangerous.”
Suowei closed his eyes briefly.
There it was again. No denial. No performance. Just truth delivered calmly enough to make it intimate instead of frightening.
When he finally turned around, Chicheng stood only a few steps away now. Close enough that Suowei could smell coffee and smoke lingering faintly on his clothes.
“Then maybe I’m the one who should leave,” Suowei said quietly.
But neither of them moved.
The distance between them remained exactly the same. And that silence—heavy, aware, impossible to ignore—felt more intimate than touching would have.
A vibration against Suowei’s pocket shattered the moment. His heartbeat stumbled immediately.
The encrypted phone.
For half a second, neither looked away from the other.
Then Suowei stepped back first and pulled the phone from his coat. One new message.
Report tonight.
Cold spread slowly through his chest.
Chicheng watched him carefully.
“Work?”
“You could call it that.”
“Something wrong?”
Suowei hesitated. He should lie. Deflect. Redirect the conversation elsewhere like he always did.
Instead, exhaustion loosened something reckless inside him.
“Have you ever felt trapped between two bad choices?” he asked quietly.
Chicheng’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
A faint shadow crossed the man’s expression then disappeared almost immediately.
“I chose the person,” he answered calmly.
The simplicity of the response made Suowei’s chest ache unexpectedly because he understood exactly what Chicheng meant.
And because some terrible part of him had already begun making the same choice long ago without admitting it aloud.
The realization lingered heavily for the rest of the morning.
By afternoon, Suowei finally forced himself to leave. The city outside felt colder than usual after the warmth of the house. Traffic moved slowly through wet streets while clouds hung low over the skyline. Suowei kept replaying the conversation in his head during the walk home, especially those final words.
I chose the person.
It should not have affected him so strongly. Yet by the time he reached his apartment, the sentence had settled somewhere deep enough that he could no longer ignore the truth surrounding this investigation.
He was compromised. Completely.
His phone vibrated again before he even removed his coat. A new encrypted message appeared immediately after unlocking the screen.
Enough waiting. We know he’s the killer.
Suowei stared at the words silently. Another message followed seconds later.
Kill him before he disappears again.
For several moments, the room remained perfectly still around him.
Traffic hummed faintly outside. Water dripped somewhere beyond the windows. The city continued moving exactly as before.
But inside Suowei’s chest, something shifted violently out of place.
Because the order no longer felt theoretical. No more surveillance. No more waiting. No more pretending this investigation would end any other way.
Kill him.
Slowly, Suowei lowered himself onto the edge of the couch while the phone remained clenched in his hand.
His mind should have started calculating immediately. Entry points. Weapons. Weaknesses. He had handled dangerous assignments before. He knew how to detach himself when necessary.
Instead, all he could picture was Chicheng standing in the kitchen earlier that morning with soft rainlight across his face while quietly saying I don’t think you could disappoint me.
Suowei closed his eyes.
And for the first time since this began, he realized with terrifying clarity that he might already be incapable of obeying.
Suowei spent the entire evening sitting in darkness with the phone still lying beside him on the couch.
The messages remained unread after the first glance, though their meaning had already burned itself permanently into his mind. Every few minutes the screen lit faintly from incoming notifications, each one another reminder that silence itself would eventually become suspicious.
The order should not have shaken him this badly.
When he first accepted the assignment, he understood exactly where it would lead. Men like Chicheng did not get arrested cleanly. People powerful enough to fear him would never risk public investigations or courtrooms. This kind of work only ended one way. Suowei knew that from the beginning.
So why did it feel unbearable now?
Rain slid slowly down the apartment windows while the city outside dissolved into blurred lights and distant traffic. Normally, moments like this brought clarity. He had always been good at compartmentalizing emotions, good at reducing complicated situations into simple choices.
But Chicheng had ruined that somewhere along the way.
Not through manipulation. Not through force.
Through patience. Through quiet consistency. Through making space for Suowei inside his life so naturally that leaving no longer felt possible.
The phone vibrated again.
This time Suowei unlocked it immediately.
Why aren’t you answering?
Another message appeared seconds later.
Don’t tell me you’ve grown attached.
His chest tightened. For a moment, he genuinely considered smashing the phone against the wall.
Instead, he typed carefully, really carefully.
I need time.
The reply came almost instantly.
You already had enough.
Then, after several seconds,
Finish it tomorrow.
Cold spread slowly beneath Suowei’s skin.
Tomorrow.
The finality of it made breathing suddenly feel difficult.
He leaned forward, elbows resting against his knees while one hand pressed hard against his eyes. Exhaustion dragged heavily through his body, but sleep felt impossible now. Every direction led somewhere terrible.
If he obeyed, he would kill the only person who had looked at him in years without wanting something in return.
If he refused—
No.
He already knew refusing would not end cleanly either.
The people behind the messages were powerful enough to track him eventually. And if they decided Chicheng had become too dangerous to leave alive, they would simply send someone else.
Someone less compromised.
The thought made something ugly twist sharply inside his chest.
Without fully deciding to, Suowei reached for his coat again.
Rain had slowed to a light drizzle by the time he arrived outside Chicheng’s house. The familiar warmth glowing through the windows hit him harder than usual tonight. For several seconds, he simply stood there beneath the porch light staring at the door.
He should leave. He should disappear before things become worse.
Instead, for the first time, he knocked.
The door opened almost immediately.
Chicheng looked unsurprised to see him standing there soaked from rain again. His gaze moved quietly across Suowei’s face for a brief moment before stepping aside.
“You look exhausted,” he said.
Suowei entered without answering immediately. The house smelled faintly of tea and cedarwood tonight, softer than usual somehow. Warmth wrapped around him the moment the door closed behind his back.
“I probably am,” he admitted eventually.
Chicheng took his coat carefully before hanging it near the entrance.
“Did you eat?”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“That means no.”
There was something so familiar about the exchange now that it hurt unexpectedly.
While Chicheng moved toward the kitchen, Suowei remained standing in the hallway longer than necessary, watching the quiet rhythm of movements he already knew by heart. The calmness of this place no longer felt merely comforting. Tonight it felt fragile.
Temporary.
Like something already beginning to slip through his hands.
“You’re staring again,” Chicheng said without turning around.
Suowei looked away automatically.
“You notice too much.”
“Yes.” No denial. Never denial.
A few minutes later, Suowei sat at the kitchen table while steam rose from a bowl placed carefully in front of him. The food barely registered. His mind remained trapped somewhere between the messages on his phone and the man standing only a few feet away pouring tea like this was any ordinary night.
“How bad is it?” Chicheng asked quietly.
Suowei froze slightly.
“What?”
“Whatever happened today.”
The concern in his voice nearly undid him. Suowei lowered his gaze toward the untouched food.
“Have you ever felt like your life suddenly stops belonging to you?”
A pause followed behind him. Then the chair across the table pulled out softly.
When Suowei finally looked up, Chicheng was sitting directly opposite him now, watching him with quiet focus.
“Yes,” he answered calmly.
“And what did you do?”
“I stopped listening to people who thought they owned it.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Suowei let out a quiet breath that sounded dangerously close to laughter.
“You make everything sound simple.”
“No,” Chicheng said softly. “I make decisions quickly.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Usually it is.”
Silence stretched for several moments afterward.
Suowei became painfully aware of how easy it would be to stay here forever pretending none of the outside world existed. The thought itself terrified him. He had spent years surviving precisely because he never allowed himself emotional dependence on anyone.
Now he sat across from a serial killer wondering what it would feel like to disappear with him instead. The realization should have horrified him.
Instead, it felt dangerously close to relief.
“You should stop looking at me like that,” Chicheng murmured suddenly.
Suowei blinked slightly.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re saying goodbye.”
His heartbeat stumbled hard enough that he had to look away immediately. The room felt too warm again.
“You’re imagining things,” he said quietly.
“No.” The single word carried absolute certainty.
Before Suowei could respond, Chicheng reached across the table slowly and rested one hand lightly over his wrist. The touch was gentle.
That somehow made it worse.
Suowei’s entire body went tense beneath it, not from fear but from how badly he wanted to lean into the warmth instead of pulling away.
“You don’t have to tell me everything,” Chicheng said softly.
“But stop carrying it alone.”
Something inside Suowei cracked painfully at those words.
Because Chicheng said them so simply, like it was obvious someone should have offered long ago.
No one ever had.
For years, Suowei survived by remaining useful and emotionally untouchable. People relied on his competence, his calmness, his ability to disappear into roles without hesitation. Nobody asked whether he was tired. Nobody asked whether carrying all of it alone became unbearable sometimes.
And now this man—this dangerous, violent man—looked at him with more care than anyone else ever had.
It ruined him completely.
Suowei pulled his hand back suddenly and stood from the table before he could do something reckless.
“I should go home.”
“You just got here.”
“I know.”
Chicheng rose too. The movement instantly changed the atmosphere between them again. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, quieter, unbearably intimate.
“Tell me the truth,” Chicheng said quietly.
Suowei’s pulse quickened.
“About what?”
“Why are you really shaking tonight?”
For several seconds, he genuinely considered telling him everything.
Not the investigation itself perhaps, but enough. Enough to explain the fear tightening inside his chest. Enough to explain why every moment here suddenly felt precious in a way it never had before.
But the words remained trapped behind his teeth.
Because confession would destroy whatever existed between them, and because some instinct deep inside him still feared what Chicheng might become if cornered.
So instead, Suowei whispered the only truth he could manage.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
The silence afterward felt enormous.
Chicheng stared at him without moving.
Then, slowly, something unreadable darkened his expression.
Not anger. Something heavier. More dangerous.
“Suowei,” he said softly, “what exactly are you involved in?”
Hearing his own name spoken like that nearly shattered the last of his composure.
Because Chicheng rarely used it aloud. And because suddenly it sounded frighteningly intimate coming from him, low and careful enough to feel like a hand closing gently around something fragile.
Suowei looked away first.
That alone was enough of an answer.
The kitchen fell silent except for rain tapping softly against the windows. Somewhere deeper in the house, the old record had reached the end of its side, leaving behind only the faint crackle of static.
Suowei could feel Chicheng watching him. Waiting.
Not pressuring him. Not demanding.
That made it worse.
If Chicheng had raised his voice or grabbed him or forced the truth from him somehow, maybe this would have been easier. Maybe Suowei could have remembered what the man truly was instead of standing there drowning beneath quiet concern and unbearable patience.
His phone vibrated suddenly inside his coat pocket.
Once. Then again.
The sound felt deafening in the silence.
Suowei froze.
Across from him, Chicheng’s gaze dropped briefly toward the vibration before lifting back to his face.
Neither moved.
Slowly, Suowei reached into his pocket and pulled the phone out. One new message glowed against the screen.
Do it tonight.
His heartbeat turned uneven instantly.
Another message appeared seconds later.
Or we will.
Cold spread violently through his chest. For one horrifying moment, he could not breathe at all because suddenly the threat was no longer directed only at Chicheng.
If someone else came here, if another person entered this house with orders to kill, the situation would become bloodshed immediately. Innocent neighbors. Police. Bodies. Chaos.
And Chicheng—Suowei already knew Chicheng would not die quietly.
“What happened?”
The calmness in Chicheng’s voice almost made everything worse.
Suowei looked up sharply. He realized then that his hands were shaking hard enough for the phone screen to tremble visibly beneath his grip.
Chicheng noticed too.
The space between them suddenly felt unbearably small.
“Suowei,” he said again, quieter this time.
“Look at me.”
And without thinking, without remembering the blind act, the lies, the investigation, any of it—
Suowei did.
Their eyes met fully for the first time since the night they met. No pretending. No performance. Just silence.
For one long moment, neither of them moved.
Then something unreadable passed across Chicheng’s face. Not surprise. Not anger.
Recognition—as if he had been waiting for this exact moment all along.
Suowei’s pulse stumbled violently because Chicheng did not look shocked that he could see.
He looked relieved.
The realization hit hard enough to make panic finally rise beneath Suowei’s ribs.
Too calm. Chicheng was far too calm.
“You knew,” Suowei whispered.
Rain hammered harder against the windows.
Across the kitchen, Chicheng’s expression softened into something dangerously close to affection.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
Then the lights outside the house suddenly went dark.