Xie Lin said this standing very close to him, his eyes holding something warm and unreadable, like a pool of ambiguous water — though he himself was likely entirely unaware of the effect. It was simply the unfortunate consequence of being born with far too much going for him.
After a moment, Chi Qing helped him up. “How did you not die from the fall that day.”
Xie Lin gave a small laugh. Once his functional leg found the floor, he shifted half his weight onto Chi Qing — though he didn’t dare push it too far, given that Chi Qing looked alarmingly lean. “Good constitution.”
Chi Qing suggested he reassess his place in the world: “The wicked live a thousand years.”
Xie Lin’s injury wasn’t serious enough to justify a private room — that would be a waste of resources — so reaching the bathroom meant making his way down the corridor to the shared facilities. “Who am I a menace to, exactly? Girls have been slipping me love notes since I was young, and every time I wrote back telling them to focus on their studies and not date too early.”
“…Oh.”
“I gave them guidance. Told them they were young, that they’d meet more people. It would be hard to find someone better than me, admittedly, but not impossible — after all, there is such a thing as miracles.”
This time Chi Qing didn’t even bother with “oh.”
They say illness can make a person act younger than their years. Chi Qing was witnessing it firsthand.
Though he noticed that Xie Lin’s manner of speaking back then had clearly been less polished than it was now — it still carried a faint trace of adolescent silliness.
The ill have the privilege of indulgence. Xie Lin was going stir-crazy in the ward, and by any measure the two of them had been through enough together to call it a genuine bond. He pressed on: “What was that expression on your face just now?”
Chi Qing was helping him along the hospital corridor, which was crowded with people. He felt uncomfortable. “The expression of someone who finds you very tiring to listen to.”
Xie Lin said, lightly: “You really don’t want to talk to me at all.”
“As long as you’re aware.” Chi Qing replied.
They walked a little further on and the crowd thinned out, but Chi Qing found that the discomfort hadn’t gone away.
He had been making a point to minimize physical contact the entire way.
He had touched Xie Lin’s hands many times before. But it had never gone beyond that. Aside from hands, he almost never touched Xie Lin.
Now, though, Xie Lin had half his body weight leaning against him. Chi Qing glanced sideways. Xie Lin’s collar, already loose to begin with, had fallen open further. There had been a struggle in the elevator earlier, and he’d taken a few scrapes — one of them landing right at the edge of his collarbone.
Chi Qing’s mind went to the jacket from that same elevator.
The situation had been urgent. He hadn’t had time to process it then. It was only now, turning it over, that he realized — when Xie Lin had draped that coat over him, it had still been warm.
Xie Lin had been talking to Chi Qing the whole way, though toward the end it had turned into a one-sided performance. He didn’t seem to mind. Then, just as they neared the bathroom, Chi Qing unceremoniously removed his hand, jerked his chin toward the door, and said: “We’re here. The rest is your problem.”
Xie Lin: “…” What was that about? They had been getting along perfectly fine.
Fortunately, one leg in a cast still left the other functional. Steadying himself against the wall to go in and wash his face was hardly a feat of acrobatics.
They had barely returned to the ward when a nurse appeared: “Gentlemen, the discharge paperwork has been processed.”
The cast was on, the observation period was over — there was no reason to keep occupying a bed. Nothing needed packing either. Chi Qing helped him back into the car, and it wasn’t until they were back at the Yuting residential complex that Chi Qing realized the ordeal had only just begun.
He got home, showered, threw his clothes in the washing machine — and before he could press the start button, the phone sitting in the kitchen began buzzing insistently.
Chi Qing’s hair was still damp. He picked up. “Talk.”
Xie Lin: “I want to shower.”
Chi Qing, momentarily forgetting about the cast: “What does that have to do with me.”
Xie Lin said, unhurried: “Taking my shirt off is difficult.”
Chi Qing: “…Don’t bother then.”
Xie Lin: “Come help.”
Silence on the other end. Xie Lin brought up old grievances: “I keep thinking about how this leg of mine is only like this because of a certain someone…”
Chi Qing took a slow breath and hung up.
Xie Lin listened to the line go dead without any particular irritation. Moments after the call with Chi Qing ended, Wu Zhi’s call came through: “Dad, I just tried calling and you were busy. I heard you got crippled in a fall.”
Xie Lin said offhandedly: “Crippled is a bit strong.”
Wu Zhi continued: “That case you mentioned during the day — what kind of case is it?”
“Can’t say yet,” Xie Lin said. “I’ll fill you in once it’s closed. You were actually a real help this time — once I’m healed up, dinner’s on me.”
It was Wu Zhi’s first time in his entire life doing something that could be said to contribute to social good and the stability of the world order. He was rather pleased with himself. “No worries, I know these cases are all classified. If there’s ever another celebrity you can’t identify, just come find me.”
“About your injury,” Wu Zhi added, “want me to find you a caretaker?”
“No need.” Xie Lin paused for two seconds as he said it.
Two seconds later, an impatient ringing came from the front door. When he heard it, Xie Lin smiled and said: “Someone’s already taking care of me.”
Wu Zhi: “…”
Xie Lin made a point of adding, deliberately letting him know exactly who was at the door: “You know him. My assistant.”
Wu Zhi could not for the life of him imagine what that stone-faced, immovable assistant of his could possibly do by way of caretaking. His only impression was still from that first meeting at the bar — that Chi person had looked thoroughly intimidating. He’d be lucky if he didn’t end the visit with his other leg out of commission too.
And besides…
When had Xie Lin gotten that close to him?
Wu Zhi had known Xie Lin for years, and knew better than anyone that for all his apparent warmth, Xie Lin drew his social boundaries more precisely than almost anyone. Sometimes his manner was so flawlessly agreeable it seemed almost artificial — very polite, and rarely asking anything of others.
A man who had mastered the calculus of adult socializing: familiarity could come quickly, closeness never did.
And yet the way Xie Lin was with this Chi assistant seemed far beyond that.
After hanging up, Xie Lin made his way on his cane to open the door. Chi Qing was standing outside with damp hair — the black strands darker now that they were wet — and no gloves on, pale fingers half-tucked into his sleeves.
Chi Qing’s expression was not warm. “Don’t you have friends.”
Xie Lin took this in stride: “There’s an old saying — a neighbor nearby is worth more than a distant relative.”
Chi Qing: “…”
Xie Lin added: “No gloves?”
Chi Qing had only noticed himself after he was already at the door.
During his earlier episodes — when things had slipped out of control and he’d needed more sleep — he had taken to finding excuses to sleep at Xie Lin’s place. Multiple times, and over time, without realizing it, it had become habit.
Chi Qing helped him into the bathroom. The unit layout was the same as his own, and Chi Qing was entirely familiar with the configuration — right down to the grey tiles underfoot, identical to the ones in his own bathroom.
Xie Lin said “thank you,” then leaned against the sink and began undoing his shirt buttons. Everything about him was effortlessly provocative — even his fingers. If you ignored the fact that they were in a bathroom, nothing about the scene looked remotely like someone preparing to shower. The setting needed a bed, not a sink.
Chi Qing looked elsewhere. “Do you always take your clothes off like this?”
Xie Lin’s fingers paused on the fourth button. “‘Like this’ meaning what?”
“…Slowly,” Chi Qing said.
Xie Lin simply let go of the buttons, reached both hands back and braced them against the sink behind him, leaning slightly forward — bringing himself closer to Chi Qing in the process.
“What are you doing.”
The bathroom floor space was not built for two people. Chi Qing had nowhere to step back to, and Xie Lin was deliberately pressing his luck: “Weren’t you complaining about how slow I am? You do it then.”
“Move any closer,” Chi Qing said coldly, “and the shower is the least of your problems. I’ll be placing a call to emergency services to reserve you a bed.”
Xie Lin laughed, shirt still half undone.
Chi Qing: “I’m not joking.”
“I know,” Xie Lin said, reaching up to touch the tip of Chi Qing’s ear. “But your ear is very red.”
Xie Lin very nearly didn’t get his shower that day. Chi Qing left him to fend for himself in the bathroom, and it took a prolonged campaign of coaxing and mild threats before he came back.
“You’re really just going to leave me?”
“– Actually walking out?”
“If I can’t shower, I’ll probably have trouble sleeping tonight. And if I can’t sleep, I’ll want someone to talk to,” Xie Lin called from the bathroom. “I don’t know anyone else in this complex, and you’re right next door…”
Chi Qing, already heading for the door: “…”
Damn it.
He found himself thinking back to the elevator on the thirteenth floor. If he had let go then, he wouldn’t be suffering through any of this now.
The more he thought about it, the more that elevator on the thirteenth floor struck him as a truly rare and wasted opportunity. The only security camera had gone down when the elevator fell. No one would have been able to determine whether the insufferable man surnamed Xie had been deliberately murdered or had fallen by accident.
It might not have been a perfect crime. But it would have been close enough that even if someone suspected him, they couldn’t prove it.
In the bathroom, Xie Lin — who had gotten his shower after all, the casted leg propped over the edge of the tub — sneezed. Strange, he thought. Was the water too cold?
Before all this, Xie Lin had called Chi Qing his assistant more as a casual joke. Since the injury, the title had become fully warranted.
Chi Qing received missions every day. From the moment he opened his eyes in the morning, Xie Lin’s messages started arriving without pause.
Have you had breakfast?
Chi Qing replied: No.
The response came quickly: How come you didn’t ask if I’d eaten.
…
Without waiting for a reply, Xie Lin found his own way forward with impressive speed: I haven’t eaten either. Get me something when you get breakfast.
I didn’t ask, Chi Qing typed back, still washing his face. And if you want food, order delivery yourself.
That place doesn’t deliver. No reservations either.
Chi Qing typed, one character at a time: Then starve.
Past mealtimes, the demands only multiplied.
Can’t reach the book, bending down is awkward. Finished the book, needs to go back. Nice weather today, let’s go downstairs for a walk…
Chi Qing reached the end of his patience.
Time could not be reversed. The thirteenth floor elevator was a missed opportunity, and one had to look forward.
Chi Qing forcibly suppressed the mental thread of how does one recreate an elevator-shaft accident and chose instead a path that was both legal and capable of solving the problem.
The thought had barely surfaced when the phone screen beside him lit up again.
This time Xie Lin’s message was considerably more businesslike — just one line: Got through to Yin Wanru. Need to go to the bureau now.
