A few years later, Yang Siguang had grown up, moved to a new home, and transferred schools.
His mother divorced and remarried. His stepfather wasn’t particularly good or bad—he didn’t treat Yang Siguang harshly, but neither did he show any warmth.
Later, his mother and stepfather had a boy together.
With the arrival of a younger brother, perhaps because her life now had a new focus—or perhaps due to the rumors that Li Chen’s mother had once again found her “true love” and ditched the irresponsible man she had before, causing another dramatic fallout—
His mother’s resentment seemed to lessen, and her temper improved somewhat.
However, when Yang Siguang occasionally brought up the beatings and threats from his childhood, his mother acted as if she had lost all memory of those events. She firmly denied ever treating her son that way.
The woman looked absolutely certain, speaking with a resolute tone.
Yang Siguang hunched over at the dining table, quickly eating his food. He only touched the dish in front of him, avoiding the braised fish near his stepfather or the separately prepared steamed meat patties, eggs, and little sausages meant for his babbling younger brother.
He never brought up that summer evening again—the scissors that almost cut his cheek or being locked outside, crying until he nearly passed out.
He grew increasingly quiet and withdrawn.
—
Yang Siguang never expected to meet Li Chen again.
In his second year of high school, a transfer student arrived, handsome enough to cause a stir across the entire grade. Yang Siguang sat alone at his desk, half-heartedly listening to the girls crowding by the window and gushing over the new student. Then, by accident, he overheard a familiar name. He choked on a mouthful of water and nearly passed out from coughing.
Li Chen was nothing like the frail little boy Yang Siguang remembered.
If it hadn’t been for the blue-background photo of the honor student on the bulletin board, where the boy’s cold expression and impeccably symmetrical features faintly showed a subtle pigment deposit in his pupils, Yang Siguang might have truly believed that this “Li Chen” was just someone with the same name.
He had thought about approaching Li Chen to talk—but not too seriously. After all, it had been so long since those childhood memories. Even the once heart-wrenching guilt, sorrow, and the pain etched into his skin had faded into a thin layer of dust in his memory.
Still, he felt he owed Li Chen an apology.
—
Li Chen had an excellent reputation at school.
People said that although he appeared aloof, he was actually approachable. Yet every time Yang Siguang tried to find him, they would somehow miss each other.
More often than not, even when their eyes met, the tall and handsome honor student would subtly lower his gaze and casually look away.
Eventually, it wasn’t just Yang Siguang who noticed this. The people around them started picking up on it too.
But no one thought much of it. Yang Siguang, well… he was undeniably attractive. Both boys and girls found him stunning. However, the more striking his looks were, the more peculiar his personality seemed. Before long, his extremely reclusive and unsociable nature became well-known across the grade.
Yang Siguang was so gloomy and out of place with everyone else that he wasn’t well-liked.
So it wasn’t surprising that Li Chen didn’t like him either.
But Yang Siguang himself, lost in a daze at the time, remained oblivious.
—
“Sorry, but I don’t really remember much from when we were kids.”
The last time they spoke face-to-face was during the second semester of their second year.
Yang Siguang finally managed to corner Li Chen in a secluded spot. However, just as he began to apologize, Li Chen interrupted him with an indifferent tone.
Li Chen’s eyelashes were thick, casting shadows over his golden-brown irises as he lowered his gaze.
“Please don’t bother me again, okay?”
Li Chen made the request calmly.
“You’re always showing up around me, and it’s… a bit unsettling.”
—
Yang Siguang fled in embarrassment.
—
Looking back on it later, Yang Siguang didn’t believe that Li Chen truly didn’t recognize him.
Too many details revealed Li Chen’s real feelings toward him.
Yang Siguang couldn’t explain why, but he couldn’t suppress his urge to observe Li Chen. At the same time, he couldn’t avoid noticing the barely concealed traces of disgust in Li Chen’s every word and action.
Often, it was only through sheer willpower that Li Chen managed to maintain his composed exterior. Yang Siguang recognized that restraint—he remembered that even as a child, Li Chen had been adept at enduring.
Li Chen hated him.
This realization sometimes felt like a twisting snake, slithering out from the depths of Yang Siguang’s mind. Its sharp teeth would bite into his nerves, sending waves of pain rippling through him.
Not even Li Chen could have anticipated how deep their “connection” would run. After transferring to the same high school, they ended up attending the same university as well.
Though they were in different departments, A University wasn’t a large place. Time and again, Yang Siguang would brush past Li Chen in various corners of the campus.
Each time…
Yes, each time their eyes met, Li Chen would swiftly, nonchalantly, shift his gaze away from Yang Siguang.
Including that last time.
The day before Li Chen died…
In a haze, Yang Siguang suddenly felt a sharp gaze fix on him. When he looked up, his eyes fell on the glass cup on his desk.
The ice he had put in the cup yesterday had long since melted. Perhaps it was because he had been too distracted yesterday, but the plastic bag containing the eyeballs had somehow torn. Li Chen’s eyes now rested at the bottom of the glass, submerged in the clear water, quietly staring at Yang Siguang through the glass.
After a night passed, that eyeball hadn’t disappeared.
It wasn’t Yang Siguang’s illusion.
Nor had it, with the fading of nightmares, flown back into that person’s eye socket.
It was even still so fresh.
A fish bought from the market, left on a cutting board and rinsed with cold water for a few hours, would gradually have its cornea cloud over with a layer of white film. But Li Chen’s pupil still looked as clear as ever, even brimming with a vividness that felt alive, so much so that Yang Siguang even felt a trace of unfamiliarity. After all, the current Li Chen could no longer turn his gaze away like when he was alive.
This thought slipped into his mind, and for some reason, Yang Siguang suddenly felt a bit like laughing.
But his throat couldn’t squeeze out enough air for a laugh; he could only stiffly pull at the corners of his mouth.
Then, he slowly climbed out of bed, only to realize that he had slept carelessly yesterday, still wearing those bloodstained clothes, likely without even shifting positions in his sleep. His entire body was stiff and numb, and he almost fell when getting out of bed.
Fortunately, his phone was right beside the pillow, buzzing again. Squinting at the screen, Yang Siguang saw that both forums and chat groups were ablaze with discussions—all about Li Chen’s death in a car accident. Xu Lu, who couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, had posted several threads on the forums, so now many people in the group chats were tagging Yang Siguang. Some with genuine emotion, others in disbelief—all asking the same questions.
“…”
Yang Siguang expressionlessly tossed the phone onto the bed. A stabbing pain in his eye had already spread from the socket to his temples, pulsing with a dull throb.
He took off his clothes, washed up absentmindedly, and sat at his desk, bare-chested.
He put in some eye drops, letting the excess stream down his cheeks as he closed his eyes.
That lingering feeling of being watched never went away.
If anything, with his eyes closed, bolstered by his imagination, it became even more intense.
“I’m not crying.”
Yang Siguang maintained his tilted posture and murmured toward the direction of his desk.
“Don’t get any ideas.”
…
As expected, no one responded to Yang Siguang.
After a while, when the irritation from the eye drops finally subsided, he opened his eyes.
Through the slightly blurred vision, Li Chen’s eyeball lay quietly at the bottom of the glass. The sunlight was strong today, and a bright ray of light fell into the cup. The golden-brown pupil glimmered like liquid honey.
Yang Siguang reached out, grasped the cup, and gave it a light shake.
The eyeball shifted slightly at the bottom, but its pupil remained fixed on Yang Siguang.
The entire house was silent.
Yang Siguang had no classes today, but his mother and stepfather had gone to work.
Even his typically noisy and annoying younger brother was at school.
Still, Yang Siguang locked his bedroom door.
The curtains were drawn, but slivers of golden light seeped through the gaps.
Yang Siguang placed the glass with the eyeball in the center of his desk.
Then, he opened his wardrobe. From beneath layers of plain T-shirts and jeans, he retrieved a few thin, semi-transparent pieces of fabric.
Clothing no ordinary male college student would ever touch.
Piece by piece, Yang Siguang put them on.
The soft, cool touch of lace slid over his damp, sweat-slicked skin. Black leather straps tightened around his neck and wrists.
Oiled ropes weighed heavily as they wrapped around his chest and thighs.
…
In the cup, the eyeball remained motionless, fixed on the young man in the room, who writhed slowly like a white snake, wet and trembling.
The feeling of being watched was far too vivid.
Yang Siguang shivered involuntarily from the overwhelming shame.
The faint jingling of a bell echoed in the dim room, and the pale skin gradually flushed with a suggestive pink.
“You see, this is the problem with being dead.”
After a while, Yang Siguang finally ceased his twisted behavior.
He wrapped his damp body in an oversized nightshirt, staggering back to the desk.
He pressed his burning face against the surface of the desk, his fingers tracing slow circles around the rim of the glass.
The cup shifted slightly.
Yang Siguang blinked, his eyelashes nearly brushing the glass wall.
Then he murmured to the eyeball:
“Now, even if you’re disgusted by me… you can only keep looking at me.”
The hoarse, muffled whisper reverberated in the room.
No longer able to avert your gaze.
No longer able to look away as though I’m something filthy.
Because you’re already dead.
[Li Chen is dead.]
