It’s hard to say what exactly made Yang Siguang so abnormal.
—
Maybe it was because of his younger brother?
In some ways, children are like animals—they always find ways to establish their place in the household.
And his brother chose to provoke and anger Yang Siguang in every stupid way possible.
Their mother always showed indifference—or perhaps a natural bias—toward this. Even when the boy shredded Yang Siguang’s freshly completed homework or spilled cola on his textbook, she would only glance briefly at the silent man in the living room before impatiently handing him a couple of bills and telling him to buy another.
“Your brother is still young…”
The boy would hide behind their mother, grinning mischievously and making faces at Yang Siguang.
Yang Siguang didn’t say a word.
—
Or perhaps it was because of his schoolwork?
The teachers at his school always treated Yang Siguang with a subtle awkwardness. During group project discussions, he would often find himself deliberately excluded, the only one left without a place. This was clearly a headache for the teachers, and the younger ones would unconsciously frown whenever they looked at him.
“Interpersonal relationships are very important, Xiao Yang. If only one person excludes you, it might be their problem. But if everyone excludes you, perhaps it’s time to reflect on yourself?”
“Oh, and by the way, your ranking in this mock exam dropped by seven places again…”
—
It could also be… Li Chen.
—
After that conversation, Yang Siguang often dreamt of that afternoon bathed in crimson sunset light—of his own helplessness and the unclear expression of the child on the steps.
He would feel uncomfortable for a long time after waking up.
The high school wasn’t very large. No matter how careful he was, it was inevitable that they would cross paths.
Handsome, tall, and academically outstanding, Li Chen was always the center of attention. Even though it was clear the warm smile on his face was nothing more than polite pretense, the slight air of aloofness in his demeanor only made him more attractive to others.
Yang Siguang was no exception.
He would unconsciously hide in the shadows, secretly watching him… only to be caught almost every time by Li Chen.
And Li Chen would always pretend not to notice.
His indifference toward Yang Siguang grew more apparent, so much so that ridiculous rumors started circulating among their peers.
The few friends Yang Siguang had gradually distanced themselves from him without him even realizing it.
…
…
…
By the time Yang Siguang became fully aware, something inside him had already decayed and rotted beyond repair.
And at the very beginning, it had just been a misplaced delivery.
Yang Siguang had thought it was the test prep materials he’d ordered and opened the lightweight box without any precaution.
What greeted him instead were narrow strips of fabric, coarse ropes, and suspiciously crafted restraints. At first, Yang Siguang simply stared in a daze, confused. But like any adolescent boy, he quickly, instinctively, and shamefully understood the purpose of those items.
For a brief moment, Yang Siguang did think about throwing those filthy, disgusting things away immediately…
But that day, there was no one else at home.
—
Inexplicably, Yang Siguang’s fingers brushed against that small, cheap, nearly transparent piece of lace fabric.
—
Encased in the softness of the fabric, his skin grew hypersensitive, shivering with anticipation. His heart raced, pumping blood wildly through his body. As his temperature rose, it seemed his entire vision began to darken. The black restraints tightly bound him, leaving deep marks on his sweat-soaked skin. The sensation wasn’t pleasant—far from it. His clumsiness and inexperience caused him to hurt himself quite badly.
But amid the sharp pain, his mind suddenly went blank.
The weight of unspoken, unseen burdens vanished from his body in an instant.
What lingered on his skin and limbs was pure sensation.
The belt binding him started as sharp pain, then numbed, and finally gave way to a heavier, dull ache, washing over him in waves. His muscles tightened uncontrollably, spasming. The small, fragile lace fabric clung to him, rubbing against his skin, bringing a subtle yet lingering sense of tender pain.
Of course, it was never truly about physical sensation—far from pleasure.
On the contrary, that first clumsy and careless attempt caused him so much pain he wanted to cry.
And yet, amidst the pain, he unintentionally caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror.
There knelt a figure, dazed, dressed in provocative, vulgar clothing.
His own reflection.
That person wore his face but looked like some cheap, sleazy creature. He was strange, grotesque…
…and intoxicating.
Yang Siguang never realized that the body he detested—thin and pale—could look so beautiful, wrapped in lace and restraints.
Sweaty and flushed, exuding a dizzying, twisted allure.
That summer afternoon, with cicadas chirping outside, his body burned as if consumed by sudden fever. His head spun, his thoughts blurred. He was entranced, studying and teasing his own familiar yet unfamiliar body in the mirror.
By the time Yang Siguang regained his senses, his body was entirely drained.
In stark contrast to his physical exhaustion, his spirit and soul seemed cleansed, as if those dark, suffocating things had been shed and cast into a corner he could no longer find.
—
Yang Siguang became addicted to this feeling of relief. He knew his behavior was far from normal—he had turned into a deviant. The overwhelming stimulation had struck him at the worst possible time, twisting both his mind and body.
He knew things would only get worse, but he couldn’t resist the poisonous craving.
…
Fortunately, his interests remained limited to lace, provocative clothing, and bondage. Yang Siguang felt no desire to expose himself to others or form deeper connections with anyone of the same gender.
His joy was confined entirely to his locked room when no one else was home.
It was his little escape, a solitary game played before a mirror.
—
The only exception might have been during a social event years ago.
Amid a drunken crowd, his eyes fell on Li Chen—tall, handsome, and calm, surrounded by people. Li Chen was gazing at a slender, elegant girl with a composed expression, while others around them egged them on.
It was yet another public confession spectacle—one of many Yang Siguang had already read about on the school forum.
Someone nearby giggled, half-jealous and half-admiring, saying that Li Chen had countless admirers and who knew which one would finally win him over.
Yang Siguang smiled but did not respond.
He felt his heart sink, calm and undisturbed. That night, he had drunk a bit too much. When he returned home, the alcohol seemed to have burnt his brain, and he wasn’t sure what he was thinking. In the dead of night, when everyone was asleep, he undressed in his room and put on those dirty, filthy restraints from the back of the wardrobe.
Then he took a photo of himself without showing his face and, in the drunken haze, used his secondary account—one he had secretly used to stalk Li Chen—to send it to him.
—
He was probably going to be called a pervert.
The next morning, after sobering up, Yang Siguang held his head in his hands, his face pale as he stared at his phone. It took him a long time to muster the courage to open it.
In his drunken state, his hands had shaken terribly, and the photo was carelessly taken. In the blurry image, his skin looked like porcelain made from cremated bones, covered with a thin mist in the cold night, with ropes tangled around him and red marks left behind by them.
Thank goodness, at least he had remembered to hide his face.
But he could already imagine the expression on his face if it had been visible—twisted, vulgar, revolting.
He stared at the “sent successfully” message on the screen, unable to move as if frozen in an ice pit.
…
However, Li Chen did not respond to the almost harassing message in any way.
Yang Siguang spent an unbearably long week in a daze, observing Li Chen more cautiously and nervously than ever before.
Li Chen acted exactly the same as usual, showing no change. Yang Siguang later realized that, given Li Chen’s popularity, he likely received such messages frequently. The photos Yang Siguang sent were just another among many similar ones.
The only person who would be affected, tortured by self-loathing to the point of collapse, was Yang Siguang himself.
—
Later on, Yang Siguang got new medication from a psychiatrist and deleted that secondary account.
He forced himself to never think about it again, and in fact, he almost succeeded.
Until today.
He began to act under the gaze of another person.
This was his first time. Perhaps because of that, it was more intense, more heated than ever before.
“Hey, do I look good?”
Yang Siguang stared into Li Chen’s eyes, laughing awkwardly.
“….”
Silence.
Yang Siguang’s smile gradually faded.
“Isn’t it really perverse…?” He took a deep breath, sat up properly, and muttered solemnly toward that eye.
“Although sometimes I think I’m quite beautiful…”
“Ah, if it were you, you’d definitely find it disgusting.”
…
In the quiet summer, only the cicadas outside responded to Yang Siguang’s neurotic ramblings.
[Not disgusting.]
[You are beautiful.]
Perhaps because he had been staring for too long, a moment of confusion passed, and out of the corner of his eye, Yang Siguang glimpsed a strange shadow in the corner of the mirror.
But there was only him in the room, right?
Yang Siguang shivered suddenly and turned to look at the mirror.
Everything seemed normal.
In the mirror, it was just him sitting at the desk, pale-faced, eyes red-rimmed.
The cup by his side was normal too, except for the glaring eye inside, belonging to someone else.
The shadow he thought he saw earlier must have been caused by the curtain fluttering in the breeze.
And the small part of Li Chen’s body remained trapped in the simple glass cup. The thought of this made Yang Siguang feel a sudden surge of fear, and he involuntarily avoided the eye’s gaze.
“I’m sorry,” Yang Siguang murmured.
“I’m sorry.”
After a pause, he said again, unable to tell if he was apologizing for the past or for his actions just now.
The eye remained, as motionless as ever.
But Yang Siguang always had the illusion—that the deceased Li Chen was silently staring at him with that eye.
The gaze was cold, clear, and focused.
If Li Chen were still alive, he would never look at him like that.
…
Then, Yang Siguang suddenly felt as though something inside him had cracked open, a narrow slit appearing within. The “reality” he had desperately blocked out began to squeeze its way into his heart through that crack.
Suddenly, his vision blurred. He reached up to touch his face and realized that it was covered in tears.
He had only now realized he was crying.
—
The second day after Li Chen’s death, Yang Siguang finally belatedly accepted the reality.
___
Author’s note:
Yes, this time Shou is also deeply troubled…
Wooowww!! I’m getting excited for what this new arc would entail 🤭