For the first time in a while, it was Hu Yongzhu who left first, only taking the time to untie Xiaokai and tweak him on the nose before he headed out the door. Xiaokai was lucky he’d snagged some of his information before they’d started anything and Hu Yongzhu was still in the shower. He couldn’t move now. He could barely even breathe.

It took him a long time—a half hour, maybe, maybe more—to push himself up and slowly limp into the bathroom.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror—covered in welts and burns and cuts. There were only a few places that had been left untouched: everything above his collarbone and his arms below his elbows. Everything else had been free reign for Hu Yongzhu. It seemed almost as if he’d done all he could with the whips and the cigarette, and then he’d gone and sucked bruises into the blank spaces of his skin. Xiaokai put one hand onto his chest, pressing his index finger into one of the burns, and hissed at the contact.

He smiled.

“OH, UH. HEY.” Weiran opened the door wider and Xiaokai slinked in. “You’re here later than normal.” When Xiaokai didn’t answer, Weiran locked the door, turned around, and studied him. He looked even more exhausted than usual—he dragged his feet, slumped his shoulders. The last time they had done this, Xiaokai had gone so quickly from his professional self to his—what should Weiran even call it?—seducer self that it had given Weiran whiplash, but this…this wasn’t professional. This wasn’t the Liu Xiaokai that Xiaokai usually let people see. “Are you, um. Are you okay?”

Xiaokai looked back at him. There were dark circles under his eyes. Had those always been there? Was Weiran just now noticing?

“Is this about…what I gave Xingyu?” What in the world had been in that file? He’d been tempted after Xiaokai’s reaction to look into them himself, but he hadn’t been able to do it. Maybe Xiaokai had been sick as a kid. Maybe he was sick now. Maybe he was terminally ill and that’s why Liu Baiyan unequivocally wanted Xingyu as an heir. That would make Weiran want to go back in time and kick his own ass, for sure. Hating a terminally ill guy. “I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have—well, he’d asked and I—”

“Do you want to fuck or not?” Xiaokai’s voice was quiet and hoarse. Weiran stopped and stared at him.

“Okay, seriously, are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine if you fuck me, but I can leave if you won’t.”

Weiran struggled with that for a second. Was he supposed to keep pushing it? Did Xiaokai want him to ask, or did he really want him to just ignore that something was wrong and just sleep with him.

“Well?” said Xiaokai.