Xingyu was making a valiant effort at socializing with anyone and everyone that wasn’t a servant of the house or temporary staff. Xiaokai, on the other hand, was making himself content in the background, smiling and conversing politely whenever someone came up to him but otherwise keeping to himself. Chen Jun had said something about Rang’er not being able to arrive until later in the evening, which was even better for Xiaokai—that meant there would be no one who would cling onto him for a while. He was painful enough that he didn’t even want anyone to look at him, much less touch him.

He watched Xingyu for a while.

Xingyu hadn’t really said much to him. He’d definitely read the file—he was avoiding Xiaokai’s eyes, and every now and then he seemed like he wanted to say something, and then changed his mind. It was infuriating. This was exactly why Xiaokai didn’t like telling anybody about his past, exactly why he didn’t like telling people about the appointments—exactly why he didn’t tell Xingyu specifically. He hated that look in Xingyu’s eyes the few times their gazes met.

Just say something, he wanted to say. Just tell me I’m disgusting and get over it. Just ask me all the questions you want. I’m not hiding anything.

But Xingyu didn’t approach him the day he read Xiaokai’s medical history, and he didn’t approach him the day after, and he wasn’t approaching him now. They’d exchanged a few words, but they were short and civil and only contained what was absolutely necessary, and they’d only done so at breakfasts or dinners where not speaking would make it too obvious that something had happened.

Xiaokai hated him for it. Hated him for every second of it. He was boiling up inside, was collapsing within himself—he didn’t want to keep going back to Zhang Weiran just to get to sleep, so he just pressed into the myriad of wounds Hu Yongzhu had given him until the pain was all he could think about, and then he kept pressing into those wounds until the pain lulled him to sleep.

He wasn’t bothering with the pain medication either.

It occurred to him that he shouldn’t have let Hu Yongzhu go so far. Appointments shouldn’t bleed into each other like that—the occasional mark was inevitable, but Hu Yongzhu had gone far beyond what Xiaokai should have allowed him, and now Xiaokai had to figure out how he was going to explain it to Bai Xue tonight during their appointment together.

“Xiaokai.” Sun Yue suddenly materialized next to Xiaokai, a flute of champagne held delicately in one hand. “I thought I told you to report on your meeting with Hu Yongzhu. It’s been two days.”