Maybe the room number was a sign that he should be more faithful to his love. Maybe it was a reminder of how strong his convictions were before these appointments reminded him just how backed up he was.

The elevator doors opened and he headed out, feeling all at once unsure of what he was supposed to do. Don’t raise suspicion—but remain faithful to Liu Xingyu. But was it being faithful if they weren’t even together—if Xingyu didn’t even know how he felt? Did it matter if there were no feelings involved, or if the only feelings involved were about Xingyu anyway? Was this the sort of thing that Xingyu would be upset by, or—no, he was the one who had suggested it, but he also didn’t know how Weiran felt.

He was in front of five-two-zero now. He slid the card into its slot.

Five-two-zero. It felt like it was mocking him now.

He pushed open the door.

It was empty. King-sized bed right smack dab in the middle of the opposite wall, just like always. A bathroom in the corner—no, it wasn’t empty. The bathroom door was slightly open and steam was curling out. He could faintly hear the sound of water running.

“Uh—hello?”

“I’ll be out in a minute.” The voice was muffled, deeper. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

Zhang Weiran took a seat on the bed, tucking the card into his pocket. He would start with a blow job—yes, that would be smartest. Don’t cross a line he hasn’t already crossed. If anything happened after that, he could deal with it then. Whatever it was.

The door opened. Weiran turned his head.

It was Xingyu.

Weiran’s heart stuttered and fell out of his chest. If he wasn’t sitting, he would have collapsed.

Xingyu had lied to him. He’d lied to him, drawn him in, brought him back to the lair of the List and spread him bare in front of everyone, he’d—

No, it wasn’t Xingyu—the hair was too short, he had a birthmark just below his lip on the left side that Xingyu’s oh-so-familiar lips did not, he was shorter—it was Liu Xiaokai.

Liu Xiaokai fresh out of a shower, his hair glistening.

Liu Xiaokai toweling off his hair with one hand.

Liu Xiaokai in a white robe and nothing else, a white robe that was hanging open, a white robe that was showing anything and everything.

Liu Xiaokai stopped. He looked at Zhang Weiran, and Zhang Weiran looked back at him, and then it hit him what exactly was going on, and he scrambled backward, fell off the bed, hit the ground with a loud thump.

“Ah,” said Liu Xiaokai. He dropped the towel at the bathroom door and ruffled his hair once again with his fingers. “I didn’t know you were into this sort of thing.”

“You—you—?”