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The moment Gu Chong opened the door, footsteps echoed from upstairs. A snow-white Samoyed suddenly bolted down, tongue lolling as it rubbed against Gu Chong’s legs. It immediately circled toward Shen Wang, sniffing at him with curiosity, brushing against his ankles again and again until his lower legs felt oddly warm and itchy.
Shen Wang hadn’t expected this at all.
Gu Chong actually had a dog.
When he was little, Shen Wang had been bitten by a stray dog. Ever since then, he had been afraid of them. Even though this Samoyed clearly meant no harm, his body still stiffened instantly, every muscle locking in place as he dared not move an inch.
Gu Chong seemed to sigh faintly.
He crouched down and patted the dog’s head. “Go play somewhere else.”
The Samoyed wagged its fluffy tail.
“Good boy.”
Gu Chong tossed a toy from the sofa.
The dog immediately ran off after it.
Only then did Shen Wang feel the tension in his chest loosen slightly, though he was still on edge, eyes fixed nervously on the white blur of fur darting across the room.
He was just about to say thank you when a voice came from upstairs—familiar, yet strangely distant.
“You’re finally back. Weren’t we supposed to take turns? Why am I the only one walking the dog now? I have a packed schedule too—”
Then, abruptly—
“Why are you here?”
Shen Wang froze.
He hadn’t expected to see Su Yan Sheng here.
Su Yan Sheng stood at the top of the stairs in a simple T-shirt and jeans, bright and striking, full of youthful energy. Almost immediately, his gaze shot toward Gu Chong, sharp and assertive, carrying the natural confidence of someone who clearly belonged here.
Shen Wang unconsciously rubbed his fingers against the seam of his pants. “I—I just happened to pass by. I came to pick something up.”
But Gu Chong, expression unchanged, said calmly, “I brought him back.”
Two completely different answers, spoken at the same time.
Su Yan Sheng’s eyes moved between them. After a moment, his expression darkened and he let out a cold laugh, lifting his chin slightly.
“Pick something up?” he repeated. “Didn’t you already take everything two years ago?”
Shen Wang didn’t know how to respond.
Gu Chong answered for him instead. “A book.”
Su Yan Sheng clearly didn’t believe it. “A book? What book?”
“I don’t know.” Gu Chong tilted his head slightly toward Shen Wang. “Go upstairs and get it yourself. The study key is hanging by the door.”
“…Okay.”
Shen Wang almost fled upstairs.
How was Su Yan Sheng here?
He unlocked the door and slipped into the study.
Even from upstairs, he could still hear faint voices below. Su Yan Sheng’s drawn-out tone—“No wonder you—”—and Gu Chong’s low, indistinct replies. Shen Wang couldn’t make out the words. His hands trembled slightly as he randomly pulled a book from the shelf, desperate to leave as quickly as possible.
But in his rush, he knocked into the stack beside him.
Books came crashing down in a loud, chaotic mess.
The sound was sharp enough that the entire house fell silent downstairs.
Shen Wang stared at the back of his hand, already red from where the books had hit him, momentarily blank.
He wanted a cigarette. Or alcohol. Anything.
Something—anything—to escape this moment.
But he had nothing on him.
Only two absurdly useless mint candies in his pocket.
He touched his cheek and only then realized it was wet.
He was crying.
Like he had been deeply, unbearably wronged.
But this had been his own decision. He couldn’t even blame anyone. In the end, there was only himself to blame—and the tears only kept coming.
In his arms was the book he had grabbed at random.
The title, almost cruel in its timing, read:
“To Love You Is to Love Life.”
A knock came at the door.
“What happened?” Gu Chong’s voice was calm.
Shen Wang wiped his face quickly, glancing at the mess of fallen books before pressing his back against the door.
“Nothing. I just accidentally knocked over the shelf.”
“…Are you hurt?”
“No.”
His voice came out soft and muffled.
Gu Chong paused. “Really nothing?”
Shen Wang forced a light tone. “It’s fine. I should be the one apologizing—I knocked your books over. I’ll organize them later.”
There was a long silence on the other side.
Then Gu Chong said quietly, “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
“Mm.”
Shen Wang squatted down and began picking up the books one by one.
Not a speck of dust on them—clearly they were cleaned often.
Was it Su Yan Sheng who took care of this place?
A wave of regret suddenly rose in his chest.
He regretted coming here.
Why did he want to meet Gu Chong’s partner? Why did he insist on seeing this?
If he hadn’t come, if he hadn’t known anything, maybe he could have stayed a little more shameless, a little more selfish.
But now that he knew, he no longer had the right to stand beside Gu Chong.
He didn’t even know if he still had the right to speak to him.
In a daze, Shen Wang grabbed the book again and hurried downstairs.
In the living room, Su Yan Sheng had his back to him, playfully teasing the Samoyed, which lay sprawled comfortably in his arms, completely at ease.
A familiar intimacy.
Gu Chong turned his head. “Found it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
Gu Chong moved toward the door.
Shen Wang immediately grabbed the handle himself, not daring to look at him.
“No need—I know the way. You… you’re busy.”
His voice was low, almost hurried.
“Alright.”
Gu Chong looked at him for a long moment.
“I’m leaving,” Shen Wang added quickly. “Sorry for disturbing you just now.”
He stepped out and closed the door before he could see Gu Chong’s expression.
Outside, it had just rained. Leaves were still wet, stone tiles glistening. A cluster of daisies at the entrance had been crushed into the ground, soft and broken.
He got into his car and buried his face in the steering wheel.
The rash on his chest felt like it was itching more intensely now.
He didn’t dare scratch it.
Afraid that if he did, he would tear open his own skin—and his heart would spill out.
But that itching sensation had already spread far deeper than his skin.
Otherwise—
why couldn’t he breathe?
Chapter 11
Why did this hopeless kind of love even exist?
Why did he end up in a situation like this?
He often found himself thinking about it in the dark of night, turning it over and over in his mind, searching for an answer.
Shen Wang wasn’t completely unaware of how strange he was.
He had always known, in some distant way.
He didn’t seem particularly happy, nor particularly sad. His emotions were faint, delayed. He forgot important things easily, as if his mind were a piece of wood soaked through with water—heavy, dull, unremarkable.
Because he lacked sensitivity, even reverence was absent from him.
He didn’t believe in gods. He didn’t really follow people either.
He was always a step too slow when it came to understanding others—or even himself.
Sometimes he felt unbearably lonely.
His confusion sat heavily in his chest, numbing his limbs as he walked forward, leaving him unsure of where he was even going.
