chapter 39

Chapter 39

Time passed, minute by minute, second by second.

They spoke little, except when the puzzle made obvious progress.

Ning Qiuyan had spent time with Guan Heng like this several times before. He was already used to it, and enjoyed the quiet, but this was the first time the two of them had been alone together for so long.

Uncle Kang came up to the third floor once during the night to bring Guan Heng his “meal.”

In the center of the round tray the Old Man carried was a tall glass filled with bright red liquid. Guan Heng took it naturally and sipped it slowly.

People’s capacity for acceptance can be expanded. Now, Ning Qiuyan no longer found it cruel or frightening. Only when his gaze brushed past Guan Heng’s blood-stained lips did his heart race. He didn’t want to let his mind wander, so he lowered his head, only to see Guan Heng’s bare, pale feet on the carpet, and the hem of his black silk robe trailing by his ankles.

Puzzle, puzzle, puzzle.

He tried hard to focus, clumsily piecing things together.

After finishing a small section, music began to play from the other end of the corridor.

At some point, Guan Heng had already left the puzzle room, so it was him who had turned on the music.

It was a piece they both liked very much: Gymnopédie No. 1, one of three “Gymnopédies” by the French composer Erik Satie. The name of the piece translates to “Naked Dance,” said to be inspired by an ancient Greek ritual for the sun god, performed by young men dancing nude.

They had discussed it over text before; Ning Qiuyan had even tried playing a segment on guitar for Guan Heng to hear.

Now, Guan Heng was playing the original piano version. The gentle, flowing melody seeped through the walls, filling the entire third floor.

Ning Qiuyan picked up his phone to check the time. It was 1:40 a.m.

Time really flies.

He tossed aside the puzzle pieces and flopped down onto the carpet, letting out a long sigh-he was getting a little sleepy.

Would Guan Heng notice if he closed his eyes for a few minutes?

Even if they’d said they’d stay up all night, surely it was fine to rest his eyes for a moment if he got tired?

Lying down, Ning Qiuyan felt the soreness and numbness in his shoulders, neck, waist, and legs. He almost didn’t want to get up.

“Ning Qiuyan.”

Guan Heng’s voice suddenly appeared.

Ning Qiuyan snapped his eyes open and sat up, reflexively asking loudly, “What is it?!”

He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but Guan Heng, standing at the doorway, seemed more energetic than before-his expression was relaxed, but he looked radiant.

Guan Heng asked, “Do you know how to play billiards?”

“No…” Ning Qiuyan answered honestly, then asked, “Does ping pong count?”

“Unfortunately, there’s no ping pong table here,” Guan Heng replied. “I mean billiards-snooker.”

Ning Qiuyan was even less familiar with that.

Guan Heng curved his lips in a smile: “Then you’ll keep score. Come with me.”

Ning Qiuyan stood up. “Okay.”

They went downstairs together.

Descending the wide staircase, every floor was brightly lit, with curtains and screens all drawn open. Though few people were still awake, the mansion was full of energy. The music from the third floor drifted faintly, not noisy at all-rather, it felt comfortable and free.

Night belonged to Guan Heng’s world.

Guan Heng led Ning Qiuyan to the first floor, passing by the music room, game room, art studio, and winding through maze-like corridors until they reached a spacious billiards hall.

Lu Qianque, impeccably dressed, was already waiting there, looking just as lively.

“The last time I played with you was three years ago,” Lu Qianque said. “I lost by one ball. I’ve been wanting a chance to win it back.”

Guan Heng replied, “Coincidentally, I haven’t played in years either.”

Only then did Ning Qiuyan realize the two had arranged to play, and that in this huge house, only they kept the same schedule.

He also began to understand why Guan Heng had chosen billiards for entertainment.

Games like ping pong, which require two or more players, weren’t suitable for Guan Heng. His schedule was unusual, and he had to wait for an opponent like Lu Qianque to play. Billiards, on the other hand, could be enjoyed solo, at least to some extent.

The cues stood neatly to one side. Guan Heng stepped forward to choose.

Lu Qianque smiled at Ning Qiuyan: “Xiao Ning, you have to be a fair referee. No favoring Mr. Guan.”

Ning Qiuyan joked, “I’ll try. You can always bribe me.”

“You’ve learned some bad habits,” Lu Qianque said.

Lu Qianque asked if Ning Qiuyan knew the rules of snooker. Seeing he didn’t, he briefly explained the scoring: red balls are one point, yellow two, green three, and so on. Balls are potted in the order of one red, one color, and the round ends when all reds are gone. Ning Qiuyan listened, feeling dizzy with all the details.

Meanwhile, Guan Heng had already chosen two cues and tossed one to Lu Qianque: “Enough chatter.”

Lu Qianque caught it midair, a competitive glint in his eyes: “You break.”

Guan Heng didn’t refuse.

He chalked the cue, then approached the table, bending down to take his stance. He was tall, and the posture made his body stretch out, his shoulders, back, and legs forming elegant lines-like a leopard poised to spring. Yet a lock of hair fell across his face, making his profile look serene.

Ning Qiuyan had never seen this side of Guan Heng.

One shot, then another.

Guan Heng was skilled, his movements crisp and precise. Even Lu Qianque praised him: “Beautiful.”
“Ning Qiuyan.” Guan Heng glanced over during a break, a glimmer in his dark eyes. “Keep score.”

Ning Qiuyan snapped back to attention and hurried to comply, flipping the scoreboard.

After the scores were recorded, Guan Heng, leaning on his cue, waited for the next step: “Take the colored balls out of the pocket and set them back.”

“Oh, okay.”

Ning Qiuyan circled to the other end of the table to retrieve the colored balls, fumbling, unsure where to place them.

Guan Heng came up behind him, tapping the ball spot on the table with his cue, giving a low prompt: “Here.”

Ning Qiuyan’s earlobes tingled. “Okay.”

Guan Heng quickly walked away, pressing down his cue.

When it was Lu Qianque’s turn, Ning Qiuyan once again witnessed his skill.

Although Ning Qiuyan didn’t understand snooker, he could tell both men were highly skilled, perhaps even masters. If they were ordinary people, Ning Qiuyan would have been surprised. But just as Guan Heng had once used an alias to become a famous oil painter, they had spent their long lives mastering countless skills, perfecting each one.

So, what else could Guan Heng do? What sides of him had Ning Qiuyan yet to see?

“Nice shot.”

Guan Heng praised in a deep voice, but with a teasing tone.

It turned out Lu Qianque had made a mistake, and it was Guan Heng’s turn again.

Lu Qianque stepped back, and with a sharp “crack,” his cue was casually snapped by his thumb. Guan Heng glanced at him, a hint of amusement in his eyes. Lu Qianque tossed aside the broken cue, apparently finding it funny too, and called out to Ning Qiuyan, “Little Puppy, get me a new cue.”

Ning Qiuyan turned to fetch a cue, only realizing what had happened afterward, silently looking at Lu Qianque: “…”

Lu Qianque caught on and corrected himself: “Xiao Ning.”

Only then did Ning Qiuyan toss him the cue.

Unnoticed, the match entered a fever pitch.

Combined, the two men’s ages were more than ten times Ning Qiuyan’s. Though it was just a pastime, the atmosphere grew tense. Guan Heng won the first round, Lu Qianque took the next, and neither showed any intention of stopping. The room was filled only with their low voices and the crisp sound of cues striking balls.

Lu Qianque asked Ning Qiuyan once, “Tired? You can go sleep, we won’t be done soon.”

“No,” Ning Qiuyan replied, “I’m not tired at all.”

Lu Qianque said, “Kids who stay up late won’t grow tall.”

Ning Qiuyan: “…Really, I’m not tired.”

He had no desire to argue with Lu Qianque!

They stayed there for two hours. A servant knocked once, bringing them “refreshments.”

Just as when Uncle Kang came upstairs, the servant brought a bright red liquid, this time in a medium-sized crystal decanter with two glass cups for them to help themselves.

Guan Heng didn’t usually eat this frequently, but the game had used up some of their energy, so a supplement was fine.

He held a delicate cup, his long hair now loose, and turned to ask Ning Qiuyan, “Hungry? Want them to bring you something to eat?”

Ning Qiuyan almost thought Guan Heng was sweating.

But Guan Heng wasn’t.

Ning Qiuyan shook his head and pulled up a chair to sit by the scoreboard.

During the break, Lu Qianque and Guan Heng chatted about topics Ning Qiuyan couldn’t follow-business, stocks, funds. At one point, Lu Qianque dialed a number, put it on speaker, and the two of them chatted with the person on the other end.

Whoever was still awake at this hour was probably one of their kind. The three talked deeply; as nocturnal beings, this was hardly late for them.

Ning Qiuyan spent a while in the adjacent game room, didn’t even finish the cutscene, and soon began to doze off.

Lu Qianque found him and knocked to remind him; only then did Ning Qiuyan realize the night wasn’t over yet.

When Ning Qiuyan returned, Guan Heng had lost a ball and accidentally snapped a cue.

Ning Qiuyan didn’t see how Guan Heng moved-he only saw his figure flash to the other side, already holding a new cue and cue chalk.

“Continue.”

Guan Heng said to Lu Qianque.

As he spoke, Guan Heng’s gaze swept past Ning Qiuyan, a gentle teasing in his eyes, as if speaking to him too.

Ning Qiuyan felt sure Guan Heng had noticed he was struggling to stay awake.

He tried to perk up, but as he flipped the scoreboard, he couldn’t help but let out a huge yawn.

As the two players took longer to think, Ning Qiuyan’s eyelids grew heavier, and the sound of balls dropping into pockets blurred. Guan Heng and Lu Qianque talked, cues broke, fouls were made-he couldn’t tell who did what.

*

Of all the all-nighters Ning Qiuyan had pulled, he’d never struggled so much to stay awake.

Maybe nights on Du Island were especially long.

Afterward, whenever he recalled this night, it always seemed especially short.

As if, in a blink, time had slipped away.

He dozed by the scoreboard for a while. When he opened his eyes, he didn’t immediately recognize where he was. All he saw was the honey-colored wooden screen in the dim light, and the warm fire burning on the floor.

The scene was familiar, dreamlike.

He looked down and saw he was wrapped in a black silk robe-the one Guan Heng wore.

He was in Guan Heng’s room, leaning against a matching black velvet high-backed sofa.
He couldn’t remember how he’d fallen asleep, nor how he’d returned here, but the robe draped over him made Ning Qiuyan lower his lashes, recalling the last time something had happened in this place.

Maybe Guan Heng had carried him back.

Ning Qiuyan curled up uselessly in the robe, letting it cover his face. After a while, he finally took out his phone to check the time.

The screen’s light stung his eyes in the dim room.

It was 5:30 a.m., two hours earlier than his usual wake-up time-the hour when the first guests arrived on Du Island.

Ning Qiuyan didn’t dare sleep any longer. He crawled out of the sofa and stood in the center of the room. “Mr. Guan?”

“Over here.”

In the quiet room, he heard Guan Heng’s voice.

Ning Qiuyan turned and followed the direction of Guan Heng’s voice, stepping behind a wooden screen. His view opened up; he hadn’t expected so much space behind it-this was truly Guan Heng’s bedroom.

A dozen steps from the screen stood a wide bed, its bedding as dark as the room, scattered with fluffy pillows, one even lying on the floor, all looking carelessly placed. A rug was spread beneath the bed, and a pendant lamp glowed warmly at the headboard. Other than that, the room was starkly empty.

Behind the bed was another screen, this one made of glass, revealing a large walk-in closet with only a few garments hanging inside.

Guan Heng stood there, dressed in impeccably tailored trousers and a white shirt, fastening his cufflinks.

Ning Qiuyan knew what he was supposed to do, but Dr. Ling hadn’t arrived yet, and he wasn’t sure how to begin. He stood awkwardly by the bed.

Guan Heng, dressed in a shirt, looked completely different from usual. He was a natural clothes-horse-tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged. The modern attire made him seem younger, more fitting for the handsome, mysterious tycoon he was. Ning Qiuyan remembered the first time he’d seen Guan Heng’s candid photo online.

Guan Heng walked over and stopped in front of Ning Qiuyan.

They were so close that Ning Qiuyan could feel Guan Heng looking down at him, his breathing involuntarily quickening.

Thump, thump.

The sound of a racing heartbeat.

Dawn had come.

Beyond this room, beyond the mansion, the mist above the forest was slowly receding.

The sun rose over the sea, illuminating the morning and casting gentle light over Du Island.

The night had officially ended. Guan Heng was still the gentle Guan Heng, but something had changed. These days, they’d talked about everything, grown close, but Guan Heng was still the employer, and Ning Qiuyan was the blood donor. Their relationship was maintained by an agreement, and it was supposed to be clear-cut.

“Are you ready?” Guan Heng asked calmly.

Ning Qiuyan nodded hard. “Mm.”

Guan Heng stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed, speaking directly: “Come here.”

This time, Ning Qiuyan didn’t need to be told. He raised his hands, took off his sweater, and knelt before Guan Heng, positioning himself at the right height. He’d thought this posture would be humiliating-kneeling always carried a sense of shame-but it wasn’t.

After last time, he knew this position made it easier and quicker for the feeder to pierce the vein. When the toxin took effect and his body went limp, the feeder could support him in time. It wasn’t overly intimate, nor too impersonal-perfect for a restrained, straightforward transaction.

False tenderness was nothing compared to swift, precise action.

At least it wouldn’t let anyone get too lost in it.

Ning Qiuyan’s hair was messy, his wide-necked T-shirt exposing his collarbone.

Guan Heng, on the other hand, was impeccably dressed.

When the teeth pierced his skin, Ning Qiuyan couldn’t help but tilt his neck, his pupils dilating, a brief moment of daze overtaking him.

This time, he might have made a sound.

Guan Heng’s large hand gripped the back of his head and shoulders, holding him tightly, almost like an intimate embrace. Ning Qiuyan’s fingers clutched the front of Guan Heng’s shirt, unconsciously twisting the fabric in the throes of intense pleasure, leaving deep creases.

Dr. Ling still hadn’t come upstairs.

They seemed to have forgotten to notify him.

“Don’t move.”

At the end, he heard Guan Heng say, his voice deeper than usual, but not tinged with pity.

“Good boy.”

In truth, Ning Qiuyan could barely move at all, nor could he see Guan Heng’s face-he couldn’t see the blood-stained lips or the eyes rimmed in deep red. He felt himself being lifted up, then sinking down again-Guan Heng had placed him on the soft mattress.

“Eat something downstairs before you sleep again.”

Guan Heng seemed about to leave, standing at the side of the bed. According to Dr. Ling, he couldn’t stay with Ning Qiuyan for too long at this moment.

The pendant lamp at the headboard cast a warm light, and the music hadn’t stopped, looping back to ‘Gymnopedie No. 1’, soothing and sleep-inducing.

But Ning Qiuyan’s sleepiness had vanished completely. He curled up, “Mr. Guan.”

Guan Heng paused, “What?”

Ning Qiuyan lay in the dark bedding, his black hair messy. On his slender neck, near the spot behind his ear, a tiny pink heart stood out, as conspicuous as the fresh bite mark below it.

He asked drowsily, “Who won?”

He meant the billiards game.

Guan Heng must have answered-in the darkness, Ning Qiuyan thought he heard Guan Heng say, “Me.”