chapter 7

Qiu Rongrong started to wonder if she’d heard him wrong.

Someone like Zhou Jingxing shouldn’t be saying something that crude.

But he had said it-plain as day.

The sky was a dull gray, and the rainy air was so damp it felt suffocating.

The wipers scraped back and forth across the windshield with a squeak, clearing the haze of water in front of her for a moment before a fresh curtain of rain swallowed it again.

Qiu Rongrong gradually fell quiet.

That last sentence hadn’t been her imagination.

Was he joking?

If he was, how was she supposed to respond?

She felt awkward.

She stole a glance at Zhou Jingxing.

One hand on the steering wheel, he drove with full focus.

His expression was calm and unbothered.

Qiu Rongrong couldn’t make sense of it. In the end, she simply played deaf-pretending she hadn’t heard his final “joke.”

When they got home.

Qiu Rongrong got out of the car, and raindrops as big as beans hammered down.

“Put this on.” Zhou Jingxing pulled off his own jacket and draped it over her head.

“Then what about you?”

“I’m not afraid of getting soaked.”

He’s really nice, Qiu Rongrong thought.

Zhou Jingxing gave her back a light pat, and she ducked under his jacket and hurried into the villa.

The orchids in the courtyard had been battered to pieces by the downpour.

Zhou Jingxing was caught in the rain. Water darkened his black hair and streamed down his pale cheeks to his sharp chin, then traced the line of his beautiful collarbones before seeping into his shirt.

He went to shower first.

Water ran in the bathroom.

The light was on inside, but the living room remained dim.

A boyish profile flickered indistinctly on the frosted glass.

Qiu Rongrong’s thoughts were a tangled mess as she tossed her wet clothes into the washing machine.

After changing into something dry, she made Zhou Huaiyuan a bowl of rice topped with sauce-nearly half a pot’s worth.

She was already an adult. It was Uncle Zhou who provided her with a place to live and covered her living expenses, so she could focus on college without worrying about making ends meet.

She should be grateful, so she was willing to take on the responsibility of looking after Zhou Huaiyuan.

Zhou Huaiyuan ate like a slob.

Qiu Rongrong fed him a few bites. His temper was better than before; he didn’t fling filthy things at her anymore.

All his attention was glued to the game on the computer.

Out of the corner of her eye, Qiu Rongrong caught the screen-splashes of red and white as the pixel character Zhou Huaiyuan controlled devoured other pedestrians and then swelled bigger.

The game came with gory effects and wet chewing sounds whenever it ate someone.

Zhou Huaiyuan was thrilled, snorting loudly through his nose. The fat on his cheeks stacked into three or four folds as he grinned.

Qiu Rongrong looked away.

The images on the screen made her nauseous.

She fled Zhou Huaiyuan’s room as if escaping.

Outside, thunder rolled in waves. Rain poured like a waterfall. The villa was pitch-black; even with the lights on, the glow was so weak it only lit a small circle beneath each lamp. Everything else was shadow.

Qiu Rongrong sat on the sofa with her knees hugged to her chest, swallowed by darkness. Each flash of lightning outside lit up her pale face in brief bursts.

The man dragging the sack wouldn’t leave her mind.

Over and over, she saw the swollen half-hand sticking out of it.

Half.

It had been cut clean across the palm, from the base of the thumb to the base of the little finger. The edge was smooth-whoever did it had been quick and decisive.

The hand was already showing signs of decay.

No telling how long the person had been dead.

Would it be her turn next?

Qiu Rongrong didn’t dare think about it.

Zhou Jingxing came out after his shower. He wore loose black silk pajamas, his hair still damp. He walked behind the sofa and bent down.

The moist warmth of him was close to Qiu Rongrong’s face.

“What’re you thinking about?” Zhou Jingxing’s voice was rough and husky, brushing the rim of her ear and sliding into her ear canal like a tease, stirring up her mind. “Still scared? If you’re scared, call me. Say my name, and I’ll show up and protect you.”
Too close.

They weren’t really brother and sister.

They could call it “adoption” in name, but once she was an adult, there wouldn’t even be any legal adoptive relationship to speak of.

Qiu Rongrong’s pale, slender fingers clenched at her sleeve. She shifted slightly to the side and looked back over her shoulder at Zhou Jingxing, asking softly, “Brother, could you do me a favor?”

Zhou Jingxing had an arm braced along the back of the sofa as he leaned forward. The line of his neck was beautiful, his prominent Adam’s apple unmistakably sensual. There were still beads of water on it that he hadn’t wiped off.

Hanging there, not quite falling.

Perfect for licking away with the tip of a tongue.

“You’re calling me Brother,” he said, his eyes gentle and tender. Yet beneath the curtain of his long lashes, a trace of cool detachment was hidden away. “Of course I’ll help you with anything.”

The living room lighting was dim, and Qiu Rongrong couldn’t read what was in his eyes.

Hearing that he was willing to help, she felt genuinely grateful. “I want you to draw a portrait of the killer.”

She forced herself to recall the murderer as clearly as she could, wanting Zhou Jingxing to sketch his face so she could hand it to the police-so she could avenge the psychologist.

“Sure.” Zhou Jingxing looked like he was about to stand.

Qiu Rongrong finally felt like she could sit up straighter.

But he feinted-then suddenly reached out with his long fingers, slid them through the hair at the back of her head, and held her in place. Under Qiu Rongrong’s shocked gaze, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her smooth forehead, then immediately pulled away.

Light and fast.

So fast that the faint warmth she’d just felt was stolen away by the cool draft cutting through the living room.

A beat later, Qiu Rongrong realized what had happened. The blush on her face spread all the way to the tips of her ears.

“You…” At a loss, she lowered her head and murmured, “That was too fast. You can’t just… do it without saying what it means…”

Her heart wavered.

Uncle Zhou had paid her tuition, let her live in the villa, treated her like family.

The best kind of relationship should stop at that.

“Come to my room. I’ll draw for you.” Zhou Jingxing caught the hand she didn’t know what to do with, squeezed her fingertips, and placed it against his chest.

He didn’t explain that kiss.

He only looked at her with a smiling, easy warmth.

“I’ll draw the killer for you. I can draw anything you want.”

Qiu Rongrong was a little afraid to go into his room.

Thunderstorms always made her uneasy. He held her hand and led her inside, then closed the door and locked it.

“Why are you locking the door?” Qiu Rongrong felt that Zhou Jingxing was very good to her, but the closeness between them was moving a little too quickly.

Zhou Jingxing, as if it were none of her concern, took out a pencil and sketch paper.

“Let’s handle the important thing first.”

“Okay.”

Qiu Rongrong described, in detail, the man in her memory who had been dragging a burlap sack.

“His skin was very pale. The lines of his profile were cleaner… the outer corners of his eyes naturally drooped… but the inner corners tilted up slightly, balancing out that droop.”

“His irises were black-bigger than normal, darker… but there was no light in them.”

“And there’s a small black mole beneath his ear.”

Qiu Rongrong spoke in fragments.

Zhou Jingxing was very quiet as he drew.

He’d casually pushed up the sleeves of his pajamas, exposing a thin wrist. His knuckles were distinct, and faint veins showed through the back of his hand.

He lowered his head. The pencil rasped softly across the paper.

“Like this?” Zhou Jingxing set the pencil down and lifted the drawing.

Qiu Rongrong stared at the face on the page, and her complexion drained inch by inch.

Too similar.

Was it his miraculous skill-his brushwork like something out of legend?

Or had she described it that accurately?

The entire time, he’d only used the eraser to carve out blank spaces, creating the effect of light and shadow.

He hadn’t made a single mistake.

And then, completely restored that man’s features.

Exactly the same.