Chapter 3: The Scent of a Kept Man

The web of his thumb could clearly feel the pulse of the artery. The skin beneath his fingers was delicate and cool to the touch, like the finest lipid jade. During their exchange, Sheng Shaoyan had already discovered that the person before him was far too familiar with his movements. Only through countless sessions of sparring and deconstructing moves could such a conditioned reflex be formed.

Even within those few short moves, two of the counterattacks carried Sheng Shaoyan’s own shadow.

The room was dimly lit. The snow-skinned young man’s eyes were dark and bright. Seemingly realizing who he was, the wariness around him instantly dissipated. There was no panic or fear of being restrained, not even a self-defensive instinct. He simply leaned relaxedly against the refrigerator door, awaiting his response.

Amidst the fruity aroma of the mangoes, as if confirming a certain guess, Sheng Shaoyan’s five fingers loosened, and he took a step back. “The landlord came by just now. Said the apartment downstairs has also been rented out. He couldn’t find the original copy of the rental agreement and came to borrow the one you signed to make a photocopy.”

“You found it? I’d forgotten where I put it.” Nervous, Shen Xici’s voice was dry. He cautiously went along with Sheng Shaoyan’s words, all the while wondering why Sheng Shaoyan had suddenly let go.

He had just been frantically racking his brain, trying to figure out how to dispel Sheng Shaoyan’s thoughts of killing him and save his own life.

But whether it was saying he was reciting lines and had made a mistake, or claiming he was an assassin sent by his second uncle who had now decided to switch sides and could help him counter-kill, none of these excuses were needed.

“Found it. It was on the bedside table. You probably just put it there without thinking again.” When Sheng Shaoyan handed the contract to the landlord, he had glanced at it. The signature at the bottom read “Shen Xici,” in neat, fluid handwriting.

Shen Xici’s gaze sharpened slightly.

Sheng Shaoyan had used the word “again,” and in a very familiar tone.

Could it be that Sheng Shaoyan had also been reborn?

Who knew? Was rebirth as common as wholesale cabbage these days, buy two get a discount, buy three get half off?

“I’m going to the bathroom to wash my face.”

Shen Xici was feeling unnerved and couldn’t wait for the man to leave so he could sort out his thoughts. “Mhm, go ahead. Call me if you need any help.”

“Okay.”

Watching Sheng Shaoyan, who was nearly 1.9 meters tall, have to duck his head slightly to enter the bathroom due to the low doorframe, Shen Xici tapped his chin with a fingertip.

Something was wrong.

Whether it was his gaze, micro-expressions, or body language, Sheng Shaoyan showed an imperceptible rejection and aversion towards him. Clearly, Sheng Shaoyan didn’t know him at all.

But Sheng Shaoyan was concealing this unfamiliarity.

Or rather, Sheng Shaoyan was pretending to know him.

Seeing that the bathroom door was ajar, Shen Xici thought for a moment and decided to follow him.

He hadn’t taken two steps when a conversation suddenly flashed into his mind.

In his past life, by the swimming pool of the mid-level villa, he had asked Sheng Shaoyan how he got the through-and-through wound near his heart.

At that time, Sheng Shaoyan’s lean muscles were glistening with water. He took the large, long-staple cotton towel Shen Xici threw him and casually ruffled his medium-length hair into a mess. He mentioned nonchalantly that due to internal family power struggles, the number of “accidents” he had encountered couldn’t be counted on one hand. One of those times, he was injured and fell unconscious on the border, even experiencing a brief period of amnesia.

After word of his amnesia leaked, many people saw it as a golden opportunity. Setting traps at board meetings to seize power were considered mild tactics. His second uncle had made a move three times during that one month of his amnesia, twice bringing him to the brink of death. The penetrating wound near his heart was from that time.

Yesterday, when he was cleaning the wound on Sheng Shaoyan’s back, he had seen that the penetrating wound was not yet there.

Border, injury, coma—it all matched up.

A brief… amnesia?

A clear stream of water hit the white glaze of the sink. Cold water splashed on his face, but Sheng Shaoyan’s severe headache was not suppressed. Instead, it charged provocatively through his nerves and blood vessels. Every throb of the blood vessel at his temple caused a sharp pain.

Sheng Shaoyan tried to search his mind for memories related to Shen Xici, but he couldn’t even find a single fragment. Or rather, no matter what memory he searched for, whether about himself or others, he came up empty.

A strong sense of agitation welled up. A feeling of insecurity, of having lost control over everything, embedded itself in his heart like dense steel nails, making him desperate to grasp onto something, anything.

Water droplets trickled down his tense jawline. Suppressing his emotions with great effort, Sheng Shaoyan closed his eyes and habitually reached out his hand.

When his fingertips touched the soft surface of a towel, the agitation between his brows eased.

A grey-blue towel, folded in a rather unusual three-fold way, was right where he could grasp it.

His gaze shifted. A glass rinse cup was placed upside down on the right side of the sink, a grey robe was hung on the left side of the bathroom door, and when he woke up from his coma, a glass of water was placed exactly where he could reach it.

Even with amnesia, his body still retained habits cultivated over many years, and all of these details happened to fit perfectly.

The floating catkins had found a place to land. At least his past still had traces that could be followed.

With two clicks, the pull cord by the wall was pulled. The tungsten filament bulb on the ceiling flickered and lit up.

“Why didn’t you turn on the light?”

Because of his headache, Sheng Shaoyan forced himself not to avoid it, even though the white light felt more glaring and unbearable than usual—

“This light is only white light. Just bear with it for now. The owner of the small supermarket downstairs said the warm light bulbs will be in stock in two days. I’ll go buy one and replace it then.”

Sheng Shaoyan almost thought he had spoken his inner thoughts aloud.

At that moment, he saw in the mirror Shen Xici walking in from the doorway, step by step, saying as he walked, “Take off your clothes.”

Clothes—off?

Sheng Shaoyan’s gaze sharpened as he reassessed the person who had entered, though his mindset had completely changed from before.

Shen Xici had long legs and excellent proportions. His exposed arms were lean but covered with a thin layer of muscle, visually just right. The black mask was bunched up at his chin, the stark contrast between the inky black and his cold white skin was striking. From his forehead to his brow bone, then to the base of his nose and his jaw, the profile of his bone structure was smooth and flawless. It was a face with almost no imperfections.

Even the curve of his jawline angle was perfectly in line with his aesthetic preferences.

Although he had amnesia, it didn’t mean he was unclear about his own sexual orientation.

Him and Shen Xici?

Indeed, there was only one bedroom and one bed in this apartment.

But—

Shen Xici pulled his mask up, covering half of his face, and skillfully spread rinse-free hand sanitizer in his palms, saying seriously, “Let me see how the wound on your back is doing.”

Sheng Shaoyan: “…”

The small wooden bird carving hanging on the window frame swayed in the wind. Sheng Shaoyan averted his eyes—this was definitely not a life aesthetic he would have.

Returning his gaze, he took in the one-bedroom rental. Subconsciously, he was not quite comfortable in such a place.

It was cramped, shabby, with low ceilings. Although it was very clean and the scattered daily necessities were neatly arranged, the furniture could be counted on one hand, and each piece was either missing a leg or had peeling paint.

The sound insulation was also very poor. He could hear the honking of horns, the roar of engines, and the ringing of bicycle bells from the street, which was irritating. His just-settled nerves felt as if they were being pierced by needles again. Just as a sharp pain was about to erupt, a clear voice suddenly sounded behind him.

“You’re lucky. You moved so much just now, but it didn’t reopen. Remember to take the medicine I bought, one pill in the morning and one at night, for a week. Your body is very healthy and heals fast, so this wound isn’t a big problem.”

Cool fingertips pressed on his back, like fine ice crystals melting on that spot. The agitation that had just risen in Sheng Shaoyan seemed to be properly placed in an ice bowl, instantly subdued.

An image of a pair of hands appeared in his mind. The skin was as white as cold porcelain, the knuckles long and even, and the cyan veins were like faint wisps of blue and white patterns under the glaze, possessing a beauty worthy of a close-up shot.

Suppressing his instinctive repulsion, Sheng Shaoyan asked nonchalantly, “What medicine? What did the doctor say?”

Shen Xici grumbled to himself. This man was truly like a lion resting in the grass at dusk; the moment something was amiss, he would stand up and shake his mane.

“Anti-inflammatory and painkillers. I bought them at the pharmacy at the street corner. Azithromycin, cephalosporins, and the like. I was afraid you’d be allergic to penicillin.” Shen Xici pulled Sheng Shaoyan’s clothes down, covering the white bandage. “I didn’t go to the hospital. Sui County only has one county hospital. How could the doctors there stitch a wound more beautifully than me? If you don’t believe me, you can see for yourself when the bandage comes off.”

Due to years of eating and exercising according to the advice of professional nutritionists and fitness trainers, although it wasn’t obvious when he was clothed, Sheng Shaoyan’s muscles were very beautiful, as if containing a power waiting to explode.

Shen Xici had seen it many times in his past life and had developed an aesthetic immunity, but thinking of the slightly flexed spine he had just seen, its curve like a sheathed longsword holding back its power—

Tsk, so handsome! I’m envious!

As expected, Sheng Shaoyan did not press the matter further.

Turning on the tap, Shen Xici lowered his eyelids and washed his hands carefully. From the current situation, Sheng Shaoyan would rather go through the trouble of acting, speaking and doing little, observing secretly and assessing the situation, than easily reveal that he had lost his memory.

In his past life, he hadn’t met Sheng Shaoyan, so Sheng Shaoyan was most likely found by his subordinates. Presumably, the man must have been just like now, trying his best to hide the secret of his amnesia.

But the people who could stay by Sheng Shaoyan’s side, which one of them wasn’t the sharpest of the sharp? Something like amnesia couldn’t be hidden just by wanting to.

Shen Xici had considered whether to come clean with Sheng Shaoyan, but the thought only circled in his mind twice before being abandoned.

If he told Sheng Shaoyan that they didn’t know each other at all, with Sheng Shaoyan’s terminal-stage severe paranoia, coupled with the stress of amnesia, he would definitely leave. The events of his past life would very likely happen again.

The penetrating wound near his heart, which took immense manpower and resources to save him from over several days and nights in the last life—what if in this life, the bullet deviated by just one centimeter?

Sheng Shaoyan would be dead.

Shen Xici didn’t dare to gamble.

Of course, there was another reason—as soon as Sheng Shaoyan went back and found out they had never known each other, he would surely receive a “you’re done for” package delivered over mountains the very next day.

Pulling out two sheets of paper, Shen Xici wiped the water from between his fingers forcefully.

A black-hearted capitalist like the fourth master of the Sheng family, who completely disregards rules, was absolutely capable of doing something like that!

Pulling down his mask and squeezing another pump of cool sanitizing gel into his hand, Shen Xici decided to just let it be. He’d drag it out for a month if he could. Thirty days was a decent amount of time. Maybe after Sheng Shaoyan regained his memory, seeing that he had saved his life and taken such good care of him, he might show a little conscience.

He didn’t need a lot of conscience, just enough to act like a human being!

Early the next morning, Shen Xici ran to the mobile service provider’s office and, with great pain, spent eight hundred and sixty-nine yuan on a new phone. He happened to catch a government subsidy, and the hundred-yuan fortune he saved barely salvaged his shattered wallet.

After getting a new SIM card and packing a breakfast according to Sheng Shaoyan’s tastes, he returned home to find the curtains drawn. On the living room sofa, the man’s breathing was still even.

Shen Xici saved his own phone number into the new phone. As he pressed the keys, he thought, who would have imagined that Sheng Shaoyan, the renowned scion of the Sheng family who was never seen without a three-piece custom-tailored suit, always had a driver in front and bodyguards behind, and whose meals had a budget of thousands of dollars, would one day be wearing a 29.9 yuan sweatshirt, holding a three-digit phone, eating a forty or fifty yuan luxury street-side breakfast, and living in a five-hundred-yuan-a-month rental, sleeping on the sofa at that.

Oh, and the other night, he rode in a sapphire blue convertible tricycle.

Who would dare say this wasn’t the ultimate disguise?

He wrote another note and placed it on the table. Shen Xici rushed downstairs just in time to meet up with the crew members and go to the set together.

The living room door was gently closed. Inside the room, apart from the slightly swaying sunlight, there was no other movement.

A few minutes later, the springs of the old sofa creaked. The person lying on it stood up, his eyes clearly bloodshot. Having barely slept all night, his head was aching severely. Sheng Shaoyan was wrapped in a cloak of irascibility, wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt, his face still devastatingly handsome.

A piece of transparent glass was pressed onto the white, plant-patterned tablecloth. Its reflective surface mirrored a pair of large, well-defined hands. Bypassing the new phone and the steaming breakfast, those hands picked up the note.

It seemed to be a corner piece carelessly torn from some notebook, the edges all jagged. The handwriting on it was clearly rushed, but the strokes were still fluid, the characters well-proportioned and graceful.

[A’Shao, I couldn’t find your phone, so I bought you a new one to use for now. Remember to eat breakfast, don’t forget your medicine, and be careful not to pull at your wound. The wound can’t get wet. I’ve moved the living expenses, they’re in the drawer. You’re on your own for lunch and dinner. I’m going to work, will be back at night. Call me if you need anything.]

The signature was Shen Xici, and at the end, he had even drawn a smiley face, although the last hurried stroke of the mouth was about to fly off the page.

A thin piece of paper, a few short lines, it could be said to cover every detail.

Sheng Shaoyan frowned as he read.

Why did this exude—the scent of a kept man?

What exactly was his relationship with Shen Xici?

Placing the note aside, Sheng Shaoyan unwrapped the several breakfast items. His expression was serious as he studied the unfamiliar food with an analytical gaze, not immediately reaching out.

A cup of drip coffee, a bowl of white beef noodles in broth, crispy golden-fried spring rolls in a box, a pastry wrapped in some unknown plant leaf, and a long bread roll with chicken, lettuce, cucumber, and tomato in the middle.

After standing silently for a while, Sheng Shaoyan looked away, turned, and left. Soon, the sound of running water came from the direction of the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, Sheng Shaoyan had changed into an oversized, thin black zip-up hoodie, a long white T-shirt underneath, and black cargo pants. His hair was half-dried with a towel, sticking up unrulily, exuding an undisguised sharpness.

Standing by the table again, his thin lips tightened slightly. Sheng Shaoyan picked up a spring roll and took a cautious bite.

His brows relaxed slightly.

A bit salty, but okay.