EM CH8

Chapter 8: A Few Ways to Discipline Subordinates

Yu An stared at that face, took half a step back, and stealthily hid the sheet of paper into the cardboard boxes cluttering the living room.

Zhao Ran slid open the glass window, propped himself up on the windowsill, and leaped inside with nimble grace: “Is this place a warehouse or what? Can’t you clean up a bit?” He turned around, drew the curtains shut, and waved away the kicked-up dust.

Because luggage was piled everywhere, the living room was simply too chaotic, to the point where even a TV cabinet turned upside down didn’t look particularly out of place.

Yu An cautiously observed Zhao Ran’s expression, feeling that he probably hadn’t noticed the tiny hole on the bottom of the TV cabinet, so he offered no clumsy explanation to give himself away.

That diary page from just now was bizarre. Yu An remembered the bus ticket and book he gave his mother on his birthday, yet he had no recollection of the person who hopped in through the window that day.

The “him” in the diary seemed fabricated out of thin air. From a scientific perspective, it might have been a hallucination born of some psychiatric condition, like a split personality or delusional disorder.

Yet it was also possible that this person truly existed, while he himself had simply forgotten everything related to him, like a person whose face had been snipped out of an old photograph.

Could “he” be Zhao Ran?

Yet he acted like a stranger. Well, not quite entirely like one either. Some people just habitually knocked on doors four times; that didn’t necessarily prove anything.

“What are you thinking about?” Zhao Ran popped up right in front of him, lightly brushing against Yu An with his wrist, his tone seemingly expectant that he might remember something.

“Interviewer, what did you come here for?”

“Special services.” Zhao Ran raised his phone, thrusting the chat interface displaying the line “I need my interviewer to sleep with me” right into Yu An’s face. “You just walked out of a homicide scene and had close contact with corpses. It’s only right for me to keep you company for the night.”

Looking thoroughly worn down by the brat’s unreasonable demands, he slumped onto the sofa and lazily rubbed his face.

“Uh.” That had just been said in jest. Yu An pressed his lips together, feeling a touch apologetic. Calculating the time, Zhao Ran should have already boarded a transit vehicle and turned back midway after receiving his message.

Since he was already here, he couldn’t very well make the man turn around and trek all the way back.

“Do you want to take a shower? I’ll go check the water heater in the bathroom.” Yu An hurriedly poured a cup of boiling water, handed it to Zhao Ran to warm his hands, casually kicked aside the luggage blocking the path to clear a messy way through, and walked into the washroom with his head lowered.

After locking the door, Yu An thoroughly sorted through the current situation while washing his hands. A hypothesis formed in his mind, and once this thought emerged, a cold sweat broke out across his back.

Could there be a possibility that the real Zhao Ran was already dead, and the one outside the door was an impostor? That would explain why he didn’t remember him: he was merely imitating the Zhao Ran he had killed.

He was unusually familiar with the layout of his home, and drawing the curtains was an unsettling move. It might very well have been done to conceal the violent acts he planned to commit next.

Since Yu An was temporarily amnesic anyway, whatever happened before he lost consciousness was entirely up to the other man’s words, wasn’t it?

This was bad. There were knives in the kitchen; if they were turned against him, he would be finished.

Yu An drew the dagger from the shaft of his mid-calf boot, lightly resting his fingertips on the bathroom door handle.

The faint sound of a news broadcast came from outside. It seemed the man had turned on the television. Did he intend to use the TV volume to mask his footsteps? He might have already initiated his move.

Yu An gently turned the lock, pushed down the handle, opened the bathroom door a crack, and peered outside.

He had expected his gaze to meet a pair of scarlet, manic eyes, but the outcome was the exact opposite of what he anticipated.

Zhao Ran was curled up on the sofa fast asleep, his long hair softly fanned out beside the headrest, his long legs forced to bend and tuck inward with nowhere else to stretch out.

A sickly pallor floated on his face. He frowned faintly in exhaustion, the hem of his shirt rolled up above his abs, the wound still bound by the gauze Yu An had taped over it.

Yu An held the blade expressionlessly, walking over step by step. Using the knife tip, he parted the strands of hair across the man’s forehead, tracing him inch by inch with his eyes.

His temperament while peacefully asleep was worlds apart from when he was awake. He looked fragile and pale, reminiscent of a flower that was pure white when closed, yet fiercely aggressive when fully in bloom.

So pretty.

A beautiful body like this wasn’t suited to lie in a pool of blood. Instead, his hands ought to be bound and suspended in a windowless room, decorated with sharp ornaments, while one observed his reactions to pain and touch.

Since he had chosen to be a murderer anyway and had taken one of his eyeballs, and surely had plenty of blood and lives on his hands before this, he ought to have prepared himself for whatever fate awaited him. This was destiny’s retribution.

Unable to wait any longer, Yu An raised his hand high.

Without the slightest warning, Zhao Ran opened his eyes.

!

Caught in the middle of an assassination attempt, Yu An showed not a shred of panic. Continuing with his original plan, he brought the pommel of the dagger down with heavy force. Zhao Ran reacted swiftly, instantly seizing Yu An’s wrist.

Yet Yu An pressed his right leg down against Zhao Ran’s body. Possessing the leverage advantage in this posture, the two reached a brief deadlock.

Startled awake by the chilly desire in Yu An’s eyes, Zhao Ran watched the other’s lips move, silently articulating four words: “Excessive self-defense.”

“Stop it!” Zhao Ran ripped the dagger away, driving his knee upward to flip the young man who was pinning him down. “What are you doing? Did my taking a nap offend you somehow?”

Unexpectedly, Yu An was well prepared. He calmly retreated behind the coffee table, hoisted an entire knife block brought over earlier from the floor, set it on the coffee table, stroked and selected among the row of handles with his fingertips, and lifted his eyelids, swapping to a different term: “Justifiable defense.”

“…” Zhao Ran glanced at the dagger gripped in his own hand, instantly sensing trouble.

Underground Railway operatives universally agreed that interviewing newcomers carried the highest danger rating of all assignments, because you never knew what kind of vile soul hid beneath that harmless-looking young skin.

Zhao Ran wiped every trace of expression from his face, plunged the dagger tip-down into the wooden surface of the coffee table, shrugged off his trench coat, and unfastened the button at his collar, taking on a posture of utter seriousness.

He rolled up his sleeves, serpentine blue veins tracing across the muscles of his forearms.

A brawl broke out in the cramped living room. Yu An’s physical stamina was by no means lacking; furthermore, unlike Zhao Ran, he didn’t pull his punches. Locking onto his target, he lunged forward gripping a boning knife.

Yet mid-leap, he felt a hand clamp around his ankle followed by a fierce yank backward, flipping him completely over.

The world spun before his eyes. A dull ache bloomed in Yu An’s chest as he was pinned hard against the wall.

Zhao Ran stood behind him, twisting back the hand holding the boning knife. Yu An still refused to behave, desperately stretching his other hand toward another blade in the distance. Zhao Ran drove a dagger straight down between his fingers, burying the blade into the wall between Yu An’s thumb and index finger without nicking him in the slightest.

Zhao Ran’s grip was firm and unyielding like iron pincers, restraining Yu An as effortlessly as pinning down a tiny kitten.

Unwilling to submit, Yu An kept struggling.

“I’ve been pampering you too much, haven’t I?” Zhao Ran applied a fraction more pressure. Yu An felt as though his tendons and bones were on the verge of dislocating and snapping. Biting his teeth hard against the pain, he couldn’t help letting out a muffled groan.

“They say interviewing newcomers requires beating them until they submit. I used to think that was too barbaric, but it looks like you prefer this method?”

“Interviewer, you look like the type that men would fall for.” Even while pinned down, Yu An turned his head to provoke him. “I didn’t actually plan to kill you.”

Momentarily dazzled by that gloomy, alluring gaze, Zhao Ran suddenly heard a sharp pop of bone. The forearm joint trapped in his grasp had dislocated.

Yu An stubbornly kept silent, yet physiological tears finally welled in his right eye, spilling down his cheek.

“…” Zhao Ran’s temper was instantly snuffed out, and he slowly released his grip.

Yu An fell to his knees on the floor, cradling his dislocated forearm while panting raggedly.

Zhao Ran squatted down, frowning as he looked at the little animal he had accidentally broken. Taking hold of Yu An’s wrist and cupping the dislocated joint with his other hand, he pushed the joint back into place.

Like a cat, Yu An unexpectedly lashed out again to grab the boning knife.

“Still going? You sure are full of energy…” Zhao Ran swiftly backed away to a safe distance.

Just then, a familiar voice drifted softly from the wall-mounted television. On the news screen, a man wearing an Underground Railway insignia on the lapel of his trench coat waved in greeting to reporters.

Yu An turned his body, casting his gaze toward the screen. The broadcast was replaying a press conference held by Underground Railway, and the man speaking with poised composure at the podium was Zhao Ran of the Emergency Order Team.

High brow bones, cold fair skin, coupled with long, pale plum-colored hair: he was indeed completely identical to the interviewer beside him. An appearance this distinctive was difficult to impersonate. Besides, he had touched his face during their tussle earlier; there was no latex disguise.

After zoning out for a while, Yu An placed the boning knife back into the wooden block in disappointment. Pretending as if nothing had happened, he picked up the knife block and carried it back to the kitchen.

Zhao Ran glanced back. The little menace had finally quieted down and likely wouldn’t act up again anytime soon. Looking down, Zhao Ran rolled his fingertips together. On the hand that had just gripped Yu An’s wrist, a ring of moisture seeped out from the fingertips of the thin leather glove, thicker and more viscous than sweat.

…

After putting the cutlery away in the kitchen, Yu An obediently plugged in the water heater, turned on the heat on the air conditioner, and retrieved clean towels and toiletries from the cupboard to set in the bathroom.

Only after Zhao Ran stepped into the bathroom and the sound of running water echoed from within did Yu An calm down. He tidied up the clutter a bit and flipped the TV cabinet back to its original position.

It seemed the past inside his mind wasn’t the real world, while the secrets buried in his memories held the truth.

Yu An felt immensely curious about that sense of passionate love between the lines: kisses, embraces, a sensitive flushed neck, and teeth that nicked the tongue.

If the partner was Zhao Ran… Yu An genuinely couldn’t picture that pink fellow acting gentle and considerate. The man had nearly snapped his arm off just moments ago.

Yu An quietly chalked up a grudge.

There had to be more than one page inside that TV cabinet; he needed more diary entries. But the coin lock restricted him. Tomorrow, he would have to go out and scavenge some spent cores to see if he could pop out diary entries from other dates.

Right, he had already signed the internship agreement, so he would probably have to report to work tomorrow.

He would likely be assigned to a technical role. Figuring out how to survive was what mattered most right now. Yu An temporarily cast the diary to the back of his mind, picked up the Core Storage Analyzer from the table, and studied it in detail.

The water in the bathroom ceased running. Toweling his hair dry with a bath towel draped over his shoulders, Zhao Ran pushed open the bedroom door and walked in. He found Yu An seated at the writing desk, which was covered in a spread of components, circuit boards, and micro-tools.

“Good grief, you dismantled the Core Storage Analyzer?” Seeing the mess across the desk, Zhao Ran lazily pulled up a round stool to sit beside Yu An, propping his chin in his hand to watch. “Can you even put it back together?”

Yu An was entirely absorbed. Wearing a mechanical eyepiece over his right eye, his nimble fingers flicked delicately as he arranged coils around a micro-disinfection pump, branched eight high-pressure fiber tubes soldered into the eight core slots, coated them in a quick-drying insulating layer, set it aside to dry, and opened his laptop to debug the firmware.

He lacked the good habit of laying out screws and parts in order during disassembly; all the tiny items were tossed together in a chaotic heap, yet he could pinpoint the exact screw he needed with a single glance.

Yu An kept his head down, but his peripheral vision couldn’t resist glancing toward Zhao Ran.

He wore only a bathrobe. Stripped of the laundry soap scent of his shirt, Yu An caught a very faint, subtle woody fragrance radiating from him, similar to the scent of pages from rarely opened antique tomes in a library.

Yet when Zhao Ran shifted slightly, the rich lavender fragrance of the shampoo completely overpowered that light scent, leaving Yu An to dismiss the earlier perception as a trick of the senses.

“Interviewer, go sleep in my bed,” he said in a muffled voice. “The other rooms are even messier.”

A pale gleam lit up the sky outside the bedroom window; dawn was nearly breaking.

Yu An removed the eyepiece. His eye felt somewhat sore, so he simply leaned onto the desk, closed his eyes, and rested.

Just as his consciousness began to drift toward sleep, someone walked over, bent down, draped Yu An’s arm over his shoulder, and scooped him up by the thighs in an embrace.

Zhao Ran placed him gently beneath the covers, sat by the edge of the bed to examine the joint he had reset, and only then switched off the lamp to lie down beside Yu An.

A long time passed before Yu An dared to crack his eyes open. He had originally intended to wake the interviewer to show off his modified Core Storage Analyzer, but the man seemed exhausted, visibly worn out in body and mind.

Yu An carefully parted the collar of Zhao Ran’s bathrobe, trying hard to convince himself that he only wanted to check whether the wound had been tended to properly. But the man’s skin was truly pale; even a slight touch brought forth a layer of faint pink.

Looking toward Zhao Ran’s chest, Yu An paused in surprise. Delicate red marks that hadn’t yet faded were imprinted there, looking like scratch lines transferred from the pen tip when he had used his chest as a backing to sign the contract.

The contour of the characters “Yu An” was faintly visible.

“…” Yu An bit the knuckle of his index finger, holding his breath as he tentatively brushed against his collarbone and pecs. A faint flush bloomed wherever his fingertips traced.

That he was an interviewer and not a serial killer was tonight’s greatest regret.

“Don’t cause trouble.” Zhao Ran felt ticklish and drowsily pushed Yu An’s head away.

His hands were still gloved.

Yu An recalled that from the very first moment they met, those thin leather gloves had never once been taken off.

Having played too many horror games had left him with lingering aftereffects. Yu An couldn’t help imagining that underneath those gloves lurked a pair of demonic claws covered in thorny blisters, or perhaps the gloves had already parasitized his skin, such that peeling them off would be equivalent to flaying him alive.

Was there some secret hidden inside? Yu An felt his palm and fingers with the pads of his fingers, finding nothing unusual.

Yet the instant he brushed against the fingertips, Zhao Ran’s whole body shuddered. Lifting his head from the soft pillow, he locked his gaze onto Yu An, his irises turning bloodshot red.

Under the interviewer’s death glare, Yu An licked his lips, pulled his hand back, and hurriedly rolled over with his back turned, pulling the blanket up.

“Don’t play like that, or I really won’t be able to control myself,” he heard Zhao Ran say helplessly from behind, his voice somewhat hoarse, as if straining to suppress something.