EM CH18

Chapter 18: Weakness

Carrying the fellow clinging to his body, Zhao Ran walked into the house and closed the front door. The house was warm, the keypad door shutting the sunlight outside.

The two of them still maintained their posture, facing each other beneath the coat.

Their noses brushed exceedingly close. Zhao Ran’s breath carried a desolate woody scent, reminiscent of dried maple leaves pressed inside an antique book for years, or an unvarnished, rustic wood carving. His hair and eyelashes had turned snow-white, and even the original pale plum tint of his eyes had completely receded, leaving his pupils a translucent, misty white.

“You, you faded,” Yu An stammered. “Looks like you got ruined by the sun.”

“Yeah, ruined,” Zhao Ran repeated, pulling off the jacket draped over his head, looking with amusement at his shocked expression. “I mostly rest during the day and work field duty at night. Just now, it was because you insisted on waiting in the courtyard that I didn’t avoid the sunlight.”

“Did you only lose color? Let me try to rescue it.” Yu An slowly cupped both hands around Zhao Ran’s neck, then began rubbing vigorously like someone trying to start a fire by drilling wood.

The skin on his neck was delicate; when had it ever suffered such abuse? A thin redness seeped from beneath the dermal layers to the surface, blooming into two flushes where Yu An had rubbed.

“No big deal, still salvageable, just a bit uneven.” Yu An patted the other areas that weren’t red yet. “There we go, it spread.”

Zhao Ran wanted to toss him off, yet didn’t quite want to throw him down either.

“Alright, alright, getting a little sun is nothing serious. Stop messing with me.” Zhao Ran plucked him off his body, leaned against the shoe cabinet to change into slippers, and finally tossed his bloodstained, grimy trench coat into the laundry basket nearby.

“Take off dirty clothes here and just throw them inside; someone will wash, press, and return them.”

Yu An watched the interviewer walk off bare-chested, his smooth, V-tapered back muscles resembling a sheet of white mica.

“Is he really alright?” Peeking around the corner of the entryway wall, Yu An peered inside. The interviewer had already changed into loungewear and stood before the climate control panel adjusting the indoor temperature.

The living room was minimalist, dominated by whites and grays. Furnishings were arranged in neat tiers, the floor gleaming without a single speck of dust or water spot. The throw pillows on the couch stood straight against the backrest in immaculate order, with the spacing between every pair of cushions identical down to the millimeter.

The interviewer was a neat freak.

Still, that made sense: with skin that pale, even the slightest speck of dirt would stand out conspicuously.

Yu An looked down at his feet. Without realizing it, he had tracked quite a few muddy footprints across the entryway tiles. Patches of blood and grease stained his Pure Black Hood suit in messy clumps; his presence in the interviewer’s pristine house was like a fly landing upon a snowy white buttercream cake.

So he stripped off everything he could near the laundry basket and sprinted barefoot across the living room.

Having dialed up the thermostat, Zhao Ran turned around at the sound of pattering footsteps. Seeing Yu An clad only in a black tank top and shorts, dashing past the hallway like the wind to hide behind another wall with only half his head poking out, Yu An asked, “Interviewer, can I use your washroom?”

“Ahem, down the hall on the right.” Zhao Ran picked up a glass of water from the table and took a sip, soothing the dry heat in his throat.

The laundry basket in the entryway suddenly rose several centimeters off the floor. A hand scuttled out from who knew where, propping up the bottom with three fingers while crawling along the tiles with two, hauling the heavy basket into the laundry room, where the sounds of scrubbing soon resonated.

Another two hands crawled out of the laundry room, dragging a bucket and rags to diligently wipe away the grime and footprints near the shoe cabinet.

At the same time, the kitchen lights clicked on. One hand rinsed fresh prawns clean while another peeled the shells and deveined them, before placing the intact meat back inside the shells.

Yet another hand skillfully lit the burner to heat oil in the wok, cleanly tossing in scallions, ginger, and seasoning, squeezing in ketchup, and dropping the prepared prawns into the wok to braise. It could even toss the wok.

A hand ran over to turn on the television for Zhao Ran and hand him the remote. Another hand carried a plate of washed grapes to the coffee table, peeling the skins and removing seeds with delicate care before offering the translucent grape pulp right to Zhao Ran’s lips.

“I won’t eat them. Peel a plate and bring it to him later.” Zhao Ran leaned back into the sofa cushions to rest his eyes. His hangover throbbed; the alcohol from the night before hadn’t fully cleared before he had rushed off to Xiliu Beauty Salon.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Zhao Ran sighed: “Go fetch him some sleepwear.”

A hand hurried back from the wardrobe, holding up a set of short-sleeved pajamas and shorts before Zhao Ran for approval.

“Too thin. He’s so sensitive to the cold; are you trying to freeze him to death?”

The little hand quickly went to swap for another set and held it up.

“Too thick. It’s twenty-six degrees in here; that’s way too warm.”

The hand scurried off to swap sets again, bringing one back while panting for breath.

“Don’t bring the ones he used to wear. So cartoonish, printed with Luo Xiaohei; does that look like clothes I would keep in my house? Wouldn’t that blow our cover? Hide it away.”

Exhausted, the little hand dragged itself away, finally hauling back one of Zhao Ran’s oversized white T-shirts.

Holding his water glass, Zhao Ran considered it for a moment: “Ah, not bad. Leave it here.”

The hand: “…” (dropped the clothes and stormed off)

“Shoo, what kind of attitude is that? Keep this up and I won’t eat lunch, starving all of you to death.” Zhao Ran draped both arms over the sofa backrest, resting in relaxation.

Over ten minutes later, Zhao Ran checked the time, got up, walked to the washroom, and knocked twice on the door.

No response.

“Don’t get waterlogged in there…”

Pushing down the handle, Zhao Ran opened the door and walked inside. Yu An was slumped against the edge of the bath, dozing off. His arms were crossed over the crystal mosaic rim to cushion his chin. Steam drifted lazily, droplets of mist condensing along the ridges of his shoulder blades and trickling down his skin into the water.

His eyes were shut, right eyelashes resting low. Warm overhead light poured down, casting the shadows of damp strands across his cheek, while beneath his left brow lay only a deep, bottomless dark socket.

Edgar Allan Poe once penned a story titled The Black Cat, recounting a violent, deranged husband who gouged out an eye of his wife’s pet black cat before cruelly hanging it. Yet not long after, that black cat reappeared by his side, similarly missing an eye, only with a patch of white fur shaped like a gallows around its neck: an indelible, haunting phantom.

Sitting by the edge of the tub, Zhao Ran gently brushed his knuckles against the socket, clearing away the dried crusts of blood to wipe his face clean.

He had still acted too impulsively. He should have waited longer to see just how far the kid’s potential could be pushed in a hopeless situation.

Or had this assignment already been perilous enough, bordering on pulling up seedlings to help them grow?

A bit too hasty. Better to teach him slowly from now on.

Roused by the rough texture of the glove, Yu An half-opened his eyes. Seeing the interviewer seated beside him, he blinked in surprise.

Perched on a small stool by the tub, Zhao Ran had rolled up the sleeves of his loungewear. His elbows were flushed pink, his collar slightly parted to reveal a faint rosy tint over his collarbones. The faded white hair had regained its natural color, showing hints of deepening into peach, while his plum-colored pupils gazed intently at him.

“How did you recover?” Yu An lifted his head in astonishment.

“Hiding in the shade; given enough time, it recovers on its own.” Setting the sleepwear by the towel rack, Zhao Ran rested his elbows on his thighs. “I really can’t stay in the sun for long. Having lived in a windowless house since birth with zero light, my body couldn’t adapt to sunlight over time. If anyone wants to kill me, doing it in broad daylight is their best shot.”

…?

Yu An scratched his cheek. Did the interviewer just disclose his fatal weakness so casually? What if he took this intel and sold it? Let’s calculate how much it could fetch: if they had rival firms, ten thousand, twenty thousand, fifty thousand… this intel could fetch at least a hundred thousand. A white Blind Core cost three thousand yuan, so that could buy thirty-three pulls. Judging by the Arrogant Bat’s Tier 1 Purple rating, while the odds of pulling above red tier were slim, getting at least one should be doable. Speaking of which, did Blind Cores have a pity system? Like a guaranteed red tier every ten pulls, or a guaranteed gold tier every hundred pulls… Right, the salon internship mission seemed to come with a hundred thousand bonus too; when would that pay out?

“Spacing out?” Zhao Ran had no idea he had already been converted into Blind Core pulls.

Yu An shook his head: “Does anyone want to kill you?”

“Plenty of people want to… though nobody has pulled it off so far.” Zhao Ran wore the hollow expression of someone yearning for a worthy rival.

“Did you get the doctor Aberrants’ cores? They weren’t confiscated by the police, were they?” Yu An finally remembered actual business.

“No, all three are with me.”

“Three?”

“Yeah, all loaded into your Core Storage Analyzer. You can check them yourself later.”

“The doctor couple was genuinely strong. You took them two-on-one and crushed them?” Yu An couldn’t resist asking, “Interviewer, are you a Vessel too?”

Zhao Ran considered it, nodded slightly, and held out his left hand before Yu An: “The core slot is here, which is why my touch is so sensitive.”

“Oh.” Yu An finally understood why the interviewer was always wearing gloves. His curiosity instantly deflated; to think it was such a simple secret. Tsk, what was the point of being so secretive about it, keeping him wondering for days?

Before setting out yesterday, Yu An had checked Underground Railway’s corporate credentials and browsed their official portal, spotting Zhao Ran’s photo on the revolving homepage banner, carrying the distinct vibe of a cornerstone pillar.

Skimming through the pages, he had gotten a general grasp of Underground Railway’s structure: an officially recognized non-governmental organization that maintained a cooperative yet independent relationship with Peeping Eagle.

Citizens could voluntarily pay maintenance fees, functioning like personal safety insurance, allowing them to request assistance from Underground Railway when threatened by Aberrants. Underground Railway dispatched operatives across every corner of the city daily, reacting faster than the police and settling incidents in most cases.

However, Yu An had been far more intrigued by the keyword “Zhao Ran.”

He had dug through every scrap of related information, discovering reviews of Zhao Ran from apparent internal team members on an anonymous discussion thread:

“New recruits must never get on Team Leader Zhao’s bad side. Absolutely do not act on your own without following his orders, do not play petty tricks in front of him, and above all, take care never to touch his hands.”

Yu An did the math: on his second day on the job, he had already achieved all three criteria in full.

Didn’t seem like there were any real consequences either.

After washing up, Yu An flopped onto the bed wearing Zhao Ran’s T-shirt. Exhaustion ultimately triumphed over hunger; after sprinting the entire night, his calves were trembling. Soaking in hot water had coaxed every ounce of fatigue out from his bones.

The interviewer’s bed was simply too soft, the ice-silk sheets delicate and soothing. Yu An hadn’t even managed to climb onto the pillow properly, one foot dangling off the mattress with a slipper still clinging to his toes, falling asleep right where he lay. Dressed in the ill-fitting, baggy white T-shirt, his long, slender legs sprawled carelessly, his face buried deep into the pillow.

Carrying in a plate of refreshments, Zhao Ran found him sleeping in this state. He set the porcelain plate aside, slipped the dangling slipper off his toes, and nudged him further onto the mattress.

Tsk. So this was an intern of Underground Railway’s Emergency Order Team? Sleeping in a stranger’s house with this level of vigilance, wouldn’t he get eaten alive down to the bone?

Beneath the white T-shirt, Yu An’s streamlined spine showed distinct contours. Zhao Ran sat beside him, gazing at the beautiful shoulder blades and waist hollows unique to young men.

Hesitating repeatedly, Zhao Ran finally rested his hand gently over Yu An’s waist.

Merely touching him through the leather glove, his acute sense of touch could still perceive the fine rhythms of his heartbeat and breathing, along with the scorching warmth of his body.

Where his hand rested, fine patterns concealed for ages surfaced beneath the skin of Yu An’s back. The delicate lines converged into an abstract sun totem, its radiating beams formed of struggling arms with intertwined fingers, brimming with an eerie aura.

A scarlet glow crept into Zhao Ran’s pale pupils. Bending down, he pressed a kiss onto the totem that belonged to him, an inexplicable sense of fulfillment curling his lips into a chilling grin of sharp teeth.

“I have far too few weaknesses… The rest will rely on your own effort, once more.”