Three Days

Gu Hanzhou was gone.

Lin Xingmian stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, watching that black Maybach drive out from the underground garage of Emerald Lake Bay and merge into the morning rush hour traffic, quickly disappearing into the city’s steel forest.

He suddenly felt this apartment had become larger.

In a space of over two hundred square meters, missing one person left it feeling as empty as a theater with him as the sole audience member.

On the dining table sat the breakfast Gu Hanzhou had prepared before leaving—a fried egg, toast, and a glass of milk still radiating heat.

Pressed beside the plate was a note, the handwriting sharp yet neat, exactly like the man himself.

The note contained only three lines:

[There is food in the fridge. The entry password has not been changed. The surveillance is on, do not do anything bad.]

Underneath the words “do not do anything bad,” two lines were drawn for emphasis.

Lin Xingmian looked at those two lines and could not help but smile slightly.

A person like Gu Hanzhou even made reminders sound like signing a contract, with every clause written clearly, yet he just had to needlessly add two horizontal lines at the very end, revealing a hint of clumsy earnestness that did not belong to a cold-faced overbearing president.

He folded the note neatly and placed it into his pocket.

Then he sat down, eating the fried egg, consuming the toast, and drinking the milk until not a single drop remained.

After finishing, he took a photo of the empty plate and sent it to Gu Hanzhou.

The caption read: [Did not do anything bad.]

Gu Hanzhou did not reply.

He was probably on the plane.

Lin Xingmian stared at the photo he had sent in the dialogue box, suddenly feeling this action was a bit strange—why did he report to Gu Hanzhou that he had eaten breakfast?

They weren’t in that kind of relationship.

He could not unsend it now, so he could only place his phone face down on the table and go wash the dishes.

The tap rushed with a splashing sound, drowning out the vibration of his phone.

By the time he finished washing the dishes, dried his hands, and picked up his phone, four new messages had already accumulated on the screen.

All of them came from the exact same person.

“My plane is today, arriving at three in the afternoon.”

“No need to pick me up, I know where you live.”

“Gu Hanzhou went on a business trip, correct.”

“I am coming to find you.”

Lin Xingmian stared at the name on the screen—Rong Du—and his heart skipped a beat.

This name, a name he did not recognize yet felt inexplicably familiar, was like a bullet fired from thirteen years ago that had finally pierced through the long stretch of time and was about to hit him.

He clenched his phone, his fingertips slightly cool.

He did not know what this person named Rong Du looked like, did not know why he had searched for him for so many years, and did not know why he chose to appear precisely today—on the first day Gu Hanzhou departed, when he was staying alone in this apartment filled with another man’s scent.

But he knew one thing: what was meant to come had finally arrived.

The phone vibrated again.

This time it wasn’t Rong Du, but Lu Shiyan.

He sent a photo—it showed an open medical journal, and the page contained a thesis on the latest treatment plans for psychogenic asthma.

Then came a sentence:

Lu Shiyan: [Xingxing, I have prepared your medicine. Come to the hospital to get it, or I will deliver it over, you choose.]

Lin Xingmian closed his eyes.

Gu Hanzhou was right, his phone would be very busy.

This was only the first day, only the first morning.

There was still Ji Beichen, there was still Shen Moting, and there was still Fu Xici.

And there was that Rong Du who was closing in on him from thirty thousand feet in the sky.

He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and replied to Lu Shiyan’s message:

“I will come collect it.”

At least Lu Shiyan’s hospital was safe.

At least Lu Shiyan would not—he paused, cutting off the thought “would not do anything to me” in his mind.

Because he suddenly realized that Lu Shiyan would, every single one of them would.

But right now, he needed to go out, needed to get some fresh air, and needed to temporarily leave this apartment filled with Gu Hanzhou’s scent.

He changed his clothes, and while switching shoes at the entrance, he noticed something extra resting on the shoe cabinet—a black surveillance camera pointing directly at the door.

The power indicator light on the camera flashed continuously, like an sleepless eye.

When did Gu Hanzhou install it?

Last night? Before leaving this morning?

He stood before the camera for a moment, then did an action he himself hadn’t anticipated—he raised his hand and waved gently at the lens.

“I am going to the hospital to get medicine. Did not do anything bad.”

After speaking, he pushed the door open and went out, his face turning red all the way to his earlobes.

When the elevator doors closed, he buried his face in his hands, feeling that he had looked completely like a fool just now.

It wasn’t as if Gu Hanzhou would stare at the surveillance screen in real time; he was on a plane, and his phone would be switched off.

What he did not know was that thirty thousand feet in the sky, Gu Hanzhou was sitting in the first-class cabin with an iPad propped up before him, and the screen displayed the real-time surveillance footage of the apartment entrance.

He watched the youth in the footage wave clumsily at the camera, the corner of his cold lips curving into an extremely faint arc.

Then he rewound the footage by five seconds and watched it once more.

The assistant beside him snuck a glance and saw his own boss watching a replay of a youth waving, so terrified that he retracted his gaze in a hurry, deciding to let this scene rot in his stomach.

North City Hospital.

When Lin Xingmian arrived, Lu Shiyan was currently making his rounds.

The nurse told him to wait in the office, so he pushed open the door to find the room empty.

On the desk sat a cup of tea still radiating heat, and the tea bag was chamomile—his favorite flavor.

Lu Shiyan always remembered these details, as if a database exclusive to Lin Xingmian existed inside his brain, storing everything regarding this person: height, weight, blood type, blood pressure, allergy history, what tea he liked, what temperature he feared, how many times he caught a cold each month, and under what circumstances his asthma would trigger.

This type of memory used to make Lin Xingmian feel very well cared for, but now it made his spine turn cold.

“You arrived?”

Lu Shiyan pushed open the door and walked inside, his white coat carrying a faint scent of disinfectant.

He placed the medical record folder on the desk, sat down opposite him, and took off his gold-rimmed glasses to wipe the lenses.

His eyes without the concealment of glasses looked gentler than usual, yet also more dangerous.

“Stretch out your hand,” he pulled out his stethoscope.

Lin Xingmian stretched out his hand, and Lu Shiyan gripped his wrist.

This time he did not lock fingers like last time, but just checked his pulse properly.

His fingertips felt cool, pressing against that thinnest patch of skin on the inner side of the wrist with a pressure that was neither heavy nor light.

After thirty seconds, he released his hand, noted down a few more entries on the medical record, and then pulled out a small white medicine box from the drawer.

“Twice a day, one pill each morning and evening. If you feel chest tightness, take an extra pill.” He pushed the medicine box in front of Lin Xingmian, then pulled out another small bottle.

“This is the inhaler, use it during an acute attack.”

Lin Xingmian reached out to take it, but the moment his fingers touched the medicine box, his hand was grasped by Lu Shiyan.

“Wait a moment,” Lu Shiyan turned his hand over with the palm facing up.

Then he pulled out a pen from his pocket with his other hand—a blue marker pen—and wrote a few characters in Lin Xingmian’s palm.

“My private number,” he spoke while writing, his handwriting following stroke by stroke, very slow, and the pen tip passing across the skin brought a slightly ticklish sensation.

“It is not the hospital’s, it is the one only you can call, switched on twenty-four hours a day.”

After finishing the final stroke, he capped the pen but did not release Lin Xingmian’s hand.

He looked at that string of digits he had written in the palm, suddenly letting out a low laugh that was very faint, yet it caused a layer of goosebumps to rise on Lin Xingmian’s back.

“That one named Rong Du arrives this afternoon, correct?”

Lin Xingmian froze: “How do you know?”

“He sent us a message, every single person in the group chat received it.” Lu Shiyan raised his head, putting his gold-rimmed glasses back on, which reflected the white light of the fluorescent lamp to make the emotions in the depths of his eyes impossible to see clearly.

“He said, ‘I am coming to take Xingxing away.’ Original words, not a single word different.”

Lin Xingmian’s pupils dilated slightly.

Lu Shiyan released his hand, stood up, walked around the office desk, and stopped behind him.

He placed both hands on Lin Xingmian’s shoulders, the pressure not large, yet it left Lin Xingmian not daring to move at all.

Then he bent his body down, bringing his lips close to Lin Xingmian’s ear, his voice gentle as if coaxing a child who refused to take medicine.

“Xingxing, no matter how we fight among ourselves—me, Ji Beichen, Shen Moting, Fu Xici—we are people who have known each other for ten years. What we fight over is who is first, who is second, and who gets more, but that Rong Du is different.”

His fingers pressed gently on Lin Xingmian’s shoulder.

“He wants to snatch you away from the hands of every single one of us.”

Coming out of the hospital, Lin Xingmian stood on the sidewalk by the entrance, looking at the medicine box in his hand and that string of blue digits in his palm that had become a bit blurry from sweat, his mind a complete mess.

The phone vibrated continuously in his pocket.

Without looking, he knew who it was.

Ji Beichen was probably crazily sending him emojis during the gaps in his variety show recording.

Shen Moting had probably sent some more contract-clause-style “suggestions.”

Fu Xici was probably bringing him up with sarcastic remarks in his stream’s bullet comments.

And that person named Rong Du was currently closing in inch by inch from thirty thousand feet in the sky, carrying the past events from thirteen years ago along with that declaration “I am coming to take Xingxing away” that made every single one of them turn tense.

He needed to be alone to quiet down.

He walked forward along the hospital wall, reaching the entrance of a convenience store, where he bought a bottle of ice water, twisted open the cap, and took a sip.

The icy stream flowed through his throat, making his brain regain a bit of clarity.

Then he saw a pink sports car parked at the convenience store entrance.

There was only one person in the entire city who dared to drive this color.

“Xingxing—!”

Ji Beichen rushed out from inside the convenience store holding two lollipops, his silver-gray hair blown into a complete mess by the wind, his face carrying a brilliant smile that could turn winter into spring.

He wore a hoodie printed with a cartoon bear, completely unnoticeable as the explosive-tempered top star who had almost fought someone yesterday.

“Why are you here?” Lin Xingmian was astonished.

“Recording a variety show! Right at the shopping mall opposite! I saw you come out of the hospital, so I—” He made a motion of scaling a wall, “—climbed over.”

“…You snuck out during a variety show recording again?”

“What do you mean snuck out? I am making reasonable use of break time.” Ji Beichen stuffed a lollipop into Lin Xingmian’s hand, which was strawberry-flavored, while he dangled another orange-flavored one in his own mouth.

He stretched his arm over Lin Xingmian’s shoulder, leaning close as he lowered his voice, “I heard that guy named Rong arrives today?”

The news traveled truly fast.

“I do not know,” Lin Xingmian spoke the truth.

“Do not be afraid,” Ji Beichen patted his shoulder with a force so large Lin Xingmian almost stumbled a step.

“This brother will help block him for you. What Rong Du or not Rong Du, no one should even think about taking you away from our side. Although that guy named Gu isn’t any good thing, at least he operates on the surface, but as for that Rong Du, none of us recognize him, ghost knows what he wants to do.”

When he spoke, the ears of the cartoon bear on his hoodie cap wobbled up and down, forming a sharp contrast with his serious tone.

Looking at that pair of wobbling bear ears, Lin Xingmian suddenly felt a bit like laughing, yet also a bit like crying.

“Do you not need to record the variety show?”

“I do! That is why—” Ji Beichen tugged Lin Xingmian’s arm, walking toward the shopping mall opposite.

“—You come along with me. Today we are recording an escape room, and it happens to lack one person, I told the director that I brought my own guest.”

“Wait—”

“No waiting.”

Ji Beichen turned back and grinned at him.

That smile was too bright, so bright it made Lin Xingmian recall the first year of high school when Ji Beichen participated in the campus singer competition for the first time, singing out of tune on stage while the entire school laughed, with only him clapping furiously below the stage.

That day after coming down from the stage, Ji Beichen asked him with red ears: Why did you clap? I sang so terribly.

He said: You sang happily.

“Thanks,” Ji Beichen said, his ears flushed completely red.

Six years later today, Ji Beichen tugged his arm, using the exact same red ears to speak different words:

“Rest assured, although I cannot beat that guy named Gu in a fight, an escape room is my home court, guaranteed to carry you to victory.”

Lin Xingmian was tugged forward by him, the strawberry-flavored lollipop in his hand hadn’t been unwrapped yet, and that string of blue digits written by Lu Shiyan still remained in his palm.

But being tugged like this by Ji Beichen, those chaotic thoughts seemed to be pulled apart a bit.

He bit open the wrapping paper of the lollipop and stuffed the candy into his mouth, the strawberry flavor sweet to the point of being cloying, yet it melted a hint of warmth onto the tip of his tongue.

—Perhaps today wasn’t that terrible.

The phone vibrated again.

He lowered his head to look, and it was a message from Fu Xici:

Fu Xici: [Come to my stream room this afternoon, do not tell me you do not have time, if you do not come, I will read your ‘Xingxing Loves to Sleep’ ID to five million fans, I mean what I say.]

Right after followed a text message from Shen Moting:

[Six o’clock tonight, I am coming to pick you up, no matter where you are.]

Then came Lu Shiyan’s latest message in the group chat, containing only a single photo—he had snapped his own prescription sheet, where Lin Xingmian’s name was written, and the diagnosis column contained only four words: Needs to rest.

The caption read: [His physical condition isn’t suitable for frequent outings, he already came to the hospital to get medicine today, and for the remaining time, it is recommended to recuperate at home.]

Below, Ji Beichen replied with a “?” within a second, Fu Xici replied with “bullsh*t,” and Shen Moting replied with two words: [Rejected.]

Finally came a voice message sent by Ji Beichen—he was currently pulling Lin Xingmian toward the escape room venue, shouting at his phone while walking, “Lu Shiyan, if you want to monopolize Xingxing, just say it directly! What recuperate, you just want him to stay in your hospital!”

Lin Xingmian watched this group of people bicker across the screen, biting the lollipop until it cracked audibly.

Meanwhile, in a place he could not see, an international flight was flying above the clouds, a man sitting by the cabin window with a tablet computer before him that was tracking Lin Xingmian’s phone location in real time.

The positioning displayed that the tiny light dot was shifting from the North City Hospital toward a certain shopping mall in the city center.

The man’s finger tapped the screen gently to zoom in on the map, then drew a circle with a red pen on the destination Lin Xingmian was about to arrive at.

“Escape room?” he muttered to himself, his voice deep and slow, carrying a trace of an elusive smile.

“He certainly plays happily.”

Closing the tablet, he looked out the window.

White clouds tumbled beneath the airplane wing, and sunlight poured down from the cracks in the cloud layers, casting flowing light and shadows inside the cabin.

“Thirteen years.”

When he spoke these two words, his smile vanished, and those eyes surged with a type of emotion that was vaster than missing someone and deeper than yearning.

Then he put on his headset and closed his eyes, and during the final stretch of the flight before landing, he listened to a recording from thirteen years ago playing through the headset—the childish voice of a five-year-old child:

“Brother Rong Du, are you leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Then will you still return?”

“I will return, you wait for me.”

“Good, I will wait for you.”

The recording cut off there, followed by noisy wind sounds, footsteps, and a boarding announcement.

That five-year-old child did not know that the person he was waiting for would be gone for thirteen years once he left.

Now, he was back.

Beneath the white clouds, the city skyline was already faintly visible.

The airplane began to descend, and the sweet landing announcement from the flight attendant came through the broadcast.

The man opened his eyes, took off his headset, and stored that recording into his favorites folder, placing it together with that photo of the youth sleeping face down on his desk in the high school classroom by the window.

Then he sent one final message into the “Group Without Xingxing.”

There were no words, only a flight number and the landing time.