Two in the morning.The ashtray on the terrace was already overflowing with cigarette butts.
When Zhao Mingyuan pushed open Yan Yan's bedroom door, a gust of sharp night wind followed him in, carrying the stale tang of smoke.Moonlight slipped through the crack in the curtains, casting silver lines across his fingers—fingers that still held a cigarette, the last wisp of smoke curling upward.
"Pretending to sleep?"
The click of the door lock behind him sounded like a bullet being loaded.Yan Yan gripped the corner of her blanket tightly and heard the dull clink of a leather belt buckle falling onto the wooden floor.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight.The scent of whiskey and mint mouthwash filled her senses.Zhao Mingyuan's fingers slid into her hair, forcing her head to turn toward the vanity mirror—reflected there were his bloodshot eyes, and her figure swallowed completely in his shadow.
"Today's the second day of your ovulation," she whispered, trembling. "You promised—"
"I changed my mind." His teeth caught the strap of her nightgown and pulled it down.The bite marks he'd left before glimmered purple-blue under the moonlight."Didn't Qi Silì tell you? My mother sent over ovulation stimulants today."
The cold metal of the pillbox pressed against her abdomen.Yan Yan's body jolted in panic. She struggled violently, her nails raking red welts across his arm.
Zhao Mingyuan only chuckled lowly and caught her wrists, binding them above her head with his tie.
"Do you know why they chose you?" His fingertips traced the trembling edge of her eyelids."Because of that mole under your eye…"
Suddenly, the crash of breaking porcelain echoed from downstairs.Zhao Mingyuan froze. From the hallway came the sound of harsh, racking coughs—Qi Silì's room was directly below.
"Well, isn't that a coincidence."Zhao Mingyuan licked away the tear that had slid to the corner of her eye."Every time I touch you, he gets sick."
He yanked her toward the window and violently drew the curtains open.
From the third floor, the view looked straight down into the courtyard.Under the old pear tree stood a familiar figure—Qi Silì, dressed in a thin white shirt, a handkerchief crumpled in his fist, his face pale as he looked up toward them.
"See clearly?"
Zhao Mingyuan's fingers clamped around her jaw like iron, forcing her cheek against the cold windowpane.Her breath fogged the glass in quick bursts, only to be smeared away by his rough hand.Outside, the courtyard lights glowed brilliantly.
"You're nothing but a tool for us to torment each other."His voice carried the mellow fragrance of red wine—but was colder than the frame of the window.
The lace strap of her nightgown snapped.The ripping of fabric sounded deafening in the still room.Her knees struck the windowsill; a porcelain ornament toppled, shattering against the floor.
His palm pressed against her waist, right over a faint stain of indigo paint—left there yesterday when Qi Silì had been teaching her to paint.It had faded after washing, but under the moonlight, it looked like an ugly bruise.
Just as she shut her eyes, bracing for something worse—the weight on her body suddenly lifted.
Zhao Mingyuan was still above her, panting heavily.His gaze had frozen on her collarbone—on the faint, distinct bite mark that Qi Silì had left there the night before.
A drop of sweat slid from his temple and splashed onto the hollow of her throat, burning hot.
"…Boring," he muttered.
Abruptly, he released her.He grabbed the suit jacket from the foot of the bed and tossed it over her shoulders, stopping himself at the very last moment.
"Forget it."He turned away, pulling on his shirt. "Suddenly, I feel disgusted."
The door slammed behind him with a violent crash, startling the nightingale perched in the tree outside.
Yan Yan slid down to the floor, her limbs weak.In the vanity mirror, she saw her own reflection—new finger-shaped bruises on her neck—and beyond the glass, that white figure beneath the pear tree, still standing motionless.
When the first light of dawn crept in, she noticed her Embryology textbook lying in the corner.Between the pages was pressed a single pear blossom petal—fallen from the old tree where Qi Silì so often stood.
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