The night in Haicheng felt even more lingering and soft than the day.
The neon lights flanking the boardwalk shattered into ten thousand shards of shimmering color across the water. Silas Shen and Hunter Huo walked side by side, separated by a distance that was both subtle and charged with a magnetic field. Hunter, the "Golden Retriever," was clearly still floating in a pink bubble of euphoria from tucking the Professor's hair back earlier; even the rhythm of his footsteps held a light, airy skip.
He insisted on walking on the side closest to the road, claiming he was "blocking the wind." In reality, Silas saw through his little scheme instantly—the boy simply wanted to use his broad shoulders to shield Silas entirely within his own domain.
"Professor, do you think the stars in Haicheng are more numerous than in Beijing?" Hunter tilted his head. The light from the streetlamps reflected in his obsidian eyes, making them shine brighter than the stars themselves.
Silas was looking down, smoothing a wrinkle on his suit sleeve—one Hunter had caused when lending him the jacket. He didn't look up as he replied, "It's merely a matter of atmospheric transparency. Coastal cities have lower concentrations of atmospheric aerosols."
"Tsk, another scientific explanation." Hunter grumbled with dissatisfaction, though his tone was heavy with indulgence. "Can't you be emotional for just one second..."
As they spoke, they reached the intersection between the coastal boardwalk and the street leading to their hotel.
It was an old, minor junction. The streetlamps, falling into disrepair, flickered fitfully, casting unsteady shadows across the ground. There were no traffic lights, only a faded zebra crossing that hinted at a semblance of order from a bygone era.
Hunter was still turned toward Silas, his youthful face alight with vibrant energy as he spoke.
"Watch out!"
Silas's voice suddenly spiked. That tone, usually as cool as crushed ice, held a rare, sharp edge of panicked alarm.
In that exact second, an electric bike—driving recklessly against traffic to dodge the main road's surveillance—streaked out like a bolt of black lightning. Accompanied by the harsh whine of its motor, it lunged from a blind spot at a terrifying speed, aimed directly at the unsuspecting Hunter.
Hunter froze. Because he had been so immersed in the ambiguous atmosphere, his sensory reactions were half a beat too slow.
At the critical moment, a cool but explosively powerful hand clamped onto his wrist.
Silas's movement was so fast he hadn't even realized he was doing it; it was a reflex that surpassed biological instinct. He braced his foot against the ground, shifted his center of gravity backward, and with a nearly violent force, hauled Hunter toward his chest.
Whoosh—!
The electric bike hissed past Hunter's suit trousers, the sheer wind of its passage mussing the hair Silas had just tucked back. The rider yelled a muffled curse and vanished into the heavy darkness.
The world seemed to fall into a dead silence.
Silas maintained his protective stance, his right hand gripping Hunter's wrist with a death grip, his fingertips digging into the firm muscle of the boy's arm from sheer exertion. His chest rose and fell violently—so violently that he could hear his heart, which usually beat with the precision of a clock, now frantic and slamming against his ribs.
"...Professor?" Hunter had been pulled into a stumble, half-crashing into Silas's arms.
Silas didn't speak.
He stared in the direction the bike had vanished, his usually calm eyes surging with a fire of lingering terror. It took several seconds before he slowly turned his head to look at the dazed student in his embrace.
By the dim light, Hunter saw that Silas's handsome face was now as pale as translucent porcelain, and a thin layer of cold sweat had broken out on the bridge of his nose.
What shook Hunter even more was Silas's hand—the one clutching his wrist was visibly trembling.
This was Silas Shen. The man who could face the most complex biological mutation experiments and the coldest pressures from financial tycoons without blinking. Yet now, because of a near-miss traffic accident, his hand was shaking like a child who had been frightened half to death.
"Professor, I'm fine. Really." Hunter softened his voice, tentatively trying to grasp Silas back.
"Watch where you're going!" Silas suddenly snapped, his voice carrying a strain of frantic agitation and severity he hadn't even noticed.
Usually, when he scolded students, he was methodical and cutting. He had never been like this—speaking so fast, as if to hide an emotion that was about to breach its dam.
"Hunter Huo, are you a child? How could you be distracted in a place like this? What if..." Silas's words came to a jarring halt.
What if what?
What if this "puppy"—who was always circling him, always barging into his life with the scent of oranges—really disappeared?
The fear that flashed through him in that moment was more unbearable than his rut ever was.
Hunter lowered his head, his gaze falling on his tightly held wrist. Silas's fingertips were cold, a chill that seeped through his skin and into his blood—yet in Hunter's heart, it ignited a sprawling wildfire.
He didn't offer an excuse, nor did he put on his usual playful grin.
Instead, he slowly and firmly turned his palm over. Following the gaps between Silas's still-trembling fingers, he slid his own in, inch by inch.
It was the position of interlocked fingers.
Silas's breath hitched violently.
"Professor, I was wrong." Hunter lowered his voice, his usually clear tone now holding a magnetic, "seductive" quality. He squeezed the cool hand tightly, transferring the heat of his palm without reservation. "To make sure you don't get scared again... from now on, when we cross the road, you have to hold my hand tight. Deal?"
Silas looked down at their intertwined fingers.
The restraint of cold fir and the dominance of orange were in a fierce struggle within that small space. He should have flung the insolent hand away; he should have coldly mocked the boy for taking an ell when given an inch. But all his rehearsed, rational lines vanished into nothingness the moment they touched the scorching heat of Hunter's palm.
The glacier in his heart, after that moment of extreme shock, seemed to have finally cracked with a fissure that could never be repaired.
He didn't pull his hand away.
Silas lowered his head to hide the flash of panic in his eyes and exhaled a long, heavy breath. He forced himself to regain his "Professor" poise, though his voice had finally softened by several degrees. "...Back to the hotel."
"You got it. Whatever you say."
In his mind, Hunter was setting off a frantic display of fireworks: Thank you, electric bike! Thank you, Haicheng backstreets! Thank you, Assistant Lin!