Gu Xingyan moved closer to Ruan Zhao. Carefully, he gently pried open his eyelids and blew the dust away. They were so close they could feel each other’s breath. A rich scent of alcohol lingered in the air, mingled with something distinctly Ruan Zhao—sweet, like the lingering fragrance of too many candies. Gu Xingyan’s breath hitched for a moment before he quickly regained composure.
“Try blinking. Does it still hurt?”
As Ruan Zhao instinctively reached up to rub his eyes, Gu Xingyan reacted swiftly, catching his hand. “Don’t rub it. You’ll just irritate it further.”
Ruan Zhao blinked a few times, his eyes still brimming with unshed tears. A few stray drops slipped down his cheeks, wetting his lashes. He looked rather pitiful. “Mm… I think it’s better now.” His voice was still a little hoarse, carrying a slight, stuffy nasal tone.
Gu Xingyan said, “Stop looking around so much. There’s nothing worth seeing here.” Dirty, old, chaotic. A complete contrast to the pampered young master standing in the middle of it.
……
Gu Xingyan retrieved his keys and unlocked the door. Ruan Zhao followed him inside. The apartment was small, no more than thirty or forty square meters. The kitchen and living room were combined, the bathroom was near the entrance, and the bedroom was at the back.
The lighting was dim, making the small apartment feel somewhat cramped. But it was clean and tidy. Everything was neatly arranged—there were a lot of belongings, but nothing felt cluttered. Ruan Zhao glanced around briefly before politely averting his gaze.
Gu Xingyan gestured toward the couch and poured him a glass of water. “Wait here. I’ll get you some clothes.”
Ruan Zhao accepted the glass. It was decorated with a chubby cartoon fortune cat waving its paw, the handle shaped like tiny cat ears… His expression shifted subtly. He hadn’t expected someone as reserved as Gu Xingyan to own something so whimsical. The contrast was unexpectedly amusing.
Ruan Zhao had never been good at concealing his thoughts—his face betrayed everything. Gu Xingyan glanced at him and said quietly, “It was a freebie from the supermarket.”
Oh. Right. That sounded like something he’d do. Ruan Zhao took a sip of water.
Meanwhile, Gu Xingyan disappeared into the bedroom to find him something to wear. He returned shortly, carrying a white dress shirt and a pair of dark-colored casual pants.
“They’re freshly washed,” Gu Xingyan said, handing the clothes to Ruan Zhao.
Ruan Zhao took them, catching a faint, clean scent of laundry detergent. The fabric was soft to the touch.
“If you don’t like them, I can find something else.”
“No need. These are fine.” Honestly, just having clean clothes was enough. He wasn’t picky. Anything was better than the alcohol-soaked clothes he was wearing now. The strong scent alone was making his head spin again.
Gu Xingyan told him to change in the bedroom while he waited in the living room. Ruan Zhao nodded and stepped into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
He quickly took off his dirty clothes and put on the fresh set. The shirt sleeves were too long, completely covering his hands. He had to roll them up several times to free his wrists. The pants were loose, constantly slipping down. Clutching them up with one hand, he opened the door a crack and peeked out, looking slightly awkward and embarrassed.
“Gu Xingyan… do you have a belt? These pants don’t really fit.”
Gu Xingyan’s gaze lingered on the tips of Ruan Zhao’s ears, watching the faint blush spread, creeping up until it stained his entire ear a delicate shade of pink. “The belt is on the left side of the wardrobe,” he said.
As soon as he received the answer, Ruan Zhao closed the door with a soft click. The bedroom was small—just large enough for a single bed, a nightstand, and a three-door wooden wardrobe. The wardrobe occupied nearly a third of the room.
Ruan Zhao opened the leftmost door. His eyes froze. His pupils contracted, and his fingers tightened around the handle, turning white from the pressure. The inside of the wardrobe was covered in scratches—layer upon layer of deep, uneven marks. Some were so forceful they’d torn through the varnish, exposing the dark wood underneath.
Ruan Zhao examined them closely. These marks… they resembled fingernail scratches. Someone must have clawed at the wood with so much desperation that they had hurt themselves. There were even faint traces of dried blood in some areas. Had someone… been imprisoned inside?
Who could it have been? His thoughts immediately turned to Gu Xingyan, waiting for him in the living room. His breath hitched.
Then—a sudden knock on the door startled him.
“Ruan Zhao, are you done changing?”
He answered in a flustered tone, “…Not yet. Just a minute.”
Gu Xingyan paused briefly before asking, “Did you find the belt?”
Ruan Zhao had been so distracted by the scratches inside the wardrobe that he’d completely forgotten why he’d opened it. Hearing Gu Xingyan’s reminder, he frantically rummaged through the drawers, practically turning them inside out. Still, no belt.
“…I can’t find it,” Ruan Zhao admitted, defeated, then added accusingly, “Are you sure you remembered correctly? It’s not on the left side of the wardrobe at all.”
Gu Xingyan asked, “Do you want me to help you look?”
Ruan Zhao hesitated for a moment, then clutched his pants tightly to prevent them from falling. “Yes,” he replied firmly, as if afraid Gu Xingyan might not hear him. Without a belt, there was no way he could walk out of this room, let alone the apartment. He couldn’t exactly hold his pants up all the way home. That would be mortifying.
Gu Xingyan pushed the door open and entered. The first thing he saw was Ruan Zhao standing before the wardrobe, looking utterly lost. The size difference between them was striking—Gu Xingyan’s clothes draped loosely over Ruan Zhao’s frame, the oversized shirt and baggy pants making him look even smaller than usual.
Perhaps because he’d hurried while changing, Ruan Zhao’s shirt wasn’t buttoned correctly—it was open all the way to his collarbone, revealing the elegant line of his neck. Just a little lower, a single red beauty mark stood out vividly against his pale skin. It was a striking shade of red, contrasting sharply with the fair skin around it—subtle yet inexplicably alluring. Gu Xingyan’s gaze lingered on the tiny mark, as if trying to memorize its precise location and shape. His focus was so intense that it was impossible not to notice.
Ruan Zhao frowned slightly, sensing something amiss, and turned to look at him. Gu Xingyan spoke calmly, his voice measured. “Your buttons…”
Ruan Zhao blinked. “What about them?”
“They’re undone.”
Lowering his head, Ruan Zhao glanced down and realized several buttons were indeed unfastened. But with both hands occupied—tightly gripping the waistband of his oversized pants to keep them from slipping—he couldn’t fasten them. Seeing this, Gu Xingyan stepped forward and silently buttoned them for him. He even smoothed the collar and neatly rolled up the rumpled sleeves. His movements were casual and natural, as if caring for Ruan Zhao was second nature—something he’d done countless times before.
Ruan Zhao, however, was completely unaccustomed to such attention. Half his body stiffened, and every place Gu Xingyan touched felt like a feather’s brush—light, fleeting, yet leaving behind a lingering, ticklish sensation.
……
Gu Xingyan effortlessly located the belt that Ruan Zhao had searched for in vain. Fearing Gu Xingyan might take it upon himself to help him put it on, Ruan Zhao snatched it away immediately and, as quickly as possible, buckled it himself.
Gu Xingyan didn’t react to Ruan Zhao’s sudden movement. His gaze remained fixed on the inside of the wardrobe, locked onto the deep scratches carved into the wood. His eyes darkened, as if dredging up a memory he’d rather bury.
“You saw them, didn’t you?”
Ruan Zhao blinked and feigned ignorance. “Saw what?”
“The marks.”
At this point, denial was futile. Ruan Zhao remained silent.
Gu Xingyan spoke anyway, his voice eerily calm. “I made them when I was a kid.” His tone was flat, devoid of emotion, as if he were recounting someone else’s history.
“My mother thought I was too noisy, always crying, always bothering her. She said I needed to be punished. So she locked me in here—told me she’d only let me out when I stopped crying.” He paused, then continued just as casually, “But she never really meant it. Most of the time, she wouldn’t remember me until the next morning.” He spoke as if it were nothing, glossing over years of suffering with a few indifferent sentences.
Ruan Zhao, however, felt anger rising within him. He nearly cursed aloud. Locking a child in a wardrobe overnight—how could anyone be so cruel? It was monstrous. Abducting someone’s child and then treating them like this? Worse than an animal.
A vivid image flashed through Ruan Zhao’s mind: a small, helpless Gu Xingyan, trapped in the darkness, his voice hoarse from crying, calling for his mother—again and again, waiting for a response that never came. Fingernails scraping desperately against the wooden door, until they were torn and bloody. But no matter how hard he tried, the door never opened.
Ruan Zhao pressed his lips together and asked, “How old were you then?”
“Three? Maybe four? I don’t really remember.”
As he grew a little older, that woman realized locking him in a wardrobe wasn’t sufficient. He’d learned how to escape. So, she devised new methods of torment. Locking him in the bathroom. Tying him to the radiator with a rope. Or simply shutting him out, leaving him to sleep in the cold, damp hallway.
Sometimes, he genuinely wondered—was he truly her child? If he was, why was she so cruel? Why did she refuse to give him even a sliver of affection, treating him not as a son but as her sworn enemy?
He could still recall the way she used to look at him. That deep, bone-deep hatred in her eyes. As if he’d committed some unforgivable sin. But back then, he was just a helpless little boy—too young, too small, too fragile. Skin and bones from constant hunger, limbs so thin they could barely support him. He could hardly even walk steadily. How could a child like that possibly have done anything to warrant such treatment?
……
Not every parent is innately filled with love for their child. Some are instead consumed by resentment—hatred so profound that no amount of tears, no degree of suffering, can elicit a gesture of kindness. They simply observe, coldly, indifferently, as if their own flesh and blood is nothing more than a burden.
Accepting the fact that you are unloved is no easy feat. But for Gu Xingyan—he had come to terms with it a long, long time ago.
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