After Jason finished shaving in the mirror, he carefully removed the bandage on his neck, then he shouted happily, "Adri, dear, my wound is completely healed! Look, there's hardly any scar left, smooth as a poached egg!"

Adrian popped out of the window with a piece of brocade leaf stuck to his hair — he was weeding his babies. He pushed his glasses, examined it from side to side, and appraised, "The chainsaw demon's skills are quite professional, it was just a bit of bad luck."

Jason groaned. "Damn, let's not mention him, 'kay? It reminds me of a very unpleasant experience... I don't wanna deal with police officers and coroners for the rest of my life! Do they think everyone has the same psychological endurance for horror movies as they do?"

"That's impossible, Jason. Whether alive or dead, we can't get rid of them," Adrian reminded sensibly. "Personally, I prefer the latter because it's a one-time thing, unlike the former which will pester you endlessly, asking you to pay taxes, offer evidence or deal with traffic tickets."

"Gotta admit you're right." Jason sighed helplessly. "Although the Constitution stipulates everyone's got it, in practice, freedom is an expensive luxury only provided to the rich. The government always sends us off with lies and empty promises. It feels like Santa Claus promising the world a New Year's present, only to find nothing in your sock when you open it."

"Well, if you keep dawdling and don't go, your paycheck will be deducted to nothing today too."

"Chill, I told Erika I had to pick up my HIV test from the hospital this morning and might be an hour late. She replied sympathetically, 'I hope the result is negative, man, so I can put you in for an extra hour.'"

Adrian's hand holding the flower shovel froze there, and then he burst out an angry curse, "You deserve to go to hell, Jason! I can't believe you lied about this!"

Jason laughed heartily and ran out of the yard, throwing a kiss at him in the process. "Reality is hell. Everyone lies."

Jason adjusted his facial expression and rang the doorbell of a double-story villa in Queens with an elegant, professional smile.

The door opened and the figure of a woman appeared in the doorway. She looked no more than thirty years old, wearing a long red silk dress, with long honey-colored hair that undulated in waves. Her face was delicate and sweet, and her eyes a very beautiful amber, like a pure-blooded Persian cat. There is no doubt that she is Cupid's favorite and could easily hit the hearts of countless men with golden arrows and make them go crazy for her.

She's a real beauty, Jason thought. Beautiful things will always arouse people's visual pleasure, and his smile grew even more genuine and brilliant as he said in an exclamatory but polite tone, "Were you also born out of the sea on a pearl, ma'am?"

The other obviously didn't react. "...What?"

"At the very moment you opened the door, I thought I saw Venus opening the shell and coming out."

The other was stunned for a moment, and looked at Jason's face, which had an admiration look without any uncleanness. She laughed in spite of herself and said, "Thank you very much for your compliment. What can I do for you?"

"Oh, you see, Botticelli almost made me neglect my business," Jason said, then motioned to her to look at a finely wrapped gift box on the floor; it was three or four feet high and was a big square rectangular. "Arrowhead Express, here's a package addressed to Mrs. Rice at 7, Palm Grove Villa — are you Mrs. Rice?"

"Not until I was twenty-two. Everyone called me Rebecca before that." She blinked at him, her eyelashes fluttering like little fans. "Ah, I really miss that girlhood full of fantasy and dreams — can you call me Rebecca?"

"If you don't mind." Jason smiled up. She wasn’t only a beauty, but also full of grace and amorous feelings. "Do you need me to help you move it in?"

"Oh yes, I'm the only one at home, and it's not easy to get such a big guy into the storage room."

"Of course. Ladies' fine fingers aren't used for this kind of heavy work, they ought to be put together with flowers, silks, gems and other equally graceful things," Jason said as he carried the box in. He wisely knew how to make a not-so-subtle, serious compliment, and without feeling the least bit embarrassed.

As expected, Rebecca did let out a bell-like laugh. When Jason bent over to place the box in the place she indicated, she stared at his tight buttocks and perfectly straight long legs with a kind of interested and passionate gaze.

"I just bought new Colombian coffee beans yesterday. Would you mind having a cup — Mandheling or Supremo?"

"Anything. Thanks for the hospitality."

Two people sit on the sofa in the spacious living room drinking coffee. Rebecca's glittering and fragrant eyes fell on Jason over the edge of the cup, steaming hotter than the coffee in the cup.

"Jason," she called the name she had just learned in the intimate tone of an old friend, "I truly can't believe that a young man like you is just a courier! You should take a good look at the mirror, the face in there should be under the spotlight on the Walk of Fame or at a new outfit launch event in Milan, so as not to waste God's delightful creativity."

Jason scratched his somewhat messy blond hair and smiled carelessly like a child, which made him look more charming. "But I still like this light blue uniform. It suits me very well, don't you think?"

"Any piece of clothing in this world suits you, you know, including Tarzan's." Rebecca put down her cup and tilted her body a little over.

Oh, she's hitting on me. This method isn't very clever. Jason showed an interested expression. "Tarzan's?"

"Yeah, Tarzan's. Wouldn't you like to experience a new style?" Rebecca came closer again, the thin red strap sliding over the clean, exquisite skin and sticking just right on her shoulder blades without falling off.

"I don't object to that, but I don't want Mr. Rice to show up at the door of the changing room with a shotgun. That would disgrace Tarzan's reputation."

"Oh, that's absolutely impossible! Mr. Rice is having afternoon tea with Mr. Gandhi, whom he admires the most, and I think even if he lowers his head and looks hard, our layers won't be thin enough for him to see through..." Mrs. Rice came over and blocked Jason's lips.

A long, fiery, moist, coffee-scented kiss, and a beautiful young widow with a charming nature were a nice affair for any man, and worth spending an afternoon or more on... Jason reached into the red dress and pinched skillfully, and Rebecca let out a nice shriek.

"Let's have great jungle adventure, shall we, Jane baby." Jason picked her up in a hug and kicked open the bedroom door.

The trip to the jungle was undoubtedly full of thrill and elation, and the whole room was brimming with the shrieks of the heroine's excitement. She sat on his strong, taut upper body, twisting her waist like a clockwork, and letting out moans of pleasure and delight, "...So good... My darling... You're so... Ah, ah... so wonderful..."

She cried too loudly, and the soundproofing quality in the bedroom was so good that Jason didn't hear the sound from downstairs at all.

"Rebecca, darling, are you home... Are you upstairs? I forgot to bring my itinerary, have you seen it?" The man's voice followed soft steps up the stairs, and he seemed to pause for a moment at the sound of something.

The bedroom door was open.

In the doorway stood a man in a dark suit, with light brown hair and eyes of the same color. If he had appeared at the doorway of a meeting room with his briefcase, he must've been a personable, refined, white-collar man. However, the upright, handsome face was now completely occupied by an unbelievable look of shock, and his lips trembled violently, as if to burst out a bellow, but the cry was suppressed by the deep-rooted good upbringing and transformed into a kind of depression and forbearance almost masochistic, making his appearance pallid and bleak as an ashen wall.

Rebecca let out a shriek, this time in complete overwhelming panic and embarrassment. She scrambled to grab her dress and pull it over her body, nearly rolling off the edge of the bed.

Jason immediately understood that Mrs. Rice had told him a simple but very technical lie — Mr. Rice could indeed have afternoon tea with Mr. Gandhi, whom he admired the most, but not now, but fifty or sixty years later. He sat up, inserted his fingers in his damp blond hair, and sighed deeply. This is just like a vulgar emotional soap opera: after the husband went out, he hurried home because he forgot to bring something, and was shocked to find his wife in bed with another man. How should the plot develop next? Will the humiliated husband rush to the kitchen and grab a bone-cutting knife, or just pull out a pistol and shoot at them?

The man at the door had his lips distorted into twisted and bitter lines, as if he was about to cry in the next second. But in the end, he didn't cry, just whispered, "...Sorry," and then stiffly turned around and left the place.

Jason jumped up from the bed, dressed at lightning speed, and rushed out of the room regardless of the cries of the woman behind him. Soon he turned back and passed the pen and paper in his hand to Rebecca.

"Mrs. Rice, if you confirm that the package you received is in order, please sign this receipt slip," he said in a courteous but exceptionally icy voice.

Rebecca took the paper blankly, and mechanically signed her name on it. When she reached the last stroke of her surname, her hand trembled so badly that the tip of the pen drew a sharp black line on the paper.

"Thanks," Jason said, walking out of the room without the slightest hesitation.

Behind him, Rebecca suddenly burst into tears.

"Hey, handsome, cheer up! You look wretched today." Mike, a co-worker, patted Jason's shoulder. "Do you owe a loan shark $100,000 and can't pay it back? They went to your house to collect the debt?"

"No, I haven't stooped that low yet," Jason replied dejectedly, "but maybe it's worse than that... Hey, Mike, what do you do when you feel guilty?"

"Guilty? Man, I haven't known you long, but I don’t think you have that kind of stuff... Okay, okay, I admit my statement is a little biased, don't give me that look — do you want to lure me into committing a sin?" Mike blocked the other man's thrown fist and said with a smile, "If you really feel bad about it, how about repenting sincerely to the Lord. The Lord shall forgive you, for He always loves you as you are."

Jason immediately drew a cross on his chest. "Lord, ah, I repent. Please forgive me."

"Good boy. It's almost time to clock out. How about going to the bar for a drink?" Mike said.

A small half of Cruella's face suddenly peeked into the door. "Jason, there's a Mr. Rice looking for you. You know him?"

Jason's hand drawing the cross stopped in mid-air and showed Mike an extremely depressed look. "I think I've been abandoned by the Lord."

In a small café around the corner, Jason stirred the small spoon in his cup and couldn't help but sigh. In front of him, the man named Samuel Rice has already been sitting there for half an hour, still silent as a post. The silence shrouded them like the wings of the goddess of misfortune, bringing a feeling of low air pressure that was difficult to breathe in. Jason very much wanted to say something to break this unbearable atmosphere, but he didn't feel qualified to speak first — what could he say, 'I'm sorry I fucked your wife, because I didn't know she had a husband'? He believed he wasn’t so shameless yet, so he had to continue to wait.

Just when he thought that worms were about to grow at the bottom of the cup, Samuel finally spoke up.

"Do you love Rebecca?"

"Wha?"

"Rebecca and you... You guys love each other, right?"

Jason was dumbstruck.

Love? Oh no, no, that word didn't occur to me at all! This was just a short-lived romance that would dry up in the blink of an eye, an unfortunate affair caught in the act. Jason wanted to say that, but he was worried that the man in front of him wouldn't be able to bear it, as the heartbroken, sorrowful expression on his face was like a flame that had burned to the limit and was about to be extinguished. As long as there was the slightest wind, it would die out with a cry, leaving a mess of white ashes behind.

"Rebecca and I've been married for six years, and I've never found anything wrong with our marriage..." he whispered in a very pliable voice. "She was very lovely, a fascinating girl at school — 'everyone loves Rebecca,' they all said. When she agreed to marry me, I was so excited I couldn't say a word, like a fool dazzled by happiness, and was teased by her for a long time because of it... Our married life is very harmonious and dull, as I'm not a person who likes to pursue excitement and passion. I've always felt that those things are like shooting stars: they are ephemerally gorgeous and resplendent, and they fade away completely afterwards. I believe in long-lasting love, and I thought Rebecca was the same, but I was wrong..." He covered his face in pain and sobbed quietly.

Jason hurriedly handed over a few tissues. He had no experience comforting a crying man at all. Generally speaking, if the other were a woman, a warm kiss would settle it; while the men he'd been with would think about how to fuck him in bed until he's crying for mercy. Faced with this brand-new breed, he was a bit helpless.

"Um, I'm sure Rebecca still loves you dearly..." Jason comforted. Although he didn't regard it so, it's always correct to say it.

Samuel quickly calmed down. He wiped his face clean and took a few deep breaths. "I'm sorry, I rarely lose my temper like this..."

He shook his head dejectedly. "Now I know that she needs a man like you — passionate and bold, burning like fire... She longs for the feeling of being ignited in both heart and soul, and that's exactly what I can't give her... I've never even heard her cry in pleasure like that, not once in our six years of marriage..." He grabbed his light brown hair in pain, messing up its originally neat shape. "She has now found a man who can make her happy. I have to admit I was a failure in this marriage, and I've decided to quit..."

"Don't be ridiculous! What do you think this is, a transfer of usage rights? If you don't want it, then I have to take over?"

Samuel looked up in surprise to see the handsome movie-star-like man before him leaning against the back of the couch with his arms spread wide, with a mocking, grim expression on his visage.

"I just saw her beautiful and played around with her, can you take that even seriously? How old are you, little guy? I didn't expect that there were men like you in the world, pure as a baby bunny. You don't only use one position with women in bed,. Want me to teach you?" Jason showed a wicked and ambiguous smile, leaned forward, and stretched out three fingers to pinch his chin. "I'm more interested in men than women, and I promise to make you feel so good—"

The other punched him in the face ferociously! Jason's face was turned away, feeling a bloody smell seeping out of his mouth. He wiped the corner of his lip and saw Samuel's angry expression.

His fists aren't as gentle as he looks, he thought. Then he could behave like a man instead of wailing at me with a grieved face.

"I didn't expect... I didn't expect you to be this kind of person! Rebecca is still crying at home, she's so sad over a scoundrel like you..." he said through gritted teeth furiously. "I want you to go apologize to her! Then get out of our lives and never show up again!"

Jason shrugged disapprovingly. "I'm not apologizing. But I'll clear this to her so she can drop the idea forever and won't bring a kid I can't afford to raise to identify their father later—"

Another punch came, and Jason intercepted it in mid-air this time. "I hate it when people hit my face! Remember, you only got that one chance just now."

It was already dark when Jason arrived at the Palm Grove Villa area. The man in front of him always kept a distance of more than ten meters from him, as if he couldn't resist embedding his fist into his face if he got a little closer. Yet, he didn't care at all. As long as this troublesome matter could be solved, it's no problem to ask him to stand on the road and sing Hallelujah.

When Samuel took the key to open the door, he couldn't restrain the trembling of his finger as it were inner excitement. Jason looked at his upright and proper side face: his twisted eyebrows and tightly pursed lips exuded a sense of compulsive abstinence. He suddenly remembered a rich oil painting: the martyr bound to the crucifix by chains and thorns; the naked body with scars, wan and distorted in the moonlight, desperate and poignant. Skull and tombstone, dried up trees and eagles, his face tilted up towards the thick clouded sky, as if calling for the light above the clouds, but the sky was pitch-black...

"Should I say, 'come in' to you?"

Jason returned to his senses and saw the awfully unfriendly look on the other's face, but it was kept within the minimum norms of decorum. The real emotions shook vaguely behind it, like a glass that people wanted to break.

"I'll take that as an invitation, Mr. Rice." Jason walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa casually. "Let's take five minutes to work things out, and then I'll rush home — I'm sure you won't invite me to stay for dinner, right."

Samuel put his briefcase down on the desk behind him. "No, I'll keep you down for dinner," he whispered. "Rebecca's a little soft-hearted today, and she seems to like you, so I had to persuade her to go out and relax."

What does he mean by this? Jason was a little surprised, and just as he was trying hard to think, a towel blocked his mouth and nose, and the strong smell of ether rushed in through his airway, and he immediately lost consciousness.