FY - 10

Zhou Yan spent the day at Si Wen’s apartment. At one point, Hong Jie called to tell her that the fat man had been blacklisted by Candy.

This was normal. Though Candy was a brothel, its boss was a figure of some standing in Qizhou. When nothing went wrong, the paying customers were kings—they could do whatever they pleased. But once trouble arose, no matter how much money they offered, the rules had to be enforced.

Zhou Yan, for all her flaws, was a veteran at Candy, and with Si Wen backing her, the boss didn’t need to weigh the pros and cons to know which side to take.

Around seven in the evening, Zhou Yan prepared to leave.

She hadn’t even made it past the foyer when Si Wen returned, his face deathly pale, sweat beading on his forehead and the bridge of his nose. Instinctively, she reached out to touch him—his skin was cold.

She helped him to the sofa and poured him a glass of water, but as she brought it to his lips, he suddenly grabbed her wrist.

Looking up, she saw his eyes bloodshot, the whites nearly obscured by red veins. He looked like he was in agony. She only asked calmly, “Which medicine do you take?”

Instead of answering, Si Wen pulled her into his arms, his other hand locking around her waist as if trying to crush her into his body. The sheer intensity of it was unnerving.

Caught off guard, Zhou Yan’s elbow accidentally knocked against the coffee table. She let out a muffled groan of pain.

Si Wen abruptly released her, grabbed her arm, and after a glance at the reddened spot, pressed his lips to it, sucking gently with his tongue. What had been sharp pain now turned into a dull itch.

She thought it was enough and tried to pull her arm back.

Si Wen tightened his grip, licking her arm more aggressively before suddenly biting down.

Tears welled in Zhou Yan’s eyes from the pain, but she clenched her teeth and kept silent.

Si Wen left no part of her arm untouched, marking it with bruises and bites. Still unsatisfied, he pushed up her shirt and began sucking and biting her breasts, the wet sounds obscene. Zhou Yan could already imagine the state of her chest later.

The pain became unbearable, and Zhou Yan started calling his name, her voice weak: “Si Wen.”

Si Wen acted as if he hadn’t heard, continuing his violent assault, seeking only his own release.

Zhou Yan’s fists were clenched so tightly that blood seeped from her palms where her nails had dug in. Her voice trembled: “It hurts.”

The words were so faint they would’ve been inaudible if not for the silence of the room. Yet, against all odds, Si Wen stopped. He leaned back slowly and closed his eyes.

Zhou Yan slumped against the sofa, one arm mottled with bruises, her chest undoubtedly in no better shape.

Outside, the wind howled like a broken erhu, yet the sound somehow helped steady her racing heart.

After a moment to collect herself, she used her uninjured arm to wipe away the tears caused by the pain, then got up and went to the bedroom to retrieve a topical painkiller. She sprayed it on her arm. When she lifted her shirt, she sucked in a sharp breath.

Si Wen was a monster—his bites were vicious.

The medicine worked quickly, numbing some of the pain.

When she came back out, she didn’t so much as glance at Si Wen before leaving.

His drug addiction wasn’t something she had any intention of dealing with. She didn’t know what kind of pain drove him to rely on substances, but one thing was certain—he was digging his own grave.

Not that it was any of her damn business.

________________________________________

When Si Wen woke up, any traces of Zhou Yan in the apartment had long since dissipated.

He pushed himself up from the sofa, poured himself a glass of water, then retrieved a bottle of pills from the safe by his bed. He poured out a handful—not bothering to count—and swallowed them all.

After finishing the rest of the water, he exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting absently forward.

Zhou Yan had washed the bedsheets, duvet covers, and two pairs of his pants, hanging them to dry on the balcony outside the master bedroom. The sunlight filtered through, half-blocked, leaving only a few scattered rays on the floor—bright, glaring, making his eyes ache.

The sight brought him an odd sense of calm.

For so many years, this was the only kind of peace he ever felt—when Zhou Yan was nearby.

He had always known it. But he would never admit it to her.

After standing there silently for a while, his phone rang. He walked back to the living room to answer it.

“Boss, the matter from yesterday has been handled. I’ve informed Candy’s General Manager Huang.”

He responded indifferently: “Keep an eye outside Candy too. Make sure that man doesn’t show up in front of Zhou Yan again.”

“Understood.”

The call ended, and he locked the screen.

As he set it down, the screen lit up again—the wallpaper was a watercolor rat. Zhou Yan had changed it.

Back then, he’d gotten her drunk. She was a lightweight, and the alcohol made her bold. She’d swapped his wallpaper, then spat into his wine glass, calling it a “new vintage” and forcing him to drink it. Maybe he’d been drunk too, because he actually did.

He let the memory run wild for a moment before picking up the phone and changing the wallpaper back.

________________________________________

Zhou Yan spotted He Shanhong outside her apartment. His hair was longer, his face unshaven, and his eyes dull, as if he hadn’t slept in days. He looked terrible.

When He Shanhong saw Zhou Yan, it was as if he’d found a reason to keep living. Tears welled in his eyes as he staggered toward her.

Zhou Yan took him to a noodle shop across the street and ordered a bowl for him.

He Shanhong stopped her. “I’m not hungry.”

Zhou Yan didn’t press, nodding to the waiter to hold the order.

He Shanhong’s hands clenched tightly on the table, his knuckles whitening. He opened his mouth several times but couldn’t bring himself to speak.

Zhou Yan wasn’t in a hurry. She waited patiently.

After more than ten minutes of this, he finally seemed to steel himself. “Do you know who Xiao Zhao sold the car to?”

Zhou Yan: “No.”

He Shanhong didn’t believe her. “You two were closest before.”

Zhou Yan smiled faintly, her expression perfectly sincere. “Where’d you get that idea?”

He Shanhong lowered his gaze briefly before looking back at her. “She said at Candy, you were the only one who treated her well.”

Zhou Yan remained unruffled. “She did come to me, asked me to help her sell that Passat. I refused—I don’t have those kinds of connections.”

“Besides, you were the one who bought it for her. If I’d really helped her sell it, where would I find another one when she inevitably regretted it?”

He Shanhong murmured along with her words, “Yeah, I bought it for her. She was so happy back then.”

Zhou Yan had no interest in dissecting his relationship with Jiang Xiaozhao. But seeing him wallow in this performative grief made her sick. “Who are you putting on this heartbroken act for? I’m not Jiang Xiaozhao—I’m not that gullible. I don’t buy whatever you’re selling. If you’d told her to die, she’d have just smiled, opened a window, and jumped.”

At that, He Shanhong grabbed his hair with both hands, gripping it tightly. Within moments, his eyes were red with tears.

Zhou Yan had more to say, but she held back at the sight.

It wasn’t that she’d softened. She just thought it was too late.

After Shen Yudie, Jiang Xiaozhao had been the most famous working girl in Qizhou. Beautiful, with a figure to match—curves that overflowed even a pair of hands. She’d been sold to Hong Jie by her boyfriend when she was just sixteen.

At first, they only let her host, not take clients. But by eighteen, He Shanhong, the owner of Hongshan Electronics, had taken her as his mistress.

Back then, Jiang Xiaozhao had already left Candy, even buying gifts for her coworkers before she left. Later, something must’ve happened, because she returned—but without breaking things off with He Shanhong. Everyone was baffled.

After about four months—maybe less—she stopped going back to He Shanhong’s place and started living in the dormitory.

He Shanhong still visited her, though. Several times, they’d left the dorm room door unlocked while they had sex, leaving everyone even more confused about their relationship.

This went on for two months. Then, after a huge fight in the dorm, Jiang Xiaozhao jumped from the fourth floor. Her head landed on a sharp bamboo stake sticking out from a flowerbed, killing her instantly.

He Shanhong came from a powerful family. He couldn’t afford to throw everything away for a prostitute, so he left before the police arrived—without even a glance at Jiang Xiaozhao’s body. He never knew she’d died with her eyes open.

Later, Jiang Xiaozhao’s death became a scandal in Qizhou. People obsessed over the story of the city’s most beautiful sex worker dying with her eyes wide open.

Some even dug up her Weibo, combing through her连载 (serialized) accounts of her hostess experiences, trying to uncover the man behind her downfall.

The walls were made of paper—strong winds would tear them down.

Within forty-eight hours of the story spreading, netizens had already exposed He Shanhong.

In less than three days, his wife left him, taking their child.

Zhou Yan had witnessed every step of Jiang Xiaozhao’s descent at Candy. She’d never tried to advise her, but she had looked out for her—not out of camaraderie, but because she’d foreseen her fate and felt a twinge of pity.

He Shanhong was a capricious man. Every cent he gave Jiang Xiaozhao, he regretted the next day.

In theory, it was simple—he enjoyed himself in the moment, but afterward, he couldn’t face himself, feeling that betraying his family for a prostitute put him on the wrong side of morality. During these moments, he’d shower his wife with gifts while tormenting Jiang Xiaozhao.

He thought this routine absolved him. But it was just a temporary salve for his conscience.

Jiang Xiaozhao was a fool, blind to reality. Even after all this, she still believed he was a good man, that she hadn’t misplaced her loyalty. She even gave him the money she earned from sleeping with other men, letting him buy gold necklaces for his wife.

The reason she’d wanted to sell the car was because He Shanhong needed money to buy his wife a house and was short on cash.

But even after selling the car, it still wasn’t enough. He Shanhong had screamed at her, calling her a worthless waste of money, saying she might as well die. Those words must’ve been cursed, because Jiang Xiaozhao listened—and jumped.

Zhou Yan was the only one who knew these details besides He Shanhong.

To Jiang Xiaozhao, Zhou Yan’s kindness meant trust. She told her everything.

Fortunately, Zhou Yan had no interest in meddling in others’ affairs. She kept every word to herself—not a single syllable leaked.

Not even to the police.

She could’ve laid everything bare, exposing He Shanhong’s true nature. But what would that accomplish? Who would believe Jiang Xiaozhao had killed herself over a single sentence?

Even at Candy, no one but Zhou Yan would’ve bought it.

Because she knew the truth, He Shanhong’s belated grief disgusted her.

She tossed two napkins at him. “Don’t look to me for comfort. I won’t give you the reaction you want. But if you’re really drowning in guilt, you could always turn yourself in—confess that you pushed her.”

He Shanhong froze, staring at her.

Zhou Yan wasn’t finished. “That way, your remorse can vanish without a trace—just like your face did back then.”

With his mask ripped off, He Shanhong saw no point in pretending. He let his true colors show. “I used to think prostitutes were people too, that they deserved fairness. That’s why I couldn’t let go of Xiao Zhao’s death.”

“Your words just reminded me—there’s a reason society marginalizes and condemns women like you.”

Zhou Yan smirked. “That logic sounds convincing at first glance, but when you think about it, it’s just a twisted way to shift blame.”

“There’s demand before supply. Buyers come before sellers—don’t get the order mixed up. Acting like johns are somehow nobler than whores?”

“Whether it’s for money or pleasure, some sell their brains, others their bodies. Yet you people still insist on ranking us. We don’t judge you for your narrow-mindedness, but you’re quick to call our profession filthy.”

The noodle shop’s windows were open, the wind rushing in like a torrent. He Shanhong’s last shred of civility dried up under its force.

He’d been able to boss Jiang Xiaozhao around, but Zhou Yan was a different story.

Zhou Yan had hitched a ride on Si Wen’s coattails, and it had opened doors for her.

Thanks to Si Wen’s protection, she could “speak her mind” so freely!

He didn’t stay any longer, dragging his broken body away.

This was the last time Zhou Yan saw He Shanhong—and the last time Jiang Xiaozhao’s name was mentioned.

She didn’t know that, in He Shanhong’s eyes, she was just a fox borrowing the tiger’s might. Even if she had known, she wouldn’t have denied it. It was the truth.

Even if Zhou Yan was a dog, she was Si Wen’s dog.

That alone was enough to make them keep their distance.