HL 8

“Nanxiao… Nanxiao… Nanxiao…”

Xu Nanxiao snapped back to attention to find Ying Yusheng looking at him with concern. He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed the man’s hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve been like this ever since you woke up. Are you feeling unwell?”

“…No, I’m fine.”

These past few days, Xu Nanxiao’s mind had been consumed by the hooded man. Not even gaming or drinking could distract him, and he had no interest in women—he was going out of his mind with frustration.

“I’ve got things to do. I’m heading out.”

Ying Yusheng showed no resentment at being summoned and dismissed so casually. He simply smiled and nodded. “Take care on the way.”

Xu Nanxiao put on his short denim jacket—narrow waist, lean hips, long legs that could kick their way into anyone’s dreams. He reached the door, then stopped, turned back to Ying Yusheng.

“Let me ask you something… I’ve been having frequent memory lapses lately—forgetting what I did, where I was on certain days. Does that sound like hypnosis?”

“Memory loss? Severe?” Ying Yusheng stood up, looking surprised. “That sounds more like a neurological issue or dissociative identity disorder. Maybe you should get a check-up.”

“Probably not.” Xu Nanxiao’s expression was grave. “The missing memories are all related to one person. You said before that hypnosis could erase memories—so I was wondering if that bastard hypnotized me.”

Ying Yusheng thought for a moment, then replied: “While deep hypnosis can indeed hide certain memories, it requires a very skilled hypnotist. It’s not something just anyone can do. And they’d need to know you intimately, using the details of your memories to overwrite them. Do you know any hypnotist who knows you that well and is that capable?”

Instantly, a young but handsome face surfaced in Xu Nanxiao’s mind.

But he quickly shook his head, pushing the absurd thought away.

It couldn’t possibly be him.

“What’s wrong? Have someone in mind?” Ying Yusheng asked curiously.

“No.” Xu Nanxiao lied flatly. “There’s no one like that around me.”

With a string of combos, the blue character knocked the red one into a corner. Finishing with a Dragon Punch, the red fighter launched into the air, losing its last sliver of health.

A huge “KO!” flashed across the screen!

“I won! I won!” Lu Yingjie turned to Xu Nanxiao excitedly, his face beaming with pride.

“Yeah, yeah, you won.” Xu Nanxiao ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Was he getting old? His reflexes slowing down? Lately, he’d been losing more than winning when gaming with this kid.

Then he remembered something and glanced at his watch.

“Brat, it’s past ten. If you don’t leave now, you’ll miss curfew.”

“Ge, you can’t kick me out just because you lost.” Lu Yingjie shrugged it off. “I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“What about dorm checks?”

“P University doesn’t have dorm checks.”

“Staying out all night?” Xu Nanxiao raised an eyebrow. “Is this what ‘good students’ and ‘well-behaved kids’ do?”

“I was never a ‘good student’ or ‘well-behaved kid.’ You just assumed that.” Lu Yingjie pouted, then whined: “Ge, let me stay. My dorm mates snore—I can’t sleep.”

“…Fine.” After some back and forth, Xu Nanxiao finally relented. “You know, if you just apologized to your parents, they’d probably rent you a nice big place off-campus.”

With that, he went to the cabinet to grab bedding for Lu Yingjie.

Xu Nanxiao’s bed was too small for two grown men, so he made a floor bed and let Lu Yingjie take the bed. Lu Yingjie insisted on taking the floor instead, but Xu Nanxiao told him to “take it or leave it,” so he gave up.

They crawled into their respective beds and turned off the lights.

The room fell silent as still water, their breathing growing clearer—intertwined, rising and falling, silently measuring the space between them.

Xu Nanxiao couldn’t sleep. He looked toward Lu Yingjie on the bed. From this angle, he could only see the tip of his straight nose.

Other than Lu Yingjie, there was no one else who knew hypnosis and knew him so intimately.

“…”

But the hooded man couldn’t be Lu Yingjie.

They’d been brothers for over a decade. Xu Nanxiao had never doubted the purity of their bond. Besides, although Lu Yingjie wasn’t that young anymore, he was still a simple kid at heart.

He was really losing it because of that hooded bastard—grasping at straws and suspecting Lu Yingjie. If Lu Yingjie ever found out, he’d probably cry from the hurt.

“…”

Screw it. Stop thinking. Sleep!

Xu Nanxiao turned over forcefully and buried his head between the pillows.

Late at night, Lu Yingjie opened his eyes and sat up groggily. He’d woken up thirsty—the stew from dinner had been a bit salty.

He got out of bed, navigating the darkness with ease, found the kettle on the cabinet, and poured himself a glass of water.

After drinking his fill, he was about to head back to bed when he paused at Xu Nanxiao’s bedside, as if pulled by some invisible force.

He slowly crouched down, tilted his head, and studied Xu Nanxiao by the moonlight.

With his eyes closed, Xu Nanxiao’s sharpness faded. His fine, long lashes softened his entire demeanor. He slept quietly, his breathing nearly inaudible.

Lu Yingjie remembered the first time they’d spoken—Xu Nanxiao had looked about the same. That year, Xu Nanxiao was thirteen; he was nine.

Lu Yingjie’s parents had come to Beijing to start a business. The young couple from a small border town had no capital, no education—making it in Beijing was no easy feat.

They rented a place in Hebei, just outside Beijing, leaving before dawn every day and returning late at night. Forgetting to come home and cook for Lu Yingjie was a common occurrence.

Landlines weren’t widespread back then, and Lu Yingjie didn’t have a cent to his name. Reaching his parents was nearly impossible.

Sometimes, when the house was completely out of food, Lu Yingjie would sit by the door, hugging his knees, dizzy with hunger, waiting with desperate eyes for his parents to return.

He’d never spoken to the family across the hall. But he knew the father there often hit people—at night, he could hear the woman’s heart-wrenching screams, and the older boy next door was always covered in bruises.

That day, Lu Yingjie sat curled up by the security door again. His stomach growled incessantly, his head foggy, like he’d gone into power-saving mode.

Then he heard footsteps in the stairwell. He forced his head up, heart pounding.

But when the person came into view, it wasn’t his parents—it was the boy from across the hall. A crushing wave of disappointment hit him, and he buried his face back in his knees.

He heard the boy unlock the old iron door, then change shoes. He expected him to walk inside as usual—but this time, he came back and stopped in front of Lu Yingjie.

“Why do you always sit here?” Xu Nanxiao asked, looking down at him.

Lu Yingjie blinked, then looked up. The face before him was a mess—swollen eyes, a split lip, even a plaster on his neck.

It scared Lu Yingjie. He answered honestly: “I’m hungry. Waiting for my parents.”

“No food at home?”

“Nothing since this morning.”

Xu Nanxiao said nothing, turned, and went back inside—but left the door open. Lu Yingjie heard the sounds of a cabinet opening and closing, then saw Xu Nanxiao come out with a bowl and chopsticks, holding them out to him.

“It’s just this. Take it or leave it,” Xu Nanxiao said gruffly.

Plain rice topped with a few simple dishes—nothing fancy. There was too little soy sauce, the potato shreds still pale. The greens were wilted, not looking too fresh.

But for a child who’d been hungry all day, it was plenty. Lu Yingjie snatched the bowl and chopsticks and wolfed it down on the floor like a stray dog.

Hunger was the best seasoning. Between bites, he praised loudly: “So good! So good! This is the best meal I’ve ever had! Did you make this, ge?”

Xu Nanxiao frowned, not believing him. “That man said my cooking was average.”

“It’s not average—it’s delicious! Really delicious!” Lu Yingjie’s eyes sparkled as he looked at him.

Xu Nanxiao hadn’t expected such high praise for his cooking. This kid must have been starving. Feeling sorry for him, he said awkwardly: “If you’re hungry again, knock on my door. I’ll give you some food.”

Afraid of being misunderstood, he added: “Because you’re always sitting at the door. It’s annoying.”

Even at his young age, Lu Yingjie could hear the kindness beneath Xu Nanxiao’s gruff tone. He nearly cried, sobbing and stammering: “Thank you, ge. You’re so good. I’m so hungry. The food is so good. Thank you…”

At the sight of his pitiful state, Xu Nanxiao chuckled. He crouched down and ruffled Lu Yingjie’s soft hair. “You’re this happy over leftovers? Are you a little dog? Be my little brother—I’ll take care of you. You won’t go hungry.”

Lu Yingjie looked up at him, dazed.

Suddenly, the bruises and cuts didn’t seem so scary anymore. Beneath the mess was a striking, handsome face. The warm light from the tungsten bulb seemed to veil Xu Nanxiao in gauze, giving the memory a cinematic quality.

Yes, Lu Yingjie thought, eyes shimmering. I’m a little dog.

From today on, he was his ge’s little dog.

Back in Xu Nanxiao’s rented room.

Lu Yingjie leaned forward, dropping to his knees.

He tested softly: “Old ge?”

Xu Nanxiao didn’t react.

“Ge?”

“…”

“Xu Nanxiao?”

“…”

“Nanxiao…”

Those two syllables felt like the most tender in the world. His heart suddenly pounded like thunder—as if he’d crossed a forbidden line. Lu Yingjie’s hands and feet went cold, but his head burned and swelled. He slowly lowered himself, trying to press his lips to Xu Nanxiao’s.

But just before contact, Xu Nanxiao let out a sleepy murmur that froze Lu Yingjie in place. Then he turned his head away, and the room fell quiet again.

In that brief instant, dozens of images flashed through Lu Yingjie’s mind.

Every girlfriend Xu Nanxiao had ever had. Every hickey, every bite mark, every scratch on his back. His fair-weather friends who slung arms around him. And… even Professor Ying’s face.

Lu Yingjie clenched his jaw, as if trying to bite through something hard.

He pushed himself up abruptly, stumbled to his feet, and hurried to the balcony, slamming the door shut behind him.

The next morning, when Xu Nanxiao woke up, Lu Yingjie was gone. He yawned, looked around, and found a note on the table, along with a couple of warm meat buns.

“I’m heading back to class. Envy you jobless people who don’t have 8 AM classes.”

Below it was a crude drawing of a line-dog crying.

Xu Nanxiao laughed. He bit into a bun, mumbling: “Envy jobless people? You only see the meat, not the beating.”