Countless Blossoms: The Actor's Gamble | Chapter 38 | Ten Days of Petals | Novela.app

He spent a total of ten days in that apartment; Zheng Kunyu did not let him step out even once. By the fourth day, Qi Bailu’s mind was in a trance, allowing Zheng Kunyu to handle him like a ragdoll. On the fifth day, he got out of bed for the first time and walked to the bathroom on his own; when his knees gave out and he collapsed onto the floor, he felt a strange sense of relief. Though Zheng Kunyu eventually carried him back to bed, the pain in his knees made him feel as though he had reclaimed the existence of his own body. By the seventh day, he realized he had lost his sense of time. Although there was a clock in the living room and Zheng Kunyu’s wristwatch sat on the nightstand, time seemed to swirl across the dials like a vortex. It felt as if it were eternally today, a repeating cycle of twenty-four hours consisting of nothing but eating, excreting, embracing, and sex—no past, no future. Thus, he decided that while Zheng Kunyu was showering, he would sit before the pot of white camellias in the living room—which had nearly withered to death—and pluck one petal each day, tucking it into a film magazine left carelessly on the sofa. He relied on this ancient, primitive method of record-keeping to remind himself that time was indeed flowing. On the tenth day, he lifted the magazine’s cover and tucked another petal inside. He saw the ten petals spread across the glossy pages like fallen snow. The edges of the petals were tinged with a faint yellow, and they gave off a raw, sharp scent—the extremely subtle fragrance of white camellia mingled with the smell of ink and coated paper. It was not a pleasant aroma. Qi Bailu put the magazine back where it belonged. Zheng Kunyu walked toward him while drying his hair. That day, Zheng Kunyu seemed somewhat preoccupied, so they didn't return to the bedroom, opting for the sofa instead. Once Zheng Kunyu grew bored of the usual, he began to use every means at his disposal on Qi Bailu’s body. Qi Bailu hated the position from behind the most, but Zheng Kunyu had discovered that it allowed for the deepest penetration and elicited the most pained, miserable cries from him. And so, he folded the man over the sofa and thrust into him from behind. Halfway through, Zheng Kunyu took a phone call. Qi Bailu lay there prone without a word, only vaguely hearing the voice of a young man on the other end. The man greeted Zheng Kunyu casually, asking if he wanted to come out for dinner to wrap up a certain project, as he was leaving for Los Angeles the day after tomorrow. Perhaps it was Los Angeles, or perhaps New York or San Francisco; Qi Bailu didn't remember. Those distant names were like gulls taking flight, quickly vanishing from his mind. He cared about only one thing: Zheng Kunyu was leaving. After hanging up the phone, the man quickened his pace and brought the session to a swift end. Zheng Kunyu flipped Qi Bailu over and studied his face. Seeing that Qi Bailu’s eyes were closed and he remained motionless, seemingly exhausted, he left him there and went straight back to the bedroom. When Zheng Kunyu emerged again, he was fully dressed and perfectly groomed, the picture of a refined gentleman. He picked up a thin air-conditioning quilt, shook it out, and draped it over Qi Bailu’s naked body. Perhaps he truly believed Qi Bailu was asleep, for he left without waking him. The sound of leather shoes treading on the floor receded toward the foyer. In the silence, the door opened and then clicked shut. When Zheng Kunyu left, he turned off the main lights, leaving only a few small lamps casting a gentle glow. Qi Bailu slowly opened his eyes, but he did not get up immediately. He lay still for a long while, making sure Zheng Kunyu hadn't doubled back for something forgotten, before finally climbing up. He let the quilt slide off his body and walked back to the bedroom. His own clothes were still tossed in the bedroom, unwashed. Qi Bailu had no choice but to wear Zheng Kunyu’s. However, the clothes were far too large for him; the hem of the shirt covered his backside, forcing him to roll the sleeves up several times. The trousers were the same, so he eventually settled for a pair of drawstring sweatpants. Once dressed, he didn't even have time to put on slippers before lunging for the nightstand to find his phone. He tried to pull the drawer open. He remembered clearly that the phone had been placed in the first locked drawer, but this time, the drawer was unlocked. The contents were laid bare before him: Zheng Kunyu’s sleeping pills, a box of what looked like cigars, a used lighter, and a pack of cigarettes. But there was no sign of Qi Bailu’s phone. Qi Bailu tried searching the other drawers, but found nothing. He leaned against the corner of the cabinet, thinking for a moment, and realized that Zheng Kunyu had taken it with him. The man guarded against him to such an extent. Qi Bailu didn't know whether to call Zheng Kunyu brilliant or insidiously cunning. Since it was like this, there would be no spare key left in the room either. Qi Bailu turned and walked quickly to the living room, reaching the foyer hallway. When he saw the door, he practically ran to it. He threw himself against the apartment door and tried to turn the handle, but it wouldn't budge an inch. Qi Bailu pressed his forehead against the door, feeling the thick armored plating, and took a desperate, deep breath. His chest heaved as he turned back toward the large living room at the end of the hallway. He walked back step by step, his pace unwavering, straight toward the garden-like balcony. Because Zheng Kunyu had been less busy these past few days, the greenery on the balcony and the white camellia inside had been well-tended. Under Zheng Kunyu’s daily watering and pruning, they had regained their vitality, growing in lush, thick clusters. Qi Bailu pushed open the double glass doors leading to the balcony. The night wind instantly surged into the room, catching the living room curtains. The wind was heavy, wandering through the room in intermittent gusts, causing the silk curtains—smooth as water—to billow out like the sails of a ship at sea. Qi Bailu watched as the fluttering fabric brushed gently against his face, occasionally tickling his cheeks. It was soft and delicate, like an infant's skin, easily evoking thoughts of the purity of birth. He stood there for a while without moving forward. The restlessly billowing curtains occasionally blocked his vision, occasionally pressed against the back of his hands and calves, and occasionally wrapped him entirely beneath their expanse, covering his head and body. Yet, when the next gust came, the curtains would slide away from his side and trail limply across the floor. Qi Bailu stepped out, his bare feet moving from one floorboard to the next. He passed through the glass doors, moved through the lush plants, and walked until he reached the iron railing that overlooked the open expanse. He gripped the railing with his hands, feeling the October wind pierce through his body like a river, rushing past him into the lit living room. It wasn't raining today—the rain had stopped—but the night was devoid of moon or stars. Dark clouds were piling up; it looked like it would rain again. The wind blew his loose shirt back into a billow, and his hair whipped about in the gale, stinging his face. Qi Bailu stood pressed against the railing, glancing outside. He didn't need to look down to know that this was the twenty-sixth floor. Standing in the thin light, he felt as though he were on a lonely island; falling might mean plunging into raging waves with no hope of survival. The distant skyscrapers cast looming black shadows, and the entire world seemed submerged in stagnant, pitch-black water. Those flickering lights looked like the eyes of piranhas, emitting a cruel, predatory glare. Qi Bailu gripped the railing tightly, his upper body leaning over, his head slowly bowing down. The streetlights lined up in a row below, but to him, their hopeful glow felt as if it wanted to leap up and devour him. Qi Bailu shivered in the cold wind— No, he didn't want to die. At least, not such a humiliating death. He didn't want to be "a certain acting student who jumped to his death," becoming a source of entertainment for others, tainted by murky, scandalous rumors. He didn't want them to scavenge his flesh and blood; if that happened, he would become something forgotten as soon as they finished picking their teeth—a mess of remains, not a human being. In death, he would no longer be human, but living as he was now didn't feel like being a human either. The relentless wind continued to blow. It felt as though the wind were cupping his cheeks, tilting his head back. Qi Bailu suddenly released his grip and took a sharp step back on the balcony. He gradually calmed his ragged breathing, but his eyes remained as bright as before, shimmering with a trace of tears. He retreated until he was behind the glass doors. As if he had made a final decision, he suddenly turned and walked toward the kitchen.