Chapter 46 - The Bitter Draught
The revelry of the crowd was relentless, a marathon of decadence that stretched deep into the night. By the time the birthday party finally began to wind down, Qi Bailu had retreated to the periphery, seeking refuge by the poolside. He sat in a lounge chair alongside Peng Yiyi and a few others who shared his distaste for the cacophony of the dance floor. Cai Tongyue had insisted on a game of cards with stakes involved; though Qi Bailu initially demurred, the infectious enthusiasm of the group eventually wore him down. For several hours, he lost himself in the shuffle and deal, the figures of Zheng Kunyu and Ruan Qiuji fading into the background of his consciousness. To his surprise, his hand remained hot. They say that those unlucky in love find their fortune at the gambling table; perhaps, he mused, there was some merit to the old superstition after all.
He was genuinely enjoying himself, the thrill of the win pushing the shadow of Zheng Kunyu to the far recesses of his mind. However, a brief excursion to the restroom forced him to pass the smoking room. Through the glass, he caught sight of Zheng Kunyu deep in conversation with a small circle of men, Ruan Qiuji among them. Guan Chengzhu was there as well, draped elegantly beside a somber, middle-aged man who rarely cracked a smile. She moved with a practiced, languid grace, pouring wine while exhaling thin ribbons of smoke that curled like ghosts in the dim, amber light.
Earlier that day, when Qi Bailu had witnessed Ruan Qiuji kissing Guan Chengzhu’s cheek, he had almost assumed they were a couple. He had momentarily forgotten that Ruan had spent years abroad, where such a gesture was merely a standard social grace. Seeing her now, so intimate with Zheng Kunyu, he began to weave a silent narrative of a past affair—a modern-day *Lady of the Camellias*—yet their actual interactions suggested a total lack of sentimentality. Their desires and affections seemed to possess neither origin nor destination, appearing and vanishing like mist.
As Guan Chengzhu spoke, she leaned in to hook her arm around the waist of the man beside her. Her gaze drifted toward the door, catching Qi Bailu’s reflection in the glass. She turned and whispered something to the group. Caught in the spotlight of her attention, Qi Bailu wavered between fleeing and staying, but Ruan Qiuji, standing by the sofa, had already spotted him.
A moment later, Zheng Kunyu seemed to process his presence. He set down his glass, murmured a few words to his companions, and crushed his cigarette into an ashtray before heading toward the door.
It was a profound misunderstanding; standing there, Qi Bailu looked as though he had been waiting specifically for him. He tried to pivot toward the restroom, but Zheng Kunyu had already pushed through the door, his voice low and commanding. "Is something the matter?"
Nothing was the matter; in fact, everything had been going quite well until this moment. Qi Bailu halted, weighing whether it was worth the fallout to simply ignore him. As Zheng Kunyu approached through the corridor, Qi Bailu realized something was off. The closer the man got, the more the heavy scent of alcohol clung to him. It was a rare sight; Zheng Kunyu’s tolerance was legendary, and Qi Bailu had seldom seen him truly incapacitated. Some men became boisterous when drunk, others fell into a stupor, but Zheng Kunyu became increasingly capricious. He grew unreadable, his gaze turning into a heavy, fixated weight.
Zheng Kunyu stared at him now, his dark eyes boring into Qi Bailu as if he were an intruder from another world. He seemed unaware of his own intoxication. "You're drunk," Qi Bailu said softly. "I'll call the driver to pick you up."
Zheng offered no response. Qi Bailu pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to the driver. Finishing, he looked up. "I’m going to the restroom. Go back and wait for a bit; the driver will call you when he arrives."
Qi Bailu turned and walked away without looking back. After a few paces, he realized Zheng Kunyu was trailing him. Unable to stop him, and assuming Zheng also needed the facilities, he continued on. But when they reached the restroom, Zheng Kunyu did not enter.
Thinking the man had finally come to his senses and left, Qi Bailu washed his hands and stepped back out, only to find Zheng Kunyu still standing there, as immovable as a statue.
*What is he doing, following me like this?* Qi Bailu decided not to argue with a drunkard. He attempted to brush past him, but Zheng Kunyu’s hand shot out, seizing his arm. With a sudden, forceful jerk, he swung Qi Bailu around and pinned him against the cold tiles of the wall. Qi Bailu glanced around frantically, ensuring the hallway was empty. "If you want to act crazy, wait until we get ho—"
The last word was smothered. Zheng Kunyu pressed a hand against his chest, holding him in place as he leaned in for a bruising kiss. It wasn't the kiss itself that frightened Qi Bailu, but the risk of discovery. He grabbed Zheng’s neck, trying to shove him away while his eyes darted toward the end of the corridor.
They were too exposed. Qi Bailu could hear the muffled thud of footsteps and the distant peals of laughter from the party; someone could stumble upon them at any second. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let Zheng’s tongue find purchase. Losing patience, Zheng shifted his focus, trailing hot, heavy kisses down Qi Bailu’s neck and behind his ear, his suction clumsy and desperate. Qi Bailu’s face was pressed into the crook of Zheng’s shoulder, his senses overwhelmed by the suffocating blend of expensive tobacco and sharp champagne.
This kind of visceral friction was dangerous; it stirred a heat in Qi Bailu that he struggled to suppress, especially since Zheng was leaning his entire weight against him. Qi Bailu’s own inhibitions were lowered by the wine he’d consumed, but Zheng’s intentions were clearly more predatory. He gripped Zheng’s firm forearms, halting the man’s wandering hands. "Stop this madness," Qi Bailu hissed. "Someone is going to come by."
Zheng Kunyu paused for a beat—or perhaps several. When he had been shoved against the wall, Qi Bailu had bumped the back of his head. Seeing Zheng go still, he reached back to gingerly touch the sore spot. Zheng watched the movement, then slowly mimicked it, covering Qi Bailu’s hand with his own. He began to stroke the back of Qi Bailu’s head with a strange, rhythmic tenderness, as if petting a small animal.
The sudden, eerie warmth of the gesture caused Qi Bailu’s breath to hitch. He looked up into the face inches from his own, seeing his own reflection trapped in the obsidian depths of Zheng’s eyes.
Zheng’s palm brushed over the short, cropped hair. After a moment, as if finding the texture too prickly or harsh, his expression soured. He released Qi Bailu with a look of faint disdain and stepped back, watching him in silence. Qi Bailu straightened his clothes and gave Zheng a firm shove to establish a safe distance, shattering the lingering intimacy.
*Who told you to touch me?* Qi Bailu thought bitterly. Just then, someone glanced down the hallway and waved, calling out, "President Zheng!" Zheng Kunyu ignored the greeting entirely. The person, assuming they had mistaken him for someone else, walked away with a puzzled expression.
Qi Bailu watched the figure vanish, his heart hammering against his ribs. A few seconds earlier, and they would have been caught. He glared at the culprit, but Zheng Kunyu showed no sign of remorse. He looked perfectly composed, save for his silver-rimmed glasses which sat slightly askew on the bridge of his nose. Seeing Qi Bailu studying him, he even had the presence of mind to push them back into place.
They stood in a silent standoff until the phone in Zheng’s pocket began to vibrate. Qi Bailu assumed it was the driver, but Zheng made no move to answer. Qi Bailu reached out, his hands patting Zheng’s coat to find the device. Before he could pull it out, Zheng caught his wrist with one hand and snatched the phone with the other, answering the call.
The driver was waiting outside. Zheng hung up and looked at Qi Bailu with cold, sharp eyes. "You think you can handle me? I’m not that far gone."
Qi Bailu practiced a rare moment of forbearance and didn't snap back. He followed as Zheng turned and walked away. On their way out, they ran into Ruan Qiuji, who was emerging from the smoking room with a trench coat draped over his arm. Zheng Kunyu, walking ahead, didn't notice him, but Qi Bailu came face-to-face with the man. Feeling a flush of embarrassment, Qi Bailu merely lifted his phone in a silent gesture of departure. Ruan Qiuji said nothing, standing still as he watched them leave.
Qi Bailu’s sweater was slightly bunched at the hem—Zheng had tried to lift it earlier, and Qi had forgotten to smooth it down. It was a telltale sign of a struggle. Ruan Qiuji watched them exit the building, then glanced at his watch. How long had they been gone? Five minutes? Ten? Too short for anything substantial, he reasoned.
Ruan stepped back into the smoking room, his phone chiming with a WeChat message from Qi Bailu: *Please let Miss Guan know that President Zheng is drunk. I’m taking him back.*
As Ruan began to type a reply, another message popped up—a "blowing a kiss" emoji. Ruan’s thumb froze over the screen. Two seconds later, an explanation followed: *Sorry, pressed the wrong one...*
In reality, inside the car, Qi Bailu had been typing "Thank you" when Zheng Kunyu suddenly slumped against him. Startled, Qi’s hand jerked, and he instinctively tried to hide the phone. Seeing Zheng’s eyes closed, he looked back down to finish the text, only to realize his thumb had brushed a suggested emoji.
After sending the clarification, Qi Bailu glanced at Zheng. The man seemed quite comfortable using his shoulder as a pillow. Qi Bailu felt a strong urge to shove his head away.
His phone buzzed again. Ruan Qiuji had replied. Qi Bailu opened the chat and stared at a "cute" emoji with blushing cheeks for several seconds. *What, did he "press the wrong one" too?*
Zheng Kunyu slept the entire way back to the Lakeside Villa. Qi Bailu didn't touch his phone, and the passing night scenery held no interest for him. Eventually, his gaze drifted downward, settling on Zheng’s face. With his eyes closed, the man looked significantly less loathsome. Fearing Zheng would break his glasses and find a way to blame him for it, Qi Bailu carefully slid the silver frames off his face and held them in his hand.
A person’s aura often shifts when they remove their glasses. Qi Bailu couldn't help but feel that the version of Zheng he knew was a carefully constructed mask. This "real" version, vulnerable and unshielded by glass, felt utterly foreign.
The driver, sensing the tension, remained silent. He dropped them off at the villa and departed in a taxi. The garage was quiet, save for the fading sound of the driver’s footsteps and the heavy breathing of the man beside him. In the dim light, Qi Bailu leaned over to slide the glasses back onto Zheng’s face.
Perhaps the sound of the car door closing had roused him, or perhaps Qi Bailu’s clumsy attempt to replace the glasses had done the trick. Zheng Kunyu woke suddenly. The frames were only halfway on, one temple piece caught in his hair. He was still half-submerged in sleep, his breath heavy with the scent of wine. After a few seconds, he realized what Qi Bailu was doing and reached up to steady the glasses himself. He sat up straight, regarding Qi Bailu with a profoundly strange expression.
To Qi Bailu, this state of being was rare. Zheng’s ears were flushed deep red, and his eyes were bloodshot; he was truly, deeply drunk. The air in the car felt thick, weighted by his presence. Qi Bailu reached across him to open the passenger door. "We're here."
Zheng didn't move. Instead, as Qi leaned over, he wrapped his arms around Qi Bailu’s waist, pulling him back against the seat. His grip was surprisingly strong. Qi Bailu waited to see what would happen—whether he was about to be harassed or worse—but Zheng simply stared at him in silence. After a long moment, he abruptly let go.
Qi Bailu chalked it up to the alcohol. Zheng climbed out of the car first, and Qi followed, the cool night air a welcome relief against his skin. He trailed behind Zheng, noting the man’s slightly unsteady gait.
Once inside, Zheng Kunyu headed straight upstairs without a word. Qi Bailu ignored him and went to the kitchen to make some tomato juice. It was a reliable remedy for a hangover, and though he hadn't drunk much himself, he prepared a large glass. He took a sip, then looked at the remaining crimson liquid. After a moment's hesitation, he poured a glass for Zheng. It wasn't out of kindness; he simply wanted the man sober enough to avoid any "incidents." The memory of their time in Paris, where a drunk Zheng Kunyu had used a wine bottle on him, remained a dark, jagged scar in his mind.
Qi Bailu carried the juice upstairs, but Zheng wasn't in his own room. He was in Qi Bailu’s bedroom, his discarded clothes strewn carelessly across the bed. Qi Bailu changed into his pajamas and waited for Zheng to finish in the bathroom. When thirty minutes passed without a sound, he began to worry. He pushed open the bathroom door and found Zheng Kunyu lying in the bathtub, fully clothed. He was submerged in hot water, his hand pressed to his forehead as if battling a migraine.
Qi Bailu hadn't intended to disturb him, but the tub was overflowing, the water spilling onto the floor in a steady rhythm. Zheng had never turned off the tap. His dark blue tie floated in the current like a lost, confused snake, its body twisting as it caught on the porcelain.
Sometimes, Qi Bailu thought that if Zheng Kunyu were merely a hideous, repulsive physical entity, he wouldn't have lasted this long. Humans were shallow creatures. In those fleeting moments of dissociation in bed, he wondered if Zheng’s beauty was a blessing or a curse.
Qi Bailu walked over and shut off the water. The silence startled Zheng, who looked up. Qi Bailu sat on the edge of the tub and silently handed him the tomato juice. Zheng took it, slowly draining the entire glass. When Qi Bailu reached for the empty cup, Zheng didn't hand it back. He set it on the floor, seized Qi Bailu’s wrist, and yanked him forward.
The tub was deep and wide enough for two. Caught off guard, Qi Bailu tumbled backward into the water, landing directly on top of Zheng. His pajamas were instantly soaked. He wiped the water from his face and glared at the man holding him. "You're insane."
Zheng Kunyu looked as though he might be sobering up, but Qi Bailu couldn't be sure. He struggled for a moment, but Zheng’s grip was absolute. Resigned, he reached for the bath gel, hoping that if he couldn't escape, he could at least make the ordeal shorter.
Zheng held him in a half-embrace. Because they were in the water, they didn't press together perfectly; they felt like two fish huddling for warmth. Qi Bailu drifted into a daze, only to be snapped back when Zheng leaned down and bit his earlobe. It wasn't a playful nip; it was a sharp, forceful bite that drew a cry of pain from Qi Bailu.
There would certainly be a mark. Qi Bailu turned his head, his voice thick with condemnation. "Are you a dog?"
"Am I?" Zheng’s speech was clear, but his eyes were anything but normal. They were clouded with the dregs of intoxication—a complex, swirling mixture of emotions that seemed to settle and then rise again with every movement.
"You are," Qi Bailu said, reaching for the soaking wet tie. "In your past life, you must have been my dog. I must have been cruel to it, so now you're cruel to me. You're here for revenge."
"I can tell you're insulting me," Zheng said coldly.
*As if you don't deserve it,* Qi Bailu thought. He turned his head away, and for a long time, neither of them spoke. The water began to cool, but neither made a move to leave. Qi Bailu shifted, the water splashing as he rolled over to lie against Zheng’s chest. He reached out to turn the tap back on, letting fresh, hot water flow into the tub.
The sound of the running water finally broke the heavy silence. Qi Bailu tried to roll back, but Zheng placed his hands on Qi’s back, pinning him in place. The intimacy of the position made Qi Bailu deeply uncomfortable.
Zheng Kunyu cupped Qi Bailu’s face in both hands, staring at him again with that unsettling intensity, as if he were a specimen to be dissected and studied. The gesture was so uncharacteristically tender that Qi Bailu realized the alcohol still held its grip.
Sensing something coming, Qi Bailu gripped Zheng’s wrists. Zheng finally spoke, his voice a low rasp. "Have you... have you always hated me?"
Qi Bailu said nothing, his eyes wide as he searched Zheng’s face.
Zheng didn't ask a second time. His tone hadn't really been a question anyway.
"From the very first time, you've hated me. You're the one who came for revenge." Zheng’s voice grew harder. "You'd better never apologize. I don't want to pity you."
Qi Bailu let out a sharp, hollow laugh. "Who wants your pity?"
He fell silent, attempting to stand up and leave, but Zheng wouldn't let him go. He remained in that same stubborn position, asking with a quiet desperation, "Why?"
Qi Bailu didn't know which "why" he was asking. Why did he hate him? Why did he want to leave? Or why, back in Paris, had he refused to answer that one question? The answer was something Zheng Kunyu had already figured out for himself: he wouldn't answer because the hatred was still there.
Zheng’s expression was dark and brooding, his gaze so focused that even blinking felt like a surrender. But Qi Bailu’s eyes were stinging, and he finally had to look away. "You're drunk," he whispered.
This time, Zheng didn't stop him. Qi Bailu pulled Zheng’s hands away. He didn't leave the tub, but he retreated to the opposite end, submerged in the water with his knees pulled to his chest. "You're drunk" acted like a spell. Zheng Kunyu seemed to finally accept the reality of his condition—the splitting headache and the exhaustion that left him with no strength to contemplate the complexities of love or hate.
***
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