The call ended.

  Over this side of the call, Shi hung up and cleared his throat.

  It had been him on the other end of the line, using voice modulation to get through.

  “Who was it?” Chen asked, once again appearing out of nowhere with his ghostlike movement.

  “A coworker named Chris,” Shi shrugged. “Just checking in.”

  “Oh, that shape shifter.” Chen murmured under his breath with a noticeable tone of distain.

  Shi came back with more medical equipment to look after the still-groggy patient.

  “I’m heading out,” Chen said, already at the entryway with his hand on the door. “Take good care of him.”

  “Certainly,” Shi called back from the bedroom.

  Click.

  The door shut.

  “What… is this?”

  Frowning, Yan Qing stared at the two glowing spheres circling him in the air, confused.

  His consciousness was still foggy, his thoughts sluggish.

  “These are medical instruments,” Shi replied irritably, rolling his eyes.

  “You’re not Chen…” Yan Qing squinted, unable to see the man clearly. “What’s your name? Why can’t I move?”

  “Shi,” the Teleopean doctor answered briskly. “Chen sent me. You’re poisoned—that’s why.”

  “A doctor…” Yan Qing murmured. His face was pale, cold sweat trickling down his temples into his dark hair. “Where’s Chen?”

  “He stepped out,” Shi replied vaguely, raising a hand.

  The two glowing spheres flew into his palm. He clasped his hands together, then opened them. The spheres stretched and reshaped, like pliable dough, forming a rectangular three-dimensional hologram floating between his hands.

  Yan Qing’s drifting mind couldn’t even register what it was.

  “I feel… guilty,” he muttered suddenly.

  “…What?”

  “I can’t respond to Chen…” His gaze drifted aimlessly. “I’m sorry…”

  Shi shut down the device and looked at him sideways before sitting bluntly on the edge of the bed, arms crossed.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “The fact that Chen found you at all is a miracle. For a long time, I thought he was just delusional.”

  He lifted his chin, gaze distant, pride and elegance evident.

  “I don’t… understand what you’re saying,” Yan Qing frowned. The dizziness had evolved into a throbbing headache.

  Shi studied him for a moment.

  “You really look alike. When I first saw you, I thought you were him.”

  “Who?” Yan Qing asked weakly.

  “The one who claimed to be human. He looked very much like you. Chen hovered around him for a long time.”

  Shi paused, recalling old memories.

  “But after Chen ascended the throne, that human disappeared—vanished completely.”

  Yan Qing let out a soft laugh.

  “…right.”

  Then… perhaps I’m just a look-alike.

  The realization brought a strange relief, but it left a hollow ache in his chest.

  Shi frowned, mistaking the dimness on Yan Qing’s face for worsening symptoms.

  “You alright?”

  Yan Qing shook his head, silent.

  After another cursory check, Shi lingered for a moment, as if weighing whether to say more. Then he left the room, the door closing softly behind him.

  Hungry. Cold.

  The boy lay weakly against the rough earth.

  He hadn’t eaten in so long.

  Since falling into the pit—no water, no food. His small life flickered like a candle in the wind.

  He tried to push himself up, desperate to find the friend who kept appearing and disappearing.

  The pit wasn’t deep. The rock wall was clearly visible.

  So why did his friend come and go like that?

  Ah—his new friend could do magic.

  To comfort him, the friend had once conjured blue fireworks before his eyes. The light had illuminated a childish smile, pure and beautiful.

  If angels painted on church ceilings truly existed… could his friend be a magical angel?

  Angel.

  Yes—Angel.

  He couldn’t tell him his real name, but surely giving him a nickname was okay.

  Angel…

  The boy’s thoughts grew sluggish.

  So sleepy.

  He collapsed again, unable to rise.

  Am I going to die?

  “…That dream again…”

  Yan Qing opened his eyes to neon lights replacing daylight outside the window.

  He must have fallen asleep again.

  He frowned, trying to recall the dream—he remembered seeing that child again, speaking with him—but upon waking, everything slipped away.

  “Are you alright?”

  A warm male voice sounded beside him.

  Yan Qing turned.

  Chen sat there.

  “How long have you been here…?”

  “Yan Qing?” Chen leaned closer, concerned.

  “Chen…” Yan Qing said suddenly.

  “Yes?”

  Yan Qing shifted first.

  Toward Chen.

  He caught the front of Chen’s coat with one unsteady hand and pulled him down, hard enough that Chen had to brace himself on the edge of the bed to keep from losing balance.

  Their mouths collided.

  It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t smooth. Yan Qing misjudged the angle, breath catching sharply against Chen’s lips before he adjusted and pressed in again—deliberate this time.

  Chen went rigid.

  “Yan Qing—” He pulled back immediately, hands coming up to restrain him, not rough but firm. “Stop. What are you doing?”

  “What do you think I am doing? Don’t tell me you have no clue after watching so much porn on TV?” Yan Qing retorted, didn’t let go.

  “This is not what I mean,” Chen explained quickly. “You are not thinking it clearly.”

  Yan Qing’s grip trembled, but it didn’t loosen.

  “You don’t get to decide that,” he said, voice low, breath uneven between them. “Not for me.”

  Chen shook his head. “You’re poisoned. Your judgment—”

  “My judgment is mine,” Yan Qing cut in.

  He leaned forward again—not to kiss this time, but close enough that Chen could feel his breath, could see the sharp resolve cutting through the lingering haze in his eyes.

  “You keep telling me what I feel,” Yan Qing said. “What I am. What I might be to you.” His fingers tightened once, knuckles whitening. “If you really find me as the right person, then why wouldn’t you accept this – or you just used me as a substitute of the one you lost.”

  Chen understood immediately.

  “I did rely on him as an emotional support, I was in a very bad state of mind back then,” Chen admitted calmly. “But my feelings for you come from my will. This time—I didn’t misidentify.”

  Yan Qing didn’t know Teleopean vows. He looked away.

  “We never met before Genesis… we couldn’t have…”

  “Maybe it sounds impossible,” Chen said softly. “But I always knew there was someone I had to find. And that person is you.”

  “Then prove it,” Yan Qing said suddenly, wrapping his arms around Chen’s neck.

  What Shi said struck Yan Qing with sudden clarity: he wanted Chen more than he’d ever admitted. The air between them felt charged—he could hear his own heartbeat, loud and unsteady, as if the world had narrowed to this moment.

  Yan Qing wanted to try, to prove to himself that he was wrong.

  But Chen didn’t move.

  For a long second, he only searched Yan Qing’s face, as if weighing every possible consequence at once.

  “And if you regret it?” Chen asked quietly.

  Yan Qing swallowed.

  “Then it’ll still be mine as well.”

  Silence stretched between them—taut, electric.

  Chen’s hands were still on Yan Qing’s wrists, eyes unblinking. He hadn’t pushed him away.

  “…Is this truly your will?” Chen asked, his voice stripped bare of command, of title.

  Yan Qing met his gaze without flinching.

  “Yes.”

  Chen smiled—dangerous, radiant.

  “Then… very well.”