Chapter 1 - Stomachache (1/2)

Chapter 1 – Stomachache

“In the rainy season of the south, a lady in pink was walking. The boy in the forest picked up a stone, throwing it at her, targeting her perfectly round belly…”

Zhou Hao again woke up in startlement from his strange dream. Looking at his phone, it was past two in the night. In a distance far from him, a man was lying there.

The man was lying with his back facing him, his upper body bare. All he could was the defined lines of his back, and that head of shaggy black hair.

A few hours ago, they were still on top of each other, desperately trying to bury themselves in each other. Now, it was as though a ravine was between them, desperately wishing they were eight hundred metres apart.

“Jiang Yuqian, Jiang Yuqian…” Zhou Hao leaned his body over, shouting out at him many times. His hands and mouth attacked, lighting a flame within the man’s body.

That man mumbled a few words, flipping over and pressing Zhou Hao down.

“You want to do it?” The man asked groggily.

“I can’t sleep, so I’m looking for something to do.”

About half an hour later, both of them had found satisfaction from each other’s body. The man pushed Zhou Hao away, walked into the bathroom, and next came the sound of running water.

In the dark and cramped space, Zhou Hao groped for his box of cigarettes by the bed. Pulling a stick out, he placed it in his mouth and lit it.

This was his habit, a cigarette after doing it. The smoke from the cigarette could numb his brain, helping him to temporarily forget many things, as well as the sexual acts just now.

Not long after, the man was done with his shower. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he walked out, his hair still dripping wet. The drops of water landed on his shoulders, as well as the floor. Switching on the lights, the darkness vanished.

The messily rumpled and dirty bed sheets, Zhou Hao’s nude body, as well as that pool of whitish fluid between Zhou Hao’s thighs, they all immediately entered the man’s sight.

“Go and wash up in the bathroom.” The man knitted his brows.

Zhou Hao smiled, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray. Looking up with a cock of his brow, “Was it good just now?”

The man ignored him, and towelled his hair.

“Jiang Yuqian,” Zhou Hao contemplated for a long while, before solemnly calling his name.

The man turned back and looked at him in incomprehension.

“Tomorrow’s my birthday, come over at night.”

A faint ridicule flashed in that man’s eyes, as though reproaching him for his transgression. “Tomorrow’s Monday.”

The invisible contract lay between them — from Monday to Friday, the man would never come here. He would only come on weekends.

This was a man who was way too good looking. No happiness nor anger could be seen in his unfathomable dark eyes, and no desire could be detected in them as well. The adamantine icy expression always remained fixed on that face of his, and there was never a change in it.

A long pause, and Zhou Hao did not speak a word. He shut himself in a cage, slowly licking at his wounds. Only after he was nearly done did he smile self-mockingly, speaking indifferently, “Oh, it’s Monday? I almost forgot. Fine, I’ll spend it alone then.”