Chapter 2: Underwear

Before Ren Yu could dodge, the hand pressed firmly at the junction of his lower back and tailbone, then withdrew just as quickly.

“Done.”

Fang Yingli’s voice was flat, almost as if he’d been holding his breath too. The sharp medicinal smell of the liniment lingered in the air. Ren Yu exhaled like a man granted amnesty, his throat and chest burning. Noticing the other man made no move to get up, Fang Yingli asked, “Are you hot?”

Then, with a trace of veiled amusement, he added, “Your skin’s very red.”

It had been a lustrous pale earlier. Now, where he’d rubbed, a flush had bloomed outward from the waist, like dusk spreading across the sky. Even the tips of his ears had gone red. How amusing.

“No, I’m fine.” Ren Yu kept his face buried in his arms, voice muffled. “You go ahead. I’ll take a minute.”

Fang Yingli said nothing more. After a moment, Ren Yu heard the metallic slam of a locker door and retreating footsteps. He slowly lifted his head. The locker room was empty now, save for the bottle of herbal oil Fang Yingli had left behind.

He rolled over with difficulty and grabbed a towel to cover his embarrassing situation below. His surveillance target, using that hand he admired so much, had rubbed him into an erection. As for the mission of getting close to Fang Yingli, well…. hard to say if there’d been progress. He hadn’t charmed him, and he hadn’t glimpsed the man’s cards. Instead, the man had glimpsed his underwear.

Fuck.

Ren Yu kicked the bench across from him and immediately sucked in a pained breath.

Truthfully, he’d sensed from the start that this job would be trouble.

He’d worked as a news informant for over five years, living on the edges, never staying in one place long enough to call it respectable. Lately he’d been thinking about getting out, planning to wash his hands clean. Then Seasonal Wind Weekly came knocking. Ren Yu was a little superstitious, and it felt like something out of a Hong Kong gangster film. It’s like the moment someone thinks of doing a “one last job,” that’s when it all goes to hell.

He’d been determined to refuse, but the editor-in-chief at Seasonal Wind, Deng Weizhi, was an old acquaintance who knew exactly where to press. In the end, Ren Yu agreed to get close to Fang Yingli, the legal counsel for Huanyan Real Estate, and dig up inside information on the unfinished housing project.

Deng Weizhi believed Huanyan Real Estate was far from clean—that its bankruptcy wasn’t ordinary mismanagement but something more sinister.

As legal counsel, Fang Yingli would have had access to financial data. He might even have helped Huanyan’s owner file for bankruptcy, exploiting legal loopholes and handling the aftermath. And because Fang Yingli wasn’t actually a Huanyan employee, he might be the weak link. If Ren Yu could extract a lead from him and stir up public opinion, it might push for a full investigation into Huanyan’s operations and finally give the cheated homeowners some answers.

So Ren Yu took the money and, a week ago, moved into the apartment across from Fang Yingli’s. Progress had been slow.

Fang Yingli was unlike any target he’d approached before. The man seemed indifferent to everything, lacking curiosity or any apparent need for intimacy. Beyond working out and sparring, there were no exploitable hobbies.

It was a tough job. At this rate, he’d never see the final payment.

Before bed, Ren Yu shuffled over to the fieldscope for one last look. He had to admit—this man was more watchable than anything on prime-time television. Every aspect of him landed squarely in Ren Yu’s aesthetic sweet spot. Fang Yingli was lounging on his sofa, reading. His page-turning was rapid; clearly showing he was a fast reader. A tall floor lamp glowed in the corner. Wrapped in a robe, legs crossed, he looked cultivated and focused.

Zooming in closer, he saw that the book was Borges’s Ficciones.

If Ren Yu hadn’t seen the man’s most brutal side in the ring earlier, he’d almost believe he truly was this refined and gentle.

Just last night, fooled by this very scene, Ren Yu had been daydreaming about tying the unyielding Fang Yingli to a chair for interrogation. After today’s physical demonstration, he’d concluded that the only possible scenario was Fang Yingli tying him to a chair instead. The reverse was out of the question.

The alarm went off at 7:25 AM sharp. Ren Yu jolted upright, eyes struggling to open. His back still ached but had improved considerably. He fumbled around the nightstand until he managed to silence the phone, then shuffled to the living room. By the time his eyes finally cooperated, he’d widened the gap in the curtains.

Early summer mornings broke bright and early. The sky was a pale, translucent blue, as if tempered with white pigment. The visibility was almost too sharp; looking into the distance stung the eyes with excessive clarity. He went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of mineral water, and chugged it. While brushing his teeth, foam in his mouth, he pressed his eyes to the fieldscope.

Two more minutes until Fang Yingli finished his shower.

Sure enough, at seven-thirty, the man appeared in the lens right on schedule. Fresh from the bath, he habitually skipped a shirt, displaying a physique of substantial muscle, a white towel wrapped low around his hips, though an unmistakable ridge showed beneath.

He walked to the toaster, retrieved his toast, and instead of sitting at the table, he wandered to the window with a glass of water, as if worried Ren Yu couldn’t see him clearly. He ate slowly. Morning light fell across his face, diluting the darkness of his pupils, and deepening the shadows and highlights of his features.

Ren Yu’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He thought again of that hand on his waist yesterday. He’d been like that piece of toast—kneaded and worked over. In hindsight, the touch hadn’t been particularly suggestive, but it was his own reaction that had been the problem. He had no one to blame but himself.

He checked his watch. In ten minutes, Fang Yingli would head downstairs. He needed to be down there first, intercept him, establish more presence, and create another opportunity for familiarity.

Ren Yu drew the curtains shut, grabbed yesterday’s trash and a bag of odds and ends, and went downstairs. In the community park, the neighborhood activities were already in full swing.

The trash traced a neat arc into the bin. He walked toward the cluster of neighborhood committee aunties, greeting them warmly with a perfectly timed flash of white teeth. “Morning, Auntie Tang.”

“Ah, Xiao Ren.” Auntie Tang poked her head out from the group, cracking sunflower seeds, her face lighting up. “Here for the swap meet? Come sit by me, I saved you a good spot in the shade.”

Ren Yu knew exactly how to fit in and win people over. He was enthusiastic about community affairs, smiled at everyone, and word had spread that he was a businessman with some money. After just one week, he’d charmed half the aunties in the complex, each one eager to set him up with a daughter.

But Ren Yu had actual business downstairs. He gestured toward the distance. “Not today, Auntie. I’m headed over there.”

The sun was brutal, but to stake out the path Fang Yingli took to his car, he had no choice but to spread a mat on the ground and arrange the items he’d bought at the supermarket yesterday, tags cut off, all unopened, to pass as unused goods.

He’d just finished setting up and unfolded his camp stool when the man’s figure emerged from behind the trailing willow branches.

He stepped out from the shade of the trees, carrying with him a crisp, green freshness. He had a clotheshorse build—when naked, he was sexy; dressed in a perfectly fitted dark suit, the sharp, aloof quality in his bearing was nothing short of breathtaking.

Ren Yu started hawking his wares, doing his best to sound genuine.

“Hey, Mr. Fang! Morning.”

As Fang Yingli passed, Ren Yu “noticed” him at just the right moment, letting out a light whistle and greeting him with easy familiarity.

Fang Yingli narrowed his eyes at this excessively sociable man leaning against the tree—eyes tilted upward, smile like morning grass rippling with dew, a little provocative, a little wild. But the white sneakers, the collarbones, arms, and calves exposed to the sunlight, several shades paler than his own, gave him the clean look of a college student.

He’d seen this man just last night. The frequency was becoming suspicious.

A thoughtful expression crossed Fang Yingli’s face. Ren Yu assumed he’d been forgotten and offered a gracious, understanding smile. “We sparred last night… I never introduced myself. I’m Ren Yu. I run a bar.”

“We sparred” was generous to himself.

That wasn’t sparring. That was a one-sided beatdown. And Fang Yingli had shown zero curiosity about his name all evening, and thus, Ren Yu had had to volunteer it himself, eagerly.

“Mm.” Fang Yingli’s response was indifferent, as if the name and profession barely registered. His gaze drifted vaguely past Ren Yu’s ribs.

Ren Yu had noticed that when Fang Yingli couldn’t be bothered to answer, he’d produce short, breathy sounds like “mm” or “hn”—it was impossible to tell if it was a response or just a casual clearing of the throat.

Before Fang Yingli could walk away, Ren Yu looked up and pressed on. “Want to take a look? Anything you’d like to trade? It’s the community swap meet. See all this stuff I don’t need? I’m dying to get rid of it.”

Fang Yingli’s gaze swept over the display, then he asked casually, “How late are you here?”

Now that was promising. Ren Yu straightened. “Seven.”

Fang Yingli checked his watch. “I’ll come by tonight.”

A commitment, but delivered flatly by those thin lips, sounded perfunctory, sounding as convincing as “let’s hang out sometime” or “see you around.”

But turning a vague reply into something concrete was simple enough.

Ren Yu crooked a finger. “Mr. Fang, come down a little.”

Fang Yingli didn’t move, but his gaze shifted from his watch to Ren Yu’s animated face, clearly interested in what came next—and willing to decide whether to follow a stranger’s instruction based on it.

“You’ve got something in your hair.” Ren Yu blinked, the light dancing in his eyes, lending his expression an air of sincerity.

Fang Yingli leaned down slightly. The orange morning light filtering through the branches produced a faint Tyndall effect, falling on his dark hair like a dusting of gold.

Ren Yu straightened his spine, reached up, and ruffled his fingers through the sun-warmed hair. His fingertips grazed the ends lightly—brief, restrained. It didn’t look like he’d removed anything. But when he pulled his hand back, his palm was loosely cupped, forming an O, as if holding something.

While Fang Yingli’s eyes followed that hand, the other hand formed a 1, slid it through the O, and slowly withdrew it.

Fang Yingli found the gesture, combined with Ren Yu’s slightly tilted eyes, deeply obscene.

But Ren Yu’s expression was earnest, even a little smug, radiating a vivid brightness. Then, with a swift motion, his hands broke apart, and his right thumb and forefinger darted up like a live fish, a layered crimson rose pinched between them.

Fang Yingli felt a searing heat, as though the man had plucked not a flower but the sun itself. His pupils went still for a moment, then his perpetually distracted gaze turned appraising and deep.

Behind the flower, Ren Yu’s smile was sly and mysterious, well suited to the magic trick. Unfortunately, Fang Yingli stopped at merely looking, offering not a flicker of a smile at the charming little act. But Ren Yu was not the type to let a silence linger. He immediately curved his smiling eyes. “The only thing blooming in the complex is the Chinese rose. Wishing you a pleasant day, Mr. Fang.”

Fang Yingli looked askance at him and accepted the flower, their fingertips brushing briefly.

“Only?” Fang Yingli asked. “What should it have been originally?”

Ren Yu thought for a second. He’d used this trick mostly to delight girls, usually with something more romantic.

“A rose, I suppose.” Ren Yu met Fang Yingli’s eyes. “But Chinese roses and roses are both in the Rosa genus. You could take it for a rose.”

The words came out with an edge of flirtation. Their gazes crossed—and in that charged instant, Fang Yingli looked away quickly, toward his black Audi parked nearby.

“Mm.” Again that short, toneless sound. He unlocked the car and started walking. “Thanks. See you tonight.”

That last part—that sealed it. Watching Fang Yingli’s retreating figure, Ren Yu whistled again, spinning his keys on his finger in satisfaction.

Simple, indeed.

To turn a vague plan into something concrete, all you needed was to sharpen your impression in the other person’s mind.

At seven that evening, Fang Yingli showed up as promised. He’d changed into athletic wear for his nightly run, and clearly intended to make good on his word before setting off. The mat had fewer items than in the morning, leaving some empty space. A dark blue shadow cut across his vision and landed on the mat with a soft slap. Ren Yu focused.

Fang Yingli had tossed down a box of condoms. Unopened.

Under the streetlight, Ren Yu sat with legs crossed and a cigarette between his fingers. He raised an eyebrow, lifting his gaze to Fang Yingli, whose stubble was noticeably thicker than in the morning, collarbones half-exposed at the edge of his running shirt. The sharp lines of him were devastatingly sexy, calling to mind the monocular view of him shirtless, skin beaded with water.

“Mr. Fang, ya sure this is something you’d have lying around unused?” Ren Yu pointed the cigarette at the box, smile lazy, blending with the fading dusk. His enunciation had a comfortable, almost lulling quality.

Fang Yingli stood with hands in his pockets, black wristbands peeking out. He stared at Ren Yu with a half-smile—this time a direct, locked gaze, blade meeting blade. Ren Yu was an expert at reading expressions, and he caught a flash of meaning in that look: You’ve been watching me—you tell me.

In the week of surveillance, there’d been no sign of a girlfriend or boyfriend, and no overnight guests. Fang Yingli kept precise hours and parked in the exact same spot every day like a calibrated machine. But with a body and face like that, Ren Yu couldn’t be sure he was really single.

The problem wasn’t that Ren Yu knew. The problem was that knowing it at all was something he shouldn’t admit.

Fang Yingli’s stare was making his scalp prickle. For the first time, Ren Yu, who’d been so brazen about watching him, felt genuinely guilty.

“Take your pick. Everything in this range is comparable in value.” Ren Yu lowered his gaze, long lashes casting faint shadows. He swept the cigarette over the items, the smoke briefly veiling his evasive eyes. “All brand new, tags off, never opened.”

Fang Yingli was still watching him, and didn’t bother bending down this time. He glanced over the merchandise, then a meaningful smile tugged at his lips.

“Do you have anything you’ve used, Boss Ren?”