When Wang Xiaoliang opened his eyes, his first thought was that there was no one beside him.
That warmth he knew so well was not beside him now.
It was not a matter of "noticing no one was there." His body sensed it first. The familiar warmth was gone. He did not need to reach out to know the space beside his pillow was empty.
Why did Wei Zijin get up so early? Was she busy again? I overslept. Why didn't I get up to make her breakfast?
His head hurt.
It was no ordinary headache, but a dull ache stretching from the back of his head to the space between his brows, as though something were pushing outward from inside. His stomach was so empty he felt jittery, and his limbs were so weak they hardly felt like his own. Just opening his eyes took him several seconds.
The ceiling was wrong.
It was not the one at home, or at the apartment, or at the Rental Room.
He remembered now.
He was in Fucheng.
At Liu Xinyu's villa.
He had come to help Liu Xinyu, to look after the house.
He and Wei Zijin had separated. They had not made up yet.
The bedroom door opened.
Fan Qishan had opened it.
After deciding to come to Fucheng, he had gained another purpose of his own: to see Fan Qishan and ask him some questions.
Someone else followed behind him, an old Daoist with graying hair, though his steps were steady.
Wang Xiaoliang opened his mouth, wanting to call out "Qishan," but no sound came from his throat, as though something were blocking it. He tried harder, but still could not.
Fan Qishan stood in the doorway, his face expressionless.
Wang Xiaoliang looked at him, feeling that something was