Chapter Text
Fan Xiao noticed the silence first.
Not the ordinary quiet of an empty apartment, but something thinner, brittle like a sound that had been stretched too far and finally snapped. He stood in the doorway longer than necessary, keys still in his hand. Once inside, Fan Xiao opened his mouth to call out.
No answer followed. No movement. No familiar rhythm of life pushing back against his presence.
“Shu Lang,” he called again, louder.
Nothing.
Then he saw the bathroom door. It wasn’t closed. It wasn’t fully open either. Just slightly ajar, as though someone had hesitated, had paused on the threshold, undecided, before committing to something that could not be undone.
Fan Xiao stopped walking. A strange certainty settled over him, heavy and cold.
He pushed the door open.
The room was still. Too still.
Shu Lang was there, unmoving, his presence no longer asserting itself against the world. The sight hollowed something out inside Fan Xiao. His thoughts scattered, colliding uselessly;
‘Wake him up, say his name again, this is just another misunderstanding....’
He understood.
Not all at once. Understanding came in fragments, each one sharper than the last. Fan Xiao felt his knees weaken, his breath turn shallow and uneven. He lowered himself to the floor without remembering the decision to do so, his back pressed against the cool surface of the wall as though it might keep him upright.
'I never hurt him on purpose, ‘
Fan Xiao had told himself countless times.
But intent had never mattered to Shu Lang.
Only impact.
Fan Xiao pressed his palm flat against the tile. It was cold, unyielding. No warmth lingered here anymore. He wondered, distantly, how long it had been like this,
‘How long Shu Lang had existed in a world Fan Xiao no longer had access to?’
The silence pressed in.
Memories began to surface, uninvited.
That night on the bed, Shu Lang lay stiff, staring at the ceiling instead of at him. The way his voice had sounded when he spoke, not angry, not pleading. Just tired.
"When I heard about Shen Gujiu's suicide attempt in the past, I was shocked, but deep down, I also thought he was somewhat cowardly."
You Shulang's lips curved faintly, the shape freezing into a sorrowful smile.
"But only today do I realize that when every last hope turns to ash, all that remains is truly cowardice."
Fan Xiao had dismissed it. He always dismissed what he did not want to hear. He had left the room, not to give space, but to make noise elsewhere, to turn his discomfort into spectacle.
The storage room. The wall. The sound of his own body striking something solid again and again. Not because he wanted it to stop, but because he wanted to be seen.
And Shu Lang had come.
“What new trick is this?”
Fan Xiao remembered the flatness of his voice, the exhaustion so complete it bordered on indifference.
“Are you hoping I’ll pity you?” Shu Lang had asked.
“I’m only here because the noise is annoying.”
Fan Xiao remembered kneeling. Remembered how natural it had felt, how familiar the script was.
“Give me another chance,” he had begged. “Let me atone. We can start over.”
He had believed that saying the words was the same as meaning them. That remorse, performed convincingly enough, could erase anything.
Shu Lang had been quiet for a long time.
“I’m tired,” he had said at last.
Not angry. Not crying. Just tired.
“If you really want to atone,” Shu Lang had continued softly, “then let me go.”
Fan Xiao remembered the panic, sharp and immediate. The terror of losing his grip.
“I can’t.”
He saw it clearly now, the moment something inside Shu Lang finally shut down. The hope Fan Xiao had mistaken for weakness extinguishing.
“I thought so,” Shu Lang had said.
“You are every evil you claim to hate.”
Shu Lang had turned away and walked out of the room. Fan Xiao watched him go, telling himself, as he always did, that it was temporary. That time would dull the edges, that Shu Lang would eventually make peace with the truth: he would never let him go. He clung to the belief that everything could return to the way it had been.
Yes… he believed it. Believed that the person he had played for a fool, the one who had taken everything from him, every fragile, precious piece and locked away in his house, not as a prisoner, no, never that, but without choice, … would forgive him.. would give him another chance. After all…
President You was kind, wasn’t he?
Back in the present, Fan Xiao stayed where he was, forehead pressed to the bathroom floor, breath coming unevenly.
He began to look backward.
Not at one moment, not at one mistake, but at the slow, deliberate way he had pushed Shu Lang further and further away from himself.
When should I have stopped?
The question lodged in his chest and refused to leave.
He remembered the first time Shu Lang had gone quiet instead of arguing back. How he had noticed it and how he had pressed harder instead of softening, convinced silence meant surrender.
Fan Xiao swallowed.
I killed him,
He whispered hoarsely.
Not tonight. Not only tonight.
I killed his kind man.
The words scraped their way out of him.
Another memory surfaced, one he had dismissed at the time with a scoff and a cruel smile.
Either you will force me to my death, Shu Lang had said calmly, or I’ll kill you.
Fan Xiao had leaned close then, voice low and taunting.
“No need to make your hands dirty, President You,” he had replied. “Someone like me, even death would be mercy.”
The recollection made his stomach twist violently.
He had meant it. He had truly believed that nothing could touch him. That he was beyond consequence. That suffering was something he endured, not something that applied to him.
But Shu Lang
Shu Lang had never deserved this.
Fan Xiao dragged in a breath that shook painfully through his chest. His shoulders trembled, the weight of realization finally crushing through the last remnants of denial.
Now I get it,
He murmured.
He remembered Shu Lang standing in the doorway once, eyes red but dry, laughing softly in a way that hadn’t sounded like humor at all.
“I’ve suffered all this at your hands,” Shu Lang had said quietly, “all because I’m a kind person.”
There had been tears then, not spilling, just held back stubbornly, contained with effort.
“I thought if I did all I could in this world,” Shu Lang continued, voice thin but steady, “then everything would be alright.”
A pause.
“I guess I was wrong.”
Fan Xiao pressed his hand over his mouth, as if that could stop the sound that broke free of him.
Kindness.
That was what he had mistaken for weakness. What he had exploited, over and over, because it did not fight him the way he did the world. He had worn it down slowly, methodically, until there was nothing left of it to defend Shu Lang anymore.
“I didn’t stop,” Fan Xiao whispered, the truth landing with brutal clarity. “I never stopped.”
He lifted his head just enough to look again, as though the act might undo something. It did not.
For the first time in his life, Fan Xiao did not look for a way out. He did not search for a bargain or a punishment that might cleanse him. He did not imagine a future where he could fix this by suffering loudly enough.
There was nothing left to negotiate.
No forgiveness to earn.
No redemption to perform.
Only the knowledge that the man who once believed the world could still be good had been destroyed by the very person who claimed to love him.
Fan Xiao bowed his head again, lower this time, as if the floor itself deserved more respect than he did.
“I understand now,” he whispered into the silence.
And for once, the words came too late to mean anything at all.
He had destroyed the only person who had ever shown him kindness, and for the first time in his life, there was nothing left he could bargain with, threaten, or control to undo it.
Another memory surfaced, uninvited, dragging itself into his mind.
Shu Lang had stood beside his mother’s grave, the wind tugging at his coat, stirring the faint scent of earth and flowers. His voice had been soft when he spoke, almost hesitant, almost shy.
“I think I’ve found someone,” he had said. “Someone who makes the world feel… less heavy.”
Fan Xiao had felt pride then. Possession. A surge of triumph that bordered on arrogance as if Shu Lang’s hope, fragile and bright, were proof of Fan Xiao’s own worth. That the world, finally, revolved around him.
Now, the memory was poison. The words that had once warmed him now cut like ice.
Less heavy, Fan Xiao thought, swallowing the irony that made his chest tighten. Less heavy… and I was the one who made it unbearable.
He had been the architect of Shu Lang’s suffering, the slow, deliberate hand pushing him toward a weight no kindness could lift. Every cruelty he had disguised as control, every smile he had worn over manipulation, every silent disregard he had dressed as indifference it had all led here.
And now, standing alone with the ghost of that moment, Fan Xiao could only taste the bitter truth: he had not just failed Shu Lang. He had driven him, piece by piece, to the edge of his own grave.