Chapter 17: Warming Hands

Tan Xueci was held in those cold, large hands. He could even feel the other man lowering his head, burying his entire face deep into his neck and sniffing greedily, his breath damp and clingy.

Tan Xueci’s ears burned hot, and he felt uncomfortable all over, but he couldn’t move. The cameras were still rolling. No one else—not even he—could see the man’s hands; he could only feel them.

Moving now would definitely interrupt the shoot. He could only let the other party rest both hands on the small of his back.

His eyelashes trembled uncontrollably, and a moist mist gathered in his eyes, tinting the edges of his eyelids red.

Tan Xueci had been mentally ill for many years, but for the first time, he was absolutely certain he must truly be insane.

I’ve lost it, he thought. Why am I hallucinating being touched by a man?

His breathing grew ragged, and while his lashes were damp, his face was as white as snow. Amidst that illicit, unseen stroking, his ears turned crimson, and his chest heaved.

When the director finally called “Cut,” his eyes were red with indignation. Trembling, he reached down, wanting to pry those hands off his waist.

But the other party seemed to do it on purpose—releasing him just before being touched and vanishing without a trace.

Tan Xueci felt as if he had punched a cloud of cotton. His pale cheek suddenly grew cold and somber. It was rare to see such obvious anger on his face, and even Lu Xi was stunned for a moment.

He assumed the boy was furious at that old man, Xu Zongdu.

Come to think of it, Lu Xi had expected Xu Zongdu to get handsy or take advantage of Tan Xueci during the scene, but it had ended just like that. They hadn’t even hugged.

Lu Xi scratched his head. Maybe the old guy just wanted to find a place to drop dead.

Tan Xueci’s face was fallen. He realized the paper in his hoodie pocket was gone, too—leaving nothing but a pile of ash.

Now I have to wash my clothes!

As Tan Xueci was brushing away the ash, a shrill, piteous scream suddenly erupted from outside.

It sounded a lot like Zhai Fang.

They were filming at a rented mahjong parlor near a school. It was already past 10:00 PM, and Zhai Fang’s scream was incredibly piercing.

“What happened?” The director rushed out. “What’s going on?”

Zhai Fang’s legs had turned to jelly. He collapsed by the car, drenched in a cold sweat. Xu Zongdu’s severed head lay right at his feet. A bloody hole had been gouged out of the left eye; the method was brutal, as if something had pried the socket apart until it tore. A large hole gaped at the back of the skull, and bloody, white brains leaked onto the ground.

The rest of the crew followed the director, only to freeze in horror. Even Wen Yaochuan was stunned.

Seeing everyone staring at him, Zhai Fang’s lips trembled. “It wasn’t me! I don’t know what happened, I…”

As he spoke, he seemed to realize something. He turned and pointed at Tan Xueci, roaring, “You did this! It must have been you! Why else would he turn out like this right after filming a scene with you?!”

No one believed him. After all, they had all seen Xu Zongdu leave the set on his own, looking perfectly fine at the time.

Beijing had been raining for a month, and even though it had stopped, the night wind was still biting.

Xu Zongdu’s driver, who had just returned from a bathroom break, saw his boss’s gruesome end and fainted with a howl.

The set was thrown into chaos—people calling the police, others calling for an ambulance.

The police arrived quickly. After inspecting the scene, they took the entire crew back to the station to assist with the investigation.

Zhai Fang was paralyzed with fear, his legs too weak to walk.

“Hee hee.” The little girl ghost following him crouched on the ground, giggling as she pushed Xu Zongdu’s head, shaking out the remaining brains until only a fatty, white skull remained.

The mahjong parlor had surveillance, and Xu Zongdu’s car had a dashcam. The entire sequence of events was recorded.

Tan Xueci had spoken to Xu Zongdu, but there was no physical contact and no time for him to commit a crime.

Xu Zongdu had appeared normal when leaving the set. Although he had coughed up blood, the crew had given him a blood pack, and there were remnants of it in his mouth, proving he had used it. That didn’t prove anything.

The bizarre part happened after he left the set. Xu Zongdu got into the car alone. He kept his head down, so the dashcam didn’t capture his face. No one else appeared until Zhai Fang walked over and the head fell off.

“It’s like a ghost did it,” a young officer watching the footage muttered, only to be smacked on the head by his captain.

The police questioned everyone through the night. The forensic report came back stating Xu Zongdu died of sudden cardiac arrest.

His heart showed signs of contraction band necrosis, his pupils were dilated, and his expression was one of pure terror. It was highly likely he was scared to death and then had his head cut off.

The cut was exceptionally smooth and clean, as if a blade had sliced through soft fat in one delicate stroke.

Now the question was: who scared Xu Zongdu to death?

The police watched the footage of the night’s scene again, then looked up at Tan Xueci’s pale, delicate, and timid face.

Police: “…”

To put it bluntly, Tan Xueci looked much more likely to be scared to death than Xu Zongdu.

The suspicions against the crew were cleared one by one. However, the investigation revealed frequent financial transactions between Zhai Fang and Xu Zongdu, suggesting an intimate relationship. By dawn, everyone else was released, but Zhai Fang was held for further questioning.

Zhai Fang looked haggard. Whenever the police asked him anything, he neurotically insisted it was Tan Xueci’s doing.

His mind was a mess. Xu Zongdu is dead? Just like that? What happens to me now?

Tan Xueci couldn’t help but peek. The little girl in the white dress was still following Zhai Fang. She toyed with the white fur puff on Meng Zhi’s bag, then climbed onto Zhai Fang’s back, wrapping her arms around his neck. Perhaps tired or hungry, she suddenly opened her mouth and began to cry.

Zhai Fang seemed to hear something, but when he turned, he saw no one. He agitatedly ruffled his hair.

The girl ghost crawled up Zhai Fang’s shoulder and sat on his neck. Her fingernails were sharp and black. She grabbed Zhai Fang’s face, pulling it down until she tore away a strip of red flesh.

Tan Xueci turned pale and clutched his throat, feeling an urge to vomit. When he looked up again, Zhai Fang’s face was still intact and not bleeding, but it did seem to sag a little more.

Seeing how ill he looked, Lu Xi said, “That’s it, we’re going to the hospital.”

This time, Tan Xueci didn’t refuse. After the last few nights, he wasn’t as scared anymore—plus, he had run out of medicine.

He remembered picking up a bottle that night, but the next morning, neither the eyeballs nor the medicine were on the floor. He had forgotten about the medicine until he needed to take it. He asked Lu Xi, who said he hadn’t seen anything on the floor.

His medicine had vanished into thin air.

For Tan Xueci, it was a disaster. His life was falling apart. These people either wanted his dignity or his wallet.

He followed Lu Xi out of the police station and climbed into the car, looking wilted.

Tan Xueci’s condition was troublesome, requiring frequent hospital visits, but Lu Xi didn’t complain—mainly because Tan Xueci had saved him once.

Lu Xi had once accompanied another artist to a dinner with investors. He drank on behalf of the artist and told Tan Xueci to wait for him at a nearby McDonald’s.

After seeing the bosses off, he intended to use the restroom before finding Tan Xueci, but he collapsed in the stall. Tan Xueci had waited a long time and eventually went looking for him.

Lu Xi had a severe intracranial cavernous hemangioma he didn’t know about. It was an emergency, and the doctors operated immediately.

The hospital couldn’t reach Lu Xi’s family. Tan Xueci paid for his surgery and hospital fees.

Although Tan Xueci had been in hospitals since he was a child, the Tan family always had money and servants. He had never handled the paperwork himself. At the time, he had only been out on his own for three months and knew nothing. If he didn’t speak, he was fine, but with more contact, people could tell something was “off” with him.

Lu Xi was unconscious for three days. He had no idea how Tan Xueci managed to navigate the hospital bureaucracy alone to get him admitted. When he woke up, he saw Tan Xueci slumped by the bed, looking at him with red, watery eyes.

Tan Xueci had only made a few thousand yuan from that horror movie—he was just “cannon fodder” with minutes of screen time in a low-budget production.

Even with some ads and magazine shoots, he only had about 30,000 yuan.

Before that, he had been scammed by a “fan” who sent him a private message on Weibo about a dead father, a paralyzed mother, a young brother, and her own broken life. Tan Xueci had transferred 10,000 yuan to her.

A day later, when he didn’t get a reply, Tan Xueci held his old phone and slowly typed out: “Is it not enough?”

Lu Xi saw him on his phone constantly and realized he’d been scammed. He took him to the police, but the account was overseas, and there was no hope of recovery.

Good grief.

Lu Xi didn’t know what to say. Tan Xueci’s medicine was expensive, and he didn’t even have enough for his own treatment. He wouldn’t even splurge on fish balls for his malatang, yet he’d spent over 10,000 on Lu Xi. At the time, he only had about 15 yuan left to his name.

Tan Xueci had whispered to him, “Brother Lu, are you going to die?”

Lu Xi: “…”

He was 37. He’d worked as a clerk in a small company before being fired and transitioning to being an assistant, then a manager. He had no marriage, no savings, nothing. His parents had been divorced for years; his father was dead, and his mother was in her seventies with a new family. They hadn’t spoken in over a decade.

When he was hospitalized, only Tan Xueci gave him everything he had and asked with teary eyes if he was going to die.

Crucially, Lu Xi hadn’t even been that good to him. Three days before his hospitalization, he had still taken Tan Xueci to see that “Taboo Pig.”

He had simply spoken a few more words to Tan Xueci and taken him out for malatang once. That was it.

He’s a piteous kid, Lu Xi thought.

At the Hospital

They finally met Dr. Xie.

Xie Yun was the head of psychiatry at Beijing First Hospital, an undisputed expert in treating schizophrenia. A black-and-white painting of the Rod of Asclepius—a staff entwined with a snake—hung outside his office.

As a child, Tan Xueci had been terrified of that snake. Xie Yun had placed his hands on the boy’s small shoulders and explained gently, “Xiao Ci, this is the Rod of Asclepius. It will protect you, heal your illness, and give you a new life.”

Xie Yun looked normal today. He was handsome and elegant, the type of doctor who made patients feel at ease. But Tan Xueci still had lingering fears from seeing the “Xie Yun” covered in eyes.

If that happened again, he really would die.

Fortunately, Xie Yun didn’t grow any extra eyes. After listening to Tan Xueci, he frowned slightly. “It does seem to be worsening. Xiao Ci, I still recommend inpatient treatment. But if that’s truly impossible… let’s try this. A new medicine has arrived at the hospital. We’ll switch you to that. The dosage of your previous one was already very high; even if it wasn’t working, we couldn’t increase it.”

Tan Xueci agreed. He had a full physical exam and his weekly treatment session. By the time he was done, it was evening. Xie Yun prescribed half a month’s worth of medicine, which cost over 3,000 yuan.

One medication wasn’t ready yet. Lu Xi handed the others to Tan Xueci and told him to wait in the hallway while he went to pick it up.

Tan Xueci was holding a bulging bag of medicine and was about to sit down. He turned around and came face-to-face with He Xunye’s deathly pale face, inches away. A chill ran through him.

Tan Xueci swallowed. “Hu… Husband?”

“Is Xiao Xue sick?” He Xunye’s hands were broad, much larger than Tan Xueci’s. He could fold both of the boy’s cold hands into his palms. His handsome face still wore that fake, gentle smile.

Until the man’s ghostly, freezing temperature transferred completely.

Tan Xueci, already cold, was now a human snowman.

Tan Xueci: “…”

He Xunye: “…”

He Xunye felt Tan Xueci shudder in his hands. After a moment of silence, he slowly released him, let him sit on the chair, then went to get a paper cup of hot water from the hospital dispenser.

Tan Xueci held the hot water, taking small sips until some color returned to his face.

He Xunye sat down beside him, looking through the medicine. The man had a dark, brooding look; his “peach blossom” eyes were set deep in the night, and the bridge of his nose caught the dim, cold light.

Tan Xueci shifted closer, until their clothes touched. He leaned his face in and asked piteously, “Husband, is there something wrong with the medicine?”

“No,” He Xunye laughed again, his tone very intimate.

Tan Xueci had experienced sharp, intense hatred and total indifference, but he had never seen an evil spirit act so ambiguously tender with unknown motives.

He whispered to He Xunye that his medicine was very expensive. Although Lu Xi had paid him back, he had already spent it all. Now he only had 80 yuan left—not even enough for fish balls in his malatang.

Tan Xueci’s jawline was snowy white and thin, making his face look smaller than He Xunye’s palm. His eyes weren’t exactly round; they were slightly elongated and charming, but he always looked so timid. He didn’t look like he was “at work”; he looked like a small animal pretending to be human, trying to hunt for its own food.

Anyone seeing him would feel he didn’t belong here.

Huddled next to He Xunye, Tan Xueci babbled about everything. When He Xunye smiled at him, he couldn’t help but smile back.

What he envied most was that other people had family with them when they were sick. Since he was a child, he had always been hospitalized alone. Although Nanny Zhang would stay with him, it was just a job, and he was too embarrassed to talk to her.

Lu Xi didn’t always accompany him. Most of the time, he saw the doctor alone. This was the first time someone had truly accompanied him like this.

As He Xunye listened, he poured a few pills into his palm. About ten minutes later, his palm began to rot into a black sludge. His dark eyes lowered, his emotions unreadable.

Tan Xueci didn’t notice what he was doing. As he talked, he stuffed his hand into He Xunye’s palm.

The evil spirit paused and looked up at him.

Tan Xueci’s cold little hand had been warmed by the cup; now it was nice and toasty. Afraid the man wouldn’t want it, he said timidly, “Hu… Husband, let me warm your hand.”

He had held the cup for a long time, only giving his hand to He Xunye when he felt it was hot enough.

He Xunye gripped it without hesitation.

Tan Xueci couldn’t help but kick his legs slightly. Even though my husband looks like a ghost, he must be a decent, good ghost—not like those perverted ones on the set.

Thinking of those ghosts, his legs stopped kicking. He leaned against He Xunye and asked softly, “Husband, do you think I’ll get better?”

Evil spirits don’t know pity. He Xunye looked at the boy’s damp, beautiful face, his eyes darkening. Unaware, Tan Xueci leaned further into the spirit’s embrace. The evil spirit parted his lips and gave the boy the answer he wanted: “You will.”

Tan Xueci was happy, but only for a moment. His lips pouted again. “But I have no money left. I don’t know when I can come back to the hospital next time.”

He took medicine three times a day now, which allowed him to escape the hallucinations for a while. Once the medicine was gone… he wasn’t sure he could survive in that state for long.

If all else failed, he could only pick up trash. There were plenty of plastic bottles on the set; a bag of them could sell for a few yuan.

He Xunye turned his head. The spirit’s cold lips parted, his tone icy. “The He family hasn’t given you money?”

“N-no,” Tan Xueci was dazed.

He only had a few gold bracelets, but when he changed out of the wedding dress, the bracelets and clothes were taken away. They only let him keep his husband’s photo and spirit tablet.

“I see,” He Xunye said. “I understand.”

Tan Xueci looked confused, not knowing what He Xunye understood. He rubbed his eyes; it was time for his medication. He wanted to take it before talking to He Xunye further.

He hurried to unscrew the bottle, shook out a few pills, and swallowed them. But when he turned around, his eyes widened.

He Xunye, who had been sitting right next to him, was gone.

Tan Xueci scrambled up and looked everywhere, but he saw nothing. It wasn’t until a passing patient gave him a strange look that he remembered—right, He Xunye was also a hallucination.

Once he took the medicine, He Xunye would vanish too.

When Lu Xi returned with the medicine, he saw Tan Xueci looking around again with the same expression he’d had when his “husband” went missing. His heart sank.

Don’t tell me he saw that dead ghost husband again.

Dead is dead, yet he’s still haunting him.

Lu Xi grumbled internally, but eventually, with a heavy heart, he drove the boy back to the He residence.

Tan Xueci hadn’t been back in a long time. He took He Xunye’s spirit tablet out of his small backpack and placed it next to the funerary photo. The man in the photo had smiling, gentle eyes—he had just been talking to him.

Tan Xueci sat in a daze for a while. Suddenly, there was a knock on the bedroom door. He got up to open it and found the butler standing there, drenched in sweat and panting heavily.

He looked as if he’d been chased by a ghost for 800 meters.

“What’s wrong, Uncle?” Tan Xueci asked, confused.

The butler’s wrinkled face forced a smile that looked like he was suffering. “My apologies, Young Master Xiao Ci. By right, after the marriage, you were entitled to a portion of the Eldest Master’s inheritance. I forgot to give it to you before. Please keep it safe.”

With that, he hurriedly handed Tan Xueci a bank card. A sticky note was attached with the password written in a strong, powerful hand.