HOYSE CHAPTER 106

Chapter 106 — His Return

Following Xie Ling home, Gu Xi found the apartment almost identical to Rong Jing’s place. It was already late. Rather than calling the housekeeper over at this hour, Xie Ling went to the kitchen himself to make ginger tea.

“Can I use the bathroom?” Gu Xi asked.

“Second last room upstairs,” Xie Ling said. “The one my brother used to use.”

“Thanks.”

Gu Xi stepped into the bathroom and loosened his pajamas. A tiny mark showed faintly at his collarbone. The images from earlier slammed back into his head. He lurched to the sink and dry-heaved for several minutes. His stomach was empty, so nothing came up.

Eyes bloodshot, he slid down to the floor.

He had managed to act normal in front of Xie Ling, but once he was alone the memories would surge, dragging his mind back to every place that unwanted touch had landed. It felt like those spots were still burning. Rong Jing had seen him like this before: he would scrub his skin until the pale surface flushed angry red.

He rubbed hard, as if he could peel off a layer and make the feeling disappear.

In the middle of that spiral, there was a sound. Clink.

The necklace around his neck slipped free and fell, as if to call him back. Ever since Rong Jing had given it to him, it had worked like a charm he could hold on to.

Gu Xi stared at it for a long time. The tidal wave of self-disgust gradually subsided. He crouched and picked the necklace up, then stayed there, sitting on his heels.

He closed his fingers around the pendant and rested his forehead against his fist.

“I am fine. I am fine,” he told the empty bathroom, just to hear the words aloud.

His breathing steadied. Quiet seeped back in.

He stayed at Xie Ling’s for only one night. The next day, with Zhou Xiang accompanying him, he moved into Xielier Residence, planning to live there long-term.

He had just sold his old apartment for a loss because of the fire, but the money was not a problem. He had invested nearly everything he had into Sovereignty, and the post-release profits were more than enough to pay the early-termination fees, with a healthy surplus. As Guan Hongyi put it, Gu Xi was now “a small rich lady,” which meant he did not have to work himself to the bone like the past few years. Even so, after a short quiet spell he took on several jobs at once and started working late into the night again.

No matter how hot Sovereignty remained, Gu Xi kept exactly zero public interaction with its other leading man.

During this period he built his own team under the Xie Group umbrella. It did not answer to the conglomerate; Xie Group only provided wider channels. Gu Xi retained full control. Everyone on his team knew one rule: if an event included Rong Jing, Gu Xi would not accept it.

Outside speculation said the two had fallen out. Viewers clung to the intimacy on screen and the “love in their eyes,” but by now even the diehards had given up. These two really had nothing to do with each other. Even Rong Jing’s name seemed taboo around Gu Xi.

That evening, after filming a variety show, Gu Xi sat before the dressing-room mirror and started removing his makeup.

Mo Dian came in and handed him an envelope. Gu Xi glanced at it. “What is this?”

“He said if I ever felt you needed it, I should give you one,” Mo Dian said.

A while back, Gu Xi had vanished for several days. Afterward, Rong Jing told Mo Dian to go to Waterside Bay to pick up a package. Inside were letters. Rong Jing had told him: if Gu Xi seems unwell, give him one letter per week.

There were three hundred of them. He must have been writing for a very, very long time.

Outwardly Gu Xi was energetic every day, brighter than before, but only he and Mo Dian knew how much pain he was swallowing. Late at night, the one thing that could still make him smile was posting fan content in their CP forum.

In the meantime his weight kept dropping. On the big screen he still looked stunning, even thinner, but anyone who saw him up close would worry.

Gu Xi set down the cotton pad. “He… did he say it was from him?”

He tore the envelope open. The handwriting and the voice in the words were unmistakable.

“Did you eat three proper meals today?” A little angry doodle stamped the line: a three-head-high chibi that looked suspiciously like Rong Jing. The drawing was not exactly good, but it tried very hard to make the reader laugh.

Gu Xi pressed the heel of his hand to his stinging eyes and half laughed, half cried. “When did he write this…”

Letter writing felt old-fashioned, yet somehow the author’s feelings had steeped in time and poured through the paper warm. When did he even find time to write, and write like this?

He suddenly remembered. The morning after they first crossed that line, when Rong Jing had finally allowed himself a few days tangled up with him, Mo Dian had slipped by, exchanged a furtive greeting, and stuffed a bunch of things into his backpack. Rong Jing had said: “You will know when it is time.”

So he had been laying the groundwork for today. Gu Xi’s chest tightened. He could not bring himself to blame him. He read the short letter again, then again.

“What else did he say? Are there more?” he asked.

“One a week,” Mo Dian said. “If you ask for the rest, there are none. Wait for next week.”

The plan was precise. It would nudge Gu Xi back into the rhythm of living without letting him drown in longing.

Gu Xi held the letter. “The station said dinner boxes arrived. Can you grab mine?”

“Sure,” said Mo Dian, thrilled. It was not that Gu Xi did not want to eat. Lately, eating made him nauseous. Even now that he had physically recovered, his tolerance for food was small, and in recent weeks it had fallen again.

He tried anyway and immediately gagged. He glanced at the little chibi on the paper and forced the mouthful down.

Watching him try so hard brought tears to Mo Dian’s eyes. It hurt, but there was a sliver of envy too, envy of a love that survived distance and still made both of them change for each other.

Since Xie Ling had capped the copy’s spending, the copy had wanted to make a splash in one of Rong Jing’s portfolio companies. He wanted Xie Ling to see that he was no worse than the “bug.”

Then he learned the bug had already accounted for everything. Private agreements with Xie Ling meant all promising ventures were now under Xie Group’s jurisdiction.

What remained were minnows, nothing compared to Fun Video. He did not want to bother. So when Zhou You arrived with papers needing his signature, the copy lost the façade of Rong Jing’s calm and flung the file to the floor.

“Why would I sign off on this petty garbage!” he snapped.

He could not understand why Rong Jing would invest in companies that looked so insignificant. He understood even less why Rong Jing dared to put so much of his personal wealth under Xie Ling’s control. Was he not afraid Xie Ling would swallow it whole?

When he came back to himself, Zhou You was staring in shock. He had not expected his boss to flare up over nothing.

Catching the look, the copy’s temper spiked. “So you look down on me too? You are all the same.”

Zhou You did not understand. His boss was all over the place these days. He wanted to say that even small companies could explode if they got their chance. Fun Video had once been tiny too; it had not grown in a day.

Before he could speak, the copy had him thrown out.

Increasingly, the copy could not stand the people around Rong Jing. They knew him too well. One day they would notice the differences.

If they did, would that not hand the bug a weapon? Better to cut off the bug’s arms first.

Zhou You had been running himself ragged for those few remaining companies. All that effort was smacked down in one afternoon. He felt sick the whole night and refused to tell Guan Hongyi why. The next morning, when he went in to try to persuade his boss again, HR informed him that “[Rong Jing]” had fired him for “abandoning post.” It was a flimsy pretext. They just wanted him gone.

The room tilted. Zhou You wanted to go upstairs and demand answers. He could not believe the man who had brought him into the company would discard him so easily. But he could not even get near the office.

He had thrown a punch before, once, when he had proof of someone’s discrimination. Now, facing the boss who had championed him, he did not even have the courage to raise his voice.

All his confidence drained away. He packed in silence and left.

That evening he told no one and went to a bar to drown it in alcohol. Guan Hongyi had noticed for days that something was wrong, but Zhou You would not speak. He was frantic after searching all of Zhou You’s usual spots.

Thankfully, Gu Xi still had Zhou You’s work phone number. The personal phone was off, but the work line had always been left on twenty-four hours a day. Even getting fired had not broken that habit.

They found him in a corner of the bar, pouring drink after drink.

Gu Xi shook his shoulder. Zhou You had enough awareness left to register his former boss’s lover and was mortified. “M-Mr. Gu…”

“He is… dealing with something,” Gu Xi said gently. “He definitely did not want to fire you. I swear on my name.”

Zhou You knew Gu Xi and his boss had suddenly cut contact. It had happened once before, for several months. He had always harbored doubts. Maybe now those doubts had a different answer.

He remembered that, a month earlier, his boss had given him a strange file, nothing to do with the company, and told him to hang on to it.

His eyelid twitched. He scrambled toward the car. The box of his desk things was still in the back seat.

But he was too drunk. He stood and collapsed again.

Cursing, Guan Hongyi dragged him to the car. Zhou You lurched like a zombie and finally found the file in the box. He flipped through it, trying to spot a clue.

His head was spinning. He could not see it.

Gu Xi, though, knew where to look. He took the file, skimmed at a sprint, and then stopped. He grabbed a pen and underlined the first letter of every line.

Together they formed: “Maybe I am not me.”

After that: nonsense, scrambled letters. Rong Jing had done as much as he could. He would not have planted so many breadcrumbs unless he desperately wanted to stay. Gu Xi bowed his head; his eyes shone.

Zhou You had not expected the “fairy” to be this upset. “P-please do not cry,” he stammered. As a beta, nothing rattled him like seeing a fairy sad.

But Gu Xi was not crying. He was smiling, like someone who had just found a trove.

Warmth spread through Zhou You’s chest for no good reason.

Guan Hongyi cut in, “Pretend your boss just gave you a long vacation. He transferred you a huge sum last month, did he not? Enough to retire on!”

Right. He had received a large transfer, labeled as “early year-end bonus.” He had thought his boss was planning to replace him.

Or maybe it had been a signal.

Feeling guilty, Guan Hongyi told Gu Xi to go home and rest. They had been searching together for hours, and Gu Xi had come straight from work.

Only then did Gu Xi notice the strange vibe between the two. “Oh? You two…”

Since when? He looked delighted, like he had discovered a new continent. Was it from that night at the Snowfall Club?

Leaning to his best friend’s ear, Guan Hongyi whispered, “Have not caught him yet. I will invite you to the wedding later.”

“…You have not caught him and you are already planning the wedding?” Gu Xi said.

He gave a very sincere thumbs-up. Zhou You was one of Xie Group’s fabled “three great icebergs.” That took guts.

On the drive, Zhou You squinted at him. “Why are you not in a dress today?”

“Look at the state you are in. Where would I find the mood to do my makeup?” Guan Hongyi shot back.

Zhou You buried his face in the seat. “Do not bother with me. I lost my job. I am not good enough for you… I am just not.”

Eyes red, Guan Hongyi grabbed him by the collar and kissed him to shut him up. “If I say you are good enough, you are good enough. Cut the sh**. One question. Do you want me or not?”

---

Wu Fuyi had not been discharged. He wanted out, of course. After the injury outside the theater he had a bout of appendicitis and had it removed while he was already there, which extended the stay.

After two minor surgeries in a row, he was ordered to rest. He was bored enough to mold. If he stood in the sun, he would dry like a fish.

Finally, something to live for: Absolute Idol premiered, and just as he predicted it swept the youth demographic.

He told everyone: if Rong Jing had not beaten him to the punch, he would have bought the rights himself.

His company had a hand in production, so he kept a close eye as the boss. He was a minor celebrity online, so when he boosted the trainees under his label, it drew some attention.

Honestly, he could have waited for the results. He was only keeping up because he knew Rong Jing would show up for a few seconds, and he knew he was not the only one sitting there just for that. Once the preview had revealed Rong Jing would appear, plenty of viewers stayed glued to their screens.

That day he rolled his wheelchair, the same model his father used to the lounge mid-floor. During lunch many patients came out to watch TV. A cluster of young omegas and alphas had camped at the set waiting for Absolute Idol.

Every time the camera swept past Rong Jing, Wu Fuyi sprang up. “Legendary,” he shouted. “Alphas should be this cool and heartless.” “Too handsome. I love that icy stare!”

A few fans of another mentor told him to quiet down. Rong Jing was not even a contestant. What was there to shriek about?

“Shut it,” he snapped. “He is the show’s chief planner. He worked on the production. I will watch whoever I want. If you do not like it, get lost.”

He made such a ruckus the nurses “invited” him back to his room. He opened his tablet, scrolled the bullet comments, paused on every frame of Rong Jing, screenshotted, saved. Then he checked Weibo. As expected, the trending tag read #AFlashOfRongJing.

See? It was not just his taste. The comments screamed in unison. Rong Jing appeared only briefly, just as he had promised, careful not to steal the spotlight. That brevity only made it feel rarer, especially since he had not been on screen since Sovereignty ended.

He was grinning at his phone when the door clicked. He looked up and saw Rong Jing standing there.

The god never appeared without reason. Wu Fuyi straightened his back. His heart hammered.

He pretended to be busy, took a call, issued a few “work” instructions, hung up, then glanced at “[Rong Jing]” with forced cool. “How do you have time today?” Inside he was screaming: He came to see me!

“I cannot come? Am I not welcome?” “[Rong Jing]” smiled.

“Of course you can!” I must be dreaming. Someone pinch me.

They chatted. Wu Fuyi went along with any topic the other man raised and felt giddy. Then something began to itch at him. Why did Rong Jing sound…

Trying to gain someone's
approval or favor,
often in a way that
feels overly eager,
flattering, or even
a little fake. ingratiating

? No way. The words “Rong Jing” and “ingratiating” did not belong in the same sentence.

Maybe he had dealt with too many sycophants and was imagining things.

After a while, the itch grew. Why did it feel like whatever he said, Rong Jing echoed him, as if he was terrified of offense?

Weird. Extremely weird.

The real Rong Jing carried a quiet steadiness that did not change depending on who he spoke with. He never adjusted his tone for status.

This was… off.

As they were talking, “[Rong Jing]” mentioned that his brother had cut off his funds. He acted wounded. “I feel like he does not care about me anymore.”

Wu Fuyi made a face. “You have never bad-mouthed anyone behind their back,” he said slowly.

The copy faltered, suddenly at a loss. He knew he and the bug were not the same. He was Heaven’s construct.

Worried he would slip again, he fled. He had thought the Rong-obsessed Wu Fuyi would side with him and recruit an ally. He had not expected him to clock something wrong so quickly.

After that, Wu Fuyi watched more closely. The feeling only sharpened. He was a princeling born to the top of the food chain, bathed in attention from Day One. He had seen all sorts of monsters. People who wanted too much and hid it badly, give him time and he would smell it out.

Only his filter for Rong Jing was too thick. He did not trust his own instincts.

That day Gu Xi came by to check on him. Whenever he had a gap in his schedule, he would.

He never thanked Wu Fuyi out loud, but his actions were sincere. Gu Xi remembered. He did not need to say it.

Wu Fuyi had already shot Gu Xi several meaningful looks. Gu Xi peeled him an apple, let the long ribbon of skin drop into the trash, and said, “If you have something to say, say it. Stop lurking like that.”

He had not thought his sneaking would be noticed. He crook-fingered Gu Xi closer. Gu Xi held the slice to his mouth and leaned in. Wu Fuyi muttered, “Who is lurking! Ahem. Do you think Rong Jing has been acting off? I have a bad feeling.”

Gu Xi’s heart clenched. He looked up at once.

It felt like the day Xie Ling had noticed. His pulse pounded.

“Hey, do not look at me like that. I am serious. It is like he is a different person.”

“What if he really is?” Gu Xi asked. His heart was about to beat out of his chest. He forced himself to hold steady, to pin Wu Fuyi in place and not let the moment wriggle away.

Wu Fuyi was a card-carrying atheist. The question made him feel mocked. When he thought about it, he knew it was absurd. If Gu Xi did not believe him, he had his reasons.

He folded his legs up and declared, “Forget it. Must be my imagination.”

The surge in Gu Xi’s chest stumbled. It felt like biting into an apple and finding half a worm. He could not swallow or spit it out; he choked on the feeling.

He tried anyway. “Maybe think again? Everything is possible.”

“Enough,” Wu Fuyi said. “Stop taking digs at me. I am not stupid.”

“Think harder. You are almost there.”

“I mean maybe he got close to you, and that changed him. You know, lie down with dogs, wake up with fleas. Hahahaha.”

“You can be even dumber if you try.”

“You are getting more and more arrogant, Gu Xiao-Xi! Do not think I will go easy on you just because you are an O.”

“No need to go easy. I can flatten you.”

“I cannot stand this. Fighting room. Now.”

…

“You brain-dead alpha.”

“You dumba** omega.”

---

Half a year later, at the Wu estate.

Wu Hanqi woke from another dream, eyes snapping open as he lay on the soft couch.

He could not remember the content, only an echo, like his son calling him. But his son was doing just fine in the capital.

Tired, he sat up in his wheelchair. The butler knocked and slipped inside. “Sir, Rong Jing is here to see you.”

“Rong Jing?” he murmured. He shook his head. “He is not Rong Jing.”

He waited a beat, then raised a hand. Let him in.

Six months had passed and the copy had not improved. Xie Ling still held his purse strings. Gu Xi kept him shut outside the door. He had tried to find help elsewhere, but even Wu Fuyi, pathetically devoted to Rong Jing, replied only out of courtesy these days. Every effort felt useless.

It was as if from the moment he was born, he had only been flailing in a mirage.

He knew where “God” resided, but had never dared disturb him. In his mind, God was untouchable, to be worshiped with the purest devotion.

He walked in on eggshells and saw, in the slant of evening light, a man whose hair had turned silver and whose presence still weighed as lightly as ever. He looked weaker than six months ago, fragile enough to break.

“What do you want?” Wu Hanqi asked.

“Please save me,” the copy whispered.

“I cannot save anyone.”

“But I am your creation,” the copy pleaded. “I will always be loyal to you. I am your most faithful servant. You would not want the bug to survive, would you?” God was his last path.

Wu Hanqi cut him a look, flat and cold. The copy’s skin prickled.

As the copy began to kneel, Wu Hanqi picked up the brush beside him and smashed it down against the copy’s knee.

“He would never kneel to me,” he said. “Stop wearing out his dignity.”

He shut his eyes and motioned to the butler. See him out. He would not waste his breath on what did not matter.

Such a simple sentence and it shattered the copy’s sense of self. Only then did he grasp a bitter truth: the identity he had clung to was nothing more than a divine whim. Perhaps he had been created for a single purpose: to plunge this old world into chaos.

…

Gu Xi had gotten used to waiting. Today was “letter day.”

He picked up the envelope from Mo Dian. He could not help grumbling: Mo Dian was really following Rong Jing’s rule to the letter. One a week, not a day early, not a day late. Could he not make it daily?

He tucked the precious envelope into his backpack and answered a call.

Wu Fuyi. “What,” Gu Xi said. “If it is nothing I am hanging up. I am busy.”

“F***, wait! Rong Jing just came by. I am sure, absolutely sure, it is not him!”

“You have said this every few months,” Gu Xi said. “I am not falling for ‘the wolf is coming’ again.”

“This time it is real! Do you know what he said? He said he would consider me!”

“Should you not be thrilled?”

“Thrilled my a**! What kind of reaction is that?” He huffed. “Guess what I told him.”

“What?”

“I told him, if you consider me, what about Gu Xi?”

“Hm. What about me?”

“He said I could be ‘the outside one’ and you could be ‘the main one.’ Why the hell are you the main and I am the side? Is he rolling dice? I almost exploded. The real Rong Jing would not say something like that in ten lifetimes. And he does not like me. Do not think I do not know it. I am not stupid.”

If Rong Jing liked someone, he would answer seriously. He would never speak with that kind of calculation.

This had to be an impersonator. A convincing one, but an impersonator. Which raised the real question, where was the real Rong Jing?

Gu Xi finally smiled. “So this time you are really sure?” I underestimated this fish.

One more person on the same page meant one more handhold on the cliff. He stepped out of camera range and was suddenly slammed into a wall. His phone clattered to the ground.

“Hey, what happened? Gu Xi? What is going on?” Wu Fuyi’s shout sounded small and sharp from the speaker.

Pain lanced through Gu Xi’s back. Before he could look up, a hand clamped around his throat.

Ji Jiongjie’s beautiful face had twisted into something feral. He looked beaten down, dressed in stolen clothes. God knew how long he had been tailing Gu Xi. After tricking the bodyguards into leaving him alone today, he had struck.

Over the last six months the Wu family had cut him loose. He was detained for leaking lab drugs, plotting arson, and stealing contraband. Today, while being transported to another prison, he hijacked the van and escaped.

He stared at Gu Xi with feverish hatred. “I wanted to hold you in my palm,” he hissed. “Gu Xi, do you have a heart? If you have one, how could you treat me like this?!”

“Let me go…” Gu Xi forced the words out, fingers inching toward the small knife at his waist. Ji Jiongjie did not even watch the movement. With one hand he kept the chokehold and with the other he clamped a drug-soaked cloth over Gu Xi’s nose and mouth.

It all happened in seconds.

Strangled and forced to breathe, Gu Xi inhaled a hit of the sedative far too quickly. His resistance flooded away. His body sagged.

“Rong Jing…” he breathed. His eyes widened, then darkness rose to swallow him.

Somewhere far away, a bound soul thrashed like a storm had broken inside it.

For half a year it had foamed and boiled. More than once it had nearly broken free. Maybe he had always kept himself at a distance, a foreigner in this world, missing the final spark that bound him here.

Who knew what that spark was, even God might not.

Maybe it was the quiet awe in Zhou You’s eyes. Maybe it was the moment Xie Zhanhong shouted, “You are my youngest.” Maybe it was Wu Fuyi muttering, “I am not that bad.” Maybe it was Grandfather’s, “Brothers support one another.” Maybe it was Xie Ling’s offhand words. Maybe it was the mark Gu Xi had left on his heart.

There were so many moments.

He wanted to stay. He had never wanted anything this badly.

There were countless people in this world. What harm could there be in adding one more?

Rong Jing’s eyes snapped open. He stared, stunned, at the black ocean thundering beneath him.

He was out?

No more endless void. A lighthouse shone ahead. Waves roared in his ears. He was out.

His head was still a mess. He looked down then swore wordlessly.

His toes hung over a cliff edge. Pebbles loosened and rattled into the sea below.

One second later and he would have slipped away from this world entirely.

---

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