Chapter 13 You Are Mine
The car drove away from the gray-soil shop, leaving the chaos and bloodshed far behind. The car was quiet, with only the hum of the engine and the howling wind outside the window. Xie Yuchen's two men sat in the back, barely daring to breathe, occasionally stealing glances at the "Southern Blind and Northern Mute" sitting side by side in front of them, their eyes filled with relief at surviving the ordeal and an undisguised awe.
Hei Xiazi leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, his fingers unconsciously tapping his knees. The conflict had seemed easily resolved, but the tension in his mind hadn't completely dissipated. He could feel Zhang Qiling's presence beside him, like a steady magnet, inexplicably making him feel at ease.
The car jolted, aggravating the old injury on Hei Xiazi's left shoulder. A familiar soreness came over him, causing him to unconsciously furrow his brow and hiss softly.
Almost the instant he made a sound, a hand reached out, its cool touch precisely pressing on the old wound on his left shoulder.
Hei Xiazi suddenly opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Zhang Qiling. The other person still had his eyes closed, as if it was just an unconscious movement, but the just-right force of his fingertips, massaging the sore muscles, was clearly helping to relieve his discomfort.
"It's nothing," Black Bear said in a low voice, trying to move his shoulder away.
Zhang Qiling tightened her grip on his fingers, pressing them down. He still didn't open his eyes, only uttering a very soft, undeniable single murmur from his throat: "Hmm."
The meaning is clear: Don't move.
Black Bear froze for a moment, looking at Zhang Qiling's calm profile, but ultimately didn't move. Fine, let him be. He closed his eyes again, feeling the calloused fingertips slowly and firmly massaging the old scars around his shoulder blade; the soreness had indeed lessened considerably.
This silent fellow's technique is getting more and more skillful. Black Bear thought to himself, a strange warmth spreading quietly from the pressure points. He found himself... becoming more and more accustomed to, even somewhat dependent on, this forceful kind of care.
The two guys in the back row pretended not to see anything, their eyes downcast, but their minds were in turmoil. The infamous mute Zhang, feared throughout the underworld, was actually giving someone a shoulder massage? The sight was too horrifying; they needed time to process it.
They traveled in silence. Upon arriving in the city, after handing over the men sent by Xie Yuchen to meet them, the two men left, expressing their profuse gratitude. Hei Xiazi and Zhang Qiling returned to their familiar little house.
As soon as he entered, Zhang Qiling pressed Hei Xiazi down into a chair, then turned to get the medicine box, his movements so fluid it was as if he had rehearsed them countless times.
"I'm really fine," Black Bear tried to struggle, "It was just a slight jolt, I'm not that delicate."
Zhang Qiling ignored him, opened the medicine box, took out the pungent black ointment that was left over from last time, dipped it in with a cotton swab, and gestured for Hei Xiazi to take off his shirt.
Seeing his unyielding stance, Hei Xiazi sighed resignedly, took off his coat and vest, revealing his strong upper body covered with crisscrossing scars.
The slightly cool ointment was applied again, while Zhang Qiling's palms, burning hot, began to vigorously massage the wounds on his back and left shoulder. This time, perhaps because of the private environment, or perhaps because their shared experience of fighting behind enemy lines had brought them closer, Hei Xiazi felt it more clearly.
Those hands were no longer simply for treatment, but more like... confirmation and comfort. The fingertips traced the outline of each scar with an almost devout focus, as if trying to smooth and melt away these traces that represented past pain and separation, little by little.
The room was quiet, save for the sounds of ointment being applied, hands rubbing against skin, and the two people's breathing gradually synchronizing. The atmosphere became somewhat subtle.
When Zhang Qiling's hand touched the deep arrow wound on his side, Hei Xiazi's body trembled almost imperceptibly. This time, he didn't erupt like before, but silently endured it. He could feel the pause in Zhang Qiling's fingertips, and the subsequent, even gentler caress.
"Does it still hurt?" Zhang Qiling's voice was very low, almost whispering behind his ear, with a hint of barely perceptible hoarseness.
Black Bear's throat moved, and after a long while, he mumbled, "It doesn't hurt anymore."
That was a lie. The wound would still ache faintly on rainy days, as if reminding him of something forgotten, something deeply etched in his memory. But he didn't want to talk about it, didn't want the person behind him to show that expression again, as if a piece of their heart had been ripped out.
Zhang Qiling didn't ask any further questions, but her movements became even gentler, as if she were handling a fragile treasure.
After applying the medicine, Zhang Qiling went to wash his hands. Hei Xiazi put on his clothes, feeling a burning sensation on his back, which also made him feel as if a fire had been lit in his heart, making him somewhat restless.
He walked to the window, lit a cigarette, and looked out at the deep night. Zhang Qiling came out after washing her hands and silently stood beside him, looking out the window with him.
Neither of them spoke, and a strange tranquility flowed in the silence.
After a long silence, Hei Xiazi suddenly spoke, his voice calm yet carrying a barely perceptible hint of probing: "Mute."
"Um."
"If... I mean if," Black Bear exhaled a smoke ring, the smoke blurring his expression, "if something like this happens again, don't always stand in front of me."
Zhang Qiling turned her head to look at him, her eyes deep.
Black Bear turned his head, met his gaze through the smoke, and smirked: "I'm not that weak. The title 'Southern Blind, Northern Mute' was earned through fighting, not protected."
Zhang Qiling stared at him intently for a long time. So long that Hei Xiazi thought he was going to remain silent again, he finally spoke slowly, his voice low and clear:
"The title is yours."
"But you," he paused, his gaze, sharp as a tangible object, fixed firmly on the bear's eyes, and said, word by word, "are mine."
"Therefore, I must block it."
Hei Xiazi's fingers, holding the cigarette, froze in mid-air. His heart felt like it had been struck hard, a mix of soreness and numbness. Looking into Zhang Qiling's eyes, at the undisguised, almost obsessive possessiveness and protectiveness, all the prepared words stuck in his throat.
Damn it... that silent guy...
He took a deep drag of his cigarette, stubbed it out on the windowsill, turned around, grabbed Zhang Qiling by the collar, pulled him close, and glared at him fiercely: "Zhang Qiling! You motherfucker..."
He couldn't say the rest of his words. Because Zhang Qiling not only didn't resist, but instead moved forward and gently pressed her forehead against his.
Breaths mingled, temperatures mingled.
Zhang Qiling closed his eyes and repeated it in a low voice, with a resolute determination:
"You are mine."
All of Hei Xiazi's words were cut off. He looked at the face so close to his, at the slightly trembling eyelashes, and felt the warm touch on his forehead. The anger in his heart inexplicably dissipated, replaced by a more turbulent and indescribable emotion.
He released his grip on her collar, and instead raised his hand to cup Zhang Qiling's face.
"Fine," he heard his own voice say, a mix of resignation and gritted teeth, "You're so great, whatever you say goes."
Zhang Qiling opened his eyes, and it was as if starlight exploded deep within them, shining incredibly brightly. He tilted his head slightly, and a very light kiss, carrying the bitter scent of ointment, landed on the corner of Hei Xiazi's lips.
Instantly separate.
It was like a spark falling into a long-dried pile of firewood.
Hei Xiazi's body stiffened abruptly, his pupils shrinking. He looked at Zhang Qiling, whose ears were turning red at a visible speed, but whose eyes remained fixed on him stubbornly, with a hint of cautious probing and an unwavering determination.
In the quiet night, only the sound of their heartbeats, like thunder, could be clearly heard.
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