"Zhao Ger?" Fang Zichen, facing this for the first time, tried anything. He patted Zhao Ger’s cheek. "Wake up."
No response.
He tried lifting Zhao Ger’s eyelids. "Zhao Ger?"
Guaizai clung to Zhao Ger’s clothes, watching as Fang Zichen—after failing with the eyelids—pulled on his ears, then pinched the groove between his nose and lip.
Only the last method worked. Zhao Ger woke.
"Zhao Ger, are you okay?"
Zhao Ger seemed disoriented. His eyes shifted toward the sound, and as Fang Zichen’s blurred outline sharpened in his vision, his pupils contracted abruptly, gaze locking onto him.
His eyes were bloodshot, his expression almost frantic. Fang Zichen, caught off guard, felt Zhao Ger seize his wrists with surprising strength.
"Why did you leave back then?" Zhao Ger asked hoarsely, tears pooling in his eyes. Fang Zichen’s wrists ached, he never knew someone so small and frail-looking could be this strong. "Huh? Zhao Ger, do you have the wrong person? I’m Fang Zichen!"
Zhao Ger didn’t let go. He just stared, as if trying to discern something.
Fang Zichen let him hold on, meeting his gaze with confusion.
Zhao Ger hesitated, his expression complex—disoriented, as if unable to distinguish illusion from reality.
After a long moment, realization seemed to dawn. He must have been dreaming again.
He didn’t dream often.
Ever since being sold to the Ma family, his days were filled with endless labor, and every night he forced himself to sleep as soon as he lay down. Over a decade passed like this, he lived like a beast of burden, with hardly any time to himself.
When had the dreams started?
After that night.
He often dreamed of that person—on the mountain, pinned down, the man reeking of alcohol, kissing him wildly, desperately, without any semblance of order, his hot breath scalding Zhao Ger’s neck.
He had cried, struggled, kicked—all useless. Until the last barrier was stripped away, and he sobbed his pleas.
"Please... don’t..."
The man had paused, lifting his head to see Zhao Ger’s tear-streaked face.
He touched Zhao Ger’s cheek, fingers coming away wet.
"You’re crying?"
His words were slurred, nonsensical. "I’m sorry. Don’t cry, okay?"
"I’m sorry. Just be good... don’t cry."
Seeing his face, hearing those words "don’t cry," Zhao Ger had stopped struggling.
The man had no experience, his movements clumsy. Zhao Ger bit down on his hand, stifling his sounds until the very end, when a whimper escaped.
Afterward, the man kissed his forehead, pressing close to his tear-dampened cheek. "Did it hurt?"
Before Zhao Ger could answer, he kissed him again.
It was sudden.
Zhao Ger’s body was weak, his hands barely able to brace against the man’s shoulders.
The man’s lips were unpracticed, his gaze almost cautious. Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting a soft glow on his hair, etching itself into Zhao Ger’s memory.
That night, Zhao Ger had remained tense throughout, arms wrapped around the man’s neck, face buried in his chest, refusing to make a sound. When he woke up, the man was gone.
He searched the entire mountain but found nothing.
He returned, body sore, and pretended nothing had happened.
Ger like him didn’t get pregnant as easily as women. It was his first time, and aside from the fear of being discovered by the Ma family, he felt a twisted satisfaction—as if he’d gotten revenge.
But that single night was enough. He got pregnant.
After that, fragments of that night often resurfaced in his dreams.
The words, the touches, the frantic kisses, the heat, the tangled limbs—they flashed through his mind in no particular order, chaotic and disjointed.
Zhao Ger’s thoughts were scattered. It took him a long moment to fully wake, his body drenched in cold sweat.
"Fang Zichen?" He pressed a hand to his throbbing head, fingers coming away damp. Despite the summer heat, he felt cold. "I had a nightmare."
"Yeah, I noticed," Fang Zichen said. "Still feeling bad? Does your head hurt?"
The exact same words.
For a moment, Zhao Ger thought he was seeing that man again.
He took a deep breath and shook his head. "I’m fine. What time is it?"
"Still early," Fang Zichen glanced out the window. "We can sleep for another two hours."
Guaizai, curled against Zhao Ger, was nodding off. Zhao Ger stroked his hair, then looked at Fang Zichen—so close, so real, and felt an inexplicable calm settle over him.
"Then let’s sleep. We have to wake up early tomorrow."
But Fang Zichen didn’t lie down immediately. He hesitated, as if wanting to ask something.
Zhao Ger seemed to understand. "It’s nothing. Just a nightmare. Go to sleep."
Fang Zichen frowned but eventually nodded and lay down.
Zhao Ger stayed awake, listening to Fang Zichen’s steady breathing. The bed was rickety, creaking at the slightest movement, so he didn’t dare shift.
"Can’t sleep?" Fang Zichen’s voice came suddenly from beside him.
"I..."
Remembering the fear in Zhao Ger’s eyes when he first woke up, Fang Zichen sat up and lifted Guaizai. "Move over. I’ll put him on the inside."
Zhao Ger obeyed without question, shifting to the middle, barely daring to breathe. Once Guaizai was settled, Fang Zichen lay back down.
He pulled Zhao Ger’s hand, drawing him halfway into his arms, and murmured, "Don’t be scared. I’m here."
Zhao Ger looked up at him—no hesitation, as if he trusted and relied on him completely. He leaned in carefully, not pressing too close, one hand resting lightly on Fang Zichen’s waist, face buried against his chest.
Fang Zichen patted his back rhythmically. They were so close his voice seemed to whisper directly into Zhao Ger’s ear: "Did you dream about a ghost?" He sounded like an expert. "Must’ve been scary. But with me here, you don’t have to be afraid."
"...Why?"
Zhao Ger’s warm breath brushed Fang Zichen’s chest through the thin fabric, sending a jolt through him—like someone had stroked his most sensitive spot, tensing every nerve.
Fang Zichen’s voice faltered. "If—if it shows up, I’ll beat it up. Turn it into a dead ghost."
Zhao Ger let out a faint laugh.
Against Fang Zichen’s chest, the steady heartbeat thudded in his ears. Slowly, he closed his eyes.
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