Distorted Fairy Tale - Chapter 36

Song Zhen tried nudging Fu Yuhang several more times, but the man remained motionless. Left with no choice, he scrolled through his contacts thankfully, he hadn’t deleted the butler’s number yet and called for someone to come and collect him.

After hanging up, Song Zhen’s stomach let out a low growl. He hadn’t eaten his fill at dinner, largely because thinking about Fu Yuhang had ruined his appetite.

He looked at the unconscious Alpha, sighed helplessly, and headed to the kitchen to boil some noodles. There were a few eggs in the fridge, so he decided to make fried egg braised noodles a dish he was particularly good at.

Back when Song Heng lived with him, he used to love these noodles, easily devouring two large bowls in one sitting. He would look up with his mouth full and say, “Gege, these are so good I could cry.” Song Zhen smiled at the memory, then caught himself. He tapped his head lightly, telling himself to stop dwelling on the past.

The aroma wafted from the kitchen into the living room. When Song Zhen brought the bowl out to the dining table, he was startled to find Fu Yuhang sitting up on the sofa, locked in a silent standoff with Mianmian.

The puppy stood on the floor, head tilted as he stared at Fu Yuhang, who glared back with a deep furrow in his brow. Images of his childhood trauma the sight of mangled flesh and the smell of fresh blood from a dog attack flashed through Fu Yuhang’s mind, making his feverish head spin even more.

“Go away,” Fu Yuhang snapped, attempting to intimidate the small dog with a fierce expression. But his voice was raspy from the fever, and his authority was severely diminished.

Mianmian, misinterpreting the tone as a call to play, wagged his tail happily and trotted closer. Fu Yuhang recoiled in disgust.

Song Zhen walked over, scooped Mianmian into his arms, and sat at the table to eat his noodles, his back turned to the Alpha. He didn’t spare Fu Yuhang a single glance.

“There’s fever medication on the coffee table,” Song Zhen said between mouthfuls. “I’ve called your butler. Someone will be here shortly.”

From his angle, Fu Yuhang could only see the side of Song Zhen’s face. He said suddenly, “I’m going abroad for a business trip tomorrow. I’ll be gone for a week.”

Song Zhen offered no reaction to this sudden report of his schedule. He simply focused on his meal.

“When I get back, we need to talk,” Fu Yuhang added.

Song Zhen’s chopsticks paused for a fleeting second. “There is nothing for us to talk about.”

Once he finished, Song Zhen cleared the dishes and began to mop the floor. Fu Yuhang leaned back, watching him. He scanned the small flat; it was slightly larger than their previous home, but still cramped. However, Song Zhen kept it meticulously clean and airy.

After mopping, Song Zhen changed into pyjamas, showered, and did his laundry. Finally, he sat on the sofa with Mianmian in his lap to clip the puppy’s claws. Mianmian was incredibly well-behaved, snuggling like a baby.

Watching Song Zhen’s softened profile, Fu Yuhang felt a strange sensation—as if they had lived like this for years, and this was just another ordinary evening.

His gaze was so intense that Song Zhen could no longer ignore it. Putting the clippers away, Song Zhen finally asked the question that had been on his mind: “Why did you come here tonight?”

“I wanted to see you,” Fu Yuhang replied. Song Zhen thought he detected a slight tremor in the Alpha’s voice.

Song Zhen was baffled. He had said countless times that he didn’t want to see him, yet the man seemed to have a filter that blocked out anything he didn’t want to hear.

“I don’t want to see you. Is this fun for you?” Song Zhen’s face was grim. “You’re Fu Yuhang, you can have anyone you want. Why can’t you just let me go?”

“But you let me in,” Fu Yuhang said quietly. The fact that Song Zhen had allowed him inside and provided medicine meant he still had a chance.

“I let you in because if you died on my doorstep, the police would bring me in for questioning, and your family would never let me hear the end of it,” Song Zhen said coldly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Fu Yuhang took the medicine Song Zhen had set out. “Song Zhen, I will keep my promise.”

“What promise?” Song Zhen frowned. He couldn’t remember Fu Yuhang promising him anything.

The doorbell rang, the butler’s people had arrived. Fu Yuhang stood up and looked at Song Zhen. “In a week, I’ll come for you.”

“By then, you’ll know what it is.”

The next day, Song Zhen managed to piece together Fu Yuhang’s strange behaviour from Zhou Nining. It turned out it had been the anniversary of Fu Yuhang’s mother’s death, and he had allegedly had a massive row with his father.

Under such circumstances, his erratic behaviour seemed almost pardonable. Grief and rage often drive people to do odd things.

Fu Yuhang truly did go abroad, giving Song Zhen a few days of peace. During this time, Qin Heng visited every day, taking him to the zoo, the aquarium, and concerts. They even went hiking and watched the sunrise together.

On the weekend, Qin Heng took him to see a popular horror film. He had chosen it deliberately, hoping that the jump scares would lead to some physical intimacy. That was his real goal.

He had assumed Song Zhen would be the type to seek thrills, but the man proved to be reserved and slow to catch on. Qin Heng’s hints frequently missed the mark:

Qin Heng: “Want to come up to my flat for a coffee?” Song Zhen: “Coffee this late will keep me awake. Let’s do it another day.”

Qin Heng: “I live alone. It’s quite peaceful.” Song Zhen: “I live alone too, but my dog is quite the handful.”

Qin Heng: “The tube has stopped running; you can borrow my sofa.” Song Zhen: “That’s kind of you, but I’ll take a taxi. My dog hasn’t eaten yet; he’ll be starving.”

Qin Heng began to wonder if Song Zhen was truly oblivious or just playing innocent. Regardless, he pinned his hopes on the horror film.

“Do you want some popcorn?” Song Zhen asked, seeing Qin Heng lost in thought.

“I’m fine, just get a small one for yourself. Let’s head in.”

The cinema was nearly empty. Qin Heng had booked seats in the third row from the back. As the film started with its eerie music and dark visuals, Song Zhen watched intently while Qin Heng waited for the scares.

Halfway through, after several jump scares that had other couples gasping, Song Zhen turned to Qin Heng. Expectantly, Qin Heng leaned in, only for Song Zhen to say: “This popcorn is actually quite good. Try some.”

Qin Heng forced a smile. “You enjoy it.”

As the film progressed, a ghost suddenly dropped from the ceiling. Qin Heng jolted. “Bloody hell!”

He looked at Song Zhen, expecting him to be trembling. Instead, Song Zhen looked bored. He frowned, pulled out a tissue, and spat out a hard kernel. “The corn didn’t pop properly,” he noted.

By the end of the film, Qin Heng’s only conclusion was that the popcorn must have been excellent, as Song Zhen had finished the lot.

“You… weren’t scared?” Qin Heng asked as they left.

“Not really,” Song Zhen said. “I used to watch these alone at home all the time. If you’re interested, I can recommend some better ones. This director relies too much on loud noises; it was a bit mediocre.”

For Song Zhen, horror films were a strange form of stress relief a way to escape a reality that often felt more disastrous than fiction. However, Song Heng had been terrified of them. He would still watch them with Song Zhen, but he’d bury his head in Song Zhen’s lap during the scary parts. Song Heng had been so warm and solid; those winter nights hadn’t felt quite so cold with him there.

****

Three days later was Song Zhen’s birthday specifically, his lunar birthday. Song Zhen didn’t usually celebrate his birthday, as he didn’t know his actual date of birth. He used to mark his legal birthday, but after Song Heng insisted on celebrating the lunar one, he had followed suit.

Qin Heng wasn’t about to miss the occasion. Song Zhen invited him over for a home-cooked meal, the first time he had allowed Qin Heng into his home.

Song Zhen prepared a few simple dishes and put on a variety show. Zhou Nining, who was away, sent a beautiful cake, and even Ji Qinglin sent a gift.

Qin Heng brought a plain wool scarf, claiming he had knitted it himself. Song Zhen was touched. “You can knit?”

“I can do many things,” Qin Heng replied playfully.

“Thank you, I love it,” Song Zhen smiled.

Qin Heng tucked into the meal with low expectations, only to be genuinely impressed. “Song Zhen, your cooking is incredible.”

Under the warm glow of the dining lights, the atmosphere felt domestic and cozy a rare feeling of “home” that Qin Heng rarely experienced. It stirred a strange, restless emotion in him.

After dinner, as they cleared the dishes, Qin Heng accidentally tripped over Mianmian. A plate shattered on the floor. As he went to pick up the pieces, he cut his finger.

Song Zhen frowned and carefully applied a plaster, blowing on the cut to soothe the pain. Qin Heng watched his puffed-out cheeks, finding it endearing, and pinched his face.

“Stop that,” Song Zhen teased.

As Song Zhen wrapped the shards in thick tape, Qin Heng asked why.

“The elderly man who collects the rubbish has poor eyesight,” Song Zhen explained. “I don’t want him to cut himself.”

“Song Zhen,” Qin Heng smiled, his eyes narrowing. “Good things come to good people.” He emphasised the word “good” strangely.

*****

As they prepared to leave, it began to rain. Song Zhen walked Qin Heng to the estate gates, unaware that his phone was vibrating in his pocket. His elbow accidentally brushed the screen through the fabric, answering the incoming call.

Qin Heng stopped and turned to him. “I know it might be soon, but I really like you, Song Zhen. Every time I see you, my heart flutters more. How do you feel about me? Are you happy when we’re together?”

“I wanted to wait, but I can’t. Song Zhen, will you go out with me?”

Qin Heng looked vulnerable and expectant. Song Zhen felt his heart soften. Qin Heng was cheerful, respectful, and sometimes cutely childish. He figured he would have said yes eventually, so why not now?

“Alright,” Song Zhen nodded with a smile.

Qin Heng dropped his umbrella and pulled Song Zhen into a hug, a hunter’s smirk crossing his face. “I’ll treat you well.”

“I’ll treat you well too,” Song Zhen laughed.

Qin Heng cupped his face and began to kiss him hungrily. “Slow… slow down…” Song Zhen gasped between breaths.

On the other end of the line, Fu Yuhang sat in his car on the airport expressway, his eyes bloodshot, his knuckles white as he gripped his phone. He had heard every word of the romantic confession and the sounds of them kissing.

He was filled with a murderous rage and jealousy. Slow and steady be damned—I’m taking him home and locking him up! He’s mine!

In his fury, he failed to notice a van tailing him in the torrential rain.

CRASH.

The sound of the collision tore through the night. It was exactly midnight; Song Zhen’s birthday was over.

In the pouring rain of A City, two people were locked in a kiss, while another hung by a thread.

On the expressway, the two vehicles had collided violently. One had flipped over against the guardrail. Inside, the Alpha sat drenched in blood, desperately reaching for something on the passenger seat.

The cake he had bought was crushed, but he managed to grab a small object from the wreckage.

“Song.  Zhen.” he rasped before losing consciousness.

His hand loosened slightly, revealing what he had been holding a ring.

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