BL Ch99

By September, the hibiscus flowers had reached the end of their bloom, petals falling to the ground, entering dormancy as their seed pods began to ripen.

A carpet of pure white petals blanketed the earth, wrapping the dream in soft, pristine beauty. A familiar, gentle whisper reached his ears: “The hibiscus flower’s meaning is ‘gentle persistence.’ It’s not as flashy as other flowers, quietly growing, quietly guarding, just like… a mother’s love for you…”

This dream, replayed countless times, was so familiar he could recite the lines and predict what came next.

As expected, a spark flared at his feet.

The gentle woman before him suddenly shoved him away with all her strength. Roaring flames twisted the air, blurring her face, leaving only the faint glint of tear tracks.

All the white flowers burned to ash, swirling in a sky of smoke and red light.

The sweet dream plunged into hell once more.

Desperate gazes, terrified flight, charred bodies… the stench of death wove a suffocating net, trapping him with no escape, until he forcibly wrenched himself from the nightmare—

The man curled on the sofa snapped his eyes open, their depths still flickering with firelight, faintly red, pupils contracted to pinpricks, trembling with unrest. He gasped, forcing his mind to quell the chaos.

He knew it was a dream, yet calm eluded him.

The silence was broken by a soft click as the door lock turned, followed by footsteps descending the stairs.

A crystal chandelier flicked on, casting opulent light across the dim basement. A doctor, carrying a medical kit, appeared on schedule, saw him awake, and said, “Stay there. I’ll apply your medicine.”

Bai Zhao nodded, then stripped off his shirt.

The wound on his back had mostly healed, the ugly scar not yet fully faded but much lighter thanks to careful treatment.

Thirsty, he grabbed a mineral water bottle from the floor, chugging it down. His throat remained hoarse, as if choked by the dream’s smoke. He asked raspily, “What’s today’s date?”

The doctor, spreading ointment on his back, answered, “The 7th.”

He’d been locked up for five days.

The basement of No. 1 Palace was lavishly decorated but unfit for living, lacking a proper bed. A barely adequate sofa was his only perch, where he slept curled up, fully clothed.

“Night” was a loose term here. Without sunlight, sound, or clocks, time blurred into a vague haze. Endless, tedious waiting made each day feel like a year. Only the doctor’s visits brought clarity on the date and time.

Darkness and silence were the perfect duo to fray the mind, no wonder solitary confinement was a prison’s harshest punishment. Most would crack in days.

But he was long accustomed to it.

The only thing that could shake him was that person.

Five days, and Yu Duqiu hadn’t visited once, as if he’d forgotten Bai Zhao existed.

The empty bottle crinkled as he crushed it. Bai Zhao pressed his lips together, unable to resist asking, “Is he busy these days?”

The doctor, knowing who “he” was, answered honestly, “Young Master Yu’s been out a lot, usually to the hospital.”

“Besides the hospital?”

“Uh… mostly at home otherwise. Sometimes he has friends over.”

Bai Zhao’s brow twitched briefly, skeptical. “He’s got a new fling?”

It’d be typical for Yu Duqiu to have a new lover—going two or three months without one was already a record. The doctor thought this but didn’t dare say it, dodging the question. “I wouldn’t know. Don’t overthink it. Focus on healing, avoid scars. You young guys recover fast, you’ll be fine.”

Bai Zhao fell silent, sitting still, the water bottle in his hand crumpled beyond recognition.

After applying the ointment, the doctor packed up the kit, about to head upstairs, when Bai Zhao spoke abruptly, “Please tell him I want to see him.”

“This…” The doctor hesitated. Yu Duqiu had been clear: no requests granted until seven days were up.

“If he doesn’t show in two hours,” Bai Zhao said calmly, “I’ll assume he still hates me. I’ll take care of the one he despises. There are plenty of tools here. I mean it.”

The doctor jolted, realizing the gravity of the request, and hurriedly agreed.

The basement door shut again, its echo fading, leaving the dim space silent.

Each second stretched hundreds of times longer, especially as time dragged on. The ointment on his bare back dried in the endless wait, his mental countdown nearing the deadline he’d set.

Bai Zhao suddenly regretted not asking the doctor the time. If it was midnight, Yu Duqiu, with his notorious morning temper, might not make it in two hours…

Click.

A faint sound came from the stairs.

The man on the sofa shot to his feet, staring toward the staircase—

First came a pair of finely crafted Oxford shoes, then long, straight legs, followed by a casually pocketed hand, an open, lightweight shirt, a glinting necklace, silver hair draping over shoulders… and finally, the face he thought of endlessly.

“Word is you want to see me?” The man’s light eyes held unmasked scorn. “Are you worthy, little beast?”

Bai Zhao stared intently. “1 hour, 57 minutes. You came.”

Yu Duqiu stopped before him, his usual smile gone, his coldness chilling. “I’m here because I heard you want to take yourself out. No way. I said I’d kill you myself.”

“You won’t.” Bai Zhao reached out, brushing his soft hair. “You sent people to feed me, treat me. You want me alive.”

“A corpse for taxidermy can’t have scars.” Yu Duqiu slowly drew his pocketed hand, the reclaimed ruby ring flashing blood-red, along with a sleek black pistol. “You seem recovered enough. Pick a death: painful or quick?”

Bai Zhao’s expression didn’t waver. “We’re in China. You wouldn’t use a real gun—”

Bang!

A deafening shot cut off his words, shattering the marble floor tiles into fragments, like their irreparable bond.

Yu Duqiu blew the wisp of smoke from the barrel, raising a brow. “What was that? Didn’t catch it.”

Bai Zhao, seemingly stunned by the shot, froze, silent.

He wasn’t the only one shocked. Just outside the basement door, Ji Lin jumped. “Holy shit! He fired the second he went down? Yu’s insane!”

Zhou Yi asked worriedly, “Captain Ji, is it okay you lent him your gun?”

Ji Lin replied, “It’s fine. I only loaded one blank for drills. No way I’d give that lunatic live rounds—who knows what he’d do.”

Lou Baoguo clutched his pounding chest. “Young master’s pissed. He’s waiting for Big Bro to grovel, but Big Bro’s still threatening him.”

Zhou Yi sighed. “He’s mad because he cares. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have rushed back from the hospital the moment he heard Xiao Bai, leaving Mu Hao mid-conversation, scared Xiao Bai might do something stupid.”

That sparked Ji Lin’s ire, teeth gritted. “He didn’t want to listen, but I wanted to hear Mu-ge talk! Can their love-hate drama not drag others into it? Thanks to his whole damn family!”

In the basement, the gunshot’s echo lingered before fading.

Yu Duqiu twirled the gun playfully, hiding a slight hand tremor. “Think I can’t bear to kill you? Sorry, I hate betrayal most. No purpose or excuse can justify what you did.”

Bai Zhao’s dark eyes locked onto him, and he asked suddenly, “My twenty pardons—how many are left?”

Yu Duqiu thought for a few seconds, recalling. “Zero. I just revoked them. The indulgence I gave you, I can take back anytime.”

“Just indulgence?” Bai Zhao stepped closer, voice low. “How long will you keep up the tough act? Was that night just my dream?”

Yu Duqiu sneered carelessly. “It was my dream. You shattered it the next day, didn’t you? Even the party was a lie… And you dare claim ‘love at first sight’? Your ‘first sight’ was following Pei Ming’s orders to harm me?”

“I didn’t harm you.”

“Who knows why you backed off? Maybe, like Pei Ming said, you were just too timid.” Yu Duqiu pressed the gun to his forehead, stopping him from closing in. “My gut was right—I didn’t actually kiss you, did I? It was all your made-up story, right?”

Bai Zhao’s throat bobbed, insisting, “You kissed me.”

“How’d I kiss you? Tell me. I’d love to hear how a drunk, barely standing, managed to charm a killer with a kiss. Readers of Arabian Nights would call it absurd.”

Bai Zhao stepped forward fearlessly, cupping his face. “Like this.”

The gap between them vanished. The gun in Yu Duqiu’s hand was nudged aside by the approaching face. He shifted it to Bai Zhao’s temple, but in that half-second of fluster, the man succeeded—

A warm sensation brushed Yu Duqiu’s brow, soft as a feather, yet the exhaled heat burned. The fleeting kiss trailed downward—eyelid, nose tip, lip corner, chin—then grazed his skin, as if tracing his features with lips, memorizing his face.

Bai Zhao ignored the gun at his head, his eyelashes steady, fully immersed, finally pressing his lips to Yu Duqiu’s.

Reflexively, Yu Duqiu parted his lips slightly.

Bai Zhao didn’t deepen it.

“From the moment we met, my heart was yours.”

With a low murmur, the warmth on his lips vanished, as did the gun in his hand.

The tender moment chilled instantly. Yu Duqiu’s aura darkened, his sharp gaze piercing the man who’d taken the gun. “You’re really asking for it.”

Bai Zhao, unfazed, grabbed his shirt from the sofa, meticulously wiping the gun’s fingerprints. “Glock G17. Ji Lin’s service weapon is this model, right? He lent it to you?”

Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Let’s make a bet, young master.”

Yu Duqiu’s eyes flicked. “Bet what? Who leaves here alive? Gun’s in your hand—outcome’s obvious.”

Bai Zhao, done wiping, tossed the shirt aside, raised the gun to his own forehead, and gazed at him with deep, dark eyes. “You bet I’m true to you, and I let you win. I bet this gun’s out of bullets, that you can’t bear to kill me. Can you let me win?”

Yu Duqiu’s face was cold and grim, his gaze like a blade. “Not afraid of losing?”

Bai Zhao gave a faint smile. “My wishes are mostly fulfilled. No regrets. If you don’t care for me, I’ve got nothing. Living or dying’s the same. What’s to fear?”

Yu Duqiu’s lips tightened, a furious hiss escaping his teeth. “…Madman.”

Bai Zhao’s finger rested on the trigger. He inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly. “I’m confident, but if… I lose, tell the police I killed myself out of guilt. Only my prints are on the gun. It’s a decent excuse. That’s all I can do for you.”

“Who needs your help?” Yu Duqiu snapped. “Die already.”

The angrier he got, the brighter Bai Zhao smiled. “Get out. I don’t want the gunshot to scare you again. I saw your hand shake.”

Yu Duqiu snapped, “Less talk, shoot!”

“At least hear my last words.” Bai Zhao’s finger slowly pressed the trigger, his gaze calm and resolute. “…Plant poppies on my grave, young master.”

As his words fell, the gun clicked softly.

No other sound followed.

The victorious man tossed the gun aside, spreading his arms to embrace Yu Duqiu, as if he’d won the world, laughing boldly and brazenly. “Thanks. I’m here to claim my prize.”