MMPS Ch. 18

Chapter 18: Weakness

Zhao Ran carried the person clinging to him through the doorway of his home and shut the door behind them. The room was warm, the sunlight blocked out by the smart locks and opaque windows.

They remained pressed close, facing one another under the draped jacket.

Their noses were nearly touching. Zhao Ran’s breath carried a faint, woody fragrance—like dried maple leaves hidden in an old book or the coarse texture of an unpolished wooden carving. His hair and eyelashes had turned stark white, the pale plum hue of his irises entirely drained, leaving his eyes a translucent, misty white.

“You… you’re fading.” Yu An stammered, his voice faltering. “It’s like you’ve been overexposed in the sun or something.”

“Mm, I’m damaged.” Zhao Ran echoed with a faint chuckle, slipping off the jacket covering his head. His gaze rested on Yu An’s shocked expression, amused. “I mostly rest during the day and handle fieldwork at night. It’s only because you insisted on waiting in the courtyard that I didn’t avoid the sunlight.”

“Is it just discoloration? Maybe I can fix it.” Yu An slowly placed his hands on Zhao Ran’s neck, cupping either side, then began to rub vigorously as if trying to start a fire.

The skin on Zhao Ran’s neck was delicate, unaccustomed to such abuse. A faint blush bloomed under Yu An’s friction, spreading outward in uneven patches.

“It’s not bad.” Yu An remarked, stepping back to survey his work. “I think I saved you. Just needs a bit of blending.” He patted at the unreddened areas for effect. “There we go, all even now.”

Zhao Ran debated tossing him aside but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

“Enough,” he said with mock exasperation. “A little sunlight won’t kill me. Stop messing around.” He detached Yu An, set him down, and steadied himself against the shoe cabinet to exchange his boots for slippers. Then, shrugging off his bloodstained trench coat, he deposited it into the nearby hamper.

“Dirty clothes go here,” he said, gesturing toward the hamper. “Just toss them in. Someone will wash, iron, and return them.”

Yu An, watching Zhao Ran head into the house, found his eyes drawn to the man’s bare back. The smooth, inverted triangle of his muscles gleamed faintly, reminiscent of white mica under the light.

“Are you sure it’s fine?” Yu An asked, peering from behind the corner of the entryway. Zhao Ran, now in casual loungewear, stood at a thermostat, adjusting the room’s temperature.

The living room was sparse yet meticulously arranged. White and gray tones dominated the decor, with furniture placed in deliberate harmony. The floors gleamed without a trace of dust or smudges, and the throw pillows on the sofa were perfectly aligned—each an identical distance from the next.

This guy’s a neat freak, Yu An thought. It made sense. Someone so pale would have even the slightest dirt stand out starkly.

Looking down at his own feet, Yu An winced. Muddy footprints trailed behind him on the pristine flooring, and his black suit was smeared with blood and grime. In Zhao Ran’s immaculate home, he was a blemish—a fly on a flawless slice of cream cake.

Without hesitation, Yu An stripped down to what decency allowed, leaving his sullied clothes by the hamper. Barefoot, he bolted through the living room.

Zhao Ran, hearing the slap of hurried footsteps, turned his head in time to see Yu An dash past like a gust of wind. Dressed only in a black tank top and shorts, Yu An skidded to a stop behind a wall, peeking out cautiously.

“Can I use your bathroom, Interviewer?” he asked, half-hidden.

“Ahem, second door on the right.” Zhao Ran replied, his voice calm. He lifted a glass of water from the table and took a sip, trying to quell the dryness in his throat.

Behind him, the hamper suddenly lifted off the ground. Three spindly fingers curled under its base, while two more scuttled along the floor like a spider’s legs, dragging the heavy basket toward the laundry room. Soon, the sound of scrubbing echoed faintly from inside.

Two more hands emerged, dragging a bucket and mop to the shoe cabinet to scrub away the muddy prints.

Meanwhile, the kitchen lights flickered on. A hand rinsed fresh shrimp, deftly peeling and deveining them with another’s assistance before placing the cleaned meat back in the shells.

One hand ignited the stove, tossed in scallions and ginger, squeezed in tomato paste, and swiftly stirred everything together. It even flipped the pan with professional finesse.

Another hand hurried to turn on the television for Zhao Ran and pass him the remote, while yet another set a plate of washed grapes on the coffee table. As it worked, it carefully peeled and deseeded each grape, presenting the translucent fruit on a small dish.

“I won’t eat; peel a plate and send it over to him later.” Zhao Ran leaned against the back of the sofa, closing his eyes to rest. He had a hangover, and the effects of the alcohol from the night before hadn’t worn off yet, but he was so anxious that he rushed to the Xiliu Beauty Salon.

“Fetch him some pajamas.” Zhao Ran ordered absently, pinching the bridge of his nose.

A hand returned with a thin, short-sleeved set.

“Too thin,” Zhao Ran said with a frown. “He’s always cold. Do you want to freeze him to death?”

The hand scrambled away and came back with a thicker set.

“Too thick,” Zhao Ran sighed. “It’s twenty-six degrees in here. He’ll overheat.”

This process repeated, the hands growing increasingly frantic. One finally produced a cartoon-patterned set.

“Not something he’s worn before,” Zhao Ran muttered, inspecting it. “And not this—what is that, a Luo Xiaohei^[1] print? Does that look like something I’d keep in my home? Hide it.”

The hand gave a weary twitch, dragging itself away before returning with one of Zhao Ran’s plain white T-shirts.

“Ah, not bad. Put it here.” Zhao Ran said after a moment’s thought. He set his glass down, waving dismissively.

Hand: “……” (Throws down the clothes and leaves.)

“Go. You better watch your attitude.” Zhao Ran muttered after it as he relaxed and put his hands on the back of the sofa. “You pull that again, and I’ll skip lunch. Let’s see how you like starving.”

Minutes later, Zhao Ran glanced at the clock, then stood and made his way to the bathroom. He knocked twice. 

No response.

“Don’t soak yourself too long.” he said, pushing the door open.

Inside, Yu An was slumped over the edge of the bathtub, fast asleep. Steam rose around him, droplets clinging to his skin before sliding down into the water. His arms dangled over the edge, chin resting on them, his wet hair plastered to his face. One closed eye seemed serene, while the other was nothing but a deep, empty black pit.

It vaguely reminded him of Edgar Allan Poe’s story titled The Black Cat, about a violent, deranged husband who gouged out the eye of his wife’s beloved pet cat before hanging it mercilessly. Yet the cat returned, its missing eye unchanged but now bearing the mark of a noose around its neck, a lingering shadow of guilt and doom.

Zhao Ran crouched beside him, the hard edge of the bath biting into his knees. With careful fingers, he wiped the dried blood from Yu An’s face and cleaned the crusted remnants around his hollow eye socket.

Still a bit too impulsive. I should’ve waited longer to see how much potential he could unlock in a life-or-death situation.

Or was this mission already dangerous enough, too much too soon?

A touch of impatience. Best to take things slower from now on.

Yu An stirred at the touch, blinking groggily. When his gaze met Zhao Ran’s, his breath hitched.

Zhao Ran, seated on a low stool, had his sleeves rolled up and his collar loose. A faint flush colored his cheeks and elbows, the paleness of his skin recovering its natural tone—no, it was deepening into a rosy, peach-tinted hue. His plum-colored eyes were sharp yet strangely gentle as they studied Yu An.

“How did you recover?” Yu An asked, sitting up slightly.

“Time.” Zhao Ran replied, placing the prepared pajamas on the towel rack. His arm rested casually on his knee. “As long as I stay out of the light, I heal on my own. Sunlight is my weakness. Always has been. I was raised in absolute darkness—a place where not even a sliver of light could reach. It left me… incompatible with sunlight. If someone wanted to kill me, they’d find no better opportunity than in daylight.”

…?

Yu An scratched his cheek. Did the interviewer just casually reveal his biggest weakness? What if I sell this information?

How much would it go for? Ten thousand? Twenty? Fifty? This has to be worth at least a hundred thousand. I could buy 33 blind cores, and at this rate, maybe pull one of a higher tier. Wait, is there a pity system for blind cores? Like ten pulls guarantee red, a hundred for gold… Oh, right, when’s the bonus from that beauty salon task coming in?

“Are you zoning out?” Zhao Ran, oblivious to being turned into blind cores in Yu An’s imagination, called him back to reality.

Yu An shook his head. “Does someone want to kill you?”

“There are many who have tried… but so far, no one has succeeded.” Zhao Ran’s face reflected a profound emptiness, a loneliness born from his invincibility.

“Did you manage to secure the Aberrant Doctor’s cores? The police didn’t confiscate them, did they?” Yu An finally remembered the pressing matter.

“No, all three are with me.”

“Three?”

“Mm. I’ve already put them into your Core Analyzer. You can check them later.”

“The Doctor couple was incredibly strong, yet you crushed them one against two?” Yu An couldn’t help but ask, “Interviewer, are you a carrier too?”

Zhao Ran thought for a moment, then nodded. He extended his left hand in front of Yu An. “The core slot is here, so my sense of touch is extremely sensitive.”

“Oh.” Yu An finally understood why the interviewer always wore gloves. His curiosity deflated instantly. So it was just a simple secret like this, huh? Tch, what’s the big deal? Made me wonder for days for nothing.

Before setting off yesterday, Yu An had researched Underground Metro’s company credentials and casually browsed their official website. On the homepage carousel of announcements, he had spotted Zhao Ran’s photo—clearly the backbone of the organization.

After skimming through the site, Yu An gained a general understanding of the organization. Underground Metro was a government-recognized but unofficial entity that worked independently, though it maintained collaborative ties with Perceptive Eagle Bureau.

Residents could voluntarily pay a management fee, akin to personal insurance. In the event of a threat from Aberrants, they could call on Underground Metro for help. The organization deployed operatives daily to patrol every corner of the city, often responding faster than the police and resolving most incidents effectively.

However, Yu An was far more intrigued by the keyword Zhao Ran.

He dug up every piece of information on Underground Metro he could find and stumbled upon an anonymous forum thread containing what seemed to be insider evaluations of Zhao Ran from company members:

“Newcomers, remember: never offend Team Leader Zhao. Always follow his orders—no exceptions. Don’t act without his command, don’t try to outsmart him, and, above all, never, under any circumstances, touch his hand.”

Yu An did a quick mental tally. By his second day on the job, he’d already managed to tick off all three.

It doesn’t seem like there are any consequences, though.

After finishing his shower, Yu An flopped onto the bed wearing Zhao Ran’s T-shirt. Exhaustion had overtaken hunger. After sprinting through the night, his calves trembled from the strain, and the hot water soak had only amplified his fatigue, pulling weariness from deep within him.

The bed was absurdly soft. The silky sheets were smooth and comfortable against his skin. Yu An didn’t even make it to the pillow; one foot dangled over the edge of the bed, still in a slipper, as he collapsed face-down in a too-large white T-shirt. His long, slender legs were sprawled carelessly, and his face was buried in the mattress.

When Zhao Ran walked in carrying a plate of snacks, he froze at the sight of Yu An’s sprawled form. Placing the porcelain plate aside, he crouched to remove the slipper hanging from Yu An’s toe, then gently pushed him further onto the bed.

This is the Emergency Order Unit’s intern? Zhao Ran thought with a click of his tongue. Sleeping in a stranger’s home with zero vigilance… At this rate, he’ll be devoured without even leaving a crumb behind.

Under the loose T-shirt, Yu An’s spine had a graceful, streamlined curve, and each vertebra was distinct. Zhao Ran sat by the bed, his gaze lingering on the boy’s shoulder blades and the subtle dip of his lower back.

After a long moment of hesitation, Zhao Ran finally placed his gloved hand lightly on Yu An’s waist.

Even through the glove, his hypersensitive touch could pick up the faint rhythm of Yu An’s heartbeat, the steady rise and fall of his breaths, and the searing heat of his body.

Where his hand rested, intricate, hidden lines began to emerge from beneath Yu An’s skin, forming an abstract sun-shaped totem. Its rays extended outward, transforming into writhing, interlocked arms with twisted fingers, radiating an unsettling aura.

Zhao Ran’s pale eyes turned crimson, a fiery red staining his irises. He bent down, pressing his lips against the totem etched into Yu An’s back as if marking it as his own. A strange sense of satisfaction softened his expression, and the corners of his mouth lifted to reveal a row of sharp, predatory teeth.

“My weaknesses are far too few…” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “The rest will have to depend on your efforts… one more time.”