MMPS Ch. 19

Chapter 19: Little Pet Hand

Zhao Ran lay down beside Yu An, his arm reaching over to tug the down comforter closer. Just as he managed to grasp it, Yu An shifted, exhausted from lying prone, and rolled onto his back. His warm body pressed unconsciously against Zhao Ran’s chest, a simple, thoughtless act that held Zhao Ran frozen in place.

Suspended midair, his hand hung awkwardly. For a few moments, Zhao Ran remained motionless, his sharp instincts briefly dulled by the quiet rise and fall of Yu An’s breathing.

Zhao Ran’s eyes softened, a rare warmth pooling in their depths as he studied the oblivious face nestled against him. A hint of amusement curled his lips. He silently pulled Yu An closer, resting his nose in the crook of Yu An’s neck.

Unbeknownst to him, a row of small, disembodied fingers crept over the edge of the bed, their nails faintly glinting in the dim light. They lingered there, as if conspiring amongst themselves, their mute whispers palpable in the oppressive stillness.

One of the hands couldn’t contain the longing and slithered onto the bed. Its pale fingers, trembling with anticipation, reached out toward Yu An’s face, stretching as if yearning to touch his unguarded cheek.

Suddenly, Zhao Ran’s eyes snapped open, his pupils glowing a violent crimson. His lips pulled back into an animalistic snarl, his throat emitting a low, guttural growl that rumbled like a distant storm.

The dismembered hand froze in terror. The warning carried the weight of an unspoken command, and it scrambled back, diving under the bed with the frantic energy of prey fleeing a predator.

*

When Yu An awoke, the pale light of morning streamed through the window. It was already eight. He blinked groggily, confusion clouding his mind as he struggled to move, only to find his body utterly pinned in place.

The pressure on his chest was suffocating, palpable, and unnatural. He could feel the distinct curve of a hand, its fingers spread firmly across his chest.

Yu An’s breath hitched as his gaze fell upon it. The hand moved deliberately, tracing the contours of his features. Its slender, pale fingers were oddly beautiful, with faintly pink knuckles, but their strength was undeniable. With just one hand, it held him completely immobile.

The thumb brushed across his lips, lingering there for a heartbeat too long, before sliding down his neck and disappearing beneath the comforter. Its touch, both invasive and intimate, sent a shiver skittering down his spine. It moved lower, unerringly precise, until it settled over a place that made his breath catch.

“Who—” Yu An bit down hard on his tongue, the pain jolting him into a desperate struggle to reclaim control over his body.

A soft voice broke through the tension, shattering the surreal horror like a stone through glass.

“What’s wrong?”

Zhao Ran’s casual tone came from the door. He placed a glass of fresh juice on the bedside table, leaning forward slightly, his expression unreadable.

The oppressive weight on Yu An’s chest vanished in an instant, retreating like a wave pulling back into the sea. Gasping, he bolted upright, his chest heaving as if he’d just surfaced from drowning. Trembling, he flung the comforter aside—but there was nothing. No sign of the hand that had so thoroughly pinned him down.

His wide eyes darted to Zhao Ran, suspicious and accusatory.

Zhao Ran raised an eyebrow, his voice calm: “I didn’t touch you.”

Yu An’s breathing remained erratic as he fought to make sense of what had just happened. Forcing himself to calm down, he rubbed his face. Was that… just a dream? Or maybe some lingering trauma from last night’s clinic task?

Breaking the silence, Zhao Ran continued, his tone brisk and businesslike. “I have a meeting with Gray Crow Games’ general manager this morning. Officer Ye also wants to follow up with you—head to the Perceptive Eagle Bureau after noon.”

“There’s food in the fridge.” he added. “Microwave’s on the bar counter. Use whatever electronics you want, but if you leave, lock up behind you.”

“Got it…” Yu An muttered distractedly, still shaken. “I… need the bathroom.”

Avoiding Zhao Ran’s gaze entirely, Yu An hurried out of the bedroom, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. He shut the bathroom door behind him with more force than intended, his breathing uneven.

Alone in the room, Zhao Ran let out a soft chuckle. “What’s there to be embarrassed about, kid? You’re an adult.”

Despite his lighthearted tone, his movements betrayed something far darker.

Even as Yu An left, Zhao Ran didn’t move from where he stood. His gaze lingered on the floor, where his foot pressed down on something writhing.

A severed hand, its pale skin smeared with faint traces of red, twisted and thrashed beneath his foot. Despite being nothing more than a fragment of a limb, it writhed with frantic energy, as though it were alive.

“I told you,” Zhao Ran said, his voice low and menacing, “not to touch him.”

The hand stilled, its movements turning meek. Its fingers tapped lightly against the floor, almost as if begging for forgiveness.

Without warning, Zhao Ran applied more pressure, his foot crushing the hand with a sickening pop. It burst like an overripe fruit, its fragments scattering before disintegrating into a crimson mist that evaporated within seconds.

A faint ripple of pain shot through Zhao Ran’s own hand, which he flexed unconsciously. His tone grew colder, sharper: “Who else can’t hold back?”

In the shadows of the room, countless pairs of fingers shrank away, retreating into the crevices of furniture. Only a few dared peek out, their movements slow and tentative.

By the time Yu An returned, Zhao Ran was gone.

“…That was humiliating.” Yu An muttered to himself, running a hand through his messy hair. “Forget it. Just move on.”

A sudden memory flashed in his mind—the little pet hand.

He rushed to the entryway, finding his shoulder bag exactly where he’d left it. His black hooded outfit was folded neatly on the counter, freshly washed.

Unzipping the bag, he found the small severed hand curled up inside, its fingers twitching faintly in its sleep. It flipped over lazily, scratching its palm with its pinky.

“Good, you’re still alive.” Yu An murmured, relieved. He scooped it up and hurried to the bathroom.

The hand stirred groggily as he held it under the faucet, its tiny frame trembling from the sudden blast of cold water.

“I was so sleepy yesterday that I almost forgot about you.” Yu An admitted, carefully washing the dirt from its skin while avoiding its wounds. As he worked, the hand relaxed, its thumb and pinky curling like a pillow under its palm.

After cleaning it thoroughly, Yu An dried it with a soft towel, chuckling as the hand spat out bits of lint in annoyance.

He retrieved a first aid kit and began disinfecting its wounds with alcohol. The hand jerked violently, clearly in pain, but Yu An held it firm. “Stay still,” he scolded. “If you get infected, you’ll rot.”

To keep it from moving, he pinned it between his knees and worked quickly, applying the disinfectant with meticulous care.

The uneasy sensation of being watched prickled at his skin. In fact, ever since he entered the villa, he had felt something staring at him. He glanced over his shoulder, but the room remained empty. Still, the oppressive feeling lingered, heavy and suffocating.

From hidden corners, tiny fingers peeked out from gaps in the furniture, observing him intently. Each time he turned his head, they would disappear like shadows retreating from the light.

His phone buzzed with a message, pulling him from his unease.

Boss: “…What are you doing?”

Startled, Yu An hesitated. Should I tell him I’m disinfecting a pet hand? He worried about breaking some Underground Metro regulation, so he opted for a lie.

Yu An: “Watching a movie.”

Boss: “Don’t watch anything improper.”

Yu An blinked, confused. Improper? What does he mean? I said watching a movie not something inappropriate.

The interviewer was probably concerned about the computer getting infected with a virus. Never mind, he thought, I’ll just head home. No point in worrying about the place being torn down while I’m out.

Yu An changed his clothes and casually placed his right hand on his shoulder, slinging his bag over it. With a soft click, he locked the door behind him.

As soon as the door shut, the corners of the villa seemed to come alive with quiet rustling sounds. Hands, once hidden away in dark corners, crawled from their hiding spots, pressing themselves against the windows. They watched as Yu An left, envious eyes glued to the right hand perched on his shoulder. A few of them pressed their thumbs and pinkies against their flushed palms, peering through their fingers, absorbed in observing every detail of Yu An’s departure.

The right hand perched proudly on Yu An’s shoulder, expressing it’s honor to its brothers and sisters looking out the window.

With over three hours until his meeting with Officer Ye, Yu An realized it wasn’t worth heading home. Instead, he decided to kill time in a nearby mall.

The moment he entered the mall’s lobby, the mingling scents of perfumes assaulted his senses, the vibrant music from the speakers swirling around him.

It was just after 9 AM, and the mall had only recently opened. The lobby was sparsely populated, but Yu An, seemingly unfazed, moved to the beat of the music, his feet tapping rhythmically as he passed the cosmetics counters with his right hand in tow.

The right hand, curious, pressed itself against the nail polish testers, its fingers pointing at the wildly popular “Flashing Barbie Pink” shade.

“You’ve got a sharp eye,” Yu An murmured. “Let me get that for you.” He unscrewed the bottle and, with a practiced motion, lifted the right hand to apply the nail polish.

Once done, the right hand posed in front of the mirror, admiring its newly painted nails, turning this way and that.

“Not bad at all.” Yu An said, effortlessly tossing the brush back into the bottle and screwing the cap tight. He walked over to the jewelry counter next.

The right hand tugged him toward a glimmering gold bracelet, its fingers pressing eagerly against the glass, its gaze transfixed. Yu An glanced at the price tag: 58,000.

“This is too gaudy. Let’s find something more delicate.”

Yu An, still in good spirits, suddenly noticed the saleswoman approaching. He quickly closed his mouth, shifting into an aloof, distant mode, and made his exit.

Meanwhile, in the lobby of Gray Crow Games, Zhao Ran sat with his hands pressed against his forehead, dozing off.

His subordinate, Xiao Qi, glanced at his watch before quietly remarking: “The general manager is almost here. You should at least tie your tie.”

“Mm. I’ll catch up on sleep after the meeting,” Zhao Ran mumbled, his eyes half-lidded. He yawned and lazily tugged a tie from his pocket, loosely draping it around his neck.

The little demon in his bed was unbearably clingy, his sleep habits atrocious—his legs tangled around him, his head pressing against Zhao Ran’s neck. The warmth of his breath, mixed with the occasional nonsensical humming, made it impossible to get any rest.

Xiao An was busy questioning staff, but Zhao Ran couldn’t help but check his phone from time to time. Beneath his glove, his palm began to itch as if someone had gripped it.

It had to be that brat, playing around again with Li Pu.

He had a feeling that Li Pu had been taken by Yu An, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask directly. He would wait for the Li Pu to return on its own, though, oddly enough, Yu An seemed to enjoy it. Letting him play with it for a few days wasn’t the worst idea.

Unable to resist, Zhao Ran texted Yu An, asking what he was doing.

Yu An’s response was casual: “Watching a movie.” Zhao Ran frowned, wondering what kind of movie would require three hands. His mind ran wild with inappropriate thoughts of things a child should never see.

He quickly warned Yu An to stop watching it. And especially not with Li Pu—though watching it alone was fine.

About an hour later, Zhao Ran checked his phone again after finishing some work.

A new set of nine photos had appeared in his feed.

They were from Yu An.

Zhao Ran’s heart was suddenly in good spirits.

The background of the photos suggested they were taken in a café. Across from Yu An, a hand, decorated with flashy rings, delicately held a mug with an elegant pinky raised.

A date? Who was it with? Zhao Ran found himself gripping his phone tighter.

As he studied the hand, dressed in extravagant accessories, something felt strangely familiar.

It was Li Pu…?

In the photos, they had visited a toy store, a jewelry shop, and in each one, Li Pu was posing—flashing peace signs, making hearts with its fingers, shamelessly stealing the spotlight.

Zhao Ran’s face turned from pale to flushed, then pale again. Suddenly, the photos vanished from his screen, replaced by a message: You no longer have permission to view this content.

It seemed Yu An had remembered they were friends on social media and swiftly blocked him.

“That son of a b*tch…” Jealousy clouded his thoughts, and rage simmered inside him. His head felt like it was about to explode as he crushed his phone, slamming it down onto the table. The advertisement papers scattered in all directions, and one green sheet fluttered gently to land on his head.

“Kao Pu. Get that little traitor back here!”

The left hand immediately obeyed, swiping across the phone screen before slipping silently into the ventilation system along with a sleeve of Zhao Ran’s shirt, out of sight.

The hand reached the mall, weaving through the crowd, its fingers casually resting on an elevator handrail. No one seemed to notice the detached hand, its movements fluid and natural.

The hand continued its journey, arriving at the café’s floor and moving stealthily through the crowds. It stayed close to the walls, avoiding wide-open spaces, until it turned a corner.

And then, it happened.

The left hand froze in its tracks.

The right hand, balancing itself on the wall with its pinky, leaned provocatively against the left hand, its fingers adorned with several flashy rings, nails painted in a dazzling pink. The right hand even wore tiny sunglasses, flicking a thick gold chain on its wrist, greeting the left hand silently.

“Hey, bro.^[1]”

The left hand didn’t hesitate. It struck the right hand with a swift punch.